A Broken Toe in the Body of Christ

Ow!  I have busted my toe.  Again.

I have a habit of breaking toes.  I seriously can't count how many toes I've broken, but I figure by now I've made it through all ten digits and I'm working my way through them again.  And that other spot on my foot, that would be where a shard of glass punctured my foot.

Don't ask.

I don't know why I have this particular predilection for toe-breaking.  Other people seem to make it through life without ever breaking a single toe.  My feet aren't that enormous, pretty average for someone my height.

I think there are two things that are at the core of the issue.  The first one is the fact that I rarely wear shoes.  The temperate weather here in Orange County makes it tempting to wander around in sandals and at home, I tend to kick them off and walk around in bare feet.  The more I read about my health, especially for people who suffer from chronic pain, the more I realize I have to put shoes back on my feet.  The problem is, I've been out of the shoe habit for so many years, it's really hard to get back into it.

The second issue, and I'm sure the real reason why I keep busting my toes, is that I'm a klutz.  There's really no other reasonable explanation.  Instead of walking around furniture I am constantly testing my super-human abilities to walk through solid objects, but physics keep getting in the way.

Newton's first law of physics states that "Every object (my foot) persists in its state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line unless it is compelled to change that state by forces (a chair) impressed on it."  This and the other laws of physics were discovered in 1687.  I'm pretty sure they were working before Newton, and are firmly set in the universe, yet I have been trying to defy them ever since!

So what does my toe-breaking have to do with the body of Christ?  Paul actually spoke about this very thing in his first letter to the church in Corinth.  Well, he didn't talk about my broken toe or Orange County or Newton and his laws of physics or the fact that I'm a klutz, but he did talk about the body and, well... just read it.

A body isn't just a single part blown up into something huge. It's all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together. If Foot said, "I'm not elegant like Hand, embellished with rings; I guess I don't belong to this body," would that make it so? If Ear said, "I'm not beautiful like Eye, limpid and expressive; I don't deserve a place on the head," would you want to remove it from the body? If the body was all eye, how could it hear? If all ear, how could it smell? As it is, we see that God has carefully placed each part of the body right where he wanted it. 

But I also want you to think about how this keeps your significance from getting blown up into self-importance. For no matter how significant you are, it is only because of what you are a part of. An enormous eye or a gigantic hand wouldn't be a body, but a monster. 

What we have is one body with many parts, each its proper size and in its proper place. No part is important on its own. Can you imagine Eye telling Hand, "Get lost; I don't need you"? Or, Head telling Foot, "You're fired; your job has been phased out"? As a matter of fact, in practice it works the other way—the "lower" the part, the more basic, and therefore necessary. 

You can live without an eye, for instance, but not without a stomach. When it's a part of your own body you are concerned with, it makes no difference whether the part is visible or clothed, higher or lower. You give it dignity and honor just as it is, without comparisons. If anything, you have more concern for the lower parts than the higher. If you had to choose, wouldn't you prefer good digestion to full-bodied hair? 

The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don't, the parts we see and the parts we don't. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance. 

You are Christ's body—that's who you are! You must never forget this. Only as you accept your part of that body does your "part" mean anything.
1 Corinthians 12:14-27 (The Message)

I have to admit, when I read the part about choosing between good digestion and full-bodied hair, I hesitated.  I didn't leap to good digestion.  I like my hair.  I've always had good hair.  I admit it.  I'm vain.  But then, I remembered what it was like when I was really sick and I was consuming vast quantities of pain medications every day.  I will spare you the details, but let me tell you this,  I did not care a whit about my hair, but I was begging the doctor to do something about my gut.

All of this brings me back to my toe.  So little and insignificant, after all, it's my baby toe.  But, it is a gripping toe and an important little toe.  When it is broken I feel it every time I stand up, every time I walk or move.  It is really making it's presence known.

Sometimes I feel like I'm the broken toe in the body of Christ, or maybe the spleen or tibia.  I never feel like I'm the hand or the head or the heart.  Just some minor part that you don't think about until it's broken or hurting.  But, like Paul said, "it is only because of what you are a part of".  Somehow, the Creator makes all these disparate parts work when we submit our parts to him.  And when a part is hurting, broken and wounded, the rest of the body should feel it and tend to it.

I have to accept my part as the body of Christ and not look at it as insignificant.  Every part is important.  I also need to tend to the other parts when I see that they are hurting or wounded.  "If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt and in the healing."

The next time you look at your little toe, remember, you weren't meant to do this on your own.  We are all connected, one part as important as the other.

And I promise, no more pictures of my feet!

God Bless This Mess!

Who are these guys and what are they doing with this china cabinet?

Well, the young man in the red t-shirt is my nephew Jacob and the unseen man on the other end is Josh.  These strong men are moving my full china cabinet from my front room to my kitchen.  That hutch is filled with crystal, silver and china and they picked it up, walked up a step around a corner and into the kitchen, without so much as rattling a dish.  They are my heroes!

Actually, they are just two of a team of heroes that descended upon our house this past Saturday.

It all began a few weeks ago, over iced tea with some friends.  I was bemoaning the state of our front room, formerly our living room, now functioning as our home office.  It had become completely disorganized and was an impossible space to work in on a daily basis, made worse by the fact that our precious pup had ruined the carpet in there.  No amount of carpet cleaning, Febreze or candle burning could mask the odor. 

This is a before shot of the room as we attempted to assess the situation.  Trust me, this picture does not show the mountain of madness lurking behind the camera.  We evaluated the amount of storage (virtually none) and the overabundance of desks (four - why, I'm not sure).  A plan of attack was set for September 18 and last Saturday, the crowd descended on our home.

Following the furniture removal, the next item on the agenda was carpet removal.  This was the moment I had been waiting for.  That carpet was rolled up and out the door in no time at all.  What a relief!  My dear friends had volunteered themselves and their husbands for a Saturday work day at the Rutledge home.  I don't know what their husbands said when they were first volunteered, but they showed up Saturday with work gloves, shop vacs, tools and smiles.

Time for primer. 

I had a border running around the perimeter of the room that I had written with Sharpie.  I love the sentiment, "faith, hope, love", but I'm done with the script border and the color, which I loved when I painted years ago, seems muddy and dark to me now.  On to cleaner and brighter days!

I am loving it more already, and this is just the primer!  These guys got two coats of primer on the walls in no time flat!  Now I have to head to the store and choose just the perfect wall color.

This little front hall almost broke us.  Even though it is a fraction of the size of the living room, it was wallpapered by 'yours truly' with sheet music.  It took every bit of wetting, scraping, clawing, sanding and sheer grit and determination to remove that paper off the wall. 

These three are smiling on the outside, but on the inside they're thinking, "why didn't she just leave the wallpaper alone?"  Are those weapons they're holding?

I have to give a special thanks to my daughter Rachel.  None of this would have been possible without the 'Child Whisperer'.  She allowed moms and dads to work away while her adoring fans followed her around for the day.  Rachel, you rock!

Within a few hours the team cleared the furniture from the room, removed the carpet, gave the room two coats of paint and stripped the wallpaper from the front hall.  I can't even imagine how long it would have taken Steve and I to manage all of that on our own.

Our front room isn't done yet, but it is well on the way, thanks to our fearless volunteers.  We will continue to post pictures, as work progresses.

And...as if the work on the room wasn't enough, this bed has been hanging out on my back porch for months, badly in need of sanding and a coat of paint. 

 Here is the beautiful finished product, ready for Rachel's room.

At our church, we talk a lot about living a life of community and what that really is.

Well, I've shown you what it can be.  It can be getting dirty.  It can be holding a paint brush or a hammer.  It can be showing up for each other.  It can be meeting practical needs.  It can be eating together, laughing together, hanging out together.

I have one last picture to show you.  It's a picture of angels.  I took it at my house last Saturday.

If you've gotten anything at all out of following Christ, if his love has made any difference in your life, if being in a community of the Spirit means anything to you, if you have a heart, if you care— then do me a favor: Agree with each other, love each other, be deep-spirited friends. Don't push your way to the front; don't sweet-talk your way to the top. Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don't be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourselves long enough to lend a helping hand.
Philippians 2:1-4 (MSG)

Alpha Dog

Spoiler Alert!  If you are an animal lover, you may not want to read on.

I'm over my pets.  I am done.  I have never been what you would call an animal lover, more like an animal 'liker'.  Now, I am at a point where I can barely tolerate the beasts.  I know, for some of you who adore all living creatures and bring home every stray, this is hard to read.  There are others of you, however, that are wondering why I ever allowed four-legged creatures into my house in the first place.

The cat came first.  Skipper arrived as a kitten - so cute and black and cuddly.  She grew up.

Now she is confined to my bedroom when she is in the house, well, our room, since I do have a roommate of 29 years.  Why our room, you ask?  I'll get to that later, since it relates to the dog.

Back to the cat.  She curls up in the middle of my our bed and every time I walk in the room talks to me, (yes, that's right, talks) begging for attention, wanting to be scratched, petted or cuddled.  I'm not a petting, cuddling kind of person.  She is getting on my nerves.  To make matters worse, my husband has become a cat person.  Really.

 I came down the hallway the other night and heard him whispering to someone in our bedroom.  "Does that feel good?"  I stopped dead in my tracks.  Who on earth was in there with him?  I turned the corner and there she was, the little tramp, purring so loudly the neighbors could hear, while he scratched her behind the ears.  He never scratches me behind the ears.

He was always so proud of the fact that he was a "dog guy", but now I fear that he will become that crazy cat man you always see on the 6:00 news, with twenty cats and a city ordinance against him.  It's a slippery slope.

Skipper's not satisfied staying in at night either.  She settles in for a while and then, when she's sure that I'm fast asleep, she sits right on top of me meowing until I let her out.  She doesn't bother with her best friend Steve.  He sleeps like a log and only wakes up if the house is on fire.  If I leave her out, she sits right outside our door begging to come in.  She is one fickle cat.

Now, let's deal with the dog.  Even worse than the cat, she is my nemesis.  We got her from a local animal shelter and I felt like we were really doing a good thing, rescuing her.  What was I thinking?  Dogs come with dog hair.  Who knew.

Dog hair ends up everywhere, even places the dog doesn't go.  It is the bane of my existence.  Far worse than dog hair, however, is dog poop and dog pee.  That is the delicate Christian blog way of wording it.  I have other words for it that I won't share with you today but if you happen to be at my house when Casey "has an accident", you may hear those words.  They are angry words that I use when I have had enough of cleaning up after this mangy mutt.

Now, I told you that the cat curls up on my bed, well, the dog sits right in my spot on the sofa.  She sits there and looks up at my as if to say, "What are you gonna do about it?" 

I look right back at her with my best alpha dog face and, needless to say, she moves, leaving her little doggie hairs behind.  We have dog hair removers placed strategically throughout the house.

There's the dog hair, the dog poop, the dog attempts at domination, the dog odor, and of course the constant, relentless, unending chasing of the cat by the dog.  This is why the cat resides in my bedroom.  The dog will not leave her alone.  She lives and breathes to chase that cat.

All of these things are reasons enough to be done with the dog, but the final straw came last week.  I was in the backyard, picking up little doggie treasures from the lawn.  I could see something buried in the dirt.  It was black and I peered closer.  I finally pulled at it and could not believe my eyes.  That crazy dog had buried my bra!  This is the honest to goodness truth.  I decided then and there that my little beagle is a pervert and a thief.  She has to go.

I have calmed down since then and reminded myself that when we brought these little creatures home, we committed to them for life.  My daughters leave hair all over the bathroom floor and I haven't gotten rid of them (yet).  The men in the house are always stealing the remote and I haven't told them to hit the road.  We put up with each other, in spite of the things that drive us crazy.

They're just lucky that they have me.  I'm the only sane one in the house.