Demise of a Salesman

By Emily Parke Chase

The salesman appeared at my home ten minutes before the hour and parked his car behind my own vehicle, preventing any possibility of my escape.  From his trunk, Jim (not his real name) pulled a week’s worth of luggage. The biggest box held a vacuum cleaner. Three other boxes contained miraculous attachments that would turn this machine into the Harry Houdini of housecleaning. As he entered my home, I mentioned that I already owned a Kirby.

“Really? How long have you had it?”   “About ten years.”  “Well, we’ve spent two million dollars improving the machine.”  Jim displays the new attachments, all duplicates of mine which are stored downstairs under a tidy layer of dust.  “Ah, but have you seen this?” He picks up a hard rubber attachment and wrestles it inside out. He works hard to make this process look easy. “Of course, this is new. It becomes softer after a few times. With the blower feature, this attachment can clean out a drain.”  Have I been negligent? Do people vacuum their kitchen drains weekly?  “Can I use it to plunge a clogged toilet?”  “No, if you turned the machine on, water would splash all over you.”  The picture of filth spewing all over me is unpleasant, but wouldn’t a plugged kitchen drain do the same? That drain gums up only when the sink is full of tepid greasy water. This device cost two million dollars and I still have to bail out the sink first?

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Stop. Breathe.

By Jodi Whisenhunt

It’s a beautiful fall afternoon, cool by Texas standards. A misty drizzle spritzes the window while I relax in the recliner and listen to my children’s laughter. When what to my wandering eye should appear, but a miniature sleigh and…Oops! I guess I got too relaxed for a moment.

It’s a rare occurrence these days to have time to daydream. I’m a freelance writer and editor, but I also homeschool my children. School has resumed, as has all the busy-ness that accompanies the season. We have classes, music lessons, dance rehearsals, ball games, church events, and sleepovers. Not to mention deadlines, doctor appointments, Bible studies, and holidays. Complicate matters with each family member’s unique frustration level and nerves can quickly fry.

My daughter tends to be overly dramatic. Why, just today she threw a fit at Academy Sports & Outdoors because she did not get a soccer ball like the one her brother has. Even with Mom and Dad’s assurance of, “Maybe you’ll get one for your birthday,” she insisted she never gets anything she wants and whined and moaned all the way home.

My husband was tempted to react. He sternly reprimanded her a couple times, but then remembered to stop and breathe. Acknowledging her tantrum rewarded her and encouraged her to continue, whereas stopping to breathe allowed Daddy to maintain self-control and assert his authority more effectively.

1 Peter 5:8 (NIV) advises, “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” The enemy prides himself on the inevitable disasters that loom over the most carefully organized schedules and the conflicts that lurk on every page of the calendar.

And so each day, when havoc threatens peaceful productivity: Stop. Breathe. Such restraint improves discipline, both the discipline of our labor and the discipline of daily structure. It curbs anxiety and allows God to order our days. By practicing self-control, we resist our enemy the devil and he flees from us, freeing us to go about our busy-ness in a civilized manner.

The clouds have given way to the setting sun, weaving hues of lavender and azure amid soft pink billows…A Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night! Sorry! I’m getting ahead of myself.

Jodi Whisenhunt and her husband Richard homeschool their three children in McKinney, Texas. Jodi is a freelance writer and editor whose services are available at jodiwhisenhunt.com. She can be reached at jodi.whisenhunt@att.net.

New International Version New Again?

According to a news story I just read, the top-selling Bible in North America will undergo its first revision in over thirty years, modernizing the language in some sections and promising to reopen a contentious debate about changing gender terms in the sacred text.

The New International Version of the Bible will be revised to reflect changes in English usage and advances in Biblical scholarship.  The revision is scheduled to be completed late next year and published in 2011.  The NIV was first published in 1978 and more than 300 million NIV Bibles are in print worldwide; its publishers and distributors say the translation accounts for 30 percent of Bibles sold in North America. 

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Persimmon Pie

A plastic bag full of persimmons appeared at our doorstep while we were out one October morning.  An attached note explained that the bag contained fresh persimmons and that the fruit was sweetest when the skin was slightly wrinkled.  Those wrinkles should have been my first warning.  Never having eaten a persimmon before, I was intrigued by the small round fruits.  How did one prepare them?

I remembered how a newlywed once called my mother for cooking advice.  The woman was having trouble preparing an old family recipe for stewed chicken.  “Mrs. Parke, the recipe says to put the chicken in a kettle, cover with water and simmer for two hours.”  The directions seemed simple enough.  My mother asked what the difficulty was.  “I can’t get the chicken into the kettle.  It won’t go past the spout.”  Suddenly we realized that the young woman was trying to squeeze the chicken into a teakettle!  Now it was my turn to seek advice.  Because my mother was no longer alive, I called an older experienced cook, Ruth, to see if she could suggest a recipe that would use the fruit.  In her eighties, she had a lifetime of wisdom.”  Oh, my husband Bob loved persimmon pie!  He always ordered it whenever we went out!”  Ruth continued, “I’m sure I had a recipe for it once.  I’ll look for it and get back to you.”  The next day Ruth called to say she couldn’t find the recipe.  That should have been my second red flag.  Instead, I pushed ahead.

I typed “persimmon pie recipe” into the search field of the browser on my computer, and sure enough, the browser promptly provided a link to a recipe.  I printed it out and headed to my kitchen.  The recipe called for two cups of persimmon pulp.  There were no directions on how to transform the whole fruit into said pulp, but I washed the fruit, removing the stems and a sharp little thorny stub at the base of each fruit.  Did I need to remove the skins?  The recipe didn’t say.  (Was that yet another red flag waving on the horizon?)  I reasoned, when the whole fruit was only the size of a walnut, what pulp would remain if I tried to remove the skin?  I decided to leave it on.  As I began to mash the fruit into pulp, however, I discovered that each little persimmon contained several large seeds.  Some had as many as five seeds, and by the time I carefully removed these obstacles, what remained in my mixing bowl was something less than the required 2 cups of pulp.  Persevering, I added the remaining list of ingredients – sugar, cornstarch, milk, and an egg.  The result was a mixture that looked like custard with peach-colored flotsam floating on top.  The mix might not be attractive, but it smelled palatable.  I poured the whole business into a fresh unbaked pie crust and tucked it in the oven.  An hour later, the sweet fragrance of persimmons flowed out from my kitchen to the living room where my husband was reading.  We both were anxious to taste the results of my labor.

After allowing the pie to cool, I carefully sliced a piece for each of us and carried it to the table.  How can I describe the flavor of this exotic dessert?  Honestly?  The crust was tender, flaky, and delicious.  The filling?  It was sweet and chewy.  Especially chewy.  Chewy, like caramel-flavored bathing caps.  I called my friend Ruth once again and invited her to come try a piece of my pie.  “Tell me, Ruth,” I asked as we sat at the table, “what was it that your husband liked about persimmon pie?”  My friend smiled.  “Oh, Bob never actually got the pie when he ordered it.  No restaurant ever served it.  He just ordered it to tease the waitress.”  I should have guessed.  Bob was notorious for playing jokes.  When Ruth had told me the day before that she once had a recipe for persimmon pie but could no longer find it, I should have been suspicious.  And now, after tasting my pie, I understood why.  Proverbs 12:11 “A hard-working farmer has plenty to eat, but it is stupid to waste time on useless projects.”  (NLT)

Not To Be Dramatic But…

By Darren Marlar 

One good thing about losing your full-time job is that you suddenly have time to do those things you’ve always wanted to do.  The sad thing about losing your full-time job is that you suddenly have no money to do those things you’ve always wanted to do.  There’s a painful irony for you.  Fortunately, what I wanted to do didn’t require money.  For me, losing my position last week meant I could finally get involved at church, and yesterday I had the opportunity to audition for the drama team.  For those of you who spent all of your time on the football field in high school, I’ll try to clarify.  To audition means to try out.  I had to try out for the drama team.  Fortunately I didn’t have to wear shoulder pads or tight pants.  (Did it never bother you guys that you were wearing the same thing that girls in the 80’s found fashionable for themselves?)

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