They Call Me the Oracle!

Serendipity ... Fearlessness!

2012-01-03T09:51:00.005-06:00

If I pay attention, I discover there are a great many things in my life which end up pointing to the same idea - I am not alone in this journey. I generally find myself pleasantly surprised to discover how it all works together - a great life filled with serendipity. Until this morning, I didn't realize how many things that I've encountered, received, read, talked about ... etc., in the last few days worked together to help me find my next steps. Here's what's in my head:

Every blogger likes to write a New Year's blog. It's a time to reflect on the last year and the New Year is a moment in time that inspires us to think and dream about the possibilities of the next year. I have a tendency to rebel against what 'every' other person does, but the thinking and dreaming I've been doing the last few days has overwhelmed me enough that the words rattling in my brain needed to be flung out into the world.

We spent New Year's Eve sharing Christmas with our friends, Leonard and Fran. It's always fun to spend time with those who are close enough to be considered family. One gift I received was a Moleskine journal. Star Wars, no less.

There is actually a Moleskine journal in my purse that I don't use as often as I'd like, but the moment I opened this, I felt as if I needed to find a way to fill the pages as quickly as possible. It's not going to hide in my purse (which is useful when I'm traveling - no complaining here), but sit on my desk and hang out with me and be real to me this year. I intend to have filled it with weird thoughts, ideas, etc., by the end of the year.

Sidebar: When I was thinking about this blogpost, I opened the journal to the back, because I knew I wasn't spelling the word correctly (there's an e on the end of the word - not Moleskin). Much to my surprise, in the back pocked of the journal, I found this!

A mini poster of my very favorite movie of all time. I've never owned a poster of this movie and I've always wanted one. Serendipity? Oh, I think so. I folded it back up and tucked it in the pocket so I can pull it out whenever I want a smile.

Alright, that was my first moment on this path. The second came at lunch with my sister on Sunday. We went to Mama's Pizza - a favorite of mine in Omaha. I had some things I wanted to give her and there was no food in the house, so off we went. We talked about a million things and I have no idea how we got to talking about my life and my next steps, but by the time we left, I had the beginning thoughts of what I wanted to do with myself and how to get it started. Maybe you don't wonder about what you should do with the rest of your life, but I have a hard time capturing what it is that I do best and how to focus that into a lifelong (paying) job. She helped me begin the process. That is huge!

...and that is terrifying. I'm a bit success driven and there couldn't be much worse than failing at that which I love the most. I thought about it and thought about it and didn't sleep as I thought about it and worried about it and then began to get excited and worried at the same time. And it's easier to do nothing because then you don't fail ... on and on and on. (No, I'm not talking about it until I get some more work done towards moving it forward - it's not that big of a deal.)

Last night, one of my favorite singers / authors / all around good guys, Travis Cottrell posted this blog: Fearless Intention. I skimmed through the first part - enjoying the post about his life. Then I got to a paragraph that spoke to my whole being and as I skimmed it, something in my heart shook a little. I went to bed and couldn't get it out of my mind. I came back to it this morning, re read it, then looked at some of the comments. He spoke to a lot of people with these words. We can be so critical, we can be so judgmental and we can be so wrapped up in worrying about others who are critical and judgmental that we stop doing what we are meant to do ... what we are called to do.

These words of his really struck me:

It seems in this blogging / facebooking / tweeting generation, a sense of hyper-criticism has set into our tones. And everything that anybody says is held under such a critical light, it has made me shy away from saying much of anything at all. And before you think I mean that I have not fallen prey to this critical spirit myself, let me say that I have, and that is why I have seen it so clearly. Do people just annoy you sometimes because of what they blog or tweet or say in print somewhere, and you just kind of develop a question in your mind of their character and motives? Yeah, me too. I’ve annoyed myself a thousand times. And I have feared people perceiving me that same way, and so I’ve sort of just shut down.

I hear specific people in my head criticizing or judging me when I write things - so instead of writing, I also shut down. Travis speaks about fearlessness. Moving beyond the fear of that hyper-criticism. Becoming open to the possibilities without regard for the fear. I'm going to try.

And if that wasn't enough, one of my great heroes - Diana Nyad posted this morning that Secret (anti-perspirant - yes - and her supporter) has declared 2012 the Year of Fearlessness.

That was it for me. The moment that I realized how many things had been coming together in the last several days to remind me to move forward in confidence.

Serendipity? Absolutely. Fearlessness? Oh, I'm going to give it my best shot.

Holy Child

2011-12-25T20:20:00.002-06:00

Mom wrote this in 1969 ... much of it continues to apply today! Except maybe the crack about long-haired kids. At least that's one bit of prejudice that isn't quite as prevalent! She definitely gave me my love of words - look how she uses them in this!

Holy Child

Peace on earth! Good will to men!
The sounds ring out with bell-like tone.
Yearly, the tarnished words again
Stand starkly naked . . . alone!

Amid the tinsel, glitter, laughter,
The message of that grown Child
Who spoke of love, peace ever after,
The man who walked the second mile,
Is guiltily hidden deep down
Under mounds of gifts; pushed aside
By fur-clad shoppers who darkly frown
And snatch a bauble with greedy pride.

Peace on earth . . . a hollow joke
to children whose wide dark eyes,
Terror struck at a world blood soaked
Reflect the carnage and the cries.
Mars, god of war, with smoking gun
Stands on the corpse-strewn field.
Discord, his sister, Strife her son,
Triumphantly lift high the shield.

Peace! The lonely cry of long-haired kids,
Plaintive sounds of ancient songs,
Of gentle Friends . . . of Jesus . . . bids
Us hurry to right the devilish wrongs.
The perfect gift cannot be bought,
Nor gaily wrapped, but found again
Within oneself where love has wrought
The miracle: good will to men.

Lion and lamb, white man, black man;
Nations, people, reconciled;
Rejoice and sing, hand in hand,
to us was born that holy Child.

Margie Greenwood
Dec. 13, 1969

Christmas Story - The Little Match-Seller

2011-12-22T20:00:00.000-06:00

Each of these stories told by my father made me cry, year after year. This story destroys me, but I love it. Hans Christian Andersen tells an amazing story and my father related it well.

THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLER
by Hans Christian Andersen

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own. So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had any one given here even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year's eve- yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out-"scratch!" how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. "Some one is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. "Grandmother," cried the little one, "O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree." And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year's sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. "She tried to warm herself," said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.

THE END

Christmas Story - A Song for Elizabeth

2011-12-21T19:00:00.000-06:00

She was old and frail, unable to speak. But to the nurse in this 1979 story, she taught a real lesson about Christmas.

A Song for Elizabeth

December 1995 , Guideposts

by Robin Cole, Veradale, Washington

December snow swept across the parking lot of Crescent Manor Convalescent Home. As the youngest nurse on the staff, I sat with the charge nurse at the North Wing station, staring out the double-glass doors and waiting for the first wave of evening visitors. At the sound of bedroom slippers flapping against bare heels, I turned to see Elizabeth, one of our patients, striding down the corridor.

“Oh, please,” groaned the charge nurse, “not tonight! Not when we’re shorthanded already!”

Rounding the corner, Elizabeth jerked the sash of her tired chenille robe tighter around her skinny waist. We hadn’t combed her hair for a while, and it made a scraggly halo around her wrinkled face.

“Doop doop,” she said, nodding quickly and hurrying on. “Doop doop,” she said to the man in the dayroom slumped in front of the TV, a belt holding him in his wheelchair.

The charge nurse turned to me. “Can you settle her down?”

“Shall I go after her or wait till she comes around again?”

“Just wait. I may need you here before she gets back. She never does any harm. It’s just that ridiculous sound she makes. I wonder if she thinks she’s saying words!”

A group of visitors swept through the front doors. They came in, scraping feet on the rug, shaking snow from their coats, cleaning their glasses. They clustered around the desk, seeking information, and as they did Elizabeth came striding by again. “Doop doop,” she said happily to everyone. I moved out to intercept the purposeful strider.

“Elizabeth,” I said, taking her bony elbow, “I need you to do something for me. Come and sit down and I’ll tell you about it.” I was stalling. This wasn’t anything I had learned in training, but I would think of something.

The charge nurse stared at me and, shaking her head, turned her attention to the group of visitors surrounding the desk. Nobody ever got Elizabeth to do anything. We counted it a good day if we could keep her from pacing the halls.

Elizabeth stopped. She looked into my face with a puzzled frown. “Doop doop,” she said.

I led her to a writing table in the dayroom and found a piece of paper and a pencil.

“Sit down here at the desk, Elizabeth. Write your name for me.”

Her watery eyes grew cloudy. Deep furrows appeared between her brows. She took the stubby pencil in her gnarled hand and held it above the paper. Again and again she looked at the paper and then at me questioningly.

“Here. I’ll write it first, and then you can copy it, okay?”

In large, clear script, I wrote, “Elizabeth Goode.”

“There you are. You stay here and copy that. I’ll be right back.”

At the edge of the dayroom I turned, half expecting to see her following me, but she sat quietly, pencil in hand. The only sound now came from the muffled voices of visitors and their ailing loved ones.

“Elizabeth is writing,” I told the charge nurse. I could hardly believe it.

“Fantastic,” she said calmly. “You’d better not leave her alone for long. We don’t have time to clean pencil marks off the walls tonight.” She turned away, avoiding my eyes. “Oh, I almost forgot—Novak and Sellers both have that rotten flu. They’ll be out all week. Looks like you’ll be working Christmas Eve.” She pulled a metal-backed chart from the file and was suddenly very busy.

I swallowed hard. Until now I had loved my independence, my own small trailer. At 22 I was just out of nurse’s training and on my own. But I had never spent Christmas Eve away from my parents and my brothers. That wasn’t in the picture at all when I moved away from home. I planned to go home for holidays.

Words raced through my head: They’ll go to the candlelight service without me! They’ll read the stories, and I won’t be there to hear! What kind of Christmas can I have in a little trailer with nothing to decorate but a potted fern? How can it be Christmas if I can’t be the first one up to turn on the tree lights? Who’ll make the cocoa for the family?

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. Nodding slowly, I walked toward the dayroom.

Elizabeth sat at the writing table staring down at the paper in front of her. Softly I touched my hand to her fragile shoulder, and she looked up with a smile. She handed me the paper. Under my big, bold writing was a wobbly signature.

“Elizabeth Goode,” it read.

“Doop doop,” said Elizabeth with satisfaction.

Later that night, when all the visitors were gone and the North Wing was dark and silent, I sat with the charge nurse, completing charts. “Do you suppose I could take Elizabeth out tomorrow?” I asked. In good weather, we often took the patients for walks or rides, but I didn’t know about snowy nights. “I’d like to go to Christmas Eve service, and I think she’d like to go with me.”

“Wouldn’t she be a problem? What about the doop doop?”

“I think I can explain it to her. You know, nobody else talks during church, so she’d probably be quiet too. Look how well she did this afternoon when I gave her something to do.”

The charge nurse looked thoughtful. “Things would be a lot easier around here if you did take her. Then you could get her ready for bed when you got back. There’ll be visitors to help with the others, but nobody has been here for Elizabeth in a long time. I’ll ask her doctor for you.”

And so it was that a first-year nurse and a tall, skinny old lady arrived at First Church on Christmas Eve just before the service began. The snow had stopped and the stars were brilliant in the clear, cold sky.

“Now, Elizabeth,” I said, “I don’t know how much you can understand, but listen to me. We’re going in to sit down with the rest of the people. There’ll be music and someone will read. There’ll be kids in costumes too. But we aren’t going to say anything. We’ll stand up when it’s time to sing, and we’ll hold the hymnal together.”

Elizabeth looked grave. “Doop doop,” she said.

Oh, Lord, I hope she understands! I thought. Suppose she gets up and heads down the aisle wishing everyone a doop doop?

I wrapped Elizabeth’s coat and shawl around her and tucked my arm under hers. Together we entered the candlelit church. Elizabeth’s watery old eyes gleamed, and her face crinkled in a smile. But she said nothing.

The choir entered singing. The pastor read the Christmas story from the Bible: “And there were in the same country, shepherds . . . ”

Costumed children took their places at the front of the church—shepherds and wise men, angels and the holy family. Elizabeth watched, but she said nothing. The congregation rose to sing “Joy to the World.” Elizabeth stood, holding the hymnal with me, her mouth closed. The lights in the sanctuary dimmed, and two white-robed angels lit the candelabra. Finally the organ began the introduction to “Silent Night,” and we stood again.

I handed the hymnal to Elizabeth, but she shook her head. A cold dread gathered at the back of my neck. Now what? Would this be the moment when she started wandering down the aisle? I looked at her wrinkled face out of the corner of my eye, trying to guess her thoughts. The singing began. I sang as loudly as I could, hoping to attract Elizabeth’s attention. As I paused for breath, I heard a thin, cracked voice.

“Sleep in heavenly peace,” it sang. “Sleep in heavenly peace.”

Elizabeth! Staring straight ahead, candlelight reflected in her eyes, she was singing the words without consulting the hymnal.

Oh, Lord, forgive me, I prayed. Sometimes I forget. Of course it can be Christmas with only a fern to decorate. Of course it can be Christmas without a tree or the family or cocoa. Christmas is the story of love. It’s the birth of the Son of God, and it can live in the heart and memory of a gray-haired old woman.

“Christ the Savior is born,” sang Elizabeth. “Christ the Savior is born.”

“Merry Christmas, Elizabeth,” I whispered, gently patting her arm.

“Doop doop,” Elizabeth replied contentedly.

Christmas Story - The Gift of the Magi

2011-12-20T21:49:00.003-06:00

My father loved telling stories. There were a few that he used over and over again in his sermons each time we moved to a new community. I grew to know these stories well and looked forward to hearing him tell them again. I have three of them to share with you. Today's story is quite familiar.

The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry

ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY-SEVEN CENTS. THAT WAS ALL. AND SIXTY CENTS of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 Bat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out of the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she cluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One Eight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick" said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 78 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please, God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was with out gloves.

Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet, even after the hardest mental labour.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. I his dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise-shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to {lash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy Your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men-who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Happy Birthday to my Grandfather

2011-10-05T14:25:00.004-05:00

I remember strange things. I say strange, because there is no rhyme or reason to why I remember something. I remember my childhood telephone number, but not the number Carol and I had in our first apartment. I remember my the names of my kindergarten and first grade teachers, but not those of my fourth and fifth grade teachers. I can remember what year all of my grandparents were born, but only one of their birth dates.

Today is the one of those that I remember. My grandfather - James Worden McFarlane. We called him Mac. He was born in 1902 (oh dear, I don't remember what year he died, but it was in the early 80s). This man was nothing other than a character. I feel so badly that I saw him through my mother's eyes rather than the eyes of his friends. Mom was so weary of dealing with his craziness and complete dependence on her that I didn't get a chance to get to know him as an adult. By that time, he was just a needy old man.

He was absolutely brilliant. His father was a professor at Columbia and co-wrote a series of geography textbooks that was used all across the country in the early part of the last century. His mother decided that the easiest way for her to live her life was as an invalid. It was a choice rather than a necessity. She was a little insane. They lived a life filled with excessive wealth - much of his youth was spent travelling through Europe. When the stock market crash came, Mac was out on his own. The family lost their money, but kept their stuff. He married one of his mother's nurses and that turned out to be the worst decision he'd ever made - she was a hag. But, he took care of her all his life. He refused to divorce her, but moved out in the early 60s. They were both happier that way. She still had access to his money, but not his philandering ways (one of his girlfriends taught mom how to drive - she knew them all). He had his freedom and maintained contact with his daughter and grandkids.

He and his brother owned a newspaper in Syracuse, NY. That wasn't enough for Grammy, so he got a job as head of the in-house printing shop for Harvard University and they moved to Boston. They lived in the carriage house on the estate owned by the then treasurer of Harvard and Mac allowed Grammy to live a simulated life of wealth among the upper class.

Mac loved to visit us in small town Iowa. That life was entertaining for him. One year he took a vacation to Hawaii and came back with slides for us to see. In that little parsonage, the only large white space to show the slides was on the shade that covered the front window. We all gathered for an evening of gorgeous pictures. But, that wasn't exactly what Mac had planned. Not only had he shot pictures of scenery, but relatively naked women in Hawaii. All of a sudden Dad gasped and ran outside. Oh yes ... there was mild pornography being shown through the windows of the parsonage. Mac knew exactly what was happening.

I learned about the real Addams family from Mac. Whenever I spent time with him, he pulled out Charles Addams' books. They were filled with images drawn by Charles Addams for the New Yorker magazine. Twisted and bizarre. I loved them.

When I was ten, Mac was living in Iowa. Grammy wanted me to come to Boston for a visit, so Mac drove me in his VW bug. We had a grand time. Mom made him swear that he wouldn't drink while we were on the road, so if we stopped for the night at a hotel, he'd make me promise to tell mom that the drink he'd had was while we were stopped. We stopped to see his brother David and they left me at his brother's apartment while they partied. I have absolutely no idea when they returned the next morning. Those two men really enjoyed having a naive little girl with them. They were hideous flirts and I was simply another offering to the waitresses. We were surrounded by waitresses all evening long. Two good looking older men, spending lots of money and a cute little girl who had NO idea what was happening.

One of my favorite stories was when we were driving through the mountains. We kept seeing signs that said "Watch for Running Deer." Well, Mac decided to entertain himself and told me a story of how there were Indians in the mountains and they had lost one of their young braves. He hadn't been seen for months and months and finally had begged the government to put up signs asking travelers to assist in looking for him. I still didn't understand the joke when we came upon the sign that said, "Watch for Falling Rock." I kept a close eye out as we traveled for those poor lost Indian braves.

There are a lot of stories about Mac ... some I remember, some that others remember. He was a character, though and I wish I'd known him differently than I did. But today I'm thankful for the things I do remember about him - both good and bad. He's part of who I am and that's pretty cool.

Glorious Insignificance

2011-10-03T10:51:00.002-05:00

We got new neighbors at our duplex and the first time I drove into the parking space, I was a little overwhelmed at the HUGE truck. Driving around in my Jeep, I generally feel a little 'on top of the world.' It's a nice sized vehicle and I rarely feel dwarfed unless I'm in the middle of a pack of semis on the interstate. But, this guy's truck totally takes me down a few notches. The thing is, the sensation occurs every time I park next to him. Every time! All of a sudden, I feel very small.

The other morning as I was driving, I had the same sensation, but from a different source. The wind had blown leaves off the tree and those beautifully colored leaves had carpeted the lane and were also floating downstream on the river. The trees on the hillside were changing colors, the cornfields were empty except for what the farmers left in them; in one field cows were munching away. It was too much and my emotions just exploded. I hadn't traveled a mile and had to pull over and just let the tears flow.

Several years ago Louie Giglio spoke at a Passion event on how small we really were. Behind him, slide after slide of incredible pictures from NASA filled the wall. God created those enormous galaxies. This vast universe was created by our God. In the big picture, we're pretty insignificant.

But ... this same creator knows every hair on our heads, every sparrow that falls. He created the intricacies of our bodies and each leaf on every tree. From the vastness of the galaxy to the minutiae of the molecules that make it ... He is aware and He has a plan.

Sometimes people drive big trucks and I feel insignificant. Sometimes I find myself surrounded by glorious beauty and I feel insignificant.

But then I realize that where it really matters, I am unique and a specific part of the plan God has for this world. It might not be a big part, but it is still a part and I am called to do it with everything I am.

What's up?

2011-10-02T11:02:00.002-05:00

I love the idea of taking pictures of Yoda in different venues, but I only remember to take him with me some of the times and when I do toss him into the car, he seems to faceplant more often than not. Poor stuffed Yoda. I didn't take him to the laundromat with me or to the grocery store and both of those places could probably use a little bit of fun with Yoda. I haven't yet figured out how I would explain him sitting in the children's seat of my grocery cart. I'm sure I'd get a lot of funny looks and very few questions. That means that most of the people would simply think I was nuts. (stop it)

This semester I ended up taking only 3 classes. After the intensity of last semester with four classes, two of which were languages, I figured this would be a nice, easy term. I was wrong in so many ways! In fact, I was so wrong that one evening I threw a complete and utter tantrum all over my poor sister. I was just angry. It took me about an hour or so to calm down and realized that I actually HAD signed up for all of this, I just didn't like the way they were presenting it. And ... it was my problem. I calmed down.

I am taking an Introduction to the Old Testament course, which isn't exactly what I expected it to be. But, really ... how in the world do you quickly look at 39 books of the Bible in one semester? I have four fairly intense textbooks and we are moving through them quickly. Is there any particular reason academic writing has to be so darned difficult to read? One of the authors insists on interspersing multiple subordinate clauses in his sentences. By the time I've reached the fifth or sixth comma, I've forgotten the original intent of the sentence, much less the paragraph or chapter. For someone who can finish a novel in a few hours, reading this slowly is frustrating. I can promise you that I'm not actually retaining any more information at this pace than at my regular reading pace!

But the class is introducing me to things that I hadn't seen before and any time I can learn something new, I am happy.

My Christian Formation course is ... well ... hmmm. Interesting will work, I suppose. It really is difficult to be 52 years old, have a lifetime of walking with God, living within the church, acting on God's call in my life and then be treated like a 21 year old who has no idea what is coming in his or her life. God and I have been forming my Christianity for a lot more years than you have been alive, Mr. Teacher.

This week has been a real struggle for me as we have looked at racial divisiveness and I have read posts by white men who refuse to even consider that they might stereotype others or have prejudices. In the same posts, they disdain 'white male privilege' because they've had to work for everything. As soon as that type of intense defensive behavior shows up, they don't understand that they are showing their true belief systems. They are the ones who have been put down by the world ... a world in which someone from another race or culture is given opportunities. It actually broke my heart to read some of that underlying racism and the justification they have for it. These are going to be our future pastors.

The last class I'm taking is Hebrews: Exegesis. For an entire semester we will look at the book of Hebrews in the New Testament. Now, ideally, we would all be well-versed in Biblical Greek, but the truth of the matter is ... we're not. It's a struggle for most of us (me included, and I have had two strong semesters) to move past our English translations of the Bible to looking at the Greek. But the depth of understanding is so profound when it actually happens. There is a lot of work, but I love it.

I can get lost for a long time in reading and trying to comprehend all that the Greek is telling me. I am forced to slowly move through the words - back and forth between translations - to try and understand why an English word was used when it feels as if another would be a better choice. I'm having fun with this class.

At the end of a day of this stuff, I usually feel like Yoda ... I faceplant into my pillow and try to turn it all off.

And now ... I think I've probably avoided my Greek long enough. It's time to go back to work!

Giving Gifts (and a little on the Lion and the Lamb)

2011-09-27T13:34:00.002-05:00

When I turned 50, my family gave me a beautiful piece of artwork entitled "Peace and Love" by Jim Shore. I've always loved the imagery of the lion and the lamb together (long before the Twilight series employed it in books and film).

I wanted it to be from the Isaiah 11:6-9 passage which speaks of the peaceable kingdom, but while the lion and the lamb both exist in that passage, they don't actually come together.

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.
The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox.
The infant will play near the hole of the cobra and the young child put his hand into the viper's nest.
They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.

Where does this imagery actually come from? From my other favorite book of Scripture - Revelation 5:5-6. In this passage, John is weeping because there is no one worthy to open the scroll. An elder stops him and says, "Look the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals." John then goes on to say, "I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne ..."

The Lion and the Lamb are one and the same and are found in the person of Jesus Christ. That's really something amazing!

That's the explanation for my love of this image. However, I'm afraid I went off on a tangent. The purpose of writing this blog was going to be about gift-giving.

You see, my friend Fran, gave me another sculpture of the Lion and Lamb image by the same artist for my birthday. It is gorgeous! I absolutely adore the way the two animals look as if they are whispering to each other.

She gave me some really great gifts for my birthday. I was telling my sister about them and Carol made the comment that Fran really is awesome at giving gifts. It is Fran's love language. Every single gift she gave was something she knew about me and had translated into a gift.

I'm an Iowa Hawkeyes fan and really the only candy I eat any more is m&ms. That translated into this (sans Yoda):

We've enjoyed a few peach bellinis in our dinners out and I received a bottle of wine and a frozen bellini mix. I have to tell you that when I pulled out the wine, she confused me, because I'm really not a big wine drinker and I couldn't believe that she had given me something like that. Then I pulled out the bellini mix and it all came together.

See, the gifts were not about her ... they were what she knew about me.

Sometimes we give gifts because we think someone needs something and don't bother to understand whether they do or not. The gifts are based on our thoughts and desires rather than theirs. Some gifts are giving to bring attention back to the giver, not because it is anything at all the person would use or desire.

Some gifts are given because a friend shares out of their talent or bounty ... that is an entirely different and wonderful type of gift because then I get to learn about the things that you love and I will get a chance to fall in love with that as well. I have a friend here who has given me food from her garden and jars of honey they've harvested. I had no idea they had honeybees, but she exposed me to something glorious!

Gifts that are given heart to heart are gifts that transmit love. Not everyone has gift giving as their love language, but we all have the opportunity to share love through gifts.

Looking for Good Friends, We Are!

2011-09-25T10:25:00.001-05:00

We celebrated a friend's birthday last night and she exudes joy whenever I see her. Tracy fills a room with her joy and laughter and last night she filled a room with her friends so that they could meet each other and understand how important everyone was to her. That was pretty cool. A great way to celebrate a birthday.

As she told us last night about our importance in her life, I was reminded of C.S. Lewis and the importance he placed on his friends ... all of his friends. This is a quote I have published before here and still continues to mean a lot to me.

“In each of my friends there is something that only some other friend can fully bring out,” Lewis wrote. “By myself I am not large enough to call the whole man into activity; I want other lights than my own to show all his facets. Now that Charles is dead, I shall never again see Ronald’s reaction to a specifically Caroline joke. Far from having more of Ronald, having him ‘to myself’ now that Charles is away, I have less of Ronald. Hence true Friendship is the least jealous of loves. Two friends delight to be joined by a third, and three by a fourth … each bringing out all that is best, wisest, or funniest in all the others.”
Christian History Magazine-Issue 88: C.S. Lewis: Pointing People to Reality. 2005. Carol Stream, IL: Christianity Today.

Tracy was completely herself last night because of those people around her that bring out all her facets and make her shine. She was safe and loved and understood and allowed to be whatever it was she wanted to be.

That's true friendship! That's something we all yearn for and desire from the people with whom we surround ourselves. No judgment, no attempts to fix our small inadequacies or blemishes, no worrying over mistakes we have made (or mistakes we will make).

I didn't intend to go down this path, but as I considered it, that's actually the relationship God wants to have with us. He offers us safety and love and understanding and expects us to be what we want to be. He doesn't really worry over the mistakes we make and will make over and over - He accepts us through those thing. The things we consider to be blemishes and inadequacies, He sees as unique attributes of who we are. His judgment is not about who we are ... but about our rejection of Him.

That relationship is rarely understood by humanity because we work so hard to make it more difficult than it is ... just like we mess with our friendships. It is hard to just relax into a relationship that is safe because we insist on having to work at it, we can't believe that anyone would be able to see past our flaws.

The glory of all this is when we recognize in our friends the ability to make us more than we can be by ourselves and as we add people to that friendship, we become even brighter.

I strive to be the type of friend who loves beyond measure, accepts without reservation, encourages and believe in the people around me. I love my friends. They make me who I am, they offer me parts of themselves to ensure that I am complete. What about you?

Are You Afraid? You Will Be!

2011-09-15T11:53:00.001-05:00

Luke Skywalker is on Dagobah in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. Yoda and Ben Kenobi are discussing the fact that the boy is too old to begin Jedi training.

Luke says: I won’t fail you. I’m not afraid.

Yoda: (turns slowly toward him) Oh, you will be. You will be.

(yes, I have the scripts for these three movies. Good heavens, I didn’t realize how much my geekiness had permeated my existence!)

Yoda knew that fear would soon overwhelm Luke, in fact as soon as the training began with Luke entering the big, black, dark cave in a tree, the young boy would experience far more than he had even imagined. The only thing that Luke would find inside the blackness was what he took with him and that would be nothing more than his soul and his wits.

Mom was afraid of closed doors. She became paralyzed by a closed door because she couldn’t see what was on the other side. She wasn’t afraid to walk into a room, no matter the experience, as long as her eyes allowed her to view the layout and whatever might be awaiting her. Her close friends and family knew this fear and generally went along to open doors for her.

She wasn’t afraid to speak to large and small groups of people or take college courses as an adult, or paddle a canoe in whitewater, or run for the school board, or raise a family in Iowa after having lived as a pampered debutante in Boston, or even to die; but the first time she entered a room, she needed someone else to open the door.

I thought this fear had only been communicated to her family until a friend of hers told me that the two of them had taken college courses together. Mom helped Sonna recognize that she was smart enough for college and Sonna opened classroom doors on the first day of class.

Revelation 4:1 says that John saw an open door leading to the throne room in heaven. Jesus tells us in John 10:9, “I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. He will come in and go out, and find pasture.” I guess I’m glad that Mom had an open door … an open gate to make it into heaven or she might never have left earth!

I have discovered that my greatest fear is imperfection. I simply shut down because I look for reasons that I can’t do something as well as another person. I gauge my expertise and will not attempt something because it won’t live up to some insane standards I have created.

I find myself setting too many good ideas aside because I am so afraid of either failing or doing a mediocre job. You can tell me over and over that multitudes of failures will finally lead to success and that the journey is more important that the accomplishment. Even though I believe you, I can’t apply that sentiment to my own life. My fears of failure or mediocrity paralyze me into inaction.

Yoda knew before Luke entered into training that the boy would face some of his greatest fears. When Luke had to look in the eyes of his worst enemy – Darth Vader, he did so first in training. Yoda hoped to give him strength and confidence.

We can tell the world that we aren’t scared, but in the darkest, most hidden places of our hearts, we find our fears. Oh, we will be afraid. We will be afraid.

The question we have to answer is what we do with that? Will we allow it to swallow us up or will we keep moving forward, even if it requires employing the help of our friends and family to open doors for us?

I have a lot of things I would love to do and when I let my fears take over, I do none of them. When I recognize them for the ridiculous notions that they are … I move forward.

John tells us that pefect love casts out all fear. (1 John 4:18) I think I will continue to seek out perfect love instead of trying to accomplish my goals. I’m betting that both will come to me in tandem.

Yoda and Me

2011-09-13T11:23:00.000-05:00

Max gave me Star Wars stuff for my birthday last week. One item was an 18" stuffed Yoda.

He talks if you press on his chest. The first thing he said to me yesterday was "Do. Or do not. There is no try." I kept pressing to get the rest of his programmed pronouncements, but that is one of my favorites. And one that I need to hear regularly.

It is so easy for me to start projects and go no further than the beginning ideas. While that is great for some people, moving forward and accomplishing something is more important to me than just being an idea person. I'm GREAT at being an idea person. I have tons of those.

I have learned over the years that I don't tell anyone about my ideas until I'm committed to finishing them. That way I don't make the world crazy with my half-baked attempts to change the world. There is nothing more frustrating for me than to watch people announce great plans and ideas only to never see any follow-through. Heck, I get frustrated with fabulous television pilots that never get off the ground. If you're going to publish an idea ... commit to it.

Anyway ... so ... I'm a Star Wars addict and love the characters. I've probably created more back story and characterization for each of them than actually exists in film and story and I get a little offended when George Lucas screws with them, but that's my problem.

My Yoda (I'm going to always have to clarify that he's Diane's Yoda or My Yoda - because I know he's not the real thing ... see what I did there? I know the other isn't the real thing, but ... oh well, sigh). Anyway, My Yoda is going to start doing things with me. He's the perfect size. He will travel easily, he's very photogenic and he's going to try to use the power of the Force to remind me to stay away from the Dark Side. (please don't lecture me on Christian spirituality versus the power of the Force ... for goodness sake, I get it - this is only a flippin' metaphor).

Yesterday, Leica was a bit unsure about having him in the front seat of the Jeep with her, but she got over. Actually, she just crawled into the back seat and curled up on a blanket.

Yoda has plenty of other things programmed into his little voice box. We'll see what I have to say when he talks about living for 900 years!

Death and Facebook

2011-07-18T08:38:00.002-05:00

I know that at my age I experience more and more death around me each year. It’s just part of the process. This last year has been interesting though, as Facebook has exposed me to death and dying in a new way.

Last fall, one of my college professors died and I fell apart. The news hit our circle of friends within several hours of his death and soon there was a group for people who knew him well to come together; talking and writing about the ways they had interacted with him and been changed by him over the years. While many of them attended his funeral in Cedar Rapids, we were having our own Memorial Service worldwide every day on Facebook.

I experienced overwhelming grief during that time. If I had simply heard the news that he had died, days or weeks after the event, I doubt my grief would have been so intense. I would have processed the information, maybe spent some time grieving and moved on. But, because I was relationally attached to others that were traveling through the same experience, I continued to process on my relationship with him and the intense loss that was felt because of his death.

Several months later, another friend from college died and I discovered it by seeing a friend post a Rest in Peace message on his wall. Once again the community of friends that knew him came together to grieve over the loss of a friend and relationship that had been strong nearly 30 years ago.

Today many of my high school friends are walking together down the path of yet another friend’s imminent death. One of our class members is with him daily, caring for him as a friend and the two of them are posting stories and encouragement for others as they travel this path. I am again sometimes overwhelmed by the grief that wells up within me while watching this process unfold.

Facebook has exposed us all to many things as we reconnect with old friends and make new friends, but I woke in the middle of the night last night thinking about how it has changed the way we interact with each other in the grieving process.

When my mother died, the outpouring of caring and affection was intense, but the grieving process was done in a pretty small space. There were only a few of us that walked that road together for an extended period of time, before, during and after her death. With our networks expanded over the internet, the number of people that offer support, love and comfort has grown exponentially!

I believe Facebook has done us a real favor by expanding our relationships and communities beyond the borders of towns and the small friendship circles we build. We are learning how to care for each other on a larger scale, no longer limited by geography.

It doesn’t make it any easier for us to experience death, but it is so much more apparent that we are not alone and our friends care for us deeply, no matter the years or the distance.

Sci Fi. Politics. Choices.

2011-06-10T16:42:00.000-05:00

I’ve been watching the British sci-fi series, “Torchwood” for the last week or so. It is part of the Dr. Who franchise and set in Cardiff, Wales. Torchwood has branches throughout the UK and this branch is headed by Captain Jack Harkness, a handsome rake of a man. Torchwood handles alien encounters on earth.

Now, stick with me. The point of this is yet to come. After two seasons of watching Torchwood manage alien situations, in the third season they encounter something much worse – political reaction to an alien incursion. Let me sum up the story and I will explain why this is still plaguing my mind.

Over the past thousands of years, these aliens arrived on earth, planted terrible plagues and wiped out large portions of humanity. In 1965 they approached Torchwood and announced they wouldn’t destroy earth if humanity would provide twelve children. Poor decisions were made and twelve children from an orphanage, who were assumed to be the least and the lost were delivered into their hands (yup, bright lights, alien sounds – just what you’d expect).

They returned in 2010. A politician who had been part of the 1965 decision is still working and rather than ask Torchwood to help, decides to cover it up, since letting the public know what had happened would raise great ire. He continues the cover up and when the aliens tell him to build a chamber, does so with the support of those higher up in government than he (all the way to the Prime Minister). They go so far as to murder anyone still alive who knew about the 1965 decision, including Captain Jack (who doesn’t really die because of another cool scifi idea).

They are at the precipice of a very slippery slope.

An alien ‘diplomat’ arrives (into the specially designed chamber) and after discussion, they finally discover what the aliens desire - ten percent of humanity’s children. The leaders of the globe’s nations are apprised, appalled and work begins.

The original politician returns to the alien and offers 62 children. This is the number of children the UK government knows could go missing without garnering public attention. The alien kills people in the immediate vicinity in his fury, then insists everyone on earth will be destroyed unless they receive ten percent. The deadline is set and we move to the Prime Minister and council.

They debate and discuss and agree to meet the alien’s demands, but how? The discussion is as sickening as you can imagine. They choose not to tell the public and to come up with a ruse to gather the children. Then they discuss which children should be in the lottery. Obviously their own children will not be used. They chose to avoid the upper class schools, because those children had better grades and would likely be doctors and the intelligentsia that would assist in rebuilding society. So, it fell to schools in poorer sections of the UK, where grades were lower. (By the way, their basis for gathering this information was government testing of students that had been occurring for schools to receive funding.)

As I watched the story progress, with military being used to scoop up children, ripping them out of mother’s arms and away from teachers trying to protect them, chasing them through city streets, beating adults who tried to stop them, the panic growing moment by moment in the streets and in the hearts and minds of the political leadership who saw a deadline fast approaching and not enough children to hand over, my heart just wrenched.

The morality of the political leadership deteriorated into nothing. They were so intimidated by the greater power; they were willing to allow something as heinous as the destruction of children to take place. They covered it up because of their fear of retribution and their shame. They made decisions regarding who had a right to live, without regard to equality.

This slippery slope is something I believe we all face – deciding who is and isn’t worth the protection of the government.

In the last few weeks there has been discussion regarding Florida’s intention to force welfare applicants into mandatory drug testing. I’ve seen comments stating that since taxpayers support the welfare system, and many taxpayers have to take drug tests to work in their job, this is appropriate behavior. No … the private sector is very different from the government and the moment we allow the government to begin taking away the rights of those who have little or no voice is another moment we begin tipping over the precipice down that slippery slope.

The government’s job should be to protect everyone – even from itself. And if it won’t do so, then the populace should stand and demand that protection. The least and the lost who have no voice – whether they are drug addicts, alcoholics, prostitutes, or young mothers who are trying to raise children on their own – deserve as many rights as the rest of us who live better than we should, with food on the table, access to our own drugs and alcohol, parties and depravities.

We should never agree to rights being stripped from a certain group of people. We should never allow a government to reduce itself to doing so, because when it is hard-pressed to make a decision, rights will be stripped from everyone in order to protect those in power. While they justify it as protecting the greatest number of citizens, the truth remains the same … when a small group is sacrificed to protect a larger group without impunity … no one is safe.

How did the story end? Well, it wasn’t pretty. Captain Jack figured out how to destroy the alien and frighten the aliens away from earth, but in doing so, he had to sacrifice one thing that was closest to him – his grandson. He didn’t give the child a choice either – maybe the child would have chosen to be that sacrifice, we’ll never know. It was a Catch-22 situation and no one won. The strange thing is, sometimes that happens.

Sacrificing others is never the right answer. Sacrificing yourself … that’s an entirely different story.

I’m not finished thinking about how we treat those who are the least and the lost. I’m probably not finished writing about it either.

Interpreting my Writing

2011-02-23T10:07:00.002-06:00

When I write, my mind is filled with thoughts, images, memories and words that impact those that I am putting on paper. It’s a profound thing for me to get simple words out there to express all that I have happening in my mind.

At the same time, I realize how much of the depth of my thoughts are missing from those simple words. It really shows up when people comment on a single expressed thought of mine that really had little to do with the overall idea of the post.

But, those words triggered thoughts, images, memories and words for that person which had nothing to do with mine. That is glorious on one level and to be honest, a little disconcerting on another level. It always makes me wonder what connection I left out to make them diverge from the path I was walking towards. Someone I missed writing words that would emphasize the point I tried to make.

However, I always realize that though the words I write come from within my heart, when I put them out there for others to read, they are there to be assimilated into someone else’s heart.

As I study the New Testament and focus especially on the words of Paul, I recognize the skill of his writing. He had to encourage and challenge his readers in ways that would define the theology of the church. Many misunderstood his words, took them out of context, and even interpreted them in hundreds of different ways.

The early church fathers moved further and further away from the simplicity of the message of Jesus Christ as the original twelve apostles died and their students began teaching the message of the Gospel. At some point, leaders in the church began focusing on various doctrines, and re-wrote those doctrines to suit the needs of the church as they saw it. They didn’t re-write scripture, but their written interpretations were set down as church law … especially those that were in power to do so.

The emphasis on moral responsibility became so great that the lost any sense of graciousness and love. While moral standards are set forth in the New Testament, Paul’s letters are filled with admonitions to love first.

Paul’s words for Christian living and the words of James in his epistle were separated from the words of Jesus that emphasized love and forgiveness.

It’s not easy to write and be sure that people will understand the thoughts you want to express. The few words that I do get down on paper represent only a small portion of the information that continues to fill my mind. You bring to my writing your own life and interpret it according to the things that are happening for you as you read.

It’s incredible that this form of communication is able to exist. But, it does allow us the adventure, doesn’t it!!

Love me some internet

2011-02-18T10:18:00.000-06:00

I hope that many of you know me well enough by now to know how important the internet is to me. It has been for a very long time. I first got 'on-line' in 1987. My brother talked me into checking out GEnie, which was General Electric's new idea for connecting people. They took their intra-net, made it available in many cities around the country and with a modem, I was talking to people all over the place. It was extraordinary and a wonderful way to meet interesting people.

There are still interesting people out there to meet and things to learn, friends to interact with and when the internet goes down in my little corner of the world, I become quite unhappy.

Several years ago, a terrible winter storm came through and knocked power out to the city. Max packed up a laptop and me and took me to Borders. It was safer weathering the storm out there than the storm that was me. Fortunately our power returned much earlier than most other places in the city and we were able to be at home.

A few years later, when a summer storm took out the power, we just packed up and went to Carol's. She still had power which meant I could get online and, oh by the way, be cool in her air conditioning.

The last few days, here at Bell's Dell, as I've working diligently on classwork, the internet has slowed and messed around on me. I began to think I was having trouble with the wireless router, so I talked to Max about replacing it. Then, all of a sudden ... nothing. NOTHING!!!

I use the internet up here for my telephone. I use Skype. My cell phone won't work here (except intermittently) because we are down in a valley - and there is little to no reception. There's no need to pay for a landline to come in - Skype works fine. But, guess what - it's an internet phone! I'm not terribly comfortable being by myself without communication options.

As I worried about the wireless router, I realized that Skype was still on - even when I had no internet. I called Max. Yup ... no problem communicating. He told me that the internet comes in on one port, Outlook uses a different one, and Skype uses yet another. So ... that was a problem with the service provider, not me.

Oh ... and Diane ... pull the ethernet cable out of the wireless router and bring it to your computer - hardwire the thing. Does it work? Still ... no. So, it's a provider problem.

Up and down it went last night ... my frustration ebbed and flowed. I was stuck reading dry Church History rather than interact on the forums in my classes and watch my Greek classroom videos, etc. It had to be read ... but, yikes!

So that's where I was yesterday - no internet, no posting, a little frustration, but extremely grateful that I was still able to communicate with the outside world if necessary.

Do you remember when Egypt's government turned the internet off a few weeks ago? That's what would have sent me to the streets in protest, I promise! Immediately after that, our government began looking at ways that they could turn the internet off. Really? Really? Don't EVEN think about it! That's just crazy talk, all around!

Oh ... I'm back today. Thank heavens!

Global Christianity

2011-02-16T21:59:00.000-06:00

I just finished reading the book, "Back to Jerusalem" by Paul Hattaway for my Christian History course. When I began reading it, I was confused as to its connection to Christian History, but as I made my way through and thought about it, I realized that it couldn't have been more appropriate.

The book is the story of Chinese Christians. These are men and women who have been through the most incredible persecution, yet believe in the calling that they have received from God. Western missionaries took the message of Jesus Christ into China and in the 1920s and 30s, Chinese Christians began to hear from God that it was up to them to complete the mission that Christ had set forth in Acts 1 - to take the Gospel message to Jerusalem, to Judea and Samaria and then into the world.

Their mission was to take the Gospel the rest of the way ... going west out of China into the countries between there and Jerusalem, finishing in Jerusalem. They would evangelize countries that were filled with Buddhists, Hindus and Muslims. At the same time, they would complete the evangelism of their own country.

In the 40s, Mao came into power and Christians began to be tortured and persecuted for their faith. Pastors were thrown into prison. The Cultural Revolution in China had begun and Christianity had no place. Foreign missionaries fled the country and those that didn't also faced incredible persecution and imprisonment. Eric Liddell, the Scottish runner whose story was told in "Chariots of Fire, died in a Chinese prison camp after having spent years there as a missionary. Many of the Chinese Christians who had heard the call to go west, were thrown into prison, beaten and starved, simply because they were Christian.

The book tells the story of some of the people that faced this persecution and describes in glorious detail the transformation of the church in China during this time. Rather than fall apart, the church grew at an incredible pace. When forced to eliminate any physical symbol of their faith, people simply gathered to tell their stories to each other - evangelizing and encouraging their friends and family. Pastors had been stripped out of communities, but what might have become a leadership vacuum opened the way for the people of the community to do the work themselves.

During those dark years for Chinese Christians, Western missionaries assumed that the church had gone dormant, expecting to go back into the country and have to re-do all of their work. What they found was a vibrant, rapidly growing community that continues to grow today.

Because of the persecution they have faced, Chinese Christians see their faith so differently than we do. It is more important to them than anything. They refuse to deny Christ's lordship in their lives even if it means beatings and imprisonment, separation from their family or torture and starvation. Nothing is as important to them as sharing the Good News of Jesus Christ.

As they speak of continuing the mission to take the Gospel into countries that will reject and persecute them, they are prepared to face anything for the name of Jesus. When asked if they have plans in place to escape to safety, they are shocked at the weak-willed Western Christians who hide from danger when spreading the Good News. One of their great concerns is that the younger Christians will grow affluent and find it necessary to protect their stuff so they won't feel as impelled to walk the path God has called them to. They know that persecution has given them something that we in the West don't have - freedom from fear. There is nothing that they are afraid of when it comes to evangelizing the world. The worst has already happened and if it happens again - they will either deal with it or they will die knowing that they stood true to Jesus Christ.

This book is a challenge to us and a word of victory. The church in the West is falling apart. More and more theologians and world-wide Christian leaders are recognizing that the Western Church no longer has the influence or the power that it did at one time to change the world. But, that doesn't mean that there isn't a strong movement of God in the world. Africa, Latin America and Asia are rapidly become new centers of Christianity - growth is incredible. The largest church in the world right now is found in South Korea.

Church doesn't look like anything we recognize. These worshiping communities aren't necessarily Roman Catholic or Protestant. They are developing their own way of doing things - holding to the basic tenets of Christianity and creating glorious new ways of lifting their faith.

Pay attention to what is happening on a global scale in Christianity. It will (and should) challenge you to be bold in your witness and will excite you as you recognize that God is moving.

When Parents Lose Their Innocence

2011-02-15T19:39:00.000-06:00

This afternoon a friend mentioned in a post that she was a bit worried about the sudden 'quiet' that had occurred in her household - worried about what awful things might be around the corner.

That made me think about a quick story - which of course led to other stories.

I don't know about the rest of you, but when my friends started having kids and I realized that they knew just as little then as they did when we were kids, I thought long and hard about how my parents always seemed as if they knew everything and were never surprised by the stunts the three of us kids pulled. They had some serious poker faces, I guess.

Now, I think I would have enjoyed being a fly on the wall as they contemplated our demise and as they lamented their own loss of innocence due to the craziness three children brought to a home.

One day, when Carol would have been a baby and I was still just a toddler, Mom had to be gone for awhile. Dad promised to stay with me, but he had absolutely no idea that watching me might require active participation. He was quite grateful that I was such a good kid and left him alone so that he could relax and read the paper. He knew where I was and since there was no screaming or crying, running around or noise, was fairly confident I was safe.

Until Mom got home. She walked in ... saw the extent of the mess I had created right behind his chair with a couple of lipstick tubes and began howling with laughter.

"Frank, where is your daughter?"

"She's right here."

"Do you know what she is doing?"

At that point, he knew that his sweet and wonderful little girl had made a fool of him. He got up out of the chair, came around behind and that I had covered myself, my clothing, the back of the chair, the floor, the wall and everything else within reach in lipstick.

"But she was quiet!"

"Frank, the time to worry is when the children are quiet."

His innocence had lasted just a short time. I doubt that he ever let me out of his sight again.

What would happen if ...

2011-02-14T16:16:00.000-06:00

I don't know where your best thinking happens, but mine happens in the shower.

Yesterday I managed to scrub the shower down - and of course I had to turn it on and turn the spray head all over the place to get it rinsed off. That meant that this morning when I crawled in, the sprayer needed adjustment and fine tuning to get it back to where I like it. As I was messing and messing with the thing, it occurred to me that I might be adjusting the sprayer to where I am used to having it, but maybe that wasn't the best place for it. Would another position be even better? Would I be able to function if I changed things around a little? Even if it was different and I had to adjust my worldview?

I believe in change. I believe that the best way to grow and experience more in this life is through change. As long as we are in control and force things to remain the way they have always existed, we are pretty much guaranteed to stay the way we have always existed. We won't see more, do more, experience more or grow more. We'll stay the same.

There is nothing more frightening in a church than to try to change things. Everyone has a reason that things should stay the same and weak leadership will allow them to keep the status quo. Pastors move into a church and know that the first year brings no changes because the reaction will be hideous. It's enough that the pastor has changed. I have never encountered such venom and fury as when a church member gets confronted with change. Even if it has the potential to make things so much better.

Studies show that we can hold aging problems at bay (such as Alzheimers) if we make small changes in our lives on a regular basis. Do you put your socks on the same way every morning? What if you were to put the other sock on first - would that freak you out and upset your entire day? What if you were to flip the toilet paper roll so that it spun the other way? What if you did your grocery shopping on Friday evening instead of Monday morning (you'll probably find a lot fewer people in the store!).

What if you were to give someone the benefit of the doubt before believing the worst about them? What about giving this week's savings away to someone who needs it and relying on God to provide rather than yourself?

What could happen to you if you adjusted the shower head tomorrow morning just a little bit?

Beautiful day - intense homework

2011-02-13T20:29:00.000-06:00

Today was one of those homework days that I did my best to avoid. Beautiful temps outside, melting snow and ice, sunshine ... all of that made it kind of difficult to focus on writing responses to questions regarding Church Doctrine.

I also have scrubbed the toilet and the shower - didn't get the fridge cleaned out, but hey ... I had to get some homework done. And there's a Hebrew quiz coming up tomorrow that I should try to attempt preparing for.

First question of the day was based on reading in our Church Doctrine textbook. How could I use the information I was reading to explain that God exists to an agnostic. Whoa. Nothing like pulling out the easy questions in the first week of class.

I read a few responses from some of my classmates and became increasingly frustrated with their 'pat' answers. You see, I know quite a few agnostics and there isn't going to be any convincing them with answers from the text. That's just the reality. An agnostic and an atheist carry two completely separate belief structures. An atheist says God doesn't exist and an agnostic affirms that there is no way to know whether God exists or not. They acknowledge the possibility, but can't confirm it based on their knowledge or experience.

Trying to explain to a person in either of those camps that God exists based on information from the Bible turns into circular reasoning since God wrote (through men) the Bible. There is no way to prove that point intellectually. And you can not separate intellectual belief from faith. Having a conversation regarding God without acknowledging that everything within you is based on belief and faith - not scientific reasoning - just insults everyone involved in the conversation.

But, the author of the textbook had some really pointed things to say to Christians and the first of those is that we can't sit on the sidelines and not be intellectual about our faith. We must have some understanding of the Scriptures and be prepared to stand for our faith. "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect." (1 Peter 3:15)

With baptism, came teaching ... from the earliest days of the church. Christians aren't supposed to be slow-minded morons, we are to be quick with a response and assure those around us that our faith is based on the truth that is found in God.

The author also said that long before we discuss the idea of God's existence, we must define who it is that God is. What is the nature of God? These are the things that Christians should be prepared to answer when speaking to someone who doesn't yet believe in God.

Finally, for me, I believe that I can say everything there is to say - as articulately as possible - and it will not do any good unless a person is willing to hear those words. God's call on that heart will open it to hear His truth. It may not be my words - it may be someone else's. It may not be words at all. It isn't my job to bring the world to Christ - it is simply my job to share Christ with the world. He will do the rest.

With that, I probably will drive a few of my classmates insane. These poor young men are trying so hard to be intellectuals in a class being taught be an incredibly brilliant man. I'll just play the 'simple young girl from southeast Iowa card' and continue the process of learning.

Bye Bye Cable Television

2011-02-12T21:20:00.000-06:00

The end of football season brought the end to another season at our house. Max returned the cable box and canceled cable television and our landline telephone yesterday. When I think about the amount of money we will save each month with this choice, I'm almost giddy! We'll just hope that he and I don't come up with some other creative way to spend it.

Don't get me wrong, I still like watching television shows - I have my favorites this year and watch many of them on various internet sites. But, I have to admit that up until a few years ago, television was just invasive in my life. I was thankful for it when I couldn't sleep at night - I'd watch all sorts of wild stuff on Nick at Nite or TVLand, but then I realized that even though I was trying to distract my mind from the craziness it was focusing on from the day, watching television didn't relax me enough to put me back to sleep ... the distractions just made it worse.

Three years ago, we considered purchasing a large-screen tv, but chose to not do that and spend the money elsewhere. Everything changed for me. I bought a Kindle and began reading like the reading fiend I was when I was younger - you know ... back before Cable TV really even existed in small town Iowa.

Max says that right now the only thing he misses is the additional clock on the cable box. All that is left in that room is the clock on his computer. Well, honestly, that's all I use anymore too. He'll adjust - or get another clock.

I really don't want to sound pious regarding this decision - I hate when people talk about 'fasting' from television or the internet or other things that have become conveniences in our lives. That short period of fasting really doesn't transform them - it just annoys the rest of us. And eliminating the cable box from our lives isn't going to transform us - unless you call saving that kind of money transformational and by golly, I'm looking forward to that part of it!!!

The other part of this equation is the impact that eliminating cable from many people's lives because of streaming shows on the internet. The newspaper industry has managed to fall apart because they didn't handle the transition to digital well - will the cable industry do the same? Will this media industry be better prepared for change, or will they insist that dinosaurs still roam the earth? And isn't it interesting that an industry that began in the 70s and grew so rapidly for several decades could face decimation because they aren't prepared to change.

It's going to be fascinating to watch! But not on a television for me.

First week of classes - and I'm off ...

2011-02-11T20:53:00.001-06:00

Alright. That's it. I'm fairly certain I have killed my brain. I have to quit studying and processing information - right now!

Well, that isn't going to work too well. I still have a blog post to get written and posted tonight over on my Pour Out a Blessing blog. Fortunately, those are more of a joy than a challenge for me.

I have read about The Trinity in Theology this week, begun reading "Classic Christianity," which is for my Church Doctrine class. From the reading in that book I am supposed to respond to a question about having a conversation with an agnostic regarding the question, "Does God Exist." Some of my classmates are answering that question and I'm afraid that I'm going to end up disagreeing with their premise. I do not believe that I can convince an agnostic of anything. Believing in and having faith in God is not something that is an intellectual pursuit. And until God prepares a person's heart and mind, my words will have no impact - much as I like to think that I have great words. So ... I'm processing on my response to that.

The reading for my Church History class is interesting. The book is, "Back to Jerusalem" by Paul Hattaway. He discusses the evangelistic mission of the Chinese church. In reading this book, I think that these Christians are far ahead of most westerners with regards to the mission field. This in an incredible read - really exciting stuff. I'm not terribly sure how this fits in with the beginnings of church history. The only thing I can think is that our professor is Chinese and she wants us to understand where she is coming from. I have to get a paper written on that book by Monday.

I'm diligently working on the Hebrew alphabet. I woke up this morning and was able to picture all of the consonants in my mind along with their English transliterations. I need to continue working on the vowels. This is such an interesting language. Vowels don't actually have forms of their own - they are attached to the consonant that precedes them in the form of a dot or character underneath the consonant. I'm training myself to read right to left and hoping to understand more of it as we go. It will come.

Tonight I watched the first lecture for Greek 2. Just about the time I think I'm grasping concepts, he opens up new and more difficult issues within the language. But, he does keep reminding us that English is a most difficult language to learn and comprehend, so I'll try not to complain as I learn. I'll probably fail at that.

There will be no weekend for me. Two language quizzes every week, papers due nearly every Monday, discussions that I have to post every Thursday for one class and every Sunday for another class as well as be responsive to other class members posts. It's exciting and ... grueling. But, I'm off and running!

Mom - Always Right

2011-02-10T20:49:00.000-06:00

I have talked about Mom quite a bit on this blog and everything I've always said about her is true. She was an extraordinary woman.

Tonight, however, as I was remaking a bed here at the cabin, I had to lie down because I was laughing so hard.

Notice that the headline for this blog is "They Call Me the Oracle." I try to keep my mouth shut, unless I'm pretty sure that I'm right and even then, I tend to be wrong a lot of the time. But, I come by this whole 'oracleness' honestly. Mom absolutely hated to be wrong. She hated it. And she would wait as long as it might take to be proved correct. Most of the time it didn't take that much time.

When I was just starting to school, for some reason or other, she felt it was necessary for me to be reminded every morning to put my underpants on. I don't remember it being an issue, but it must have been. Every single morning before I walked out the door to head for school, she would ask if I had underwear on and every single morning I assured her that I did. Until I had finally had enough and decided that it was time to get a little rebellious. I told her that I did and I didn't! Imagine that! I got halfway down the block and I hated the feeling, so I ran home and had to tell her the truth and go upstairs and put my underpants on.

There were three very strong-willed children in that home, living with two exceptionally strong-willed parents. It seemed as if there was always tension about who was right. Mom and Dad had wonderful discussions (or arguments) about words. They'd sit at the dinner table and go back and forth about a word until finally someone would head for the dictionary. We didn't want to do that first - the entertainment was gone, but to end it ... the dictionary came out.

Well, what struck me this evening was as I was making the bed. Because of the shape of the space here, the beds are up against walls. As I was crawling across the bed to tuck that stupid top corner in (with both the bed pad AND the bottom sheet), I had a memory of my bedrooms. I liked sleeping against the wall. Every time we moved into a new parsonage, I wanted to put my bed up against the wall. Mom would argue with me and tell me that it would be more difficult to make my bed, but I would insist. She'd warn me that she wasn't ever going to make my bed and I would assure her that I would do it.

I spent a lot of time cursing and huffing around trying to make those stupid beds while they were plastered up against those walls as a kid. I did it. Because she told me not to.

When I moved into my very first apartment, Mom and Dad had driven me to Spencer, helped me unpack, got the bed built and then had to drive home - it was a 6 hour drive each way for them. I remember looking at that bed. For the first time I had a full-size bed - not a twin. It was NOT going to be easy to make it unless I was smart. So, I drug it around until it had space to move on both sides.

Mom never gloated and said, "I told you so." Don't think that was normal behavior for her. She often made sure that I knew she was right and I was wrrr ... wrrr ... wrrr. Oh well - I wasn't absolutely correct.

But, as I huffed and puffed, crawling across the bed this evening to get it made, I laughed and laughed thinking about how much of her there is in me - and that as much as I hate being wrong, she hated it worse. I'm pretty sure she would be standing over me as I made that bed, smirking.

I Can't Remember

2011-02-09T21:07:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking about my friends today. Old friends, current friends, new friends ... all sorts of friends.

Then, I pulled out my Memory book from my senior year in high school. I can't seem to find my silly yearbook anywhere right now, but this is actually more personal. It was to be filled with pictures of my classmates, memories from the year, notes from my friends, graduation announcements ... all sorts of things. I looked through some of the notes that people in my class wrote to me and just laughed and laughed. Girls that I didn't know all that well ended their notes with "Friends forever." Well, I never saw them again after I moved out of town. Ok ... they were at the ten-year class reunion (the last one I attended), but we weren't friends - we were never friends.

That same girl wrote, "Do you remember in 7th grade when we fought all the time and your mom hated me?" Oh good heavens, what a riot. Because now, I don't remember any of that. It's all gone.

Other friends made comments about things that must have made sense once upon a time, but are now so far out of my memory that I just stare at the words and wonder what we had been doing.

I love that taking pictures has gotten simpler for kids these days. They will have images to trigger their memories. I thought I took a lot of pictures in high school, and while I have some, there are so many things I would love to be able to see again, but the images are only a faded memory in the back of my mind.

There is no picture of my senior prom. The one I attended with a girlfriend, because the mother of my boyfriend at the time decided at the last minute he wouldn't be allowed to go. So, Mary and I dressed up, our mothers bought corsages for us, we drove to Oskaloosa for dinner and back to Sigourney for the prom. I wish there were pictures of that evening, because now that I'm far away from it, the pain is gone, the memory is barely there and it makes for a great story.

Our Senior Class trip is not recorded in the annals of my life with pictures. It was quite a trip. We went to St. Louis and the partying was extensive. I bought some postcards at the zoo and at the Arch, but I don't have pictures to remind me of the cramped hotel rooms, craziness on the bus and passed out, drunken high school friends. Were the sponsors really that oblivious?

My memories of those years are so much stronger than my sister's memories, yet even so I have lost so much. As I look through the book, I see names and pictures of kids that I should remember and I barely even register that they were in my class.

Throughout the years, people have moved in and out of my life. Some of them I remember well, others I can sense a niggling in the back of my mind that tells me I should remember and I don't. There are employees that I hired and fired throughout the years at Insty-Prints and I have no idea what their names are any longer. I'd give anything to have photographs reminding me of their place in my life (well labeled photographs, please).

Even today, I need to be more conscious of taking pictures when I am doing things so that in ten years I will remember the events and the people that I spent time doing things with. If you see me and I look at you blankly, please don't be offended, just tell me your name again and I'll do my best to remember everything I knew about you.

Now ... where did I put that Memory book.

Who am I?

2011-02-08T18:48:00.001-06:00

I've spent some time lately thinking about what that 'one thing' is that I excel at. If I had to choose one thing in my life that I wanted to do for the rest of my life, what would it be?

You see, I envy people who have a focus that drives them towards excellence. There are those who have chosen to be great at one thing and drive themselves to be the best in their field. That's not me. It has never been me.

I am really good at a lot of things. There are many things that I am passionate about. My interests are varied and sometimes completely disconnected.

Cooking is a joy for me and I'm really good at it, but I'm not good enough nor am I passionate enough about it to open a catering business or work for a restaurant.

After working in the printing business for 20+ years, I have quite a bit of knowledge about graphic arts, design and layout. But, honestly, there is no way I could stomach returning to that industry. I also know that I'm not an artist and I would never be hired as one either.

Music is my background and creating music is a great source of joy for me. I know that I am a really good pianist and accompanying is something that I do very well. But, the idea of spending hours and hours in a practice room or sitting in front of a piano for the rest of my life removes all thoughts of joy of music from me. My father desperately wanted me to be a concert pianist. I removed that dream from him before I even left high school. NO! I envy those who focused on their music to become great performers in whatever genre they chose.

While I love, love, love leading worship and directing choirs and have been pretty darned successful in both of those areas of music, I don't foresee a lifetime of doing that. Now, I will admit that these two areas would entice me to rethink my position if anything ever popped back into my reality. Both bring me extraordinary joy. But, for now ... I don't see that happening. Especially when I'm work with and support people who are much better than me at worship leadership.

Speaking of leadership, I find that I can get passionate about that topic in a hurry. Excellent, honorable leadership is lacking in so many areas today. People have been put into positions of leadership that have absolutely no talent and no desire to be there other than the financial gain of their position. It breaks my heart to see the pressure that is placed on them when they have no idea how to cope - and then to see the destruction of the teams they lead simply because that one person is so lousy at what they do.

Understanding and translating for others the intricacies and mysteries of scripture is one of my great passions. There is nothing I love more than uncovering the very cohesive structure of scripture and finding ways to explain it so that everyone can find the joy of knowing what God says to us and why He says it the way that He does.

History, observation, technology, anthropology, grammar, writing, words/vocabulary, teaching, fiction, science fiction, research, books, psychology, philosophy ... on and on the list goes of things that I can't learn enough about or that I get passionately involved in. And by the way, I'm probably one of the better internet researcher/stalker/looker-uppers you'll ever know. All of these things ... and yet, still I wonder. What is it that I am specifically good at doing? What is that one thing?

See ... that's the problem with me. I think about ice skaters, performers, costumers, dancers, mathematicians, astronomers, astronauts, engineers, chefs, translators ... those who specialize in a field and live out their lives focused on a single goal. I will never be like that. I don't know how to be like that.

If I could just get someone to define who exactly it is that I am and create a position with a good job description for me to do all of those things that I love to do and can get passionate about doing, I'd have to kiss that person's face!

First Day Out

2011-02-07T14:55:00.002-06:00

I was anxiously anticipating having my online courses open up so I could begin working through whatever projects and reading might come at me as quickly as possible. Since I managed to sleep late, I have no idea what time they actually opened the courses up, but once I was up, I got busy.

There were 3-ring binders to organize, textbooks to sort through, dates to mark on the calendar, syllabi to read, introductory videos to watch, personal introductions to write and then I could begin working through the class requirements for the first week. Fortunately, the professors go pretty light this first week out, but in looking forward, I think I might want to use it to work ahead. This is going to be rough.

I've chosen to take four rather intense courses: Greek 2, Hebrew 1, Church History and Church Doctrine / Theology. I see the next several months filled with alien languages, great amounts of reading and a whole lot of papers.

My Doctrine / Theology course is being taught by a professor from Australia. He lives down under and is teaching this from a long ways away. Isn't the internet extraordinary? I listened to his introductory video and find that I really enjoy that accent. He's a strong believer in a great amount of reading and writing. This is going to be a) good for me and b) quite challenging.

Several of the students that I was beginning to get to know last semester will be participating in courses I am taking this semester. It's going to be fun to continue to interact with them. The numerical difference between genders is still quite vast. Pretty much 3 or 4 to 1. Oh, and you know how I love running up against patriarchal male stereotypes in a classroom. I even love it more when it comes from the women! Sigh.

I began reading through my Hebrew course text today - oh dear heavenly days, this is going to be hard. But, I knew I had to share some of the fun little tidbits of information:

A lot of the idioms and proverbs we are used to using in English come from Hebrew sayings found in the Bible.

Numbers 22:31 - fall flat on your face
Lamentations 2:19 - To pour out one's heart
Job 28:13 - Land of the living
Ecclesiastes 1:4 - Under the sun
Ezekiel 18:2 - Sour grapes
Isaiah 60:1 - Rise and Shine
Proverbs 16:18 - Pride goes before a fall
Job 19:20 - The skin of my teeth
Exodus 4:15 - to put words in one's mouth
Isaiah 40:15 - A drop in a bucket
Ecclesiastes 10:1 - Fly in the ointment
Daniel 5:5 - to see the writing on the wall

The authors go on to list Hebrew words we have incorporated into our language - abbot, Armageddon, behemoth, camel, hallelujah, hosanna, jubilee, sabbath, sack, satan; as well as names from the Old Testament. The sentence that took me back though was this, "In fact, the name Michael, which means 'who is like God?' may be humanity's oldest continuously used name." How cool is that?

So, this afternoon I will begin learning how to identify Hebrew characters as letters and how to read from right to left. I'm terribly afraid that my brain might seize up at some point, but I'll go forward with anticipation and confidence!

Opportunity Awaits

2011-02-06T17:48:00.002-06:00

A week or so ago, I had dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant with some friends. I opened my fortune cookie and read, "Opportunity awaits you next Monday." As far as I knew, nothing much was going to happen the next Monday and it didn't. But, I set the slip of paper on my desk and left it there.

Tomorrow I begin my second semester of seminary and to say that I am terrified is to completely understate the sensations occurring in my body. I have chosen to pick up some very intense courses this semester, so much so that my academic adviser asked me twice whether or not I wanted to do this. I assured him that I was confident I could handle it, but the further I got from his comment and the closer I get to the semester beginning, the more I am completely unsure if this is a good idea.

Tonight, instead of watching the Super Bowl, I will be looking over Greek notes, exploring the Hebrew alphabet and generally acting like a crazy person. (I will, however watch the ads.)

Now, believe me. I don't put any stock at all in fortune cookie fortunes, but I moved some things around and found that little slip of paper and I thought - "It wasn't last Monday, it was tomorrow this little piece of paper is talking about."

I've been completely wrong in the way I approached this coming semester. I've been scared out of my mind, rather than seeing it as the opportunity that it is. Oh, I looked forward to the learning, but I have been so afraid that I couldn't handle it, I missed the opportunity of anticipating. I focused on the things I did wrong last semester rather than recognize that I did well in all my classes, met some wonderful people and began an educational process that thrills me.

So, I've emptied out my bookshelves in preparation for the books that will fill them throughout this next week.

There is nothing I enjoy more than learning. Absolutely nothing. Hmmm, let me just think about that again and make sure. Nope ... nothing. Why in the world am I terrified of the process that leads me to learning?

A little slip of paper. No, I don't believe in fortunes, but I do believe that God uses every piece of our world to remind us of how much He cares and how much He pays attention to us. I'm going to look forward to this process and do my best to enjoy every moment of it - even when it nearly kills me.

I know that the semester is going to be really tough. I've chosen to attack some difficult courses all at the same time. But, when May arrives and I find myself at the end of the process, I'll breathe a huge sigh and start looking forward to the next part of the adventure.

Hands

2011-02-05T19:03:00.001-06:00

I thought both of my parents had great hands. Mom's were used for so many different, creative things, yet were strong and I thought she could do nearly anything. Dad's were exceptionally strong. I remember them wrapped around tools as he fixed things or made things around the house. I remember both of them spanking my butt when I was little. I thought that I wanted to have hands like they did.

However, as I get older, I realized their hands also showed their age and by golly ... I have those hands. Wrinkly skin, damage from accidents and wounds throughout my life, permanent indentations from rings I wear. I might just miss those young, supple fingers with skin that is smooth and unblemished.

I might miss that youthful look to my hands simply because every single time I look at my hands, I realize just how much they've been through and what they've put up with in all of these years.

When I was junior high, a friend and I were running laps during gym class. She took hold of my hand and began running with me. She was on the inside, I was on the outside. It was a very old gymnasium - brick walls surrounded us on three sides and cement bleachers on the fourth. As we ran, we began to build up speed. All of a sudden she was pulled away from me and the momentum propelled me directly into the brick wall in front of me. The only thing I could think to do to save myself from an incredible concussion was to throw my right hand up between my head and the wall. I got a good thunk and ended up on the ground and then immediately panicked.

I was one of several accompanists for the state music contest and it wasn't far away. What would I do if my hand was damaged and I couldn't play? As fear washed over me, I wiggled my fingers and realized that I was going to hurt, but I'd be ok.

That wasn't the first time nor would it be the last time I did major damage to my hands or to one of my fingers. Dad loved the idea of giving power tools to me as Christmas gifts, but he absolutely refused to purchase a table saw for me. He insisted that he was not going to be responsible for me cutting off part of my hand. He loved listening to me play the piano too much. I just figured I would learn to accept that and live without the saw. I've been ok without it.

I've burned my hands too many times to count - pulling things in and out of the oven, I've smashed fingers in car doors and dropped loads of wood onto them while they were pressed against concrete. I've ripped fingernails off while pulling pieces of paper out of the printing press and cut them on glass that's broken in my hand.

But, I've also held nephews and nieces after they were born, played the piano for weddings and funerals. I've directed choirs and typed letters, stories, papers and many other things. I've brushed hair out of my eyes when driving with the windows down on a beautiful day. I held my mother's hand while she was in the hospital and lifted these hands in worship.

My hands look more like my parents' hands now than the hands I remember as a youth. I might not like to have the moment by moment reminder of my age, but I do love they are part of my memories.

Gifts

2011-02-04T17:53:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking about gifts. Giving and receiving gifts.

What kind of gifts do you like to give? Do you like to give gifts that someone wants or needs or do you prefer to give gifts that remind them of you?

One of the first years after Dad got remarried, we discovered that our stepmother had decided to go shopping for herself with our money. Now, while I'm great with getting Christmas lists so that we don't provide the worst gift on the planet for people, we didn't receive a list from her with ideas, we received an item that we should purchase.

Carol and I cut that off right from the get-go, but my brother didn't get on the bandwagon soon enough and called to tell us that not only had they received an exact idea for what she wanted, but she had gone so far as to cut out the ad for the item, circle it and circled the price. They were expected to purchase that exact toaster for her for Christmas. Not wanting to create waves and agreeing that if that was the item she wanted to receive, they purchased it and we proceeded with Christmas.

We also discovered that she had done the same with Dad. For a man who had NEVER purchased clothing items in his life, she gathered catalogs, dog-eared the pages, circled the items (along with the cost) and presented that to him as what he would purchase for Christmas for her.

There was no spontaneity, no surprise and a whole lot of laughter.

We came from a family where Christmas was a delight. There was never much money, but for months before Christmas and especially the weeks prior, Mom turned into a Christmas elf. There were secrets and locked doors, sewing machines whirling, more locked doors. I specifically remember the three of us as little kids sitting in the doorsill of the locked door to Mom's craft room. I really wish there had been a picture of that.

She would wrap the gifts and place them under the tree. We would pick them up and do whatever we could to try to identify them and there was even one or two of us (never me) that unwrapped and rewrapped gifts. But, even when that happened, she managed to surprise the heck out of us with gloriously created presents. Nothing we expected, but always what we wanted.

My husband has a terrible time trying to surprise me for Christmas. I've gotten practical in my old age and don't see a good reason to spend frivolous money - especially when I'm trying to cut back on the stuff in my life. Purchasing gifts for me is incredibly frustrating for him. I try to give hints to Carol so that he has a little bit of help, but I know that he hates not being able to surprise me. This last year, he managed to do so with some great, fun toys and I think that gave him no small amount of pleasure.

Mom's last Christmas with us was awful for her. She was in the hospital for a long time before Christmas and didn't have a chance to do any shopping. Christmas eve was the day she discovered the cancer had spread into her bones and her time with us was limited. Her strength was giving out and we knew it wasn't going to be a fun holiday. As we got ready to go to Christmas Eve services, she pulled out a couple of wrapped gifts. She had gone down to the hospital gift shop and picked up simple, frosted nativity scenes for us. They weren't anything spectacular, but she had to make sure her last Christmas gifts to us were meaningful.

What kind of gifts do you like to receive? Do you want to receive gifts that surprise and delight you, that bring memories or those that you choose?

You know, when I think about the gift that Jesus gave me on the cross, I don't know that I would have chosen that. I wouldn't ask for someone to give His life for me so that I could live. But, in the power of that gift, I find that I am surprised and delighted every day with the life it has opened up for me.

Creativity Tools

2011-02-03T14:53:00.000-06:00

Are you creative? Of course you are. If you don't think so - take some time to think about it again. Of course you are.

What tools do you use to express yourself?

I love to knit. I don't do it very well, sometimes I will go for months without taking up yarn and needles, but I love it.

My mother was a wonderful knitter and when I got old enough, she attempted to teach me. It didn't go so well. Pretty soon she got frustrated and said, "With your talented fingers, I can't figure out why you can't learn this!" So, I went no further with it. Knitting was just one of those things I needed to do, though. Many years later, long after she had died, a wonderful little yarn shop opened in Omaha. I wandered in, talked to the owner and asked if she taught classes. Before I knew what had happened, I was learning to knit. I took three classes from her on knitting and crocheting.

As happens with most of my obsessions, yarn began to take over my house. I bought more than I could ever use and when I would set aside the needles for months on end, I knew that I would never be able to finish all the projects I wanted to create. I have finally quit buying yarn and refuse to allow myself anything new until I use most of what I have. This is going to be a long dry spell for yarn purchases in my life, I can tell.

There are so many things that I enjoy doing that allow me to express my creativity. I love to cook and bake, I enjoy playing the piano and singing. I sew, have messed with most types of crafty things in my past life (and have the craft supplies to show for it - do you want some?), but the one area that makes me the happiest is when I put words to paper.

The funny thing about this is that Mom was a pretty amazing writer. I never felt as if I could measure up to her incredible talent. (Nope, not looking for you to disagree here.) My early attempts at writing for grades were feeble, to say the least. I compared myself to Mom and always came up lacking. And to be honest, she wasn't all that great about helping me and giving me good advice. She didn't do much to encourage me in that area. In fact, if I look back at her conversations with me - they did more to stop me from writing than anything.

When I wanted to journal, she was fine with that, but told me to never put anything on paper that I didn't want my father to read. Well, to be honest, I didn't want him to read anything, so when I would sit in my room, I would think of all these things I wanted to write down and stop myself. I didn't write any of them down. I didn't want Dad knowing my innermost secrets.

When I was in college, I had to take some crazy freshman writing course. I kept getting low grades on the papers I handed in. No matter what I changed or what I did, I came up with these low grades. Mom finally wrote a paper for me and I turned it in. When I received the paper back, there was a big, red "C" on the top of the paper. This was at the University of Iowa. At the same time, Mom was taking courses in the English and Literature Department and received incredible remarks for the writing she was doing. She tossed the paper at me and told me that I didn't need to worry about the grade in that class, it was obvious that the TA who was teaching it had no idea what she was doing. But, we never really sat down and went through the issues to see what was good and what was bad.

Fortunately there came a point when I moved past a lot of that (obviously it still haunts me, but moving on is good). I would sit at my desk when I was younger with a blank piece of paper in front of me and pen in hand, poised over the sheet. I could sense the tension between my brain and that blank sheet and was desperate to put words down that might mean something. All along, I knew that writing was foundational for me.

I still enjoy sitting down with paper and pen, but thank heavens for the computer. If I'm stuck and can't seem to get my hand to write, I can generally force a few words (which gets me started, if nothing else) onto a computer screen. I type so much faster than I write and that way I can keep up with my brain when it spins out of control.

Pen and paper are still my favorite ways to think on paper, but the computer is another great tool for me when I want to express myself.

What are your tools for creativity?

Simple Pleasures

2011-02-02T08:30:00.002-06:00

I'd like to think that I'm simplifying my life - eliminating unnecessary stuff and limiting myself to purchases that will be used over the long term. I hate the fact that I am such a consumer and that it doesn't take much for me to process through something and then be finished with it. Lately that means I've tried to really think about purchases that I make and items that I use. Instead of just tossing something into the cart, I question myself pretty hard about its potential outcome and find that it isn't so difficult to just leave things on the shelf.

With that said, I found something the other day at the grocery store that simply couldn't remain on the shelf and when I weighed the $2 cost against its potential demise in my world, I figured I just couldn't resist.

It's a pepper keeper! Isn't it wonderful? How did I justify this? Well, every time I use a portion of a green pepper, I put the rest in a zip lock bag and store it in the fridge. I toss out the bag before I get a new pepper, so that's waste - right? On the other hand, this will be washed out and ready for the next pepper as soon as it comes into the house. By the way, I love green peppers and this will be used all the time.

Another absolutely favorite item is my cast iron skillet. I didn't grow up using one of these. Oh, every once in awhile, mom would go on a kick and use hers for awhile, but it ended up in a cupboard at the cabin and has long since been taken to Goodwill. Once I discovered the joy of a well-seasoned and well-used cast iron skillet, I have never wanted to use anything else.

I cook nearly everything in this - including pizza - with my own great pizza dough and my own ingredients. I'd forgotten how good homemade pizza could be. I love that it the skillet works in my oven and on the stovetop.

One other item that I hate the idea of living without is my bread machine. I'm on my third machine. The last two wore out and I'm hoping that this will hold up for quite some time, but I use it constantly.

I finally broke down a few years ago and purchased a gorgeous machine. I work this thing to death. I could get a little more experimental with it and try some of the wild bread recipes that are out there, but for the time being, I love making bread for my friends and I'll keep it busy with the bread I know. My Grandmother Greenwood baked bread every week and I spent a lot of time with her learning how to mix and knead the dough. She taught me what I need to know to do this by hand, but I do love the machine.

As I glance around, I realize there are a couple of other things in the kitchen I don't want to have to live without - my glorious mixer and my toaster. I live for toast. Right now I don't have the perfect toaster - someday I'll find it, but until then, I'm happy with what I have.

Simplifying my life isn't as easy as I want it to be. I can't get rid of stuff fast enough. I know if I invite my sister into my space, it will all be gone in a whirlwind. Consequently, she's not invited ... yet. Someday I'll get to the place where I just need it to be gone and I'll call her up. I'm just not ready for it yet.

While I process on all of that, I'll enjoy using these things that make me happy in the kitchen.

By the way ... I'm not much for beautiful photography of things in the kitchen. I'm fine with being utilitarian in my photos. If you want to spend some time with a beautiful young woman who sees the world through the lens of her camera and has lately taken that camera into her kitchen, check out my friend Alison's blog at "This Homemade Life." You will love her stuff!

Calendar Changes

2011-02-01T08:00:00.001-06:00

Paper calendars are much more useful to me than digital calendars. I tried. I really tried. I spent many years trying to manage my calendar in Outlook and I couldn't ever figure out how make it bring my world into perspective. Everything always seemed limited to what the screen could tell me. I know, I know - those of you who are dedicated digital calendar aficionados think that my simple paper calendars limit me as well. I manage my contacts digitally, I live in the cloud as much as I possibly can and still, my calendar insists that it needs to be on paper.

There is something immensely satisfying about ripping the page off my calendar and uncovering a fresh sheet with blank boxes to be filled. Changing pages on the calendar makes me aware of how quickly time passes, yet gives me the sensation of new opportunities being made available to me.

Within no time, those blank boxes will be filled. I will fill them so that I know what is going on and I will also fill them to remember what already occurred. Birthdays, anniversaries, special dates are placed into position and notes end up being scratched all over the sheet to help me remember little things as the month progresses.

Time is such a gift to us. But, it is a gift in limited supply. My calendar helps me remember that.

At this age, memories are a gift, but I forget so many things every day. My calendar helps me remember those as well.

How do you manage your calendar?

A Jumble of Thoughts

2011-01-31T12:07:00.000-06:00

Today's blog will be a complete jumble because there are so many things rattling around in my head. Nothing terribly profound or important - just stuff.

For the last several weeks I have been desperately trying to figure out what in the world it was that I wanted to write about. I came up with ... nothing. There weren't any great revelations or ideas, no big thoughts or for that matter, small thoughts. Then began the self-beatings. If I wanted to be a writer, shouldn't I write? Uh huh. Whatever. Well, of course that is true, but the beatings were about more than I could take. I didn't do much of anything, to be completely honest. Well, there are several seasons of Stargate: SG-1 that have been watched by now, but nothing that could possibly be construed as creative has been going on in my life.

It is amazing to me what a few words from someone I respect will do to me, though.

This morning I read a post by Seth Godin - "In and Out." All I focused on was his second to last line, "Time to start writing." Ummm, ok. You're right. So, I'm writing again, beginning with a few crazy thoughts and ending with ... who knows!

I almost feel like I should simply write down the thoughts that I have rolling around in my brain for future blog posts, because I'm desperately afraid that I will run into a two month writing block again. I can't tell you how that terrifies me.

The only thing that has kept me sane at all is that I have committed to write every day on my other blog "Pour Out a Blessing" and I can't break that kind of commitment. I put a few hundred words on the page every day and that has helped.

Next Monday I start my second semester of classes. I'm sick-to-my-stomach terrified of that. I may have overcommitted my brain to this next semester and if I come out on the other side with any bits and pieces left, I'll feel really alive. At this point, every time I think about it, I'm nauseous. Oh, you can tell me that I'll do fine, but I know what's ahead of me and that pit of snakes in "Indiana Jones" seems easier to get through.

The last few days have seen me handling what everyone else has dealt with lately - I haven't felt much like doing anything at all while fighting off upper respiratory garbage. I rearranged my desk so that I had more usable space. I haven't succumbed to spreading out on the large dining/kitchen table and want to keep myself confined to a smaller area, so sometimes it requires new thought. The second monitor that was a Christmas gift is extraordinary, but forced me to rethink how I place things and how I work. The first arrangement was ok, but I'm hoping the second will be better.

I feel a little more prepared to open books and schedule my time for the coursework.

Considering that rearranging my desk space was probably the most excitement I've had while feeling out of it, the fact that I feel GREAT today and inspired to write makes waiting for the impending snowstorm of doom a lot more exciting.

I drove into Webster City this morning to get groceries. For those of you who complain about running down to the grocery store - I've learned a new meaning for planning ahead. A one-way twenty minute drive on gravel roads and county highways requires planning. To get a few things from the smaller market in Stratford requires a mere ten minute drive one way. It's entertaining, though, being accustomed to having incredible options at those immense grocery stores in Omaha, to being quite limited by smaller stores. Kalamata olives? Ummm ... nope. Feta Cheese? Well, Kraft sells some - that's all there is - one option. They have everything I need and I'm not complaining, it just forces one to readjust one's thinking.

Anyway, I stopped to get gas on the way out of town and the guy who pulled in behind me was filling a gas can. I asked if he was preparing for the coming snow. "That's exactly what I'm doing!" So, I decided to press my luck and since I don't have television out at the cabin, I asked him what was coming. The last I read, it was 1-2" but he let me know that we'd be lucky to get away with 5-8" and that in southeast Iowa, where he should be heading to visit his father in the hospital was planning for 15-18"!! Ok, that's hilarious.

My friends up here will plow me back out when the storm is nearly over and I'll be free to move about the country, but until then, I am looking forward to the wild storm that is supposed to come. I might (or might not) do some baking, I will do some writing and I have to say ... it's a good life.

Cartoon Character? My nickname.

2010-12-04T15:23:00.000-06:00

Over on Facebook, people are changing their profile pictures to a cartoon from their childhood.

I didn't watch cartoons on Saturday mornings very often. Around our house, Saturday morning were still a day of work. Since the three of us kids were free labor, things that needed to be done happened before we were able to play. When we came downstairs for breakfast, there was generally a list of tasks on a blackboard that hung over the kitchen table. Sometimes mom would mix it up and let us choose from the list of tasks, but more often we saw our name ... and a list.

Now, before you think our lives were too terrible, these tasks weren't anything very difficult. We had to clean our rooms, maybe yardwork or cleaning in the house. Because we were so busy during the week, a lot of things hadn't gotten done, so Saturday mornings were a great time to make sure the house was ready for whatever came next.

Television wasn't a big deal in our home. It wasn't until Mom got cancer that the television finally made its way into the living room. Mom had grown up knowing that a television was crass, it didn't belong in a formal living room. When we were very young, it resided in Mom and Dad's bedroom, which meant that it was a big deal to get to watch a show. Since we always spent time in the living room, we read a lot of books or we played outside or did a million other things.

Max laughs at me because I missed a bunch of pop culture from the 60s. When I got to junior high and high school, I didn't have time to watch television in the evenings - I was always out doing something. But, I did know that I was missing Saturday morning cartoons.

If I have to come up with a cartoon character though, it will be the one whose name became my nickname - Hairbear!

I'm pretty sure that nickname was assigned to me with love, but it happened and it stuck. I had curly hair - that was never really tamed. I don't remember it ever being an afro, but something must have happened the day Dale Cavin saw me walk into art class in the basement of the Junior High building in Sigourney. As I walked down the steps, he called out 'Hairbear!' and that stayed with me through high school. It finally got shortened to 'Bear,' and sometimes I still hear that when I run into old friends.

My friend, Devbra and I hand wrote the "Hairbear Journal," an underground (really not quite as subversive as that sounds) newspaper. We hand copied several copies every time we published it and passed them around the school.

Since I had just moved into Sigourney and was at that tender age (7th grade - adolescence) where you desperately want to have friends and fit in, a nickname wasn't a bad way to start.

Office supply love

2010-12-04T10:21:00.001-06:00

Tell me you know about my addiction to 3x5 cards. If you didn't before, you do now!

I come by this quite naturally. Dad never left his office or the house without a few 3x5 cards in his shirt pocket. There was always a necessity to take some notes or to leave a note. When he would stop by a parishioners house to visit with them and they weren't home, he'd leave a note letting them know he'd been there. If he went to visit someone in the hospital and they were sleeping or out having tests done, he'd write a quick note on a 3x5 card and leave it for them.

When we opened Insty-Prints, one of the first things Dad wanted from us was personalized 3x5 cards. Even after he retired, he was still using 3x5 cards. I continue to find them strewn through his stuff as he jotted down a note and then tucked it somewhere so that when he needed it, he'd find it again.

How many of you remember High School speech class and preparing your notes on 3x5 cards? It seems to be the perfect size for nearly everything. On Sunday mornings when I just need to remember a few words, I don't want to deal with the entire piece of music, so I jot those words down on a 3x5 card and they're there when I lose my memory!

I have an entire stack of notes that I keep beside my computer. Addresses that I haven't gotten into my digital address book, a list of people to send Christmas cards to, ideas for writing projects, things I need to remember to purchase, on and on and on. I'll get most of these transferred into digital form at some point, but a lot of them will expire and get tossed away before that happens.

I carry extras in my purse - you never know when you need to write a quick note, or sketch out words for a song on Sunday morning, or write something down that you have forgotten 5 times and it just came back into your head.

One of the things I really wanted was a good container for my 3x5 cards. Something on my desk. There are lots of travel pack things and items that aren't terribly sturdy. I just couldn't find what it was that would be perfect ... until I walked into Dad's house to help finish packing out the stuff before his wife moved to Denver to be with her sons. I was sitting at his desk, clearing out the junk and packing up things I wanted to go through again when I saw this:

That was it! Dad had used it on his desk for years. I think Mom made it for him out of clay. In a heartbeat, I had a piece that was made by Mom, designed especially for 3x5 cards and a treasure from Dad's desk. Could it get any better?

Surprisingly enough, it did. My other office supply passion is writing utensils. All of 'em. Pens, pencils, markers, highlighters, sharpies ... oh, I love 'em. I also found THIS on Dad's desk:

This had come from my grandfather's desk - he ran the printshop at Harvard University and when he retired, a lot of his pieces came to us. Dad snagged it. It's leather and has started to look a little beat up now, but it still carries a lot of memories.

I'm such a dork - I know it. I can't help it.

Read a Great Book Today

2010-11-30T20:49:00.000-06:00

I began reading a fascinating book today. It's been on my reading list for awhile, but when I discovered that it was required for one of my classes, I knew that the time was now!

The book is "Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical" by Shane Claiborne. This young man is doing things in the world that I will never be able to imagine or begin to duplicate. He has chosen to live as a Christian ... full-out, with no reservations.

In college, he chose to help a group of homeless families who were shacked up in an abandoned Catholic cathedral in Philadelphia from eviction. When the Archdiocese tried to evict, he and a group of others became radically involved with these people stopping the eviction for quite sometime, until they had all found other places to live. He called Mother Teresa from his dorm room and managed to get himself to Calcutta for a summer, living among the poor and the lepers. He finds his friends among the homeless on the streets, choosing to be with them rather than hanging out in clubs.

And now, he is actively involved as an ordinary radical, living a rather communal life with others as they live out their Christianity among the homeless and those that are in need. More and more of these communities are coming to life across the country as people shed their materialism, their status seeking and their limited idea of what the church should look like.

One of the statements that absolutely skewered me was that Christians are afraid to read the Bible because they are afraid that it will change them.

Is that right? Are we so afraid of what the Bible will call us to do that we avoid really reading it - only choosing to read the things that seem safe or that we can justify? Do we create a padded world to live in that allows us to avoid the real needs around us?

Claiborne doesn't accuse Americans of not caring about the poor, he simply says that Americans don't know the poor. And he's right.

Those that we know, we care for. But if we don't know them ... we can pretend like they don't exist. How in the world can you allow poverty to happen to your friends? You simply can't. You will do anything possible to help them.

In the middle of this, I watched a conversation happen on one of my class forums. A woman was talking about this immense home that she owned and had been trying to sell for years. She could not manage to get it to sell. Then, Hurricane Katrina hit and the refugees began pouring out of New Orleans. She lives in Florida and many families came to their church for help.

There she was with a huge home, empty of all of its children. Because she was unable to sell this home, she had it available to offer. Two large families moved in with her and her husband until they were able to get themselves re-established on their own. She knew that God had allowed her to use this as a gift.

After a few years of caring for these people, they moved out and the house just sold.

I am blown away this evening by the stories that people tell of their interactions with others. These stories force me to examine myself and what it is that I do for the Kingdom of God here on earth.

If you want to re-examine your thinking ... look for that book. Allow it to stir you up and upset your balance a little bit.

Wash Behind Your Ears!

2010-11-29T11:07:00.000-06:00

I stood in the shower this morning and, as I often do, found myself chuckling. I flashed to a memory of my mother asking me if I had washed behind my ears. Mom really had a thing about ensuring that the three of us kids were clean. Really clean. And who would've thought a girl could get so dirty behind her ears! I mean, really?

But, if you know me at all, you know that I have a just a touch of a rebellious nature. The more she told me to wash behind my ears, the more I didn't. I really couldn't imagine it was a problem. I washed my hair - surely my ears and neck got clean. Right?

Nope. There is a distinct memory that I have of mom attacking my neck with cold cream - scrubbing until the dirt came off. That was painful enough to stick with me and I began taking more care to ensure that that area behind my ears and my neck got at least a quick swoop of the washcloth.

The other thing that she always asked was if I had washed my hands after going to the bathroom. Every, single freakin' time. I'm not kidding every time. And the funny thing is, I still hear her asking me that question. So ... it continues! And why was I so rebellious that I would turn on the water and not put my hands under there? Oh ... yah. Makes all the sense in the world. Flat out rebellion.

You see, one of my greatest problems was that I didn't want to miss anything. So, if I had to go to the bathroom, I was pretty well assured that something interesting would happen in those few minutes I spent away from the action. Any more time spent washing and drying hands just left more time for the entire world to flip upside down without my being able to be a part of it. But, when I realized that I was spending just as much time turning on the water and going through the motions of washing my hands, but not actually doing it, I realized that it was just rebellion and I wasn't doing anyone any good.

But, I still find myself hesitating before walking out of a bathroom ... I hear mom's voice in my head as I turn to wash my hands. Sometimes I want to walk out because I really don't want to miss what is happening out there in the world.

For my New Testament class this week, we are working through James 4:13 - 5:6. James 4:17 says, "Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins."

That was one of Dad's favorite verses to preach about. We're all very conscious of those sins of commission that we perform. We're conscious of the sins that everyone else commits, too, aren't we! But, those sins of omission - the things that we know we should do, but don't - are a little more subtle.

If we don't stand up for a friend, or we don't tell someone that we love them, if we don't reach beyond ourselves, if we don't give a little extra to someone in need ... no one really needs to know that we even considered doing those things. That really doesn't count.

If I don't wash behind my ears, or wash my hands before leaving the bathroom ... who will really know? Does it count?

I hear mom's voice in my head all the time with the silly little things. And believe it or not, I hear God's voice in my head with the bigger things - those things that are a little more important than washing behind my ears.

Dealing with Loss ... Loving in Life

2010-10-29T15:08:00.001-05:00

My emotions have been ragged this week as I approached the loss of a man I cared for deeply when I was young. To be honest, I'm not sure I can find words to make sense of what is going on inside my heart.

A college professor, mentor, friend, committed suicide this week and I can't understand why I am so devastated, but my heart just hurts and that hurt keeps pouring out of me in the form of tears. I haven't seen him in quite a few years, haven't communicated with him in several years, but I always knew that there would be time. There wasn't.

He was a force ... a passionate, musical, demanding force. He taught me how to work with groups, his conducting class showed me how to lead people and how to bring out everything I could from them musically. His joy and exuberance gave life to incredible musical dreams for many students.

I spent the summer with him after I graduated. We worked together preparing the summer musical - that year it was "Man of La Mancha." I stayed on campus as the rehearsal accompanist and had the best time as I experienced his treatment of the music. He introduced this young, inexperienced Iowa girl to Chinese food! He made me feel so important as he picked me up and took me out to dinner - simply to say thanks for what I had done for him. He probably had no idea how much it meant to me. We worked hard that summer and I had one of the best times of my musical life.

When I got the email notification from Coe College that Rich Hoffman had died, I was in shock. I knew he had been battling pancreatic cancer and assumed that it had finally taken him. I cried tears of loss and then realized that life kept moving on, so I needed to keep busy with what I was doing. Later that evening, one of my close friends emailed me that he had been found in his car, in his garage ... it looked like suicide.

My emotions changed from the pain of loss to a sorrowful ache at the loneliness and desperation he must have felt. Assumptions are being made that he'd had more bad news regarding the cancer and his death was imminent whatever way ... he chose this way.

I've known of people that committed suicide, but I don't believe I've ever felt it so closely. There is such an aching feeling of sorrow, knowing that person was alone, with no one standing there to assure them they were loved and cared for and that there would be understanding for what their choices were going to be.

This morning I spoke with a pastor friend of mine - Craig Finnestad - and asked how he counseled families that deal with loss through suicide. He gave me a profound thought to consider. When our hearts deteriorate, they stop beating and we die. When other organs deteriorate, they cease to work and our bodies die. The mind is yet another part of our body and when it finally deteriorates, our body may die. Even if it is a short term level of desperation and insanity, we have to know that it can cause our death. And since God is not bound by time, we can't know what happens between a person and God in those moments just prior to final death. That isn't ours to judge. Because our mind has deteriorated to the point of death, does not mean that God rejects us from heaven.

That really made me think. My parents had a friend commit suicide and I remember evenings just after that event as they sat around and discussed the ramifications surrounding it. Neither could accept that a God who loves us so much and spends our lives wooing us to Himself would punish us for not being able to hold up against seemingly insurmountable pain and agony.

The world is a lonelier place for those of us left behind - but that happens whenever we lose someone we love. It hurts me to know that loneliness generally surrounds suicide. But, the moment Rich was gone, those painful fears and terrors, pain and agony that he faced were gone as well.

We can rejoice in his life, pray for his family and those that were close to him and love those who are close to us.

A good deed and a bit of entertainment.

2010-10-26T13:19:00.002-05:00

Sometimes a good deed gets a girl a lot of entertainment!

I realized that there was no 'chocolate' in the place. At least nothing that I could just jam into my mouth. So, time to make the cookies! I had just enough ingredients to whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies and I did. Because I like them to happen quickly, I make the bars - and I love those chewy things.

As I pulled the pan out of the oven, guilt tried to take over. What in the world would I do with all of these except eat them? Who needs that? Since I have to go in and take a proctored exam on Thursday, I figured I would take a batch to Sue and Ralph, but that still leaves me with too many.

Wait! There are some hard working guys working on the bridge. It was lunch time and I'd bet nearly anything they wouldn't mind some warm, chocolate chip bars. I packed them up, got in my Jeep (too wet, windy and cold to walk this) and headed over. The large equipment was running and there wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere. Hmmm ... a pickup truck down in the park. Since it was 12:30, it had to be a lunch break and I was gonna check it out.

I pulled into the park, walked toward the truck. No one stirred. No one at all. I got up to the truck, raised my hand to knock on the window - kind of waved ... nothing. They were sound asleep! Three of them. Lunch break - nap time, whatever. I wasn't getting anything. And I couldn't bring myself to wake them up.

I came back to the cabin and then started to worry. Oh, I hoped they were sleeping and not dead. Well, surely by 1:15 they would be ready to go back to work and I'd be safe waking them. So ... back I went. I didn't see much movement, but by the time I got to the truck time (I was going to sound an alarm if they didn't respond), they were chuckling and opened up to me.

"Hey guys - I'm glad to see you're alive!" Yup, they laughed. I told them who I was and what I had for them. Are there any young men out there that don't like homemade chocolate chip cookies?

Next time I'll wait until after the 1:00 hour.

I had cookies for them, for me, for my friends as a thank you and all was good. I hope I haven't stopped them from napping over their lunch hour tomorrow. But, I'll bet they think about it before dropping off to sleep! :)

Now ... back to studying Greek and the rest of the insanity.

Save Our Piano!!!

2010-10-21T15:40:00.001-05:00

Here's a fun letter that was sent to Carol and me when Dad was preaching in West Liberty. He didn't actually feel like his ministry was successful there. It was one of the more difficult pastorates for him and when he left, it was the only time he felt that he had failed. One summer, he received this letter and I'm not sure why he opened it since it was addressed to the two of us girls, but he did and he also chose not to tell us about it until long after we had left.

I found it today. I took a break and started digging into the things that I brought back from his house. It was sent in 1982. Carol and I were home for the summer and we did special music pretty regularly. This poor, old lady showed up one Sunday morning and freaked out because the music was too loud. She was so concerned about the fact that it wasn't sweet and heavenly, she needed to ensure that we knew what church music was to sound like.

If I recall correctly, that Sunday we had performed a piece that was a glorious piano solo underneath beautiful vocals. Carol was on microphone and I can guarantee you that if Dad couldn't hear the vocals, he would have changed the levels - he was quite a stickler for understanding words clearly.

This is an anonymous letter, though at the time Dad knew exactly who had sent it. Too many times we let these anonymous complaints alter or change how we approach ministry. We question what we know to be right because one person complains. Dad never did that. He shouldered the responsibility for the decisions he made and shrugged off things like this.

Several years after we had left the community, he dug this letter out to show us. He was laughing when he did. It meant no more to him than that, but he knew that had he told us about it at the time, it would have stifled our enthusiasm in sharing our music and that was the last thing he wanted to have happen.

There are a lot of lessons to be learned ... from this letter and from his response ... but I'll leave those to you.

For now, I just chuckle as I think about her descriptive phrases for my piano playing and for her expectations of church music ... and her considerable concern for the safety of the piano in that church!

Packrat or no?

2010-10-18T21:40:00.000-05:00

I got a call today from Dave. His mother was married to Dad until he died. Priscilla has moved to Denver to be closer to her sons and Dave is cleaning out her house, shipping her furniture out to her and getting rid of everything else. There were a few things left in the house that they thought our family might want so in the process of all this, they set aside a few boxes. I went in to get them this evening. Good heavens, more books!

And rock collections! Dad had saved the rock collection I assembled when I was in 6th grade. The rocks are still labeled and sorted out into their little spaces. Oh my goodness. I'm awfully thankful that Carol is teaching 6th grade and might be able to make use of these in one of her units. I'm also thankful that Mom and Dad didn't save my dead insect collection. Oh, that was back in the days of t-pins and dead bugs. All neatly labeled and stuck to boards. I can not believe that I did that project. It just makes me shudder thinking about it. Mom and I spent a lot of time in the outdoors that year with a butterfly net. Blech.

There is a box filled with Grandpa Greenwood's sermons. Another box filled with old Guidepost magazines for Carol. Another box filled with very, very old small group studies. What in the world am I going to do with that crap? However, Max might enjoy the strange tracts that I found in yet another box. There were a few treasures amongst the crap. Tomorrow night I'll go back in and finish going through Dad's filing cabinets.

I did tell Dave that Carol and I were terrified Priscilla would go first and after Dad died we'd be responsible for dealing with her immense houseful of junk! He's had a garage sale, completely filled a 10 cubic yard dumpster, plans on a second dumpster and will be moving stuff to his house for her and off to his niece's house as well. There were paths moving through her home because of the incredible amount of 'stuff' she had.

Max and I have tried to purge our house of the extraneous stuff that we have laying around. It doesn't go quite as planned when it happens, but one of these days we'll have it whittled down so that Carol doesn't have to panic at the thought of us dying in some hideous accident, leaving her with a household of stuff that she doesn't know what to do with.

Both Dad and Priscilla were terrible packrats. I managed to take on that terrible habit for the first 40 years of my life. Any bit of sentimental meaning meant that it had to stay in my world. The scary thing has been looking at things that obviously meant something to me twenty years ago and not having any idea what that might have been.

Do you collect or purge?

Games People Play

2010-10-17T22:01:00.000-05:00

I know ... I know. I've not attended to this blog well in the last few days. I didn't really ever consider that I would get to the point where there were no more interesting words in my head. But, wow ... when they start dragging words out of my head at an alarming rate, I seem to evaporate into blackness up there.

I am posting some on my other blog - Pour Out a Blessing. You will find more of the day to day things that I'm learning in my classes there. I don't post that link too often on Facebook and Twitter, but if you want to receive an email from me every day with that blog post, just let me know your address and I'll get you on the list! You can send me an email at nammynools (at) cox (dot) net. That's where I've pulled apart a lot of scripture and hopefully you can learn with me as I go. I will warn you, there are days you have to go through my Greek lesson with me. I try to make it as painless as possible, though.

Would you believe that my favorite class is Greek? I think it might be because it's so straightforward. There are rules and things to memorize. I either get it or I don't. If I don't get it, I keep plugging away until I do. The other courses I'm taking are a bit more subjective and I'm finding that it's not necessarily thinking outside the box, it's more like trying to figure out which way they want me to think so that I can make the grade happen. I suppose I knew that was the probability - however, I think it is one of the most horrendous things happening in education today.

I was telling Carol last night that this is a frustration for me. I spent the first 25 years of my life figuring out what the game was and then playing it very well so that I could ensure success. At some point in the last 25 years I began rebelling against the game and found a desire within myself to see if I could change the game so that more people could understand what the rules were and maybe more people would be able to play. If I could effect change, I gave it my best shot. More often than not, I found that I was eliminated from the game before I was finished, but every once in awhile, I'd look into the playing field and find that subtle differences were showing up and the change had actually worked. I just needed to get out of the way.

But, being back in an institution forces me back onto an unfamiliar playing field. I'm doing my best to understand the rules, but I still get really annoyed at the fact that they really exist in all of their colorful glory!

Carol told me it would be best if I just accept it for the next few years - get through the program without upsetting the referees and once I was on the other side, if given the chance, go for the changes. We'll see.

She's right, though. I had a few days last week of pure frustration. A large institution doesn't give a hoot in hell if I don't like the way they organize their rules - even if I see that it would make so much more sense to rearrange them. I'll play for awhile. I'll keep getting frustrated. Every once in awhile I have fun playing ... maybe as I get used to it, I'll find other ways to keep myself entertained.

Do you have a game you have to play?

Do you like to fly? Not me.

2010-10-14T21:14:00.000-05:00

I know, I know ... it's been a couple of days and I went away. But, wow! I've had a lot of writing to do this week. And a lot of reading and a lot of studying and a lot of ... well, you get the idea. Thursdays are generally a fairly easy day for me. Uh huh ... not this week.

I really thought that I would have time to sit and think about a blog post today and wow you with some incredible bit of ... well, I'm tired and I can't even come up with a word to end that sentence. Sigh. Yah ... it's been that kind of a week.

Last week I told you that my friend up here helped get rid of our old, red van. Yesterday he came in with his skid loader and pulled a bunch of felled trees in our meadow to the middle where we have a burn site. What a great guy! He and his wife run the local airport (he's a pilot and teaches flying at the local community college as well). I'll head up there tomorrow with a loaf of bread and a thank you card. They take really good care of me when I'm here at the cabin and I truly enjoy them. He hasn't pushed me to go up in an airplane yet. I'm pretty sure I've made it clear that it terrifies me and makes me sick to my stomach. Maybe one of these days I'll go in and take the ground coursework so that I can understand more about planes and how things work. That might help rid myself of some of the terror. I hate flying.

Here's a story for you. About twenty years ago I was flying back to Omaha from San Francisco. Probably the San Francisco - Denver leg. I was towards the back of the plane in the middle seat (joy) and an odd woman sat down in the aisle seat. Not one to be rude, I said hello and opened myself up to conversation with her. She was having none of that. She wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't look at me, in fact ... she pulled her magazine practically up to her face so that she could avoid all contact. When the steward came around offering drinks, she grabbed (yes - reached out and grabbed) the glass of water and with her eyes darting around, proceeded to pour something into it. I could have sworn it was charcoal. Sigh. She stirred it until it was a sludgy mess, drank it down, then grabbed the vomit bag in front of her seat. Nope, didn't take long. She didn't bother to get up and go to the bathroom, just vomited right there beside me. I asked if she was ok. Not a word, she just glared at me. I don't remember what she did with the bag, but I know that I just wanted to huddle underneath the seats - I think I was afraid the witch would bespell me or something!

I've never been one of those people that had entertaining company on flights. Yah ... it's not a great joy for me. I'll just drive to where I need to go. Much more fun!

What is your strangest flying experience?

Not so fond of bugs

2010-10-11T20:15:00.000-05:00

Right now I'm tired of bugs.

It's that time of year and between the Box Elder bug

and the friggin' Asian beetle

I could find reasons to scream at the insanity of it all.

So, I just did a little bit of research and discovered that those stupid beetles are migrating right now. The common lady bug moves into upper elevations - we like them. The Asian beetle likes the lower elevations and is moving toward the warm. That's my cabin, just FYI. I haven't swept out the porch yet, but by the time I get to it, there will be a carpet of dead beetles. Oh, and don't touch them - they stink!

The beetles and box elders crawl up the screens until they find a hole and then make their way in. The thing of it is - they simply don't live that long - as soon as they're in - they die, so it's just more mess to clean up.

This is one of the nice things about throw rugs on the floor - I can pick up the rug, go outside, shake and beat it - and then sweep up the concrete. (do you remember when they called it wall to wall carpeting?) Well, NOT having carpeting right now is a blessing.

Poor Carol (ok, so do I - we were cruel) remembers a time when all of us were up here and Jim and I sent her to tears because we kept tossing box elder bugs on her. She totally freaked out about bugs. Since they were relatively harmless, we knew we weren't hurting her, but we certainly made her crazy. Now, she gets to deal with her own house and has to handle bugs, snakes, small rodents in the yard and all sorts of oddball things. It stinks to grow up!

If I remember, this migration lasts for a couple of weeks and a couple of good frosts will pretty much deal with it. But until then, I think I'll just be annoyed.

Birthday cake from Edward Cullen!

2010-10-10T21:25:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it is good to hang with people that know and love you. This picture of my belated birthday cake tells it all!

First of all, I'm accepted even though I have an unnatural affection for a fictional vampire that is played by a young man who could be my son (by age). Secondly, while my birth year is 1959, I have explained in no uncertain terms that after my 50th birthday, I was going to move backwards through the years. That is obviously understood and accepted.

Trust me, if I could eliminate all health problems, have years ahead of me to learn all there is to learn, I might bare my neck to a good looking vampire.

But since that really isn't an option, I'll move forward with my life as I know it and be really grateful for friends that treat me like family, get me and do weird things like offer me a Twilight / Edward cake for my birthday!

Weird little pieces of pottery by Mom

2010-10-09T22:49:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I haven't shown you some of the weird and wonderful things that Mom did with clay.

I was looking through photographs on my drive tonight and got caught up checking these out, did a quick search through my blogs and didn't find any reference to them. If I have told you about these before - whoops, sorry!

Mom was kind of a nut. She had a wicked, weird sense of humor and would get away with whatever she could, whenever she could. She was always very careful about her audience, but sometimes she just couldn't help herself.

Her father was even worse. His bawdy, strange sense of humor was just as wicked and weird and he didn't have quite the sense of propriety that mom did. Like the time when we lived in Morning Sun - a little town in southeast Iowa. He had taken a trip to Hawaii and came to the parsonage to visit us. He had slides and wanted to show the family his trip. The only open white space in the house was the large shade that pulled down over the picture window in the living room, so Dad obediently pulled it down and Mac set up the slideshow. Beautiful pictures of scenery, interesting photos of people. On and on he went through the slides until he hit a series of naked women. He just kept clicking away until all of a sudden Dad's face went ashen. Mac's eyes took on a hideous glint. Dad rushed outside, realized that you could see the entire slideshow from the street, which happened to be the main street through town and that the pastor was showing pictures of naked Hawaiian women to the entire community. He pulled the plug and Mac just laughed and laughed.

Mac called anyone that annoyed him a 'bloody bastard.' I don't think I realized how much time he had spent around our family. But as the story goes, as a very little girl, I picked up on his phrasing. Only I called people bloody beasters. And it stuck.

Well, one day, Mom was throwing pots on her potters wheel and one flopped. She turned it over on its side, added eyes, feet (with toes no less), ears and a strange little pigs tail on the back and called it a 'beaster.' Just because. It really makes a great candy dish. You'll notice that the big toe on the back foot is sticking up a little bit. That's because Mom could always tell when I was excited or stressed. My big toe went right up. I've managed to tame that - I have too many 'tells' at it is!!!

The next piece that she made - and she made several of these - was the Diggly. I don't know if I ever knew a story about how this came about, it was just something that she got into her head. Dog, Pig, Lion = Diggly.

This lives with Carol now. The worst thing is, we all know that a bunch of Mom's creations were given to friends and family over the years. They've probably been passed down to people that have no idea what they are or where they came from and have traversed many a garage sale.

However, one of my cousins was thinking about me. She walked into the print shop one day with a strange little creation. Mom had given it to her years and years before and she wanted to make sure that it got back to our family. It was another flopped pot, but Mom cut some holes in it, gave it feet and a tale and some eyes. It's a fabulous candle holder and looks like a dragon.

These are the stranger things that we've got around. I'll post some of Mom's more normal pieces another day. Yes, it makes me happy to know that I've come from such a creative person. Even if she was a little odd.

Goodbye, old friend

2010-10-07T20:15:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I said goodbye to a long time friend of the family. For that matter, it had been a long time friend to many kids and adults over the years. I'm talking about the old, red van.

Dad bought a 1978 Chevy van to replace another van that was no longer trustworthy to transport precious cargo around the country. This was no happy, family mini van - it was a cargo van that was heavy duty. Dad was proud of that. That van took his family everywhere - on vacations, short jaunts to the cabin, trips to see family; moved his kids in and out of college and into first apartments ... and back out of them, we used it every time we moved to haul stuff across Iowa so that the additional weight wouldn't tip the scales of the moving van (Dad was a cheapskate! He didn't want the company to charge him more for his huge library of books and other really heavy items). It took youth groups on trips for workcamps in Kentucky and Tennessee, into North Dakota and wild, excursion trips to the Boundary waters canoe area in northern Minnesota and white water canoeing and kayaking in Wisconsin and Missouri. He hauled kids to retreats (this is one picture I have of the youth group getting ready to leave Camp Golden Valley after a weekend retreat):

It was the second car for the family, so if we weren't driving a Volkswagen or Subaru, we were driving the van.

Then one day, it was no longer needed to haul large groups of people. The three of us kids had moved on in our lives and owned separate cars. Dad brought it up to the cabin to live out the rest of its life, using it to transport supplies as he built the porch on the cabin, brought in appliances and became the van that Jim's kids enjoyed driving around the meadow. They used it to haul the trailer filled with dead branches to a burn pile. Every year it seemed as if someone needed to do some work on it just to make it run a little longer.

Last year, it got parked in the meadow and nature had her way with it (that's it down in the meadow, covered with snow - on the left hand side of the photo). From the harsh winter to no fewer than five floods, the van was finally ready to see the end of its life.

So, I asked my friend up here if he knew someone and he certainly did. Yesterday, his friend showed up with a trailer and his two little grandsons. It took a lot of activity (because of the adorable grandsons - read: active, little boys) and it was pulled onto the trailer. He took off and had no idea of the number of memories that van carried with it.

It was strange to see it being hauled away and to realize that after 30+ years, another piece of my life was now a memory. There is no grass where it has been parked, but I know that soon nature will reclaim that space and we'll forget exactly where it was parked. We may forget the van, but the memories that surround trips taken in it will always be there.

Do you love the water?

2010-10-06T21:06:00.005-05:00

Are you one of those landlocked Americans that desperately loves the ocean? My poor mother was. She grew up in Boston and when she moved to Iowa at the age of 20, that was really difficult for her. When she and Dad purchased the cabin, one of the features that was definitely an extraordinary gift for her was the fact that it was right on a beautiful river. She could walk down, put her feet in the water and feel the freedom that the flowing river offered. We three kids spent a lot of time in the river. A lot of time!!! And as you've seen in past posts, the river has spent time in our meadow. We have quite the intimate relationship with it.

As I lay in bed last night, I was chuckling. Hanging over the bed is this painting. Yes ... it's black velvet. No, I have no idea why we have it, except that Dad liked the image and the only place mom would let him hang it was here at the cabin where only very good and trusted friends might see it. If they laughed, it was when he wasn't looking. I don't know that he ever understood the hilarity behind it.

Now, hanging at the head of the same bed is that small painting of a mountain lake. We're really not certain whether Mom painted it or not. It kind of looks like her work and I can't imagine we have a painting on a canvas without a frame if she didn't paint it.

Then, hanging over the area where I work is this amazing painting. It is six foot long by more than 3 feet high. Mom had stories to tell about this painting. You'll notice a backpack in the lower left up against the tree. She painted this from a photo that was taken on a youth group trip to the Boundary Waters canoe area. Now, see that little island out there in the middle? Mom had an interesting relationship with the kids in our youth groups - the boys especially. It's a good thing Dad was around most of the time - he managed to save her from most of their hideous tormenting.

When they got to this area, she had to go to the bathroom and there was no place readily available for privacy. She begged one of the young men to take her out. As soon as she got out of the canoe, he left and came back to the mainland. Of course she didn't realize it right away ... but, when she did ... all Dad heard was his name bellowed quite loudly. He laughed all the way out to get her, but he did go.

This painting was a labor of love for her and it always had a prominent place in our homes. When Dad died, it was the only thing we really cared about retrieving and since there are three of us kids, it seemed as if the cabin was the perfect place for it to hang.

As I look back, Mom always found ways for us to be in the water, around water or on the water. We lived at the swimming pool, before we moved to a town that had a public pool, we always had an immense pool in the backyard. We learned to swim in a lake nearby and whenever we were visiting out east, we spent time at the ocean.

I guess I never realized how much of an attraction the water had for Mom, but when I started looking at these paintings, I put it all together - and tonight, I shared!

Nothing much

2010-10-05T20:05:00.000-05:00

Today I needed to read a portion of two books. I was to read three chapters in the first book and about 18 pages in the second. Yup, managed to flip that around. And by the time I was well into the wrong book, I realized what I had done. I tried to get my head wrapped around the concepts in book two so that I could go for the entire three chapters and had to just give up. This is way too much information to process quickly. Absolutely nothing like a good mystery novel!

The last few days have been spent intensely memorizing Greek so that I can pass online quizzes with some sense of achievement. Wow. The thing is, I can get this stuff memorized, but unless I practically live with it every day, it fades pretty quickly. But, I love it, love it, love it ... so I'm pretty motivated!

Combines, gleaners, tractors and other assorted farm machinery has been rumbling up and down the road today. The farmers are working like crazy to get harvest finished. It's such a glorious thing to watch happen. I love the precision with which they maintain their land. Just incredible.

When I was growing up, I always told mom that there were two types of men I did NOT want to marry: preachers and farmers. I knew what living with a preacher was like and I didn't want anything to do with it. Most of my friends grew up on farms and I knew how hard they worked. I wanted nothing to do with that either!

But, I have to admit that spending time traveling back and forth through Iowa farm land, watching the crops go in during the spring and come out in the fall, I have a great appreciation for the beauty of that job. Oh, it's still darned hard work, but at the same time, these guys LOVE their great big machines. Good heavens, the numbers of these immense pieces of machinery that I see traveling back and forth on the interstate tells me how many are being sold. Pretty cool.

Yup, I love watching farming happen in Iowa. It's still probably a good thing I didn't marry one ... I would have hated for him to be angry at me when I made him do all the work. (hehe)

Words have run out of my brain and aren't replenishing as quickly as I'd like ... so tonight I'm just going to stop and either read a mystery or watch some television. Yup, that works for me!

It's early, I'm ready for bed!

2010-10-03T20:35:00.000-05:00

Let's see - 8 pm and I'm pooped! I need to go to sleep. This has been a bit of a crazy day and I don't know that I can fully identify every reason for it. But, it started at 4 am when I woke up after having a bloody, horrifying dream. I can't remember it at all, but I do remember waking up being a bit shaken. Oh, trust me, it was some mystery or something that I was trying to solve ... but, it shook me up enough to fully wake me for a couple of hours.

Now, this early morning comes after a great (long) evening spent at Carol's house. Nothing like having your sister recognize that you have nothing to do on a Saturday evening and invite you over. ... to grade papers. Lots and lots of papers. I'm such a sucker. I keep telling her that I'm the good sister.

This morning, since I now have the freedom to attend worship wherever I like, I decided to head back to Faith-Westwood and check out their new pastor. I've been hearing good things and I wanted to see for myself. So, I checked the website for worship times (because, crazy at it might sound, I had forgotten in the last two years). And I know I'm not stupid, but for some reason I got it into my head (after checking the website) that worship was at 9:30. It seemed weird, but hey, I'll do whatever ...

At 8:45, I thought that it seemed a bit off and checked the site one more time. Ummm ... no ... 9:00!!!! Hello, get moving ace. I hauled myself out of here and hurried down the highway. I was gonna be so late. Found a parking place, dashed into the worship center and found some great old friends and slipped into the seat. Eva looked at me and said, "Vikki's sitting there." I looked around and didn't see Vikki anywhere. The confusion must have shown on my face, her sister saw it and moved everyone down to leave room for the missing Vikki. I settled in for the service, a little distracted as I was trying to see the entire room and find out who was there. I haven't seen some of these people for a long time!

Then Vikki showed up and my sitting in her place confused her as well. She walked past me twice, looking for her seat. After the sermon and the introduction to communion, Vikki started looking around strangely. When I asked if I could help, she said "I'm dizzy and don't feel well." Then she asked me to get the man in front of us to help her get to the foyer. I did, he did and I settled back. Then an usher showed up asking if I was Paula. Nope, I'm not Paula ... I'm pretty sure that I'm Diane.

Vikki was quite ill and the rescue squad had been called. I moved into the foyer with her keys, the elusive Paula was found and chaos hit the foyer with everyone moving in to help. I was able to greet a few friends, but before I realized what was happening, my brain had decided that the chaos and noise was too much and had escorted my body back to my car and I drove off without seeing everyone that I had planned to see. I'm guessing that there has been too much peace and quiet in my world.

(Vikki is ok - a bad case of food poisoning with embarrassing eruptions!)

Mindlessly I drove home, called my sister to tell her of my craziness for the morning. I had an 11:30 am lunch engagement which I had planned thinking that church would get out at 10:30 and I'd have a few minutes to chat before heading further west. But, I got home with time to deal with the dog, get my bearings again and drive back for lunch.

After that, Max was home from his excursion to southwest Iowa (pictures here). I've spent a bit of time working through parsing Greek nouns in the 2nd Declension for a quiz I will take tomorrow and all of a sudden my poor brain has decided that it worked hard enough today and is begging to be shut down.

I'm a little concerned, though. If my brain believes that being shut down for the night gives it permission to conjure up horrifying dreams, I'm going to need to have a chat with it. I refuse to stop reading my mystery novels, science fiction, horror, fantasy, etc., Think that might have something to do with it? Oh ... probably. Some of these authors really enjoy describing the gory crime scenes. Oh well ... just as I'm never bored during the day, I guess I'm never bored while I sleep!

I really think that I prefer the peace and quiet to chaos and insanity. Don't you?

Lower stress levels make life more fun

2010-10-01T19:21:00.000-05:00

Alright, here's the deal ... the last few weeks have been up and down and all over the place for me. My stress level has hit high points and never really allowed me to relax. I quit sleeping as well as I usually do when I'm at the cabin and I just plain didn't like it! I haven't had trouble sleeping since those long days at Insty-Prints when I worried about everything! Those long nights were spent with the television on in an attempt to drug myself with pure pablum so I would just drift off. I kinda liked getting back to a normal sleep cycle.

You've probably read about my frustration level with the lack of professionalism from a couple of my professors. I can't bear it when I don't have a way to judge the worth of my work. And I can't bear it when there are expectations laid out for me and the authority that has put them out there won't stand up and follow them. It's not easy being an old lady and knowing that I shouldn't actually put up with that crap.

So, that was stressing me out.

Then, poor Max had a doctor that was just being an idiot. He's had some health issues - slammed into the hospital a couple of weeks ago and when the doctor was continuing to tell him that he wasn't getting any better (though he obviously was) and still needed to have a surgical consult (which had happened in the hospital and the surgeon had said 'no way - this doesn't need to happen) AGAIN, my stress level began going through the roof.

After his last appt. with his doctor on Wednesday, Max knew it was important that I talk to the man. I did and was disgusted when he began flip-flopping on information that he had been giving Max over the last two weeks. I caught him in two lies and when I began questioning his method of therapy, I could hear the frustration in his voice. I am not a stupid woman and I've lived long enough to know how a lot of things work.

But, just to be sure, I called one of my best friends from high school who is a pharmacist ... and another brilliant woman. I knew that if I could just get some good information, I could proceed, even if it meant putting this stupid doctor on the block and knocking his head around a little bit. She gave me great information which was enough for me to formulate several plans of attack.

Max got scheduled for a surgical consult, but walked in there with a slew of information. Fifteen minutes later he walked out after having been told by the surgeon that he was fine, there was no need for surgery and that everything was going to be ok. He didn't need the information, he didn't need several plans of attack. A bright man recognized the stupidity of the original doctor and assured Max that things were ok and that yes, there was no need to worry.

We'll never use that guy again ... ever!!! And to make it even more entertaining, one of the other doctors in the original office will be seeing Max from now on.

Max feels better that the specter of surgery has been lifted. My stress over that stupid situation is gone and I can finally concentrate on being happy and positive again! Stupid, stupid doctor.

It didn't help that I read THIS article on CNN.com the other day. Don't be a 'good' patient. Ask questions. Demand answers that make sense and don't let anyone get away with anything if you think its a bad idea.

I'll be glad to manage all the stress that I have to manage, I'm just glad that sometimes it is short-term and not long-term. The whole getting 100% on everything I do for school is making me a little stressed, but I'll get past that - just need to be able to accept that 95% is good. (thank you very much, Dad!)

You know, it's really a good thing that my friends recognize my insanity and love me in spite of it all. I really am a bit crazy, I guess.

And I'm thankful that God doesn't just upend me in front of a moving train (though I keep reading articles about people dying on train tracks - what in the world is up with that?). He's patient with my craziness as well.

So, I'm feeling grateful and fortunate this evening. I have most of my coursework done for the week. Ok ... well, I'm going to be parsing nouns and verbs all weekend for Greek. (muahahaha - I'll explain that all to you one of these days.) Out of all of my classes, I love Greek the most even though it is the one class that just makes my head hurt.

Ok ... enough rambling for the night. Time to make some supper and relax with a good book!

Week Four nearly over!

2010-09-30T23:01:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure that I have written more words this week than any week previously ... EVER!!! Last night by the time I posted one of my papers in draft form for my team members to help me work through before submitting it to the professor tomorrow night, I told them that my brain hurt. And it really did.

This week has been a little tougher than others - I have some ideas why that might be, but at the same time I hate feeling like this. Oh, I'll get past it - I always do, but this week I am seeing more of the indoctrination and attempt to develop my faith and belief structure happening and that frustrates me. I'm not in my early 20s and filled with questions about how to be a person of faith and how to express and define my faith. I'm an opinionated old lady!!! (stop laughing ... right now!)

Of course at some point I knew that this was going to have to happen - I'm going to seminary for heaven's sake! But, a girl can always hope.

The other part of this is - I still haven't received feedback from two of my professors, so I just blindly keep working through the assignments hoping that I'm not screwing up too badly. And ... last week when I received a bill from the seminary for the fall semester, I had to call and find out why my scholarships hadn't been applied. You know ... again ... I'm not a 20 year old kid who lets things slide until the last minute.

My attitude is much more aged. If you ask me to meet deadlines ... meet your own deadlines ... otherwise, I lose trust. If you expect me to take care of dealing with all of the picayune stuff that goes along with the business of attending seminary - I actually expect you to hold up your end of the deal and be able to respond like a well-run business.

So ... I'm at Thursday night of week four - a little frustrated. Which means that there are several departments about to receive a telephone call from me tomorrow. Maybe I should just become a consultant around the world so I can straighten everyone out and get them to fly right. Sounds like a perfect job for me!!! (alright ... stop with the maniacal laughter)

The one professor that is really staying on top of things and using the online features quite well is my Greek professor. My brain is doing its level best to take in all of the information. I'm desperate for it all to sink in and stay. I'm having fun with this stuff, though. I think maybe because it's kind of like a puzzle ... if I can get all the pieces to fit together, it's going to be an extraordinary picture. But, you know those pieces that kind of look like each other, but don't actually snap into place without force? That's much like the Greek language ... about the time I'm sure that I get it - there's an exception to the rule. Memorize, memorize, memorize. I'll get it! I promise!

Have a good night - I'm gonna crash!

Are you a religious illiterate?

2010-09-29T21:30:00.000-05:00

Well, here's the quiz that has people in an uproar. Go ahead ... take it.

http://features.pewforum.org/quiz/us-religious-knowledge/

Here's the article that I saw yesterday from the LA Times based on this survey.

http://articles.latimes.com/2010/sep/28/nation/la-na-religion-survey-20100928

As Christians, we are illiterate about our faith ... its history and we know even less about the faiths found in the world around us.

It isn't surprising to me that we don't ask questions, don't look for answers, heck we don't even know HOW to ask question. Our lives are filled with so much, that the idea of adding one more piece of information or one more search for knowledge sometimes just feels overwhelming.

I feel guilty some nights when I go to bed and curl up with my Kindle and read fiction instead of some pithy look into the comings and goings of the world. (not guilty enough to open a non-fiction book, though - trust me!)

So, if you took that quiz and scored poorly, what would encourage you to learn more about your faith ... or is there nothing on there that you really care that much about. AND, on the other hand, if you scored fairly well, what do you attribute your knowledge to?

I feel pretty lucky in that I took two World Religions courses last year - that helped with the question about Eastern Religions and then I worked through Church history - that helped a lot. But, then again, some of the answers were just things I've absorbed throughout my life.

I missed one - who knew that a teacher could lead prayer in the classroom according to the Supreme Court? Sheesh ... I didn't know that!

Is learning this type of stuff important to you?

I'm a geek for blankets

2010-09-28T09:58:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I wrote about how much I love fall. And I really do.

This morning, I just wrapped a blanket around my legs while sitting at my desk writing and thought about it. One of my favorite things about fall is that I get to wrap up in my blankets again.

If there is one addiction I'm glad to admit to, it's blankets. There is nothing more comforting to me than being surrounded by quilts, throws, blankets ... whatever. And I don't want any of those boring every day blankets and quilts you can buy in the store. I like the interesting, the weird, the wild, the creative.

When I was young, we did a lot of traveling in the southeast because of all of the workcamps we attended in Kentucky and Tennessee. One of the things the women down there did very well was quilt. They could sell those quilts for a tidy profit to bring in extra money. The only problem was that there was absolutely no way I could afford those beautiful things. I would stand in front of them, fondling and touching, wishing beyond everything that I could own one, but $500-$600 and up wasn't in the ball park for any of us. So ... no quilts.

Then one day, when we were in North Dakota - at another work camp, I came upon a quilt that would be perfect. The colors were fabulous and when I looked at the price and saw that it was around $50, I was shocked. Ok ... the workmanship wasn't as perfect, but it was mine. I wore that thing out. The batting wadded up (I told you about the workmanship, right?) and the back fell off (workmanship again). But, I still loved it. I found an old blanket and promptly sewed it in between the front and the back and then re-tied all of the knots in the quilt and it was mine again.

Yup, I'm sure you've seen that picture before - but that was my quilt and I loved it. To be honest, I think I loved it so much, it has long since deteriorated and gone into the trash. See, I couldn't even recycle it or give it away, I destroyed it with love.

My favorite store on earth is the Amana Woolen Mill. I can't go in there and not buy something. So, in actuality, I avoid it like the plague. The blanket I have wrapped around me right now came from there. It's a favorite.

Over the years I have been able to accumulate some wonderful quilts and blankets. Friends have made quilts and given others to me, wonderful knitted blankets and throws have come into my life.

What is it about these things? Maybe it's the promise of warmth against the chill, maybe it's the wonderful scent of the cedar chest when pulling them out after the summer, maybe it's the weight and an idea of safety. I'm not sure, but whatever it is ... warm blankets, quilts and throws will always make me love fall even more.

I love fall

2010-09-27T21:19:00.000-05:00

I absolutely adore spring with its bright green growth popping up in grass and trees. But, my favorite time of year without a doubt is fall. There is nothing better than the crisp air surrounding you while the warmth of the sun beats down.

I'm not really a fan of cold rain on a Saturday, but it made for a wonderful reason to stay curled up inside with no reason to do anything purposeful. Today, however, the bright blue sky just beckoned me out. I couldn't stay out too long - much too much work to be done for classes, but every chance I got, I wandered out to the porch and then on outside just to breathe the world in.

All of the windows and doors are flung open to capture the essence of the outdoors, but when evening comes, they all go shut so as to maintain the warmth of the day and tonight I will pile on the blankets and quilts and succumb to sleep while the world continues to move.

One of the things I love the most about knowing people all over the country ... all over the world is watching how they live within their environment. Friends down south rarely see ice and snow, but experience the wildness of a hurricane. Friends west of Nebraska experience much shorter summers and longer winters. Friends in the great northeast see cooler summers and sometimes much harsher winters. It's exciting to see it all happen ... all around.

I love the power of weather. It's uncontrollable by mankind. No matter how hard we try, it remains out of our control. Sometimes it is devastating, sometimes it is glorious, but it is always what it is ... not what we make of it. The chaos is beautiful.

Tomorrow I will enjoy another beautiful, sunny, glorious day and I will be thankful for fall all over again. As we get closer and closer to winter, I will pray that God grants us a respite from the insanity that we experienced last winter, but will recognize that if it comes with all of its raging power, I will be able to do nothing but accept it.

Kind of makes for a fun life, doesn't it?!?!

Disappointment. Honor vs. Shame

2010-09-26T20:24:00.001-05:00

One of the toughest things my father ever said to me was "Diane, I'm disappointed in you." Hearing those words from him was worse than a kick in the gut. I did everything possible in my life to ensure that he wouldn't have to say those words and I wouldn't have to hear them.

A major separation that stands between our culture and the culture of the New Testament is one of Honor and Shame. In the New Testament, those were two ways that the culture brought about good behavior and dissuaded others from acting poorly. When the New Testament church began breaking away from the Jewish religion, shame came down on them and Paul had to realign their ideas so that honor came from obeying God and not mankind's standards. As you read the letters in the New Testament, you see this coming into play over and over again.

The crucifixion was the most shameful way there was to die in the first century, it brought shame not only to the one being killed, but to his (her) friends and family as well. It was a huge adjustment for those first century Christians to accept that Jesus dying on the cross brought honor to Himself and to the name of God.

We accept much of this now because as time progressed, the idea of honor and shame shifted. It was honorable to worship the emperor ... but in the church, they transformed that so that the Christians began to define honor as worshiping God.

Much of the discussion that I am involved in within my classes has to do with how our churches today behave as opposed to the behavior of first century Christians. Many of the people in my classes are already pastoring small churches, are youth pastors in larger churches or are intending to move into ministry upon graduation.

While everyone has hope for the church at large, there is a great deal of recognition of the fact that the church has greatly been corrupted by the honor/shame effect from society and finds it difficult to withstand those pressures. There is an increasingly large chasm between those who attend church, those who are attached to a church, those who are open to attending church and those who want nothing to do with the organized church. Then, we seem to be completely separated from an increasing number of people who want nothing to do with God ... with religion ... with us.

A large number of churches and church goers no longer really care about that chasm or the people on the other side. It's too easy to sit in a pretty building with pretty people and be safe from the world that needs us. There's no risk, there's no extravagant love, there's no glorious generosity, there's no beauty ... there's no honor and there should be great shame.

While there are a great many church communities that actively reach out to the world and find ways to create the Kingdom of God in their midst, these churches are less prevalent than we might wish they would be.

Today, I am disappointed in the church. I am disappointed in what people believe church is. I have hope for the universal church of God, but I am certain that for Her to lay claim to the people of this world ... wherever they may be found ... the church will look very different from what we believe it must be today.

I am disappointed.

Peeing dogs, barking dogs and coloring

2010-09-25T21:54:00.000-05:00

I haven't done much that is productive today and I feel great about that! I got up late and then decided that I was going to check out a bunch of the fall television shows and be a lazy bum. That's exactly what I did. Ok, I cooked a couple of meals, cleaned things up ... oh yah ... and ended up stripping my bed because the stupid dog peed in it last night when I crawled out to go to the bathroom myself. Are you kidding me with this? Sigh ...

Max came up with the dog to the cabin this weekend. At 2 am, I went to the bathroom, she got up, didn't get me to move quickly enough, I guess and went back to my bed (Max was in the other bed), peed and crawled back under the covers with him. When I got to the bed, sat down in the cold and wet ... I couldn't make a scene because I didn't want to wake him up. I pulled everything back, grabbed my pillows and landed on the sofa. It took me a good hour to settle down - I was a bit annoyed. Yup, I'll be hitting the laundromat tomorrow afternoon. Grrr ...

This evening, there are a couple of hounds barking and baying at something back in the hillside. Obviously they have some animal or something treed and aren't going to move away from it. I'm hoping their owners figure this out before I have to go to bed - or this is going to be a long, loud night. They've been sounding off for the last 20 minutes and it doesn't seem to be ending any time soon. Hmmm ...

I spent some time today (while watching television shows) looking for fun things to color. My goodness, but there are a lot of great adult (rated G, puhleeze) coloring pages and sites for coloring out there on the web. What great fun! But, twenty-four crayons is not enough to do everything I want to do. I might have to go get a larger box of crayons. (anyone surprised by that?)

I know, I know ... I'm a dork, but good heavens - that was fun!!!

And since, these dogs don't seem to be giving up on their prey, I think I'll look for another picture or two, print them out and play some more! What terrific therapy this is for me!

It's been a good week

2010-09-24T20:58:00.000-05:00

It's been a good week. I'm thankful to be able to do what I am doing. I like coming to the end of my day and when I feel totally exhausted, know that I've done all I could do and I've done my best.

This week I'm thankful for sunshine and rain, cool temperatures and warm. The weather has been all over the place and yet today when I walked outside I basked in the warm sunshine while feeling a cooling breeze cross my face.

Interesting people have crossed my path this week - strangers have taken care of me. Yesterday I drove in to Webster City to get groceries. I loaded everything in the back of my Jeep, got in and drove back to the cabin. I unloaded my groceries, got things put away and sat down. Pretty soon a telephone call came into my cell phone. I recognized that it was from Webster City ... yes, it was the Hy-Vee calling me. They had my wallet. I'd left it in the cart. When I got back there to pick it up, the poor woman at the customer service counter was beside herself. She was so worried because I was from Nebraska. She had left a message on my home machine AND she had also called my bank to tell them. She finally found my business card in there and got my cell phone number. But, good heavens, she cared that I was taken care of - that was cool.

I continue to learn. Every day I feel like I am inundated with too much information to process, but every day I process it and move on. I spent 2 1/2 hours watching the lectures from my Greek class today - I was pretty sure that my brains would seep out of my ears after that was finished, but after processing, I'm certain that it will be ok.

Tomorrow will be a very, very quiet day. I'll print out the assignment lists for next week, but I am not going to start working ... well, that's not true, I think I'll try to get some of the reading done. But, no writing! Well, that's not true either. We'll see.

Tonight I will curl up with my dog tucked behind my legs. I'll read a novel ... something that has nothing to do with anything. It's a grand feeling to get to this point in the week.

I Adore Crayons

2010-09-23T22:20:00.000-05:00

I finally finished writing and posting everything I needed to deal with today in the online forums for my classes and now I am sitting here staring at a box of Crayola crayons. There are only 24 in this box, I couldn't justify a reason for more than that. In fact, I can actually no longer justify this purchase.

The other day in my Christian Formation class, the professor asked us to draw a Mind Map of what we knew or believed about the Kingdom of God. We were supposed to do it in color. I had no colors here. Well, I had highlighters, but that wasn't what I wanted. So ... in the back of my head I knew that I needed to get some crayons. Funny thing, by the time I was in the grocery store today, I had finished the Mind Map, posted the paper and no longer needed them, but oh my goodness, what is a life without color? So, they're staring at me ... sitting on top of my color-coded calendar.

(Notice Yoda guarding the Bible? That's some seriously twisted theology going on there)

Before I began writing this, I had started a search for coloring pages. Don't know what I'm going to color, but all of a sudden it occurred to me that some of my greatest stress relief has come from coloring! Ever since I got my hands on that first box of 64 crayons with the crayon sharpener, I have been in love with these things. Then there was a box of 96 and then... 120!!! And have you seen the 150 count telescoping crayon tower? Holy cow ... it's enough to make a girl weep with joy.

This week my brain has absorbed a lot of information. And I'm pretty sure it has just gotten all worn out. The only problem is that tomorrow is another day of intense studying and writing. But before tomorrow comes, I intend to use as many of these 24 Crayola Crayons to color some crazy things. I'm going to relax the linear part of my brain and exercise the colorful part of my brain. Just because it's fun!

Frustration - relieved by bread. Yup!

2010-09-22T20:48:00.000-05:00

Today has been another one of those days. I'm going to have a couple of these a week now. I got up about 7:30 and began working on school work, not finishing until after 8:00 this evening. My brain is a jumble of information, but I'll tell you what, I love it all!

I wasn't in love with it all this morning when I wanted to pitch my computer in the river, but I moved past that and got back to the love.

Doing online work is a bit ... interesting. Max says that online classes are like the red-headed stepchild to universities and I think he might be right. While the professors try to be organized and probably think that they're going to manage things well, there are way too many possibilities for stuff to go awry. It seemed as if everything was ... awry ... this morning.

I have a paper due each Wednesday in my Christian Formation class. Now, he informed us that by Wednesday morning we'd have the previous week's paper back - graded and with comments. I especially wanted the first one back so that I could ensure I was preparing these the way he wanted to see them. I waited ... I waited some more ... I waited yet some more. One of the poor guys from our class could finally stand it no longer and posted a query. No response. Now, while I was waiting, I wasn't doing so idly. I was reading the required books as fast as possible, jotting down notes (they're a bit illegible) and preparing my thoughts. But, alas, the paper never showed up and I finally posted the paper due today with the following caveat: "Well, I'm going to post the paper so as to avoid being late with the thing. I have one caveat to posting without seeing the grade and comments on last week's paper. When my 4MAT1 paper shows up and if I really didn't understand what I was doing and did it wrong, I want a do-over on this! smile"

It's out of my hands now.

My Inductive Bible study professor posted a survey following last week's submission telling us that he wouldn't get our graded papers to us until Friday (the first part of the next submission is due tonight) and this should help us understand what we did right or wrong. Well, hell ... I'm not sure how he wants me to feel about this. I was pretty sure it was supposed to be subjective, but if not ... I'm not going to be happy. His outlining technique is different than mine (I like mine better) and I hate not understanding what a professor wants before I have to turn something in! So ... I asked. Did I ever get a response? What do you think!

Finally my frustration erupted. I cried and then decided to just deal with it. If they don't like what I'm doing ... we'll have a talk. Because I don't like poor communication. And just because you've got a stinkin' degree does NOT mean you're a good communicator and does NOT mean you're smarter than me. So there.

Hmmm ... I'm guessing my frustration really hasn't passed. But, I got through the work and I'm going to bed early - I wore my brain out, which means that everything is exhausted.

Ya wanna know what I did to help rid myself of frustration? Diet Mt. Dew and a slice of hot out of the oven, freshly made homemade bread. Yup ... it really did help!

When hormones and old age don't mix.

2010-09-21T21:05:00.002-05:00

This last summer I spent a few days in Iowa City taking a Greek in a Week class. One of the more interesting people I met while there was the secretary of the church where we were meeting. I didn't get much chance to interact with her, but for some reason when I walked past and said hello while heading out for a break, we began chatting and before I knew it she was talking about menopause.

She's probably a few years older than I am and had, at some point, faced down some really rough emotional and physical garbage that came at her because of menopause. I was obviously a little startled at the topic from a woman that I had just met, but one of the things she said to me was that women simply don't talk about this stuff and we agreed that it makes no sense to keep it a hidden topic.

Now, for me ... I'll talk about nearly anything and since this is one of those uncontrollable, physical things that happens ... it seems to me a completely appropriate topic of conversation if necessary. (ok, I get it - farts are uncontrollable, physical things too and maybe we don't need to ALWAYS talk about those - but, if you bring 'em up ... I've got stories!)

She dealt with a full-blown emotional breakdown brought on by menopause and spent quite a few months in therapy and even more months on medication until she finally had her hormones wrangled back into some semblance of normalcy. The reality is, each woman is going to face this issue differently and since it has been so hidden, we don't have a wealth of knowledge that we share with each other.

Mom died at the age of 48, but let me tell you ... before cancer hit her, menopause hit her hard. I remember walking through K-Mart one day in the middle of winter. All of a sudden, she stopped in the middle of an aisle, began flinging off her coat, a sweater and anything that wouldn't expose her body. Then she grabbed something and began fanning herself until the hot flash passed. It wasn't pretty to watch, though I will admit to the fact that I chuckled a little as I gathered her stuff off the floor and put it all into the cart. I don't remember her having emotional ups and downs, but neither of us probably identified them as hormonal and actually just ended up fighting like two witches until we worked it out. That's what we did.

I've had a few hot flashes. The most memorable was in the middle of teaching a women's Bible study. I was sweating like crazy, looked up at a room filled with women around my age or a little older and asked if it was hot in the room. They all shook their heads and within seconds, realized what was happening to me. Yah ... we laughed.

But, I do easily recognize that my emotional stability flags when I cycle down into a hormonal imbalance. It doesn't happen often, but when it hits, I spend quite a bit of the day in tears. I can identify the reality of it. For heaven's sake, I have the craziest, most self-destructive thoughts ever. As soon as I realize what I'm thinking, I recognize that there are hormones at play and I do everything possible to set my craziness aside.

Today was one of those days. Good heavens! And the thing is, there's not much I'm going to do about it. It lasts for a day ... maybe. Probably not an entire day. But, I will admit to being a crazy woman. The worst thing is that I didn't get much studying done today - which means that tomorrow is going to be a little intense. I have things that are due. I got a start on some of it, but wow ... being a psycho, crazy, old lady sucks sometimes!

Tall tales

2010-09-20T20:51:00.002-05:00

Don't you just love wild and crazy temperature fluctuations? Right now I have a fan aimed at the lower portion of my body and my feet are frozen ... but everything above that is finally comfortable. I got into the car this afternoon to head to the cabin and when I turned it on, the thermometer told me it was 103 degrees! Ok ... it was in the direct sunlight, but by the time the temps evened out, it was still reading 91 degrees. Wow. You know, in the summer and fall, I totally win. The temperatures up here are generally 5 degrees cooler than those in Omaha. Yup ... I watch it happen every time I drive. In the winter and spring? the temperatures are generally 5 degrees cooler than those in Omaha. Totally kicks my butt.

A friend of mine from Sigourney saw a brown wooly bear and the old wives' tale says that means we'll have a mild winter. Another friend commented that the Farmer's Almanac said we'd have a very cold winter. I am not sure which piece of fiction will happen, but one of them will be right this year. Speaking of tall tales, I was talking to Max and said something about the date tomorrow. He commented that it was the day to balance an egg. Ok, what? Well, another old wives' tale says that on the equinox, you can balance an egg and it won't fall over. Uh huh ... ok.

I've never been a sucker for those, which is funny because I'm a total sucker for conspiracy theories. If there's a hint of truth to it, I have no reason to not believe that the entire story isn't true. Oh .. I can work myself up into a frenzy if I try.

My father was always lying to me. Well ... that's a little harsh. He told tall tales ... just to see if he could get me going. He also had a great poker face and never gave anything away. There came a point when I was in high school that I realized that the more calm his face got, the taller the tale.

You see, there was a time that he completely took Mom, me and Carol out. He and Jim had driven up to the cabin. When they got home, there was a dent in the front of the van and they had a cooler filled with meat. Let's see ... it had to have been a Tuesday evening that they returned home. When they brought the meat inside to the freezer, mom started asking questions. That was the day we nearly sold Bell's Dell.

Dad told us that when they pulled into the driveway up here, they opened the gate and were confronted by a wild boar. It snarled and snorted at them. He and Jim dashed back into the van and tried honking their horn at the boar, flashing the van lights, anything to get it to run off into the hillside.

By this time, Mom's eyes were huge and she was beginning to panic. She had a techni-color picture of this event happening in her mind.

Anyway, the boar wouldn't move from the lane, so Dad started driving toward it. And then, it happened, the boar charged the van and rammed it. That stunned him, but he got up and was completely maddened, so he charged the van again and again. Finally Dad went after the boar with the van and managed to kill it. He and Jim had plenty of time, so they skinned it, dressed it and brought the meat home.

Dad didn't back off this story no matter how Mom pressed him. It was late and we went to bed. Dad got up early the next morning for Prayer Breakfast and was out of the house long before anyone else was up.

We all got up a little later and poor Jim was toast. He was alone now and Mom had him in her sights. Dad wasn't there to back him up. She went after him with a vengeance and it didn't take long for him to reveal that Dad had hit and killed a deer on the way in to the cabin. They had put it into the back, brought it in, dressed it and that was the meat that we had.

It was Mom's turn. Dad came home for lunch at noon, just as he did every day. Mom had lunch ready for him and informed him that she had made some calls up here to the family that had originally sold Bell's Dell to us. She was beginning the process of selling the land because she would NOT take her children back to a place where there were wild boar that might threaten their safety. For heaven's sake, we all played in the hillside.

Mom had forced all of us out of the house for this conversation. She knew that we wouldn't be able to maintain any type of a poker face. It didn't take long. Poor Dad was trapped. He could either admit to his tall tale and take her wrath or he would have to hold on to the lie and sell Bell's Dell. A bit chagrined, he took his punishment.

This story is one of our favorite memories ... I can't believe I haven't told it until now!!!

Just a few moments to be thankful

2010-09-19T21:43:00.000-05:00

My brain seems to have run out of interesting things to consider in a blog this evening, so ... maybe it's time for me to look back over the week and just be grateful.

I'm thankful that Max is fine. Well ... mending, but fine. It's nothing traumatic, it's nothing catastrophic ... he'll be ok - one of these days.

This morning we had a 13 year old playing electric bass with the worship team. The kid can play! He loves it, he practices, he's good and he's gonna be great. I met him a few years ago, I'm having enough trouble with the fact that he's thirteen, but it's exciting to see talent flowing all over him.

I had a lot of people reach out to me in love over the last couple of weeks. That's an incredible feeling. There's something that just fills up inside when you know that love surrounds you. I wish I could give that feeling to everyone I come in contact with. It's hard for me to ask for and accept that type of love, but it's good to know it is out there.

Whenever I come back from the cabin, my first night in the house is most difficult. The poor cat is so glad to see me, he keeps waking me up to ensure that I'm still around. He's just so darned cute, I can't be upset with him, but I will tell you that he does make me need a nap the next day. At least the dog drops off to sleep tucked around my legs.

My body temperature is completely confused right now. I don't know whether to be content with the perfect temperature or be absolutely frozen. I am an addict for quilts and funky blankets. I probably own way more than I should, but when fall and winter start pressing around me, there's nothing I like better than gathering a bunch of blankets around and curling up in them.

Our next door neighbors are just terrific! They bought a fire pit this week so that she could stop spending $50/weekend to rent a campsite, sleep on the hard ground and pee in a hole. The community around a fire was what she was looking for with her son, his friends and anyone else that showed up. I was working like a terror the first night they had it going, so I couldn't sit out with them, but I opened the door in the office and thoroughly enjoyed the aroma of the fire and the sound of her son and his friend singing and playing the guitar. I loved it.

The next night, I was back at the cabin so I could take a proctored exam from a friend up there and when I called Max, he was enjoying the fire and fellowship with them. Kelly had told me that I shouldn't worry, she and her son would make sure Max was taken care of. A little friendship goes a long way.

Last night I watched the movie "Lady in the Water" by M. Night Shyamalan. Believe it or not, this was for one of my classes. I absolutely can't wait to discover the professor's reasoning for having us watch it. I did enjoy the movie and there was a lot about it that was thought-provoking. I made Carol rent it because she wanted me to glance over some of her work for her Master's degree. It was a nice evening of movies, doing laundry, eating PepperJax and learning about educational philosophies.

Tomorrow begins week 3 of this new life I'm grabbing. I have another week filled with a bunch of work to do! But, I can't wait. It's strange. I think I keep trying to approach this as I did my Bachelor's Degree ... as a young, stupid kid without a voice. And every time I find myself reacting that way to the coursework, the professors or the other students, I realize that I'm now an old lady and I've made my own life, lived it fully so far and I really am an adult! :) So ... here's to the week!

Telling the story

2010-09-18T22:33:00.000-05:00

One of the books that I am in the middle of reading for a class is called "The Drama of Scripture: Finding Our place in the Biblical Story." It's just fabulous. The authors present the entire Grand Narrative of Scripture in such a way as to encourage you to place yourself within that story.

They posit that each of us can only have one grand narrative. We either choose to live according to the story told by our culture, or we choose to live our story according to the one surrounding Scripture. The story that God began with Creation and will end with the Return of the King.

As I read the book, I couldn't stop thinking about how we tell our stories. I come from a family of story tellers ... on both sides! Telling our family stories has always been a big part of coming together for us. Last weekend at my Uncle Ralph's funeral, Carol and I were given more pieces to the story as we met people that had known our parents before we were even born.

As children growing up, we begged Mom and Dad to tell and retell different stories from our childhood and to tell stories from their childhoods. Our grandparents had stories to tell us. I would sit for hours with Grandma Greenwood playing Rook or Milles Bornes as she told me stories about her life and about my life, about my dad's life and about my aunts and uncles as children. The stories created structure and perspective around my own life.

When I was in Kindergarten, one of my Sunday School teachers, Eulalie Bryant would seat us around her in a semi-circle. She was a grandmotherly type and when we gathered at her feet, she wove amazing stories and tales, drawing us into the story. Little did I know that I was getting my first introduction to the stories of the Old Testament and the stories of Jesus. All I really knew at the time was that I was entranced. I actually remember finding one of her stories in the Bible one day and having the entire Old Testament come to life because everything flowed into position as I realized that she had been reinforcing the Biblical story for each of us children.

The authors of The Drama of Scripture point out that relationships are built on connecting our stories. As friends come together, they tell each other their stories until they are able to make connections. Once those are established, the relationship builds and then continues to grow as their stories remain connected.

One of my uncle's nieces (other side of the family) had a connection to one of my high school girlfriends. In that moment, our stories connected, we built a thread of a relationship.

How do you tell your stories? Do you tell them to your friends, to your kids, to your family? The story is so important ... it is our connection with the past, the present and the future. It is what makes our connections to each other work. What is your story?

City or Country? Who knows!

2010-09-17T20:41:00.000-05:00

For the last year, I have spent a lot of time at a very quiet location in central Iowa. It's amazing. And wow, has my outlook on the world changed. That hit me in the face yesterday more than I could even realize! Here's what happened.

I got up and got my day started. There were a lot of things to do while I was in Omaha, so I was going to work hard to get them all done.

First thing off, some time at the hospital with Max. He had texted me at 7 in the morning telling me that I needed to learn a good garroting technique. I knew immediately that the new roommate was a problem. A much older man with the beginning of Alzheimer's had come into the room the night before and moaned and made noise all night long. I told Max to beg to be let out instead, no ... the garrote was for me to use on him when he got like that. I prefer a gun. Anyway ... I got to the hospital and the roommate was in xray. Before he got back, a couple of people had stopped by to see him. When he got back, he was tailed by his wife and another older couple. They were working to get he and his wife settled, with a great deal of insane noise. Plastic bags crinkling, chatter ... all sorts of wild management techniques ... all sorts of noise. Oh my goodness!!! For my entire stay, there was no cessation of noise.

I finally left - leaving poor Max with the craziness in the bed next to his - hoping the doctor would release him (he did get released ... whew for him!). Quickly made a Staples run (always need office supplies) and then headed to Jiffy Lube. There were a few more vehicles in there than usual, so I knew it wasn't going to be a quick in and out, but I had time and I had my Kindle, so no worries. Uh huh ... whatever. When I walked into the lobby to sit back and read, I was confronted with a large group of people - of whom there were two women, a mother and daughter (daughter in her mid-20s). They were both higher than a kite. Frenetic, strange movements, eyes darting, up and down, in and out to have cigarettes, back in to warm up, out, up and down, bodies moving all the time. My eyes got BIG, my body wanted to just shut down. And, I got to sit there for an extended period of time. All sorts of assault on my senses. They finally left, I got to settle for a moment and then I was done.

Off to the Post Office, then to Hy-Vee. Since when does 12:15 on a Thursday afternoon become stupid old people shop at Hy-Vee day? Holy mackerel! They were all over the place and they were everywhere. Crashing into my cart, cutting me off in the parking lot, asking really stupid questions in the checkout line ... I wanted to scream. Are you kidding me? I finally got out of there - much later than I intended, but I was out.

Now, to Arby's for a salad and home for awhile. When I came out of Arby's, driving back west on Center, I saw a strange man crossing the street about a block or so ahead of me. Right in the middle of the street - forcing traffic to come to a stop about 1/2 block from the traffic light. He just put his hand up and made them stop. I saw him moving into the Hy-Vee parking lot and waited for enough traffic to pass through the light so I could turn left. I made the left turn around a semi truck only to discover that man was crossing in front of me. I looked up and had shock in my face. I couldn't figure out where he had come from. I stopped, moved away from where he was walking and he turned on me. My window was down and he started screaming at me! I just drove on past, got home and sat down.

Quiet and peace shouldn't be, but seem to be a luxury in the city. Sometimes I get a chance to recognize the difference between the city and rural life and I realize that without one you couldn't appreciate the other. I've lived in Omaha for 25+ years and loved it. I didn't know that I would ever want to move back to a quieter life. But now ... I don't know. I love the energy, the easy accessibility. But, out here, I love the birds singing and the absolute quiet of the night. I love driving on county highways, passing combines, watching the fields as they are harvested.

I can't say that one is better than the other, but yesterday I was certain one would drive me to distraction! :)

God blesses my friendships

2010-09-16T09:02:00.000-05:00

Do you take your friends for granted? I try not to, but sometimes I don't think that I realize how my friends care for me and love me. Especially when I'm feeling sorry for myself! :)

The other night as I left the hospital, I was frustrated and worried. I fell apart while I was on the phone with Carol and whined and cried. After we finally hung up (so I could deal with getting supper), I really felt sorry for myself, acting as if I was all alone and by myself. Oh, I'd worked myself into a crazy emotional place.

Then I got home, opened up Facebook and the messages of love and support filled my heart as I realized how there were people from all over caring about me and about Max. Some of them have never met Max, they just cared.

By the time the nurse had called to give me the good news about Max not having surgery, I was already at peace, dealing with the stuff that I needed to deal with and handling it all. Mostly because I recognized no matter what, I wasn't alone.

This is one of those things that I believe God really does to take care of us. The Bible tells us that we're not alone, that He is always there with us. Sometimes, however, I think that we forget that when the pressures of the world overtake us. When you are sitting by yourself and there's no one around to reach out to you, it's easy to believe that 'by yourself' means 'alone.'

Then friends step in. Does God bless our friendships? Absolutely. A few words, a smile, a hug, a prayer, a touch, a phone call ... all of these things remind us that 'by yourself' doesn't mean 'alone.' God steps in and makes Himself real to us through our friends.

Matthew 25:40 - "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."

When we reach out to someone ... we are acting as God's hands here on earth. I believe this is why friendships at every level - from intimate to acquaintances - are so important. Those moments that we care for our friends are moments when God can work through us.

How difficult is it for us to encourage relationships, to make our friends understand how important they are, to watch for what they need, to ensure that they feel loved. Because 'by yourself' should never mean 'alone.' And even now, I still have to relearn that it doesn't.

It's Been a Day

2010-09-15T01:24:00.000-05:00

It's 1:15 in the morning and I've finished one of the two papers due tomorrow. I didn't know if I was going to ever get to this point. Today was quite a day!

The morning started out great. I got up, got going, got my morning started and decided to head into town for some groceries and a few office supplies (need to get my organization on!). I called Max about 9 am, thinking it would be a normal morning conversation. It was anything but. He was at the doctor's office having blood and urine tested. His flu symptoms weren't getting better, they were getting worse. I told him to call me when he knew something ... figuring this would be no big deal and I would have plenty of time to get my school work done.

I took off at 10:30 for town and my phone rang. It was Max. The doctor had called him back and told him that his white count was elevated - he needed to go to the hospital, they would do a CT scan and run more tests. Holy mackerel, that changed everything! I turned around, went back to the cabin and madly tried to think of all that I needed to take home so that I could continue working, as well as my clothing and laundry. I needed to ensure that everything was closed up, turned off and shut down. This is stuff that I do at my leisure when I usually go home, but my mind was all over the place trying to figure out what might be wrong with him and how I was going to hurry home and get everything else taken care of. Fortunately, the brain kept spinning and I kept moving.

When I got to the hospital this afternoon, they had yet to get him down for the CT scan and he had no new information. If you are someone who doesn't ask questions of doctors and specialists, please kick yourself in the butt for me. I started asking questions and though there was not yet enough information, at least I was starting to clue in. Things weren't great.

I came home, let the dog out, sat down for a few minutes, talked to some friends, got my head together, did a little school work and then went back to the hospital. Fortunately it's only a short drive. Five minutes before I left the house I realized that the handwritten notes I had taken for one of my papers were still in a drawer at the cabin. Cursing and swearing ensued.

Back to the hospital - shift change - new nurse. I asked Max if he'd had anything to eat or drink. "No." I asked if he knew why? "No." (Sigh) The new nurse came in, he asked, she came back to tell him that he couldn't until he'd talked to a surgeon.

Alright, at this point, I did my best to stay in my seat. What? Surgeon? What? She pulled up the chart as she realized that absolutely no one had talked to Max about the scan. She said that she assumed we were dealing with the diverticulitis. My response was, "Well, no ... since this is the first we've heard of it." The scan showed a great deal of diverticulitis and a mass in the lower abdomen. At panicked looks from both of us, she went on to say that no one believed it was anything but something associated with the diverticulosis. However, the surgeon would probably want to remove the mass.

Crap. Abdominal Surgery. Ok ... whatever we have to deal with, we will deal with.

I left the hospital to come home and work, called friends and tried not to think about it.

Forty-five minutes later, I had a strange number show up on my cell phone. It was the nurse from Methodist. That actually scared me - ok, I admit it, I thought something terrible had happened in that short period of time. But, she was calling to let me know that the surgeon had looked at the information and was not intending to do surgery, but felt the mass could be treated with intravenous antibiotics and while Max would have to stay in the hospital for awhile to make this work, surgery was no longer the primary option.

Well, wow ... that was great news! Recovery from a bout of diverticulitis is going to be easier than recovery from abdominal surgery. I may just hug her - she knew that we would both sleep better with that news.

So, we'll see what tomorrow brings. I still have a lot of work to do to get my assignments completed. That just plain stresses me out. Fortunately, that's all that is stressing me out right now.

It's been a day.

A little OCD - Maybe, but HEY!

2010-09-14T08:35:00.000-05:00

I like things to make sense. I can justify my behavior with all sorts of reasons, but when it comes down to it, I like things to make sense.

My mind is constantly going on a million different ideas, projects, thoughts, plans and when a week like last week hits my brain and causes everything to turn into a brown puddle, I don't like it.

Here's a couple of things that I know about myself. If I hide items in a cupboard or drawer, I will forget about them and never use them. Clutter occurs around me because of this. If I create a space (in a cupboard or a drawer) that I access on a regular basis, this becomes just as accessible as open space to me, so to keep things neat, I work towards this. I need triggers around so as to remind me what resides in enclosed spaces and I try to create those too. My memory stinks and it always has. I try to stay as organized as possible so that I can overcome the fact that my memory just plain stinks.

Adding four classes to my life with each professor demanding different styles of organization and using different methods of presenting information and differing types of technology just about did me in for a few days. I knew that I had to force this all to come into my style of organization so that I could manage it. I'd done a little preparation and I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't done that, you would have to simply send in a scoop and pry the puddle off the floor.

Last night as I was finishing up my work for the day, I went back through the world around me, cleaning up scattered papers, gathering pens, pencils, highlighters and other assorted bits and pieces. I attacked my binders. I have four classes ... four binders ... four colors. I had purchased an assorted package of colored cardstock ... (are you seeing where I'm going yet?) Well, my classwork in the binders needs separators. Yup, pulled out my stainless steel sharpie, put the orange cardstock in the orange binder, found an orange highlighter and my life for the Inductive Bible Study - Matthew is all done in orange. I highlighted the assignments due on my calendar in orange, highlighted the pages that needed work in the binder, built the separators for the overwhelming amount of information he gave us and put the binder back. Did the same for the other three classes and now when I look at my calendar, my little brain is all happy because it can see in a moment what needs to happen over the next several days - the colors remind me which class and the words tell which assignment.

As I quietly put everything back into its place last night, I swore to myself that I wasn't going to tell anyone. I giggled about it a little and when I woke up this morning, I couldn't wait to pull out my organized life and get to work. I also knew when I woke up this morning that you were going to hear about this, because I can't keep this stuff a secret, even when I know that I deserve to have you chuckle at me.

Can I tell you that I had already long since built the colors for each class and when my self-published text came in the mail from my Greek professor with an orange cardstock cover on it, I was actually annoyed? Greek is not orange ... it's purple, for heaven's sake! Oh well, the things I have to suffer through.

Today I will finish up a paper for my Christian Formation class. Oh, this is a wonderful class ... it's actually giving me a lot of different kinds of information. Yesterday I was watching lectures on the Trinity, another on the Narrative form in Scripture, I read a wonderful book about the Drama of Scripture and began the paper based on that book.

I will work on my Matthew survey for the Inductive Bible Study course and continue to work through the beginning Greek stuff. I have enough of this under my belt that I can take a little less time with it which will be given to some other classes. My New Testament class is discussing a book that I forced myself to read during the month of August. At least I don't have that heavy reading hanging over my head right now.

There will be a point I run into town for some more office supplies. I'm weary of punching holes in paper and I know full well that pre-punched paper is available. Gonna get me some of that!

What's your purpose?

2010-09-13T08:52:00.000-05:00

I dropped into bed last night and as I reflected back over my day, I realized that I hadn't written a blog post. I was so exhausted that as much as I love you all, I could not come up with the energy to move from that prone position. As I lay there, I couldn't even make my brain think about anything interesting to write.

My cell phone is on the table next to the bed. If I come up with thoughts or ideas in the night, I can email my Evernote note account and leave myself messages and information. At some point as I was turning over, I had a flash of something that I needed to take care of today. I quickly went to my cell, started the email and then couldn't remember what it was. Oh, I hate when that happens. A flash in a second and then it is gone. It's just not fair! Oh, I had two other things that I wanted to ensure were taken care of today, but the one that seemed so important? I have absolutely no idea. I just hope that I manage to remember it before it's too late!

This morning I read Rebecca's blogpost "Desperate" and when I got finished with it, I had a memory stirred within me of a special time I had with God once long ago when He told me that His plan for me was that I teach of His love. He didn't tell me what I had to learn to teach that, He didn't tell me exactly what words to use, He didn't lay out the plan for my life as I did this for Him, all He did was give me that impetus.

If I were to ask you what you felt God's plan for your life was, would you be able to give me a response? It can't be something like "raise my kids" because that's something that will end. They'll be raised and out of the house and then what will you do? It can't be something for just one person because God doesn't actually work that way, He didn't create you for just one other person, He created you as part of a community, a family. His plan for your life is something that given enough momentum could transform the world. But, even without momentum, He wants you to offer enough that you can change the little parts of the world around you.

Have you ever asked God what it is that He wants from you - not just today, not just tomorrow, not just in your career or your family or your home - but from your life! I'm going to bet that it's not that difficult. It's not an intricate process, it's not a bold new theology. Is it something as simple as "Show my people how to love"?

I was glad to be reminded of that. It puts everything I am doing right now into perspective and brings me a lot of joy as I realize that no matter what steps I take in my life, my purpose is set forth and I can be filled with joy as I meet it.

Loss and Love

2010-09-11T21:21:00.000-05:00

Today was a good day. We celebrated the life of my Uncle Ralph Weller with family and friends this afternoon. He was such a great man and you know how it is. I saw one picture of my Uncle Ralph and though I loved him, today I discovered more and more about what a treasure he really was. The people's lives he impacted and the things that he did throughout his own life are strong reminders of the importance we play in each others lives.

Carol and I sang at the service and while there's nothing strange or abnormal about that for us, today we were placed in front of people who couldn't wait to speak with us. While they were effusive in their compliments, the first thing they wanted to ask us was who we belonged to. We figured out quite quickly that they wanted to know we were Frank Greenwood's daughters. They loved my dad.

Dad's first church was in Gravity, Iowa, a little tiny town in southwest Iowa that can no longer boast a Methodist church. Uncle Ralph and his wife, Aunt Ruth were members of that church and eased Dad's way into ministry and eased my mother's way into Iowa. I was born while they lived in Gravity.

Two women came down after much of the crowd had cleared out and wanted to reminisce about their experiences with my parents. Mom had moved to Gravity from Boston and that made an impression on them. What made an even greater impression was when she returned after visiting her parents in Boston and was thankful to be back among people that would genuinely care for her and not expect her to behave in a certain way. She told us that Mom had gone back knowing that her mother would host some extravagant tea or dinner party. By that time, Mom owned one nice, navy wool dress. Grammy served a cream soup and before Mom knew it, she had spilled it down the front of her dress. She told her friends in Gravity that had she been with them, they would have helped her clean it up and then forgotten about it, yet in Boston among the socialites, she felt ostracized.

She told a story about Dad and her husband fishing one day. Another fellow was fishing around the bend and must have lost his lure into the water. He didn't know they were there and began cursing and swearing, stomping around and fuming. Her husband snuck away from the craziness, but the fellow stomped his way out of the area past Dad, still fuming and angry because of a lost lure. After he had left them alone, Dad turned to her husband and said in that understated way of his, "I don't believe he was very happy about that," and went back to his own fishing.

We were able to share the fact that Dad actually only swore twice that we remembered. The man just didn't use crass language in his speech. The one time that all of us remember is the night that he walked down the hallway in the dark from his bedroom to the bathroom only to jam his toes into a stack of bricks piled up. We all heard "Damn!" come from his mouth and I'm certain that every one of us in the house, animals included clenched as we waited for heaven to open and gather us all in the final moments of history.

It was good being with family, it was wonderful getting to know Ralph's grandkids and watching a new generation grow into themselves and find their way. It was a good day.

Today marks nine years since the attacks of 9-11. There are so many people saying so many things, I don't know that my few words will make any difference. Our world changed that day. We no longer felt safe in this country that was seemingly protected by oceans from invasion. Our lives changed that day. Those who lost their lives on that horrible day left behind families and friends that struggled to understand how this could possibly happen. Our hearts were changed that day. We recognized the need to hold our loved ones closer, but we also lost the simple trust in the universal love of each other. Of all that was lost, that is the one thing that we need to find again ... ways to trust and care for each other that reach beyond race and religion, beliefs and dogma.

On the way back from the funeral, I managed to drive way too fast through Iowa and I got pulled over by a deputy who issued me a ticket. I didn't argue with him, I didn't plead with him. I knew what I had done and I accepted what he had to do. After he had written the ticket, he asked where I was coming from. I told him that we had been in Bedford for Ralph Weller's funeral. He knew Ralph and told me that he was a good man and he was sorry for his loss.

Ralph Weller was a good man. His life was filled with honor and integrity. His grandson said that the great gift Ralph had given him was moral character. Ralph shared all he had, treated everyone he met with respect and loved his family and friends deeply.

Today I remembered loss of life from nine years ago and the loss of a life very close to me just a few days ago. Life begins and it ends. That never changes. What can change is how we live it from this point on.

Stand Up Straight!

2010-09-10T22:05:00.000-05:00

I discovered a note in my Evernote box that I had emailed to myself one day a few weeks ago: Write a blog on "Stand Up Straight!" I vaguely remember seeing a girl walking down the street with very rounded shoulders ... she would be a pretty girl except for the fact that everything was hunched over on her body ... and at this point, she would never stand straight.

These are words that I will always remember mom saying to us: "Stand up straight!" She didn't want us to slouch or be sloppy as we stood or walked. It drove her absolutely crazy. You know, I'm pretty sure that the fact she died before pants became sloppy on boys was a good thing. She would have had no qualms about challenging every young man she came into contact with. (I digress)

Because I knew that mom's threats were things she was serious about, I learned to listen. She threatened to take me to a physical therapist and she guaranteed me that she would force him/her to put me in a back brace unless I chose not to slouch. That was a pretty quick decision on my part. I stood up straight. But the poor woman seemed to always be telling me the same thing - stand up straight! Even the times when I was pretty sure that I wasn't slouching, she was right there with her hand on my shoulders, rolling them back where they belonged.

She wouldn't let me hide behind long hair or slump when I walked, she wouldn't let me be anything less than who I really was. Stand up and face the world withe everything you have. And every time she saw someone who wore their hair in front of their face, she'd point it out to me and make comments about their self-esteem, to remind me that the world's perception of who we are is based on how we present ourselves. She was going to have none of that surly, sullen stuff from her kids.

One time I tried to do something fancy with the part in my hair. I was just having fun with my hair. It ended up spilling down the front of my face. I didn't make it two steps past the bathroom before she had me back in there, rearranging me so that in her eyes I was presentable to the world.

Just so you know, she carried threats with her so that they were available in any area of my life. For some reason or other in junior high I picked up a lisp. For the life of me I don't know why I did it, but I refused to rid myself of it. Mom took care of that for me. One of the members of our church was a speech therapist. I didn't really like him, he kind of creeped me out (remember me telling you a while ago about the little girl who removed her cloth diapers when I was babysitting and I had to make Mom come over and put something back on the child? That family). Well, when she had finally had enough of my lisp, she informed me that if I didn't take care of it, she would make an appointment with him and I would be done with it one way or another. It was gone in a day.

One thing that mom never wavered on was her consistency in expectations and threats. We had boundaries laid out, they were firm and when we chose to cross them, punishment was swift and firm. She also never wavered in her belief in us as great kids with great potential. She and Dad expected the best from us, expected us to always behave ourselves in public, and expected us to move through life with confidence.

Stand up straight! I'm glad I listened.

Three days in and I'm still alive

2010-09-09T21:36:00.001-05:00

My life might get really boring for you - really quick! How much excitement is there when all a person has to talk about is the same thing over and over. For that I apologize!

Today was better ... much better, though. I began putting into place the idea that what I was learning would become tools in my toolbox and I continued to relax throughout the day. The second revelation I had today was that I'm really not worried about the actual classwork. I can do that ... I just push through and make it happen.

No, what I was mostly stressed about was logistics. I need to learn how Asbury works, I need to learn how their online process works and I need to learn how each professor handles the online experience and what their expectations are. It seemed as if every moment I was being handed more information until I became so overwhelmed, I simply couldn't manage it.

Imagine that - Diane wants to be in control of an environment. Sigh. And I was nowhere near in control of what was happening to me. A deluge of information came through the internet to my little laptop and blew me right out of the water. It's getting better every day as I finally discover where each professor puts their little tidbits and requirements. Yes, it would be nice for everything to be well-ordered and set up just the same. Not gonna happen ... what was I thinking.

With that in mind, I started my morning. At some point I realized that I could actually make changes in my learning space so that I could focus on my work rather than continuing with a level of frustration because everything wasn't where I wanted it. As I thought more and more, I realized that since the first day I had desk space, I set my desk up in very similar ways and patterns. Guess what - it wasn't actually that way and I was fighting that. So, I spent a few minutes reorganizing my space and before I knew it, my brain settled in and quit running up against that block. I could put my hand on things I needed, I could turn my chair and find my books, I could actually see with the lamps in the right place, I had space to write (because I still use a pencil and paper) where it belonged and my entire attitude was transformed.

So, I switched things around, started moving through a lot of the online forum work, discovered that there was (now - not there yesterday) a lecture I needed to watch (obviously this guy is going to post things randomly, I'll need to pay attention) and the morning was done.

This afternoon and evening I have been working on an overview of the Bible Study method. Many of you will know it as Inductive Bible study. Kay Arthur teaches this, but on a more consumer based level. What I'm learning doesn't use pretty colors and little symbols, but really teaches how to dig deeply into Scripture, asking questions until you come to a full understanding.

Tonight I have finished as much of it as I am going to do without frying my brain cells. Tomorrow morning I will get it typed in, and at that point I will edit and ensure that what I thought I wanted to say is what I'm saying. I'll move to one of my other classes for awhile, come back and do another read-through and edit and hopefully get it submitted before I leave for Omaha. It's not due until midnight tomorrow night, so I'm doing really well.

I had a little excitement this afternoon as I was working through the book and paper. I thought I heard tires crunching on the gravel leading to the cabin. Sometimes sound travels strangely here and I actually am hearing cars turning into the park across the road. But, no ... there was actually a car in my driveway. Now, understand that I'm alone up here ... all the time ... so, though I had clothes on, I was not presentable to the general public. My mind raced, then my body raced to get fully decent and I headed for the front door. Yup, it was who I thought it was. My stepmother was here with a friend. She's moving to Denver in October to be with her sons, so it was one last chance to show off Dad's cabin.

This has been a wild week. Lots of ups and downs, but I'm beginning to see how I will be able to enjoy the rest of the term. I totally dig my Greek professor. He's going to be awesome. The professor for my Christian Formation Course is going to expect a lot out of us, but he is so passionate about what He is teaching, I think it will be a blast. The Inductive Bible study course is going to KICK MY BUTT!!! He has really high expectations and there is way more to do than you can imagine when it comes to learning this stuff. By next Friday I have to have read Matthew through twice (he says it takes 2 1/2 hours per reading) and write an overall survey of the book. Yikes, Yikes, Yikes! As for the New Testament course ... she went easy on us this week so that we could get to know our way around the online university. I think that will end by next week.

Whoosh - off I go!

Building a Toolbox

2010-09-08T22:49:00.000-05:00

So, last night I was in a complete panic. I don't think I really am concerned that I can't do the work for this Master's Degree. I'm not really even sure what it is that I'm worried about. There is nothing here I can't do, but wow I got overwhelmed with the immense amount of work that faces me. And I think that there is too much that is unknown to me, so that's what really scares me to death. Until I get comfortable with the professors and their style of teaching and their expectations, I will probably be a little bit uncomfortable with everything else.

However, as I was reading one of the books today, I had a bit of a breakthrough in my head about this. I spent yesterday with the mindset of a college student. When I worked through my undergraduate degree, there were quite a few classes that I was required to take and really did nothing to further my knowledge base. I need to find a way to apply the learning that I do in a practical sense - move it from esoteric learning to practical tool.

I have to write a paper on a little book called "Bible Study That Works" by Friday. As I read the book today, I realized that this paper is not simply an exercise to create a grade for me. It's so much more. I am building tools that will be placed in a tool box to be pulled out and used in other courses that I'm taking and absolutely to be used in my personal life and as I write and teach. All of a sudden things began to make sense.

Don't fear ... I'm probably going to continue to complain and whine ... a lot, especially when I start panicking again. However, knowing that I'm not just doing the work for a professor to grade, but for my future needs, changes how I look at this process.

I tell you what ... learning how I learn is nearly as difficult as actually learning. That's what happens when a person gets old enough to pay attention to the past, the present and the future!

Day 1 - Exploding Head

2010-09-07T12:45:00.000-05:00

Telling my friends and family that I think I'm going to die because of all that is ahead of me gets responses like, "You know you'll be fine" and "Diane, of course you can do this, everything will be fine." Not an ounce of sympathy.

And I get that - I'm making the choice to return to school after 29 years. I've always found learning to be the most important thing in my life and I've been fortunate enough to be able to set aside some time to do this.

However!!! This morning when my classes finally came online and I could get access to everything, I fell apart! What in the heck am I thinking? The amount of information that poured into my brain between 7:30 - 11:30 this morning took me straight to tears. There's no freakin possible way that I'm going to get through this without those stupid tears.

First up ... I have to have a relatively small book (only 124 pages - and there is a bit of sarcasm riding on all of that) on "Bible Study that Works" read and a 2-4 page paper written about the Inductive Bible Study method written by Friday while also writing comments and questions regarding the text into our class forum online. (not gonna vomit, not gonna vomit)

That's actually just a small portion of the work for that class. There are three others that are simply going to kick my butt.

I'll be taking
Inductive Bible Study - Matthew. This guy really believes in his message and in his coursework. He's got me chasing down all sorts of technology to keep up with his video / audio stuff online. Could be entertaining in the long run, but the reading for him is already overwhelming.

Introduction to Greek. I've been preparing for this class for what seems like forever. I hope this is the most fun course I take. The only course I had to find a local proctor for exams. Yup, gonna kick my butt.

Christian Formation: Kingdom, Church & World. This guy is gonna be great, but holy cow, after all the work that is assigned to us to read, he recommends fourteen (14!!!) other books we should be reading, as well as too many to count papers and articles, plus videos to watch. whoa ...

Introduction to New Testament. I've already started reading through the texts for this course. There was just too much sitting on my plate not to start early. A lot of learning will happen here, stuff that I want to plant firmly in my mind. Now, if I can just remember it all.

There it is ... I'm in the virtual classrooms now. I've introduced myself in a couple of the forums and have been reading the introductory posts by several others who will participate with me. The one that entertained me the most was the guy who is obviously not happy about having to do education to become ordained. But since it's a requirement, he guesses that he'll do it. Oh ... joy!

Today I'm panicked. Hopefully before too long I'll start learning!

More smiling today - making memories

2010-09-06T20:36:00.000-05:00

As I drove across Iowa today, I was thinking about my blog post from yesterday and how fun it was to reflect on the day according to the smiles I'd had.

I read a book last year on our brains - actually I read several, so I'm not going to be identify quickly which one this idea came from, but the author was discussing why it seems as.if our childhood goes slowly and then when we reach adulthood, time seems to speed up and each years rushes by faster than the year before. One of the reasons given was memory. As a child, we have very few memories, so each new experience is creating a new memory point in our brains. This causes time to slow down because we process for such a long time on those experiences. As an adult, our experiences tend to create a foundation for each new experience - we base our recall not on something that is brand new, but something that adds to an existing memory. Since we aren't creating many, many new memories, our brain doesn't take as long to formulate them and time 'seems' to go faster.

How do we slow things down so that we enjoy them as an adult just half as much as we enjoyed experiences as a child? Well, I am just wondering about journaling and the process that occurs as we write down our memories each day. I'm terrible at journaling, except for this blog, I don't do much. I keep a written calendar that I can look back on, but my thoughts and impressions aren't kept in there, it's just a list of things that happen on a specific date. I suppose that I hope some memories will be triggered by the activity, but trust me, when I look back at my calendars from ten years ago, there are a lot of things that it says I did that I have absolutely no memory of - at all!

Every once in awhile, I would take the time to write things down and when I look back on those, the extended bits of information trigger a few more memories, but even still, some things seem like they surely must have happened to someone else.

I don't know how to trap my memories and slow things down ... I can only try. But, the good news about that study they were doing on memories is that the older you get, the more new experiences you begin having again as you leave the standard workforce and face life without raising children and the standard things you are used to having around you. Time slows down again. We'll see ... right?

Before I stop tonight, though, I had a few things that made me smile from ear to ear today.

Driving east on I-80, I was following a car as we passed a semi. The license plate read "Granma2" and there were three small children in the back seat. As they passed in front of the cab of the semi, all three were pumping their arms asking the driver to blow his horn. He did! And waved like crazy at those kids. They waved back, just filled with joy that they had gotten some attention from a truck driver. The thing is - they probably made his day as much as he did theirs and I'll tell you what, I was just grinning as I went around him - they all made my day!

I got to Des Moines and had lunch with my cousin, Cathy. Her father died last week. He would have been 94 years old this December. She's spent the last 6 months with him. They put him in hospice last March/April and figured that he had 2 months to live. Well, he fooled them and stuck around for a very long time. The man was a rock. He was an Iowa farmer that lived well, loved his family, worked hard every day that he could, worshiped God with all his heart and when he lost his wife 22 years ago, spent the rest of the time loving his kids and grandkids. I smiled as she told me about his last days and the impact that his life had on the hospice workers and on his family.

I pulled into the cabin and drove past our meadow which had been mowed and trimmed by Carol this last weekend. She also worked hard in the porch, cleaning and sweeping. I smiled when I drove in because this place is simply gorgeous. She had worked hard to make it even more beautiful ... what a glorious sight!

This evening my friends up here dropped off 15-20 pounds of potatoes and 10 pounds of carrots from their garden. There is nothing I love more than fresh produce like that. I smiled when he left because he has no idea the glorious gift that was.

I have so much to smile about ... so much to be grateful for!

Being happy in the mundane.

2010-09-05T20:17:00.000-05:00

Do you ever spend time thinking about the mundane things in life that make you smile?

This afternoon as I folded the laundry, I smiled. There's nothing better than starting a week with freshly laundered clothing, knowing that each morning ahead of you, there will be choices in the closet - as opposed to the end of the week when you know that all you have left is the last thing you want to wear. I smiled as I put the clothes away in the closet and drawers.

I told you that I washed my Jeep yesterday - had them detail and wax it. Every time I walked toward it today, I smiled because it just looked so good!

My dog has been curled up beside me today in her blankets. This morning she had herself wrapped around my legs before I got out of bed. When I sat up, she snuggled up to me as if to beg me to stay. When I got home from church and walked up the stairs, she was at the top landing wiggling like crazy. I stopped a few steps down so that I could reach out to her and it was as if her entire body went into full-blown dance steps. She was just happy to see me. I smiled because she loves me unconditionally.

The door is open in our office. It has warmed up a little more than I'd hoped today, so I'm not getting a cool, fall breeze, but it's still beautiful outside and I enjoy being able to watch the sky as the clouds move across. I smile while watching the trees moving in the breeze.

There weren't a lot of people in worship this morning, but the one thing I've learned is that there don't need to be people when God shows up in our worship. I let go of the worries about numbers and just allowed myself to join in with the worship band. I smiled all morning as we sang and praised God.

Every Sunday morning I run to Scooters to get a smoothie (with Red Bull in it - wow, generally really need caffeine!). Every Sunday morning as I take the first drink I smile because it is so fabulous.

I have a few friends that are genuine and sincere encouragers. Everything they say to me and to others is filled with words of encouragement. I smile as I feel my cup being filled and as I watch others respond to their love.

This evening I just wanted to think back over the things that had made me smile today. I enjoyed smiling when I did it each time and I've enjoyed remembering those smiles again.

Pooped and a little whining

2010-09-04T20:49:00.001-05:00

This has been a long day ... and it all started last night with my sister ... How 'bout I just start with blaming her right off the bat for the fact that I'm POOPED!

She got to the cabin last night after 10:30. She'd told me that they might pull in a little late - like 9:15 or so. By the time they had everything unpacked and into the cabin it was after 11:00 and at that point she reminded me that I had promised to help grade papers. Errr, what? But, I'm usually a couple of hours into my sleep by now!!

Whining got me nowhere, so I settled down with a Diet Mt. Dew and a bunch of papers in front of me. By the time I made it through the first project, she had pulled out her book for the Master's program she is in this fall and was asking if I could just read through things and ensure that she was doing things right - she has her first presentation on Tuesday. Before I knew it, we were discussing philosophy in Education - down to the nitty gritty. And before either of us realized what was going on - she looked at the clock and said, "It's 1:45!!!"

Oh dear heavens. I tore to the bed, grabbed my Kindle and prayed for sleep to overcome me quickly. It didn't ... but I finally got there. However, the Mt. Dew decided that since I'm an old lady and caffeine doesn't want to stay put in my body, it needed to wake me every hour or so to go to the bathroom.

I was none too happy when 8:15 showed up and I recognized that it was time to bring myself to some level of alert and get moving. By 10:00 I was deliberately making noise to wake her up and get her moving. Hello!!! Bored here! Wake up and chatter at me (she's good at that).

I was on the road by 11:30, hoping to get home in time for a short nap. What is usually a 3 hour trip was stalled for over an hour by an accident on the Interstate. Holy moley! An hour? You know that when it takes 12 minutes to drive 1/4 mile, this is going to be a long process and by golly, it was. I just opened the windows and my sun roof (hmmm, wonder if I got a sunburn on my forehead?) and meandered down the interstate.

Finally I got out of that mess and just at the point I was feeling comfortable with driving at a normal speed, I looked up to see a little white spider spinning its way from the ceiling of my Jeep to the floor - right in front of me!!! I had no desire to be the next accident on the highway, grabbed the web above the spider - hoping to get it GONE. The spider dropped to the floor and for the next hour or so, all I could do was feel creepy crawlies all over my body. I have no idea where he went or what he did, but he creeped me out.

After one more hair raising experience with an idiot going 45 mph in the left lane and coming up on him fast enough to startle me (it was as if he was at a full stop!), I decided to pull off for a few minutes, grab some lunch and just re-group. I was done driving, but the driving wasn't done with me. I still had two hours left before home!

I've never been so glad to be finished with a day of driving. But, I did finish it with an amazing car wash and detailing at Russell Speeders on Saddle Creek. They hand waxed my Jeep, scrubbed and polished the rims of my tires, polished my tires, washed my windows, dealt with all of the dead bug buildup - and my baby looks amazing!

Dinner at Crystal Jade (you really, really need to go there for great Chinese food) with friends and now I'm home and plan to crash early.

I'd like to say I'm too old for this, but truth be told - I'm not. I just like to whine a little!

A glimpse of history

2010-09-03T21:21:00.000-05:00

I grew up knowing about this grist mill ... we could still find the pilings in the river from the bridge - a newer, more modern bridge had long since been erected, but we knew how to find where the old bridge had crossed the river. Most of that has been absorbed back into the landscape. It's wonderful to see what nature will do when given freedom. It reclaims everything.

I have a wonderfully fun book on Hamilton County (which is where my cabin is located) history written by Ed Nass. Dad bought one for each of us kids several years ago when it was published. As I look through it, I have a blast finding out about Iowa history and the local history surrounding my little part of the world.

The Boone River is actually named for Nathan Boone - the tenth child of Daniel Boone. Yup ... did you know that? He was a Captain in the First Dragoons. The War Department created this group (commanded by Colonel Henry Dodge, for those of you from the Omaha/Council Bluffs area) to protect the frontier. In 1832, this land was the Black Hawk Purchase - 6 million acres given to the Sac and Fox Indians. They mapped the land between the Des Moines River and the Mississippi River. Boone, along with Lt. Albert M. Lea and H.S. Tanner and 170 men moved through this area with guides to get a detailed map of the land. When they found a river branching off the Des Moines, Lea named it the Boone River.

Well, whadya know - that's cool!

Benjamin Bell purchased Bell's Mill in 1878, one of several mills on the Boone River. These mills were gathering spots for people in those days. Bell's Mill Park has one of the turbine wheels on display - the other is located in Webster City. Another mill - Tunnel Mill - is located not too far up the river and there are many stories of Indians living in the woods and trading at the Mill.

McKinlay Kantor, in his book "Andersonville," (also a movie) wrote about the area surrounding my cabin, telling stories of people gathering at the mill site to have their grain ground and then about religious revivals that were held in our meadow.

The rains have washed down reminders of the iron that was in the hills behind the cabin - red streaks run through the gravel and into the meadow. For a time, there was a mine back in those hills ... when we first got here, we were told stories of men who died in the mine. It was finally closed, but we knew that somewhere there are the tunnels and in those tunnels remain cars filled with dirt.

It's good to be in a place with a history that goes back beyond a time that I can remember, that my parents could remember and even that my grandparents would remember. History is something that ties us to each other, to those who have gone before us, to a place and helps us to remember who we are in the long-view of life.

I will forget ... I need to remember

2010-09-02T21:54:00.000-05:00

Whoops! Oh yah ... here I am! I nearly forgot that I needed to get my daily words posted, but just as I was winding down for the evening, my brain remembered that there were things that needed to be said.

Are you a list-maker or do you manage to remember everything that is necessary in your life? Or maybe you don't make lists and you don't remember things either. Some days I feel like that is truly me.

I love lists, sometimes I desperately need them. I've been known to make lists of things I want to tell people so that I don't forget by the time I finally see them. That doesn't necessarily make great spontaneous conversation, but at least I don't leave and get halfway home before I realize that I didn't get everything said.

Now I have a fun program on the computer - I can email myself notes and lists from my telephone so that when I get back to the computer, there are all of the things I need to remember. Oh yes, I love my lists.

On the wall behind me is a rather large calendar. It is now filled with my deadlines and due dates for my classes. I'm terrified that I will get caught up in life and forget the important stuff.

And that's the biggest thing for me ... forgetting the important stuff ... like my friends' birthdays and special days, times that I've promised I will do things. Along with lists and notes ... calendars are important to me. I don't actually like online calendars because not only do I like ensuring that I get things done on time, I also love to go back over my calendars and remember the things that I did. I've got a bunch of calendars saved and when I dig back into the dates on those things, I get to trigger memories - some fabulous, some painful, but all of them mean something to me.

Dad was big on documenting everything. He made lists for everything. It's a riot now to go back through his stuff and find the crazy little lists that he made. Or the notes that he wrote on various items, or the wild things that he saved.

We're probably getting close to replacing the water heater here at the cabin - within the next year or so - and today I pulled out the files that I gathered from his house and from a filing box he had here at the cabin of all things related to the place. I pulled out the folder related to the water heater and found the manuals for the last two that he purchased. Notes written on the top of the date he purchased them, how much he paid for them ... it's a huge help!

When we were looking for the septic tank last summer to get it cleared out and cleaned up, I dug into his files and discovered all of the receipts from 1979 when he installed it. There were clear notes of all that had happened, prices, conversations he'd had. I pulled it out to show to the guys who were working and believe it or not, those bits of information really helped them discern what needed to happen. It didn't actually help them find the tank - we needed to bring in a locator to do that, but they saw what pipe had been used and how the thing laid out.

Dad's lists and notes and obsessive documentation are pretty incredible and it seemed as if he never forgot anything. But, then I also have a stack of coil notebooks of his. Every day he had one of those open on his desk and every day he would list all the things he needed to take care of. As he dealt with things, he'd scratch it off his list and then move on. He knew that he wouldn't remember to take care of things, so rather than trust his memory, he trusted the fact that he would write things down.

I'm not nearly as good at this as he was ... I always seem to think I'll remember and then all of a sudden I've forgotten it all. When I'm sure I will forget, I do pull out a 3x5 card and write myself a list or a note so that I will take care of things exactly the way I plan. That's when I feel successful ... I can check my list and ensure that it's complete.

So ... lists? No lists? What's your organization look like?

Reading vs. Television

2010-09-01T19:37:00.000-05:00

I'm going to tell you something, but I'm afraid that if I do without a bunch of caveats, you'll think I'm trying to be pious. I'm sooooo not!

Max and I got rid of our television a couple of years ago and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Now see ... you went there, didn't you! Turn around ... go back ... there, that's better.

I still watch television shows. I have a good number of them saved in my Hulu.com account and every week they pop up in my player so that I can enjoy watching them. I haven't given up my favorite shows, what I have given up is the mindless vegetation that I found myself doing night after night, day after day for ... oh, about 15 years.

If I didn't want to think about a problem I was having, I would sit down and watch television. We left the damned thing on all the time. I liked having noise in the house when I left the animals alone and honestly, when I was stressed out and up in the middle of the night, I would lay down on the couch and watch stupid stuff until I drifted off.

The worst thing about the entire situation was that I had quit reading novels. I was reading a lot of non-fiction for the various things that I was studying or working on, but with all the time that I spent in front of the television, I didn't have time for reading. I could knit, talk to friends, play on the internet, do a multitude of things with the television going in the background, but I had quit reading.

We had talked about getting a large, flat-screen, HD television with all the bells and whistles, but about that time I got my Kindle, turned off the television and realized that I just didn't care whether we had one in the house or not.

Ok ... see, I'm trying so hard not to even intimate that there is a reason to be pious about this. We still have a cable box, it's hooked up to Max's computer screen - which happens to be an HD screen with all of the right inputs. If there is a show we want to watch, we can ... see, I'm just not all that pious about this.

But, on the other side of this, I simply don't use the system. If he could get his football games online, we'd get rid of the cable box, too.

I've discovered that if I have a choice between spending an hour watching a television show or reading a novel on my Kindle, 85% of the time, I pull out the Kindle and settle in for some reading. I didn't realize how much I missed the worlds that reading opened up to me. When I read a book, the words the author has written describe the world, but my mind fills in all of the images and tends to create more than exists on the printed page.

When I watch a television show, the crew that builds the sets, designs the costumes, speaks the lines and directs the action fills in everything for me. I don't have to participate at all. I just have to watch it happen, go to the bathroom when a commercial comes on and settle in until the credits begin rolling.

I have nothing against that. In fact, there are so many amazing, creative television shows being produced right now that I love watching them.

But, I love my books even more.

One of the greatest joys I have is listening as Carol tells me how her sixth graders get all wrapped up in the novels she exposes them to in her classroom. This is a girl who never loved science fiction and thought that my brother and I were a little nuts because we so passionately loved it. She reads it like crazy now and is constantly purchasing new books for her kids to read. Since she reads the books, they read the books and they love it! It doesn't even bother me to have to replace books in her classroom because the kids 'forget' to bring them back. Oh, for heaven's sake - a kid wants to keep a book? Words on a page? I'll replace the book.

When we were very, very young I was already a reader who didn't just read, but consumed books. Carol and Jim weren't quite as enamored with the printed page. Mud, dirt and grass were a little more interesting. But, mom paid them 25 cents / book one summer to motivate their reading. It didn't take any more than that summer for both of them to become passionate about reading ... everything they could get their hands on. Our house was always filled with books, it was the one thing that mom and dad never felt bad about purchasing, even when we didn't have much money (yes, we used the library, too).

I'm so glad to have renewed my love affair with fiction. I won't even tell you how many books I've purchased and read on the Kindle in the last few years. It's kind of sick. But, I will tell you that I read all the time now, choosing that over a television show or nearly anything else. It's so much fun!

Can You Wait?

2010-08-31T11:34:00.000-05:00

I was reading my friend, Rebecca's blog (Passive Passion is an Oxymoron) this morning and had to read it a couple of extra times because my brain took off on a tangent right there in the middle of reading and I couldn't concentrate.

As she expressed a bit of frustration regarding the whole 'waiting' thing, I began considering Jesus' ministry. He spent thirty-three years on this earth and three years in ministry. I thought a little more about Bible characters and realized that Moses spent a good portion of his life doing nothing more than waiting - forty years at a time! David had to wait to grow up, wait until Saul died ... he kept waiting for those few years when he would be effective in ministry.

I look back on my own life and see periods of time where God had me wait to do anything at all and then I had times of explosive creativity and powerful experiences with Him. I wasn't really good with the waiting, but oh my goodness those periods of time when I felt close to Him and used by Him were amazing ... and exhausting. He wore me out! So ... He would take me back to a point of waiting and restoration.

I can tell in Rebecca's life that God is gearing her up to move. He's creating a desire for action and change in her that will propel her to the next level in their relationship. She can't sit still any longer, she is ready to fully engage in whatever it is that He wants to give to her. This is one of those incredible times in a person's life and it is what changes us from being pew potatoes to active Christians - it's what makes us want to be more than just a passive onlooker into someone that desires to be God's servant - wherever it is He wants to move.

Last winter I experienced that sense of motion as I heard God whispering to me. And now, though ... I'm waiting again. I feel like I should be doing something, so I attempt to do what I think will help me in the next stage. What a fool I am. God will help me in the next stage - I just have to be ready and open to His will.

I know that He is prepared for me to learn more, I can tell by the reaction I'm having to the books I'm (pre) reading for my courses. I keep sensing a stirring in my mind.

Where are you in your relationship? Are you actively waiting, passively sitting or ready to go - right now?!?! He will be with you in all of those places, but I can promise you He doesn't want you to just sit still and focus on yourself ... focus on Him and He will make His plans known to you!

Billy Graham at TED

2010-08-30T09:30:00.002-05:00

I watched a TED (Technology, Entertainment & Design) video yesterday afternoon. The speaker was Billy Graham. In 1998, he was invited to speak and he took the message of salvation to a group of people that don't hear that message very often.

As he was warming up the crowd, before he had even got to the depth of his speech, he was telling short stories on himself and one of them struck me.

He told the story of how he was on an airplane. There was a gentleman who was drunk and disturbing the other passengers with his behavior. He was harassing the flight attendant, smacking her, pinching her and generally making a fool of himself. Another man had finally had it and said to the drunk, "Do you know that Billy Graham is on this flight?" The drunk turned around, saw Billy Graham and said, "Well, I'll be" as he stuck his hand out to shake Billy's hand. It was his next comment that floored me, "Your sermons have really helped me."

The audience laughed and realized that Billy Graham was inviting them to laugh at himself as he connected with them just a little bit. But, for as many people as that man has touched over the long years of his ministry, there are so many that are like that drunk. They took in his words, allowed them to flow through, but didn't bother to live as if those words had any influence in his life.

The rest of the talk is about how technology can change a lot of things in this world, but it will never be able to remove evil, suffering and death from the world. Only Jesus Christ can do that.

This video is about 26 minutes long, but the message Billy Graham delivers is worth the time.

What rules your day? Worry or Praise?

2010-08-29T19:06:00.000-05:00

When I was growing up I had a couple of recurring nightmares. In the first, I was deep in a forest. There was a clearing filled with a lot of my family (cousins, aunts, uncles). It was a funeral. There was an immense grave dug at the front of the clearing. I remember the walk ... that dreadfully long walk as we approached the clearing and then the freshly dug grave. There was weeping and low murmurs of voices ...

Night after night that dream would come to me. I never knew why, I didn't know where it had come from.

In the second dream I was trying to walk up a steep inclined street. I knew that I would be able to make it, if only it weren't so icy. Every time i would get to a certain point, I'd slip and slide back to the base of the hill, never making any ground.

I suppose that you could expend a great deal of effort to interpret those nightmares, but honestly, they were childhood fears - things that I couldn't imagine ever being able to overcome. As I grew up and began to understand more about the world and how to deal with things, I quit having those night after night.

Isn't it interesting that I remember two very frightening nightmares some 35-40 years later, but I can't remember the dreams that I had last night. Fear tends to have a great deal of impact on us, doesn't it?

Negative emotions also stick close to us in our memories. We can remember arguments and fights, exact reasons we're no longer friends with someone (even as far back as elementary school!), the negative remarks made about us on an evaluation, harsh words spoken by employers/employees, co-workers.

These things eat at us! When we are feeling blue for any reason, these are the things that come crashing into our memories to help us continue to feel badly about ourselves. They add fuel to the fire that burns inside our hearts.

I learned as a child that twenty positive comments could easily be stricken from my memory by one single negative comment. The same goes for anything negative that occurs to us!

I can still see the deep green of that forest scene in my mind's eye and I still see the cars along that steep incline of the street I couldn't climb. I can hear the taunts of elementary school girls and see the negative comments on evaluations. It is nearly impossible to wipe these things from my memory.

The thing is - being a Christian doesn't erase these things from my personality. I have never been able to rid myself of negative emotions and feelings, wicked words flung at me from the outside and painful taunts and jeers will always make their way into my mind.

If you read the Psalms, you'll discover that David never got away from this. It's not possible, it's one of the things we deal with while living our lives. Job, Moses, Paul, John, even Jesus Himself dealt with the very lowest the world has to offer in their own lives.

The difference is focus. As long as the focus is on myself, I will find myself mired in the quicksand of self-pity, worry and anger.

When David wrote the Psalms, they were songs of praise to a God that would deliver him ... from himself and from his enemies.

Praise. That's one of the greatest things that lifts us out of the sludge that we allow ourselves to dip into.

David's words fill me as I read:
"But as for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteousness, of your salvation all day long, though I know not its measure." (Psalm 71:14-15)

Worship. Praise. Removing the central focus from myself and placing it firmly where it belongs. My life was created to worship God ... not my fears, not my anger, not my worry ... to worship God.

Road Rage?

2010-08-28T17:11:00.000-05:00

This morning as I was stopped at the 42nd & Center intersection, I heard a car door slam. I looked around and all of a sudden there was a guy screaming at the top of his lungs at another young man in a van stopped next to me. Something about pulling out in front of him (he wasn't even driving - his girlfriend was, this guy had gotten out of the passenger side of the car behind me), yada, yada, yada.

The young man in the van was smart enough to not react, he didn't even roll down his window. The car that was in front of him was trying to make a right hand turn so as to give him space if he needed to bolt, depending on whether the idiot in the street attempted violence. All of us were shocked at this unexpected outburst of rage. I hadn't seen anything happen, but who knows ... I probably missed it.

That kind of public anger absolutely floors me. I don't know what to do with it or how to handle it.

I saw road rage one other time in a parking lot when a car cut off a bicyclist so that the driver of the car could scream in the bicyclist's face about some sort of perceived error that had been made. I was right there and so floored by the outburst I couldn't process quickly enough on what I could do that wouldn't further inflame the situation.

The light changed, the crazy man got back in his girlfriend's car and everyone drove their separate ways today. I drove away trying to dream up any type of response on my part that could have defused the situation and I was also trying to imagine what I would do if someone came at me with that kind of fury. I have absolutely no idea.

As Christians we talk a lot about random acts of kindness in the world and trying our best to show the world what Christ is like. I am disgusted when I see Christians act like jerks in restaurants and other public places, but the reality is, we live in an environment filled with sadness, sickness, and sometimes just plain evil. We can't actually fix it.

You know what? We don't have to. It's not our job to fix the world.

It is, however, our job to be the people that God calls us to be in the world. I can't necessarily do anything about the young man who exploded with vitriol at 42nd and Center Street today, but I can ensure that my behavior in the world, among the rest of God's children brings Him honor and glory.

I Loved High School Football

2010-08-27T20:53:00.000-05:00

High School football has started again. I've been watching the Des Moines Register's site as they rank the Iowa schools and talk about what is going to happen and I am thrust back to the days where I lived for Friday nights!

I played in the marching band so all of the home games were fun, hanging out in the band section with all my friends. We whined a lot in early September because of our awful wool uniforms, but by the time mid-October rolled around we weren't rushing quite as quickly to change since we finally appreciated the additional warmth. I do remember huddling under blankets with as many friends as possible watching the last half of the game after we'd gotten back into our street clothes.

My friends were out on the field, my friends were in the stands with me and those evenings were some of the greatest fun I had in high school. Mom didn't miss too many of the games ... her kids were in the stands and on the field as well. She and I drove to nearly every one of the away games just to be a part of the excitement of Sigourney High School football. If the band went on a bus, she'd drive and I could choose to go home with her or my friends - she didn't care, she just wanted to be where her kids were so that she could cheer them on.

Home games meant a sock hop at the high school after the game - we were pretty spoiled, too. Double Trouble - more friends from high school were a great cover band and we didn't have to put up with too many DJ/album nights, it was generally live music. No one was ever ready to head home after the game, so the cafeteria was filled with friends and dancing.

Friday nights seemed to last forever ... from dressing in our uniforms, pre-game, playing in the stands for the first half, half-time, changing out and watching the end of the game and then finally the sock hop. The evening was glorious fun.

Every fall as the weather turns cool, I go back to those nights in the bleachers at the high school with my friends. I recall the excitement of the plays on the field, watching parents go from joy to pain and back to joy as they watched their kids play ball. We saw our teachers and administration outside their normal environment, with their families and friends and realized that they were as normal as the rest of us. We had something that we could all stand together for. We were there to support a team, to support an idea, to have some fun.

It's High School football season ... and I hope that kids today will also walk away with memories that last a lifetime.

Who defines your self-image?

2010-08-26T18:55:00.001-05:00

Who defines your self-image?

Now, if you spend every moment of every day without any self-doubt, self-recrimination or poor self-esteem, move on, I don't particularly want your commentary on this ... you won't fit in.

I am a relatively self-confident person. I'm certain that much of that comes from the way I grew up, knowing that my parents believed in me, loved me, protected me, encouraged me, taught me and generally surrounded me with enough support and strength to kick me into the world on my own.

On the other hand, I can tear myself apart in a heartbeat and then find myself weeping and sobbing over my lack of self-worth. It really doesn't take all that much to remind me of what a failure I am, how I've screwed up badly and how easy it would be for me to just fade away from the world without anyone paying too much attention.

Now, stop ... you don't have to try to fix me ... I know that isn't necessarily all true, so it's ok. Just keep reading. I'm only using myself as an example.

It is quite easy for us to swing back and forth on that pendulum of self-respect / self-recrimination. Even those of us who live our lives with a lot of confidence easily find ourselves questioning the very core of our personality. That's probably a good thing sometimes. Because with every question we ask, we cause ourselves to redefine why we are the way that we are. If we come out at the end assured that we're ok, fabulous. If not, and we have to adjust, that's fabulous, too!

But, who is it that forces us to question ourselves and possibly redefine ourselves? Is it someone that has our best interests at heart? What are the motives behind the questions? Are they filled with love and grace or jealousy and their own agenda?

In my lifetime, I've given a lot of different people permission to define me. I've had bosses that make me question my motives and the depth of my personality. Boyfriends, girlfriends, family members, even sometimes complete strangers have received permission from me to make me question myself.

Sometimes that permission has been handled with grace and love, but not often, because we are all dealing with people that have their own agendas. There are very few people in our lives that sacrificially love us, to the extent that they will help us question ourselves, allow us to fall apart and then turn around and help put us back together again.

Others simply force us to question ourselves, watch as our self-confidence erodes, then watch as we fade away. Those people aren't trustworthy and we have to quickly discover that they will never do more than that for us.

The rest probably don't do much in our lives in the way of helping us define our relationship with the world. They move in and out of our lives at a surface level, not expecting much, not offering much, but sometimes tossing out a question that forces us to step back and ask if we really are worth it. Before we realize that they hit us with something tough, they're gone again and don't make any attempt to cushion the blow. Not terribly trustworthy, but probably not close enough to us to even realize that they had an impact.

As you try to find your way through the world, who is it that you allow to help you redefine yourself; who have you given permission to question your motives whether they handle you with grace or not and what are you going to do about withdrawing that permission?

Who do you help and how do you help them?

What are our roles in the relationships that we have. How do we hide from others and how do we expose ourselves to others? Are you trustworthy or are you selfish?

All of these questions ... who are you in your relationships ... who are those other people in your relationships?

And for heaven's sake, where's the ice cream?

Let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and Your 'No,' 'No.'

2010-08-25T08:18:00.000-05:00

This morning, Seth Godin posted "Little Lies and Small Promises" about how companies that make an attempt to keep small promises have less trouble keeping the big ones. You know what I'm talking about - those comments that a waitress drops, "I'll be back in just a moment" or a customer service phone message stating, "Your call is important to us, we'll be right with you" - knowing full well that neither of them is true.
I cringe when I hear those types of statements being made. "Thank you for calling, I will be with you in a second." A second? A second? I just counted three of those and you are no where near me.

When Carol, Mom and I were in training to open our business, this must have been something that drove our trainer crazy. Over and over she emphasized to us how important it was to not make promises we couldn't keep. At some point, people would quit believing us.

We had a press maintenance guy who did that to us regularly and I don't know that I've ever been quite as frustrated as I was by that man. We'd call him with a problem and he'd tell us that he would be right over. It didn't take long to figure it out - his 'right over' meant 6 hours. But, more often than not, he would give me a time that he could be there by and when that time came and went, two more hours passed and everyone was ready to go home for the day, he would call and promise to be there first thing the next morning. Could I show up 1/2 hour early so that he could get into the shop?

By golly, he had the audacity to be upset if he had to wait for us to get there in the morning. He never did any of this on purpose. He had the best intentions, but the problem was that he could not get his world to line up with his good intentions, so he frustrated everyone including himself.

Small promises broken, no trust left.

This is one of those things that makes me nuts. I think it made Jesus a bit crazy as well. In Matthew 5:37, he teaches "Simply let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and your 'No,' No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one."

If you promise to be somewhere at a certain time, be there. If you promise to take care of something, do it. If you organize a meeting, be prepared and ready to go on time. If you promise to return a call, make the call. If you promise to write a letter, get it done.

Our trainer for the business told us again and again that it made customers happier to have a longer deadline and then be pleasantly surprised when completion came early than to have a short deadline that was never met on time.

Good intentions don't get things done, don't keep people happy. Little promises made but never kept won't make people believe in you.

Let your 'yes' be 'yes' and your 'no,' 'no.'

Think I should focus? Nope ... want it all!!!

2010-08-24T17:00:00.000-05:00

I figure that I am going to go up and down, back and forth and all over the place before I finish up this portion of my education. It's going to be fabulous!

This has always been my problem. I can't choose one specific thing that I want to learn. I've always envied those that are so concentrated on one discipline that they become celebrities in their field. That will never be me. I have this incredible desire to know everything ... at least enough about everything so that I can learn more.

As I study Greek, I realize how much more I want to know about that language. Every time I wrap my head around a concept or focus on vocabulary, I feel a thrill.

Yesterday as I began to understand what 'textual criticism' is - digging into the Greek manuscripts to discern copy errors, transcription errors, scribal changes, comprehending the style of the author, etc., etc. - I got a little bit high as I realized that I could easily get lost in that discipline for the rest of my life and be extraordinarily happy. So, I chased off down that bunny trail for a while, happy as a lark.

I read about how to comprehend and learn about the culture of the New Testament and find that I want to understand as much of that as possible, so that I can make sense of the concepts hidden in that understanding for teaching purposes. Oh ... that's just exciting stuff right there!

As I look through the books which will help me dig deeply into the Gospel of Matthew this fall and recognize the general ideas behind this learning, I want to be able to process it all so that I can translate it for everyone, not just a few seminary students. I could find myself digging into that forever.

Then there is the comprehension of seeing how cultures other than North American / Western / white upper/middle class people read their Bible and how they see things differently in the story. Oh, I want everyone to understand that so that we aren't so self-centered as we read the Bible.

Every single course I take throughout these next few years is going to stir the desires of my heart regarding how to share this information and what I could possibly do with it for the rest of my life. Maybe there will come a point when I can look at one discipline and say, 'Yes! That's it!!' but I'm betting that doesn't happen.

If you read this blog and I begin to tell you how I think I've finally found my focus, just chuckle and know that within a few months (maybe only a few days), I'll have made a different decision. I hope that by this point in my life, I get it about myself. I really want to know it all ... I will never be a single-discipline type of person.

So, what am I going to do with this? How in the world am I ever going to move on and build a career? I have absolutely no idea. Fortunately, I don't have to. It's a good thing to know that God's in charge of this. It really helps me not worry so much. All I have to do is absorb what He puts in front of me.

Learning about NT research. Wow.

2010-08-23T18:18:00.000-05:00

The bad news is - there's a lot of freakin' reading coming up in my world. Wow, every time I start a new book, I feel terribly overwhelmed by the amount that is yet ahead of me!

The good news is - every time I open up one of these books, I learn a little bit more.

I'm reading "Hearing the New Testament: Strategies for Interpretation," edited by Joel B. Green right now. I figured it was going to be pretty dry. But, notice that I said it was 'edited' by, not 'written' by Joel Green. That means that every chapter is written by a different author, so I have the potential for some dry reading and probably some interesting stuff as well. It's an adventure, right?

I recognize that throughout my life, I've stuck pretty close to non-academic reading as I've learned and studied. Which means that I have a lot of information to gather into my poor brain if I want to play in the world of academia! And that's just fine.

So, today I began learning about how New Testament scholars approach the text. My goodness, but if the only thing you ever read is your Bible, you don't have an inkling of the torment that scholars go through to bring you that book.

There is nothing available that is older than the second century, which means that these are copies of copies and there are 5,360 Greek manuscripts available. They don't actually all say the same exact thing. Scribes made changes. If they had a certain agenda to push, they might drop out or change a sentence that would end up proving their point. They were 'improving' the text. And those 5360 manuscripts? Some are fragments no bigger than your driver's license and others contain the entire New Testament. They range in age from the second century to the sixteenth century. No one has a good count on all of the differences in the manuscripts, but they number in the hundreds of thousands!

Scholars apply a lot of tests to the manuscripts in order to bring out the best and closest to the original possibilities. They rely on so many different things. THIS is why there are still so many different thoughts and interpretations of the text.

Now this may scare some of you - to me I see an incredible puzzle with pieces that are out there ready to be drawn together. It's actually really exciting to me to discover that there are still questions I might have a chance to answer or at least spend time researching. No ... the basic orthodox doctrines of the church aren't going to change, but it's a fascinating look at what we read!

Oh yah ... you'll keep hearing from me as I learn!

A Cynic? Not in everything.

2010-08-22T19:26:00.000-05:00

You know, I love the knowledge and wisdom that comes with age, but sometimes I miss the simplicity of belief that only lives within the young. In many ways, my cynicism is difficult to live with.

This morning was Rally Sunday at church. We blessed backpacks, prepared for Sunday School, blessed the acolytes, handed out third grade Bibles ... it was a full morning. As Pastor Mark spoke about the Word of God, he gave a few details. When he said that the Bible continues to be the top seller in all books, the seventh grade girl sitting in our pew, pumped her fists and said, "Yes!"

In ten or so more years, she will reach the stage we all are at ... old news, we already know that information. But, right now as she takes in new information all the time, she will continue to be excited. She will pump her fists at obvious 'wins' and say "Yes!" to things that are great.

I don't do that so much anymore. I've lost a lot of wonder at the world. I've seen pain and joy, life and death, ups and downs, failures and successes. I see that life cycles and if things aren't great today, they'll get better at some point. I know that time erases the sharp edges of pain, but it also erases the sharp edges of joy.

The amazing thing is, though that as much as I've become a cynic about people, life, experiences, etc., I've never lost my wonder at the Word of God. Every single time I open that book, I find myself engrossed in something, whether it's the language, the thoughts, the message, the way it's written.

There is something incredible about a book that can entrance me even after I have read it over and over. I always find something new, I always find something to make me search for more information, I always find something that makes me want more.

Computer issues ... blerg.

2010-08-21T23:32:00.000-05:00

It's late. I'm still awake. But, this evening ... just as I was processing on what to write, our internet went down ... it went down hard!

Modem / router / cables / computers ... oh, for heaven's sake, what was it? We called our local cable company - Cox ... they're great here. I love talking to these guys. It's always a good experience. Since Max is a computer tech, this shouldn't have been a difficult issue, but something wasn't working at all between the router and the modem.

We bought a new router this evening - that didn't fix the problem (the modem was working fine). We called Cox back. They could see a signal coming to the modem, but going no further. Max ended up on the phone with a young man from India who worked for Netgear. After 3 hours of being offline, all of a sudden, things were back to normal. We're not really sure what happened, but something did. And for that, I'm thankful.

I don't do well being offline and not knowing why.

Now, I'm tired and I haven't got a single interesting thought in my brain. I need to fall asleep and have interesting thoughts occur to me tomorrow!

Leica and I stopped this afternoon for a quick break and saw THIS. I didn't let her out of the car for awhile so we could just watch. The picture isn't great, they were way back from where we were parked, but the doe and her fawns just watched us until they got spooked.