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!"

Talk About A Snow Job

I woke up to a soft blanket of glittery white covering everything in sight. . . Nashville's most beautiful snowfall in years. I immediately took Chopper outside, who used his snout like a snowplow to eat his way through the yard. I found an undisturbed place on the deck where I could gather up the cleanest snow, free of dirt and twigs (or worse), to make my favorite treat: snow ice cream. It all brought back so many warm memories of cold winter days from my youth.

Where my sisters and I grew up in West Texas, the landscape was as flat as a pancake. Whenever it snowed, we had to go to the closest overpass just to find a slope steep enough for us to sled. But with no real hills for sledding, nobody had a real sled either. So the older neighborhood boys improvised one by tying a rope to their Jeep and dragging us around on a trash can lid. . . through traffic! Why we didn't get flattened dead like roadrunners I'll never know. I guess the boys—and us girls too—thought because we were young, we were also invincible. Our parents sure didn’t know about our death-defying adventures. To cover up the truth (and to keep from getting grounded) we told them we were out building snowmen for kids who couldn’t go outside because they were too sickly. Talk about a snow job.

Other times my sisters, my friends and I would hide in the bushes and throw snowballs at passing cars in hopes that they would chase us. As little girls we knew if a car actually stopped, all we had to do was start crying and they wouldn’t tell on us. Talk about a snow job.

The best time for our snowball fights was right after the holidays. All the old Christmas trees were left in the alleys. We would gather up as many as we could find to build forts, using them as our shields. It was all-out war. If anyone asked what we were doing with the trees we would say we were stacking them up to help the trash man. Oh boy, talk about a snow job.

As kids, we got away with quite a few snow jobs. All in good fun, or so we told ourselves. Today I see it more from a heavenly perspective: the innocence of youth as fresh as newly fallen snow, each of us as unique as snowflakes, all drifting our own way in and through the storms. . . those that came and those still yet to come. Like a pure white blanket, Jesus covers our dirt-filled imperfections until we're sparkly clean and all the more beautiful to view. Talk about a snow job! How grateful I am for a forgiving snowfall, grateful for how it covers everything (past, present and future), and most grateful to the One who sends it.

Lost Cat, No Tail

Okay, I admit it: I have absolutely no sense of direction. Some would say it’s because I have no sense at all. I get disoriented quite easily and quite often. I once looped around a drive-thru restaurant and got lost by the time I came out the other side. Then I drove in the wrong direction for thirty miles before I figured out my error. From now on, should I ever get stranded on some deserted highway, I'll be more prepared. I'll put on a few extra pounds so I can survive by living off my fat and always carry a backup supply of emergency snacks. I may forget to bring the maps but I'll never forget the treats.

All my hours spent wandering around aimlessly has given me a heart for the lost. . . literally. The other day when I was walking my dog Chopper I saw this sign posted on the mailboxes:

Lost Cat, No Tail
Missing Tag
Friendly

My first thought was, ‘I need to let everyone know that Chopper had nothing to do with the loss of the tail.' I wondered just how many flyers I would have to write that on! And for the record, Chopper had nothing to do with the cat being M.I.A. He doesn’t have to eat cats: we have those emergency snacks. I must confess, I have eaten his treats by mistake and I'm sure they could hold us over during a starvation situation or a snow day, but they definitely need more sugar.

My second thought was, 'How would I be described if I got lost?' (or should I say when I get lost?)

Lost Redhead, No Tale
Missing Eyebrow
Friendly Unless Provoked (Easily Provoked)

What if I were only described by what I lacked? Hmmm, like my self-control over cheese, my ability to resist a sale, and my not-so-common sense. Yikes. Not to mention how I fall short on patience, kindness, and faithfulness. Whoa, that is harsh. If I want to be described any better than that, I'll need to fast forward to the last impression I leave and work backwards from that.

I'm learning that the best way to produce the fruits of the Spirit in my life is to begin cultivating them in my heart. If I am filled with the fertile soil of love then I truly will be known as loving, and not just in name. What is lost can be found. The end result is a new heart and a new sign:

Found Redhead, New Tale
Still Missing Eyebrow
Friendly, Less Easily Provoked

I Wish I Hadn't Done THAT

Life is good news and bad news, hilarity and heartbreak, love and loss all back-to-back. I like to blend mine into a swirl that makes me so dizzy I have to laugh. If I can snicker at my lamebrain disasters, then you can too. . . but please join me in laughter only and not the disaster!

I started this new year with a list of ways I would be positive and work extra hard to become the best possible version of myself. As a reminder NOT to repeat my mistakes of yesteryear, I thought it might be helpful to make a list of ways I wish I hadn't fallen, tripped or smashed regrettably into impossible situations. So here are my very own Lori Stories, a/k/a Top Ten Mistakes Not To Make:

1. I wish I hadn’t gnawed a big bite out of the Communion bread by mistake, sneaked it back to my seat and eaten the whole loaf in a panic, bringing Communion to a screeching halt.

2. I wish I hadn’t used a razor to do a tweezer’s job, leaving me with one eyebrow shaved off and forcing me to draw it back on for the next three months.

3. I wish I hadn’t eaten the entire case of candy Red Hots I bought off the Internet, giving me a hideous body rash. . . not to mention packing on five extra pounds.

4. I wish I hadn’t done that body builder’s workout, adding an extra inch to my neck and losing a whole inch off my bust.

5. I wish I hadn’t yelled, “DROP IT MONKEYBOY” when my dog ran off with my socks at the exact same time the garbage man was lifting my trash out of the can. . . and me lamely muttering, “You know I LOVE monkeys??” (Trash man not amused.)

6. I wish I hadn’t dyed my hair all white (by mistake of course), then correcting it to bright Bozo orange. . . trying four more times to fix it until entire chunks of hair broke off at the scalp.

7. I wish I hadn’t gone skiing without lessons, wearing my ski boots on the wrong feet ALL day long. . . in front of friends who never seem to forget anything (and tell everything).

8. I wish I hadn’t worn a tight skirt to the mall. . . with toilet paper hanging down my back like a tail, then waved at people on the escalator who tried to point out the problem (me thinking everybody sure is friendly today).

9. I wish I hadn’t fallen into a manhole, landing on a water meter and then hobbled home. . . dragging one bloody leg like the Bride of Frankenstein.

10. I wish I hadn’t hung up on The White House back when I was a receptionist (thinking it was a prank) saying, “Right, we’re too busy, call back later.”

It sure is encouraging to know that happiness follows suffering after awhile. It even says so in Scripture: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” I cling to that one, laughing and learning along the way. Just so you know how these disasters turned out: the rash cleared up (eventually), the eyebrow and bald spots grew in (finally), the wounds healed (more or less) and The White House did call back (and I didn't get fired!)

It's taken awhile for me to see the humor in my mistakes, but sometimes I wish these stories just weren't true. Imagine what it's like for me to wake up in a cold sweat, only to realize the dream I was dreaming was actually real? Yeah real funny, as long as you don't mind being a one-eyed, orange-haired, rash-ridden girl with her boots on the wrong feet.

Monkeyboy

Words are so very powerful. You can encourage, elevate and enlighten with a single statement. They can also be used in the negative to devastate, discourage and destroy. And sometimes words are used by a lamebrain to set off a mind-boggling sequence of events without any intention or forethought. If you've followed any of my previous escapades, it’s not hard to figure out what category I fall into.

A perfect example would be the day that my dog Chopper ran off with my freshly washed socks. I chased him outside and around the backyard. Chopper thought we were playing a game of tag and (as usual) I was “IT.” The closer I would get the faster the little chimp would run, giggling with his eyes, taunting me in his game of chase. I finally lost my patience after a few dizzying rounds through the patio furniture and yelled out, “DROP IT MONKEYBOY!!!” Unfortunately at the very moment the words left my mouth, in perfect timing like a synchronized swimmer, the trashman was lifting the garbage bag out of my can. I was totally unprepared to deal with the fact that the trashman would think I was yelling at him! We all froze like, well...like monkeys. In my state of shock the only thing I could think to say with a weak little smile was, “I like monkeys??” He was not amused. I couldn't stop to explain myself any further when I had a sock thief to catch.

I wanted to make up for my outburst. I tried to think of a note I could write: “Dear Sir: you are not a monkey. You are more like a bear.” Hmmm, I’m pretty sure that was a compliment but it was just too weird. My second attempt: “Dear Sir: You are doing a great job. I was not yelling at you, I was yelling at my dog.” Nope, I sounded like a crazy lady who yells at sweet little puppies. Instead I decided to try and encourage him the next time he came to my house with a wave, a thumbs up and cheerful chant of “Nice work!” The following week he transferred out of my neighborhood.

After that day I started to think about the consequences of a single statement. Words should not pop out of my mouth randomly like candy from a gumball machine. Psalm 19:14 says “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in Your sight. Oh Lord, my Strength and My Redeemer." That says a lot. Meditate on things that are positive, healing and encouraging. Then when the words roll out from the overflow of the heart they are words that bring life and love. I’m a bit more cautious with words now, at least as far as how I use them in my neighborhood. Our mailman’s nickname is Rabbit, but you'll never hear me calling him that!

Creature Comforts

I felt a twinge of sadness this week as I remembered my mother on what would have been her 77th birthday. Even though her passing was 23 years ago, I still miss her all the time. I especially feel her presence at Christmastime. I remember one year when I was a little girl Santa brought me a large wooden dog that walked when you pulled it on a string. The next morning my mother discovered that I had put Santa's gift in the bed to sleep with me. It wasn't exactly comfy—actually it was downright painful—but I wanted to be as close as I could get to my new little friend. Why my parents didn't give me a stuffed animal after that I'll never know.

Yesterday I was so happy to receive a special Christmas surprise from a friend who must really know me. It was a basket filled with wonderful and interesting treasures. The one item that couldn't escape my attention was the cutest little sock monkey which I promptly named Joaquin (seemed like the perfect name to me.) It's funny how receiving something like this transported me immediately back to my childhood. Last night at bedtime I wanted to put the whole basket in the bed with me, just like I did with that wooden dog. (One thing I have learned as a grown-up is not to sleep on hard objects. It can leave a scar, poke an eye out or heaven forbid, create a new wrinkle.) I opted to let the sock monkey—sweet little Joaquin—sleep in the big bed with me and my real-life dog Chopper (strategically on opposite sides of course). I think my mother would have smiled to see that I am still that same little wide-eyed girl with special gifts tucked beside her in bed.

Every year I share the holidays with people I love, creating new memories. I hope I never stop enjoying the gifts of Christmas with childlike wonder. It still amazes me how God uses events of the present to trigger memories from the past, especially those feelings of home that remain in my heart no matter where I am. I may be a grown woman (no snarky remarks please) but I will always be somebody’s child. I was blest with earthly parents who set my heart in motion and a Heavenly Father who will carry me through my days. . .and a sock monkey to remind me not to take myself too seriously.

Happy YOU Year

Every year I pick only one New Year’s Resolution to follow because that way I have to do it. It hangs over me like a cranky schoolmarm ready to guilt trip me if I get out of line. One year I resolved to lose weight, which thankfully, I did! However, I forgot to add the most important part of the phrase: Lose weight AND don’t GAIN weight (which I also did.) By the end of the year I had gained 25 pounds, AND lost 26 pounds which technically kept my resolution and the inner schoolmarm away from emotional eating binges.

The next year I was walking around saying, “I just wish someone would help me come up with a good resolution because poor little ole me is just too tired and uninspired to think of anything.” Then it hit me: I resolve not to be SO manipulative! It worked out well because I had the word SO in the statement to cover me in case I had to weasel my way through an emergency. An emergency like asking the question: “Does this outfit make me look fat?”…which is followed either by a compliment or by finding a new friend… an easy-to-manipulate, complimentary new friend.

This year I resolve to follow what Jesus called the most important commandments: To love God with all your heart and love others as yourself. I am calling it Happy YOU Year. I will say to myself every day: YOU will be the best possible version of yourself. YOU will love more, give more and be more this year. YOU will be the finest possible representative of Christ wherever you are. This year I want to celebrate Jesus all year long. This year will be less about me and more about YOU, dear Lord.