Slightly Irregular

By Darren Marlar –

Hey, congratulate me… I just turned forty! (Two years ago.)

They say life begins at forty. Turns out they lied. As soon as I turned forty I started losing my hair (finding it on my butt).

I’m near-sighted and far-sighted. I’ve got eyebrows that look like tree branches. I have psoriasis on my cheeks (both sets). I’ve got high blood pressure, high cholesterol, acid reflux, hemorrhoids, irritable bowel syndrome, a toenail that looks like a Frito…

And my friends wonder why I get cranky? Really? How can you not be in a bad mood with irritable bowel syndrome? It’s right there in the name!

“How are you feeling?”

“Irritable!”

I’m both near-sighted and far-sighted. That means I can’t see things far away and I can’t see things up close. Isn’t that just blind? If you want to have a face-to-face conversation with me you have to be exactly three paces away.

As for losing my hair, I don’t think they should call it hair loss. That kinda makes it sound like it’s your fault that it’s gone, doesn’t it? Like somehow you’ve misplaced it? “Honey – have you seen my hair?! Well, it was right here on the back of the toilet lid!”

I see TV commercials promising a full head of hair – but then I see the side effects. Bad breath, body odor, tongue fungus. I saw this TV commercial that said, “Is Benephyne right for you? Ask your doctor.” But they didn’t say what Benephyne was for. It MIGHT be for hair loss, but it might be for excessive belly-button lint or elephantitis of the arm pits.

So I was at the doctor’s office and I asked, “Is Benaphyne right for me?”

“Well, Darren,” he said, “that’d be a question for your gynecologist.” So I have an appointment next Tuesday.

My mom says I’m “slightly irregular.” What she means is I’m not perfect. I wish she’d just say “not perfect,” because “slightly irregular” makes it sound like you’ve got a colon problem. Slightly irregular sounds like you’re seventy-percent off on the clearance rack.

But we’re all slightly irregular… and still, God has a plan for you anyway. We tend to think of ourselves as puzzle pieces: irregularly shaped with odd markings. Some of us, such as myself, are morbidly obese puzzle pieces. Painted pale. (If I was any whiter I’d be clear.) Puzzle pieces with no perceivable talents other than making people laugh and patronizing restaurants with all-you-can-eat buffets.

Others are smaller pieces, with different attributes, skills, and talents. But we are all equally important to completing the puzzle. No matter what the picture on the puzzle, the entire thing is worthless if even a single piece is missing, right?

God takes us, in the exact form we are, places us into the puzzle, and it turns out we aren’t slightly irregular. We’re perfectly irregular! We fit exactly into the hole God placed us in. We were perfectly shaped after all!

In fact, no other person who ever lived before you or who will ever live after you can fill that hole in the universe as perfectly as YOU can. That’s why God created YOU. He loves YOU that much. YOU are that important to HIS ultimate plan.

Jeremiah 1:5 says, “I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb… Before you were born I set you apart.” Do you know what that means? Even before you were conceived, God knew one day you’d be slightly irregular! He knew you would eventually become torn, ripped, ruffled and stained. But His stains cover yours, making you brand NEW.

And that’s something to remember the next time you feel out of place or useless. Or the next time you’re doing a puzzle. Or the next time your mother calls you names.

Mysterious Maladies

By Emily Parke Chase –

My toddler woke up with small red blotches covering his chest. Measles? An allergic reaction to a food? Poison ivy? What caused this mysterious rash? I wasn’t sure but my son was scratching vigorously.

We headed to the doctor’s office in search of answers. Entering the room, wearing his white lab coat, the doctor exuded an air of authority. He scrutinized each spot and asked a few questions. Then he pronounced his solemn diagnosis: “erythemia punctalis.”

My knowledge of Latin is limited but it was sufficient to translate this brilliant piece of medical insight. My son had “red itchy spots.” For this wisdom I could now proceed to the check-out desk and render up a co-pay. The spots disappeared on their own several days later.

Fast forward through twenty-three years of scientific research and medical advances.

One day earlier this winter, my son discovered that his torso was again covered with red itchy spots. He observed them over several days. They did not spread. But they did not go away. They itched and distracted my son whenever he wore a shirt.

Once again my son headed to the doctor’s examination room. Once again, an all-wise physician entered, exuding confidence.

My son removed his shirt to reveal the full extent of the rash. The doctor hemmed and hawed. He peered at the back and walked around to the front. With a sagacious nod of his head, he helpfully announced, “It’s pityriasis rosea.”

That is Latin for “inflammatory skin rash.”

“And what caused the rash?” my son asked.

“We don’t know what causes it.”

“How did I get it?”

“We don’t know. It is not contagious.”

“So it’s a mystery?”

“Oh, no. It is not a mystery. It’s pityriasis rosea.”

“But no one knows how I got it.”

“Right. It just happens to some people when they become young adults.”

“So it is a mystery.”

“No, no. I tell you it is pityriasis rosea.”

“How long will I have it?”

“No one can say. It might go away in a few days. It might last six weeks. It might come back again. No one knows.”

“So it really is a mystery, right?”

The doctor shook his head vigorously. “No, no! I told you it was pityriasis rosea.”

The wise physician removed his latex gloves, jotted a note on my son’s chart and walked out of the room.

And my son? He put on his shirt, picked up his paperwork and headed to the check-out desk to pay his bill. His rash cleared up after a few more weeks of therapeutic scratching.

Medicine with or without Latin — it’s a mystery.

“Laughter is good medicine for the soul” (Proverbs 17:22, paraphrased).

(The only thing contagious about this author is her sense of humor. Visit her at emilychase.com to learn about her books, such as Help! My Family’s Messed Up!)

Learning New Ways to Listen

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

I guess I got too good at tuning things out, so God turned off my left ear. I’m hoping it’s temporary, but for the last three months my hearing has been lopsided.

I’ve had concerns for quite some time actually. My ears just don’t work as well as they used to. Often I need to lean in, tilt my head and squint my eyes—yes, that helps—when someone speaks to me. And even then, sometimes I receive the wrong words. Why, not long ago, my husband was conversing with a friend about taking a two-week trip on tandems (bicycles). I heard, “We’ll be traveling twelve days on camels.” Yeah, that’s a little different!

Reduced hearing is hereditary on my father’s side of the family. I remember a time my family visited Niagara Falls with my grandparents. We had spent the day on the Canadian side of the Falls, where my stepmom had purchased candlesticks. Well, Grandpa, whose ears had long before been turned off, was really nervous about crossing back into the States, because he didn’t want to check those gifts through customs. When he stopped the car at the gate, he expected the guard to ask about our purchases. But the guard instead asked, “Did you enjoy your time in Canada?” Grandpa quickly answered, “Oh, just a little candy!” Fortunately for us, the officer had a sense of humor.

So what happened to my ears? Well, to be completely honest, I lived life my way. I made some decisions I thought were alright with God, despite the fact I never truly had peace about them. I marched forward anyway thinking it was an opportunity of a lifetime. I thought surely since the door had been opened I was meant to walk through.

But not all open doors are held by the hand of God.

I’m not saying God physically punished me for disobedience, although He is capable of such things. He did, however, allow certain consequences to occur in response to my lack of faithfulness.

So I am learning new ways to listen:
1) I am attentive to God’s voice. I make conscious effort to hear Him speak. And He almost never shouts.
2) I request discernment. I want to hear His voice and none other. The voice of truth, not of deceit.
3) I get Satan behind me. “Resist the devil and he will flee from you” (James 4:7, NIV). Satan is “a stumbling block to me,” so with Jesus’ help I send him away (Matthew 16:23, NIV).
4) I get myself behind me. Personal pride just trips me up. “…not my will but yours be done” (Luke 22:42, NIV).
5) I obey. I repent and ask forgiveness and then I DO. “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves” (James 1:22, NKJV).

When it comes to hearing the Lord’s instruction, jumbled reception is not a laughing matter. Romans 10:17 (NKJV) tells us how it works: “So then faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.”

My ear will heal, be it now or when I get home to heaven. In the meantime, I will listen intently.

The Untrodden Path

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

A little cat and his friend Dog set out on an adventure. To and fro and here and there they went about exploring. They marveled at the nooks and crooks and creeks and streams of the forest and the wood. Then roundabout a tree they paused as Dog exclaimed, “Footprints!” On close exam the two agreed the steps would lead them north.

So north the two friends trekked following the tracks. A curve ahead and to the right. Again a curve and right. “Egads!” shrieked Dog. Now on the path where had been one were marked two paw prints more.

North again walked the two friends. Again a curve and right. Once more a curve and right. “Gasp! My-my!” said the little cat, for instead of three trails, they found five.

Yes, north again, a curve and to the right. Round and round and round they went til more tracks were found than they could count. No ground was gained as on they walked and tired they became.

Upon the ground the two friends sat to rest and ponder plans. “Say,” said the cat to his friend Dog, “those tracks look much like mine.”

“And mine beside,” replied the dog, much to her surprise.

The tale turns, when following one’s own footsteps one neither leads nor follows, as the little cat and his friend Dog discovered on their quest.

So the little cat and his friend Dog left the beaten path. South this time and to the left where few before had trod. A happy end to this close draws: They walked the straight and narrow and were lost no more, but found.

“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it’” (Isaiah 30:21).

What Do You Mean My Comic Books Aren’t Tax Deductible?

By Darren Marlar –

The worst thing about being broke? Tax time. There’s nothing worse than seeing how worthless of a person you are… to the exact nickel.

Remember the scene in Star Wars where the Millennium Falcon jumped to light speed and all of the stars came rushing at them? That’s how doing taxes feels to me – but instead of stars, it’s numbers and letters… and IRS agents.  Instead of the Millenium Falcon it’s the kitchen table.  And my wife is Chewbacca (unless she’s reading this, then she’s Princess Leia).

I see all of those numbers flying at me – 1099, W2, W4, 1040, 1040EZ, WD-40, V8, B4… YOU SANK MY BATTLESHIP!

Tax time actually feels, well… taxing.  It’s the only time of the year you’re forced to literally use “deductive” reasoning. And in order to get all of your deductions you have to ask for a receipt every time you buy something. How is that good for the planet? How many forests have we mowed down because we were given a receipt at the car wash?  Sure, I’d like to save the rainforests, but there is no way I’m not claiming a deduction on that Biggie Dr. Pepper I bought in Dubuque.  That was a business trip.

If you buy something to use on the job, it’s tax deductible – so from now on, everything I buy, no matter how mundane, I’m going to use it on the job. In the middle of my comedy shows I’ll pull out last week’s grocery list: eggs, bacon, Preparation-H, big bag of Baby Ruths…

What’s deductible for stand-up comedians? Watermelons and sledgehammers? Rubber chickens? If I put down my occupation as “stand-up comedian” will the IRS take any of my deductions seriously? I can imagine that audit. “You’re deducting Preparation-H? Tell us that joke, Mr. Funny Man!” When is the last time you met anyone who works at the IRS that had a sense of humor?  I’m pretty sure they find IRS agents by looking over the resumes of former DMV workers who were fired for not having enough personality.

I envy parents at tax time, because they have kids.  That means they can celebrate “Dependents Day.” Children: they are little tax deductions. We don’t have kids – just a picture on our fridge of a poor Guatemalan kid.  But he doesn’t count because he’s not “related.”  Whatever.  I guess I won’t even bother asking about my cat then.

I know they’re past due, but I’m not done with my taxes yet. In fact, I avoid doing them as long as I can – everything comes first. I’ll trim my toenails. I’ll trim my wife’s toenails. I’ll organize the sock drawer.  Do you have any idea how awkward it is trying to explain to your neighbors why you’re organizing their sock drawer?

I don’t wait to file my extension – I filed mine the day after Christmas. Why do today what you can put off until Cinco de Mayo? I know I’m not Mexican, but if it gets me out of doing taxes until Kwanza, I’m good to go.

Heck, I’d claim to be Amish if it got me out of filling out a 1040 form. I could be an Amish comedian.

“How many Amish does it take to change a light bulb?”  “What’s a light bulb?”

“You might be Amish: if you ever asked the question, ‘Does this shade of black make me look fat?’”

But no – the Amish pay taxes too.  I checked.  I don’t know why I’m making a big deal out of this.  After all, I only made fifty-two dollars last year.

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