The List: Evil Taskmaster or Best Friend Ever?

I hate lists. I have even been accused of fearing lists. Though I realize that a list is nothing but a piece of paper with words on it, words have power. Especially if each word is preceeded by a number, a period and a space. To make a list is to set requirements, either for someone you are in charge of, or for yourself; requirements that the list holder is obliged to either dutifully perform, or slothfully ignore.

List + Holder = Obligation

So, you might say, if there is no list, there are no requirements. Right? Wrong.

That's only how some of us would like to think things are. But the truth is, list or no list, there are things that must be done each day, each week, each month and each year, in order to keep life running smoothly and free of guilt, shame and needless prison sentences. Sample List follows:
1. Do dishes
2. Make bed
3. Get car inspected
4. Pay taxes
5. Feed kids/pets/husband
6. Buy toilet paper, milk, onions
7. Tote barge, lift bail, jump down, turn around, pick bail of cotton (or is that, "pick pail of cotton"?)


Obviously, #7 is where I personally screw it all up. #7 = Bad Attitude.

Instead of seeing The List as the simple tool that it is, I view it as Master. (Surely you have heard of Master List.) Suddenly realizing this, I find myself delving into why I see The List as Master rather than Tool.

Hmm. A mystery to be solved. Shall I make another list?


1. The first person to consider as the possible creator of this unsavory attitude would be dear old mom. ("Poor Mama," I say sympathetically, being a mother, myself. "Isn't everything her fault?") After brief consideration, I can't recall Mama ever making written lists for me. The unwritten Saturday Cleaning List was permanently emblazoned in her brain. She had only one written list. Her annual Christmas Card List. An unassuming, non-threatening, happy list for the even the laziest of list-haters.

2. The next possible source of my bad attitude must be someone who actually makes lists. Aha! (Why didn't I think of this immediately?) I can blame this Anti-List Attitude on my husband, Bill. He loves The List. As a matter of fact, his whole life is ordered by daily lists which pile up in his day planner, upon turned over pages scrawled on yellow legal pads, and scribbled on tiny, torn off scraps of paper on the bedroom dresser until completed. Yep. East of saved receipts and west of a well worn wallet which no longer fully closes, spattered with spare change.
Let me exaggerate...I mean, extrapolate upon the matter. Not only are these Lists long and complex, but they are often accompanied with deadlines which may or may not be invisible. "These things must be done by 10:00 a.m.; these, by noon. In all honesty, however, my hubby's chronic list making habit is hardly the source of my personal angst and defiance towards The List. (Don't tell him, but they may be the only reason things get done around here.)

At this juncture, I can tell that you see right through me, darn it! So I confess!

3. The true reason I hate The List so passionately is simple (and perhaps a little selfish). I'm an artist at the mercy of my own creativity. It ebbs and flows like the tides, only less regularly or predictable. So The List can interrupt my fragile creative flow. Once disturbed, I may never get that moment back again. (Sobs briefly.) This noted, I am learning that a list does not an evil taskmaster make. Instead, a list is a tool worthy of grattitude and admiration. You're no longer slave to the list but master of your world. With trusty list in hand, life can be effecient and managable, even in the wake of unruly creative whims.

Bear with me while I make one last list - a "How to Make a List" list:


1. (Via my friend Betty, of http://www.freekidscrafts.com/) Always make #1 be "make list". Then after the list is completed, you can check #1 off and take a celebratory break.
2. Keep the list brief, so you won't be overwhelmed.
3. Number your list according to priorities, if possible. If not, put a star * beside those things.
4. As things are done, check them off.
5. Put some easy things down so you'll be sure to have some "checks".
6. Remember. Checks are the goal. Get lots of checks.
7. And also remember. If one of those creative moments hits, go with it. The list will still be there when you're done.

Voila! I can now check off "Write About Lists". Really, that wasn't on the list. It was one of my moments. The list is still on the desk at the foot of my silver writing box. It says, "Change Sheets". That's half done. Later, gater. Happy List!

It's Scary Out There!

I feel troubled today, kind of like Mr. Monk whom we all know and love.  I'm feeling a little scared and out of place in this jungle we call home.

This is a crazy world, and growing crazier by the moment. As a matter of fact, it’s getting downright scary. And confusing. So I decided that the best way to comfort myself is to review what I know is true, and pass it on to you.


In my childhood world, right was right and wrong was wrong. It was a simpler time. Things were clear. Of course, I realize in retrospect that there were plenty of things that needed change. Serious things. But I was a child. I was only aware of my little world.

Now things are rapidly changing, and what was right (and should have been) when I was growing up is now becoming wrong. And what was wrong is becoming right. Logic and common sense hardly seem to exist anymore.

That’s why I am keeping my Bible closer these days. When I wake up in the morning, I turn to Psalms and read. Sometimes I copy it down in my own hand. Nothing comforts a troubled soul quite like Psalms.

Believe me, I’m not the “religious” type. I’m more of the rebellious type. If everyone says I should do something or believe a certain way, I ask questions. I reject political correctness. I try to observe only the honest for God’s sake, things that are true.

So, who is this God I talk about? Where does He come from, and how do I know he even exists? I’ve asked myself this many times. One day years ago, I asked God this; where he came from, and who made him. I prayed for him to show me, and then randomly opened my Bible to Exodus 3, the Moses story. I remember thinking, “There’s nothing new in Exodus for me.” I’d been raised on Bible stories, and knew Exodus well. God’s people, the flight from Egypt, crossing the Red Sea. Charleton Heston. (I mean, really.) My eyes went right to Exodus 3: 13-14, where Moses said to God, “…and whom shall I say sent me?” And God said, “I Am that I am. Tell them I Am sent you.”

I am that I am. I understood immediately, just as Moses had. I understood that I will never be able to fully understand this, for in our finite minds, we cannot understand some great things. It is up to us to just accept or reject them.

I can’t say that accepting God is a choice for me. When it comes to living this life fully, I know I can’t do that apart from God. He is my strength and my source, a very present help in times of trouble.

Whew. I feel a little better now.

Blessings, my friend.

deber