Just Between…We?

So, I’m happily reading a blog, I’m editing a fanfic for a fellow writer, or I’m talking to a friend. One trendy eyesore–or earsore, as the case may be–always smacks me in the face.

COMPLETE THIS SENTENCE WITH THE CORRECT PRONOUN:

“She waited for him and ____ to get off the bus.”

A. me
B. I

If you answered ‘I,’ try again.

“She waited for him and me to get off the bus.”

This is correct.

Notice the prepositional phrase ‘for him and me.’ Prepositional phrases have objects. The objects of the preposition ‘for’ are ‘him and me.’ ‘I’ is a subject pronoun, not an object pronoun.

To be certain you are using the correct pronoun, remove the first object of the preposition:

“She waited for ___ to get off the bus.”

You’d say, “She waited for me to get off the bus.” You wouldn’t say, “She waited for I to get off the bus.”

“They went to the party with my husband and I.”

They went to the party with me, not with I.

It sounds so proper, using ‘I,’ I know. The rules of the English language can be confusing, but this one really is logical.

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Too Much Water

The bathroom floor was a pool, and the carpet was matted in the hallway.

“The water is spreading under the bed…”

Water drop animation enhanced small.gif
Water drop animation enhanced small“.
Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

“She used way too much water for her shower, Mom!” complained my daughter about her twin. “The floor is soaked.”

Soaked? The bathroom floor was a pool, and the carpet was matted in the hallway. The imprint of my husband’s shoes tracked a path into the bedroom as he tried to assess the damage. Yes, it was way too much water for a shower.

“The water is spreading under the bed,” Realm observed as we worked to get everything out of the closet that shared a wall with the bathroom. In fact, the water had traveled to the far wall of the bedroom in a matter of hours that spring-like day while we were outside cleaning up the garage and washing the car.

With ten gallon jugs lined up by the toilet, we shut off the water and stayed up late Saturday night, waiting in gratitude for the repairman who brought blowers to dry out the floor and carpet. The wet carpet pad was done for, pulled up, and discarded. We slept to the sound of tornado-force gales swirling round the front bedroom all the night. A commercial de-humidifier sat in the bathroom, a machine capable of drying out the entire house. And it did. In the mornings that followed we woke with sore throats and nose bleeds.

The plumber arrived and removed part of the wall to clamp off the flow to the busted pipe. He finished just in time for Realm to make it to worship services with us.

The wall was patched on Tuesday, only hours after the plumber replaced the pipe that had a one-inch slit punched through it. The patch-up job on the wall was splendid; the leftover paint poured into our green city garbage can wasn’t so much.

The loud fans and dry air we’d endured for four nights were scheduled to go away, but then it was discovered that the porous baseboard in the bathroom had soaked up the water. The soggy boards were ripped away from the wall, and the de-humidifier and one tornado fan remained in the bathroom. We shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief at the relative quiet. At least the grating helicopter sounds throughout that night were muffed by the bathroom door. The walls dried. The machines were removed.

The pulled-up carpet lay flat like a steam-rolled pancake in the hall and bedroom until this morning, when four repairmen entered the house just before 8 o’clock, replaced the carpet pad, and laid the carpet down again. They were gone by 9.

Only the smell of cigarette tar lingers…and the frame and mattresses of the bed stacked against the living room wall…and a whole lot of mess spread out all over the house that needs to be returned to the rescued bedroom.

I have nothing to complain about. We rent. It was all taken care of for us. I’ve thanked God again and again for our fabulous property manager. Ah, the luxuries we enjoy, like running water and quietness and a home with plenty of space.

Endless Love

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the sky of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And ev’ry man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Tho’ stretched from sky to sky.

-Fredrick Martin Lehman, 1917

These lines by Lehman capture my imagination. It’s an incredible analogy–the thought of a sky being a writing pad, the ocean the ink, and the fields filled with quills that, used to their immense capacity, cannot touch the hem of God’s love.

John gave a similar statement at the end of his eyewitness account of Jesus’ life on earth when he wrote, “And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written” (John 21:25). Is John writing in hyperbole? Whether he is or not, his sentiments express the point that God’s Son did so much for us while He was on this earth. And wasn’t God’s greatest act of love sending Jesus?

The magnitude of God’s care and devotion is fathomless, just as His mind and His ways are so far above me. How can I return so great a love? I can’t, but I can open my arms to His love. I can open my mind to His thoughts, which He has had written down for me. His Word has been preserved through generations so that I get to rediscover His plan from the beginning. I can open my heart to His wisdom and His instruction, knowing that He will teach me to walk in His ways. It is no hyperbole to say it will take an eternity to fathom the perfection of His love. Lehman’s lyrics help the writer in me better contemplate that truth.