Fried like a worm on a summer sidewalk.

You just can’t convince me that all of these worms were suicidal. What could make a worm so miserable, so disenchanted with their existence, so despairing of all hope? Bad soil? Lawn mowers? Post-sprinkler bird attacks?

No. I refuse to believe that any worm wakes up (assuming worms sleep) plotting his own demise. So there’s another reason for this large number of barbecued annelids. My guess is that they didn’t know what hit them: they slowly crawled in the wrong direction, disregarding the buddy rule and heedless to the heat and exposure of their path. Theirs is not a pretty death. They’re permanently mashed into the sidewalk, flattened beyond a relative’s recognition by a post-mortem shoe or tire.

Perhaps these fried worms aspired to be the first in their community to make it across the sidewalk alive. Or perhaps they were blissfully ignorant, or curious, or distracted, or negligent. Whatever their reason for being so reckless, they caught fire before they could turn and save themselves.

On a hot afternoon walk this past week, I took mercy on a worm writhing in the throes of near-death on the sidewalk—I kicked him back into the grassy lawn from which he came. I guess in a weird way I saw myself in him. Bear with me as I use these fried worms allegorically, but I see a lesson to be learned here. How many times have I made a series of small but bad choices, or even just lost track of where I was and what I was supposed to be doing, only to find myself in sin’s sizzling path?

Our heart naturally leads us off course: it is deceitful above all things and beyond cure (Jeremiah 17:9). Kris Lundgaard writes in The Enemy Within, “Wherever you go, whatever you do, the law of sin is with you step for step—in the best you do, in the worst you do. How often do you think about the fact that you carry around in you a deadly companion?”

The author of Hebrews warns us: “See to it, brothers, that none of you has a sinful, unbelieving heart that turns away from the living God. But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened [or fried or smashed] by sin’s deceitfulness.”

I wonder if the sidewalk worm would ever say with the apostle Paul, “For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” I hate this sidewalk (sin), but here I am, sizzling in its heat!

Oh, but “God is greater than our hearts, and He knows everything” (1 John 3:20)! He has given us His Spirit, His Word, and His Church so that we keep from frying on that sidewalk. “He has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and goodness” (2 Peter 1:3). He has provided us a lush, lavish, beautiful, grassy lawn in Himself—and the more we know and love Him, the more we hate the sidewalk of sin.

Swallow my pride. Grow an apple tree.

Sometimes my pride is so thick, a steak knife couldn’t cut it. It’s all fatty and beefy and saucy and tough. I can’t swallow it, that’s for sure.

It would be fitting and humorous and effective in this blog to share some examples of my pride with you, but… I’m too proud. So I’ll leave you thinking I’m amazing. Likeable. Fun. Godly. Faithful. Successful. Loving. Talented. Worthy of being imitated. Better than you.

Are you still reading?

If there’s even a hint of true humility in me, it’s a work of God Himself. Nothing in me naturally wants to look out for your needs before mine. Not one iota of my flesh desires to reveal how inherently, disgustingly sinful I really am. And it is not easy for me to bow to God’s will above my own. I was born thinking that my way is best, I know what’s best, and I am the best.

Oh, but there is a cure for pride like mine. And it ain’t a bigger knife.

The ultimate remedy for our sinful condition is Jesus Christ and His death and resurrection. But God didn’t stop at the empty tomb. That would have been more than enough, more than we deserve (since we deserve hell); but He is so good to us that He promises to finish the work He began—conforming us to be like Him. (And that sounds so “Christianeez,” but becoming more like Him means wholeness and purpose and passion and fullness of joy and true freedom and peace and unbelievable glory and on and on....!!)

I think that one of the greatest of God’s conforming tools is much more painful than that steak knife. It’s the dreaded scalpel of…

Suffering.

John Bunyan put it this way in his Advice to Sufferers: “We also, before the temptation comes, think we can walk upon the sea, but when the winds blow, we feel ourselves begin to sink….And yet doth it yield no good unto us? We could not live without such turnings of the hand of God upon us. We should be overgrown with flesh, if we had not our seasonable winters. It is said that in some countries trees will grow, but will bear no fruit, because there is no winter there.”

My Lord faithfully sends the winds and winters to keep me from thinking that I can walk on water or grow apples on my own tree. I’m not better than anyone else. I’m not impressive or worthy of imitating. I’m not talented or successful. But I am deeply, unconditionally, infinitely loved by the One whose way is best, the One who knows what is best, and the One who IS the Best.

Corner on the Market

I’m happy with my bran muffin and cup of black coffee this morning only because I don’t have a choice. Euro Café looked abysmal, but it was the only breakfast option inside the BWI security checkpoint near Gate C6.

After taking my first bite of said bran muffin (and I use the term “bran” loosely, as it definitely tastes more like a flour-butter-sugar cake with brown food coloring), I realized that Euro Café could serve five-day-old bread crusts with cheap icing and it would still stay in business, with a long line of malnourished travelers—asked to content themselves on miniscule bags of snack mix once en route. Euro Café is just lucky to have a corner on the market, or the competition would surely sink it within a week. (No—make that a day. I just took my first sip of coffee.)

And it strikes me that Jesus, being the Only Option we have for eternal life, could get away with a lot if He so chose. He could slack off or be mean or moody, or just decide to withhold His best and offer a cheap substitute. And He wouldn’t have to give an account to us or justify Himself or answer for the lack thereof because we don’t have any alternative. Want eternal life? You’ve got just one choice.

But instead of cutting corners and leaving us starving, He has given us everything, His very life, so that we could live abundantly. He makes Himself really, really, exceedingly good to us. He says He’s the Only Way and then gives us more in Himself than we can ever imagine or comprehend or fully enjoy. And He’s not good just for that first taste, but He’s also continually, increasingly good, ever surprising us with how great He truly is. I love how Psalm 63:5 puts it: “My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food.”

Our enemy and our flesh quickly deceive us with the classic lie: “God’s trying to cheat you out of something good.” Eve’s not the only one to fall for such a ridiculous lie. If we were completely honest, most of us would admit that we have at times believed God to be chintzy, cheap, withholding what would make us most happy or what seems best for us.

How little we understand about eternal realities. Oh, my soul, you have been given all you need in Christ—and more! “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!” (Psalm 34:8)

Date at dawn

It's 6:01 on Friday morning, and I'm at my neighborhood Panera Bread in the heights of Redlands. These days I get up between 4:30 and 5:00 to make it here by the time the doors open. My Bible and C.S. Lewis' "The Problem of Pain" sit beside my cup of coffee.

There's a group of old men that beats me to the door every morning. (One of them drives a red PT Cruiser and dresses as if he'll be attending the Santa Anita horse races this afternoon. I wonder what he looks like without that hat on.) The men take up the two tables by the door and talk for hours on end.

Another old man sits by himself a few tables away and reads through his Coke-bottle glasses. He carries a manila folder with a big superman-like S drawn on the front. I'd like to know what's in that folder.

Then there's a quiet Asian woman whose hair is always pulled back into a ponytail and who reads her Bible and journals--and then slips out quietly around 6:45. Once or twice a week, six medical doctors convene at the big conference table in the middle of the restaurant. They eat bagels and talk about important stuff.

The classical music doesn't start playing until about 6:15, just about the time one of the Panera employees pulls the cafe umbrellas outside. But I don't think I've ever seen anyone sitting outside this early in the morning. It's too cold. Too dark.

Of all the Panera regulars, my two favorites are about to walk through the door: two Redlands High girls whom I became friends with in this corner of the restaurant last Monday morning. I wonder if any of the students at our school would, of their own volition, get up and go sit at a coffee shop at 6:30 in the morning?

The periwinkle sky has just caught my eye, and it looks like the midnight's lighthearted storm left behind some billowy remains. It's beautiful. Everything is wet and cloudy and peaceful. Just what my heart needs before my day full of responsibilities that far exceed my capabilities.

Which is why my favorite part of Panera is the part that's unseen and indescribable. Unbeknownst to everyone around me, there's someone else at my table with me. I walk in here every morning in desperate need of more than just coffee. (Although that's pretty important, too.) I need Him. His words. His truth. His hope. His wisdom. I need to lay my day before Him and ask Him for His strength and joy.

And He gives it in abundance. He's not stingy or aloof or grumpy. He's eager to accomplish His purposes in and through me--if I'll only let Him, ask Him, wait for Him to do just that.

I want to be a regular with Jesus. I want to know what He's like and what He's up to each day. I want to sit and observe and listen and learn. And then do. I want to go from here and obey what He's spoken to my heart.

Thank You, Lord, for this little corner. This healing place. This daily cup of joy...

Twelve Beans and the Shining Man (Part IV)

And then four things happened all at once. Colette suddenly felt exhausted; the sky grew ominously black; the weeping willow tree withered; and a beautiful woman dressed in white and carrying a small black box stood before her.

The woman was stunning. More beautiful than any woman Colette had ever seen, even among princesses and queens. And yet she was old. Old and wrinkled, with white hair and sparkling eyes and skin that seemed to be ablaze. Which made her beauty almost terrifying to Colette.

The sky was so low and dark that Colette felt she could reach up and touch the storm clouds with her hands. And she would have done just that, had she not been so very, very exhausted.

The beautiful woman took a step closer to Colette and looked at her with those eyes that sparkled. Like the diamond bean sparkled, thought Colette.

“You ate the beans?”

It wasn’t really a question. The woman was both accusatory and compassionate, disappointed and hopeful. Either because of her fatigue or fear, Colette could not answer.

“You ate them?” she pressed.

A long silence. The sparkling eyes would not let go of Colette’s heavy ones. Finally, Colette mumbled, “I heard a voice.”

The black clouds seemed eager to swallow Colette.

“A voice?”

“Yes. No, no—a hiss,” Colette stammered. “It told me to eat the beans.”

The beauty leaned close, cupped Colette’s face in her aged hands, and whispered with diamond tears in her eyes, “And for that, you will lose everything.”

Then in one graceful movement, she beckoned the weeping willow come back to life, removed from her neck a silver chain that held a small silver spade, and placed the black box and spade necklace into Colette’s right hand.

To be continued...

Twelve Beans and the Shining Man (Parts I, II, III)

It was once believed that deep, deep in the wooded hills of Camberly, grew twelve magical beans—beans that would instantly grant ultimate happiness to the one who discovered them.

Many a man, woman, and child had searched tirelessly for the coveted beans, but to no avail. After hundreds of years of futile searching, the beans finally became legend and the hills in turn became lonely and forgotten, overgrown with vegetation and populated by a handful of strange folk.

Once upon a time, the Lord and Lady Locklear of Camberly gave birth to a baby girl, bestowing upon her the name Colette. She was a headstrong and willful child, given to passionate bouts and tantrums, creative deceptions, and strong desires. Nothing could satisfy her, no one could please her, and she grew into a spoiled young woman of sixteen. In their utter exasperation, the Lord and Lady sent Colette away to live in the hills of Camberly with an old aunt who cared nothing at all for the child but who promised to cure her of all vain and selfish ambition.

Colette hated the aunt, her humble home and simple lifestyle, and the wooded hills—which seemed to her the worst of prisons. Gone were the days of galas and gallantry, suitors and society. Here in the hills were hard work and tedious hours of listening to the strange aunt talk and sing—mostly about beans. Twelve stupid beans, thought Colette. Beans that would grant happiness to lonely, quirky, old deluded ladies who had nothing else to dream about.

It was only on her long walks after supper each day that Colette felt free from the aunt’s strangeness and chores and suffocating little house and—beans. Her daily walks took her deeper and deeper into the wooded hills, and Colette hoped with all her might to find an opening in the dense brush—an opening that would lead her back home, or perhaps to another lovely place full of princes and pampering, leaving this prison far behind her.

One day, on one of these walks, Colette stumbled upon a little clearing and a perfectly stone-paved path that ran up the side of a very steep hill. The path was as treacherous as it was steep, but it was beautiful—over-canopied with white trees and lined with ivy and daffodils, honeysuckles and tulips. Beside it ran a clear stream that tinkled like a million tiny bells. Colette had never seen anything so lovely. Surely she had stepped into the pages of a storybook.

She decided to make the climb, but as she took her first step, a sparkling object at her feet caught her attention. There before her grew a plant with heart-shaped leaves and—Colette sucked in her breath as she counted—one… four… seven… yes, twelve beans dangling in webby pods of silver.

(Now at this point in most fairytales, Colette’s character would undoubtedly have experienced great joy over finding the legendary magical beans and immediately reached out to retrieve them. But in Colette’s case, as she had never known anything outside of the realm of the explainable, the reasonable, the material, the spoiled, she was really quite terrified at her first introduction to magic.)

Colette’s heart beat fast as she knelt down beside the plant, and her hands trembled as she reached a finger out to touch the silvery, webby pod. It would have felt slightly sticky to the touch, but it dissolved too quickly for Colette to notice. The pod disappeared and the first bean fell to the ground.

Colette blinked at its brilliant color. Then she looked around, half-expecting the color to have awakened the beans’ long-lost treasure-seekers. Nothing happened, and no one appeared; yet Colette was keenly aware of another presence; she had sensed it immediately upon her discovery of the bean plant. A chill ran up her spine. But the beans beckoned, and she reached again to grasp a second. The pod again dissolved, but this time Colette was ready—and she caught a radiantly white bean in her still-trembling hand. The third bean was black; the fourth and fifth candescently orange; the sixth was as a mirror; the seventh, eighth and ninth constantly changed colors; the tenth was deep purple; the eleventh was a red so red it hurt her eyes; and the twelfth was as a diamond.

Perhaps this was the first time Colette had ever found herself at a loss for words. And it was certainly the first time she had ever felt terrified, fearful for her very life. She knew she had stumbled upon the aunt’s twelve magic beans—and the greatest hidden treasure of all time. But being the vain and self-absorbed girl she was, Colette found comfort in her fear by the conviction that she, of all people, was the only rightful, worthy finder of such a treasure.

Again she looked around, and then tiptoeing—as if to elude an unseen predator—Colette took refuge under a white weeping willow tree that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The branches hung large and low, and Colette felt a small sense of security in its cover. Now what? she pondered as she stared unflinchingly at her coveted beans.

And then a small tune, a tune she had considered irritating and ridiculous only hours before, began to play in her head. It was the voice of the aunt singing…

Indescribable and white,
These beans will grant you fullest life.
Black protects you from all harm,
Orange brings wealth; purple charm.
Mirror, mirror in a bean:
Beauty rarely to be seen.
Multicolored boldest beans
Fulfill your deepest lifelong dreams.
Red brings honor, value, worth.
Diamonds are true love on earth.

Colette had forgotten all fears now, and in uncontained excitement, she jumped to her feet and began to dance and sing the song of the beans.

And then, just as suddenly, she stopped to hear another tune play in her head—a tune the aunt had sung in a low, foreboding tone.

Twelve beans, once found
Bury deeply in the ground.
Climb the path, watch and wait.
A guide, a guard, a gift of fate.
Go in haste; don’t hesitate!

Colette’s countenance clouded over as a storm, and she proudly declared aloud to willow and stream that she would never dream of burying such beans. What a waste! The writer of that song was bitter and jealous because she couldn’t find the beans herself! Bury the beans! What utter nonsense! However, despite her confident rejection of the song’s directive, Colette felt unsure of what to do. How should she enact the beans’ magical powers?

As she sat staring and contemplating, a small voice hissed at her from deep within the willow tree: “Eat the beans.”

“Eat the beans?” she asked in trepidation.

There was no answer to her question. Colette looked from willowy branch to weeping limb, but no voice nor body was to be found.

Eat the beans… It was true that eating them made much more sense than burying them. But how could she be sure? She held a bean to her nose and smelled it.

It smelled better than the best palatial meal she had ever been served as a child. Why, of course she should eat them! Impulsively she stuffed all twelve beans in her mouth, chewed and swallowed in great pleasure and anticipation, and then waited…

I've been thinking about...

...Colette's fate.

...the importance and beauty of being involved in a local church, and being accountable and under authority.

...God's love and purpose for our brokenness and humility.

...how very patient the Lord is with me, as I still wrestle constantly with sin.

...how to find more hours in my day so I can write about what I'm thinking about.

...tomorrow morning's cup of coffee. (Yes, I know I have a problem.)

...the $900 tab to fix my car today.

And so this blog is scanty, but it breaks a two-month hiatus and motivates me to write about my musings in the very near future.

She laughs.

I can be a stresser.

Mostly because I like to have my ducks in a row, be ahead of the curve, give my whole heart to the task at hand, and please everyone. All of which is absolutely impossible and ridiculous with the pace of life we all keep, right? Everyone I talk to is in over their heads right now.

So I want to be like that renowned Proverbs 31 woman, who can laugh at my future (like tomorrow, when my workday starts at 6:45 a.m. and doesn't end till 9:30 p.m., and somehow I'm supposed to be student council advisor, teacher, counselor-administrator, play director, and chaperone, all in one day).

I wrote a poem last May with a message that so many of you friends model for me. I want to learn this!

She laughs.
And all while the papers keep piling,
There’s way too much filing;
Justin stuck gum on his desk.
Her car needs new tires,
A good set of pliers
Would help fix the tub’s leaky mess.
Her phone keeps on ringing;
Tomorrow morning she’s bringing
Juice and bagels for Period 1.
Her love life? You’re kidding.
She’s waiting (though not sitting)
Till God’s Mr. Right comes along.

She laughs.
At the future, the days yet to come.
And she won’t come undone
In the pushing and pulling.
For the secret to laughter,
Is found in the hereafter
And trying to please only One.


Let's laugh hard today!

Every November...

The siblings at our annual Homemade Pumpkin Pie Night last week, taking crazy pictures (with a camera suspended from the ceiling fan) while the three pies baked.

Learning to Love

I’ve had a day of sweet conversations with dear women (my mom this morning; two of my married friends, Emily and Cassandra, over coffee this afternoon; and two single friends, Tiff and Jayna, at my place late tonight). Our talks had very little to do with guys, but they sparked some thoughts which now become tonight’s blog.

How can we single girls love men sincerely and selflessly--in the midst of a sexually saturated and self-absorbed culture?

Now before you read on, please understand: I am no expert in this area of relationships! In fact, I have more questions than ever before. But I have such a desire to learn how to love my brothers in Christ, how to honor God in the midst of the messiness of relationships, and how to live by principle—and not just passion.

So here are a few things that have either helped me along the way or that I still desperately want to learn:

Pursue: sincere love. (“Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart.” 1 Peter 1:22)

Pray: for your brothers’ purity. (If my struggle as a woman is this intense, I can only imagine what guys are going through!) When you see him take that second glance, shoot up a prayer, “Lord, help him right this minute. Give him strength to fight lust and think on what is pure and lovely and right and true…”

Practice: patience. Wait on God, not on a man. We’ll need to do this for the rest of our lives, as wives and mothers too, and today just gives us another opportunity to set our hope on the Lord and wait for His timing and purposes in our lives. (“He acts for those who wait for Him.” Isaiah 64:4)

Promise: nothing—outside of a relationship. Don’t give all your precious time, energy, emotions, physical affections, and daydreams to a man who isn’t interested in you enough to pursue a relationship with you. If he’s not committing, you shouldn’t either. ("Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." Proverbs 4:23)

Privatize: your parts. Girl, your boobs, legs, and butt do not need to be hanging out for anyone but your man! And then, within your marriage, let it all hang out all the time! ("But among you there must not be even a hint of immorality, or of any kind of impurity." Ephesians 5:3)

Purpose: that Christ will be your first love—whether you are single, dating, engaged, or married. No man can or ever will be God. (Let man be man and God be God!)

Provide: a safe place. From your inward motivations to your outward body language, let yourself be a woman who is beautifully safe for a man to know and be around. Are you prodding him on sexually, or are you encouraging him in the Lord? ("But encourage one another...so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness." Hebrews 3:13)

Preach: truth to yourself. Don’t listen to your emotions; command them! (“The heart is deceitful and desperately wicked; who can know it?” Jeremiah 17:9 “…whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and He knows everything.” 1 John 3:20)

Praise: the Lord continually. He gives and He takes away. He is always good, and He knows what He’s doing. And He’s wise enough to not always give us what we think we’ll die without.


Like I said, I am no expert, but boy do I want to learn and live these principles! Wish I could have one more conversation today—with you. I'd love to hear your insights, thoughts, wisdom, feedback…

.

Wrapped around his little finger....

I mean, really--do they get any cuter than this?






(Okay, so my "niece" Claire--my best friend Christy's li'l girl--is a close runner-up.)




And Tuesday I'm off to the high desert to see two more of my beautiful "nephews" (Mike and Lisa Hamel's darlings). I love children so much, and I'm blessed to be an aunt many times over!




(And even if my future children come out looking like bug-eyed sticks [see picture of me below], I will love them with all my heart. I just wish you friends and family would stop setting such unreachably high standards.)

Always keep a sense of humor.

And don't take yourself too seriously.

The power of life and death

Tonight a few Proverbs are faithfully convicting and encouraging me to be careful little tongue, what you say. What I say reveals the condition of my heart, and how I talk about others shows so much of what I believe about God.

If I understand God's forgiveness even in the smallest way, how can I ever criticize or ridicule or talk down about another person?

How can I flatter someone to their face and then turn around to whisper my true feelings behind their back?

How can I share a "prayer request" or "concern" that puts someone else in a bad light?

May my heart be so filled with God's grace and love and truth that my tongue overflows with the same.

"The tongue has the power of life and death." Proverbs 18:21

"He who guards his mouth and his tongue keeps himself from calamity." Proverbs 21:23

"A lying tongue hates those it hurts, and a flattering mouth works ruin." Proverbs 26:28

"Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he hold his tongue." Proverbs 17:28

One of the sweetest gifts I could ever give to a friend is the promise that I will never talk about them in a way that would embarrass, humiliate, criticize, or shame them. If I have a concern, may I always tell them to their face--and not someone else behind their back.

O Lord, guard our mouths. Keep us from words that injure, flatter, and deceive. We are totally incapable of reigning in our tongues, but You love to do the impossible!

Imagine that.

I love acting.

I love opening that new script for the very first time, getting fitted for a costume, and blocking scenes for tedious hours on end. And then there's the adrenaline rush of opening night, the stage lights (which will always hold a certain charming appeal), the forgotten prop, the caked-on make-up, the five-second costume change, the hard-earned audience laughter, and the mic tape on my face.

But what I love most about acting is--the acting. I'm enthralled with becoming another person. It's a mysterious journey that begins with reading my character's lines off a page of the script and ends when I actually embody her--moving and responding and thinking and looking like this total stranger.

Okay, you're judging me now, aren't you? Was it when I said "embody her"? Yes, that's strange, I'll admit. But think about it: When you were little, you could drop to your knees and bark like a dog and chase an imaginary ball, and no one thought twice about it. You became a dog for those few minutes--and it was stinkin' fun!

But somewhere along the line, we all grew up and stopped... imagining. We learned the harder side of life and we learned the danger of being innocent and naive, and in the process we suffocated our imaginations. Being realistic and pragmatic defined our adulthood.

But then, how do we even begin to deal with eternal realities if we can no longer imagine? If experience and reason alone dictate reality, what are we to do with the miraculous, the supernatural, the infinite?

Which is why I love acting. I'm forced to exercise my atrophied imagination, to think outside my little world, to wonder and explore and create to my heart's content.

And in the process, I understand a bit more of what it means to take on another identity. God has given me a perfect script in His holy Scriptures, and He has cast me as His new creation. This righteous creation could not be more different than my old sinful self. For me, the toughest part of acting is to think like another person. It may be easy to act like them, but to think like them? In the same way, it's relatively easy to act like a Christian, but to think like one? To react and respond like one? To have impulses and desires like one? I must let the Author's script and Spirit shape my heart and mind until the new creation upstages the old.

When a director casts me as a penniless widow, well, then--a penniless widow I will be. When my God, Creator, Sustainer, and Lord tells me I am a new creation--well, then, a new creation I will be. I will study the Script, I will think new thoughts, and I will act in obedience for the applause of One great audience.

`

Like mental wallpaper

Thanks to my mom and her faithfulness to post Scriptures all around the house when we were growing up, Zephaniah 3:17 has long been one of my favorite verses. These few words are jam-packed with truths about God's character and who I am in relation to Him. I love it!

My friend David Arevalo and I put the verse to music a few years ago, so we could have it stuck in our heads and hearts. Truth wallpapered on the walls of our minds. Glory oozing out of our pores.

But a little disclaimer: I've had the darndest time trying to upload this thing to Blogger, so the cheesy video clips below are the result of a desperate attempt by a very technically challenged woman. Close your eyes and forgive me, won't you? =)

(And yes, it is silent for the first several seconds...)