Coffee CubBuster

When I was preparing to take the SAT for the second time my junior year of high school, I was a bit anxious about the section on analogies. Now I'm not sure if the current standardized college preparatory exam still incorporates this section or not, but I always dreaded these uncommon comparisons. I figured if I was going to claim a greater appreciation for English and potentially hold a degree in the practice, I needed to uphold a certain level of analogical intelligence. I couldn't help but criticize the questions back in the day because I felt they were irrelevant and subjective. Like most things though, my gratitude grew with my age. There are certainly many issues with our constant desire to compare, but analogies bridge a gap between generational concepts, cultural norms, and language variations. Comparing two seemingly unrelated topics while highlighting their similarities helps depict a more vivid point. I personally create analogies on a semi-regular basis in order to...

Besides making sure coffee has begun its aromatic brewing process, one of the first things I do in the morning is put the dishes away that have sat overnight in the drying rack, which happens to be right next to the coffee pot.  I can't help it, they are in my line of site as I pour my gift into a cup. As a human being, I thrive best when I can start the day with a little order. In my home, everything has a place, and even if things get crazily out of order throughout the day, I at least like to start and end the day with organization. I was genetically predisposed to love categories, definitions, and metaphoric boxes. I hate clutter and love neatness. Thanks momma. There may be cobwebs on all my baseboards and sticky crumbs scattered in kitchen corners, but as long as it looks relatively neat, I feel a little more peaceful. Yet, this love of boxes limits me when it comes to understanding the creativity of my Creator. God doesn't fit into a box or a mold. God chooses things th...

"It isn't what we say or think that defines us, but what we do" (Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility ).  Recently I was preparing a wonderfully warm bubble bath for two of my three dirty boys when my eldest walked up with his matter-of-fact face and asserted, "mommy, I'm tired of you and daddy always saying things to me." Before I let out the laughter bubbling up in my belly, I calmly asked, "What sort of things?" Silas said, "I don't know, but you tell me a lot of things, and I just want to play and do what I want." Ohhhhhhhh..... I'm glad we got that straightened out! I proceeded to explain that his daddy and I were equally as tired of repeating ourselves and "talking" to him all the time, so if he would simply learn to obey our requests the first time they are stated, then he wouldn't have to hear us  "say things" all the time. After the laughter stopped ringing in my own ears, I realized that my son ...