Today is going to be hot. I refuse to play outside when it's hot like this. So, I'm actually inside writing and working. I know, I know ... that sounds like a normal day for me. Whatever!!!
Yesterday, I linked you to Pete Wilson's blog WithoutWax.tv. I love his gentle, encouraging words. He's one of the good guys. Today's post on putting up with bull while being in leadership is great.
While I'm at it, I want to tell you about some of the other people I read whom I think are pretty amazing.
Rebecca Bauman. I've talked about her in the past. I love her! She wrote with me on my Pour Out a Blessing blog last year. She has a flamboyant, gorgeous way of looking at scripture. I started writing through Isaiah 40-66 at the beginning of July and she mentioned here that it is one of her favorite parts of the Bible, so I invited her to write along with me. However, I waited too long to invite her so that we can be in sync. If you love this section of scripture as much as the two of us do, you won't want to miss her insight. Start with yesterday's post and keep up with her!
One of my very favorite worship leaders is Travis Cottrell. I was introduced to him by Beth Moore. He travels with her and leads worship at her Living Proof Live events. What an incredible voice and what an amazing gift of leadership he has. He doesn't post often, but getting to know his family and his love for Jesus is really special through his blogs.
In that same vein, Beth Moore and her daughters - Amanda and Melissa all post on the Living Proof ministries blog. What a riot to see the three of them interact with the hundreds of women (and a few men) who read and comment. They love it all and it's readily apparent how important the ministry is to them.
Just a few more.
Stephen Brewster writes a great blog on creativity. Funny, he has just gone to work for Pete Wilson. Whenever he writes, I get a fresh idea about how to put creativity to work.
You all should know by now that I am addicted to the writing of Seth Godin. He doesn't pull many punches when it comes to honesty in what we do and how we do it. He is constantly calling for ... better! Stop messing around and putting up with less. You have the potential to be so much better. He is an agent for change and has no qualms about pushing you to make change.
By no means, is this the end of all that I read during the day, but for now these are a few of the ones that I want to share with you. Check 'em out and enjoy!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Spirituality that breeds love or debate!
I have to say that I tend to steer clear of a lot of Christian bloggers because I can't bear some of the judgmental garbage that happens when they begin to rant about some issue or other. There are, however, a few that I can't live without.
One of those is the blog by Pete Wilson, who is senior pastor at Crosspoint Church in the Nashville area. I follow him on Twitter and read his stuff as often as I can and it seems as if every single thing I read from him comes straight from his heart. He is positive, always publicly encouraging his staff and church members and he challenges those around him to think beyond themselves.
His post today was about a controversial book called "Mere Churchianity" which wonders whether the church has much to say about Christ any longer. He quotes a passage from the book and then asks his readers to comment.
Here's the passage he quotes.
"We have a culture-war spirituality that produces Christians who might never share their faith but are ready at a moment’s notice to debate politics, abortion and civil union for gay couples. It is a spirituality that calls down fire on its enemies and shapes its followers into intolerant soldiers waging a morality crusade. Its kingdom is the eventual triumph of moral conservatism, and its spirituality is conflict and argument.
Can we honestly say that Jesus was a culture warrior? Can we say that the spirituality of Jesus is geared to turning you into a noisy talk-radio pundit? Is our anger at the decline of culture really a dependable guide toward the experience of God?"
The comments on the post are as intriguing as the original post and as the book. I think this is a discussion that we as Christians need to be having often!
When will we stop allowing our personal bigotry, agendas and problems to guide the church and actually allow God to lead us in the way that He wants us to go?
I've ordered the book to my Kindle and am actually NOT looking forward to reading this. Pete Wilson says that the book ticked him off. Great.
I just keep going back to the same words that I will use over and over again. We can not allow the ugliness that wells up in each of us to overcome our relationship with the world around us. We have to face everything with love and if we don't have enough to handle things we don't understand, are fearful of or just plain don't like, then we need to recognize our great need for the love of Jesus.
It seems as if this topic keeps leaping up inside me. So, I just keep writing about it. Love has to win out over our culture and our interpretation of our culture!
One of those is the blog by Pete Wilson, who is senior pastor at Crosspoint Church in the Nashville area. I follow him on Twitter and read his stuff as often as I can and it seems as if every single thing I read from him comes straight from his heart. He is positive, always publicly encouraging his staff and church members and he challenges those around him to think beyond themselves.
His post today was about a controversial book called "Mere Churchianity" which wonders whether the church has much to say about Christ any longer. He quotes a passage from the book and then asks his readers to comment.
Here's the passage he quotes.
"We have a culture-war spirituality that produces Christians who might never share their faith but are ready at a moment’s notice to debate politics, abortion and civil union for gay couples. It is a spirituality that calls down fire on its enemies and shapes its followers into intolerant soldiers waging a morality crusade. Its kingdom is the eventual triumph of moral conservatism, and its spirituality is conflict and argument.
Can we honestly say that Jesus was a culture warrior? Can we say that the spirituality of Jesus is geared to turning you into a noisy talk-radio pundit? Is our anger at the decline of culture really a dependable guide toward the experience of God?"
The comments on the post are as intriguing as the original post and as the book. I think this is a discussion that we as Christians need to be having often!
When will we stop allowing our personal bigotry, agendas and problems to guide the church and actually allow God to lead us in the way that He wants us to go?
I've ordered the book to my Kindle and am actually NOT looking forward to reading this. Pete Wilson says that the book ticked him off. Great.
I just keep going back to the same words that I will use over and over again. We can not allow the ugliness that wells up in each of us to overcome our relationship with the world around us. We have to face everything with love and if we don't have enough to handle things we don't understand, are fearful of or just plain don't like, then we need to recognize our great need for the love of Jesus.
It seems as if this topic keeps leaping up inside me. So, I just keep writing about it. Love has to win out over our culture and our interpretation of our culture!
Monday, July 12, 2010
The dog is on the roof?!
Today has been a day!
I had a few plans to get things done, but was interrupted by a small dog acting strangely. I called the vet and had to wait several hours to get her in (if I had thought it was an emergency, he'd have moved faster for me). By the time I was driving her to his office, I had completely talked myself into the fact that she had some awful neurological disorder and I was going to have to have him put her to sleep this afternoon. Oh yah - pretty well had myself worked past all of the anger, bargaining, pleading, sorrow to acceptance.
No, it's nothing like that - the poor thing will lose some more teeth on Friday and she's having an issue with her eyes (she's nearly 14 - it's gonna happen) and then we'll be back at some semblance of normal.
As I processed through all of those emotions today and then came out at the end of the appointment knowing that it was nothing life-threatening and all would be fine, I just chuckled at myself. Am I really that much of a pessimist?
I am! I learned a long time ago that if I can think things through to the worst possible scenario and figure out how to handle that, then I will be much better off when that worst case doesn't actually occur! I hate being surprised by bad news. If you have something terrible to tell me - do it really, really fast and then leave me alone for a few minutes to process the worst of it. When I come back, I generally have a plan of action ready to go and can deal with it.
Here's one of my favorite jokes - but, this might be what I need!
John lived with his mother and his golden retriever. When he won a 10-day cruise to the Puerto Rico, he couldn’t take his dog with him.
His brother, Al agreed to come over to John's house and stay while John was gone. All he had to do was feed the dog – their mother could take care of herself.
The first day, John called Al and asked, "How are things?" To which Al responded, "Things are fine."
"How's Mom?"
"Mom's fine."
"How's the cat?"
"The cat's fine." Satisfied, John hung up.
Next day, John called Al again, asking the same questions.
"How are things?"
"Things are fine."
"How's Mom?"
"Mom's fine."
"How's the dog?"
"The dog’s DEAD."
"WHAT?!?" John was quite distressed. "How could you let it die? He was my best friend!”
"Well, John, I'm sorry, but I couldn't do anything, I didn't see it. But what I think happened was that the dog got on the roof, fell off, and broke his leg. Then, he hobbled out into the road, and got run over."
John was cooling down a bit now, and said, "Well, couldn't you have tried to break it to me over time? You could have said it bit by bit. For example, you could have first said 'The dog is on the roof', then the next day said 'The dog fell off the roof, and broke its leg', see what I'm saying."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. See you later, John."
"Ok... bye." John hung up.
The next day, John phoned Al again.
"How are things?"
"Things are fine."
"How's Mom?"
"Umm," Al said, "Mom's on the roof.”
I had a few plans to get things done, but was interrupted by a small dog acting strangely. I called the vet and had to wait several hours to get her in (if I had thought it was an emergency, he'd have moved faster for me). By the time I was driving her to his office, I had completely talked myself into the fact that she had some awful neurological disorder and I was going to have to have him put her to sleep this afternoon. Oh yah - pretty well had myself worked past all of the anger, bargaining, pleading, sorrow to acceptance.
No, it's nothing like that - the poor thing will lose some more teeth on Friday and she's having an issue with her eyes (she's nearly 14 - it's gonna happen) and then we'll be back at some semblance of normal.
As I processed through all of those emotions today and then came out at the end of the appointment knowing that it was nothing life-threatening and all would be fine, I just chuckled at myself. Am I really that much of a pessimist?
I am! I learned a long time ago that if I can think things through to the worst possible scenario and figure out how to handle that, then I will be much better off when that worst case doesn't actually occur! I hate being surprised by bad news. If you have something terrible to tell me - do it really, really fast and then leave me alone for a few minutes to process the worst of it. When I come back, I generally have a plan of action ready to go and can deal with it.
Here's one of my favorite jokes - but, this might be what I need!
John lived with his mother and his golden retriever. When he won a 10-day cruise to the Puerto Rico, he couldn’t take his dog with him.
His brother, Al agreed to come over to John's house and stay while John was gone. All he had to do was feed the dog – their mother could take care of herself.
The first day, John called Al and asked, "How are things?" To which Al responded, "Things are fine."
"How's Mom?"
"Mom's fine."
"How's the cat?"
"The cat's fine." Satisfied, John hung up.
Next day, John called Al again, asking the same questions.
"How are things?"
"Things are fine."
"How's Mom?"
"Mom's fine."
"How's the dog?"
"The dog’s DEAD."
"WHAT?!?" John was quite distressed. "How could you let it die? He was my best friend!”
"Well, John, I'm sorry, but I couldn't do anything, I didn't see it. But what I think happened was that the dog got on the roof, fell off, and broke his leg. Then, he hobbled out into the road, and got run over."
John was cooling down a bit now, and said, "Well, couldn't you have tried to break it to me over time? You could have said it bit by bit. For example, you could have first said 'The dog is on the roof', then the next day said 'The dog fell off the roof, and broke its leg', see what I'm saying."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. See you later, John."
"Ok... bye." John hung up.
The next day, John phoned Al again.
"How are things?"
"Things are fine."
"How's Mom?"
"Umm," Al said, "Mom's on the roof.”
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Happy Birthday, Margie!
Today would have been Mom's birthday. So, rather than me writing a lot of words, I'm going to share some of hers. She painted this in 1968. That pink table sat out in the front of the yard for years, it was where she did a lot of work. You can see a pot of flowers. She'd have been working on that before painting it. And her "Ballad of Bell's Dell."
Ballad of Bell's Dell
This land holds a mystery;
Age-old secrets kept intact
Through years of history,
Now from rusted bindings hacked.
Into the hillside men bored
A tunnel, looking for coal.
Their lives and their labors poured
they into the long dark hole.
The tunnel is closed and sealed.
Ninety-odd years have now passed
Since men, grimy, blackened, reeled
From gloom to sunlight at last.
An aged man who once lived here
Told us how two brothers worked
The mines and how the old fear
Of death round each corner lurked.
One brother looked back too soon;
Death caught him a glancing blow.
The clanking ore cars, the Boone
No longer heard above its flow.
Across the river, the old
Bell's Mill ground settler's grain
While folks sat and talked and told
Tales of Indians and wagon trains.
But Death had crossed the river
And stopped the wooden mill wheel.
His son's crushed bones sent shivers
Down Bell's spine; his blood congealed.
Late one night in early spring,
Ice went out; up rose the Boone.
Great ice chunks did smash and fling
Themselves high beneath the moon.
Death claimed the miller that night
While violent ice knives spilled
The mill's life blood as if in spite
For grain no longer to be milled.
The mineral water spring
That lured folks from miles around,
Searching cures, no longer sings.
Cows trampled it in the ground.
A row of huts once stood
Upon the hillside here.
Children romped warm in mitts and hood
While mothers toiled and spilled a tear.
Their men worked at the sawmill
Down by the edge of the road.
A rough crew, but bound by law still;
Justice was served as the cock crowed.
Much later, a fine old woman
Fought her own battle with death.
It took the life of this human
As her soul fled with her last breath.
An emptiness surrounds her house,
A bleakness, a hole of despair;
Sounds of mourning whistle through the boughs;
Her husband waits with a vacant stare.
Last summer, wading, we found
Under the river, wood parts
From the old mill race. But no sound
We heard of ghostly, creaking carts.
The children climb, slide and play
On the old slag heap beside
Our drive. A sunken place flays
Our memories of a miner's pride.
The land is peopled with ghosts
Who once lived and loved and died.
They beckon, eternal hosts
who live on the other side.
Some of their secrets we share.
We'll add our own to this land;
Much later then we will dare
Follow the beckoning hand.
August 15, 1969
This land holds a mystery;
Age-old secrets kept intact
Through years of history,
Now from rusted bindings hacked.
Into the hillside men bored
A tunnel, looking for coal.
Their lives and their labors poured
they into the long dark hole.
The tunnel is closed and sealed.
Ninety-odd years have now passed
Since men, grimy, blackened, reeled
From gloom to sunlight at last.
An aged man who once lived here
Told us how two brothers worked
The mines and how the old fear
Of death round each corner lurked.
One brother looked back too soon;
Death caught him a glancing blow.
The clanking ore cars, the Boone
No longer heard above its flow.
Across the river, the old
Bell's Mill ground settler's grain
While folks sat and talked and told
Tales of Indians and wagon trains.
But Death had crossed the river
And stopped the wooden mill wheel.
His son's crushed bones sent shivers
Down Bell's spine; his blood congealed.
Late one night in early spring,
Ice went out; up rose the Boone.
Great ice chunks did smash and fling
Themselves high beneath the moon.
Death claimed the miller that night
While violent ice knives spilled
The mill's life blood as if in spite
For grain no longer to be milled.
The mineral water spring
That lured folks from miles around,
Searching cures, no longer sings.
Cows trampled it in the ground.
A row of huts once stood
Upon the hillside here.
Children romped warm in mitts and hood
While mothers toiled and spilled a tear.
Their men worked at the sawmill
Down by the edge of the road.
A rough crew, but bound by law still;
Justice was served as the cock crowed.
Much later, a fine old woman
Fought her own battle with death.
It took the life of this human
As her soul fled with her last breath.
An emptiness surrounds her house,
A bleakness, a hole of despair;
Sounds of mourning whistle through the boughs;
Her husband waits with a vacant stare.
Last summer, wading, we found
Under the river, wood parts
From the old mill race. But no sound
We heard of ghostly, creaking carts.
The children climb, slide and play
On the old slag heap beside
Our drive. A sunken place flays
Our memories of a miner's pride.
The land is peopled with ghosts
Who once lived and loved and died.
They beckon, eternal hosts
who live on the other side.
Some of their secrets we share.
We'll add our own to this land;
Much later then we will dare
Follow the beckoning hand.
August 15, 1969
Margie Greenwood
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Learning to drive
I'm betting that the one thing most of us remember is learning how to drive. My goodness, I had a lot of experience in the driver's seat before I got my license. As soon as I could get my permit, I was standing in line with Mom. I could hardly wait.
Before that happened, she and Dad had allowed me to drive the Volkswagen bug around the meadow up at the cabin. Around and around I went, never going any faster than I could get in second gear. But, I learned how to time those gear shifts so that I didn't completely embarrass myself by killing it. That took me a few trips to figure out, but I did it.
I don't think that Dad ever did much teaching - I was terrified of him and I suspect that he was terrified of scaring me to death and causing me to drive into a telephone pole. It was probably much safer for Mom to sit in the passenger seat. She had no fear of yelling at me if I was doing something stupid. She sucked in her breath a lot and made wavy motions with her hands while trying to keep me on the pavement and off the shoulder of the highway. She wasn't terribly appreciative of my frightened sounds when I turned a corner or hesitated. But, we all got through it.
The best compliment I ever got was driving with my grandfather in the back seat. As I shifted down and came to a stop one day, letting up on the brake a bit before the stop and then bringing it finally to a halt, he quietly commented that he couldn't believe someone as young as I could make such a smooth stop. What a strange thing for me to remember, but it felt great.
Mom was thrilled with having a driver that was excited about actually driving in her life. The next summer we took a trip out east - we always drove straight through - 33 hours or so, switching drivers. I was so happy to be behind the wheel that I'd do anything I could to drive. Yup, she won.
As soon as I got my license, I had access to the car nearly every time I needed it. Mom had access to a new taxi driver - I 'had to' take Carol and Jim wherever they needed to go. Well, hello ... yes! I've loved driving and feeling that sense of freedom from the very moment I learned.
Since I drove that five-on-the-floor bug, I ended up teaching a few of my friends how to drive a stick shift - in the parking lot at the Catholic church. It was the biggest, emptiest lot in Sigourney during the day and tucked back a little bit so the entire world wasn't watching and laughing as my friends lurched through learning how to time that shift.
You know ... once we learned to walk, we didn't want to crawl and when children learn to run, they want to run all the time! We learn how to drive and we like how it feels. Each of these things gives us a little more freedom than before. We expand our world.
Every time we learn something new - we get a bigger picture of the world. We shed fears about that part of the unknown, we gain a sense of control of a new part of the world.
Learning is a great way to grow beyond what we know ... maybe it's a new hobby or a new part of our job. When we stop learning, we we stop wanting to know something new, we cease to grow and become stagnant.
I don't have a stick shift any longer, but if you get one, I'm glad to sit in the passenger seat and teach you how to drive it. I will also encourage you every day to find something new to learn about. Crawling ... walking ... running ... riding a bike ... driving a car ... flying a plane (ok, that might be a little over the top). Everything makes your world view bigger. Try to constantly find ways to do that!
Before that happened, she and Dad had allowed me to drive the Volkswagen bug around the meadow up at the cabin. Around and around I went, never going any faster than I could get in second gear. But, I learned how to time those gear shifts so that I didn't completely embarrass myself by killing it. That took me a few trips to figure out, but I did it.
I don't think that Dad ever did much teaching - I was terrified of him and I suspect that he was terrified of scaring me to death and causing me to drive into a telephone pole. It was probably much safer for Mom to sit in the passenger seat. She had no fear of yelling at me if I was doing something stupid. She sucked in her breath a lot and made wavy motions with her hands while trying to keep me on the pavement and off the shoulder of the highway. She wasn't terribly appreciative of my frightened sounds when I turned a corner or hesitated. But, we all got through it.
The best compliment I ever got was driving with my grandfather in the back seat. As I shifted down and came to a stop one day, letting up on the brake a bit before the stop and then bringing it finally to a halt, he quietly commented that he couldn't believe someone as young as I could make such a smooth stop. What a strange thing for me to remember, but it felt great.
Mom was thrilled with having a driver that was excited about actually driving in her life. The next summer we took a trip out east - we always drove straight through - 33 hours or so, switching drivers. I was so happy to be behind the wheel that I'd do anything I could to drive. Yup, she won.
As soon as I got my license, I had access to the car nearly every time I needed it. Mom had access to a new taxi driver - I 'had to' take Carol and Jim wherever they needed to go. Well, hello ... yes! I've loved driving and feeling that sense of freedom from the very moment I learned.
Since I drove that five-on-the-floor bug, I ended up teaching a few of my friends how to drive a stick shift - in the parking lot at the Catholic church. It was the biggest, emptiest lot in Sigourney during the day and tucked back a little bit so the entire world wasn't watching and laughing as my friends lurched through learning how to time that shift.
You know ... once we learned to walk, we didn't want to crawl and when children learn to run, they want to run all the time! We learn how to drive and we like how it feels. Each of these things gives us a little more freedom than before. We expand our world.
Every time we learn something new - we get a bigger picture of the world. We shed fears about that part of the unknown, we gain a sense of control of a new part of the world.
Learning is a great way to grow beyond what we know ... maybe it's a new hobby or a new part of our job. When we stop learning, we we stop wanting to know something new, we cease to grow and become stagnant.
I don't have a stick shift any longer, but if you get one, I'm glad to sit in the passenger seat and teach you how to drive it. I will also encourage you every day to find something new to learn about. Crawling ... walking ... running ... riding a bike ... driving a car ... flying a plane (ok, that might be a little over the top). Everything makes your world view bigger. Try to constantly find ways to do that!
Happy Birthday, Carol
Alright, the calendar says I've missed a day, but really folks, I'm still awake - does that count for blogging every day? Oh please say it does!
Today was Carol's birthday (alright it's 1:10 am - YESTERDAY was Carol's birthday). Every year she has had some wild party and has worked her tail off to make the party fun. This year was much quieter, but when I dropped her off, she told me what a great night she had.
Let's see ... how easy could it be? I picked her up and we went to see Twilight: Eclipse. They even had t-shirts for sale at the theater - for sale / on sale! And I got a Team Edward tote bag - well, of course I did! The movie was fabulous and if you hate vampires and werewolves ... well, I'm just sorry about that!
Dinner at Lonestar then off to McKennas to enjoy one of our favorite bands - Thousand Houses. Finally it was home to dash for the bathroom and run the dog outside before she exploded. Which one of us was going to explode first was up for grabs, but because I'm the mama, I got to choose. I do NOT know why I insist on leaving a place with a perfectly good bathroom knowing that I'm going to arrive home and dance at the back door until I can get it unlocked. I'm old enough, I should know better. I wonder if there's a little bit of that rebellion against mom telling me to go to the bathroom before I get in the car - just try! Yup, I'm guessing that's my problem! :)
That's what was up and why there was no REAL blog this evening. My eyes are burning, they seem to be as tired as the rest of me. I'll be back tomorrow with real words, I promise!
Today was Carol's birthday (alright it's 1:10 am - YESTERDAY was Carol's birthday). Every year she has had some wild party and has worked her tail off to make the party fun. This year was much quieter, but when I dropped her off, she told me what a great night she had.
Let's see ... how easy could it be? I picked her up and we went to see Twilight: Eclipse. They even had t-shirts for sale at the theater - for sale / on sale! And I got a Team Edward tote bag - well, of course I did! The movie was fabulous and if you hate vampires and werewolves ... well, I'm just sorry about that!
Dinner at Lonestar then off to McKennas to enjoy one of our favorite bands - Thousand Houses. Finally it was home to dash for the bathroom and run the dog outside before she exploded. Which one of us was going to explode first was up for grabs, but because I'm the mama, I got to choose. I do NOT know why I insist on leaving a place with a perfectly good bathroom knowing that I'm going to arrive home and dance at the back door until I can get it unlocked. I'm old enough, I should know better. I wonder if there's a little bit of that rebellion against mom telling me to go to the bathroom before I get in the car - just try! Yup, I'm guessing that's my problem! :)
That's what was up and why there was no REAL blog this evening. My eyes are burning, they seem to be as tired as the rest of me. I'll be back tomorrow with real words, I promise!
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Love has to win out.
I've been thinking a lot about anger, judgment, fear, misunderstanding, faith, Christianity, religion, etc. the last few days.
If I were to ask you whether or not - without a doubt - you believe in heaven, would you think about your answer before delivering it, or would you immediately pop off a quick yes or no?
Do you believe in God? Without any doubt, fully assured that He is the Creator. Do you believe in Jesus Christ? Without any doubt, fully assured that He lived on earth and then secondly, that He is going to return and that His return will signify the end of the world.
Now, while I'd love to discuss those questions with you, I wonder if you think about people outside your church or your faith group and how they would answer them. I also wonder about how safe they would feel in answering them honestly with you.
There have been so many things rattling around in my brain lately that to trap them all and get them written down would be nearly impossible, but the main thrust of what is going on up there always comes back to what God intends for His world and how we interpret it. Basically, I think we screw it up on a regular basis. All of us - me included.
I write a lot about how we act in the world and how we are viewed by non-Christians. Paul wrote a lot about that as well. He watched new Christians get so enthusiastic they drove people around them crazy and he watched old Christians get so judgmental and demanding about the process that they drove people around them away from Jesus.
It is difficult to live as a Christian in the world, but I think we make it tougher than it needs to be. Especially on each other and for goodness' sake we make it difficult for anyone who isn't a Christian to want to be anything like us.
We are afraid of things we don't understand and for many Christians in today's world who have never, ever known anything other than being a Christian, there is a disconnect between them and the world. It's hard to talk to someone who doesn't understand our belief structure. It's hard to accept their world-view. Instead of showing love, we ridicule and make judgmental commentary. We quote scripture (which by the way, they simply don't understand - much less believe) and demand that they follow rules to be accepted in the church or into our lives. We surround ourselves with people who believe as we do, even down to going to church in a denomination because another doesn't spout a doctrine we can accept.
So, when anything comes up that might be different or outside our comfort level, we react poorly. Today I read a Tweet by a Christian humorist (Jonathan Acuff - he writes satire and irony) that this:
"When he dies God'll show him Holy Spirit straight to HELL!" Comment I got. Pray for folks whose version of God longs to send people to hell."
Judgment is stronger than grace.
I'm back to the earlier questions. Do you believe - beyond a shadow of a doubt - in heaven ... in God ... in Jesus Christ? If your answer is yes - I'm glad for you. If your answer tends to include that small hint of doubt in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind, consider that there is a world out there filled with people who live with that doubt every day. They yearn for something or someone to show them that God exists and there is a reason for them to believe and have hope in eternity. They are desperate to not be judged or looked down upon because we think we are better than them since we've made a decision to have faith. They want to know love and grace, mercy and understanding from those of us who call ourselves Christians; to see that exhibited in everything that we do and say, no matter how much our opinions on life, news reports, politics, media, and every other thing we encounter seem to be important to us.
Love one another ... not just those who think, look, act, and worship like us.
My thoughts have been a little random tonight - in fact, it's taken me nearly an hour just to get any type of cohesion in this blog. I still don't think I made it, and you know what ... I still have a lot of questions about faith and the reality of God, heaven and eternity. I hope I always do because every question forces me to dig for an answer.
But, until I get the answers ... I know that the safest way for me to encounter everything that I do is with the knowledge that God has called me to love, not to judge and not to always be right (even though I am called the Oracle), but to love. So, until I can prove beyond that shadow of a doubt that God exists, I will show that He does with love.
If I were to ask you whether or not - without a doubt - you believe in heaven, would you think about your answer before delivering it, or would you immediately pop off a quick yes or no?
Do you believe in God? Without any doubt, fully assured that He is the Creator. Do you believe in Jesus Christ? Without any doubt, fully assured that He lived on earth and then secondly, that He is going to return and that His return will signify the end of the world.
Now, while I'd love to discuss those questions with you, I wonder if you think about people outside your church or your faith group and how they would answer them. I also wonder about how safe they would feel in answering them honestly with you.
There have been so many things rattling around in my brain lately that to trap them all and get them written down would be nearly impossible, but the main thrust of what is going on up there always comes back to what God intends for His world and how we interpret it. Basically, I think we screw it up on a regular basis. All of us - me included.
I write a lot about how we act in the world and how we are viewed by non-Christians. Paul wrote a lot about that as well. He watched new Christians get so enthusiastic they drove people around them crazy and he watched old Christians get so judgmental and demanding about the process that they drove people around them away from Jesus.
It is difficult to live as a Christian in the world, but I think we make it tougher than it needs to be. Especially on each other and for goodness' sake we make it difficult for anyone who isn't a Christian to want to be anything like us.
We are afraid of things we don't understand and for many Christians in today's world who have never, ever known anything other than being a Christian, there is a disconnect between them and the world. It's hard to talk to someone who doesn't understand our belief structure. It's hard to accept their world-view. Instead of showing love, we ridicule and make judgmental commentary. We quote scripture (which by the way, they simply don't understand - much less believe) and demand that they follow rules to be accepted in the church or into our lives. We surround ourselves with people who believe as we do, even down to going to church in a denomination because another doesn't spout a doctrine we can accept.
So, when anything comes up that might be different or outside our comfort level, we react poorly. Today I read a Tweet by a Christian humorist (Jonathan Acuff - he writes satire and irony) that this:
"When he dies God'll show him Holy Spirit straight to HELL!" Comment I got. Pray for folks whose version of God longs to send people to hell."
Judgment is stronger than grace.
I'm back to the earlier questions. Do you believe - beyond a shadow of a doubt - in heaven ... in God ... in Jesus Christ? If your answer is yes - I'm glad for you. If your answer tends to include that small hint of doubt in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind, consider that there is a world out there filled with people who live with that doubt every day. They yearn for something or someone to show them that God exists and there is a reason for them to believe and have hope in eternity. They are desperate to not be judged or looked down upon because we think we are better than them since we've made a decision to have faith. They want to know love and grace, mercy and understanding from those of us who call ourselves Christians; to see that exhibited in everything that we do and say, no matter how much our opinions on life, news reports, politics, media, and every other thing we encounter seem to be important to us.
Love one another ... not just those who think, look, act, and worship like us.
My thoughts have been a little random tonight - in fact, it's taken me nearly an hour just to get any type of cohesion in this blog. I still don't think I made it, and you know what ... I still have a lot of questions about faith and the reality of God, heaven and eternity. I hope I always do because every question forces me to dig for an answer.
But, until I get the answers ... I know that the safest way for me to encounter everything that I do is with the knowledge that God has called me to love, not to judge and not to always be right (even though I am called the Oracle), but to love. So, until I can prove beyond that shadow of a doubt that God exists, I will show that He does with love.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Words, Words, Words
I have a real tendency to forget words. I have been telling my family for years that when I'm finally old (like 98 or 105), their job is to remind me that I've always been unable to trap the right word when I need it. It generally comes to me within an hour or so, but yikes that frustrates me.
As much as I love words, I haven't been what you might call a 'Master' of vocabulary. However, I'm learning that sometimes not being able to immediately come up with a word that I'm looking for, forces me to be much more creative in my writing. It gets really descriptive ... really fast.
Hah, that's a memory. All three of us, Mom, me and Carol got really good at describing something because the word wouldn't slip off our tongue. We also got really good at interpreting whatever in the world the others were trying to say.
Words have always been a huge part of our lives. I've told you before that I have fabulous memories of Mom and Dad debating the usage of a word well into the evening.
But, they still trip me up. I don't do well at giving a precise definition when asked either. I read like a fiend and have an incredible understanding of words when given in context, but if you ask me to break it down, I have a difficult time.
I think I'll blame mom. As much as she and Dad gave me a love of language, at the same time, she thoroughly enjoyed messing with words, to the extent that there are still words I can't say out loud without having to stop and think through their pronunciation.
Most everyone will see this animal:
and be able to tell me that it's a rhinoceros. I can't actually say that word without some thought and I'm betting that neither can my sister or brother. Mom always called it a 'rhi-no-sore-ass.' Every time. If I don't stop and think first, I'll put the emphasis on the first syllable instead of the second and from that point on, I'm sunk.
A rabbit is a bun-rab, and the words 'antique' and 'unique' are to be pronounced as 'an-te-queue' or 'un-i-queue.'
This stuff was commonplace in my home.
One day at work, I told Cody that I had been stall-foundered in a project. He just looked at me like I was nuts. He'd never heard that before. I loudly assured him that it was a word and he asked me to prove it. Well, huh! I couldn't. She'd done it to me again. I still think it's a great word.
The other day I was obsessing over the word 'vagary' or 'vagaries.' I'd already used it in a conversation with two different people, wanted to toss it out there in a status update, but figured that I might be over-using it, so I tried to set it aside. When people ask me what my favorite word is, I have to admit that I might have a new one every day - whatever great and wonderful word creeps into my noggin will get spewed out everywhere. Sometimes they are mundane words, sometimes a little more pithy, but always fun for me to use.
I do love words. This is one of my favorite sites now - the Merriam-Webster Unabridged Dictionary online.
What are some of your favorite words?
As much as I love words, I haven't been what you might call a 'Master' of vocabulary. However, I'm learning that sometimes not being able to immediately come up with a word that I'm looking for, forces me to be much more creative in my writing. It gets really descriptive ... really fast.
Hah, that's a memory. All three of us, Mom, me and Carol got really good at describing something because the word wouldn't slip off our tongue. We also got really good at interpreting whatever in the world the others were trying to say.
Words have always been a huge part of our lives. I've told you before that I have fabulous memories of Mom and Dad debating the usage of a word well into the evening.
But, they still trip me up. I don't do well at giving a precise definition when asked either. I read like a fiend and have an incredible understanding of words when given in context, but if you ask me to break it down, I have a difficult time.
I think I'll blame mom. As much as she and Dad gave me a love of language, at the same time, she thoroughly enjoyed messing with words, to the extent that there are still words I can't say out loud without having to stop and think through their pronunciation.
Most everyone will see this animal:
and be able to tell me that it's a rhinoceros. I can't actually say that word without some thought and I'm betting that neither can my sister or brother. Mom always called it a 'rhi-no-sore-ass.' Every time. If I don't stop and think first, I'll put the emphasis on the first syllable instead of the second and from that point on, I'm sunk.
A rabbit is a bun-rab, and the words 'antique' and 'unique' are to be pronounced as 'an-te-queue' or 'un-i-queue.'
This stuff was commonplace in my home.
One day at work, I told Cody that I had been stall-foundered in a project. He just looked at me like I was nuts. He'd never heard that before. I loudly assured him that it was a word and he asked me to prove it. Well, huh! I couldn't. She'd done it to me again. I still think it's a great word.
The other day I was obsessing over the word 'vagary' or 'vagaries.' I'd already used it in a conversation with two different people, wanted to toss it out there in a status update, but figured that I might be over-using it, so I tried to set it aside. When people ask me what my favorite word is, I have to admit that I might have a new one every day - whatever great and wonderful word creeps into my noggin will get spewed out everywhere. Sometimes they are mundane words, sometimes a little more pithy, but always fun for me to use.
I do love words. This is one of my favorite sites now - the Merriam-Webster Unabridged Dictionary online.
What are some of your favorite words?
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
It's Vacation Time!
My eyes were drooping so I lay down for a while with the dog curled up beside me. As I was trying to drift off towards sleepy-bye, I began to process on what I could write about today. I'm fairly certain there were some great ideas, but in that 40 minute period between creative thinking and now, sleep took over and washed everything away. I'm sure it was great, though.
What was the best vacation you've ever taken?
Last week as I traveled the interstate with millions of other vacationers, I thought about how silly they all looked, decked out for traveling in clothes they didn't usually wear, with kids tucked into their seats and desperately wanting to be anywhere but with their families, heading to see more family or walk around historic or beautiful sites, doing what we do best - rest?
I don't think vacations were ever about rest. We traveled and traveled, saw the sites, visited family, jammed ourselves back into the van to travel some more, see some more sites, visit more family, jam ourselves back in the family to go home and promptly pass out from all the vacationing.
Don't get me wrong, we saw great stuff, had interesting times with family and managed to never kill each other in the van.
The very best vacation I think I ever took with my family was a trip to northern Canada - Dad wanted to drive as far as the road would go and we did. We traveled hard to get there, unloaded the van, set up camp in a gorgeous campsite and stopped moving. We slept, fished, read, walked, cooked and ate, slept, fished, meandered around the lake in the canoe, slept, fished and read some more. I had just come through the first year of my first real job and I was exhausted before I left. I've never done anything quite so peaceful as that long week in the wilderness.
Camping with Dad was never difficult. He planned for weeks, didn't miss anything as he put together lists of what we needed and planned a map of how it would all be packed in the van. Fishing with Dad was always fun. He took care of everything because he was so good at it. His tackle boxes were filled with anything you might need to have a great time and he understood the water so well that most of the time he would land right where the fish were biting. It always drove him a little crazy if he took someone out fishing and they weren't successful. So, he made those types of trips pretty great.
We always camped when I was growing up. Dad didn't have the money for motels, so the tent was our shelter. I can remember, as a kid, driving by motels with "Vacancy" signs lit quite nicely late at night while Dad looked for a campground and crying a little inside. Beds always seemed like such a nice idea.
When I was in junior high, Dad made a plan for a big vacation. We were going to travel to Yellowstone, but we were going to go through South Dakota first. We had just moved from Morning Sun to Sigourney and while in Morning Sun, had gotten to know a foreign exchange student really well. Doris was from Germany and loved us three kids. It was a great opportunity for her to see more of the country and Mom was thrilled with an extra near-adult along to be with us kids. That was a vacation where we traveled and traveled to see the sites. But, my goodness, I don't think any of us kids look back on that vacation with anything but a sense of joy and wonder. We had a blast.
Later, our vacations became part of the youth group trips that were taken each year since Dad only had so many weeks he could be gone and he always wanted to spend two solid weeks at the cabin as a family. But, on those youth group trips, I saw a lot of world since he alternated every year an adventure trip (canoeing the Boundary Waters - one year white water canoeing in Wisconsin) with a work camp trip down into Kentucky/Tennessee. My grandmother lived in the Boston area so we went out a couple of times, finally bringing her back with us. Those were trips where we dealt with interesting family ... she was nothing if not interesting.
A couple of years ago, Max and I took a vacation that had nothing to do with family. That was new. Off to the Grand Canyon we went. Ten days of traveling and seeing sites. The last few days we settled into a strip motel in Utah so that we could spend time in Utah's Canyonlands. I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of God's creation during that trip. Max still has some of his photographs posted here.
Vacations have never meant resorts and cruises to me, though I have friends who absolutely adore those. Who knows ... maybe someday.
What's your favorite vacation memory?
What was the best vacation you've ever taken?
Last week as I traveled the interstate with millions of other vacationers, I thought about how silly they all looked, decked out for traveling in clothes they didn't usually wear, with kids tucked into their seats and desperately wanting to be anywhere but with their families, heading to see more family or walk around historic or beautiful sites, doing what we do best - rest?
I don't think vacations were ever about rest. We traveled and traveled, saw the sites, visited family, jammed ourselves back into the van to travel some more, see some more sites, visit more family, jam ourselves back in the family to go home and promptly pass out from all the vacationing.
Don't get me wrong, we saw great stuff, had interesting times with family and managed to never kill each other in the van.
The very best vacation I think I ever took with my family was a trip to northern Canada - Dad wanted to drive as far as the road would go and we did. We traveled hard to get there, unloaded the van, set up camp in a gorgeous campsite and stopped moving. We slept, fished, read, walked, cooked and ate, slept, fished, meandered around the lake in the canoe, slept, fished and read some more. I had just come through the first year of my first real job and I was exhausted before I left. I've never done anything quite so peaceful as that long week in the wilderness.
Camping with Dad was never difficult. He planned for weeks, didn't miss anything as he put together lists of what we needed and planned a map of how it would all be packed in the van. Fishing with Dad was always fun. He took care of everything because he was so good at it. His tackle boxes were filled with anything you might need to have a great time and he understood the water so well that most of the time he would land right where the fish were biting. It always drove him a little crazy if he took someone out fishing and they weren't successful. So, he made those types of trips pretty great.
We always camped when I was growing up. Dad didn't have the money for motels, so the tent was our shelter. I can remember, as a kid, driving by motels with "Vacancy" signs lit quite nicely late at night while Dad looked for a campground and crying a little inside. Beds always seemed like such a nice idea.
When I was in junior high, Dad made a plan for a big vacation. We were going to travel to Yellowstone, but we were going to go through South Dakota first. We had just moved from Morning Sun to Sigourney and while in Morning Sun, had gotten to know a foreign exchange student really well. Doris was from Germany and loved us three kids. It was a great opportunity for her to see more of the country and Mom was thrilled with an extra near-adult along to be with us kids. That was a vacation where we traveled and traveled to see the sites. But, my goodness, I don't think any of us kids look back on that vacation with anything but a sense of joy and wonder. We had a blast.
Later, our vacations became part of the youth group trips that were taken each year since Dad only had so many weeks he could be gone and he always wanted to spend two solid weeks at the cabin as a family. But, on those youth group trips, I saw a lot of world since he alternated every year an adventure trip (canoeing the Boundary Waters - one year white water canoeing in Wisconsin) with a work camp trip down into Kentucky/Tennessee. My grandmother lived in the Boston area so we went out a couple of times, finally bringing her back with us. Those were trips where we dealt with interesting family ... she was nothing if not interesting.
A couple of years ago, Max and I took a vacation that had nothing to do with family. That was new. Off to the Grand Canyon we went. Ten days of traveling and seeing sites. The last few days we settled into a strip motel in Utah so that we could spend time in Utah's Canyonlands. I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of God's creation during that trip. Max still has some of his photographs posted here.
Vacations have never meant resorts and cruises to me, though I have friends who absolutely adore those. Who knows ... maybe someday.
What's your favorite vacation memory?
Monday, July 05, 2010
Making a lifetime of memories
I was pretty young when I realized that my memories were important. It might have come from the fact that my parents were insistent on finding ways for us to remember our childhood. They told stories, they constantly pulled out photographs, they took a lot of pictures. I have a distinct memory of thinking to myself in my early twenties, that I was awfully young to be reminiscing, but I did.
Saturday afternoon Max and I were driving around a cemetery in Omaha. It was right across the street from the laundromat and we had ten more minutes before the dryer was finished. I saw the most interesting gravestones! They had framed pictures on them of the people whose graves they covered! Obviously that style of gravestone has been quite common in that cemetery for decades! Now I don't spend a lot of time in cemeteries, but I have been in a few and Max in a few more as he finds fun things to photograph and we had never seen this before. Since some of the photographs look to be in fabulous shape after sixty years, we also wonder if there were a stack of them given to the cemetery association to be replaced as the others faded.
Photographs seem to be a great way to remember people, places, special times. The advent of cheap digital cameras makes taking pictures easy. There are probably more pictures floating around now than ever before.
I don't know if I have a specific memory of what mom looks like. I have pictures that are associated with the photographs I own, but the living, breathing Margie Greenwood that was such a presence in my life is not easily called to mind. What I do have are fleeting images of moments in time. I can remember some of the different clothes she wore, the lipstick she insisted on wearing before walking out the front door when I was young, standing in the kitchen absolutely soaked to the skin after a water fight, coming into our room in the middle of the night because Carol had just thrown up (it took a few years for the girl to wake up enough to get into the bathroom when she was sick).
Grandma Greenwood is another one that I have a lot of moving images of: her in the kitchen washing dishes, or sitting at her dressing table with her long hair down (it was nearly always in a bun), brushing through it ninety-nine times an evening. I remember her black heavy shoes and the limp that she walked with. I remember my Aunt Ruth's blue dress and her rosy cheeks & lush lips when she smiled.
I remember my Dad in khakis that were soaked from the calf down because he'd been wading in the river.
Photos don't bring back these memories, but they are still there. The photos I have trap different moments in time and when I look at them, they bring back rushes of memories, some so faint that I can't put my finger on them, others so strong that they nearly wipe me out.
I don't remember the sounds of voices. Max digitized a sermon that mom had given in the 70s in Sigourney and it was the strangest thing to hear her voice after twenty-five years. My mind had changed and transformed it so that it was barely recognizable.
There are a lot of things I have kept over the years to help me remember events and times. A few years ago, I started looking through a box of items and I knew that there were things that had once held memories for me, but at some point even those could no longer trigger what it was. That was really an odd feeling, to know that I should remember something, but I simply can't.
Calendars and journals through the years trigger memories, but even with the words written down, I don't know that all of them make sense to me when I read through them much later. I wouldn't give them up for anything, though!
It's been really interesting talking to old friends from high school and college again. They remember things that I don't and once in awhile, they'll open something up in my mind with a quick comment or a story that brings back a rush of information. Other times, the memory just isn't there, though I know it should be. One of the most interesting things about this is that my memories sometimes differ so much from my classmates' that I wonder how many of these have been twisted to fit in my view of reality. Such an ephemeral thing.
Reminiscing has been a part of my life since I was young and will be there for the rest of my life. Believe it or nor, though ... for the most part the memories I maintain are the good things that have happened to me. When someone reminds me of a terrible incident in my life, I remember that it happened, but I rarely remember the pain.
How do you remember?
Saturday afternoon Max and I were driving around a cemetery in Omaha. It was right across the street from the laundromat and we had ten more minutes before the dryer was finished. I saw the most interesting gravestones! They had framed pictures on them of the people whose graves they covered! Obviously that style of gravestone has been quite common in that cemetery for decades! Now I don't spend a lot of time in cemeteries, but I have been in a few and Max in a few more as he finds fun things to photograph and we had never seen this before. Since some of the photographs look to be in fabulous shape after sixty years, we also wonder if there were a stack of them given to the cemetery association to be replaced as the others faded.
Photographs seem to be a great way to remember people, places, special times. The advent of cheap digital cameras makes taking pictures easy. There are probably more pictures floating around now than ever before.
I don't know if I have a specific memory of what mom looks like. I have pictures that are associated with the photographs I own, but the living, breathing Margie Greenwood that was such a presence in my life is not easily called to mind. What I do have are fleeting images of moments in time. I can remember some of the different clothes she wore, the lipstick she insisted on wearing before walking out the front door when I was young, standing in the kitchen absolutely soaked to the skin after a water fight, coming into our room in the middle of the night because Carol had just thrown up (it took a few years for the girl to wake up enough to get into the bathroom when she was sick).
Grandma Greenwood is another one that I have a lot of moving images of: her in the kitchen washing dishes, or sitting at her dressing table with her long hair down (it was nearly always in a bun), brushing through it ninety-nine times an evening. I remember her black heavy shoes and the limp that she walked with. I remember my Aunt Ruth's blue dress and her rosy cheeks & lush lips when she smiled.
I remember my Dad in khakis that were soaked from the calf down because he'd been wading in the river.
Photos don't bring back these memories, but they are still there. The photos I have trap different moments in time and when I look at them, they bring back rushes of memories, some so faint that I can't put my finger on them, others so strong that they nearly wipe me out.
I don't remember the sounds of voices. Max digitized a sermon that mom had given in the 70s in Sigourney and it was the strangest thing to hear her voice after twenty-five years. My mind had changed and transformed it so that it was barely recognizable.
There are a lot of things I have kept over the years to help me remember events and times. A few years ago, I started looking through a box of items and I knew that there were things that had once held memories for me, but at some point even those could no longer trigger what it was. That was really an odd feeling, to know that I should remember something, but I simply can't.
Calendars and journals through the years trigger memories, but even with the words written down, I don't know that all of them make sense to me when I read through them much later. I wouldn't give them up for anything, though!
It's been really interesting talking to old friends from high school and college again. They remember things that I don't and once in awhile, they'll open something up in my mind with a quick comment or a story that brings back a rush of information. Other times, the memory just isn't there, though I know it should be. One of the most interesting things about this is that my memories sometimes differ so much from my classmates' that I wonder how many of these have been twisted to fit in my view of reality. Such an ephemeral thing.
Reminiscing has been a part of my life since I was young and will be there for the rest of my life. Believe it or nor, though ... for the most part the memories I maintain are the good things that have happened to me. When someone reminds me of a terrible incident in my life, I remember that it happened, but I rarely remember the pain.
How do you remember?
Sunday, July 04, 2010
Yes, I obsess over trash
You have to know that garbage is the bane of my existence. During the first ... many ... years of our marriage, I could not get Max to take it out of the house on a regular basis. It was one of those things we had agreed to and it wasn't happening. I didn't want to nag, I didn't want to do it to try to prove a point. I just wanted it to go away. Once I toss something in a trash bag, I want it to be *poof* gone from my life.
Now, he's gotten pretty obsessive about removing the trash/garbage from our house. It's funny. Trash bags don't get packed full before he is hauling them out of the house. It's a nice feeling. There really isn't much better than an empty trash can for me.
The nicest thing is that every Tuesday morning, the city drives by, picks up all of our trash from the week and even those cans get emptied,.
Here at the cabin it is a little different. When it's just me, I can generally go a couple of weeks before I have to decide what to do with the trash. When I left here Saturday morning, I fully intended to take a bag of trash with me and dispose of it. In the craziness that happened as I left, I forgot it. Doggone it. Between Saturday and Sunday morning, though ... two more bags were filled. I have no idea how that happened! Well, I left my sister and a couple of friends here, but it was only for 24 hours! Plus, there will be bags of recyclables going home with me as well.
I did tell her not to worry about it, I will take care of it. The purpose of this blog is to actually laugh at me because I'm obsessing about the stupid trash. I'm betting that before the end of the week, I've found a way to deal with these three stupid bags of trash.
Carol - I don't want you to worry about this, I'm glad to have to deal with the trash since you guys did so much great work here this weekend. I wish I weren't so stupidly obsessive over the weirdest things though. A bag (or two or three) of trash can sit out on the porch until I can deal with it (them). But, it certainly would be nice if someone else just took it away for me.
Trash is such a great metaphor for all our problems, isn't it? Or maybe it's a metaphor for the way we would like to have our problems dealt with. Yah ... that's better. Drop them all in a plastic bag, tie the top up so you can't see them anymore, drop them in a barrel for someone to haul away and dump where no one will ever want to look at them again. It's just no good when they sit around and haunt you, though.
Now, he's gotten pretty obsessive about removing the trash/garbage from our house. It's funny. Trash bags don't get packed full before he is hauling them out of the house. It's a nice feeling. There really isn't much better than an empty trash can for me.
The nicest thing is that every Tuesday morning, the city drives by, picks up all of our trash from the week and even those cans get emptied,.
Here at the cabin it is a little different. When it's just me, I can generally go a couple of weeks before I have to decide what to do with the trash. When I left here Saturday morning, I fully intended to take a bag of trash with me and dispose of it. In the craziness that happened as I left, I forgot it. Doggone it. Between Saturday and Sunday morning, though ... two more bags were filled. I have no idea how that happened! Well, I left my sister and a couple of friends here, but it was only for 24 hours! Plus, there will be bags of recyclables going home with me as well.
I did tell her not to worry about it, I will take care of it. The purpose of this blog is to actually laugh at me because I'm obsessing about the stupid trash. I'm betting that before the end of the week, I've found a way to deal with these three stupid bags of trash.
Carol - I don't want you to worry about this, I'm glad to have to deal with the trash since you guys did so much great work here this weekend. I wish I weren't so stupidly obsessive over the weirdest things though. A bag (or two or three) of trash can sit out on the porch until I can deal with it (them). But, it certainly would be nice if someone else just took it away for me.
Trash is such a great metaphor for all our problems, isn't it? Or maybe it's a metaphor for the way we would like to have our problems dealt with. Yah ... that's better. Drop them all in a plastic bag, tie the top up so you can't see them anymore, drop them in a barrel for someone to haul away and dump where no one will ever want to look at them again. It's just no good when they sit around and haunt you, though.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Random Ramblings
Tonight my brain seems to be a little ADHD, so it occurs to me that it's time for Random Thoughts once again.
Does it every strike you strange that we wish each other "Happy Fourth of July"? If I were to say that to someone in New Zealand or Canada, Russia or France, they might think I was strange ... well, until they realized I was an American. We've appropriated a day out of the year and made it completely ours. You don't hear too many people say Happy Independence Day! And is it weird that on July 3rd, we still say "Happy Fourth of July?" Just thinking ...
Max and I only do laundry once a week. We have built a wardrobe that will function for an entire week. It's an awesome thing. Except for the fact that I'm a creature of habit. If we choose to do laundry on a day other than our regular day (which lately has been Mondays since I head to the cabin on Tuesdays) it screws up all of my wardrobe planning. I might need to buy a few more articles so that I can wrap around a week rather than just get by. We did laundry today ... I'm going to be a mess by Friday, I'm sure of it!
I was on the interstate today, coming home to Omaha. I had to make a stop at a rest area and it was filled with strange people. Now, in a normal week, a rest area stop might yield one or two oddballs ... maybe! But, not on a holiday weekend, right smack dab in the middle of vacation season. Strange people who spend their lives huddling in a cubicle have been released into the world and they all have to go to the bathroom. They pull into a rest area, car doors open and huge numbers of children, dogs, stuff, exhausted drivers and annoyed navigators explode onto the pavement. Picnics, mad dashes to the bathroom, children playing with the water, the hand dryers, peering under stalls, odd looking men who should never wear fanny packs, grand sunglasses on a granny. It's all quite wonderful and weird. I wonder what truck drivers must think about the extra craziness on the highways as they fight minivans and mobile homes for the last open space to duck in and out of traffic.
I read THIS article on KETV news today. The headline reads, "Free Concert Leaves Huge Mess Behind," referring to 80,000 people in Memorial Park in Omaha that gathered to hear Kansas, Foreigner and Styx last night. A negative headline, right? It sure was and they were able to find people to complain about the mess. But, towards the end of the story, they also printed a quote from a scout leader who was training his troop to be positive about helping others. His scouts felt great about cleaning up after 80,000 people and have set a new goal ... to clean up after a Memorial Stadium crowd sometime. Now, that's a guy who looked beyond the mess to the completion of a goal. I'm so proud of him.
I spent a little bit of time with my cousin, Cathy and Uncle Ralph today in Des Moines. She gave me this picture:
December 30, 1969. Good heavens, I was only ten years old. Please stop doing the math in your head.
I know that you need a quick little pick-me-up some mornings. Subscribe to this morning devotional! It's a beautiful photograph, a beautiful verse and a few short sentences of encouragement. God said "Good Morning".
Alright, I'm going to shut my brain down completely at this point and hope that tomorrow you have a wonderful Independence Day celebration. It is a great day to celebrate!
Does it every strike you strange that we wish each other "Happy Fourth of July"? If I were to say that to someone in New Zealand or Canada, Russia or France, they might think I was strange ... well, until they realized I was an American. We've appropriated a day out of the year and made it completely ours. You don't hear too many people say Happy Independence Day! And is it weird that on July 3rd, we still say "Happy Fourth of July?" Just thinking ...
Max and I only do laundry once a week. We have built a wardrobe that will function for an entire week. It's an awesome thing. Except for the fact that I'm a creature of habit. If we choose to do laundry on a day other than our regular day (which lately has been Mondays since I head to the cabin on Tuesdays) it screws up all of my wardrobe planning. I might need to buy a few more articles so that I can wrap around a week rather than just get by. We did laundry today ... I'm going to be a mess by Friday, I'm sure of it!
I was on the interstate today, coming home to Omaha. I had to make a stop at a rest area and it was filled with strange people. Now, in a normal week, a rest area stop might yield one or two oddballs ... maybe! But, not on a holiday weekend, right smack dab in the middle of vacation season. Strange people who spend their lives huddling in a cubicle have been released into the world and they all have to go to the bathroom. They pull into a rest area, car doors open and huge numbers of children, dogs, stuff, exhausted drivers and annoyed navigators explode onto the pavement. Picnics, mad dashes to the bathroom, children playing with the water, the hand dryers, peering under stalls, odd looking men who should never wear fanny packs, grand sunglasses on a granny. It's all quite wonderful and weird. I wonder what truck drivers must think about the extra craziness on the highways as they fight minivans and mobile homes for the last open space to duck in and out of traffic.
I read THIS article on KETV news today. The headline reads, "Free Concert Leaves Huge Mess Behind," referring to 80,000 people in Memorial Park in Omaha that gathered to hear Kansas, Foreigner and Styx last night. A negative headline, right? It sure was and they were able to find people to complain about the mess. But, towards the end of the story, they also printed a quote from a scout leader who was training his troop to be positive about helping others. His scouts felt great about cleaning up after 80,000 people and have set a new goal ... to clean up after a Memorial Stadium crowd sometime. Now, that's a guy who looked beyond the mess to the completion of a goal. I'm so proud of him.
I spent a little bit of time with my cousin, Cathy and Uncle Ralph today in Des Moines. She gave me this picture:
December 30, 1969. Good heavens, I was only ten years old. Please stop doing the math in your head.
I know that you need a quick little pick-me-up some mornings. Subscribe to this morning devotional! It's a beautiful photograph, a beautiful verse and a few short sentences of encouragement. God said "Good Morning".
Alright, I'm going to shut my brain down completely at this point and hope that tomorrow you have a wonderful Independence Day celebration. It is a great day to celebrate!
Friday, July 02, 2010
My sister's friends
Alright, folks ... you are all missing it. I'm here and you're not!!!
It's a wild, wonderful evening at the cabin with Carol and her friends.
Dave and Patty came up with Carol to help around the cabin. Dave brought his power washer to take the dust and dirt off the cabin before Patty and Carol paint.
Painting starts tomorrow - see that nice red color? Everything at some point will be painted red. Oh, it's going to blend so nicely into the green foliage around here when it's done.
While he was power washing - Carol and Patty were mowing. I went in to get pizza for everyone. See how that works? I like it.
There has been a bit of discussion this evening regarding the necessity of precision power washing at the cabin. Especially since driving that much water through the eaves and baseboards brought a little more excitement to our world than expected. Poor Dave is in the same room with three women, two of whom are Greenwoods and seem to have opinions about everything.
We're trying to talk him out of the intense use of chemicals on the other side of the house so that we don't actually soak the beds - one or two strong passes along the wall should be good enough to clean for painting. He really doesn't want to accept that. He's a little precise. The girls tell me that it took him a month to wash his fence. Every single individual piece got his attention.
Carol's all about getting the project finished. Patty just chuckles at the insanity of their debate.
I like the boy - he's not about to let his values get trod on by mere females. It kind of cracks me up. But, the reality is ... he loses. That's what happens.
They've decided that it's time for a bonfire outside while the crazies at the park are lighting fireworks. I'm going to have to go to bed since I'm an old lady and want to get up in the morning. Maybe tomorrow they will continue the power washer discussion ... I, however, will be on the road and away from it.
By the way, Dave is looking for a good woman. Maybe one that won't argue with him at every turn.
It's a wild, wonderful evening at the cabin with Carol and her friends.
Dave and Patty came up with Carol to help around the cabin. Dave brought his power washer to take the dust and dirt off the cabin before Patty and Carol paint.
Painting starts tomorrow - see that nice red color? Everything at some point will be painted red. Oh, it's going to blend so nicely into the green foliage around here when it's done.
While he was power washing - Carol and Patty were mowing. I went in to get pizza for everyone. See how that works? I like it.
We're trying to talk him out of the intense use of chemicals on the other side of the house so that we don't actually soak the beds - one or two strong passes along the wall should be good enough to clean for painting. He really doesn't want to accept that. He's a little precise. The girls tell me that it took him a month to wash his fence. Every single individual piece got his attention.
Carol's all about getting the project finished. Patty just chuckles at the insanity of their debate.
I like the boy - he's not about to let his values get trod on by mere females. It kind of cracks me up. But, the reality is ... he loses. That's what happens.
They've decided that it's time for a bonfire outside while the crazies at the park are lighting fireworks. I'm going to have to go to bed since I'm an old lady and want to get up in the morning. Maybe tomorrow they will continue the power washer discussion ... I, however, will be on the road and away from it.
By the way, Dave is looking for a good woman. Maybe one that won't argue with him at every turn.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Cave person ... solitude
I just walked around the place, shutting off lights as I went and chuckled a little. Carol calls me a cave person because I don't mind working in minimal light. The girl walks into a space and flips on every single light! Ok, so she likes to see.
There might be a couple of things behind this attitude of mine. I hate fluorescent lights. Hate them! When I was working at the church, the overhead lights all went off in our office and I gathered lamps around me. When I was at Insty-Prints, if one or two of the fluorescents over my desk went out, I just asked to have them stay that way.
Dad hated overhead lights and so we had lamps all over the place.
Then, I also grew up during the 70s and the energy crisis. Dad was always making a big deal about turning lights off. I must've spent a few years as the energy warden, because I am obsessive about switching off unused light in a room.
So, into the cave I go and I'm fine with that. Now, to be fair (to me), I do have two lamps that are switched on so that I have plenty of light in my space. But, Carol would still say that I'm working in a cave.
If I live in a cave and I spend a lot of time by myself writing, reading, studying and learning ... you might also call me a hermit! Another freakin' trait I got from Dad. That man would come home from work, eat supper and head for his room. He'd read, listen to music - anything to wind down from hanging around people all day. That was all fine with us because then he wasn't coming up with things for us to do.
I really enjoy being alone. There are plenty of people in my world that I communicate with, but wow, I think about all those years that I spent 12-14 hours a day with people around me all the time and I'm not sure how I did it. If I look back in my journals and my old blog, I notice that I was constantly exhausted, always looking for peace and never being able to find quiet. I craved solitude and didn't realize how much I needed it. It is good for me to be quiet.
Tonight, the sun is falling in the sky, the breeze is light, the temperature is perfect, the birds are singing and I am quiet. I've spent the day cleaning and organizing and my body feels wonderfully exhausted. Tomorrow will be another glorious day and I will simply feel grateful.
There might be a couple of things behind this attitude of mine. I hate fluorescent lights. Hate them! When I was working at the church, the overhead lights all went off in our office and I gathered lamps around me. When I was at Insty-Prints, if one or two of the fluorescents over my desk went out, I just asked to have them stay that way.
Dad hated overhead lights and so we had lamps all over the place.
Then, I also grew up during the 70s and the energy crisis. Dad was always making a big deal about turning lights off. I must've spent a few years as the energy warden, because I am obsessive about switching off unused light in a room.
So, into the cave I go and I'm fine with that. Now, to be fair (to me), I do have two lamps that are switched on so that I have plenty of light in my space. But, Carol would still say that I'm working in a cave.
If I live in a cave and I spend a lot of time by myself writing, reading, studying and learning ... you might also call me a hermit! Another freakin' trait I got from Dad. That man would come home from work, eat supper and head for his room. He'd read, listen to music - anything to wind down from hanging around people all day. That was all fine with us because then he wasn't coming up with things for us to do.
I really enjoy being alone. There are plenty of people in my world that I communicate with, but wow, I think about all those years that I spent 12-14 hours a day with people around me all the time and I'm not sure how I did it. If I look back in my journals and my old blog, I notice that I was constantly exhausted, always looking for peace and never being able to find quiet. I craved solitude and didn't realize how much I needed it. It is good for me to be quiet.
Tonight, the sun is falling in the sky, the breeze is light, the temperature is perfect, the birds are singing and I am quiet. I've spent the day cleaning and organizing and my body feels wonderfully exhausted. Tomorrow will be another glorious day and I will simply feel grateful.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Thankful for little things!
Good heavens - tomorrow is the first day of July! We are halfway through 2010!
Now, that I've stated the obvious, I'll move forward.
I've really enjoyed blogging every day this last month. Sometimes it has been difficult for me - I actually couldn't think of a thing to say until I got going, but for the most part, I have loved it. I think that I will continue on through July. Once I have the momentum going, I should do my best to maintain it, right? Right.
Last night I didn't sleep at all. Well, ok ... no, not really.
I went to a movie on Monday night with a friend - at 9:45 pm, so didn't get much sleep Monday night, knowing that I would sleep like a rock once I got to the cabin. I crawled in between freshly laundered sheets, lay my head down on the pillow, sighed and read enough of a book to put me to sleep by 9:30 last night. It was awesome!!!
At 12:45, though I woke up because I really had to go to the bathroom. I did, flushed the toilet and turned to take my weary self back to bed. But, the flush sounded weird. I went back, tried again, thinking I just hadn't hit the handle hard enough. No ... no water in the tank. What? I turned the sink faucet on - no water there. Oh, this is bad ... this is very bad.
I walked back to the bed, sat down and tried to think. What could possibly be the problem. Finally I pulled on some clothes, grabbed two (one was obviously not going to do it in my state - I needed two) flashlights and headed outside to the main electrical box. Let's just see if the breaker for the well had been tripped. Oh yah ... there's a padlock. Back to the cabin for the key, back to the box. Weird, how do I open this thing (it's 1 am and dark, give me a few minutes of stupidity, ok?). I got it open, looked at the breaker for the well, and no, it hadn't tripped, but I flipped it just for good measure.
That didn't actually do me any good. Back to sitting on the bed. Ok - there's a spigot at the well pit, if it has water, there's a problem between the well pit and the cabin; if it doesn't, it's a problem in the well pit. No water at the spigot. Hmmm.
Back to sitting on the bed. There was absolutely nothing I could do at 1:00 in the morning. So, knowing that I could make a call at 8, I tried to go back to sleep. But, my brain wouldn't turn off. What if there was a real problem with the well - which is out in the middle of that flooded meadow? They aren't going to do anything until the flooding is down. What if this doesn't get taken care of? Carol and some of her friends are coming up this weekend and she'll be so disappointed if she can't! What if, what if, what if?!?!
I pulled out my Kindle in order to shut my brain up. I couldn't stand the noise rattling around in there. Two and a half hours later, I figured I should try to sleep. But, it didn't happen. I had already told myself that I couldn't fix it until morning. But, I wasn't listening.
I tossed and turned the rest of the night. I was dreaming about how the water miraculously fixed itself. I would go to the sink, turn on the faucet and water would pour out. At one point, whoever I was with in the dream, told me to try it one more time. I said to that person, "Is this a dream? I've been dreaming all night that it is ok and every time, I end up waking up!" They assured me I wasn't dreaming. Well, phooey on them, I really was!
Finally at 6:30, I just got up and at 8:00 called the well company. The first thing she asked was if the well pit was flooded. Well, heck, I don't know! She sent a couple of guys out - it was flooded and the pressure switch was more than likely corroded. They ran back to town for a sump pump, flushed the water out, changed out the switch and voila - running water.
It's weird. For those twelve hours I was without water, I spent time focusing on the fact that I needed a shower and that I couldn't flush. Since it has been fixed, I get a little explosion of glee everytime I think about being able to actually flush and wash my hands. I normally wouldn't even think about those things, but just twelve hours of being without re-focused my attitude towards something so small.
Oh, in a day or so, I'll be back to taking running water for granted, but today, I'm thankful for the things that we consider to be a normal part of life.
Now, that I've stated the obvious, I'll move forward.
I've really enjoyed blogging every day this last month. Sometimes it has been difficult for me - I actually couldn't think of a thing to say until I got going, but for the most part, I have loved it. I think that I will continue on through July. Once I have the momentum going, I should do my best to maintain it, right? Right.
Last night I didn't sleep at all. Well, ok ... no, not really.
I went to a movie on Monday night with a friend - at 9:45 pm, so didn't get much sleep Monday night, knowing that I would sleep like a rock once I got to the cabin. I crawled in between freshly laundered sheets, lay my head down on the pillow, sighed and read enough of a book to put me to sleep by 9:30 last night. It was awesome!!!
At 12:45, though I woke up because I really had to go to the bathroom. I did, flushed the toilet and turned to take my weary self back to bed. But, the flush sounded weird. I went back, tried again, thinking I just hadn't hit the handle hard enough. No ... no water in the tank. What? I turned the sink faucet on - no water there. Oh, this is bad ... this is very bad.
I walked back to the bed, sat down and tried to think. What could possibly be the problem. Finally I pulled on some clothes, grabbed two (one was obviously not going to do it in my state - I needed two) flashlights and headed outside to the main electrical box. Let's just see if the breaker for the well had been tripped. Oh yah ... there's a padlock. Back to the cabin for the key, back to the box. Weird, how do I open this thing (it's 1 am and dark, give me a few minutes of stupidity, ok?). I got it open, looked at the breaker for the well, and no, it hadn't tripped, but I flipped it just for good measure.
That didn't actually do me any good. Back to sitting on the bed. Ok - there's a spigot at the well pit, if it has water, there's a problem between the well pit and the cabin; if it doesn't, it's a problem in the well pit. No water at the spigot. Hmmm.
Back to sitting on the bed. There was absolutely nothing I could do at 1:00 in the morning. So, knowing that I could make a call at 8, I tried to go back to sleep. But, my brain wouldn't turn off. What if there was a real problem with the well - which is out in the middle of that flooded meadow? They aren't going to do anything until the flooding is down. What if this doesn't get taken care of? Carol and some of her friends are coming up this weekend and she'll be so disappointed if she can't! What if, what if, what if?!?!
I pulled out my Kindle in order to shut my brain up. I couldn't stand the noise rattling around in there. Two and a half hours later, I figured I should try to sleep. But, it didn't happen. I had already told myself that I couldn't fix it until morning. But, I wasn't listening.
I tossed and turned the rest of the night. I was dreaming about how the water miraculously fixed itself. I would go to the sink, turn on the faucet and water would pour out. At one point, whoever I was with in the dream, told me to try it one more time. I said to that person, "Is this a dream? I've been dreaming all night that it is ok and every time, I end up waking up!" They assured me I wasn't dreaming. Well, phooey on them, I really was!
Finally at 6:30, I just got up and at 8:00 called the well company. The first thing she asked was if the well pit was flooded. Well, heck, I don't know! She sent a couple of guys out - it was flooded and the pressure switch was more than likely corroded. They ran back to town for a sump pump, flushed the water out, changed out the switch and voila - running water.
It's weird. For those twelve hours I was without water, I spent time focusing on the fact that I needed a shower and that I couldn't flush. Since it has been fixed, I get a little explosion of glee everytime I think about being able to actually flush and wash my hands. I normally wouldn't even think about those things, but just twelve hours of being without re-focused my attitude towards something so small.
Oh, in a day or so, I'll be back to taking running water for granted, but today, I'm thankful for the things that we consider to be a normal part of life.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
More lessons from my fearless - fear-filled mom.
My mother grew up in Boston. She was a debutante (somewhere we have an invitation for her to go to The Tuileries in France for a Debutante Ball. She was a bit of a rebel and didn't - thought it was stupid. She went to Belmont Day School - a rather hoity-toity private elementary school and then to Concord Academy, which boasts graduates like Caroline Kennedy. One of her classmates was the daughter of Archibald Cox, the first special prosecutor for Watergate. She was afforded every opportunity to live the high life.
She was an only child. Her father was head of printing at Harvard University and they rented the carriage house on land owned by the treasurer of Harvard. Somewhere there are adorable pictures of me as a very little girl at 'tea' over there.
She started her college at Duke University - flunked out in a big way because she spent WAY too much time partying, then went to Tufts and managed to flunk out of there - still partying.
Before she met Dad, she was actually engaged to a young man studying to be a dentist. We drove by his house when I was older - ummm ... whoa! Lots of money. He had gone away for the summer, begging her to be there for him when he returned.
Mom was working as a summer camp counselor and met Dad one night at a carnival. He was a poor, poor student at Boston University - seminary. She went home that night and told her roommate that if he invited her out on another date, that was the man she was going to marry. Obviously, he did.
With all of that wealth and grand upbringing, mom was absolutely miserable. Both of her parents were alcoholics, she told stories of being out on a date, her date was drunk, the tire blew on the vehicle and she literally had to kick him to keep him awake while he changed the tire. She didn't believe in herself and didn't understand just how talented and brilliant she was. When Dad offered her marriage and a chance to move away from everything, she grabbed it.
They moved back to Gravity, Iowa, a tiny little town in southwest Iowa - population 200. Everything she knew, everything she was comfortable with was gone. They had no money, she had no friends, she barely knew Dad's family.
But, she thrived. Given a chance to be herself and no longer have to measure up to all of the craziness that was surrounding her in Boston, her talents were unleashed! She wrote poetry, painted paintings, created sculptures, began studying the Bible and was soon teaching kids everything she could cram into her mind. She and Dad took adventure trips with youth groups and she learned how to deal with really tough womens groups within the church ad still remain grace-filled.
In the late 60s and early 70s, she started going back to school. She took a few correspondence courses from the University of Iowa and all of a sudden, professors were praising her for the way that her mind worked. Every paper that was returned to her had long, long notes of praise and adulation. She was so excited.
Over the years she worked to finish her degree, bit by bit. She learned to speak Spanish, even taking a month to live in Mexico in her early 40s so that she could communicate clearly. This was done so that she could teach ESL in a small community where the Mexicans were working at a turkey processing plant and could not seem to integrate with the town.
For her, everything became an adventure - a chance to try to achieve something new. All she had to do was leave what was comfortable behind and go forward. She didn't have any idea what would happen when she reached Iowa, but this is where she became the woman that she was. She was given freedom and a challenge.
I started thinking about Mom tonight and her life in Boston when I was talking to Carol. We had gone back out to visit Grammy and Mom took us shopping at Filene's. When it came time to check out (this was the early 70s), Mom asked the clerk if they would accept a check from Iowa. The clerk looked at her and in her very best snobby, Eastern voice said, "Out here, we pronounce that Ohio." Mom did her best to remain gracious, but informed the woman that there were actually states west of the Mississippi and Iowa was quite different from Ohio. She wrote the check.
Mom went through quite a bit of culture shock when she moved to Iowa, but it wasn't anything that she couldn't handle. She faced challenges and had to face down some incredible fears to achieve all that she wanted to achieve.
I think back to my story about the impala and how it won't jump anywhere if it can't see where it will land. She jumped without a clue. How can I do any less?
She was an only child. Her father was head of printing at Harvard University and they rented the carriage house on land owned by the treasurer of Harvard. Somewhere there are adorable pictures of me as a very little girl at 'tea' over there.
She started her college at Duke University - flunked out in a big way because she spent WAY too much time partying, then went to Tufts and managed to flunk out of there - still partying.
Before she met Dad, she was actually engaged to a young man studying to be a dentist. We drove by his house when I was older - ummm ... whoa! Lots of money. He had gone away for the summer, begging her to be there for him when he returned.
Mom was working as a summer camp counselor and met Dad one night at a carnival. He was a poor, poor student at Boston University - seminary. She went home that night and told her roommate that if he invited her out on another date, that was the man she was going to marry. Obviously, he did.
With all of that wealth and grand upbringing, mom was absolutely miserable. Both of her parents were alcoholics, she told stories of being out on a date, her date was drunk, the tire blew on the vehicle and she literally had to kick him to keep him awake while he changed the tire. She didn't believe in herself and didn't understand just how talented and brilliant she was. When Dad offered her marriage and a chance to move away from everything, she grabbed it.
They moved back to Gravity, Iowa, a tiny little town in southwest Iowa - population 200. Everything she knew, everything she was comfortable with was gone. They had no money, she had no friends, she barely knew Dad's family.
But, she thrived. Given a chance to be herself and no longer have to measure up to all of the craziness that was surrounding her in Boston, her talents were unleashed! She wrote poetry, painted paintings, created sculptures, began studying the Bible and was soon teaching kids everything she could cram into her mind. She and Dad took adventure trips with youth groups and she learned how to deal with really tough womens groups within the church ad still remain grace-filled.
In the late 60s and early 70s, she started going back to school. She took a few correspondence courses from the University of Iowa and all of a sudden, professors were praising her for the way that her mind worked. Every paper that was returned to her had long, long notes of praise and adulation. She was so excited.
Over the years she worked to finish her degree, bit by bit. She learned to speak Spanish, even taking a month to live in Mexico in her early 40s so that she could communicate clearly. This was done so that she could teach ESL in a small community where the Mexicans were working at a turkey processing plant and could not seem to integrate with the town.
For her, everything became an adventure - a chance to try to achieve something new. All she had to do was leave what was comfortable behind and go forward. She didn't have any idea what would happen when she reached Iowa, but this is where she became the woman that she was. She was given freedom and a challenge.
I started thinking about Mom tonight and her life in Boston when I was talking to Carol. We had gone back out to visit Grammy and Mom took us shopping at Filene's. When it came time to check out (this was the early 70s), Mom asked the clerk if they would accept a check from Iowa. The clerk looked at her and in her very best snobby, Eastern voice said, "Out here, we pronounce that Ohio." Mom did her best to remain gracious, but informed the woman that there were actually states west of the Mississippi and Iowa was quite different from Ohio. She wrote the check.
Mom went through quite a bit of culture shock when she moved to Iowa, but it wasn't anything that she couldn't handle. She faced challenges and had to face down some incredible fears to achieve all that she wanted to achieve.
I think back to my story about the impala and how it won't jump anywhere if it can't see where it will land. She jumped without a clue. How can I do any less?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Too Christian?
The readers of my blog come from all over the stratosphere and sometimes I feel a little schizophrenic when I write.
I have a feeling that I'm probably over-thinking this, but I can't help myself. I do that a lot.
As a Christian, I find it really easy to write and speak to those who understand my language. There is an entire vocabulary that we use when we communicate with each other. I can relate everything that I do and think to a teaching from the Bible, and explain every concept in terms of something spiritual. When great things happen to me, I can let you know how I praise the Lord and when terrible things happen, I can tell you how I am leaving it all in God's hands.
All of these things are true in my life and I would give anything for them to be true in the lives of every one of my readers and all of my friends. But, they're not.
We all deal with this schizophrenia day after day as we work in the real world, shop in the real world, go to school in the real world. People might know that we are Christians, but we don't throw our Christian-talk at them over and over.
I’ve discovered that many of my friends actually stop listening to me (or reading my stuff) when I speak (or write) using this Christian language and use terms and stories that seem to beat them over the head with 'God stuff' all the time.
I get it. I’m supposed to be sharing the Gospel - I remember the commandment at the end of Matthew. My life is all about Jesus Christ. There is none other. When people look at me, encounter me, read my blog, talk to me; they should see Jesus lived out in my life. And I hope they do! But, not to the point that I am offensive because I can’t make the distinction between sounding like a Christian and acting like a Christian.
You can tell me that I shouldn’t hang out with people who are offended by my overly-Christian writings. Fine. You do what you have to do. These are people I care for deeply. I don’t want to be yet another in a long line of offensive Christians in their lives.
When I was working at the church, I found that it was really difficult for me to identify friends outside my Christian circle. I worked all day - I mean ... all day at the church during the week. On Saturdays I usually hid in the house to rejuvenate and then on Sunday I was at church again. When I was told (in a staff meeting one day) that I was to bring my non-Christians friends to church, I didn't know what to think! I'd gotten caught in something that was unacceptable. But, you know what? We all spoke the same language and were completely comfortable living in our small circle. At least I was.
As much as I love my church and the friends that I have from all of those churches I have been a part of throughout my life (wow, that’s a lot of people, by the way), I have friends and associates who don’t get all of that crazy talk. I am a part of a lot of lives … some who are comfortable with me speaking in Christianese and others who don’t understand a word I say.
What's a girl to do?
Well, I will probably continue to be schizophrenic on this blog. I ‘yam who I ‘yam and I will talk about leadership, about my faith, about my stories, about my crazy adventures. My readers will still get to know me and whether I use the right words or not, my faith which is just as much a part of me as my fingerprint or blue eyes will make a way.
I have a feeling that I'm probably over-thinking this, but I can't help myself. I do that a lot.
As a Christian, I find it really easy to write and speak to those who understand my language. There is an entire vocabulary that we use when we communicate with each other. I can relate everything that I do and think to a teaching from the Bible, and explain every concept in terms of something spiritual. When great things happen to me, I can let you know how I praise the Lord and when terrible things happen, I can tell you how I am leaving it all in God's hands.
All of these things are true in my life and I would give anything for them to be true in the lives of every one of my readers and all of my friends. But, they're not.
We all deal with this schizophrenia day after day as we work in the real world, shop in the real world, go to school in the real world. People might know that we are Christians, but we don't throw our Christian-talk at them over and over.
I’ve discovered that many of my friends actually stop listening to me (or reading my stuff) when I speak (or write) using this Christian language and use terms and stories that seem to beat them over the head with 'God stuff' all the time.
I get it. I’m supposed to be sharing the Gospel - I remember the commandment at the end of Matthew. My life is all about Jesus Christ. There is none other. When people look at me, encounter me, read my blog, talk to me; they should see Jesus lived out in my life. And I hope they do! But, not to the point that I am offensive because I can’t make the distinction between sounding like a Christian and acting like a Christian.
You can tell me that I shouldn’t hang out with people who are offended by my overly-Christian writings. Fine. You do what you have to do. These are people I care for deeply. I don’t want to be yet another in a long line of offensive Christians in their lives.
When I was working at the church, I found that it was really difficult for me to identify friends outside my Christian circle. I worked all day - I mean ... all day at the church during the week. On Saturdays I usually hid in the house to rejuvenate and then on Sunday I was at church again. When I was told (in a staff meeting one day) that I was to bring my non-Christians friends to church, I didn't know what to think! I'd gotten caught in something that was unacceptable. But, you know what? We all spoke the same language and were completely comfortable living in our small circle. At least I was.
As much as I love my church and the friends that I have from all of those churches I have been a part of throughout my life (wow, that’s a lot of people, by the way), I have friends and associates who don’t get all of that crazy talk. I am a part of a lot of lives … some who are comfortable with me speaking in Christianese and others who don’t understand a word I say.
What's a girl to do?
Well, I will probably continue to be schizophrenic on this blog. I ‘yam who I ‘yam and I will talk about leadership, about my faith, about my stories, about my crazy adventures. My readers will still get to know me and whether I use the right words or not, my faith which is just as much a part of me as my fingerprint or blue eyes will make a way.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Is it time to jump?
This morning, Pastor Mark (Mark Holland - Gretna United Methodist) spoke about breaking walls down, using the story of Joshua and the walls of Jericho. It was a great sermon, but I really got stuck what he said about the impala.
An impala is an African antelope. They aren't very tall, but can run faster than most animals and jump up to nine feet high - or 33 feet in one direction! However, the impala can be contained by a fence no taller than three feet, which is about their height) because the animal will not jump if it can't see where its feet will land.
Wow.
We won't jump if we can't see where we will land. We won't take risks because we can't see what the outcome will be. We stay behind the walls we have built around ourselves because we are familiar with our surroundings.
I can hardly wait to start my Master's Degree this fall, but there are days (and a lot of them lately) that terror rips through my heart. I can't see the end of this path. I have absolutely no idea what will happen in three years when I finish.
When I let the terror take over, I tell myself that I just need to turn around and go back to where I came from. Go back into my safe life and live it out until I die. That's what a sane person would do, right?
Fortunately, a good night's sleep brings my true sanity back into my mind and I realize that though I have no idea where God is taking me, it's going to be an adventure.
Do you allow yourself to be contained by something as small as a 3' fence because you can't see the outcome if you were to make the jump?
There are days I have to keep reminding myself that everything will work out alright. It takes a lot of reminding on those days and sometimes by the end of the day I've cried my eyes out and fall asleep exhausted by the pure emotional turmoil of the whole thing.
In the light of the next morning, though, I realize that jumping feet first into the maelstrom of life might take a little courage, but the outcome could be glorious!
So, thank you Mark for giving me the story of the impala. This will now be my symbol of courage and freedom!
An impala is an African antelope. They aren't very tall, but can run faster than most animals and jump up to nine feet high - or 33 feet in one direction! However, the impala can be contained by a fence no taller than three feet, which is about their height) because the animal will not jump if it can't see where its feet will land.
Wow.
We won't jump if we can't see where we will land. We won't take risks because we can't see what the outcome will be. We stay behind the walls we have built around ourselves because we are familiar with our surroundings.
I can hardly wait to start my Master's Degree this fall, but there are days (and a lot of them lately) that terror rips through my heart. I can't see the end of this path. I have absolutely no idea what will happen in three years when I finish.
When I let the terror take over, I tell myself that I just need to turn around and go back to where I came from. Go back into my safe life and live it out until I die. That's what a sane person would do, right?
Fortunately, a good night's sleep brings my true sanity back into my mind and I realize that though I have no idea where God is taking me, it's going to be an adventure.
Do you allow yourself to be contained by something as small as a 3' fence because you can't see the outcome if you were to make the jump?
There are days I have to keep reminding myself that everything will work out alright. It takes a lot of reminding on those days and sometimes by the end of the day I've cried my eyes out and fall asleep exhausted by the pure emotional turmoil of the whole thing.
In the light of the next morning, though, I realize that jumping feet first into the maelstrom of life might take a little courage, but the outcome could be glorious!
So, thank you Mark for giving me the story of the impala. This will now be my symbol of courage and freedom!
Saturday, June 26, 2010
I Think About You!
Every day as I prepare to write a blog post, I think about what you would like to read. I've heard from many different people who have read these posts and so it is you that I picture in my mind as I write. There are otehrs that I've never heard from and believe it or not, I think about you as well.
Some days you're going to get my stories. Because that's what we would do if we sat down for an evening of coffee (I don't drink the stuff, but I can always find something to drink in a coffee shop) and chatter. I really prefer to be able to ask you to tell me your stories as well, but in this forum, I don't get that chance, so I just share my own, hoping that you will get a chuckle or maybe even connect with some crazy thing I've done in my past. I like making connections with people.
There are so many things I'd like to say to encourage you as you read these blog posts, but I don't dare preach at you because until I know you a little better, I don't feel I've earned that right. But at the same time, sometimes I hear and observe so much from my friends and I know that how you handle some of the things you are struggling with would actually help someone else who reads this. But, I steer pretty clear of those things because I want you to know that I honor our friendship and this blog is way too public.
It is important to me that you find joy and satisfaction in your life, that you understand how important you are to me and to many others. You encounter so many different people during your day in many different ways and your words and actions are important to them. They watch you to feel affirmed or needed, whether you realize it or not.
There are so many different images of people going through my mind right now and whether I've known you for a lifetime, a few short years in the past, the last few years or just the last few months, you impact my life.
Do any of you remember Romper Room? At the end of the show, Miss Nancy would look through her magic mirror and say, "I see Cindy and Mary and Jill and Amy and Diane and Bobby and David ...." Every show I would hope to hear her say my name.
I hope all my friends at home had a special day yesterday and today and will have a special day tomorrow!!
This isn't Miss Nancy, but it is the Magic Mirror!
Some days you're going to get my stories. Because that's what we would do if we sat down for an evening of coffee (I don't drink the stuff, but I can always find something to drink in a coffee shop) and chatter. I really prefer to be able to ask you to tell me your stories as well, but in this forum, I don't get that chance, so I just share my own, hoping that you will get a chuckle or maybe even connect with some crazy thing I've done in my past. I like making connections with people.
There are so many things I'd like to say to encourage you as you read these blog posts, but I don't dare preach at you because until I know you a little better, I don't feel I've earned that right. But at the same time, sometimes I hear and observe so much from my friends and I know that how you handle some of the things you are struggling with would actually help someone else who reads this. But, I steer pretty clear of those things because I want you to know that I honor our friendship and this blog is way too public.
It is important to me that you find joy and satisfaction in your life, that you understand how important you are to me and to many others. You encounter so many different people during your day in many different ways and your words and actions are important to them. They watch you to feel affirmed or needed, whether you realize it or not.
There are so many different images of people going through my mind right now and whether I've known you for a lifetime, a few short years in the past, the last few years or just the last few months, you impact my life.
Do any of you remember Romper Room? At the end of the show, Miss Nancy would look through her magic mirror and say, "I see Cindy and Mary and Jill and Amy and Diane and Bobby and David ...." Every show I would hope to hear her say my name.
I hope all my friends at home had a special day yesterday and today and will have a special day tomorrow!!
This isn't Miss Nancy, but it is the Magic Mirror!
Friday, June 25, 2010
Stories of pain and hilarity
Yesterday while I was in the car, I had an idea for the best blog post. I was chuckling to myself as I thought about the different stories I could tell on the theme and at the moment, it actually did flit through my mind that I should probably take a moment to write some type of trigger down. But, I didn't. To be honest with you, by the time I got back to the cabin, the entire thing was gone. I did try to retrieve the memory at some point last night, thought that maybe if I just let it float around in my brain for awhile, it would return. No such luck.
I wondered if it was about breaking my little toe on a piece of wood that I've known was there the other day. Oh, the poor little toe. I cursed, swore and cursed some more as I waited for the surging pain to pass. The problem was that I was giggling like a fool at the same time. Mom never wore shoes and spent many days of her life with black little toes - broken and bloodied because she'd run into things. I've been pretty lucky, but when I smack that toe, I remember her messed up feet and chuckle. (yup, I'm mean that way).
I am mean that way. Unless you are in need of emergency care, hurting yourself in my presence isn't going to get you a lot of sympathy. I've been known to have to turn away or walk into another room because the sight of a minor accident cracks me up.
A few years ago, when I was working at the church, Max called me. He had called to tell me that he'd been exercising on our recumbent bike when the weld snapped on the seat. Now, a recumbent bike sits low with your feet way out in front of you. My first question was, "Are you alright?" When his response was yes, then my imagination was given permission to see the entire event play out and I started laughing. I'm pretty sure he was offended, but it's not my fault that he kept telling me the rest of the story. When the back of the seat fell off, his torso snapped backwards, his head hit a short dresser that was there and gave it enough of a push, that a painted flowerpot on the dresser fell off and shattered on his head. (here's the deal folks, I can't even type this story without howling with laughter!!!!)
I saw Three Stooges/slapstick comedy happening all over the place and laughed even harder!!! Yah, that didn't win me any points. And I think it scared my coworkers a little, too. I guess I can be a little heartless.
The weirdest things have happened to me in my life and at some point, I suppose I've learned that if I'm laughing about it, at least I'm not crying. While this may not seem appropriate to the rest of the world ... it works for me.
I still love telling the story (from my side, thank you very much) of my poor little brother when we were quite young. It took him awhile to come into his intelligence. He trusted me way too long. In the parsonage in Morning Sun, Iowa, there was a strange planter on the main floor between the living room and dining room - made out of bricks. Imagine sharp corners. Ok ... it was either the planter or simply a doorsill, I don't remember exactly which. But, for some reason that poor boy agreed to be the horse and allowed me to be the rider. I assured him that I would tell him when to look up. I did ... he cracked his forehead and received six stitches for his trouble. Carol and I got to go to the bank president's house down the street and watch color television while he went to the emergency room.
But, I got mine. After I had graduated from college, I moved home for a year, working at a hotel and teaching piano lessons. Jim was still in high school and at some point was taking Tae-kwon-do. Dad had a thick workout/wrestling mat in the basement for Jim to do his workouts - it was located just outside my bedroom. One evening, Jim called to me, "Diane, I've been practicing something, but need another person. You don't need to do anything. I just need you to stand there." Alright, I'm amenable. I can do this. I stood in the center of the mat and before I knew it, I was flat on my back looking up at the ceiling and at a brother, cackling with glee. Was that enough for me? Oh no.
"Diane? I screwed it up - you shouldn't have ended up on your back. Let me try that again." Oh, I'm so ashamed to admit that I truly am that stupid. But, I stood up and discovered within moments that the ceiling still looked the same and Jim had that same hideous laughter. I picked myself up - left my dignity on the mat and went back in my room.
We come from a long line of tormentors. Please be sure that you really want my help if you hurt yourself. You might have to put up with a little giggle or two, especially if you managed to hurt yourself in a rather entertaining manner!
I wondered if it was about breaking my little toe on a piece of wood that I've known was there the other day. Oh, the poor little toe. I cursed, swore and cursed some more as I waited for the surging pain to pass. The problem was that I was giggling like a fool at the same time. Mom never wore shoes and spent many days of her life with black little toes - broken and bloodied because she'd run into things. I've been pretty lucky, but when I smack that toe, I remember her messed up feet and chuckle. (yup, I'm mean that way).
I am mean that way. Unless you are in need of emergency care, hurting yourself in my presence isn't going to get you a lot of sympathy. I've been known to have to turn away or walk into another room because the sight of a minor accident cracks me up.
A few years ago, when I was working at the church, Max called me. He had called to tell me that he'd been exercising on our recumbent bike when the weld snapped on the seat. Now, a recumbent bike sits low with your feet way out in front of you. My first question was, "Are you alright?" When his response was yes, then my imagination was given permission to see the entire event play out and I started laughing. I'm pretty sure he was offended, but it's not my fault that he kept telling me the rest of the story. When the back of the seat fell off, his torso snapped backwards, his head hit a short dresser that was there and gave it enough of a push, that a painted flowerpot on the dresser fell off and shattered on his head. (here's the deal folks, I can't even type this story without howling with laughter!!!!)
I saw Three Stooges/slapstick comedy happening all over the place and laughed even harder!!! Yah, that didn't win me any points. And I think it scared my coworkers a little, too. I guess I can be a little heartless.
The weirdest things have happened to me in my life and at some point, I suppose I've learned that if I'm laughing about it, at least I'm not crying. While this may not seem appropriate to the rest of the world ... it works for me.
I still love telling the story (from my side, thank you very much) of my poor little brother when we were quite young. It took him awhile to come into his intelligence. He trusted me way too long. In the parsonage in Morning Sun, Iowa, there was a strange planter on the main floor between the living room and dining room - made out of bricks. Imagine sharp corners. Ok ... it was either the planter or simply a doorsill, I don't remember exactly which. But, for some reason that poor boy agreed to be the horse and allowed me to be the rider. I assured him that I would tell him when to look up. I did ... he cracked his forehead and received six stitches for his trouble. Carol and I got to go to the bank president's house down the street and watch color television while he went to the emergency room.
But, I got mine. After I had graduated from college, I moved home for a year, working at a hotel and teaching piano lessons. Jim was still in high school and at some point was taking Tae-kwon-do. Dad had a thick workout/wrestling mat in the basement for Jim to do his workouts - it was located just outside my bedroom. One evening, Jim called to me, "Diane, I've been practicing something, but need another person. You don't need to do anything. I just need you to stand there." Alright, I'm amenable. I can do this. I stood in the center of the mat and before I knew it, I was flat on my back looking up at the ceiling and at a brother, cackling with glee. Was that enough for me? Oh no.
"Diane? I screwed it up - you shouldn't have ended up on your back. Let me try that again." Oh, I'm so ashamed to admit that I truly am that stupid. But, I stood up and discovered within moments that the ceiling still looked the same and Jim had that same hideous laughter. I picked myself up - left my dignity on the mat and went back in my room.
We come from a long line of tormentors. Please be sure that you really want my help if you hurt yourself. You might have to put up with a little giggle or two, especially if you managed to hurt yourself in a rather entertaining manner!
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