Garage Door Demons

February 2002

I was proud of myself. It was 10:30 a.m. on a rainy Sunday morning, and for the first time in months I knew I would be on time for church! Each Sunday I was on a mission to arrive at church before the sermon was over, but for some reason… something always seemed to happen!

I loaded the kids into the car, having successfully fed, bathed, dressed and re-dressed my two boys. Then I got into my nicely warmed-up car and pressed the remote to close the garage door… and nothing happened. I pressed it again, and again… still nothing. I decided to trudge through the downpour and go back into the garage to use the master switch. Pushing open my car door, I waded through the rain into the garage, negotiating the warzone of boxes, bookshelves, and computer pieces still piled from our recent move.

Reaching the master switch in the back of the garage, I pressed it with confidence and headed back out the side door. I got half way back to the car when I heard the garage door suddenly reverse! I turned around and ran back through the rain and pressed the button again, only to watch it get half-way down and roll back up.

Now I was really not amused! After all, I had worked really hard to be on time for church, and this stupid garage door was making me late. I stood there for a few more minutes watching as the garage door repeated this weird up/down routine. By this time, I was certain my formerly Christian garage door was possessed by some evil garage door demons.

Marching through the boxes (which I was now propelling out of my way like I was Arnold Schwarzenegger), I decided to test the garage door sensor. Since I’m a master repairwoman (I faithfully read “This Old House” magazine). I confidently fiddled with the “thinga-ma-jigger”. (This is done by carefully hurling it against the nearest wall.)

Having now fixed the sensor, I dashed back to the master button for one more try. I was in luck, it was going down… lower… and lower… almost closed…. But wait – it suddenly went back up! I was beyond furious by this point! Stomping out of the garage, I rebuked the evil garage door demon, which I was sure didn’t want me to go to church anyway!

Marching through the rain and back to my car, I no longer cared that my once neatly styled hair now resembled a helmet of acrylic hairspray and I looked like a drenched rat,  I opened the door and dropped inside the car in a drenched huff!

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”, came the sweet little voice from the back seat. I turned to face my five-year old son, and that’s when I saw it. In his tiny, pudgy hand was my garage door remote!

My blood pressure catapulted. “Have you been playing with the garage door remote, Brandon?’ Not even waiting for a response, I gritted my teeth and pronounced, “Don’t… you… ever… do… that… again!!! I was seething but still trying to retain some form of self-control. After all, I was going to church to worship God and I was a happy Christian!

Brandon rustled up the courage to break through my personal volcanic eruption and said, “But Mommy, I thought you were trapped inside the garage.” Okay... now I had massive guilt. I had just yelled at my innocent little boy who was trying to save me from the perils of haunted garage!

By this point, I didn’t need to go to church. I had already sinned repeatedly, rebuked the devil, wept, repented, and I was now laughing hysterically. Sometimes the best Sunday sermons are learned before you even get into the sanctuary. And by the way, just to prove that I was going to win this spiritual battle, I did go to church and got there just before the sermon ended!

The Disharmonic Convergence

When Perfection and Imperfection Collide

Standing in front of my full-length mirror, glaring at the south end of my 51 year old body going north, I make a startling observation. Objects in the rearview mirror really do appear larger than they actually are (or at least I hope they do)! With a faint smirk on my face, I walk away feeling a tinge of sarcastic gratitude. The joy in this moment is that I can actually laugh at my new “reality”! Mid-life has knocked on my door, and as hard as I leaned against that door with my full body weight, it has flung open… smashing me against the wall.

I recall the days long ago when my slightly taut 20-year old body would be critiqued by my highly developed, extremely mature 20 year-old brain. With images of Barbie floating in the recesses of my mind, I determined something went a-rye when God created me. Either Barbie’s plastic body was malformed, or my Creator put a few extra inches on the bottom half, which were supposed to be on the top half.  Hmmm…. Mattel or God… who made the design mistake?

And what about “dishwater blonde hair?” “Drab”, I would exclaim! Deep blue eyes would really look great with naturally dark eyelashes and a thick head of brunette hair, gently curling around my shoulders. Come on! Family legend has it that my grandmother had gorgeous brunette hair, deep blue eyes, and  a “peaches and cream” complexion. So how was it that I, being her direct descendent, was graced with an abundance of freckles, which quite frankly I considered a huge design flaw? (And just for the record, contrary to my older and wiser sister’s advice, the firm application of #2 sand paper does not remove those pesky freckles!)

And furthermore, how in the world did I get this figure? Sure, as a teenager I was skinny at 105 pounds, but I wanted to be “straight” and skinny, not have all of these curves. I recall my mom telling me that somehow I went from a stick figure overnight to a curvaceous but skinny eight year old. But by the time I was a teenager in the 70’s, the hour-glass figure of Marilyn Monroe was no longer in vogue, and the lean, sleek (emaciated) bodies of runway models graced the teeny-bopper magazines. Surely David Cassidy and Bobby Sherman only liked the paper-thin models, not girls like me who were shaped like the figure 8 Hotwheels racetrack!

You get the picture. We females are never satisfied! We say to ourselves, “If only I had this body,” or “If only I had that personality, then life would be perfect!” But what happens when “perceived perfection” collides with our “perceived imperfection”? It’s a disharmonic convergence of catastrophic proportions, and it sends even grown women running in every direction begging for help. (I know this because I just watched an infomercial on cable and saw it with my own eyes!!)

For instance, as I sit reading the morning paper with my turbo-charged 1.75 powered reading glasses, I discover that Botox is the new drug of the 21^st century. I’ve also determined that as a woman in this century, it apparently is no longer proper nor safe for us to leave our homes without Botox. Heaven forbid that the eyelids of a 51 year old actually look their age! And what if that bagginess interferes with my driving?  And that soft crinkly skin underneath my eyes can be firm and paralyzed, too, with just one shot of Botulism! Yes, we can look like Barbie!

There’s also this new craze among women. Botox parties! What happened to Tupperware? I mean, do I really want to take my wrinkled, puffy eyes, drooping chin, graying hair and show them off to 20 peers? I would rather sit and burp Tupperware; it’s far less painful and only slightly hazardous to the pocket-book.

Speaking of puffy eyes, I recall visiting a department store’s cosmetic counter when the young 19 year-old girl behind the counter offered her expert opinion. “You know, you can get rid of that puffiness under your eyes with this eye-firming cream,” she sympathetically informed me. I’m not certain whether my mouth dropped open or not, but at 30 years of age, I was a bit offended. I wanted to shout… “That puffiness is from working 18 hour days!” However, restraint prevailed.  Being a very mature Christian, albeit with slightly puffy eyes, I don’t believe I flew over the counter in a rage, as I relied upon the restraint of the Holy Spirit. But I do remember walking out of that store having purchased that miracle anti-puffy, anti-aging, anti-Christ eye cream!

The latest craze are designer jean parties! I’ve been invited to many of these, and while I’m thankful that I’m included on the invitation list, I don’t think they would like a crying, screaming 51 year old woman shamelessly trying to fit into their tiny jeans. I can’t wear designer jeans anymore! When I go into a dressing room and try on clothes, it is an extremely personal experience. The weeping and gnashing of teeth is best done in the privacy of my own bedroom, thank you very much!

And so goes the timeless struggle of the women. Our perception of “perfection” has been written by magazine editors who employ the miracles of PhotoShop to create their perfect world. Let’s start a revolution and insist to our world that we were created in God’s image. And He, my friend,  is perfect!

In the Beginning

I'm certain that God created laughter from the beginning... maybe it happened when Adam looked at a gray gargantuan creature with a long hose-like nose and tried to name it!  I'm not sure when humor entered this world, but at some point Adam discovered laughter. Hopefully it wasn't when Eve asked him, "Does this fig leaf make me look fat?"

God created joy! Considering the person I am today, it is strange to think that I was a pretty serious, deep-thinking kid... but at some point in life, the laughter erupted.

Life is intense at times and often far too serious and we need to let the pressure out. We need to laugh at ourselves and learn to shrug off the strange calamities in life and discover joy! (I still have yet to pass "How Not to Take Yourself So Seriously 101").

This blog will be simple, hopefully funny... but my way of letting some steam out in the form of humorous happenings that possibly emerged out of a bit of pain or utter embarrassment. 

So I invite you to meander with me through my writing collections which I've compiled over the years. From babies... to aging women, and from dealing with my own imperfections... to finding God in the simple things of life... I've enjoyed jotting down some of my favorite stories.

And on the 7th day, God created... laughter! Hopefully you will laugh along with me.