Late yesterday afternoon I was minding my own business, cooking a little supper, thinking about your comments from this post, and the phone rang. I looked at caller ID – not that I’m, you know, a SCREENER or anything (ahem) – and I saw the words “IMP. MESSAGE” and a number.

No way I was answering. I figured the “IMP. MESSAGE” was a candidate who wanted our votes or a telemarketer who had an AMAZING OFFER regarding a home water filtration system. But a few minutes later, to my surprise, I saw the message light blinking on our phone, so I checked our voicemail.

As it turned out, it was SUCH an important message. I can’t even tell you.

Alabama Power wanted us to know that they needed to do some “emergency line maintenance” in our area, and oh, by the way (by the way? BY THE WAY!), we would be losing power at midnight.

Now a lot of y’all know that I do not enjoy the heat. As a result, I do everything I possibly can to avoid the outdoors in the months of July and August unless there is a body of water involved. And I don’t know if you’ve been following the weather here in Alabama, but the temperature has been averaging somewhere around 192 degrees a day with infinity percent humidity. More or less. Our air conditioner runs all day long, and I can honestly say that, if our finances demanded it, I would rather not eat than go without air conditioning. IT IS IMPORTANT TO ME.

So you no doubt understand that being cool is serious business around our house (though only in the literal sense…in the figurative sense, we are the antithesis of cool, the place where cool goes to die). And when I heard the message from the power company, I went into Serious Planning Mode. If the power was going off at midnight, then clearly I would need to immerse myself in a tub of ice cubes by 11 o’clock, at least, in order to significantly lower my body temperature. Because you must trust me when I tell you that even though the temperature in our house might have remained 72 degrees for the duration of the outage, the psychological impact of knowing THERE IS NO AIR would certainly convince me that I was sweltering from the heat of a thousand fiery suns. In fact, when D. came upstairs for supper and I told him of Alabama Power’s “IMP. MESSAGE,” he did a bit of a double-take and said, “WE’LL BURN UP!”

Which is reason #1,784 why we’re married.

Anyway, after supper and bathtime and playtime and email time and comment reading time, I found myself staring 11 o’clock straight in the face, and I hadn’t even had my ice cube bath. So I panicked. Just a little bitty bit. There was so much to be done – not to mention a core body temperature to be lowered. Time was of the essence.

Over the next 60 gloriously air conditioned minutes, I cleaned the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, took a bath (no ice cubes – just cooler water than usual), dried my hair, wrote a comment and published it. Almost as soon as I finished on the computer, the house went black. And the air conditioner stopped. I think I started to sweat instantly.

And as I stumbled around in the dark, the wheels started to come off my un-air conditioned train of thought. What if it wasn’t Alabama Power who called us after all? What if it was a DEN OF THIEVES who left the message as some sort of clever ruse so that they could cut the lines and then burgle and pilfer without arousing suspicion during the “planned” outage? What if I fell asleep and didn’t hear the thieves (clad in black catsuits, skicaps and gloves, no doubt) when they came in the house? And OH MY WORD why didn’t I order one of those little solar fan thingies off of that infomercial? Was it 102 in the house? How was D. even under the covers? Isn’t it possible to smother when there’s absolutely no air circulating?

It was a late night carnival-o-smokin’-hot-fun. That’s what it was.

The power did come back on around 2:30, so I was grateful for that…but air conditioning, how I missed thee. Verily.

Needless to say, tonight I’ll be cranking down that thermostat to the point that my teeth chatter and hopefully getting some, you know, rest.

See y’all tomorrow. :-)

Your comments? On the last post?

Grace in action, my friends.

I told D., as we read through everyone’s remarks last night, that of all the corners of the blogosphere, I think I found the very best one with the very smartest readers. Your comments were intelligent, heartfelt and the epitome of Colossians 4:6: “Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.”

You blessed me.

Also, your song suggestions on the post before that? I may be on iTunes for a solid day. :-)

So, to sum up: thank y’all.

I am grateful.

So a couple of weeks ago I had a conversation with someone who happens to be an educated leader in a major denomination (not mine, but one with which I’m more than a little familiar), and much to my surprise, our discussion got a little, um, lively. It wasn’t tense; it wasn’t hostile; but it was most definitely lively. And I can’t quit thinking about it.

Initially I wasn’t going to post about it because I think the Body is divided enough as it is. In my opinion we do a pretty good job of majoring on the minors, and I’m not really interested in some sort of bloggity showdown about when in the service we should take up the offering or if there should be drums in church or if there should be an altar call every week or every 6th Sunday or not at all. At some point, at least to my simplistic line of thinking, a person has to determine if he or she trusts the leadership in his or her church, and if the answer is yes, well, then, zip it. Last time I checked there were a whole lot of lost people in the world, and participating in or listening to conversations about important theological matters like the cold green beans at Family Night Supper and how if Mrs. So-And-So can’t serve the food HOT, then she need not serve it at all – well, that really doesn’t accomplish very much in terms of furthering the Kingdom.

Maybe I’m wrong. Call me crazy.

I’m not going to re-hash the whole conversation in question because I think it’s unfair to the person on the other side of it. I don’t want to misrepresent anything he said; I don’t want to put words in his mouth; and I don’t want to paint him in a theological corner where he never meant to stand. We only talked for about an hour, and it very well may be that if we had been able to hash out our viewpoints for longer, I would’ve come to a clearer understanding about what he meant. I wish that had been the case, because, honestly, I’m still shaking my head about it all.

D. has been my sounding board for the last week, especially, and I don’t think there’s any angle we haven’t covered. I’ve talked to a couple of friends about it – though not for nearly as long as I have with D. – and we’ve been in agreement. I think that MAY be because we’ve all grown up around pretty similar teachings, and that’s why I’m opening up the discussion here. I guess I’m in need of a little extra iron to sharpen my own.

Anyway, here’s the statement – my statement – that started it all (it’s one that I’ve also written here on the blog in recent weeks):

“God is Sovereign. He knew this would happen and that He would allow it.”

The person I was talking to disagreed with me, essentially saying that there’s a realm of stuff that God just doesn’t mess with. God is present, he said, but accidents happen. If you go stand in the middle of an interstate, odds are you’ll get hit by a car. God gives us free will and we suffer the consequences (and I agree that we have free will, by the way, though I think my take on it is a bit different).

What do you think? And please know – I am NOT trying to create division. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. Is the viewpoint of the person I was talking to commonplace? Am I the odd (wo)man out on this one? I mean, I’m used to being a little more liberal on some issues than many of my denominational counterparts, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more Southern Baptist than I did in the middle of that particular conversation. :-)

And please, go easy on me – and others – in the comments. Grace and mercy should be the order of the day. As always.

I will return to my normal, mildly amusing topics in the next post. I promise. :-)

Last night D. and I were driving home, enjoying the quiet (read: absence of squawking toddler) while listening to a contemporary arrangement of “Fairest Lord Jesus” on the CD player.

I decided right then and there that it is my favorite hymn ever.

Followed closely by “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” and “Holy, Holy, Holy.” Sang that one at church today, as a matter of fact.

Oh! And “It Is Well With My Soul.” I mean, I like all kinds of music – but those old hymns just make me, well, weep. I’m so grateful that I grew up singing them.

And since I’m on the subject of church music, I’ll go ahead and share this: my favorite contemporary Christian song ever is “How Great Is Our God” by Chris Tomlin (Addie is SHOCKED by that – SHOCKED, I tell you). :-) I also think “Untitled Hymn” (“Come To Jesus”) by Chris Rice is gorgeous.

What are your favorites? Old and new? What are the songs that touch you way down deep in your soul?

I can’t wait to read your answers…mainly because I’m curious, but partly because I can make a list of all the stuff I want to download after I see your comments. :-)

Every once in awhile I find myself having very “meta” conversations – usually with D. or Sister – about blogging. The analytical side of me can’t help but wonder what all this bloggy business means. How it’s all going to play out down the road. If it’s a fad or a phenomenon. If we’ll all stick with it, or if one day we’ll look at our computers and think, “Nah. I’m done.”

Honestly, it’s something I think about a good bit, because when I started this blog late last year, I knew that it would enable me to document what was going on with the little man as well as provide me with an outlet for exercising the write-y side of my brain (and I believe that is the official scientific term: “the write-y side”). But what I didn’t know is that the discipline of writing every day (more or less) would change my life. And that I would, you know, make friends. And that people would read what I write. And stuff.

Anyway, last night I had an “anablog” (oh. punny. so very punny.) conversation with my sister, and we got on the subject of Blogher ’06, the big blogger conclave that wrapped up last week. There were around 750 bloggers in attendance – mostly women – and apparently they had panel discussions and got all sorts of freebies and spent a good amount of time meeting and talking with other bloggers. It sounds like it was quite the blogtacular.

But I have to tell you. My initial reaction to something like that? Well, it makes me twitch a little bit. Not so much that you would notice – you might just think I was blinking at irregular intervals – but trust me. It’s a twitch.

Now from what I’ve read, the women who were there had a wonderful time. And when I think about the big fun I had in Savannah with Addie, Lori, Robin and Theresa, I really do “get” why the Blogher convention is successful. It’s nice to put a name with a face, you know? I mean, even though Sarah and I have emailed a bunch and talked on the phone, it would be great to actually see her in person, to do that Universal Girly Greeting where you squeal just a little bit and then completely wrap your arms around someone while simultaneously swaying back and forth. I would totally do that to Sarah if I saw her in person.

And then she would run from me, frightened.

But here’s my fear about big bloggy gatherings – and keep in mind that I’m just thinking out loud, having had no experience at all with Blogher or any other super-organized gathering of Women Who Blog (unless you count supper at my house a couple of weeks ago, when Robin, Theresa and I had QUITE the “panel discussion” while eating chicken and wild rice casserole):

I wonder, once you got above 100 or so participants, if it wouldn’t turn out to be a little like high school. You know what I mean? Like there would be some sort of unspoken hierarchy that would make people a smidge resentful. If it would be clique-ish. If there would be some perceived “popular” crowd.

Because I can’t help but think that if I did in fact travel somewhere to “fellowship” with a huge group of bloggers, I would want the whole thing to be just a hair shy of a lovefest. Happiness all around. Sunshine and rainbows. No dissent amongst the masses. No drama.

This is one area where I’m a bit of an idealist, if you can’t tell.

So here’s what I want to know.

Let’s pretend that there was going to be a gigantor gathering primarily made up of Christian bloggers (I know that not everyone who reads my blog is a Christian – but since I am, that’s what we’re going with for the hypothetical). If time and money were no object, would you want to go? Why?

And if you did go, what in the world would you be hoping to get out of it? Do you think there’s value in rounding up 500 or 600 of your closest Christian bloggy buddies?

Because the optimist in me wants to to think that a gathering of hundreds of bloggers is a way for people to deepen relationships and enhance their mad bloggin’ skillz (and I’m sure that, for many of the women who attended Blogher, it was all that and more)…but the more skeptical side of me thinks I might be a little disillusioned if I saw people being snarky. Or if that whole high school mentality prevailed. Or if it seemed like people were just trying to generate more traffic for their sites.

What do y’all think? Would you go?

And just to be clear: I’m not planning anything. :-) OH SWEET MERCY no. But it does seem like I’m reading more and more about people meeting in real life – in groups of 5, 10, 25, etc. So it seems almost inevitable that Women Bloggers for Jesus ’08 – or something with a name that’s, you know, clever – will happen. Somebody will organize something – sooner as opposed to later, I think.

Thoughts?

I would like to take this opportunity to make an announcement:

I am going to the movies this weekend. AT THE THEATRE (or, as we say in Alabama, “THEEE-ay-tur”).

Oh, never you mind all the bellyaching that I did here. I’m all devil-may-care-ish now. Remember, I DID go grocery shopping without a list earlier this week (I’m ZANY! And WACKY! Practically a PRANKSTER!).

See, what I’ve realized this summer is that I’m the weird one. I’ve listened to many of my friends talk about going to see this movie or that movie; I’ve heard them compare the film version of “The Devil Wears Prada” to the book; I’ve heard them discuss the, um, merits (yeah. that’s it. MERITS.) of Johnny Depp’s performances (yeah. that’s it. PERFORMANCES.) in both installments of “Pirates of the Caribbean.” I’ve listened to them debate if “The Lakehouse” was any good or not.

All that to say: I’ve realized that people do actually go to the picture show, and they do in fact enjoy it.

But me? I’ve just been sitting at home watching re-runs of “Designed to Sell” and “House Hunters.”

So this weekend, after resolving to do better in the cinematic arena, I AM GOING TO THE MOVIES. WITH OTHER GROWN-UPS.

Now lest you harbor any notions that I’m returning to the cinema to see a thoughtful documentary about the plight of free range chickens or a character-driven piece focusing on A Tormented Artist, let me just clarify that there is only one man who could convince me to give up my regular Saturday night festivities of ironing clothes and watching TiVo’d episodes of “The Office” and “Project Runway.”

That man? Mr. Ricky Bobby. (By the way, that’s the third time I’ve linked to The Official Site, so I’m expecting a check from Sony any day now.)

And at least I’m opting for something highbrow where I won’t have to wage cinebattle against teenagers who don’t know how to turn off their cell phones or unruly patrons who talk back to the screen.

Ahem.

By the way, my re-entry into movie-going society is courtesy of Daphne, who has proposed a double-date of sorts on Saturday night since she and her hubby only live about an hour away. And while I have wracked my brain to try to remember the last time that Daph and I double-dated (Octoberfest our sophomore year with Bubba and Bryan, perhaps? No? No. Come to think of it, I’m not sure we have ever double-dated, which might make tomorrow night some form of Couple-y Extravaganza), I AM pretty sure that the last movie we saw together in the theatre was “Beaches,” which makes me feel like I’m approximately NINETY now, and obviously since we were seeing movies about relationships when we were teenagers but are electing to see comedies about, you know, NASCAR in our 30’s, we have grown up a LOT.

Veritable beacons of cinematic maturity, we are.

Daph and her hubby should probably be warned that the last time D. and I went with another couple to the movies, I was pregnant with Alex (I’m telling you – we don’t get out much), and I found myself sitting in “Spider Man” behind about three rows of former students, all of whom DELIGHTED in turning around throughout the movie and saying things like, “Hey! Mrs. H.! Did you SEE that? That was IRONY!”

Or better yet, “OOOOOH! Mrs. H.! SYMBOLISM!”

They were so proud of themselves that I didn’t have the heart to tell them to SHUSH IT, already. :-) Because while I think I succeeded in helping them to understand literary terms, I’d obviously failed miserably at conveying the essentials of movie-watching etiquette. And I think the latter may have been the more important of the two lessons.

So if you happen to be in our local Rave theatre tomorrow night, come find me. I’ll be the nervous woman in “Talladega Nights” who’s hoping beyond all hope that the movie is funny, because if it’s not, I’ll turn into the woman who’s confiscating cell phones and glaring stealthily at all the talky patrons.

I know. I have issues.