Never Clueless

But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light.—1 Peter 2:9 

“I’m surprised you didn’t find the crest,” said high school student Mariah, referencing the pendant necklace borrowed from my colleague for the after-school murder mystery.

“What crest?  Where was it?” cried the students who had just completed the clue-finding circuit.

As leader of the campus ministry, Mariah had orchestrated every last detail of the outreach event and recalled where she had placed it. “In the garbage can in the ladies restroom.”

“The only thing we found in the garbage can was the journal.”

I knew that was true, for I was the one who had RE-placed it there, having rescued it earlier from the custodian’s trash hopper.

A quick check in the restroom confirmed our fears.  The crest was gone.

Battle Scars

He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”—Luke 10:27

It’s been 10 days and they’re still there.  Battle scars, I call them.  One on each wrist.  I had received a call for help from a friend, but before I set out to assist, I checked the oil in my Jeep. The “Add” warning was clearly visible on the dipstick, so I went to the shed to retrieve a quart (or two!) of oil. I reached into the box and searing pain shot into my right wrist.  I cried aloud, as several angry wasps swarmed around me, one becoming entangled in my hair.  I swatted it away, and a second dose of pain shot through my left wrist.  Again I cried aloud and left the shed as quickly as I could before the fury escalated.

I made my way to the house without sustaining another blow and whipped up a remedy of baking soda and water.  I applied the paste to both wrists, and then poured both quarts of oil in the Jeep—enough to register in the “Safe” zone on the dipstick—and was on my way.