Welcome to the Funny Farm by Karen Scalf Linamen Page B

believer of many decades and not have learned really basic stuff, like the fact that relationships are to be cherished. Possible to have gone to church for a lot of years, but still have the naivete of a baby Christian, without any of the wisdom that tends to accompany spiritual laugh lines, hot flashes, and age spots.
    Growing older is guaranteed.
    Growing spiritually is a choice.
    Are we growing spiritually?
    What milestones should we look for?
    Let’s think back to when we were new believers. Think about how often we prayed, the kinds of sermons and teaching we digested, how hungry we were to read God’s Word, the temptations we were struggling against. Then think about our lives today. If we can’t see a lot of progress, we may be caught in a time warp: We may be forty-year-old Christians in diapers.
    Of course, spiritual growth, just like physical growth, has one prerequisite: Before you can grow, you have to be born.
    If you’re not growing spiritually, is it because you’ve yet to be birthed into the family of God? If so, this is a great time for a birthday. A spiritual birthday. Talk to a pastor or a friend who attends church and tell them you’re ready for a new life with Jesus. Or e-mail me and let’s talk. Either way, time’s short. We’re not getting any younger, you and I. No use being spiritual embryos when Jesus desires to give us a full and abundant life!
    So let’s grow.
    Good-bye baby teeth, hello molars.
    The stud in the tongue is optional.

29

    C’mon In, the Water’s Fine
    W E ’ RE APPROACHING BATHING SUIT SEASON.
    I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so shockingly blunt. I should have broken the bad news gently.
    But it’s not like we’re not thinking about it already.
    I’ve already passed racks of bathing suits in the stores and moaned.
    I’ve already gotten bathing suit catalogs in the mail and rolled my eyes.
    But it’s unavoidable. Here it’s June and school’s out and my kids are already begging to go to the city pool. What’s worse, I’m going to have to go shopping for a new suit because the last one I bought was during the Nixon administration and it’s beginning to show some wear. (The suit, not the Nixon administration.)
    The good news is that there are swimsuits these days designed to hide problem areas. There are skirts to hide tummies. Vertical stripes to slenderize. Bras with water-filled cups to maximize certain assets, and spandex bottom-control panels to minimize others.
    I keep waiting for a suit with long sleeves.
    Or maybe some flesh-colored elastic leggings to smooth out the fat deposits above my knees.
    But really, I don’t know what’s worse. Wearing a suit that isn’t flattering but is still tolerable enough to justify the expenditure of forty to eighty bucks . . . or the trauma of trying on three dozen suits that make me look horrible just to find the one that makes me look merely dumpy and unattractive.
    Actually, I’ve been thinking about the folks who design department store dressing rooms. Obviously these folks are men. I say this because they’re under the misconception that women in department store dressing rooms really want to know what they look like.
    Based on this assumption, these men equip dressing rooms with bright lights and real mirrors (as opposed to candlelight and concave mirrors that take ten pounds off a woman right from the start).
    I’m not saying that the men who design dressing rooms should be deceptive. I’m not saying that they should lie to us.
    In fact, as far as I’m concerned, they can post a disclaimer right there in the dressing room, that says “Objects in mirror are larger than they appear.”
    We won’t care. We already know the truth. We’ll just be grateful not to have to look at every pound of it.
    The truth is, I’d love to love my body.
    I’d love to feel comfortable with the skin