Lori Logic

I’m exhausted. I just finished cheering, crying and eating my way through the Super Bowl and the Olympics back-to-back! I started thinking about the training, the dedication, the amazing habits of athletes. My habits are slightly different. Some people call them quirky, maybe even eccentric. I say I'm habitually consistent. In my mind it makes perfect sense to park my car on the same row every single time I go to the mall, no matter how many other spaces are available closer to the door. Using Lori Logic (patent pending), I don’t have to remember anything extra. . . like did I get there in a car? I have a hard enough time just trying to remember why I even went to the mall in the first place. I get side-tracked easily by shiny objects and goodness knows, the mall is a glittering distraction of "play pretties" for a girl with no blinders and even less willpower.

Some people have good healthy habits, like taking vitamins on a regular basis. I routinely take an aspirin before I get to the doctor’s office, because using my Lori Logic, it keeps me from feeling ill when I see a sick person in the waiting room. I have the “gift” of empathy and I can absorb another person’s pain just by looking at the expression on their face. My family will testify that I was not allowed to watch television shows about hospitals as a child. Whenever I did, then the next day I would be convinced I had the same dreaded disease as the television character. My mother would have to scream, "You've never been to Africa and you don't have Malaria, so get up and GO TO SCHOOL!" Now when I take my aspirin I don’t have to remember anything extra. . . like does the person who just sneezed on me have the plague?

'Early to rise' is a habit I did not inherit from my dad. It can’t possibly be good for anyone to be jolted awake by an alarm in the wee hours while it is still dark outside. I take care of myself by rising slowly with the sun much later in the morning. When I am forced to get up early for a flight, I literally sleep in my clothes the night before. Using my Lori Logic, I don’t have to remember anything extra in a groggy stupor. . . like what am I going to wear and more importantly, does it match?

I am actually a very systematic person. I like organization and efficiency. I just have my own personal (or peculiar) style of consistency. It takes a driving discipline to be a world-class athlete. It takes a focused plan to be a success and accomplish goals. The same is true of the inner life. There are spiritual disciplines that deepen my personal commitment to my faith. I take Communion on a regular basis in remembrance that Christ died for my sins. I fast once a year to let the hunger pangs remind me of the sacrifice of faith I should never take for granted. I read the scriptures so the Holy Spirit can speak directly to me, not relying on someone else’s quiet time for inspiration. Then I don’t have to remember anything extra. . . using my Lori Logic, Jesus is more than enough.

Lamebrain Olympics

Every 4 years I catch the Olympic Spirit. I faithfully watch sports I’ve never seen (and some I’ve never even heard of) to cheer on the best-of-the-best athletes in the world. The television commentators suck me in to the drama with their sentimental stories of how participants struggle to get to the Olympic Games. Like the young man who trained 8 to 10 hours a day (whoa, I thought, lounging from my well-worn sofa). He was a strict vegetarian (hmm, wouldn’t last a week in pork-belly Tennessee). He maxed out all his credit cards to pay his expenses (ding-ding! soulmate, I really get this kid). Now I am tearfully glued to every event wondering if my new “twin” will go for the Gold.

I realize it takes a very select group to qualify for the Olympics. There are the Olympic Games, The Special Olympics, so why not open this up to people on the opposite end of the spectrum (like me) and have Lori's Lamebrain Olympics? Let’s face it, I have a lot of experience. I know I can win a Gold Medal in several categories.

MOST RIDICULOUS SKIING TECHNIQUE
QUALIFICATIONS:
Snow Skiing With Boots On Wrong Feet (All Day)
Running late for the shuttle bus, I managed to slap my ski boots on the wrong feet. I knew something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t quite put my finger (or my foot) on exactly what the problem might be. I actually skiied better because instead of my feet sticking out sideways, they pointed inwards with my knees together. It was painful, but that’s what Olympic dreams are made of: agony and ecstasy, Winners and Losers (with a capital L).

WORST OUTFIT FOR A NON-COSTUMED EVENT
QUALIFICATIONS:
Passing Off Pajamas As Party Outfit By Adding A Belt (Futile Attempt)
In my fashion arrogance, I once had a motto called “Put On A Belt, Call It An Outfit”. I thought I could take any drab combination, add a belt and presto, I’m a modeling school candidate (more like a modeling school dropout.) One evening I used my motto to belt my pajamas and wear them to a party. My confidence started to erode when a guy at the party kept yawning at me from across the room. Realizing I was sending the wrong message, I left the party early in a panic, but here's the good news: I was already dressed for sleep.

MOST SOBER YET CONFUSED DRIVER
QUALIFICATIONS:
Driving Wrong Way Up Freeway Ramp (With Sister Screaming)
I try to follow directions closely. When the sign says turn, I turn on the spot. Unfortunately, I turned one turn too soon and drove the wrong way up a freeway ramp with my sister in the floorboard screaming at the top of her lungs. Thank the Lord there were no cars coming toward me and I didn’t have to keep the car on two wheels. I am no longer allowed to drive on unfamiliar freeways (whenever my sister is with me).

MOST INGENIOUS TRAVELER
QUALIFICATIONS:
Wearing Most Extra Clothes On Airplane (Instead Of Checking Luggage)
If you are a regular reader of my blog you know how this story goes. In the Olympics of my life, this one is worth an honorable mention again. The airlines was consistently losing my hideous lime green suitcase so I decided instead of packing my clothes I would try wearing all of them (brilliant, you say). You're right, it was a brilliant plan until I had to run through the airport padded like a polar bear and got all my clothes sweaty before the vacation even started. This event took planning, maneuvering and a little bit of acting skills. I would dare say that no one else has accomplished such a bold plan worthy of a Lamebrain Olympic award.

It has taken me a lifetime of practice and willingness to sacrifice all my dignity to qualify for The Lamebrain Olympics. My saving grace in this category is knowing that even lamebrains are fearfully and wonderfully made by a loving God, according to Psalm 139. We are all part of the body of Christ. Some people may be the muscles, some may be the brains, and others are the funny bone. Maybe I was born without common sense for a reason. God knew me before I was born and designed me with the sole purpose of being my best possible self. Whether I am the most awesome Olympian or the loopiest lamebrain, it won’t change the love God has for me. I was taught to earn a living, earn respect and earn a place in society. The Bible turns that philosophy on its head. I can’t earn—or lose—my place at the feet of the Father's throne. I may never earn any gold medals in this lifetime, but I will see streets of gold in heaven some day. That's a better reward than I can ever hope for here on earth.

Beat The System

I like to think I come up with creative solutions to problems. I like to think that, but then reality sets in. Some of my solutions are crazier than the problems. I've learned the hard way never to blab out how I’m going to “Beat The System.” Whenever I do, then you better beat the streets and run because something stupid is about to go down.

Looking back on my "BTS" philosophy I can see where it rarely worked, not that it ever seemed to stop me from trying. I once had a problem with the airlines consistently losing my luggage. I had to take a teacup-sized plane from Dallas to Abilene every year at Christmastime. The plane was so small there was only a curtain between the passengers and the pilot. I could watch the pilot read a book! And just why was he reading a book anyway? Surely it was not the airplane manual. It definitely wasn’t the luggage-loading manual. Needless to say, that would have been enough to ruin the trip. But there is more to the story. . . .

Like clockwork I landed with the same brain damage, looking for luggage that never arrived and never would. Was the plane too small? Was I too fat? Were the luggage handlers too busy to handle luggage? I tried to imagine the scenario as to why my suitcase was left orphaned in Dallas, waiting to arrive days later by a slow van. I admit it, I had an enormous lime green suit case. It stood out like a screaming neon sign just begging to be mocked and discarded. I could picture the luggage handlers discussing the problem. “Man, these passengers are quite a load. We need to leave off some poor slob’s luggage. . . hmmm. . . just leave behind that hideous lime green one!”

Here comes my "BTS" solution. The next time I flew home I decided to wear as many clothes as I could get on and still be able to walk through the airport with minimal gawking stares. The rest of my clothes were mashed in my small (not green) carryon suitcase. The only problem was that I had to make a tight connection and was forced to run to my gate. . . my gate that was a football field away. By the time I got to my plane I was on fire from running in what felt like a bear suit. I got to my seat and immediately peeled off my layers. Passengers curiously peaked around the seats to see why I had ripped off all those clothes and just what was I left wearing? To add punishment to stupidity, the flight home was the bumpiest I’ve ever experienced. I had to put my fingers in my ears to shut out the sound of people getting ill all around me. I nearly passed out. All I had wanted to do was "Beat The System" but my victory was hollow. I crawled off the plane carrying a bundle of sweaty clothes and looking as lime green as that missing suitcase.

In my experience, any time I try to "Beat The System" it generally turns into "Beat The Stupid." It's all a matter of when and what I am trying to beat. There are some systems of the universe that remain constant. I can jump off a mountain screaming I don’t believe in the law of gravity, but I am still going to hit bottom because the Lord created some systems that are unchangeable. I can say that I don’t believe in the laws of the Bible but if I stray from even one of the basic Ten Commandments, I'm headed for misery. The Lord doesn’t force me to obey His laws or the systems He sets in place in order to live the most fulfilling life. That is one time when I want to "Believe The System" and leave the theatrics for air travel.

In The Name Of Love

Valentine's Day is coming up next weekend which should trigger many memories of sweet romantic stories. Instead what comes to my mind are all the lamebrain things I have done In The Name Of Love. (Thank you, U2.) My dating experiences have required equal amounts of vulnerability and amnesia, with a fair amount of nausea thrown in for good measure. No matter how bad my dating recipes have turned out, I never seem to stop trying to jump, sing or eat my way headlong into romance.

For example, even though I am hysterically afraid of heights, I once jumped into a lake—off a 30-foot cliff—because my love interest jumped first. I hurled myself over the edge shrieking like a banshee and landed with my swimsuit floating around my neck. . . nice visual. I wanted him to be impressed. Oh, he was impressed alright. . . with the girl on shore in the perfect hair and makeup. . . who wasn’t nerve-shattered and nauseated from a near-death experience.

Despite the humiliation, hope seems to spring eternal in me, and once again I found myself drawn to the flame like a moth. One freezing winter night I was invited to go Christmas caroling by a very cute guy. I must've been snow-blinded by stupid love, me thinking it would be a fun adventure, even though only four of us showed up for the big event. We went from house-to-house, me croaking out a pathetic solo while the other three sang so softly even the dogs couldn’t hear them. It was sheer torture. The appeal I had felt for my date went completely flat by the end of that painful performance. Afterwards, I wished it had been a totally silent night.

Following the passage of some time and even some shame-based counseling, I was ready to try again. Perhaps I was overly confident because I actually tried to juggle two dinner dates on the same night. By the time I realized I was headed for a fiasco, it was too late to cancel. I decided I would spare each guy’s feelings by secretly going out with both (yeah right.) Date #1 worked the night shift at a television station, so our early dinner was over by 6 pm. That conveniently worked out in time for me to force down a second meal with date #2. What at first sounded like double-my-fun turned into double-my-heartburn, triple-my-guilt and me still. . . well, single.

I have been willing to do some crazy theatrics to please someone I love but, in all honesty, my basic motivation has been to convince a man to love me. After these painful experiences (disast-o-dates), I think I realize (finally) that true love is giving and not receiving. The things I do for love that matter over the long haul are not how impressed a guy is with me, but what I give of my spirit to him. There is no better description of love than in the Bible: "Love is patient and kind. Love never ends while it bears all things, hopes all things and endures all things." In other Bible words, "The greatest of these is love." Or to quote the late Michael Jackson from the movie, THIS IS IT: "It's all about the L-O-V-E LOVE!"