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J U LI E ’ S S TO RY - G LI M P S E S O F G O D I N E V E RY DA Y L I F E

2+2=5 SCRIPTURE STUDY

Psalm 101

iMath

PRAYER FOCUS Dear Jesus, Help me to be a person of integrity and to trust you to give me the grace to deal with my weaknesses as well as my strengths. In Jesus’ Name, Amen

My daughter Bronwyn is a full-fledged software-toting, binary-coding computer geek. She can memorize endless strings of numbers and algorhythms. I have trouble remembering what I had for lunch. Bronwyn did have a head start on the math genes. Three of her four grandparents were accountants and generously donated their number prowess to my youngest young’un. I do have a weird knack of memorizing random phone numbers of people I never intend to call. My iPhone keeps track of all my finances, but I never trust its little nano chip security system. Even now some Mac genius is probably hacking into my checking account to purchase the latest version of Guitar Hero. How could I totally miss an aptitude for all things numerical? I hate prime numbers. I love prime rib. I carried my ones but forgot where I put them. The only pi I eye is the pecan pastry I slather with whipped cream after supper. My parents tried to teach me number-crunching as a youngster. Mom started with “this little piggy went to the market” and tried subtracting roast beef from the “little piggy who had none,” but I always ran out of toes. Besides, talking about roast beef made me want to quit counting and start chewing. Daddy had an old-timey calculator that was my toy as a toddler. I pressed the number keys, turned the crank, and little digits appeared at the top bar like cherries on a slot machine. I used the calculator to play the number pads like piano keys. I didn’t care about finding answers, but I did get the urge to play the slots in Vegas.

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Mommy recognized my failure at figures, so she stacked cans of peas, beets and corn, asked me to count each one, and then coached me to determine how many remained when she removed them. We always ended up in a food fight, throwing cans will-nilly. I loved playing vegetable roulette. I hid the peach and pudding cans in case things got ugly. Dad bought me an abacus for my fourth birthday. An abacus is a toy Chinese parents use to teach their tots how to add and subtract. The toy had red wooden balls suspended on a wire so a child could move them back and forth to “add” or “take away.” Kathy thought the red balls were cherries so my abacus ended up in her “stomacus.” Fortunately wood is a great source of fiber and we retrieved the balls, smelly but unscathed, the next morning. My parents were hopeful the school system would provide my much-needed calculation education. Mrs. Chase, the firstgrade bunny class teacher, wrote addition problems on the blackboard. She handed a piece of chalk to each child and instructed them to scrawl the total in front of God and everybody. Every kid scribbled their answer and quickly scrambled back to their seat. I alone remained standing, clueless and humiliated. George, my first-grade flame, saw my dilemma and hurled an eraser at the back of Mrs. Chase’s head. As she scoured the room for the culprit, George saved my bacon by hurriedly writing the cipher on my behalf. I felt so loved-like Cinderella being rescued by Prince Charming from the evil dragon teacher. My math finally improved when I moved on to second grade. Mrs. Olson, my second-grade teacher, was the undisputed coolest teacher in L.O. Donald elementary school. Wispy-thin with a winning smile, Avis Olson was a joy to watch. I listened to her soothing voice even through addition and subtraction. This was no ordinary feat because her competition was dreamy Gary Chutney who sat in front of me. He wore his navy blue Cub Scout suit on Wednesdays, and I never could resist a man in uniform. Gary greased his flat top with Vitalis pomade and the smell wafted sensuously toward my desk. But even Gary Chutney could not rival Mrs. Olson’s creative antics. On Monday mornings, life-sized cardboard cutouts of the Campbell’s soup kids came out of the closet near her desk. Each “kid” held a specific number, and we would add and subtract Campbell’s kids until recess. Later on, when we learned how to “carry our ones,” she hauled out Aunt Jemima to help. My major integer dilemma came when Mrs. Pheobe Carvil, my third-grade math teacher, had a nervous breakdown in October. (I hope I didn’t give it to her.) The frizzy-haired sub, Mr. Dripple, knew less about math than I did. Dripple sat at his desk, picked his toes, and gave us the run of the classroom. We giggled, played tag, chucked erasers, and scraped the desk undersides for leftover Double Bubble. We learned absolutely nothing about multiplication or long division and spent the remainder of the semester in blissful ignorance. (This is the absolute truth.) My come-uppance came during the Iowa tests. These standardized brain-teasers were designed to pigeon-hole people into brainiac and moron classifications. My scores were always the same-99% on the verbal portion, -.0006 on the math portion. My teachers were in a quandary. I was too smart to be held back and too dumb in math to promote. Finally, they realized I was so high maintenance, no teacher wanted to have me more than once. By middle school I developed some rather clever coping mechanisms for my math deficiencies. I asked the teacher so many dumb questions during class that she forgot to give us homework, and I learned how to fake my own death on quiz days. High school math avoidance was much easier. I took so many electives, I didn’t have room for anything in my schedule but algebra and trig. I cuddled up to Jeff, the trigonometry savant and went steady with him until the semester was over. Then I dumped him for Marshall Millsap, the algebra nerd. He tutored me late at night and I traded him smooches for answers. I have since repented in dust and ashes. I do believe I spurred my math tutors to greatness. Dr. Jeff (Toothy) Ferguson became an orthodontist. He counts molars and bicuspids all day and charges an arm and a leg. Dorky Marshall is global vice-president of Chase bank and is happily counting his money in Tahiti. As for me, I majored in music in college. Musicians only have to count to four.

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Psalm 101, a psalm of David, describes a person of integrity, guileless and faithful. Read the psalm carefully and circle the verbs David utilizes. List the character qualities of this “righteous person.” Which qualities do you possess? Which would you like to develop? Read verse 6. Who are the people you know that are good “accountability partners” to keep you on track? If you do not have a spiritual mother or father in your life, as God to bring you one.