The Woodwork

In the highest and lowest moments of our life, there is a group that hovers and descends that I like to call the Woodwork. You know them? They like to make appearances at weddings and funerals in particular, I've noticed.


Some people refer to them as haters, and spend lots of time giving them shoutouts on Facebook and Twitter, thanking them and blowing them kisses. Some people threaten them, call them out by name, and cuss them and their mama from here to Sunday. They vow vengeance on their Woodwork/haters, even though I remember a little verse in the Bible that leaves revenge in the hands of our Father. Today I was thinking about something, and God showed me something special about the Woodwork.

Have you ever thought about how people come to be a part of your Woodwork?

Woodwork people are part of your past, usually. They are people who you were once close to, people who once played a consistent, significant role in your life. And due to the circumstances of life and the fragility of human nature, the bond was broken, you went your separate ways. And they became a part of your Woodwork.

You don't talk, but somehow they always know what's going on with you. It's irritating! But it is a reality for almost everyone.

Like or not, you need your Woodwork. They keep you humble, and they never let you forget where you came from.

Be kind to your Woodwork folks. They forever float on the outskirts of our lives, never able to be fully in your life or out of it. They only come out when they think it is safe to be in your world again. And you will never know how they may suffer.

You never know, one day God may work them out of the wood.

Foot Fetish

It was early September, and still warm enough to wear sandals. I was strolling through the suburban general store, also known as Wal-Mart, looking for shampoo or something.

When he showed up.

He didn't just walk up to me, he did one of those stalker moves. He slowly peeked his head around the corner to the aisle where I was, and started cheesing really hard.

I tried to pretend I didn't see him, but that didn't last long. I glanced at him and looked back at the bottle of Suave I was holding. He must have taken that for a green light, because suddenly the rest of his body appeared in the aisle to join his head.

HIM: "Uh, hi."

ME: "Hi." I began scrutinizing the ingredients of the bottle. Water, Aloe extract, stearamidopropyl PG-dimonium chloride phosphate...what the devil do they put in this stuff??

I chanced a quick look up to see if old boy had gotten the hint.

He hadn't. 

I noticed though, that he wasn't staring into my eyes and trying to look seductive or irresistable.

Nope...he was actually staring at my feet.

HIM: "My name is Ty." 

ME: "Hi, Ty." Sodium lauryl sulfate, methylisothiazolinone...

HIM: "I just couldn't help coming over here, because you're pretty."

ME: "Oh, thank you."

HIM: "I also see you just got your feet done. Looks nice, REAL nice."

Hold up.

Uh.........did he just lick his lips when he said that??

I'll spare you the rest of the conversation, but I promise you old boy spent the rest of that little chat talking to my FEET. He told them about his budding military career, and how he was looking to settle down in the area and could he hit me up?

Sorry Ty... my feet are spoken for.

For real though. Can somebody explain to me what was up with that?

 

♥Tiarra♥