Mountain Home Companion

JULY

2010-07-18T09:07:00.002-06:00

Well, most of my writing has been fiction and a few opinion pieces I post for another site, but I thought I should take a moment to discuss some of the personal struggles I've had.

I found myself in a pit. So many changes, so much confusion, so little surety in anything in our lives has taken a toll on me. My beloved brother moved away just months after we moved to be closer to him (coincidence?) I know this is not an accident. One minute he got a call that he was losing his job and five minutes later he got a call that they wanted him on a different site hours away, requiring him to move in a short space of time. I admit to being really thrown by this. Angry, too.

I was quite willing to live in this tiny apartment but able to spend time with my brother and his wife. I was so excited about it. But within months they were suddenly gone and I just felt that it was TOO MUCH. On top of all the trials and struggles and disappointments over the last few years, it took the wind out of me.

So much of life seems to be about me getting the wind knocked out of me, being thrown to the ground with a sucker punch and crawling back, standing back up and getting my wind again only to repeat the cycle. I think the point is to strengthen me, to deepen me, to reduce my reliance on myself and my own understanding and to force me to rely on the only wise God. I'm not great at this. My basic training is going on far longer than most peoples it would seem. I assume they must be faster learners. Either that, or I made it through basic training and the training was for a war that I didn't realize had started.

Whatever the case, I was worn out, exhausted, sad and confused. It showed all over me. What made it all worse is that my fibromyalgia has been in a major flare for the longest period yet--well over two years now. Amazing. I was tired of all of it. Tired of the pain, the physical inconvenience, the financial struggles, the losses, all of it.

I let myself get depressed. I know better. I know how to be happy. I've learned that through great pain and long study. I just stopped practicing what I knew. When someone commented on my smile as if it were a rare or nearly-nonexistent thing, I realized what I had allowed. I allowed myself to quit practicing, to quit CHOOSING to be happy. So I once again have chosen to be happy. Trust me on this. It's totally doable. If I can learn to be happy, anyone can. I find it hard to imagine a more dismal soul than me, at least the old me.

The problem of pain and attitude is that it is hard to maintain a positive attitude when you are in pain, but the severity of the effect of pain is increased in proportion to the depth of your own misery and depression. If one can maintain a good, positive attitude, pain is not diminished, but the effect of that pain is. Plus misery drives others away.

Soooooo, rambling as this has been, I have had an attitude adjustment. I allowed myself to focus on the circumstances rather than the one who holds me in the circumstances. I forgot that I am not dependent on jobs or what I can see with my own eyes for my sustenance and my stability, but that I am dependent on one who is not affected or concerned by the things which I can see. he is utterly reliable when nothing else is.

Forward, ho!

Self-Examination

2010-03-29T11:55:00.000-06:00

I have to ask myself the following questions today. I believe they came from Tozer, but I heard them while listening to an online sermon from Twin Oaks Presbyterian Church.

What do you want more than anything else? Honestly examine your hearts cravings.
What do you think about more than anything else?
How do you use your money?
What do you do with your leisure time?
Who do you admire and what do you admire about them?
What is humorous to you?

My answers, the truthful ones, not as I wish they were, but what they really are, is very instructive to my soul.

What I wish the answers to be is: 1. God, 2. God's Word and the person and work of Jesus Christ, 3. To further the kingdom of God and to care for the poor., 4. Serving the poor, studying the Word and gathering with other believers to delight together in God, 5. I want this list to be filled with spiritual giants both known and unknown who follow after God with their whole hearts, and 6. I want this not to include things that demean others, cruelty, etc.

What is true is somewhat different. My truthful responses show my heart to be in need of repentance, cleansing and renewal and that I CANNOT do on my own. My truth reveals a need for God to wash me clean, to renew a right spirit in me, to root out my selfishness and the sin which is still rooted in my heart. God help me. I am not who I want to be, I am not who I wish to be, I am not who I was made to be. I must throw myself on the mercy of God, the only wise and merciful God. I have seen my heart and it is an ugly and needful thing.

I am, we are, blessed that our salvation and our hope does not rest on this. I am blessed that God in his mercy sought fit to save me, one whose heart is so unworthy. Even my response to the Savior is not the beautiful thing I wish it to be. Oh may I one day truly answer those questions as I desire. May that really be. Lord, rescue me from me. Thank you for revealing the condition of my heart. Teach me and mold me, cleanse me and purify my heart. Renew my spirit. Continue the work you have begun in me.

Signs of Spring

2010-03-10T12:29:00.001-07:00

What?

2010-02-01T14:43:00.000-07:00

Each time I come to this site over the past couple of weeks, preparing to post a new blog, I stop short at the words of my previous post. It is awful and sad, but a truth that must be admitted. I have been writing. Actually I've written quite a bit recently--just not here. Where, you ask? Ah, I'll keep that secret for now.

Suffice it to say that the conditions of life have changed so dramatically over the past year that my life is barely recognizable. I thought I would have started school by now, at least, but George Mason wants me to get a lot more credits in before transferring in. I just found that out today, which is a bit of a blow.

Steve just started a new job--one that will last 2-3 months at most. And today, an old boss from Colorado called to offer him a job, thinking he would be back in CO by now. We just signed a year's lease. It would cost us $2200 to get out of the lease, plus moving expenses. Sigh. Is it a job worth taking? Don't have enough details. I'm exhausted thinking about the possibility of moving to Denver, as unlikely as it is.

2010

2010-01-04T23:28:00.002-07:00

So a new decade has begun. Not just a new year, a new decade, and I am 45. 45 puts you in a new age bracket on things like Web MD and some other surveys and questionnaires. I don't know why that bothers me. I don't feel 45. I do sometimes look at myself in the mirror and do a double-take. Who is that fat woman with the aging skin, the puffy eyes and the hands that are beginning to seriously wrinkle? I don't recognize her at all, I'm afraid. Who is that woman who lurches down the hall when her joints don't want to work, or who gets down on the floor and can no longer trust that she can simple stand back up again with ease? Who is the woman who needs bifocals?

45 isn't old. I know it isn't. But it feels that way sometimes. I'm a grandma. Me. How did this happen? (Please don't write in to tell me the mechanics of it.) I was a schoolgirl just yesterday...or maybe it was the day before that, but it was just moments ago! All of life was ahead of me as an open book, a blank canvas, and empty stage, waiting for me to write on the pages, to paint brilliant colors or to dazzle the world with my brilliance. How did all that hopeful and fearful expectation come to this?

If I am to be dazzling and brilliant, it will have to be a different way now. Even our colors fade as we get older. Our hair fades, although with the proper shade of Loreal, no one need know. Our skin loses the luster and suppleness of youth.

For some, 2010 is a good place to start. It is the year of birth or of graduation, that first adult job or the start of a hopefully long and successful marriage.

For us, 2010 is a year for starting over. Hopefully we have not dragged too much past baggage with us. It is a challenge to be optimistic, to see this as a good thing. I feel pressure to do and to accomplish.

There is a great paradox in the ideas of doing and being. Some say that we simple must be. We must be in Christ. We must remain and abide and wait. Passive words. Others say we must do. We must put our faith into action. Faith without works is dead. We must get busy about the work of the kingdom, busy with the work of life.

I struggle with these two. I believe that both are true and I don't really understand that. I don't know how to be and do at the same time. I don't know that I understand when it is time to rest and when it is time to work and run the race.

In my body there is a condition that requires being and doing. Fibromyalgia constantly reminds me that I cannot simply power my way through life with will and determination. And yet, I must power my way through many things or I have no life with this horrible condition. I must accept (be) that I have this condition and that it affects what I can and cannot do. And I must do so that FM doesn't take everything away. I sometimes get the balance off. When I feel good I do too much and the ability to do is lost for a time. But if I give in to the pain, I do nothing and have no life and the FM is worse for the inactivity.

So what is the truth? Is there a correlation between the being and doing of FM and the being and doing of our Christian walk? Well, both are balancing acts. We aren't actually doing the work of changing and perfecting us, but we have things we must do anyway. We must remain and abide in Christ and are also told to work out our salvation with fear and trembling.

Anyway...John 15 talks about abiding or remaining in Christ, the true vine. I don't understand all of it, particularly the cutting away of dead branches, but I do understand the pruning bit. It appears that the troubles and travails of this life may be part of a pruning process, so that the fruit we bear may be increased. It is to increase the health and vitality of the whole being--me joined with Christ and tended by the Father. All of this loss, all of this pain, all of this trouble may simply be pruning to make me more fruitful. "For without me you can do nothing," the passage states. So I abide in him and he makes the doing possible.

I don't understand this, but 2010 is the year I want to begin to understand this being and abiding and resting in him in the midst of the doing of life. If he wants me to stand still, then stand still I shall, but if he wants me to do, then he must guide and empower me.

What I long for in this being and abiding and remaining and doing is to develop my love for Him. I told a friend of mine the troubling thing I realized the other day--that I am not in love with my Savior, and I don't really love my God. At the moment I kind of like Him. I'm ashamed and embarrassed. It's a hard thing to say, and I am keenly aware that this is not what I have been ordered in scripture. I have been told to Love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind and spirit. I have a Savior who went to all the trouble to become like me, to become human, to live and to die an insanely awful death, to suffer untold misery and horror to pay for my sin, and to make it possible for me to be reconciled to him, and yet I kind of like him? I think I understand the bit in Revelation where God says they are neither hot nor cold but lukewarm and so he wants to spit them out. Realizing that I merely like the Creator of the stars makes me sick to my stomach. I feel like wretching. Maybe God feels this way about me too at the moment.

I don't know how to go from that like to the love that I once had and the love that I never had, so I must abide and remain and ask the Savior of my soul to ignite the flame of love in me and never to let it wane.

May your new decade be blessed in every way, but most of all, may you know spiritual blessings. May you grow in love for God. May we grow in this together.

Happy Christmas to you all!

2009-12-22T08:24:00.003-07:00

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It Costs More To Be A Woman

2009-12-16T08:39:00.002-07:00

In response to the article: Why It Costs More To Be A Woman (click on the title to jump to the article.) I have written the following:

I have been lamenting lately the same thing, not an angry lament, more of a weary, this-is-how-the-world-is lament. I know these things are true and I don't like it, but what are you doing to do about it?

I rarely succumb to the temptation to purchase razors made "for women", as the cost per each is egregious. I find the cost of antiperspirants in general to be outrageous, but the smell of stale sweat coming from my armpits is not desirable, so I cough it up, though I have done trial and error until I only buy what works for me.

I have cut men and women's hair. The time factor is negligible. A man may be a little less fussy about the cut, though many men today are more fussy than ever, but there is the neck shaving and sometimes a facial shave as well. The justification is bogus. The services that take time are actually included in the price whether they are used or not. I mean I often shampoo my own hair because I sometimes have allergic reactions to shampoos. If it is a nice day out, the hairdresser may not fully style my hair, though that is included in the price at most places. Some, the ones that do ala carte services, are also the ones that seem to charge virtually the same whether you are male or female. In these places, I've had good and bad haircuts. The lady cutting my hair at Great Clips in Colorado Springs gave me about the best haircuts of my life. My most recent on at Great Clips in MD? The reviews aren't so good.

Many things are ridiculously expensive for women. I will happily use men's antiperspirant as long as it doesn't SMELL like a man. I can't wear their shirts without major tailoring and it is impossible to wear their jeans. My husband can get his jeans at Sam's Club for $13. The cut is standard and the denim is heavy. These jeans are a far better bargain than what is currently sold in any local store in the woman's department. Without my consent or approval, someone made the decision to eliminate heavyweight denim jeans with sturdy construction, in favor of "stretch denim", which is far less practical, lasts about a third as long, and costs the same as the old jeans I prefer. Where may I go to purchase the jeans I loved? I may have them custom made, or buy them through a catalog, now at least 2-3 times the cost of the jeans I bought a few years back. But my husband can buy his for $13.

Don't get me started on decent dressy work trousers. Again, try to find any made of a high quality sturdy material with a nice hand at ANY price made for a woman. But my husband can walk into any Ross or Marshalls and find a nice trouser for under $20 near any day of the week.

Can someone explain why I have to pay over $30 for a decent bra? Is making a bra some feat of engineering with construction so ingenious as to make it a difficult proposition? No. I used to work in a lingerie factory, and while I was never privy to the price points and manufacturing costs, I can assure you that they are in no way an expensive garment to manufacture.

At $30+ each, I must spend a minimum of $210 simply to have enough for a week. And are these garments long-lasting? According to the fitter in the lingerie department, none of these garments are designed to last more than 6 months. Nor can they hold up under normal laundry conditions. No, they must be hand-laundered and hung to dry, else they face an early extinction. If I want pretty or lacy or the latest sexy style, they are even more flimsily constructed and cost even more. Hooray.

There are some justifications for some of these price differences. A woman's tailoring is often a bit more detailed, a couple of darts or seams that a man's equivalent will not have, but otherwise, two identical items should have reasonably identical prices, right? What is the cost to put in a dart and a fitted seam? It doesn't take substantially longer, and should not justify the price difference.

When I was younger, I lived in a small town and it had a store with clothing for young men and a rack of clothing I can only call rodeo queen attire. I purchased men's jeans to fit my hips and took in 6 inches off the waist. I am no longer comfortable doing those kinds of alterations, as I am much more conscious of the quality of tailoring than I was in those days, and my own tailoring does not meet my standards.

Don't even get me started on hose.

I guess my point is that it costs to be a woman. Some men seem to think that women are frivolous or poor negotiators and pat themselves on the back for it, but what do you do when your dry cleaner charges an extra dollar each to dry clean your shirts? They all do it, and complaining hasn't yet gotten them to drop their prices. They very snottily talk about how difficult they are to press. Oh really? Seems like the equipment isn't made properly then. I dislike ironing, but find it no more difficult or time-consuming to iron my shirts than it does to iron my husband's.

It isn't the cut, because I can bring in a boxy women's blazer and get charged more for it than a man's Italian cut blazer, which surely is more difficult to handle than mine.

Oh, I'm not going to win any debate here, nor am I stating any new thing. But it isn't because women are poor negotiators. It is because certain things are expected of us that are NOT expected of a man. In one job it was not-so-subtly suggested that I should wear makeup for a professional appearance. At the time I was not having skin problems, and was always neatly and professionally attired and well-groomed. I did not then, nor do I now see the point of covering my skin with a load of expensive makeup that clogs my pores and causes me to break out, nor did I see the point of spending $50 a month on my nails as the other women in the office did.

If it is okay for John Doe to come in with a fresh-scrubbed face, neatly combed hair and a nice suit on, then that should work for me as well. I'm not manly, nor am I trying to make some feminist point, but I do sometimes resent that while I make far less than a man, my life costs more. Not because I am frivolous, but because the simple things in life are, for women, more expensive.

If I were to tell my husband he was required to spend $210 every six months on underwear, he would flip out. Why do these manufacturers and retailers DARE to charge this for me? So, what really am I to do about these things? Nothing I can do really, except make the wisest and most frugal decisions possible, and occasionally rant about the cost of being a woman.

And there were no needy persons among them...

2009-12-15T20:01:00.005-07:00

I have been vocal lately about how inadequate the church seems to be in meeting the needs of those in our midst. I was distraught and angry when I heard about a woman whose life has fallen apart when her husband suffered a massive stroke after he was laid off and without health insurance. She is underemployed, has young children, is visiting her husband each day in the nursing home where he requires round the clock care and is totally incapacitated. She is losing her home, the utilities are on final notice and her health is in jeopardy due to the stress of it all.

I asked you and I asked me, where is the church in this? It seems to me that we should be gathering together and saying what do we do about _______? We should be opening our pockets, someone should be stepping up to help her find the assistance she needs, or opening their home to her and to her children, bringing them meals, serving them in any way we can.

As I sat pondering and upset with how the church is not doing it's job, it occurred to me that I AM the church. It is MY job. And I realized that I needed to take 1/2 of the money I have been saving toward a new camera and give it to this woman. Do not praise me. It was not easy. There is a part of me that says that maybe I should have given all of it. I don't know. But I do know that what I gave I was SUPPOSED to give.

And now I am asking you, dear readers, to consider how we might, as the church, reach out to this woman. I am asking you to pass along this post and let people know that they may contact me if they wish to give to help this woman as she tries to survive until the various charities that she is applying for help with decide if they are going to help her. I have been openly critical of the church, but I know that the people of the church love God and love others. Sometimes we are blind and selfish and need someone to just point out the hurting among us.

The need is real, and the need is urgent. This woman needs to know the love of Christ in a tangible way. Let's not tell her be warmed and filled.

I am selling prints of the photos I am showing here to raise money to help. At least half of all funds (after printing expenses) are going to help this woman. Make no mistake, there is no tax write-off. NONE. But I'm asking people to step up and help.

5x7 prints $15/ea
8x10 prints $22/ea
Matting and framing available. Contact me for pricing.

If you are interested, please comment below, or if you have my personal email or phone number, you may check in that way, but please mention ACTS 4 PHOTOS in your comment or email subject line. Thank you.

Back to forgiveness

2009-12-15T13:08:00.002-07:00

Sometimes the people I most need to forgive are the last one's I WANT to forgive. They are the least deserving. They don't acknowledge their wrongdoing; they don't ask for forgiveness. As we all are supposed to know, these are the very people we need to forgive. Jesus died for us while we were still in our sins. He came to earth for people who had no idea they were doing something wrong, and for those who knew and did it anyway. He forgave me when I did not ask, he paid the price when I willfully sinned. His actions, his forgiveness is not based on my feeling badly enough, or understanding the depths of my own depravity, or even acknowledging the level of pain I brought upon him. I am incapable of grasping the weight of sins I caused him to bear. But he forgave, and so must I.

I must use him as my example, to forgive what has been done to me, for the sake of the love he has shown me. And when I cannot forgive, I simply need ask him to help me, to show me, to teach me to forgive. I ask him to show me my tormentor through his eyes, and I see them through the lens of love and compassion that I may not have on my own.

I am humbled and repentant when I see the one I will not forgive through HIS eyes. When the Spirit reveals to me the hardness in my own heart, my heart begins to melt and I weep.

I long for the day when forgiveness pours out of me. I long for the day when I diminish and Christ increases to the point where his reaction is mine. Where his heart rules my heart. When mercy is my first thought. When pity moves me and when I cannot hate my fellow man.

Oh how I wish I were there. But God isn't finished with me...He will continue the work he has begun.

Rotten little playground bastard.

2009-12-14T09:42:00.001-07:00

I despise fibromyalgia. This morning I woke up because of pain so severe that in my dreams I couldn't move one leg. When I woke it took me quite some time to convince myself that despite the pain I could move anyway. FM is a freakin' bastard. It's that kid on the playground that lays in wait for you to get involved in something then jumps out and hits your legs out from under you with a bat. You try to forget, but he never leaves, never really goes away.

Penny-wise

2009-12-14T07:28:00.002-07:00

I received an email today from the salesperson who sold me my 97 Yukon. "It's been a year!" it trumpeted, and went on to ask for my future and referral business. I wrote the following reply:

It HAS been a year. We no longer have the Yukon as the mechanical needs were so extensive I'm writing it off as lesson learned. Only buy a vehicle that a trusted mechanic has looked at. Do NOT allow your better judgment to be shushed because someone tells you that the reason for the low, low price is to get people through the door to look at other vehicles. No, the reason for the low, low price is that there are major flaws with the vehicle. Not that I'm blaming anyone but myself. I should have listened to that voice in my head. That being said, I really loved the vehicle and even drove it cross-country, which was likely fool-hardy in it's condition. Would I ever buy another vehicle from Liberty? Probably not, but only because I'd be 1) too embarrassed by my own stupidity, 2) wondering if I would be foolish enough to listen to another sales pitch, and 3) on edge, wondering if the next vehicle I was looking at contained some horrible flaw which would come back to bite me in no time at all. I'm very unpleasant when I'm on edge and wouldn't want to put you (or me) through that.

Thankfully, I will likely never have to decide whether to purchase another vehicle from your dealership as I have moved to Maryland and now get to test the veracity and honor of a host of other dealerships. But I think for now, I will simply focus on finding a good and trustworthy mechanic to thoroughly inspect any used vehicle I would purchase, so that I don't simply take a dealer's word for the condition of the car, particularly if they are selling it "AS IS".

I nearly hit send, but even though what I wrote is true, it isn't the whole truth. We DID after all get in an accident. The accident made the mechanical problems even worse. We would have had to replace the vehicle without the accident, but leaving out the accident is, well, less than truthful. And the entire note was less than kind.

I'm hugely embarrassed by my part in the whole thing. I'm 45 years old. I know better. I did something foolish, like foregoing a $60 mechanics fee when buying a vehicle. Penny-side, pounds foolish.

Ticket

2009-12-10T10:31:00.004-07:00

I came across a traffic ticket that someone else received. It offered the chance to simply cover it with a fine and a signature and checking that you either agree with the charges as filed or to mark "no contest" (or the latin equivalent thereof.)

I think this person should pay the fine, check one of the boxes and sign on the dotted line. It's over, it's settled, it's done. It's not a matter of fight it because it's wrong, it's a just charge. This person doesn't think so. No one else, when confronted with the facts of the incident see things as this person sees them, but that's how it goes.

I look at the situation and see bad consequences if this person doesn't pay up and sign it away. In fact, I was tempted to pay it for this person, check one of the boxes for them...but there's the sticky part. The signature. I can't do this for them.

It occurs to me that we all come to this place in life. We've done something wrong. By our very nature, we are sinful and separated from God. We have the charge from the governing authority, God, and God himself has paid the fine. There is only one box to check--Guilty as charged. But there is the signature line. Ah the signature line.

I cannot do that for another. All I can do is to urge them to sign away and take the payment that has already been made. Otherwise the charge stands. Sign away and accept the payment on your behalf and it's wiped away. Done. Gone.

Some of us want to protest that we're not guilty. Ahh, it's on tape. So we argue anything and everything to keep from admitting our guilt. We don't want our name on that line.

Some people think they would rather sign for their guilt and pay their own fine, but the fine is more than they have ever or will ever own. But they're gonna keep trying, perhaps doing community service, to try to wipe away the fine, or to wipe away their own guilt. It doesn't work. All they need to do is to sign.

I'm grateful that God himself was willing to pay the fine for me. Can you imagine the courtroom where the judge hands down the sentence and then pays it himself?

Amazing. Wonderful.

Nevertheless

2009-12-04T21:46:00.007-07:00

So many hurting people and a faith tradition that I don't believe answers sufficiently the trials and troubles we face in this life. How is it that our expectations became so distant from the truth of scripture? I have had people tell me that God will step in, that he will heal, that he will change the circumstance, that he will lift us out of trouble. I have puzzled over that for years.

The Bible that I read says that Stephen was stoned, that sometimes a prophet was beaten, imprisoned, stoned, one was sawn in pieces. Most of the apostles were martyred, many of the first century Christians as well--Nero was known for using Christians as torches. Every one that I can think of who was mightily used of God led lives of suffering. Not everyone mentioned in Scripture, but the mighty ones.

How does this mesh with our belief that God is in the business of making our lives okay? Even when our theology disagrees with this belief, our internals are set (at least here in America) for rescue, earthly reward, etc. We buy into the beliefs that all we have to do is work hard, live cleanly, go to church, watch our tongues and try to clean up the behavior of society and our lives will go well. Our careers will flourish, our bank accounts increase and our later years will be easy.

We struggle when people have problems. We struggle when their children go astray, and we find all the reasons why, usually things that blame the parents and make us feel better because, since we are doing everything right, our children will not fall into the same things. We struggle when someone suffers from cancer, or when a friend becomes a young widow and we comfort with the lamest offerings we have--God means it for the best, and God has better things for you, or just look at what God will teach you! We don't suffer with them, we recoil from their trouble. It messes with our safety. If we acknowledge that these things aren't the result of their individual failings, or that they aren't some wonderful path they are on, then we acknowledge that we may have to suffer as well.

We turn from the family who is underemployed when they have to turn to social services for help. Well, they shouldn't have to go to social services for help. They should be taken care of by the church! The early church did just that. "And there were no needy persons among them." Read Acts 4.

The thing is, we were promised suffering. We were promised the difficult path. The Joel Osteen's of the world want you to believe that there is something wrong in that. They deny what scripture teaches and their words make me want to puke! Seriously. They are a vile distortion of scripture.

We are promised suffering. We are promised trials. Not, ohmygosh, I couldn't find a decent parking space at the mall today kind of trials, but real soul-wrenching, faith-stretching difficulties.

Some of us will have God step in and rearrange the circumstances. He provides some with miraculous healings, some with that tremendous job at just the right time. He provides those Lifetime Movie moments for some. But sometimes (and for me it seems more often than not) he does not intervene. God allows the bad thing. He allows the failures, the loss, the discouragement, the cruelty of others. He allows the loss of possession, the failure of the family or the church, the financial devastation, the job loss, the humiliation of government or charitable assistance. He allows the loss of a precious daughter, that special friend, the husband and provider. He allows a man to walk out on his wife for another woman or for a man. He allows a mother to walk out on her children. He allows parents to abuse their children and children to torment their parents. So very often he does not step in. What then?

Seriously, what then?

If you are a reasonably serious student of scripture I think these things should not surprise us. We should not be surprised by trials of various description. We were promised them. We were promised that the testing of our faith would produce endurance. We were promised the endurance would complete the work. We are promised that we will suffer many things for Christ's sake.

That's not what we want. Heck, it's not what I want. So often I look at others and see God rescue them when he is not rescuing me and I wonder, "why?" It's not a mildly curious question, it is a gut-wrenching, depth-of-my-soul question.

I used to beat myself up for those questions, and for asking God to deliver me out of my trials when it appeared he wanted me to walk through them. Jesus, in the garden of Gethsemane asked to be rescued from his upcoming suffering. He asked over and over in a torment that we are told made him sweat as it were drops of blood. That's some serious torment. That's some serious praying. We are told that after hours of this praying--alone, because his friends couldn't be bothered to stay awake while he is suffering so--he says, 'nevertheless, not my will but yours.'

And that's the key. I do not understand suffering. I can't explain it. I still prefer the miraculous saves. I know God could have stepped in and healed 18-year-old Alyssa even at the moment of her death. He did not. Why? I don't know. But I know my faith is tested through it.

My faith is not tested when God steps in and does the miraculous Lifetime Movie Moment save. It's joyous and I celebrate his goodness with everyone else, but God is good when he doesn't step in, just as he is when he does. God's love is no less when he elects to allow our suffering than when he elects to lift us out of it.

I need to remember this. My faith is useless unless it can deal with the bad things. It is useless to me and useless to others.

When Uncle Robb was dying of pancreatic cancer, he had been suffering for a long time, but really doing much better than I expected. I visited him one day in one of those moments where I just knew I was supposed to go right then. Things were falling apart. It was a cold snap and the window guys were there replacing the old, drafty windows. He seemed rattled. We were standing in his kitchen. The power snapped off in half of his house (I still don't understand this one) and it was the half with the furnace. At that moment, he crumpled. I don't know how I saw it, because his outward posture didn't change, but I saw it anyway. He said, "I've lost hope." I knew what he meant, and for a change I had the right words.

I reached out and wrapped my arms around him, after all, I knew he was dying from the moment I heard his diagnosis. Don't ask me how, but I felt that this time God wasn't stepping in. And there were signs along the way that told me to prepare for his death. Anyway, with my arms around him, I smiled and said, "You haven't lost hope. You've only lost hope for healing in this world. You still have every hope for healing in the next." Robb died fairly peacefully. He was in hospice around two weeks, and in that time was cheerful and sweet and unfailingly appreciative of everything people did to care for him. He was precious.

I miss him and may never stop missing him. I cannot explain his suffering away. I will not try to. I accept that this was an awful thing. Horrible. Terrible. Many things in life are. I have two friends my age and younger who are suffering from cancer. My neighbor back home is just finishing up her final round of chemo from this bout of cancer (it's her second.) Alyssa went home to be with the Lord a short time ago, and God has allowed us to lose our house. I cannot explain these things. I cannot explain away or put a happy face on the suffering that my friends are going through.

What I cling to and come back to is that God says he loves us. He says he is good. If I believe anything it is that he is who he says he is and that my understanding of that does not change it. If I need evidence, the cross should be all the evidence I need, but I am weak and sometimes (okay, usually) require more. God being God, there is no shortage of evidence of his might, his power, his glory and his love.

When I get messed up is when I expect God to step in and stop people from doing terrible things to each other. I get messed up when I assume that we are supposed to live a financially successful, disease-free and trouble-free life, or that because God can do something means that he is required to do it--for me.

Let me never try to encourage someone by telling them that God will rescue them. From experience I know that God can and sometimes does rescue us. From experience I also know that sometimes he does not. May I never tell someone that they just need to believe, as if their faith is the issue, not God's will. When I give false promises, when I tell people that, I am stealing the faith and hope that is real. I deny the truth of scripture.

I hear such nonsense and I want to spit. Ptuey! I was once told that our car breaking down was not "the abundant life that God promised" and that if I had faith it would not happen. "Don't you believe God loves you?" the prayer line lady asked. I thought of Stephen at that moment. I mean gimme a break. Was Stephen stoned because of a lack of faith? Was it because God did not love him enough? Was Jesus crucified because he wasn't grasping hold of the abundant life? Or is that faith sad and weak and useless for the reality of life?

Your life and my life will have trials. God may miraculously carry you out of yours. Excellent! God may not. Praise him anyway. He is worthy of praise, not just because of what he does for us day by day, but because of who he is! God may part the Red Sea, or dry the river Jordan, or he may hold us in the midst of the flood. He may rescue us or walk with us through the valley of the shadow of death. He may heal or he may not. Nevertheless, not my will, but his. It was good enough for Jesus.

2009-12-04T08:40:00.002-07:00

Haven't posted much lately. My fault, she says, stating the obvious. I am in a funk. In limbo. I have no right to be there. God is on the throne, I am warm and filled, had one of the best Thanksgivings I can remember. At least on par with Thanksgivings with the Mattice's and our friends from CCR. Have been helping at church, and am heading out to work some more in a couple of minutes, but the truth is--really, and just between you and me, that though I have more time on my hands now than I have had in a while I do not spend enough time in the word. I have a feeling that this is what is behind my general malaise and dissatisfaction. I am not feasting on God.

Granted, I have not filled my new eyeglass prescription and that makes reading smaller print difficult, so I haven't been reading a lot of anything recently which is totally unlike me, but still...

Lone Surfer

2009-11-20T10:23:00.003-07:00

I have a friend who is back in school and it is safe to say that she is in her late 40's. This is not the common thing amongst the people she knows. Neither her church nor her family, I would expect, provides a lot of support. As I was looking through my photos today this one struck me. A lot of times when I watch surfers it is a group of them, egging each other on to do better and laughing when one biffs it. This guy is out in less than ideal surf weather. It was a stormy day. It didn't rain where we were, but it was cool and blowing. Most people stayed away. But this guy, and a few brave or crazy others, went out in the colder temps and caught some more spectacular waves.

As I looked at this photo, I wanted to tell my friend, "See? This is what you are doing! You are out surfing alone catching the big wave. Is it risky? Is it lonely? You bet. But look at you go!"

I want to be that brave surfer, the one who goes where safety is not guaranteed, who faces the wind and cold and seeks after the God who has revealed himself in the narrow paths, in the dark valleys, in the choppy seas. Does he reveal himself in the huge stadiums with the pretty preacher with his big grin and self-help doctrine? Does he reveal himself in safety? Or does he show himself when we are tested and challenged, when struggle and trials of all descriptions come?

Sometimes that means we have to leave even the safety of our friends, to seek deeper, to find more, to delve into scripture in ways that few dare to go. Does this make us freaks? Likely. How about radical obedience? How about radical understanding of grace which allows for things like the loss of home, loss of friends, loss of life. How about walking the path He sets which seems to be so foreign to our understanding. How often when he tells me to do something do I ask, really? Puzzling. I cannot see the way through. But I want that radical faith.

I just wish that sometimes it were safer, warmer, more gentle and more socially acceptable.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

2009-11-19T19:34:00.003-07:00

Got a call about a job today. NOT! I had a feeling when the guy started talking a mile a minute he was talking about an outside sales position and when I asked him a question to ascertain what the position was he hung up on me. So...AFLAC is not going to be my new employer. Several of them have called or emailed me since I put my updated resume on one of the national job boards. They are "so excited" about my qualifications and experience. I think they are excited that I can fog a mirror and can apparently write a coherent sentence.

Is this it? Are these the available jobs now? Outside sales positions? I called the census bureau about their upcoming jobs and they are supposed to contact me about upcoming testing for census takers. I was trying for administrative jobs and am still hopeful. Ah well.

Hooray. I did not spend any money today. Oh wait, I bought Steve his lunch stuff at the grocery store. Forgot my foo-foo coffee creamer though. Bummer! I avoided the 1)mall, 2)thrift stores, 3)second-hand furniture stores, 4)Starbucks(!) and 5)book stores. All in all an amazing day when you look at it that way.

Also I colored my hair last night with one of those two part kind where you do an all-over color first and then add the highlights. I'm allergic to the first part so I did my usual--two Claritin and two Benadryl. I was so sleepy after the Benadryl hit that I didn't do the highlight part. At the moment my hair looks similar to my natural shade. I think. It was supposed to be a medium blond. I think I'm gonna have to go ahead and do the highlights because after I wash it a few times it will lighten up considerably. At least this time it isn't orange-y.

Ah more rambling. Well, tomorrow is another day. I wonder what I shall do with it.

It's a Good (will) Thing

2009-11-18T13:52:00.002-07:00

Finally feeling a bit better and a bit stir crazy, so I took a drive to Bel Air, some 16 miles northeast of here. I was on a brief road trip recently when I decided to stop in at the roadside Goodwill Superstore. Now, I take exception to the term "superstore" in relation to the local Goodwill store. It is most definitely not "super". It's small, has crappy selection, is over-priced (like most everything else here in Maryland) and smells funny.

The Goodwill in Bel Air is bigger, has a lot more furniture (and since we got rid of most of ours before moving, I am definitely on the lookout), more decent clothing, a better selection of linens and shoes. Now if you know me and my aversion to used shoes, you will know that this is a growth area for me.

Today I found a pair of barely worn Clarks for $8. And they're green!

Also, the beautiful lined trenchcoat I saw last time was still there. $20 for a really expensive trenchcoat! And since it rains so much here that seems like a very useful item to have.

The best item of today's visit is a set of KitchenAid pots and pans (red!) for $28. These are the very one's I have looked at for ages in the department store but could not bring myself to shell out the cash.

There were some other awesome buys, but I let them pass. A pair of beautiful blackout lined coppery brown curtains with a beautifully stitched diamond pattern for $25. With each panel costing about $80-120 retail, this is a STEAL. But I'll have to let someone else steal it :(

I'm considering purchasing, and revitalizing furnishings for resale on Craigslist. I think I could do it as long as I'm careful to select items that don't require heavy-duty refinishing and as long as the place we move to has easy access.

Living on the third floor (no elevator) makes this impractical right now.

I am looking forward to moving soon. We haven't figured out where just yet, but are still hoping to get into Virginia. Steve found a reasonable rental price then asked me if 450 square feet was enough room. Ummmm. No. I think not. Of course once I am locked up in the local psych ward for treatment of my severe claustrophobia, I'm sure Steve would be quite comfortable.

Some interesting news today...Steve may be under consideration for long-term work overseas! Possibly in Germany. He asked me what I thought and I said, when do we leave? Are you kidding me? How incredibly awesome is that?

I wonder if I can do online school from out of the country? I'm sure I can, don't the military guys do that when they are posted out of the country?

Polish Pottery & Polish Pottery Stoneware - Handcrafted Dinnerware from Boleslawiec, Poland.

2009-11-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

Polish Pottery & Polish Pottery Stoneware - Handcrafted Dinnerware from Boleslawiec, Poland.

Love it. Love it. Love it. Super expensive, but Artisan Imports often has great sales. Do a google search for polish pottery sale.

On Bankruptcy

2009-11-03T10:25:00.003-07:00

I have been hesitant to write on this subject, because to do so opens me up to criticism and because it is a personal decision that people seem to feel the right to require your justification. Also it was so incredibly painful that I really didn't want my open wounds to show. But probably the biggest reason is that in my family no one talked about money. Money was even more private than sex. We were warned that you didn't talk about it, you didn't ask questions, that the entire subject was off-limits. It was considered rude. As a result I was so spectacularly uneducated about money (terribly frugal, but uneducated) that when my husband was making $24,000/year with two little kids and me as a stay-at-home mom, I couldn't understand why we were struggling financially. After all, $24,000 is a lot of money, right?

I was reading a financial blog that I subscribe to and the author made a comment about bankruptcy and the people who file it. He commented that he thought it should be both harder to file and have harsher consequences. As someone who used to feel this way myself, I felt I must respond, which I did in a private email to the author.

Harsher penalties for bankruptcy? So spectacular business failure, enormous shame, losing one's home and often one's health, etc. isn't enough?

There comes a point at which bankruptcy is the only thing that keeps a person from driving off of a bridge.

Predatory and harassing collection practices that have some creditors call up to 50 times a day can increase the stress level of the one in debt to the breaking point.

If you think bankruptcy is a free pass, think again. One of the reasons people get into debt and cannot get out is that the inability to pay a series of bills, say medical bills, reduces your credit score. Everything you do costs more after that. Insurance costs more, the used car you buy to get to work costs more, and if you tap into the equity you've built up in your home for years to pay off these mounting bills, now your house costs more.

If you think bankruptcy is a free pass, think of the financial pain that still continues. And yes, there are some people who seem to have figured out how to play the system, but for most it is an option only slightly favorable to death.

I talked to a bankruptcy attorney that I know about this very thing. This is one of those attorneys that is such a decent upstanding guy that I couldn't figure out why he had specialized in bankruptcy. He told me that most people who come to him waited far too long, trying to work things out on their own. Often by the time they come to him their health has suffered dramatically and they have endured absolute hell trying to make things right. For some, bankruptcy's primary function isn't debt relief, it is to stop the calls and to alleviate some of the stress that is so destructive.

I know a guy working three jobs. His wife, though suffering from debilitating health problems, nonetheless works full-time. They cannot make ends meet. It isn't that they've been foolish, it's that what was a profitable industry has turned on him, and the jobs he has been able to find in no way replace the income he was once able to count on.

After years of this, they are drowning, yet still he works three jobs, keeps looking for better and works harder than most anyone I know, but it is to no avail. Walking into their home is a sad thing now. They have sold off nearly everything they own to keep the lights on and food on the table (which, so far, they have been able to keep), but they cannot keep the wolves at bay. They have had their house on the market for a long time, given up their cars and now drive the beat-up cars that friends have given to them, trying to keep them running to get back and forth to work. Bankruptcy isn't an easy answer for these people, but it may be the only thing that keeps them out of the Red Cross Shelter.

There are many who seem to be unaffected by the difficulties of these times. I'm happy for them, but our compassion for those that are pushing a huge boulder up a hill only to have it roll back on top of them over and over again can be lacking.

Between the two of us, over the last 2 years my husband and I have both been unemployed, me for 11 months now, and my husband was unemployed for 8 months. He earns twice what I earned, so his was by far the most devastating, but we had no contingency for this moment. All our emergency savings are gone. Even when my husband found work it was out of state and so we were trying to support two households. Think its easy to sell in this market? How about when you are caring for elderly parents in your home?

We are not alone in this situation. And we weren't out buying toys and gadgets, nor were we spending frivolously, unless you consider food and utilities frivolous and unnecessary.

Unfortunately, bankruptcy is seen this way by most people. It is seen as benefiting the undisciplined masses who don't work hard, buy too many toys and are just trying to take advantage of the situation.

Perhaps some would like to bring back slavery as an option or perhaps would like to see the poor farms reopened. One of the horrors of my childhood was driving past the "poor farm" where indebted people and their families were forced to farm huge plots of land and live in this dark, dingy depressing hulk of a building as they atoned for the crime of being poor. Even years after it closed it still maintained its air of abject misery.

Predatory lending practices abound, and it is perfectly legal to take advantage of the poor. Payday loan places are an example of this. The poor do not have access to a friendly banker who will assist them with a short-term loan to fix that transmission, nor do they have access to a vast emergency fund to cover the expenses of unexpected illness, broken down vehicle, etc. When they turn to the payday loan places (because they must have the medication, they must fix their car to get to work, or the have run out of groceries) they are charged 600% interest or more. Of course I add into this figure the so-called fees, which are charged every two weeks.

So a person taking out a loan for two weeks (the maximum time allotted) will pay $60 for a $300 loan. On his/her next payday, it is unlikely that they can spare the $360 to pay off the debt in it's entirety, so they will continue the loan by paying the $60. Another $60 will come due in 2 weeks, and so on and so on. What was a one-time emergency has now become a $120/month drain on income. Add to this the premium this person is paying for deposits on everything, this person is trying to run uphill in the mud.

Try complaining to your congressman about this predatory lending practice. Or your senator. Write to those on the banking committee. You will receive a polite response that these businesses provide a valuable service to the poor.

No. Just like everyone else, these businesses prey on the poor, taking advantage of their poverty and adverse circumstances to make a buck.

And yes, the middle class also has their share of financial woes which lead to bankruptcies. For all your great planning, no one can be fully prepared for every emergency and catastrophe. Illness, a wayward child, natural disasters, unemployment...these things can cripple you and hit you over and over, or coming all at once are a tidal wave that sweeps you under, despite all your planning and saving.

It isn't an easy way out. It isn't a character defect. In fact as a fellow person of faith, I challenge you to read the portions of Deuteronomy that talk about the year of release (KJV). This is what changed my mind about the stigma of bankruptcy. God never intended for a person to be in perpetual debt, in perpetual poverty. Every seven years all debt was to be wiped away. And God never intended for people to lose their homes. He granted lands to his people. It wasn't owned by another or taxed by government (and thus only yours if you can pay the taxes). It belonged to you and to your family forever.

Reading on, puzzling over and meditating on these things has changed my perspective on God's view of debt, poverty, foreclosures, and bankruptcies.

When our business failed, we were in it so deep with receivables that we could not collect, from deep-pocketed contractors whose job in life seemed to be to avoid paying their legitimate debts, deep into it with a contractor who stopped payment after accepting our bid and signing a contract simply because they found someone else who would do the work more cheaply...We had suppliers who over-billed, double-billed and then went around us so that our contractors paid their inflated bills before paying us. We were too small to fight them all. The legal bills would have bankrupted us as quickly as what they did to us.

Did we make mistakes? Certainly. The biggest was in thinking that doing our job, doing it well, professionally and with excellence was enough. It was not. We were also supposed to be legal experts, contract enforcement experts, and have voluminous resources at our disposal to pay for their projects then fight it out in court.

When it got so bad that I couldn't eat, hadn't eaten in over 30 days without throwing up, had lost over 20 pounds in less than a month, when I could not even answer the phone any more...we started to face the music. This was not a win-able war we were fighting. Our accountant had been telling us that we needed to file for bankruptcy for a while, but we kept fighting on, trying to pay down our debts and beat this through sheer determination and hard work.

We hadn't been paid in two years. The end was in sight, the corner being turned when at the worst possible moment, a contract was pulled after having been signed and paid for, the check canceled just moments after being deposited, and our supplier began double-charging us, not crediting us the refunds we were due, and generally making our lives hell.

Was bankruptcy an easy choice? No. It was horrible. It is humiliating, shameful, and rocked me to the core of my being. I have never felt like a worse person. Suicide is not an option for me. I don't believe in it, and I would not want my kids to have to clean up our financial mess, but what it came down to is this--with my income (I quit the business and found a decent job) I could not pay down off our debts and survive (!) in less than 20 years. As it turns out, I only had that job for one year (long enough for the bankruptcy to go through) before our entire branch closed.

I'm not whining. Just explaining that I don't know how I would have survived it except for the surprising comfort I found in Deuteronomy. Reading that it was not God's intention that his people be in perpetual debt but that he created a safety valve--a release from debt--made me able to once again lift my head.

We aren't on easy street. In spite of the bankruptcy, we are losing our house. Our finances were predicated on being able to keep our jobs at least long enough to fully replenish our emergency funds. Both our industries are in the dumpster right now. We have sold off most of our belongings and I am currently sitting in an apartment far from home, with someone's cast off couch, a cardboard box as an end table, a single lamp I was able to cart across country. We have no credit card debt, and are keeping up with the medical bills--barely.

I'm not complaining. Really. I just think that perhaps you don't know the toll a bankruptcy has on you. It's horrific.

Pop Quiz

2009-09-30T19:47:00.003-06:00

Tonight I remedied one of the deficits of this apartment. Nothing but cardboard boxes and an upturned 5 gallon bucket for end tables. This great buy found on Craigslist turned into a pop quiz on contentment as my eyes were enticed by the beautiful upscale condominium and extraordinary furnishings.

The woman was very nice and had the kind of self-confidence that comes from being thin, beautiful, successful and well-off. I felt incredibly frumpy, poor and unattractive next to her. All of my flaws were on display, not just to her, but even more to me. I left there ashamed of my hair, my clothes, my vehicle, my home, and my life. I fought with myself half the way home, knowing that my dissatisfaction is nothing other than sin and a lack of gratitude for what God has provided and resentment that he doesn't provide for me as he has this woman.

I had to repent. Oh how wicked and tricky my heart is. Just when I think I'm fine, when I have been reminded of the important things in life, like the life and health of my children, my great friends, my salvation, my Lord, I am blindsided with a test that nearly fells me. Just when I think my eyes are on Christ, I look down at the waves, at my leaky boat, and I so quickly fall.

SeanSean plotted a course for me there that took me through town rather than on the Interstate as I would have preferred. Not knowing how to get around downtown, I sighed and followed his lead through some rather dicey areas, run down, beat up, boarded up, depressed areas that were, if not scary, a bit unnerving.

Strange how my thoughts did not thank God for providing so well for me that I did not live in these places where shots ring out almost nightly and bars on the windows still don't make you feel safe and secure. I was not thanking God for my blessings, rather irritated that others had it so well. Not my proudest moment.

So on my trip back home from that luxury condo, I prayed, asking forgiveness from the God who gives that liberally, and I thanked him for many of the things I am grateful for. And I thanked him that this lovely woman wanted to sell her beautiful ottoman on Craigslist rather than moving it with her. Would I ever pay retail for it? Not likely. I'm too frugal for that.

No Constants on My Horizon But God

2009-09-18T07:09:00.004-06:00

I recently wrote the following to a friend in response to their newsletter. It states things perhaps as clearly as I have communicated them so I thought I would share it here. It is the beginnings, I think for an article or message on dealing with the struggles of this time--our troubled economy, joblessness, foreclosures, bankruptcies, and fears of all descriptions.

I especially resonated with the last note from you. Lately I have been feeling the same way. Everything in life is changing and I feel I understand the Israelites in their desert wandering and complaining more and more. The impermanence of their existence, never having a clue what tomorrow brings, is a state which seems similar to your path and to mine.

For a long time I rather envied that they had the cloud as a visible reminder of God's presence and direction, but I have started thinking how much better off we are. They could not hear their God, he spoke to them through intermediaries. Sure they saw a representation of his presence all the time, but they did not know him on a personal level. So we are able to hear from God personally, and while it seems that some have a stable even-keeled life, we are not those people. We do not have that. In fact I can think of few people in Scripture who, in following after God and being called by him, had that stable life.

It seems to me, and I'm no theologian, that God takes his people--the one's I call God's Guys and God's Gals, and the paths he sets them on are defined by requiring dependence on Him and Him alone.

One further word...the speaker on Sunday said something I had never thought of before. He was talking about our misplaced devotion to stuff, and talked about Paul learning to be content in whatever state he is in, whether in poverty or in want. He pointed out that Paul LEARNED this. I take comfort in that. It appears that I am in the School of Contentment--I think I've reached college, but the finals are awful. It's the practicums that are messing with my GPA if you know what I mean. It isn't necessarily finances that we have to deal with in the area of contentment, though that is part of it, for me it is that wandering feeling, when there are no constants on my horizon but God.

The walks of God's Guys and God's Gals are the stuff of legend. They make great epic tales. Epic tales are hard to live through, however. You all are in an epic tale of your own. "We went to start a school in Thailand..." may be the first sentence of your narrative, much like "I had a farm in Africa..." (Out of Africa) and mine may be "Whatever it takes." I prayed... And thus our stories begin in seemingly simple ways, but the telling of them involves much chaos and suffering and sorrow, but then the tales of God's Guys and Gals have always been this way. I take comfort in that.

May you breeze through your school of contentment more easily than I with no repeat classes.

Battle

2009-09-16T07:07:00.004-06:00

I have no time for tears,
but tears have time for me.
No patience for depression
but depression waits for me.
Desolation fights with consolation
hope with fear embattled
How fearsome are the battles,
But Trust and Faith prevail
Doubt and Fear to Faith must yield
And Joy defeat despair.
Is it a wonder I fall to bed
as if from labor taking flight?
For I do little each and every day
but fight this inward fight.

A Word From Moses

2009-09-14T13:47:00.002-06:00

I will proclaim the name of the LORD. Oh, praise the greatness of our God! He is the Rock. his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is he. Deuteronomy 32: 3-4 (NIV)

Words from Afar

2009-09-11T22:09:00.002-06:00

Thanks to my friends who reminded me today that God has not changed. God is a good God, by definition. His character is good. Do we then understand what happens? Should I agonize over the sad and painful things in life, the things that don't make sense? No. I need to cling to the cross. It is my proof of the goodness of God. When all looks false, dim, dull, and dark, the cross is my evidence of things hoped for. It is the evidence of things not seen.

The tradition I grew up in denied the importance of the cross, forbidding the cross displayed in the sanctuary. The empty grave, they said, that is what matters. That is what we focus on. I hope I am not mis-stating their position. They taught the cross, yet it was the empty tomb that they saw as all important. Yes the resurrection is important, but how many times is the cross mentioned? The cross is mentioned several times, and Paul mentioned the preaching of the cross, as he did the resurrection. You don't have one without the other. The preaching of the cross is foolishness to those who don't believe, but it is the power of God to those who believe.

I wonder...is the resurrection the evidence that the cross was sufficient?

The cross is evidence of the love of Christ. It is evidence of the plan of God to reconcile his children--me--to himself. It is the substance of my hope. I can't grasp the overwhelming wonder and goodness of this news. One of these days, hopefully soon, I want to grasp this enough to not be so thrown by the woundings of others, by circumstances, by tragedies, by fear.

Thank you to my friends for the needed reminder. Although I wouldn't say my faith has been shaken, I have been discouraged by circumstances. I have wondered, despite my trust, if God was going to allow some very bad things to happen, and if I was going to have to somehow assess the unthinkable as good.

I cannot understand this God. He can be known and yet is unknowable. We can understand things, yet not understand all. He is the ultimate mystery. His ways are beyond knowing. Some people with greater faith or minds less inclined to struggle through things do not have the great trials of faith that I have. Ultimately I believe certain things are true, but I have times when I really struggle to try to fit the pieces of who God is, how he has described himself and his ways together. Some of the pieces are incomprehensible to me, but that doesn't stop me from trying to grasp them.

I don't get shaken in the same way anymore, but I go through periods of grief, struggling to deal with or understand trials. Perhaps it is because I simply don't have a real grasp on the truth of the cross and of the resurrection.

Rainy Day

2009-09-11T06:22:00.002-06:00

The world sounds wet today
Soggy, foggy, boggy
Dripping, slipping
Sun is somewhere far away

I am somewhere far away
In Maine, in a plane, on a train
Laughing, playing
Words are showing me the way

After Home

2009-09-08T18:57:00.004-06:00

I did not know when I left
that it was the last
I thought I was saying see you later
not, Goodbye, so long, farewell.
I am broken up. Defenseless
against the onslaught of
wounded dreams
broken hopes.
Like my breath is gone
caught short
unexpectedly
a hit from behind
and I'm flat on my face
with my nose in the dirt
figuratively speaking
but numb, out of sorts
adrift

Open Bible Church

2009-08-23T21:33:00.003-06:00

Today I punched in the address of another church into my GPS unit, SeanSean, this time on the far side of Baltimore. Down 95, the roadside looks like a forest exploding. Then heading further toward the harbor, the forest is gone, replaced by concrete, bricks and asphalt, the concrete crumbling and the metal girders on the overpasses bubbled and wasting from moisture. The humid summers and the wet, frigid winters are rough on much of the materials of building. The bricks and rock hold up well, but the other materials of modern life buckle, crack, rust and crumble, so that the area I'm driving through looks run-down and neglected. On my GPS unit, the roads in that area are a tangle that I cannot make sense of, this highway, that exit, the beltway, the tunnel roads, a glance at the screen and it appears that I'm driving on a single strand of a cable, whose wires twist and turn and head off in all directions.

Hurtling down the road at 62 miles an hour (the speed limit is 55), traffic passes me in all lanes, the grills of big ominous looking cars bearing down in my rear view mirror before suddenly veering off to go around me. Through the long Harbor Tunnel, whose entrance always takes me by surprise as I expect to see the harbor before entry, and then back into sunlight again. The huge cranes are off to my right, indicating the docks where huge ocean-going ships unload their cargo. I can't see the docks, or the ships that should be docked there, but there is in me a longing for all of that. The industry of it all is appealing, and in a strangely working-class way is romantic. Perhaps it is the size of it all. The shipping containers are huge, the cranes are enormous, the ships are giant, and yet are dwarfed by the sea.

This is an industrial area, but I am through it in a flash, and the flat ground seems even flatter. Green and brown flashes of water, rivers of one name or another, with no visible shore, then a wide reed swamp stretching on both sides of the motorway, and before long SeanSean indicates that it is time to leave and a turn here, a turn there and SeanSean tells me I have reached my destination and it is time to “Sing for Scotland.” I look around trying to find a building that might house the church. I am stumped, but decide to drive around to the back of some of the small buildings. A small sign indicates that I have arrived.

It is a lovely old building, with beautiful wide-plank wood floors and nice moldings. Although it's age shows, it has been maintained well, so it is aging gracefully. The church meets in a small room, that perhaps seats 60 or 70 people at best. Pretty white folding chairs and lovely window treatments that are reminiscent of Ralph Lauren Home.

Upon walking in I am immediately greeted. I turn and Sean is there. He seems like a very nice man, but I can't reconcile my memory of the gawky, nerdy teenager with this nice, confident grown man. I would never have recognized him at all.

I don't think there is more than one or two people in the entire church who do not introduce themselves to me in the course of the morning. There are a few incongruities. On the table in the entry is a computer system where people log in their attendance as they arrive, and there is a nice sound system, and a table of sound equipment, though the church seems to have only about 30 people in attendance.

The pastor is, apparently, a counselor of some kind for his primary profession, as his sermon is laced with statements about counseling people and references to his practice. He is also evangelical about home-schooling and his sermon on Ephesians 6, “children obey your parents in the Lord”, “honor your parents” and “Father's do not exasperate your children” is filled with exhortations to home school, for mothers to be stay-at-home moms, and for the Fathers to be in command at home. He speaks of honoring parents as “extolling their virtues” as well as caring for them financially.

All in all it is a strange and difficult place. Everyone is so friendly, something my heart has longed for, but then the sermon is so rigid and goes over the line as far as scripture goes. Scripture doesn't teach home schooling. It doesn't even command women not to work. But this is not the first pastor to speak as if it does.

Bill Gothard makes these kind of sweeping statements and thus goes from someone to whom I could listen to someone I completely tune out. We have to be very clear when teaching or preaching that we don't make our ideas out to be “thus saith the Lord” kind of statements. I may think it is a good idea to wash the dishes after each meal, but it isn't a “Thus saith the Lord” command, so I shouldn't make it one.

Bringing up a child in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord” does not proscribe home schooling or private schooling. I'm not sure I understand where honoring your parents becomes “extolling their virtues”.

But maybe he was talking about his preferences, rather than a scriptural mandate, and I just missed it.

Sean's wife, Jan, rode with me to help me find the Quiznos where we all had lunch. She's a very nice friendly, talkative woman who I like immediately. Sean has four very nice, well-behaved kids who seem to get along. The oldest is heading off to college in a couple of weeks, and the family is both proud and sad. Jan knows another old friend of mine from her college days, so that is another connection.

I'm invited back next week, and I'm torn. The good points: everyone was very friendly, and I enjoyed spending time with Sean and his family. They did preach from scripture, apparently going chapter by chapter, not topically as seems to be the standard for a lot of churches today. The bad points: it's a long drive, and the rabid home-schooling thing. I've got nothing against home-schooling, but it is A way to raise and teach your children, not THE way. I wonder if that is a common theme.

Absolutely overcome by heat while taking the dog out. Is it the heat and humidity or is it hot flashes? I feel and look ill as I wrap an ice filled towel around my neck, trying to get comfortable. Seems to take forever to cool down. Even the dog seems affected. She can't stop panting until given a cold bath.

The damp has my joints aching like crazy. I am forced to take massive doses of ibuprofen to keep moving, which has my stomach on fire. I wonder what the solution is. Lord, please heal me or get me somewhere with a drier climate.

Passing Things

2009-08-13T07:15:00.003-06:00

"By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo; the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end... because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was, when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer." Sam to Frodo, "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers"

I thought of that quote as we left Colorado. It wasn't a sudden shock to the sytem, more like a thousand little losses, one after the other. First it was leaving my own bed and my own room, that Steve and the boys had hand plastered for me while I was having my sinus surgery. Then it was leaving my bathroom with the tiles we picked out so carefully and each cabinet, finish and fixture we had spent so much time selecting. Through the house, I said my mental goodbyes. I said my goodbyes to Alex (who was in Tennessee at the time) to Kristen, Paul and Timmy, who were away for the night, to my parents, Dad still sleeping, Mom in her robe, to my yellow lab, left behind to keep Mom company, then it was to my yard, each plant selected and placed by me, except for the glorious trees which were there when we bought the place, and some weeds which moved in on their own.

Then we were off and I said goodbye to my street, my neighbors safe in their beds, to my neighborhood, and at each turn it seemed there was a goodbye to be said in my heart. It was a goodbye to the familiar, to the restaurants where I eat with friends, to the stores where I purchase plants for my yard, or buy my favorite white blouses, to a thousand memories all tugging gently at the corners of my mind.

It was goodbye to my mountain, etc., etc. On and on and on it went. It wasn't until we pulled out of Limon that I really felt that we were on our way toward something and not just away. Beyond Limon, even though I've driven the road before, it isn't familiar enough to hold tons of memories.

And then I felt adrift. Not comfortably adrift, just strangely without connection to my surroundings and to my life. I am not comfortable anymore. And more than ever, Tolkein rings true. I have a mixed longing for and abhorrence of adventure. Nasty, wet, smelly things, adventures. A safe and somewhat scary dart out into the unfamiliar while knowing the time frame for hitting the familiar again? FUN. Scary dart into the wide unknown with no plan or timetable for safe return? Far more scary than fun.

As I sit here, gazing at these bare walls, thinking of the art, pictures and mementos left behind, I am wondering what I should make of myself here. And I'm thinking that I never made much of myself before. It's not a whining, self-pitying statement, more a realization of fact. I've lived a small life. I've never lived the life I wanted. I always tried to fit into the place others would have me, and when I dared to try to leave that spot, got slapped down for it. I don't think it was intentional, just what happens if you don't fit the mold. And I've given up far too easily.

How then shall I live? What now shall I do?

8/8/09 Steve's Birthday

2009-08-08T12:57:00.002-06:00

Sitting at MVA...on a Saturday.

Walking in, there was an older woman walking out with a dull-looking teen in a backward-facing ball cap, horizontal striped polo shirt and long, loose denim shorts.

"She can't find it, because she never keeps her papers in order." Her thin wrinkled face wore a grim expression, and her husky voice and Baltimore accent reminds me of my mother-in-law.

We wind up sitting in the second row. Within a couple of minutes the grim woman and the dull-looking teen join a woman sitting in front of us, who appears to be the teen's mother. Apparently Maryland requires multiple evidences of your identity before allowing you the privilege of a drivers license, and the two women are griping back and forth about the papers required and what it will take to meet those requirements and not have to return. Or rather the older woman snips and gripes and the younger one occasionally defends herself or tries to get a word in edgewise.

Their discontent and animosity toward each other is making me ill.

From the lines on the older woman's face, it's obvious that she has spent much of her life unhappy and upset. The younger woman keeps her face turned away from her most of the time, and from their manner toward each other it is clear that this is just a new chapter in an old quarrel.

I can't figure out who these people are to each other. This could be mother-in-law/daughter-in-law or mother/daughter. I don't know which thought makes me sadder. Just having both these women tied to each other in some way is sad enough. It appears that they all live together, as grandma leaves briefly and returns with a copy of her lease to prove the address of the boy.

As I watch them the reason for the boy's expression becomes clear. Remaining disengaged is his way of surviving this constant state of misery. Living in his own world is his way or avoiding his grandmother's wrath and caustic words. It makes me sad to watch what is part of a continuing drama. Even though the players seem accustomed to their parts and their reactions dulled, there is a sad and pained expression on the face of the mother. Her eyes carry a sheen of unshed tears and her face is beginning to set in lines of pain and disappointment.

Watching them I want to reach in with my Jedi mind trick: "You aren't angry at her any more." I whisper toward the old woman, waggling my fingers toward her. "She doesn't bother you," I am at the younger woman. They are not receptive to Jedi mind control.

Then their number is called and they head to the counter, taking their oppressive and depressing mood with them.

New Point of View

2009-08-07T08:54:00.003-06:00

The whole trip here to Maryland I had a nagging sense of wrong-ness, that I couldn't put my finger on for quite a while. Then it occurred to me that it was the bit about heading East. "Go West, young man, and grow up with the country." the quote goes. Throughout American history, we struggled to go westward. West from England across the Atlantic, before that West by Northwest, braving Arctic seas from Norway to Greenland and down the Atlantic seaboard, my people came. And while some reached the Atlantic coast and stayed, those compelled to brave the new frontier headed west.

So facing a new adventure, it seems odd to head East. Stranger still to have this adventure land me somewhere that I have already been, but still feels so unfamiliar.

This is the only place I have ever been where I felt lost. Completely lost. I don't know where North is. I don't know where my position is on the planet at any given time. My internal compass is whirling as if placed on top of a strong magnet.

I have no one to go meet for a cup of coffee. No one I can drop in on when I feel the need for a hug or a kind word. My Monday nights are free for football once again, but I do not want them to be free.

So the Israelites longed for Egypt. They forgot, perhaps of making bricks without straw, forgot their cries to God to be released from their bonds of slavery, but instead remembered the familiar. They remembered planting leeks and onions. They remembered where they had gathered their herbs, threshed their grain, gathered with friends for supper, and where they had met to worship their God.

They did not know where they were going. They did not know where they were, just as I have no idea what I am doing here or where I am. They only knew that they followed the cloud.

My illusions of safety are being stripped away. My illusions of comfort in my surroundings are being swept away. I am walking through the desert (metaphorically speaking, of course) and get to drag my friends along only through facebook, email or phone calls, imperfect mediums all.

I have taken my eyes from my Creator for a time and in that time become discontent. I have no cloud visible outside my window telling me that today I stay or today I go, but imagine this...the cloud is ALL you have of God. He speaks, but it is to others who relay His words. Instead, we get to hear from God directly. We have His Spirit living within. I have sometimes envied the Israelites that cloud--that visible reminder of God's presence, never thinking that the cloud was a reminder of God's presence because they could not know Him as you and I can know Him. That indwelling of the Holy Spirit, the communion between God and man is a thing I take for granted and far too lightly, I fear.

I do not know what tomorrow holds. But for today, and this moment, there is a critter or critters in the tree outside my balcony--squirrels perhaps--that are jiggling the leaves and making the branches dance. There is a gentle breeze stirring the top of the pool just across the fence, there is a constant chattering or clicking noise that I think may be insects of some kind, and the forest is barely held back by the encroachments of mankind. The dog is laying peacefully at my feet, and I am once again content. Homesick, but content.

The Road Ahead...

2009-07-26T22:28:00.002-06:00

Looking forward. Isn't that what we're supposed to do? Looking to those things that are ahead, I press forward, forgetting those things that are behind. I'm not sure that means I actually forget what is behind. I'll have to look into that. More likely I am to press forward. I don't think we forget people and what they mean to us, but we cannot let that be an anchor that keeps us from moving forward. We take them with us in our hearts (and on our facebook pages) as we move into where we are to be next. We look at the goals ahead, don't keep longing for Egypt. It's easier said than done, my friends.

We are all prone to be longing for the leeks and onions of Egypt that seem so secure. We forget the trials sometimes as we look back and remember the past. When the present has it's own pains and difficulties, we are wanting easier times somewhere, even if it is moving backwards. The future is such a scary thing, full of the unknown. When I take my eyes off God, the future is completely frightening. If I forget his loving hands are holding me, I lose heart.

Each day has it's own fears and worries, trials and disappointments. We NEED to keep our eyes on God. We must. I must! I am faint of heart, weak and tired. I must have the courage, strength and refreshment and energy that God provides. I must relax and let him work through me. I cannot do it on my own.

Today was yet another example. I cannot sing. I cannot control my voice or keep it on pitch, control my tone, or even my breath. Pneumonia has stolen this from me. Yet today, as in the past, I was confident that I could sing, confident that God would provide what was needed. And he did. The songs were all so meaningful to me, all about how we can count on God, how he is our source of strength, that we should bless the Lord at all times, good and bad, his name is to be praised, how he saves us and gives us the ability to stand and that we can surrender to his goodness. Oh, how beautiful it was to sing with my beloved worship team, to my Savior and to share that time with my loved ones at CCR. Kelly, Alyssa, Becky, Jim, Donna, Lisa, Kim, Beth, Nicole, Charlotte, Sandra, Bob, Tim, Russ, Bernie, Markus, Denny, Lori, Ron, Anne...oh, and so many others...what a joy it was to worship with you one last time, to lead you into a blessed sharing of worship for the Savior of our Souls...

What an amazing gift God has given me. To be able to do this is a blessing. To know that God stepped in, gave my voice control, gave me breath, gave me tone, gave me notes to sing and the memory to know the words...what a blessing. To do this with pneumonia is a joy I can't tell you. To know how very wobbly my voice is and how the coughing just takes over and to be able to do this. And yet, I could be confident because I have seen God do this in the past. He has enabled me to sing when I couldn't talk. He has held me up through asthma attacks, migraines, pneumonia, bronchitis and who knows what all. He has done it before and I am confident that he can do it again.

So, let me look ahead, remembering the things in the past, but not dwelling on them or longing for them in a way that steals the present away from me. I could not forget my friends and family. I'd be more likely to pull a fiber from the very fabric of my heart. I rest on these friendships. We have encouraged each other toward good works, toward Godliness, toward righteousness, we have held each other up in good and bad times, rejoiced with each other, wept with each other. Those things are not to be forgotten, but God has new people to be in front of me every day. I pray that I will have opportunities to serve and to talk about how great a thing he has done for me, and to encourage people to follow after God, so that they can have their own stories to tell of God's goodness.

I just installed my TomTom. A voice now tells me where the turns are ahead, tells me when I have gone too far and guides me how to get back to where I am supposed to be. I've already had this, in a spiritual way. God has been telling me for years when to turn, when to speak, when to be silent, when I've gone ahead of him and how to turn around and be in his will...His voice is my guide for the road ahead. His the cloud that tells me when to stay and when to go. His the loving guiding hand that holds me up when I am falling.

I do not have to program my destination, he has already determined that for me. I simply need to listen for his voice on the road ahead of me.

If Jesus Was a Jerk

2009-07-20T11:19:00.004-06:00

If Jesus was a jerk (like me) we'd be best buds. I mean who doesn't like to sit at the mall and mock people who are walking by? The woman whose clothes fit 20 or 30 pound ago, the one with hair standing 6 inches above her head, the guy trying so desperately to look like a girly man or a manly girl with his manliner and skin-tight skinny jeans, the 50 year old woman dressing like she's Brittany Spears. Who doesn't love a good mocking-others session?

Ummm. Perhaps Jesus wouldn't enjoy it.

If Jesus was a jerk (like me) he would make us all laugh with sarcastic comments.

Ummm. He seemed to have saved his sarcasm for the self-righteous religious leaders.

If Jesus was a jerk (like me) he would be so concerned with how his feelings got hurt when they spit on him, or falsely arrested him, or held an illegal trial, or whipped him, or drove spikes through his hands and feet or the thorns through his scalp that he would have torn them apart with a word, with a flick of his finger or with merely a thought which blew their bodies apart (which he was holding together, by the way) or he would have called the armies of heaven to obliterate them in the most painful way possible.

If Jesus was a jerk (like me) he would be upset when we don't give him the praise that is his due, or thank him for all the things he does, like holding us together and giving us life and breath, as an example. He would want his accolades, his award ceremonies, a gold star on his report card. He certainly wouldn't spend three years! with guys who were so thick they didn't understand who he was and what that meant. He would find people a little quicker to understand his greatness and majesty. If he was like me.

Oh if only I would grasp his infinite greatness and the wonder of his incomparable gift. Perhaps then I would be better able to love people who can't pick the "right" shoes to go with their outfits, or who don't appreciate me, who hurt me with unkind words or deeds. Perhaps I would forgive graciously, perhaps I would serve unselfishly, perhaps I would use kinder words, if only I weren't a jerk like me.

For a Cure

2009-07-20T00:39:00.001-06:00

What would we do for the cure
to the ills that haunt us here?
What pain endure, what comforts lose?
What burdens would we bear?
Or would I choose to bear the signs
of sin which brought on our decline?
I often think that pain's a tool
of a malevolent one
Whose hatred for me runs so strong
it would steal joy from my bones.

And when you said you'd lost all hope
I knew exactly what you meant
I knew you'd come to realize that you'd
soon leave your earthly home
I also knew that healing comes
if not on earth, than through the son
Whose resurrection made a way
For healing then if not today.
I held you tight and said the words
That hope was in another world.

But while in this fallen estate,
We face the ills of mankind's fate
The fate was sealed with Adam's fall
For one man's sin has doomed us all
But where one man's guilt has wrought destruction
One sacrifice healed corruption
And made it so we could escape
The bonds and ends of sinner's fate.

For by one man we all were doomed
and by one man salvation comes.
Salvation not just from our sin
But of sin's consequential ills.

Attendance was down

2009-07-19T23:06:00.004-06:00

Attendance was down in church today
The sun was out, and I hear the fish were biting
The band played, the singers sang their songs
The preacher preached. But the AC wasn't working.

But if we are his body, where were the people?
Where were the hands and feet? Where were his ears and temples?
In the seats were some new folks, wondering what was wrong here?
Sitting in a row by themselves, they wanted to run during greeting.

I sat and cried throughout the morning.
To know my time here is ending
The ushers and greeters were in place
Though I said goodbye to a lot of people
So many I love just weren't there.
They went away and I lost one more chance to see them.
It breaks my heart to lose a chance to say "I love you."

If we are the body we should be gathered together
For what are feet without ankles, a head without neck to turn it?
Maybe we should cancel services for the month of August
And meet on the side of a river
We'll fish for trout now,
We'll fish for people later
We want to play now
The sun is bright and shining
Souls will wait, for now the fish are biting.

Anxious

2009-07-17T19:44:00.002-06:00

Still my anxious heart. Leaving is beginning to sink in. I feel a panicky feeling that starts with me thinking about leaving all of my friends and my church and starting over with people I don't know. Making new friends, new contacts, finding a new church...

Illusions

2009-07-17T10:18:00.000-06:00

Nothing is certain. It is all illusory that we have any safety, security or longevity at any position. We can all have our course changed at any moment. We don't see ourselves that way, but we really are more like the Israelites wandering in the desert than we would like to believe. Every one of us could have the cloud move off any day, telling us to move on. It can take the form of an injury or disability, loss of work, branch closure, someone deciding to outsource our position, market changes...we do not know. Our only safety, security and longevity is in Christ. He is the ultimate source of our provision, he is the rock in which we are anchored, and it is his hands that hold us fast.

GOD: become a fan

2009-07-15T14:20:00.002-06:00

Saw a Facebook thing -- GOD become a fan. Hmmmm. Fan seems like such an insipid word for the worship that should be inspired by a God who is so unbelievably huge there's not even a word to describe his majesty, his size, his holiness, his glory. Should I become a "fan" in the way some people are fans of Brittany Spears or the Jonas Brothers?

And thus, or so it seems to me, the silly side of Facebook is again revealed. Or is the the silliness of us? We don't know how to put into words what our adoration, what our worship is, so we become a "fan" of God. Trust me, I'm not knocking those who want to stand up and be counted as believers, I'm just struck by the absurdity of us being fans of Almighty God. Why not be a fan of sunshine? or moonlight? or wind? I guess I should check, they probably have their own facebook pages as well..............

Oh dear. I was kidding, but as it turns out you can be a fan of Sunshine. And some of my fb friends are.

Perhaps what really has me thinking is how insipid a thing my worship really is. I am incapable of proper adoration, proper respect, proper worship. My understanding of who God is can be so small. I can only glimpse the smallest portion, like the edge of the hem of his garment. My grasp of even the smallest notion of who God is is a fleeting thing, like trying to hold onto a wisp of smoke or a breath of cloud. As soon as I begin to close the fingers of my understanding it is gone and all I am left with is the notion that I almost grasped it a little bit once.

Truthfully, I cannot call myself a fan, because fan is short for fanatic, as in: "marked by excessive enthusiasm and often intense uncritical devotion" (Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary) First of all, how can one be excessively enthusiastic about the Creator of the Universe and the Savior of our souls? In what way can we be excessive? Does not that God deserve every ounce of enthusiasm and devotion?

What I am, more truthfully, is lacking in suitable devotion and enthusiasm. So I am rather like Peter. Do you love me, Kim? Ah, I like you Lord. Do you love me, Kim? I think you're pretty cool, Lord. Do you like me, Kim?

My devotion is an insipid thing when it should be total. God forgive me.

One day closer...

2009-07-14T22:17:00.002-06:00

Finally starting to feel better. Still coughing up stuff, but for the most part my energy is back. At least for 1/2 days. Hooray. Still trying to figure out what to do about a bunch of things, but I don't need to have it all figured out to be pleased, nor do I need all of my energy to feel like I'm back. I wasn't sure for a few days there if I would ever get better. It's that teenage thing that happens when you just can't see beyond this moment. I think it often recurs when you are really sick.

What did I accomplish today? Other than being able to get out of bed, not much, but even that is an improvement. I did get dressed every single day, something that is really important to me. Depression looks like sitting around in my pajamas from morning to night. Plus, fortunately, I have been able to continue looking for work even while sick. I certainly have gone to work in the past as sick, but typically, a job has enough sick days and a smart enough supervisor to send you home...if not, then you just stay sick longer. Or get worse and worse.

Enough about that. Today I sent invitations to my going away BBQ. Hope that lots of folks come. It's going to be impossible for me to see everyone individually to let them know how much they mean to me otherwise.

Preparing for an Adventure

2009-07-14T13:29:00.002-06:00

The Internet is a useful thing. It helps you find fun events from half a country away, plan vacations along the seashore, shows you pictures of things you never knew existed. Still...I gravitate toward pen and paper for my lists. What to take, what to leave behind, what to pack away. What to purchase once I arrive.

Now I am struggling with the goodbyes. How to say good bye to all the wonderful friends I have here. Time is short, but it must be done. Without ceremonies of this sort, I would feel like things were left dangling. There are times when we must grab our coat and walking stick and run out of the house, but fortunately this one will allow me the chance to decide whether to grab my handkerchief and pipe. (Shameless Tolkein references, I know.)

I know I will leave someone out. There are doubtless those who will be offended that I did not call before leaving. May I say in my defense that I have been very ill. That illness is taking far too much time and sapping energy which would be useful for saying my goodbyes.

May I say that Maryland is ever so much closer to Rome. Airfares should be much cheaper, and even though my passport never did turn up when we cleaned out the garage, still, I expect that we may...perhaps...find our way across the Atlantic that little bit easier heading for European adventures. Perhaps Poland for some of that wonderful Polish pottery I love. Or maybe we'll stay stateside and pay mortgage payments and eat crab on the waterfront. Either way, God be praised. He's not done with me. He has already planned work for me to do.

He has given me great friends and through email, Skype, Facebook and free long-distance calling, I expect to be able to keep up with my friends. What happens sometimes, though is that friendship is rather like taking a dip in the ocean. When your head is out of the waves, the water flows around you, but the minute you dip your head beneath the waves, or exit the water, the water fills the spot where you were as if you were never there. Go look at a river. Unless you built a dam, you won't find a sign that you were there before. Such is the way of life.

I hope to find that many of you are true lifelong friends who will have markers in their hearts that I passed this way.

MHC is going adventuring...

2009-07-13T14:38:00.002-06:00

Although my heart adventures on Kenyan plains, Italian countrysides, Grecian ocean towns, South American towns in tropical places, or Nepalese villages clinging to the sides of steep snowy mountains, it appears that my next adventure will be to the wilds of Baltimore. In a way very different from here, it has a spot in town called "Little Italy". Culturally it is a galaxy away. I remember being there before and feeling like there were all these social rules that I didn't know, but that were so normal to the people ther that they couldn't even list them or explain them. Few people are capable of explaining the mores of their own culture. They simply ARE. You do things because THAT IS WHAT YOU DO. You don't do certain other things because EVERYONE KNOWS IT'S RUDE. Why it's rude no one has to think about or describe because everyone knows it already. There is a shared vocabulary and a shared set of rules.

When Steve and I got married, we joined those sets of rules and expectations, or rather we clashed them. You don't ask about money, how much things cost, what people make, how they financed their house...why? Because it's rude. Steve came from a culture that always asks. It is not considered rude. He comes from a yelling culture. I come from a never yell culture. He comes from a culture that conforms in dress, I come from a culture that has minimal influence over such things.

It took me years and years to figure some of these things out. Even longer to begin to explain them. Why is my culture so private about money and salary? Because we all negotiate our own pay and benefits and often work in companies where the discussion of salary is forbidden in our contracts. Why his isn't private? Because his culture is a union culture. Everyone knows what everyone makes. It is a public negotiation.

I come from a family that speaks one at a time. Steve's all talk at once. What once seemed terribly rude now seems just different.

And so, Mountain Home Companion is going east. Heading to a culture very different from my own, where there is no privacy because there is no space to be alone. But it is also a place that shows movies in the middle of the city and people sit on lawn chairs in the open air to watch. It is a place where people live their entire lives within a 1-2 mile radius, with an occasional trip to the beach or Atlantic city thrown in. It is a place where people don't know the towns and hamlets 3 or 4 miles up the road, but they know every person on their block. It is a place where most people (it seems) belong to community pools. Summer is so terribly hot and muggy and everywhere is crowded.

This time I'd like to take a trip up the coast in fall and see the fabulous fall colors. I'd like to visit Amish country and visit all the local fairs and outdoor markets. I was so terribly scared when I was there before. Scared and alone and lost. This time I think I'll get a GPS system. If I know what direction I'm heading, I never get lost. The lack of landmarks drove me nuts there before. And this time I'll make sure I get to places where I can see the sky so I don't go stark raving mad.

In a few weeks I'll be watching "Under The Tuscan Sky" in Little Italy. Doesn't that sound like fun?

Micro-loans and Entrepreneurial Enterprises

2009-07-02T10:23:00.002-06:00

I was just looking at KIVA, one of the organizations that allows individuals to make micro-loans ($25/each) to meet the loan request of people all over the world. It impressed me that such small amounts can make such a difference. A group of women request $1800 to purchased more product for their sales business; A man requests $750 for the pesticides and oil/fluids for his farm and farming equipment. This system has quite a good record, and the people requesting are generally from underpriviledged parts of the world.

It made me wonder a couple of things: 1) if I can start lending right away, and 2) how little money would it take for me to begin an enterprise right here in the U.S.A.? I have an idea or two floating around in my head and wonder what it would take to get them going...

What ideas do you have that would take just a bit of funding to start?

2009-06-12T21:32:00.000-06:00

Let There Be Song! A short story

2009-06-02T11:10:00.001-06:00

Let There Be Song!

In the beginning of it all, the Maester opened his mouth and sang. The note was long and pure and deep and rich. Inside that single note were triads and trills, arpeggios and cadenzas, though if one had been present, one could only have sensed them and not heard them. That single note contained all the promise of every song yet unsung, unwritten, unrehearsed, but it was unexpressed. Solitary and yet somehow perfect in that solitude. The note rang out for ages and epochs of time that had never been created. It went backwards and forwards, ringing the Maester with his own magnificence. But the Maester was not willing to let his song be heard only by his own ears, so he sang a chorus out of which he created beings of superior magnificence. They reflected back the Maesters note and were pleased to have it ring in their ears. These beings were huge and flew with wings covered in ears, but for them the song, even just that single note, became more than they could bear, so they covered their ears that were on their heads with one set of wings. On their wings, they closed their ears up tightly, trying to drown out the song. Seeing that his creatures could not stand all of his magnificent song at once, the Maester split his single note, that one perfect all-encompassing note into three, and then twelve and then hundreds and hundreds of notes—thousands even. Some of them he sang so low that the Winged Ones could not hear them. Some notes he sang so high that their ears could not comprehend it, and of the ones in their hearing, he chose to hold back a part of his magnificence so that they could bear to hear the rest.

He sang a trill and space formed about them and time began. How this happened has never really been clear. I have seen it in visions and dreams, but when I awake, the dreams cannot be uttered in words. They fail me.

The Winged Ones flew about, with their great wings carrying them this way and that, listening to parts of the song wherever they went, so that they could hear much more of the Maesters song as they listened to the song in smaller parts. Their thoughts wove the song into one huge orchestration, yet when they tried to sing back, they had not been given music in their voices. They could chant out how glorious the Maester was and how splendid his song, and they did so for ages and eons and epochs.

But the Maester was interested in hearing his song reflected back and in sharing more that was in his heart than even his song could contain, so he thought. It was a flash, or was it a million years...either was one and the same to the Maester for he stepped in and out of time at his pleasure. In his pleasure he created a universe and it was broad and long, too broad and long for anyone to measure, for it took a near infinite measuring tape, which he created with a single solitary note, somewhere in the mid-range, for I could hear it in my visions and dreams. He rolled out the measuring tape with a flick of his wrist and the near infinite space fit within the span. He wrapped the entire universe with the tape and with a smile, sang out his pleasure. He flicked his wrist and the measuring tape unwrapped from around the majestic space to fit within his palm, then he sang a song whose music became light, and throughout the universe stars suddenly appeared and took on the note with which they were created. Black holes, red giants, white and brown dwarfs, nebulae, galaxies, and stars beyond description. The size of the universe and the stars within it were beyond my comprehension, and he sang them into place. Within the galaxies he placed planets beyond measure, spinning them in their courses with a trill of his voice. They began their merry pathways and their joy was heard in song. The entire universe was both filled with and yet somehow devoid of song. It was quiet and it was filled.

How do I describe it? Perhaps it was that the music wasn't heard by my ears, but was heard in my spirit. I'm not certain how to say it. It was the finest orchestration I had ever heard. Even the silences where somehow musical. The light revealed the darkness, or the darkness ran from the light, I don't know, but the universe was filled with the beauty of the lights the Maester had created. Yet I did not exist. It was beautiful and it was very good, but the Maester was not finished. Each planet was different. In a flash, he showed me them all, though I do not know how. And he showed me the planet which has always been my home, and it was beautiful and perfect and very, very small. I had seen planets one-hundred times the size of mine, and stars that were a hundred-thousand times the size, and yet it was small and large and beautiful beyond what my heart could stand.

“Don't show me any more!” I cried. “I cannot take in any more of your splendor. My ears cannot listen to any more of your song.” And yet, while I could take no more, I knew that I wanted no less than what he would show me, and what my ears could hear. I was both filled and wanting more, greedy in a way I had never been before.

For a moment, the song died away, and for a moment my vision went dark. Then slowly and gently the sound and the vision were restored and I was filled with peace.

The Maester then went planet by planet and told them what to do. Their courses were determined by his song. Some were cold and lonely, and some blazed with fiery heat. Some were gaseous and some were earth and water. On some he sent the water underground to live for all days, and on some he pulled the water to create great clouds around them, each ruled by and singing their own song.

All the colors of the rainbow were given to the planets and each one bore the color he assigned it. Each one absorbed the light of its nearest star or stars, filling themselves with the music of the star and singing its own song back. Each planetary system had it's own chord that it played and each galaxy contained a concerto. I had never heard this music, and with my waking ears I never have heard such a song, but I, even I, was given the honor of this vision.

It was a moment, or was it an epoch, when the Maester finishes his work. On my planet he had sung a special song and there was all kinds of life there. The oceans were parted and the earth was formed, mountains and valleys, rivers and seas ran in their courses. Trees sprang forth, grasses and grains, vines and bushes of all description, flowers in such colors and wondrous patterns they put the galaxies to shame. As I watched, animals appeared, all kinds. I saw animals that have long been extinct and ones that I have heard about but never seen, and some as yet undiscovered by mankind. He sang and the birds flew through the skies and the seas were filled with fish and all manner of creatures, frolicking and swimming about in a fury of joyous activity.

I saw the Winged One he had called the Choir Director whose work was directing the Winged Ones as they called out their chants, “How glorious is the Maester and how splendid is his song!” They shouted in chorus. Part of the chorus would call out, “Glorious!” and the rest would call out, “How glorious is the Maester and how splendid is his song!” They chanted to each other as they flew through the heavens and through the expanse above and inside the universe. And the Choir Director's heart grew dark, and after ages leading the choir to call out the praises of the Maester, the Choir Director looked at my planet, my tiny insignificant planet, saw all the effort and pleasure the Maester poured out upon it and determined to have it for himself. He looked at himself and saw splendor and majesty, saw the wings with which he flew and the ears with which he heard. He saw his beauty and began to praise himself in his heart.

On my planet, the Maester created my ancestors. He took a tiny piece of the ground and mixed it with his song and made the first singer. And he gave him the ability to sing and I saw the Choir Director grow angry and his face darkened and the ears on his wings shriveled and fell off. The Maester created a woman from part of the first singer and brought her to him to help him finish his song. And together they sang a new song, and there was joyous music. The Choir Director left his post in the heavens and called out his discontent to the choir, and many of the Winged Ones were caught by his darkness and followed him. And as they did, I saw the ears on their wings shrivel and fall off as well.

“We are even more beautiful and majestic than before,” he said to them, and they preened about, shaking out their earless wings and finding themselves beautiful, they determined that they were more beautiful now than when they had been formed and thus despised the Maester who had created them with notes from his own mouth.

But the song was not finished.

I looked and the first singers walked about the planet. They found themselves surrounded by beauty. The roses had no thorns, the berry bushes had no thorns. Trees were covered in fine fruit that was good to eat, and vegetables of all description grew in meadows. Gentle streams flowed through the gardens and beside the meadows. When they were tired, they lay down on the soft ground without fear of attack, for the animals were all gentle and ate of the fruits of the trees and of the ground. They had no need of shelter because there were no storms.

The Maester took on an appearance like theirs and came and walked with them and sang in the gardens and meadows beside quiet streams and sat with them next to the water. Their songs were gentle and sweet and reflected back the portion of himself he had shown them. Their voices were so beautiful that I wept. I weep each time I remember.

I looked and the Choir Director hovered in the trees above them, clothing himself in the garb of a strange green-skinned creature that looked like a dragon and a snake and a crocodile, but it stood upright and ate of the leaves closer to the ground and was a beautiful thing.

In all of the universe, the Maester taught them song after song, before he showed them two songs they were not to sing. The reasons were unclear to me. Then he made for them instruments of wind and string and wood. Violins, harps, keyboards and lyre. Then he himself took gold and silver and bronze from the ground and with fire that he began with a note that shivered from the tip of his finger, he heated the metal and formed instruments of wind. He made trumpets and flutes. He formed drums from wood and strips of a strong leaf which I did not know. He dried it over the fire and formed the head. Then he gave them permission to make instruments of every description, every type they could think of and to find joy in music and in the creation of it.

And they did.

And the Maester was pleased by the singers he had made and the world he had made for them. He was pleased with the seas and the land, with the plants and the animals, with the fish that swim in the seas, with the birds of the air and with every creature.

And the Winged Ones shouted for joy at the Maester's delight, all but the ones who had joined the Choir Director. For a long time the first Singer and his wife enjoyed peace and delight in the world the Maester had given them. And he walked with them, sat with them, talked with them and sang with them each day. Each day they told him of one of the creatures he had made and what a delightful discovery they had made. And they were very happy and sang songs of delight throughout the day.

And I saw as the Choir Director took for himself a new name. He called himself Discord and all his followers were happy and took for themselves all matter of new names. By the time I was born, those names he and his followers took for themselves had become familiar to all as descriptions of bad and terrible things, Wrecked became our description for something that had been ruined, crushed or destroyed. Discord became the word we used for people who were at odds with each other, and we had forgotten even the existence of Discord and his followers.

Oh what a deluded people we have become! And I felt foolish and saddened. After that I slept a sleep without any more dreams or visions. When I awoke I was thrilled and troubled by what I had seen. What did it mean? What could it mean? Dawn broke through the clouds and for a moment I imagined I heard the splendor of the sun in song, but it was not to be.

I went on about my normal day, much as I would any other, except I was silent. By noon others were commenting and asking after my health, but I was unable to respond. I was too filled with what I had seen to let it go. My wife, bless her, would have known to leave me alone to my contemplations, but I had buried her more than ten years previous. She was the best wife a man could have, spunky, independent, helpful, and quick-witted. She had an instinctive way with people, knowing when to push and when to back off, when to listen and when to give advice, and she never put up with anyone messing with me. Not that I needed her protection, but we looked out for each other. I was a buffer between her and her lunatic mother when she came to live with us at the end of her life. I protected her from prying questions when we had all those miscarriages and stillbirths. I answered for her, the rude and insensitive comments of others when we suffered those and other losses. Oh today, I miss her again so much. She, of all people, would not have required an explanation to give me the peace and solitude I crave. And I would have taken her into my confidence and told her what I had seen. She would have believed me even if other's would think me mad.

I no longer have to attend to my occupation, as younger hands hold the tools and follow my designs to provide the goods I always crafted with my own hands. These hands can do little these days besides hold a pen and draw the plans, sign bank writs for the worker's pay, and write letters. Some days I even have trouble fastening my buttons. Such is the indignity of old age.

I always enjoyed my work, but since I no longer have to put in the long hours shaping the wood to my design, I have taken to solitary walks through the hills that surround my town, stopping to chat with the baker, the cobbler, the mercantile manager, the butcher and the grocer when I came upon them. I have known them and their fathers before them in their time. Today, I eschewed conversation, with a smile and a polite wave that engendered their concern and them calling after my health. Since the death of my Camille, the entire town seems to have taken it upon themselves to look after my well-being.

Ah, well, I suppose it is a strange thing to them that I have lived so long. Many of my friends and neighbors seem old when they are half my age. For on the morrow, I shall be 100. It is a fine old age that I certainly never thought I would see. Our son, Frederich, didn't live to be 40, but such is the mystery of life. I grow ancient while other's die so very young.

The hills called to me, so with a purpose I climbed high above the town, seeking not just solitude, but a place where I could rightly examine my visions and dreams. I was panting from the effort when I found just the spot I was looking for. A large flat boulder sat in a clearing with a single oak tree at its edge. The tree provided shade from the blazing sun, and the grass was cool and inviting. Leaning up against the boulder, I opened my pack and pulled out my usual mid-day repast of an apple, some fine aged cheese from the dairyman, the heel of a loaf of some crusty bread and a flagon of red wine. Upon taking the last bite of my meal, I proceeded to pull pen and paper from my pack and to put my visions and dreams on paper. Words came in a torrent and I wrote until my hand would no longer grasp the pen. The sun was low and the shadows cast grew long. Temperatures cooled and I shivered a bit in the breeze. The earth itself released a rich odor of life and time and growth and decay. The grass seemed greener, the sky bluer, the rock against which I rested my back seemed sturdier and more...well, rock-like than before. I saw the grass before me, not as a mass of green, but I seemed to see each blade as if independent of the others. The ground beside me separated into separate grains of earth and the sky above hurt my eyes with it's intensity. I closed my eyes and my ears heard the waving of the grass in the breeze, a small but discernible sound, as each blade rubbed against another.

It was intense and over-powering and I was suddenly exhausted and I lay down for a moment, to rest before making my way back down the hill. I clasped my cloak around me and using my arm as a pillow, I fell into a deep sleep.

Discord walked through the valley, clothed in animal flesh, his green and blue scales glistening in the afternoon sun. He heard the first singers laughter as they walked among the trees and bushes. He reached up and plucked a peach from the tree and fed her a juicy bite. They ate and walked in companionship, talking and singing to each other. He reveled in her beauty and she in the strength of his body and of hers. They had names, given to them by the Maester, he was called Capo, for he was the first singer, and hers was Encore, because she was the special completion of his work, the grandeur that would leave one wanting more of her. Discord grew angry and his scales changed color. As they burst into song, his anger reached its peak and he determined in his heart that they would be his and not the Maester's. He would destroy the thing that brought the Maester so much pleasure, and take for himself the music that he should have been given.

He watched as the singers went to seek out different things in the valley. Capa climbed the hills, while Encore sat beside the stream, dangling her hand in the water. She sang a sweet song, that mimicked the sound of the water's rippling sound.

Discord approached. Encore felt no fear or apprehension, for there had never been a need in the world
she inhabited. All the beasts she had encountered were without harm, all the plants were beneficial and pleasing to the eye, and the only danger they had encountered had been as they climbed the rocky cliffs looking over the valley that was their home. But their feet were nimble and swift and their balance superb, so they had not known danger nor fear.

Encore looked at Discord with wonder as he approached. His beauty was beyond compare. The green and blue scales were glistening and his form was pleasing to her. “What are you called?” she asked, though she was merely thinking aloud. Animals in that day, as in this, had no speech. She was amazed when he answered, “I come to bring you great news.”

Her eyes grew wide with wonder, “You speak! How is this?” He smiled a reptilian smile that managed to be reassuring and kindly, “Do not worry about that. I have come to bring you truth.”

“Please tell me.” she begged.

She had never seen sly nor evil in her existence, and did not recognize the gleam that came to Discord's eye. “I have come to tell you about the music you sing...and that which you do NOT sing.”

“There is no music we may not sing, save but two songs. Those the Maester has forbidden to us.” She pulled a small lyre from beside her and began to strum as she hummed. He reached for the instrument and without hesitation she gave it to him. He strummed the notes to the first song the Maester had said they may not sing. It sounded so sweet and pure and lovely that her heart broke with sorrow that she would never sing it.

“You like this song,” the reptile said to Encore.

“Oh I do, but I am not to sing it. He has said so.”

“But do you not know why he has forbidden this song?”

“I do not know, only that I may not sing it. I should not even be listening to it lest I die.”

“This song will not kill you, it will enrich your life beyond measure. This song will open to you the music of the stars and of the planets, of the trees and the grasses, of field and forest. You will understand how to make the music that creates the stars.”

Encore's eyes grew wide as she listened to Discord's words. “But the Maester is the only one who can create the stars!”

“Is that what he told you?”

“He told me this, yes. I should not even be listening to this song. I may die even from hearing it!” At that pronouncement, she stared at her hands, as if to see if they were dying in front of her. Seeing that they were not, she listened to the song he strummed on the lyre. With a tear in her eye for the beauty of the song, and with a desire to create even one of the stars she saw in the heaven's at night and to know what the Maester knew about song and music, she began to sing. Her sweet song rose to the heights above the valley, where Capo heard and in horror rushed back down the mountain to her side.

“What are you doing?” he cried. He saw on her face that she had changed with the song, and he determined to keep her, so he joined her in song.

Hearing them singing the song that would put a tear in music forever, the Maester wept.

Capo and Encore ceased their song, looked at Discord and saw the evil in what they had done. They could no longer hear the music of the river, nor could they sing. The music in their heads and in their hearts was somehow flattened and filled with sour notes that brought them pain. They were utterly miserable and curled up together under a nearby bush. Discord, still wrapped in the creature's body, sauntered over to a nearby tree and climbed in to the uppermost branches, and in his glee, he waited to see what the Maester would do with his ruined creation.

He did not wait long. Capo and Encore lay huddled together beneath a raspberry bush when the Maester arrived for a song. “Where are you?” he called out, though he knew.

From beneath the bush they called to him, “We cannot come out, for we cannot hear the song.”

“Did you sing the forbidden music?” he called.

“I didn't want to sing it, for I knew what you said, but I could not let her sing alone!” Capo called.

“I was tricked by the lizard,” Encore called out. They crawled out and knelt before the Maester, shamed and miserable.

The Maester looked at their miserable tear-stained faces and his heart broke even more. “What you have done is worse than you realize. You have broken the music, and have brought death into this world which knew none. And now, to save you from yourselves, and from the remaining song that would keep you trapped here in your misery forever, you are banished from this valley. You will spend your days seeking music always, but as you do so, you will have to plant and harvest so that you may eat. Your days of leisure are at an end. You will experience pain, and fear, sorrow and disappointment. For you have sung that song and once it is sung, it cannot be unsung.”

How to Throw an Ice Cream Party

2009-05-30T10:45:00.004-06:00

I just read an article where someone had commented that being frugal means being a cheapskate and therefore would be no fun to hang out with. I thought about it and decided that the Ice Cream Zoo that I'm throwing tomorrow night is an example of frugal fun.

When I was a kid there was a restaurant called Farrell's. It may have served dinners, but what you went there for was the ice cream and the candy store. Fantastic ice cream dishes were served up with a side of sirens, song, flashing lights, horns and general merriment ensued. Of course it helped that their main dish is...ice cream. Even adults turn into little kids around ice cream. My dad began re-creating their famous Ice Cream Zoo and inviting the entire neighborhood over for this creation, and now I have resurrected this dish and it is the staple and event upon which my most successful parties are thrown. And it doesn't cost me that much money. Really.

Evite, which doesn't even contain my entire guest list or the number of those who are actually coming, estimated that I would spend close to $400 up to over $600 for this party. (Laugh here.) As if I would ever spend that kind of money.

Here's how you throw an Ice Cream Zoo.

Invite all your friends and neighbors. Remind them 3 or 4 times, hound them mercilessly if you must; it's for their own good. They will be missing too good a time.

Decorate your yard with tiki torches, filled with fuel. Buy them when they are on sale (I bought a lot of mine at a garage sale and paid about $1 each.) One you have them, $6 of fuel will last a long time. I also put up string lights that remind me of a beach patio restaurant. Those cost a little, I'm not going to lie here, but they last a long time if you take care of them. I got mine on sale and spent about $22 for 50 foot of lights. Gather your lawn chairs. I have a nice mulched area that works nicely for this, seated around the garden beds and under the trees.

If you start with a few tiki torches, or have decent yard lighting, you really don't need much else. You could use Christmas tree lights if you wanted and then you have no expense involved.

Use a long folding table, if you don't have one, you can usually borrow one from friends or neighbors. This is for serving.

You need:
1. Large bowl, either stainless steel or glass. Put in freezer.
2. GOOD ice cream scoop. Seriously. I haven't had a decent one until this year and it makes all the difference.
3. Paper bowls (I use Hefty Zoo Pals.)
4. Plastic spoons (I use Hefty Zoo Pals. These wash and are reusable.)
5. Plastic cups Because I'm inviting grown-ups, I don't use the tiny Zoo Pals cups.
6. Napkins
7. Zoo animals. I buy them from Wilson's or Ebay. These wash and are reusable, so plan to collect them.
8. A large container for lemonade, a large tub for ice and soda
Optional: blender, ice, tequila, margarita mix, margarita salt, tiny little umbrellas.
Blow horns or kazoos.

Food:

Multiple kinds of ice cream: Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, Peach, Sherbet, Mocha, Mint, Cherry, Banana. The sky's the limit here, but the first 5 are non-negotiable in my book. You want a variety. I buy mine on sale, so when they were $2/half gallon (not the new 1.5 quart size. grrrr) I bough most of mine. Some of the specialty flavors don't go on sale like that.

Multiple toppings: Chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, strawberry topping, pineapple topping, (whatever else you personally like) chopped peanuts, sprinkles, real whipped cream in spray can form, maraschino cherries.

Last year I set out containers of M&M's and Twizzlers, but I'm not doing that this year. Can't find the sand pails I bought for that purpose, and frankly I just don't want to spend any more money.

Drinks: Lemonade or iced tea, bottled soda, and optional adult beverages.

Additional items you may want to serve: cookies (the frosted animal cookies would be kind of cool)

To assemble the dish:

Several hours before the party, place your bowl in the freezer. The colder it is, the longer your dish lasts without melting.

Scoop the ice cream in advance. It is worth investing in a good ice cream scoop as it makes it so much easier. I scooped each carton into a disposable aluminum pan which I covered in foil and put in the deep freeze. Each one held two cartons. Trust me, pre-scooping saves a lot of time.

Set out your pre-scooped ice cream and the following toppings: chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, butterscotch (if you like it), strawberry topping, pineapple topping, chopped peanuts, sprinkles, maraschino cherries, whipped cream.

As quickly as you can fill the bowl, alternating flavors like this: Flavor 1, flavor 2, flavor 3, etc. etc. until the bowl is filled and mounded a bit in the middle like a mountain. Drizzle the chocolate, caramel, strawberry and pineapple toppings, spray the whipped cream over the top, sprinkle the peanuts and candy sprinkles and top with a few cherries.

At this point have someone go out and get your guests to blow the horns, whistles or kazoos. Quickly place the zoo animals on top of the dish. These make the “zoo”. Carry out your masterpiece and quickly serve the ice cream into the dishes. Reserve the animals.

You can either quickly return the large bowl to the freezer once your guests have had their first helping, or set the entire dish into a tub of ice to keep it as cold as possible.

If you are having a large number of guests, prepare a 2nd bowl as you are doing the first, but set the 2nd into the freezer until your first is nearly gone. Then the remainder of your guests get the same thing.

To figure out the amount of ice cream. Depends on your friends, I guess, but mine rarely eat a lot, so I figure 4-5 guest per ½ gallon, and that provides more than enough. If you do this right with a lot of different flavors then you should plan to be bringing ice cream to potlucks for a bit or plan on having folks over for games and ice cream later on.

The key to the whole thing is to make sure you have some friends who are good at mingling. You want to invite friends from all walks of life, all areas of your life, work, church, civic groups, neighbors, etc. and get them all together.

I like to provide something for the kids to amuse themselves with. Last year I had toy jumping frogs, party size card games like old maid and go fish. Someone else would do better at the party music than I, but I would like to have island music next time.

That's it. It's pretty simple, really. You could probably have as good a time with ice cream cones, but the presentation of the Zoo really is a lot of fun and people really respond well to it.

It's late...

2009-05-13T23:16:00.003-06:00

...and I'm tired, but I wanted to mention that my flowers are beginning to bloom--first the pansies, then the tulips began to bloom about when the wild blue flax began it's daily flowering. Now the columbines are opening, the purple and the yellow, and the clematis opened one magnificent blossom today. The cherry tree is almost fully engulfed in white flowers, and the dianthis opened their heads today. Also blooming is the sweet woodruff. All in all it's a glorious display that reminds me of God's continuing goodness and his renewal in all things.

I particularly love the blue flax. Each day the blossoms open, close and die, but each morning there are new ones in place. Each time I see it I think that His mercies are new every morning.

I little knew when I planted each seed or each plant, so many years ago, that I was planting for more than the current season. And so, the work that is done today, the seeds planted, the flowers watered, the weeds pulled, will reap rewards both now and in the future.

Another lesson I was thinking about today...

I bought onion starts a few weeks ago, before garden beds were prepared and ready. I planted a bunch of them today, but they are weaker now than they were at the time I bought them, and many have shriveled and appear dead. So too, if I don't take advantage of the times and seasons I have right now, how much potential will be lost, and how much has already been lost due to my own procrastination?

Oh Lord, show me what you would have me to do today. Show me the rows to plant, and give me the strength and endurance to do it today and not to put it off 'til a tomorrow that may never come. Take the time that is left and use it and use me for your glory, my Father.

Get a Life!!

2009-05-12T15:40:00.003-06:00

I have been thinking about the restlessness I feel lately. It isn't so much a physical thing as it is a desire to take on new challenges, to see new vistas, to do new work and to get busy doing things that matter. Wasting time is exhausting! In fact, it is more exhausting than accomplishing things. That at least is a weariness with purpose! Something to show for it rather than filling up time and space.

(I had an embed of a video here from when William Shatner was on SNL and basically told Trekkies to "get a life", but apparently, the place that gave me the embed didn't have permission to pass that link on, so do a search for William Shatner SNL "Get a Life". It's a riot.)

Two Sons

2009-05-05T18:49:00.004-06:00

Some of us get so hung up on the past that we carry it with us our whole lives. Anger and a lack of forgiveness leads to bitterness and resentment and further to hatred. We've all seen it happen. The trouble is that the thing you hate, be it a parent, a church, whatever person who wounded us...that is what you become if that is your focus.

One of the blessing of our forgiveness in Christ and our redemption is that we can be freed from the past, no longer doomed to live in it, no longer forced to follow the patterns that have been ingrained in us, no longer made to follow the path of destruction from our own choices.

I challenge you to undertake a quest to know God, to study who he is and to ask him to speak to you through his word. When you hear something, obey. Take hold of your thoughts and force yourself to think on good and healthy things. Find people who you can emulate. Study how they live and how they respond to others.

I know a family whose past is a desolate wasteland. Parents were unavailable, mentally, emotionally, and sometimes physically. There was neglect, raging, control, guilt, shame, and silence. One child has determined to allow God to heal him of this. He is taking inventory of the past and turning over those hurts to his Heavenly Father. He is seeking to see how God is the perfect Father, and how loved and cared for and appreciated he is and in turn has been able to be a gracious and loving son to his parents. It is not easy, and he doesn't always do it perfectly, but he is turning the hurts of the past over to God and trusting in God's forgiveness of himself to be sufficient grace and mercy to be able to shower the same on his parents.

The other son is so angry about the past that he has disowned his parents. Is his anger justified? Absolutely! Was the past a horror? You bet. Do his parents to this day pour salt in the wounds and refuse to honor, bless and accept him? Yes they do. But from my vantage point, the one being hurt here is the son. The parents are not living in guilt or hurt or shame from the past--they continue to live as they have always done. The 2nd son, however, instead of becoming more like his Heavenly Father, is becoming more like his earthly father day after day.

Many of the traits he despises in his Father, he is showing in his own life.

It's a sad and tragic thing. It's okay to say that some of the behaviors of the past were wrong, hurtful and even sinful. It is not okay to spend your whole life living in the past.

So, my children and other readers, whatever the past has done to you, whatever hurts you have faced, whatever sorrows you carry, let your Heavenly Father heal you. Let him show you the greatness of his Son and the wonder and fullness of the sacrifice that was given for you.

I was an imperfect parent. I think that is an understatement. What I hope you do is draw close to your Heavenly Father and let him show you how much you are loved by Him. It is an amazing thing that the creator of the universe is mindful of us. It is a wonder beyond belief that he cares. It is an indescribable joy that he delights in us when we delight in him. You have a God who can heal you of the scars of the past. He can open those wounds and cleanse and heal them. There is not a moment of your life that you have not been loved passionately by the one who made you. There is not one sorrow you have faced that he was not weeping for you and carrying you. His love is so sufficient and so real and tender and close. How he longs for you to begin to know and understand him in fullness, even though we can never know him fully.

And that is the wonder of it all. The unknowable God, whose fullness is beyond our capacity to understand, makes himself known to us. He will make himself known to those who seek after him and I hope you will do that with your whole heart. No house or car or bank account balance is worth more than that. No girl, no boy, no spouse, no friendship is of more value. No pursuit in life can offer more to you than the pursuit of God.

Deadliest Catch

2009-04-28T23:02:00.002-06:00

Okay, so not such a spiritual thought today, but I am truly thankful for Deadliest Catch. I'm thankful that I get to see the wonder that is crab-fishing on the Bering Sea in winter. I have finally found a reason to force myself past the pain into regular excersize. I want to go on a crab boat. I want to work on a crab boat. Could you feel more alive?

Spring Snow II

2009-04-27T07:29:00.003-06:00

Icky migraine has left me with a kind of bruised feeling in my head and nausea in my stomache, and I was awakened to a half cough, gagging and yet liquid sound that wakes me up as quickly as a baby's cry. Bear got sick this morning. It may have been a seizure, although the kind of sickness he had typically only occurs with the worst kind of seizure which I usually would hear when he goes into the thrashing about/shaking stage. The moment I woke I quickly walked him outside to continue retching out there.

As I was cleaning up the "gifts" he gave me, I kept thinking to myself, this is what love does. Somehow I did not really understand that when you were kids. I felt guilty that I would do the right thing but not always feel the way I thought I should feel. One of you kids would be sick and puking and I would clean it up with a sigh, trying to hold back the contents of my own stomach. I felt so guilty that at that moment I wasn't filled with tenderness for my sick child, but instead was wishing I was doing anything other than cleaning up vomit.

I have learned that love isn't just the words we say, it is action that we do. Yes, there is a lot of duty in love. There is! I sometimes am awash in guilt over the things I didn't do or say or feel when you guys wee growing up, but I was always trying to do right by you. I often failed miserably, but I wanted you to have a different life than I had. I wanted you to know, really know that you were adored. What I didn't realize is how much I needed help to escape my own demons.

I was tortured by thoughts of my own unworthiness, the shame I felt simply for being me and defeated before I even got out of bed, dragging around the mistakes and sins of my past. I was taught about grace, but not shown it, and never taught how to live in the freedom that comes from knowing that my sins, past present and future have already been paid for by the God who loves me and who paid the debt himself so that he could have a relationship with him. I grew up with faith as a byproduct of fire insurance. I believed, but I had a strong fear of going to hell if I didn't. I was unaware of the richness of the love the Jesus has for me. We talked about it, but my experience was so at odds with that teaching that it became empty words.

How sorroful God must have been to see me stumble along being lied to by the evil one and by those around me. I heard the message which wasn't spoken, but the unspoken message was louder in my ears than the spoken one. That you must suffer sufficiently for the sin you committed, and that you must never appear weak or need help. Even as an adult, help was denied when asked for. That isn't love!!!!! That isn't what is taught in scripture.

Over the past few years I have come to know freedom and joy in a way I have never known in the past. That joy has not come in the midst of ease and luxury, but in great difficulty, tremenous trials, sorrow, loss and misery. I have been shown such grace and mercy and been allowed the great luxury of seeing a small glimpse of the love that God has for me. I cannot describe the joy. I cannot describe my wonder. I have always known that God deserved our worship and I believe I worshipped in truth, but I am beginning to worship with my mind, my spirit and now with my heart. I will be driwing along singing a song of worship and want to lift my hands in adoration of the one who made me and gave himself for me. I want to throw myself on the floor in wonder at his majesty (I don't for fear I would not be able to get back up.) My insides are dancing in a body that cannot move in the way my spirit can.

Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD God Almighty, who was, who is, who is to come. He is gentle and terrible, merciful and just, loving and true.

The snow falling outside my window this morning reminds me of his gentleness, and cleaning up after Bear this morning reminds me that his love involves not just heart but action. He is the gentle whispers, but he is also the God who cleans up after me, who takes my wretchedness and my mistakes, my sins and my failures and wipes them away, and with the fragrance of himself, clears the room of all my stink. His love involves not just heart, but action. His is the love that does. See I don't and you don't need love that is simply warm gushy adoration of yourself, but who turns away when you need help, unable to stand up for you when someone hurts you, or who will not love you enough to make you do what you should do for your own good, or who will not allow you to suffer momentary hurt for your own betterment. We need a love that will make the sacrifices, who will clean up the messes and who will clear our own stink.

Please understand how very much I love you. If you need me, I am hear. I long for relationship with you. I long to know your heart. I love to hear you laugh. Each of you has a laugh that gets my heart. Each of you has qualities that I love. Even in the womb your uniqueness showed. Kristen was the most gentle of the babies I carried. She came right on time, but with a little drama. The first time I heard your heartbeat, my daughter, I was in love and filled with wonder. I had a fierce protectiveness toward you and great anxiety that harm might come to you. I still concern myself with harm that might come to you. Craig was the wild child before he was even born he was fighting me. He was so active it felt like I had a soccer team or a boxer in me. I was already exhausted by the time you were born, my son. Do you know you tried to stand up on the delivery table? The doctor was astonished, but I just said, I told you so. Alex was not as wildly active as Craig, but he took his own sweet time. You were born three weeks late. You weren't in any rush, and I don't think you've been in a rush at any time since. You were just such a happy baby, content wherever you were. Grandma Bents use to call you 'Smiley', cause you smiled all the time. "Look at that Ipana smile," she always said.

Grandma Bentz loved you guys so much, and it was to Grandma Bentz I would take you when you guys were little. I knew so little about babies. I didn't know about how to take care of fevers or rashes. I didn't know what I was looking at when you guys got the German Measles. I had never been around little children before I had you, and there we were in the middle of nowhere. There were no MOPS, no play dates, no coffee klatches where I could find out from other young mothers what to do with your kids.

I had never been read to sleep, but I did read with you. I wanted you to know the joy of reading. We made up stories togehter, do you remember that? Do you remember us playing "Buzz"? I often wish I had written down or recorded some of the stories we created together. Some of them were quite good, you know?

Somewhere, in a land far, far away, across oceans and mountain ranges, deserts and wide rivers, there lived a giant. Not just any giant, Chester was a giant among giants, taller, stronger, faster and braver than any of the giants in his part of the world. But Chester was bored. He had bested all the other giants in wrestling, in swordplay, in archery and in foot races, and had wrestled polar bears, great gorillas brought in from far away lands and once had even defeated a woolly mammoth. The great dinosaurs had all left for far off lands, in one great and strangely majestic migration that left them all mistified. The world had changed, and Chester wanted to change with it. Buzz. Who will take up the tale? Or who will make one of their own?

Love you guys! Hey, I hope there are no misspellings. I don't have my glasses one and can't read the screen, so I'm practicing my touch typing. Hope that has gone well. LOI

Sabbath Rest

2009-04-26T23:08:00.003-06:00

Hey there Kristen, Craig and Alex. It was a restful day except for the terrible migraine that has had me dizzy and nauseous for hours now. I'm heading back to bed, so I just wanted to take a moment to tell you that I love you, your dad loves you and Jesus loves you more than us both. I hope you find rest and comfort in that.

No matter how much I prize each of you (and have no doubt about it, I do) you are prized and treasured by God even more. The maker of the universe designed each of you specially, and with each of you I offered and committed you to God when you were young. I am trusting that the same God who has gently led me and loved me despite all my failures will lead you to himself that you may worship him in spirit and in truth. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and strength.

You are three gifts, unique and special to my heart. My three treasures. I love you. Good night.

Absent From the Body...

2009-04-23T23:08:00.002-06:00

...present with the Lord. I have often wondered over the years what Pat Peckham's memorial service would look like. I have pictured all the women and men who have been touched by and taught by her over the years filling the rows of the chapel and spilling out into the foyer and out the door. She was such a blessing, and even in the past few weeks as she lay dying she gave me wise counsel about a situation I was faced with. She told me that I wouldn't have to visit her for more than six months, letting me know that there was an end date in sight for the trouble of visitation. See the thing is it wasn't a bother or trouble for me to visit her. It was a privilege. I learned so much from her about how to live out my faith and she started me on the path of walking in freedom. She was always gentle and kind to me, even when she spoke hard truths.

When I think of her I think of lavender and white, pale aqua and blues, pastels and feminine without being too cutesy. Very elegant and dignified, she always dressed nicely and her hair was always lovely. She was such a gracious woman, though she would chasten you if you really needed it, but it was always done with gentleness and care.

My friend, my mentor and one of my "other mother's" went home today, just as she has been asking. I know her son's will grieve for her, as will her husband. She was a rock, and such an encouraging person. She adored her sons and spoke of them with such loving pride. The son closest in age to me, Jeff, always carried himself with such self-confidence, even at ages where no one is self-confident, he was. Though he was often disliked for it or mocked, as it was sometimes mistaken for arrogance or pride, he was friendly and I never saw him be unkind or looking down on anyone. I think that is because Pat instilled in her boys that she had total confidence in them. She placed a burden of trust on them, but also required them to do certain things to show care for her. In her lifetime, if she ever pumped her own gas, you would never get her to admit it. I don't think she ever did pump gas. If the tank ran out, she would call her husband or boys to come and get her and to take care of it. It was understood that gassing the vehicles was their job and if they drove the car they were to bring it back with enough gas in the tank so that she wasn't stranded. It was very old-fashioned of her, but for her it was a part of being cared for and ensuring that her boys understood that there are some things you did for your wife simply to show her your care.

I find it hard to imagine that either of her daughter-in-laws leave all the gas pumping to their menfolk, but there may be things that for them they do not wish to do because they are women and prefer not. I would imagine that Jeff and John were trained to understand and to take care of those things.

I cannot do justice to Pat here. I only know a part of her life, and while she shared stories with me over the years, I'm sure there are so many more that I do not know.

Mother's Day is coming up and will be bittersweet this year. I sometimes would bring Pat a card or a flower to commemorate her place in my heart, such as I would bring or send to my own mom. My children do not understand what happens in the heart of a mom when their kids remember them, so I have tried to busy myself and care for others on that day so that I don't let unfilled hopes ruin my day. I want to treasure what they DO, not spend time being upset with what they do not do. It isn't always easy, but I think Pat would approve of removing my expectations from them and living in a little place I like to call reality.

This is a bit rambling tonight, as I try to pull together the many thoughts I have running through my head. It's not easy to condense the tremendous impact Pat had on me in one small entry. What did she teach me? One, to relax a bit. Two, to be realistic and biblical about what I should expect from myself, from others and from God. Three, to be more real with others around me and not to pretend that things are okay when they are not. Four, to be less concerned about what others thought or their criticism, but to think instead about what I should do or shouldn't do, what I was designed and gifted for regardless of what others reaction might be. Five, that there are some things that you cannot change, and when you get to those, you better quit beating your head against a wall and wishing they were different. Live in the real world! Six, to be kinder to myself. Seven, that God loves me and is delighted by me. I didn't really grasp this very well, but I tried.

Oh and she taught me to patiently wait while God does what he wishes in our lives. We do not have to understand our trials, but we need to accept that they come from the hand of a loving God. Pat did not understand the long time she was forced to sit in a chair day after day, nor did she understand when she went into hospice, what she was doing laying there so helplessly. She didn't like those things, but she accepted them with grace. Not that she was perfect, but she trusted God no matter the hardship.

Her service will be in a few days and I wonder, will all the men and women she touched be there? Will they honor her with their time as she poured her time into them? Many will find themselves too busy, others will not see the point, some find funerals too uncomfortable and so they don't go, but I believe that we are taught differently. Ecclesiastes says that it is better to go to a house of mourning than a house of mirth because a wise men will take it to heart. A wise man will understand that the end of all men is the grave and will take it to heart. Many people avoid funerals and memorial services. Do they think that by turning away from it that they will avoid death in the end? Or do they love the foolish way they are spending their days so much that they do not wish to examine it? I couldn't tell you. My bible teacher shared this verse with me in high school and it has stayed with me all these years. When I have the opportunity to go to the funeral of a loved one or to the service of the loved one of a friend, I always go. I go for a few reasons. One, I believe that it is one concrete way you can show that you care. Two, I think it is a comfort to me to be in the company of others that loved the one I loved. Three, it does cause me to consider my life and the days I have left, and re-order my priorities. There are many pieces of equipment that require periodic recalibration. Funerals are one of the ways my spirit gets re-calibrated, that my choices are examined and my priorities get tweaked.

I am terribly conscious that I have fewer days ahead than I have behind. The choices I make are so important now, more than ever before. I am on the countdown side of things, on the downhill slope. If there is a chance to become a truly godly woman it is imperative that it be now. It cannot wait.

We all need the reminder of the death of a loved one to teach us to number our days rightly. I may not look it, but I am in the middle of my life. I have past the midpoint. My dear readers, please take the opportunity to decide how to spend the only life you have. Determine what is truly of worth and set your aim there. Yes there is a lot to juggle, but when you have your gaze set firmly on where you need to go, it does make it a bit easier to make choices. Well, I have gone on long enough this evening. I have passed midnight and am into Friday. Whew!

Please leave me a comment. I know there are some of you reading this, but I'm not hearing from you. If nothing else, please let me know who is reading. Since comments are moderated, just put a note in if you do not want your comment published. I understand. And...if this is of value to you to hear what is on my heart, please share these posts with others. Thank you very much for the time you are giving to my words.

Thoughts on death and dying

2009-04-22T22:40:00.003-06:00

My friend, mentor, and second mother lays in a bed tonight and likely will breathe her last in the next several hours. Her road has been a long one, and over the last few years has been difficult. She has had a bleeding aneurysm in the brain for a while, a slow seepage or trickle that caused her to have a terrible fall a few years back with breaks in the thigh from the hip to the knee, requiring hours of surgery, multiple pins and much physical therapy. She has never been the same. At some point she had a stroke which caused her to lose function of her left eye and the right side of her body from the neck down. She could feel touch, but could not move her arm or leg.

PT determined that nothing would restore the function, so she was helped to get up, dress and helped to walk to her chair where she sat for day after day, unable to cook or clean, and requiring help for many personal functions of life. I don't know why she had to endure this. Her brain was still doing great, but her voice became softer and her strength waned.

I was priviledged to visit with her since her fall on many occasions. I wish I could say I was faithful, but sometimes months would pass between visits, yet each time I drove the major roadway between her house and mine I would try to figure out when I was going to be able to see her again.

It troubles me, but such is the way of the working, that her best times for visiting were during the work week, at times of the day when it was terribly difficult to get away. I should have set aside a weekend a month to get to visit her, but often I did not.

Still, when she got to hospice I visited her quite frequently, and when she was moved from there into a more long-term hospice/nursing facility, I was priviledged to be able to visit her nearly every week. She was so good to me over the years, it shames me that I was not more faithful.

The beauty in watching my dear friend withdraw from this life is that it helps me to "number my days aright" as it says in Psalm 90. I have fewer years ahead of me than behind, in all likelihood, so the time must be spent wisely and in pursuit of things which truly matter.

Pat invested her life in people. She was kind, wise, organized, insightful, had a great sense of humor, loved music, loved to read mysteries, kept an orderly household, and despite what she may have thought was a good student. She ran businesses efficiently and she did what is a great thing. She obeyed what she knew in Scripture. She may not have known everything, but what she knew she obeyed. She and her husband are known for that.

Sometime very soon, Pat will have slipped the bonds of this earth and will be face-to-face with Jesus. She will be dancing and singing and clapping and enjoying the heavenly choir as she worships with them with such joy.

I will miss her, but she has taught me so much that I can remember and fall back on. I truly do not want her to suffer and be trapped in her mortal body any longer. I don't want her to struggle to make her needs, wishes and thoughts known anymore. I don't want her to struggle to have a drink, or to suffer the indignities of her condition any longer.

I hope, dear friends and my dear children, that you find people throughout your life that you can learn from in this way. I don't know if our marriage would have survived without Pat's gentle teaching, showing me how to navigate the troubled waters we were in. I don't know if I would have recovered enough to have known happiness and contentment again. I have been blessed by knowing some wonderful people along the path who helped me in difficult times even when they did not understand what I was going through. Several times one wonderful person or the other helped me through a really trying patch in our marriage. Mostly, they have helped me to see that my unhappiness was only partly about my husband. Most of it was about the anguish of my own heart, my own sin, my own selfishness, and my own damaged spirit. These people have each shown me something of God I did not know before, or shown me what truth looked like when you lived it.

There is a sweetness to the pain and loss I feel tonight. I am happy to go through the sorrow, because it means that I knew and loved such a wonderful person. My thoughts are on heaven tonight and I pray that her suffering will soon be over.

2009-04-22T13:49:00.003-06:00

My hope index is up today, brought on by spring. A few days of temperatures in the 60's and 70's, a bit of time spent clearing the dead leaves out of the garden beds and planting the first of my lemon balm--ah, life begins anew. With it my allergies soar, my sinuses fill, and I have a headache which will last until the dead of winter returns, but I am reminded that all things begin anew.

Disturbing some of the plants to clear out the debris released the fragrance of sage, lavender, lemon thyme, sweet woodruff and mint, and the joy that comes from the scent of things to come...

I am reminded that much in this world is merely the scent, or the promise of things to come. There is coming a day when this earth shall pass away, with its sin-stains, sorrows, sickness and grief, and a new earth will be formed in perfection. C.S. Lewis said that the wistful longing, the tears that come in the midst of the joy of a beautiful sunset or a striking scene of natural beauty is because there is something in us that longs for that in its perfected state which is to come.

I don't know about that, but I know that these things remind me of what I have already learned of God and hint at wonders I have yet to discover. As I stir up and remove the debris of the past, the fragrance of hope at what can be is released and my soul, my very being rejoices that I can be renewed, healed, restored.

There is a portion of my garden that was fouled by an oil spill a few years ago. At first it smelled and killed the herbs growing there. I removed as much of the fouled earth as I could without killing the plants, and have waited to see what will happen. I had read a report of an oil spill, where the seas and sands have been cleaned by natural processes without human help, and I wondered what would happen.

For the past couple of years, the area that was spoiled was simply dead. None of my plants seemed to recover, though the roots and the dry tendrils remained, but this year there are small signs of life in that previously dead-looking patch of ground. I'm not entirely sure what has happened, whether the plant is rejuvanating, or if the parts that were still alive elsewhere are simply spreading into what was defiled, but either way there is life beginning where there was death.

So I am thinking today about renewal and cleansing and fresh starts. Forgiveness for the past, looking forward to the future. It's all good.

Some damage goes deeper than a bit of motor oil, like the scars from strip mining on the front range, visible from many miles away. These scars, this spoiling and desecration, takes much more concentrated and deliberate effort to restore but there is progress being made there. The scars are still visible, but less so, and perhaps one day they will be unrecognizable, perhaps not. I am thinking though that no matter how deep the damage to us, even though there may be scars, our scarred and ruined places can be redeemed if we are willing to work at it and speak life into the lifeless places. How? Well, we must examine old ways of thinking, patterns we developed in childhood or in poor relationships, things we told ourselves, vows we made to protect ourselves from further hurt, and rebuke them, change our thinking through the deliberate memorization and meditation on Scripture, choosing to think and act in healthy ways.

I used to have written on my bathroom mirror, "Do the healthy thing." It was a reminder to me that to become healthy, in our physical, emotional, mental, spiritual or social beings, we must emulate what healthy people do. Does a healthy person eat salad instead of fries? Then we choose to eat salad. Is a healthy person super-sensitive? Then we choose to tell ourselves to get over it. Whatever that choice is, we emulate a healthy person. Eventually, eating a salad will become the normal thing for me; ignoring small slights will become normal; taking a walk becomes normal; turning off the TV becomes normal; getting out of bed, taking a shower and getting dressed when we are depressed becomes normal, and helps beat depression. Whatever the healthy thing, whatever the good thought, the better choice becomes more and more normal for me as I practice healthy living. For me, that is the way we bring life to the deeply scarred areas in our lives.

I refuse to be depressed anymore. That refusal is not a mere "I won't," it is a determination with a plan. For instance, I will wash my hair every day. That may seem like a silly thing, but for me, it is an important sign that I will not neglect taking care of myself. I have to be deathly ill before I will allow myself to stay in my pajamas all day. Some of my friends stay in their pajamas on a Saturday as their de-stress thing. For me, getting dressed is a sign to me mentally that I will not be a sloth, particularly important with my physical difficulties.

These may seem small, but they are some of the things I do to heal those "scars on the mountain" in my life. Some of those things may always be visible to others, but I am actively choosing life over death, victory over defeat.

And that is what Spring reminds me of...that life returns, that death doesn't win. The past is just that, the past. Hey, I've got enough to deal with just living in today, right?

Even Christ

2009-04-21T13:43:00.001-06:00

If even Christ pleased not himself, why am I so intent on pleasing myself? Am I the maker of the universe? Am I the creator God? Am I capable of my own salvation?

How I Read the Bible

2009-04-21T09:43:00.002-06:00

There are many plans out there for reading the Bible and they are all good. They accomplish what is important, which is actually reading the word of God. Some of them feel more like a cram session to me than really reading and learning what God has to say to me and how to live that out. Genesis 1-3. Check. Psalm 100-105. Check, check. Now a 2 minute speed prayer, check. Okay, done with my spiritual duties for the day. It doesn't have to be this way, but it feels like an enormous obligation to me and I'm reading my OT, skipping to the Psalms, then my NT portion for the day. Whew! I made it today.

What I really want is to have it get into my heart. For me, the speed reading doesn't work that way. If you want to know the author's (God) intention, and to figure out what they are saying, perhaps I need to read a book through from start to finish. You don't have to do it my way, but take a book like Philippians and read it through as you would read a letter, for that is what it is. I like Phillips translation for that, though you don't need that.

I have decided that I have been missing out on a lot because so much of the focus has been the NT, so I have started in Genesis and am reading my way through, trying to really capture the events and what God is doing. I have been doing this for a while and I will admit that I haven't gotten very far. I am still in Deuteronomy after nearly a year. I read and re-read, sometimes flipping back to see something I may have missed, and sometimes taking a week or even a month to meditate on one section or to revel in what God has said to me through his word.

I feel as if I am getting a bigger picture of themes, concepts, of majesty, of wonder, of the nature of sacrifice, of the working of God. As I am in church, go to a small group, or am challenged in some other way to read some other part of scripture, I am finding that what I'm reading in the OT points forward, and what is in the NT is echoed from the OT or a fulfillment of what was mere temporary, substitutionary or foreshadowed in what I've read in the Old. From the advent of sin, God's Guys, the prophets, the Levites(priests of Isreal), usually had no portion with the others, but lived off what was provided them through the gifts of others. Prophets were told, "your my guy" and given a mission, and suffered imprisonment, scorn, beatings, and worst, often no one listened to them. When I see what most of the people called to ministry live on, I am reminded of the tradition that God set up. They live off of the gifts of the people. Most of these guys and gals will have no inheritance for their children. Many of them are mocked or ignored, even though they are right where God wants them.

When I say I want to be God's Gal, his totally sold out servant, I do not say it without an understanding of what this means. When I gripe about my physical condition it is because I do not truly grasp in that moment how God is choosing to use me for his glory. When I want to get healthy, mentally and emotionally and even physically, it is not merely for myself anymore it is so that I can better serve. But, I will say that if he has designed the path of pain for his glory, let it be. I choose to be happy. I have determined in my heart that my maker, the all-loving, all-wise God, my creator, my savior and my friend wants this for me, then I will take it with joy.

Well, I gotta run and get my Yukon checked out, so I'll talk more about this later.

Just a thought...

2009-04-20T22:03:00.003-06:00

Today I am thinking about the gift of music. I am just revelling in the music from worship yesterday and what a joy that was for me. I had scripture running through my head throughout the morning and was enjoying such a sweet time of loving communion and praise to God. I was unable to stand for the service elements, and could barely even sit on the stool, I was so terribly uncomfortable physically, but the sweetness of the praise, the wonder of being able to call out "Holy, Holy, Holy" to the Lord God Almighty and to the Lamb, just as the seraphim do... I have a hard time describing it.

Tonight I went to see one of the young men from church in his school's presentation of "Beauty and the Beast". It was such a pleasure to see, and the music, though flawed, was wonderful and the acting was quite good. It reminds me of how great our maker is. He invented music, he invented dance and movement. He created us for such sweet moments with himself and with others. We are to glorify him, and he seems to delight in providing sweetness for us.

Thank you, Father for such sweetness. And thank you for allowing me to sit next to the precious baby and watch his delight and wonder, when I am so very far away from my grandbaby. It brough me such pleasure to watch him and to think about how much fun Timmy would have had tonight.

Goodnight children, goodnight friends. You are in my thoughts tonight.

Grabbing the Rudder

2009-04-19T20:44:00.005-06:00

This blog has been an aimless pursuit for far too long, but I intend to change that. The only thing of any eternal value in this life is the pursuit of God and the changes that result from a life wholly devoted to finding out who he is, finding out what he wants and doing it. Really, what else matters?

I will soon turn 45, and I have noticed the years are likely fewer from here on out, unless I live an unusually long time. There are things I have done well in my life and things I have done poorly. I have striven to do what God wants for most of my life, without a clear understanding of what that looked like, and though I don't mean to hurt those in my past, but I wasn't taught well how to live out the Bible in my daily life.

Of all the things I have done, my greatest regret is that I didn't do a better job teaching my children, not just about God, but how to know him and how to follow him. It is my fervent prayer that through these writings I can share my heart with my children and anyone else who would care to follow along my journey. I kept my thoughts deep inside of me and rarely shared anything of depth with anyone in my family. I had a difficult childhood (sorry Mom and Dad, but it's true), and one of the things I gained is a fear of telling anyone my thoughts for fear of criticism and shame. I would talk about actions, but not discuss the real motivations of my heart, nor discuss what I was learning from God, never mention my fears, my failures, my hopes, etc.

I am so sorry, Kristen, Craig and Alex. I never felt that anyone would want to hear my heart, and once I gained friends with whom I could share that part of me I simply didn't know how to talk that way with you. I guess I still don't, which is why I'm writing to you this way.

I have spent so much of my life afraid of falling short of the mark, and knowing I would fall short and waiting for the retribution of a God who could not possibly have truly forgiven me. I how I want you to know the forgiveness that God has provided. The Bible says many times and in many ways that God is gracious and merciful and has carried our sins away, or covered them or washed them. It is poetic language to describe something we have difficulty understanding. One of the reasons to read the Old Testament is to understand that God always provided a way for man to have a relationship with himself despite our sin. He covered sins, he carried them away, like the scape goat which carried away the sins of the people. He covered them in the blood of sacrifices, all pointing to the time when he would remove our sins as far as the East is from the West. He would hurl our sins into the sea, it says in Micah 7.

Oh if only I really understood this truth more fully. He didn't just use a ledger book to account our sins to the account of Jesus, He didn't just mark the bill "Paid in Full", he, the righteous and holy God, the one whose perfection is so far above our understanding we will never truly know it, whose purity we cannot comprehend, took all our sins and impurity, all our guilt and stain, all the stink of our sins, of our pride, our lies, our greed, our gossip, our sexual sins, our covetousness, all of it--he took all of our filth on himself. "He who knew no sin became sin for us."

His purity, his sacrifice, his blood was the necessary remedy for sin. He was the cure that eradicates the sin of his people. Oh I wish I had begun to understand this sooner. I would have been a different mom. I would have been more merciful and forgiving, I would have been kinder, and I would have allowed you to know me.

Oh, you may never really like me. I still have a lot of messed up history to be redeemed and from which I need healing, so I will be dreadfully imperfect, but I intend to have the courage to speak to you and to be myself with you, to no longer hide the depths of my heart from you. You are my precious children and I love you with a love I cannot describe.

I intend to make the rest of my life count for God. Period. He has redeemed me and removed my sins, remembering them no more and even the stink of them he has removed from me. Past, present or future, I am forgiven. Totally. Completely.

Read it for yourselves. I have 2000 or so books on my shelves, but none has had the impact on me that the Bible has. God will show you in his word such truth, such depth and such healing that you can even get over being raised by me!

So...I intend to continue this blog with thoughts from my heart, be they meditation, prayers, mentions of God's goodness, scriptures that are terribly meaningful, examples I want to share. If you would know the heart of your mother, read along. When I get to the end of my life I intend to be able to say to you, "I've shown you how a Christ-follower lives, now let me show you how one dies." I intend to finish the course well and never, ever, ever lose my faith or fall away. The one who paid such a high price for me deserves my trust in the midst of the darkest times.

Even though there may be dark times when I don't feel like it, with my heart, with my mind and with all my strength I will say with Job, "Thou he slay me, even then I will trust him." I may have my fist shaking in defiance of the fear that would steal my heart away and the evil one who would seek to shake me, but I truly have nowhere else to go. If God is not who he says he is, then I am utterly miserable and lost. Has he not shown us his goodness in the earth? His grandeur in the stars? Has he not watered the earth from his storehouse of snow? Has he not shown his power in the thunder and in the raging storm?

I long for you to know him more than anything. I could die happy tomorrow if I knew that you were all following after Jesus with your whole hearts. It is the only thing of any value I have to give you.

April 17, 2009

2009-04-17T18:56:00.002-06:00

Watch for the upcoming album...

2009-04-17T18:34:00.002-06:00

I don't know how many times I have watched the performance of Susan Boyle on Britain's Got Talent, but if you haven't seen it and are in the least bit tired of life or cynical and depressed, take a few minutes to watch the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

If you can watch this without a smile on your face and a tear in your eye, check your pulse--you may be dead.

Spring Snow

2009-04-17T17:42:00.002-06:00

Mercy vs. Justice

2009-04-17T15:20:00.002-06:00

A situation occurred recently in which I was offended greatly, brazenly and in front of others for whom the actions would certainly offend and in front of whom my response can leave me open to ridicule, condemnation and shame. Actually, some of the people who would likely have been aware of the offensive actions of the other party would likely have made my life miserable no matter how I dealt with the situation.

My instant response (internally) was to take up a flaming sword and pronounce judgement and swift and terrible punishment. I wanted to yell and scream judgement. One of my flaws is that I often don't know what the right thing to do is in that moment. I often have to really step back and think things through to decide how to respond. Sometimes this makes me look weak in the eyes of others, and sometimes a situation is made worse because a simple thing could be taken care of right away with minimal embarrassment to either party, where the delay in responding adds a level of embarrassment to the other person that is needless.

This is not one of those times. This offense, the great and terrible offense, needed consideration and several hours of struggle and thought as to how to respond. At the ripe old age of 44, I really want to begin acting not from pure passion, but from wisdom fueled by passion. Even though my initial response would have been totally justified, some reflection and tears and prayer allowed for a solution that offered mercy.

In the spiritual gifts testing, mercy is not a real big one. I am learning however to show to others the mercy that God has shown to me. He has not dealt with me according to my iniquities, nor has he dealt out punishment sufficient to my crime. Actually, he did mete out punishment sufficient to my crime, but then he also took that punishment in the person of Jesus the Messiah. That punishment, deserved by me, he bore in his own body on the tree. So when I look at the person who has so offended me I have to consider two things, how I can show mercy and yet not damage the person if consequences should be given for their own betterment.

The difference here is that I have no right or authority to mete out eternal punishment, and even though he paid my eternal pardon, I often have earthly consequences for my sins. Even those, however, he often does not make me suffer in the full weight that I deserve. Have you ever noticed earthly grace that reminds you of the grace of God?

So this was my dilemma: to mete out earthly consequences that the offender richly deserved, and preserve my standing in front of others, or to show mercy and allow myself to be looked down upon by others and perhaps not provide the earthly consequences that the offender needs to end their destructive behavior. I erred on the side of mercy, but needed to know that the other party understood their offense and promised never to repeat it. For should the other party repeat it, they will suffer very clear consequences which will happen immediately.

What I am wondering now is if I should insist that the person apologize for their actions to the other people who witnessed and would be offended by the event? Would I be doing that simply to preserve my own reputation in their eyes? I don't know, but I think I will talk to the offending party to let them know that I believe they should apologize, but I will leave it to them to follow through. After all, the offended party is supposed to go to the offender, right? So if the other person takes offense but does nothing, isn't that a problem between the two of them?

Come on, Bible scholars... Let me know what you think.

Snowy afternoon.

2009-04-17T13:08:00.002-06:00

When I started to write I noted the time and realized that it was way too late for me to be sitting around in my pajamas, snow day or not, so I quickly dressed and combed my hair. It's amazing how lazy the constant falling snow makes you feel. Perhaps it is a natural type of mini-hybernation that goes on. Coffee. Check. Snow report. Check. It's a fine day to put a pot of chili in the slow cooker and let it simmer away as you veg.

The internet and the many wonderful applications allow me to continue job searching even while sitting at home in my bathrobe. I do minimal pounding of the pavement these days, because it is so unfruitful. Plus, at a certain point in your career ladder, it isn't helpful any more, you know? People don't like having their day interrupted by you showing up unannounced and uninvited.

Well...I've taken a break to put chili in the crockpot, heat up some coffee and think about some things and have lost my train of thought here. I have so many things on my mind that I think it deserves a new post.

God's Guy

2009-04-16T20:33:00.003-06:00

I often keep names out of my posts, changing them to protect people's privacy, but today I want to tell you about a friend of mine. Ryan is a younger man, but a man of God, the likes of which I get to meet on occasion, and am priviledged to see and to be challenged in my faith.

Ryan is a guy who is sold out to God. He has determined to hold nothing back, no matter the cost. Knowing him makes me examine my life and pray in a new way, what am I holding back? I know other men who are sold out for Christ, but there is a special fire to this man, an annointing or a special call that shines.

It is not simply to honor Ryan that I write, but to say that Ryan would never take this kind of praise, but he would turn it back to the God who saved him. And this passion for God, to follow him whatever the cost is the passion that I want to burn in every part of me, burning out the trash, incinerating the sin, leaving me purified with the holiness and righteousness that can only come from our great God and Savior.

When I consider Ryan, I often think of Keith Green, another great man of God. While today some find him hokey, they were somehow not touched by the passion for God that burned through him. He ignited a generation to follow after God with their whole hearts. Whatever Keith had was not held back from the one who saved him. If you see YouTube videos of Keith, you see a simple, scrawny guy in ratty clothes and a white mans 'fro, pounding away at the piano and preaching and prophesying in song and speech. Of all the sermons I have ever heard, Keith's sermon about Matthew 25 has stayed with me for 30 years, hearing his voice each time I read that passage, and each time it is mentioned in a sermon, I hear him declaring it with fire and passion.

What I will likely remember the most about Ryan is "bring it on." Whatever it takes to know Him more, to follow Him more, Ryan's response is "bring it on."

If you are a reader of this blog, you will know that I am rather fond of talking about God's Guys and God's Gals. These men and women, both in the Bible and those of us following after, are called by God. Often the ways of God's Guys and God's Gals involve imprisonment, poverty, illness, ridicule, long periods of defeat, giving the message God gives them only to have no one listen. They are called to a rough road, but on that road God makes himself known to them in ways that he is not known to those of us on easier pathways.

If there is anything I can do to honor men like Ryan, it is to say to my maker, "Bring it on!" So if that's what it takes to know Him, to love Him, to honor Him, to be used by Him, I say, "Bring it on!"

O, won't you join me, men and women of God? What could be better than to be held in the palm of our Father's hand while the storms rage 'round us? In our pain, he draws near. In our sorrow, we begin to understand his sorrow. In our struggles, we begin to see his struggle in Gethsemane. In his presence we find peace that makes no earthly sense. In his hands there is healing that the world cannot provide, there is an opening of wounds that we cannot even locate so that his healing waters can flow in. In this we begin to know God more fully, more deeply. We are such shallow people. We will suffer much for adventure. We will suffer much to complete a marathon or to climb tall mountains, to bench press our own weight or more, to bike that punishing trail, how much more should we be willing to suffer for the ultimate goal of knowing God and following after him.

If you want to know more about Ryan and his wife and their next adventure in following after God, please go to: http://newcitychurchkc.org/ You can support them through your prayers and through your financial support.

Before I was born

2009-03-31T18:13:00.003-06:00

Prayer Pictures

2009-03-30T16:20:00.003-06:00

You held me in your hands
Gently
Molded me from the clay
As potter's will do
you placed your mark on me.

You placed your thumbprint on my heart
Before I was fully formed
You shouted to the heavens with joy and delight,
"She's mine."
But gazing into my unborn face
into eyes that had never seen
and into my ears that could barely hear
your whisper, you said, "You're mine."

"She's mine."
You shouted to the hosts in heaven,
And to the people below
You said, in a quiet voice,
from which thunderclouds form,
"She's mine."

It was a declaration,
It was a clear warning,
to those who would try to hurt me.
And You spoke the promise to me,
"You're mine."

But before you were done,
You took your thumb,
And placed your mark in my heart.
The thumbprint invisible,
yet irremovable,
the mark of your eternal care
and as your thumbs gently stroked my face
and your words whispered down
with the light of love on your face
you declared your intentions.
You set your plans in place.

Where some saw a poor, broken deformed child,
You said I was perfectly formed
For you had a purpose
and you had a plan
to use me for healing and grace
and here in the secret place of my heart
the place that I thought was condemned,
when your blood washed away my sin,
the cleansing flood revealed your mark
that said I was yours from the start.

"She's mine."
You cried to the heavens,
to the ends of the sea your words rang.
"She's mine."
You cried to the princes of earth
to every one who had ears for your song
you sang your protection for me.
"She's mine."

I'm yours.
How could it be different,
when you spoke your words over me.
You said I was precious, beautiful and loved,
but the best thing that you said to me
Is I'm yours.

The Sheep and the Goats

2009-03-21T19:43:00.003-06:00

This sermon in music and words has affected me more than any other sermon ever, and for decades now. I loved this man's heart and his passion, and today I have been thinking about his words lately because of the devastating situation one of my pastors is facing. The way he is facing it makes me think of Keith Green. I hope his words speak to you as they have to me. I am so convicted.

Update

2009-03-14T13:05:00.002-06:00

I was reading a few posts back (and yes, I know some of you don't get my Crispin Glover video clip. If it isn't funny to you, well humor is one of those odd things that in the explaning, the intent--humor and laughter--is ruined.) Anyway, a few posts back I was struggling with the test results and believing that this pain syndrome is permanent. As I thought back, I realized that even though I have had this pain syndrome for 17+ years, the level of pain has not been consistent throughout the time. In fact, there have been periods of time that were relatively mild and which allowed me to work with fairly low pain levels and fairly high energy levels. The fish incident brought on a major flair-up, as FM people don't recover from pain and injury the same as other people.

I have, at various times, even been able to hold two jobs, or to work full-time and go to school. So, I am thinking that my current level of pain and the high levels of the virus are my bodies response to the high stress of my last job, particularly my struggles with a very difficult situation within that job and then trying to maintain the office by myself for a couple of months. I certainly began to feel the exhaustion returning during that time period.

So, dear friends, even though it is likely that I will never be pain-free in this world, I am heartened to consider that I am just currently on the pain side of the cycle and that I am likely to come back down to a manageable level in the foreseeable future.

While this gives me hope, I am glad that I cannot truly see beyond today, for my heart would fail me. Had I known what future pains I would face, I would not have had the courage to go on. We are not meant to know more than today.

I have a friend who spends most of her time lying in a bed in a nursing home. She doesn't have the strength to speak loudly enough for most people to hear her, and most people say her speech is slurred. I understand her well enough, most of the time, but I have to lean in close. I know her mind is sharp and that it is frustrating that her body won't cooperate. Her right side is useless, following a stroke, and her left eye apparently does not work any more. She faces all of this with great dignity and grace. She has taught me that God's strength is sufficient for today. I don't need to have the strength for tomorrow today. I only need the strength for today.

However...should I somehow see tomorrow, I need only know that the same God who sustains me and gives me strength and courage for today will be with me tomorrow. My Jesus, who bought me with a great price has sent me a Comforter. There is a great prayer meeting in heaven over me and over you. The Spirit interprets our prayers, even our groanings that have no words, Jesus, our Savior interceeds on our behalf with the Father, who sees only the righteousness of his Son, and even when we were unrighteous and in our wretched state, loved us enough to have sent his son. Do I understand it? Can I begin to comprehend his love? Can I comprehend the mystery of a God who calls himself one and plural at the same time? Jehovah Elohim? Adonai? That we have one God I believe. That he is three persons, Father, Jesus Christ his son, and the Spirit, I also believe. It is a mystery that I cannot understand. Praise him for his excellent greatness!

His strength is sufficient for me.

Prayer for R, C, & S

2009-03-14T12:21:00.002-06:00

Do you ever have those times when all your words fade? There is no eloquence or long-winded speeches, no twist of phrase that can adequately pray? Today is it.

Lord, have mercy.

Have mercy, Oh Lord.

Mercy.

The state of Kim

2009-03-14T04:11:00.003-06:00

My church, Community Church of the Rockies, is in the midst of a campaign for spiritual renewal, growth and devotion, leading up to a financial campaign. This, combined with my present circumstances are all being used by God to reveal where my faith is weak, where my sin issues are, the places where I am unfaithful, and to increase or light a fire in me with a longing for more of Him. Having no job and no job prospects makes me understand to an even greater degree that I am totally dependent on God for my provision. The health difficulties point out the ways I was trusting in my own physical strength to accomplish things and to minister to others. Being asked to commit to a more intense walk (the fasting/study/prayer time) has revealed where my walk and my discipline is weak. It has revealed areas of sin in my life that require repentance.

Truly I have nothing in myself. My righteousness is like filthy rags and cannot stand before a Holy God. I am more grateful than I have ever been that Jesus took my place and clothed me in his righteousness and because of that I can go boldly into the very throne room of God. What a wonder that his forgiveness is so thorough.

I come to him bemoaning my weakness and he laughs, saying, "I know, my child. Let me give you MY strength."

I say to him, "Forgive me of my sin." He says, "What sin? It was all washed away. I see you clothed in the righteousness of Jesus."

I say, "I am faithless." He says, "but I remain faithful. I cannot change my nature."

I come to him saying, "I'm afraid for my financial situation." He says, "Why? Don't you know that I own everything? I will not withhold any good thing from you. I will give you what you need. Don't you trust me?" And I confess that I am weak in my faith where I thought I was strong.

I go to him about my physical frailties and he says, "Those are to try you and test you, to humble you and to teach you to depend on me, that in the end it may go well with you."

I think we as a people, even as Christians, have depended on our country for our provision and our way of life. We (and by we I mean me) have held onto our wealth and largely ignored the suffering world around us, clinging to our comforts and our wants, while people are dying. Is our heart toward the poor? Toward the suffering church around the world? Is our heart even turned toward our neighbors? I begin to wonder if this time may bring us as a people and as the church in America to realize that our plans have been silly and selfish, and for the most part we have been ungrateful for what God has provided for us.

Lord, guide my days. Where my plans are out of sync with yours, make me aware, that I may go with your perfect plan. Where I have depended on anything other than you, show me, that I may repent. You are my sustainer, my hope, my provider. Your grace is sufficient for me. Show me your glory Lord, in spite of me.

Crispin Glover on Letterman - very funny!

2009-02-12T18:27:00.000-07:00

Chronic Pain

2009-02-12T14:11:00.002-07:00

I have occasion to think about what it means to live with pain. I really think that if someone told me that I was going to die soon that I would be okay with that. I don't want to die, but I would be okay with it. I'm not afraid. I would regret things I haven't done or completed, but I'm okay with it. Some who have had that cancer diagnosis say you do not know until you hear those words, but I truly believe that for me, knowing that my family was hurting would be the worst, followed by any treatment. A death sentence is not my big fear.

My big fear is when they say, "hey, there is no cure. Sorry you hurt. Get used to it." And this is what has happened. I have always expected a cure. I didn't really admit it to myself and certainly never to others, but I expected it. I never even knew how much I expected it until I said to the doctor, "you mean I'm screwed" and he just looked at me. No laugh, no disagreement, merely silence.

I am staring at the lab reports trying to understand them. I don't understand them. The lab report says that any reading over 120 for the EBV Ab VCA, IgG is positive. Mine is 2389. Somewhat higher. If I understood the doctor correctly this means that I have chronic Epstein Barr. Epstein Barr does not go away, though it can go up and down. This cannot be eliminated from your system. This has been linked with the chronic pain and fatigue that I have been dealing with for 17 years. Also I am rating positive for a chronic Chlamydia pneumoniae (this is not the STD, but a very tricky bacteria). This apparently changes form and hides within the body, attacking nerves, and is linked to....chronic pain and fatigue syndromes, asthma and arthritis, among other things.

As I struggle to discern truth from fiction (the web is a tricky place filled with lies and falsehood along with great information)I am struggling to regain my fighting spirit. I have fought for years against disability, against depression, against giving in to this! With his words, my fight went on vacation and didn't take me along.

I don't know what other people's greatest fears are, but I have learned one of my own. To know that the future stretches out ahead of me and that years of pain and fatigue await me requires courage that I do not have in me. I am afraid. But as George R. R. Martin says in "A Game of Thrones":

"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"
"That is the only time a man can be brave"

I may not have enough courage to face this on my own, but what I do have is the surety that I don't have to. At this moment I cast this on my Savior, for he cares for me. He cares for me and that is beyond expression. That gives me courage.

Penn Says

2009-02-12T14:09:00.000-07:00

A person without a country...

2009-01-29T10:22:00.002-07:00

Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I am feeling bereft today. I went to Robb's to pick up some things he said he wanted me to have. I knew it would be hard for me to be at his house without him there, but the minute I got into the car to go there I started crying. I steeled myself to go, kicking myself for being a coward and not going while he was still living.

I know we all process our grief in different ways, but I am baffled and angry that no one seems to be taking his death as hard as I am. Everyone is disgustingly cheerful. Oh, I have moments where I allow myself the respite of forgetting, and in those times I am able to act normal, but is there no grief in some of these people? Or is it that many of his friends are older and their experiences with death has numbed or calloused them? I don't know, but I am raw with grief. I wanted to call and ask Robb a question this morning, but there is no one on the other end of the phone.

I sat at his table which had pictures from nearly 30 years ago, with Rob sporting dark hair and beard, and those 70's style glasses that were dark tinted, graduating to clear on the bottom. It brought back memories, hints of fleeting thoughts of times and years gone by. He will never maneuver through the piles of stuff in that house again. At some time I will drive by that house and there will be another family living there. They won't have the piles, they won't have the crowded surfaces, they won't have a full garage, crowded sheds, etc. The lilac will bloom for someone else. It will be a stranger's home, and bit by bit I will have to come to terms with the fact that he is gone.

But for now, I can't get in the car without breaking down crying. There is nowhere that my grief feels understood. Even at Rob's the executor who was a friend for 20 years, shows no signs of grief. The relentless cheer is hard for me to take.

I thought that if there were one place where my grief would be understood, it would be there. Where is the land where this grief is understood and shared?

No friends found

2009-01-25T18:37:00.002-07:00

I've spent some time today on Facebook, looking up old friends. Several times, upon coming on a person without a picture, but the right name, I would click on the "view friends" to see if the person's friends were either people I knew or were at least from the right part of the country, where other information is lacking.

Several times I came upon the disturbing notice: "John Doe has no friends." "Belinda X. has no friends." Now I understand what they are trying to say, but it got me to thinking about what it would be like to truly have no friends. Who are the people who have no friends? What is their life like? What would make a person have no friends? What in a person's past would damage them to the point where they simply did not reach out and have friends?

How do you go about befriending a person with no friends? How do you indentify such a fragile soul?

Such a stark statement. Put your own name in the statement. _________ has no friends. Imagine what it would take for you to quit trying, to refuse friendly overatures, to withdraw so completely into yourself that you truly would not have a friend in the world. Who would you have to alienate? What friend would be persistant and what would you do to totally end their gestures of friendship?

So Great A Cloud of Witnesses

2009-01-25T13:58:00.002-07:00

Sitting in the sanctuary, the cellist and violinist played old hymns. As I listened, I heard him singing. I remembered riding in the car while he played gospel quartets and sang along. He had a very nice rich baritone and he didn't hold back when he sang. I couldn't help crying as I remembered. Every song I had heard him sing.

I wonder now as I never have before, if Rob is one of those in the "great cloud" who is watching and cheering me on. I don't really understand it, but Paul wrote about it. I've thought about the great saints of the Bible, but for the first time I think there is someone there with particular affection for me who is cheering me on. It is a strange but comforting thought.

Hearing the music though, that reminds me of the sadness of missing him day by day. I can hardly stand not being able to talk with him.

Unemployment Woes

2009-01-23T14:28:00.004-07:00

In the past it was my role to be encouraging to those seeking employment. I attempted to do so with caring and genuine concern for their plight. I didn't have a real understanding of the feeling that comes from day by day by day looking for work and hearing nothing. Or, worse, finding out that many of the jobs you apply for aren't real jobs, but are simply to entice you onto yet another job board, or are "opportunities" for work at home.

I am naturally an optimistic person, but I get a bit down at times. The process is depressing, and if you aren't careful, could really destroy a person.

Some people do not understand. The assumption is that we can live off our savings. What savings? We have been pulling out of the pit left by a failed business. The loss of both our jobs came as we were getting ready to try to build up our savings again, well...the timing isn't ideal.

While I don't think it is a time for rash decisions, it is a good time to be thinking through goals and direction for the future. Is is enough to simply take a menial job that does not have anything to do with what I want to be doing in my life? How do these decisions get made? What is valued in life? What does God want for me to do?

When tempted to be afraid, that must be set aside, or overcome for fear does not lead to wise and sober decisions, nor is it good for the body or the mind.

Ah, some days I ramble. What did Moses do? He followed the direction of God each day. It doesn't appear to me that he knew other than great generalities what God was doing. He had great promises, but did he understand how each day added up to the fulfillment of those promises? He had been used mightily by God but it seems to me he would not have understood the daily direction. He would have been discouraged many times as they wandered. He had 2 million people whining, complaining, and wanting what they used to have. Forgetting the worst of it, they only remembered the good things. (For them the good things were leeks and onions. To each his own.)

I need to learn the lesson here. Do not hunger and thirst for the things that are past. The longing for them only hides the reality of what was. The memories are selective, it seems. I need to appreciate the gifts of today, the manna as it were. God goes before me, even though I don't have a visible representation of that. He provides for me, though in a different way than in the past.

Oh, I'm no Moses, but I certainly wish I were more like him. I would like to be the kind of person that stands for God and his truth even when all around fall away. I would love to be the kind of person who spends time in such complete devotion. Moses spent 40 days without food or drink, fasting, praying and spending time with God. Would that I were as devoted and as close. I fall so short.

Witch Doctor, Fount of All Wisdom, Uncle, Friend

2009-01-18T21:14:00.002-07:00

For 30-plus years I have been friends with a remarkable, enjoyable, lovable curmudgeon. As a child he was the one who told us about all manner of mischief we longed to be part of (and I bet my brothers secretly were) like potato cannons and other somewhat dangerous fun. He told wild stories, all the while laughing like he could scarcely catch his breath. Initially friends with my parents, he was truly friends with us kids. He remembers episodes of my childhood that I can only recall in bits and pieces, explaning behaviors and memories I could not make heads or tails of.

I think he knew all our family secrets.

There wasn't much he didn't know. He had knowledge of aerospace, aeronautics, electrical engineering, rocket science, biology, chemistry, construction, medicine, etc., etc. We couldn't find anything he didn't know about. That is, until personal computers. Personal computers were a puzzle to him.

He was really into health and all the wacky stuff that goes along with it. Colloidal silver (sp?), some weird kind of foot bath that was supposed to remove toxins, this vitamin, that supplement, this juice drink, that special vitamin concoction special ordered, wheat grass, laetril, etc., etc. I took to ignoring the latest recommendation for healing every medical issue I had.

He spent so much time with us when I was growing up that the only way I could explain how close we were is to call him Uncle. How else to explain the guy who was at our family holiday meals, at church, went camping with us, and was so very special to us? It was an honorary title, but one he was willing to own. I know one time he had a surgical procedure at the VA hospital and brought me along as his "niece" so that they would let me visit him and make decisions for him if anything went wrong.

We were great friends, and I loved him.

The call came in this morning that Rob died. I had been planning to visit him this afternoon. I knew he was dying, but I am still devastated by the loss. How could I be prepared to lose such a wonderful friend?

Rob Harris, died January 18, 2009. Missed by many, many close friends and family. And me.

Working on a week-long headache.

2009-01-10T14:04:00.002-07:00

So for 6, 7 or 8 days now (I've lost count.) I've had a very bad headache. I have had 3 chiropractic treatments, 2 migraine sprays (or is it 3?), many ibuprofen and excedrin, used ice packs, slept with a roll carefully placed under my neck, done neck excersizes, done relaxation...but the headache seems to only receed for brief periods only to return for no apparent reason.

So today, I am still sitting in my pajamas at 2:05 pm [In my shame I took a moment to go get dressed.] I am wallowing in movies. Thanks to my son, I have found HULU. I have not figured out all the things on this site, but I have watched a few movies (with brief commercial interruptions)and sat here, hoping to rid myself of this headache through rest and relaxation.

I need to go see a friend who I have put off this week, and go visit uncle Rob in hospice. I was so hoping to have my headache gone. Yikes!

Two Hopes

2009-01-08T16:25:00.002-07:00

Last week I visited a friend and found him in a state. He has been fighting cancer for quite some time. He looked at me and said, "I've given up hope." I put my arms around him and said, "No, my friend, there are two hopes. You've given up hope of healing in this world. You still have the best hope which is that you will be face to face with Jesus." I believe that, though I don't know quite where the words came from.

I am grateful that there is hope beyond this life. In this world which is so damaged from the ravages and consequences of sin entering into it, there are often things which cause moments of depression and despair. When I hear that a lady from church has gone home to die, having refused any further cancer treatments, and will leave her grief-stricken husband and daughters, I am broken. When another friend is having an impossibly difficult pregnancy, when a friend's daughter has an inoperable brain tumor at the age of 16, when my father moans from the dreadful pain of stenosis, when I stop to think about the 17+ years of pain I have had, I grow weary and despondent. I refuse to wallow there, but I get there for certain.

Today has been a hard day, sitting in hospice with a friend. He is longing for a swift and speedy end. He asked me to pray for a coma. Some of the health care workers seem to think he has more painful lingering to do. Oh, how I long for him to see his hope fulfilled. I long to know that he is seeing Jesus face to face. And yet, if it were my will, I would long to have him with us for years to come.

I have not seen my hopes for him in this world fulfilled. I am certain that his hopes for the next will be.

Apologies, dear readers...

2009-01-02T15:09:00.003-07:00

I have been reading my recent posts, and frankly some of them are awful, whinning drivel. Oh why won't people come to my party? Perhaps becasue I ask so hesitantly. And yet, this last time I had a house full. They weren't all the people I thought would come, but so what? It was a wonderful blend of people all of whom were great fun and very special.

Plus, we've started a regular game night. It's mid-week due to a friend's work schedule, so that is self-limiting. It limits how late we play and how many people we are likely to invite because of work the next day.

We have been invited to Thanksgiving and New Year's with friends two years running, and spent new years morning with another group of friends who have a regular breakfast followed by broom ball on a frozen lake nearby.

I sat and watched, because I didn't want to mess up a test I am doing to see how wheat/gluten affect me, but I wish I had played. It looked like so much fun and I want to PARTICIPATE, not sit on the sidelines.

So...I'm thinking, maybe we should invite a bunch of people over for some kind of weird outdoor game. Maybe badmitton or crouquet.

New Year, New Start?

2008-12-31T14:32:00.002-07:00

In our household, there are divergent views on the celebration of the new year. For my husband New Year's is "just another day." In some ways I would agree with him, but I lean toward the view that celebrations of many kinds are good for us humans struggling through the vagaries of life on this earth. A person who cannot make an excuse to celebrate goes through life with a dismal view of things. Gray days meld into gray weeks, months and years. I believe that celebrations make all of our sorrows and troubles easier. It reminds us to treasure those we love, to make note of special times, creates good memories and reminds us that bad times don't last forever. Perhaps we should celebrate each Tuesday, merely because it is Tuesday, meaning that we have made it through another Monday!

Plus I love new beginnings. What optimism there is in turning a new page, starting a new book, putting up a new calendar with all the possibilities the blank pages have for you. Celebrating New Year's is an optimistic way to say that we may have lost everything last year, but this new year holds endless possibilities.

For me, the new year is exactly that. New everything. New job, hopefully. It provides the hopeful expectancy of finishing one or more of my books. It provides the expectancy of opportunities for service.

Plus, I celebrate that Dad has made it through another year. That wasn't expected. However, I am changing my expectations in that regard. Although I remain realistic about the possibility of a heart attack, barring that, I think he's got a lot of time left. What is sad is that he lives such a purposeless existence which is really difficult for him.

When I come to this blog at the end of 2009 I plan to rejoice that I have finished at least 2 of my books, and am in the middle of more.

Also, I am hopeful that 2009 will see the release of the final book in the Song of Fire and Ice series by George R.R. Martin. Some complain about his timetable, but I enjoy the anticipation as much as I enjoy the fulfillment of it. Plus, how can he possibly top this series? Will anything he writes be as satisfying as this?

Also, I am hopeful that there will be something new from Cornelia Funke, Margaret Ball, and so many others.

I am hopeful that the new year may provide answers for the pain that has plagued me for the last 17 1/2 years. Otherwise, I wonder whether I will wind up on disability. I have fought that for so long and tried so hard to hide my physical difficulties. I would so hate to give in to it or to have this defeat me now.

On another up note: I ran into my friend John Malloy a few days ago. It was so wonderful to see this dear brother. I introduced him to my friend Evelyn and to my husband and had a brief chance to talk to him and to tell them what he meant to me during a sometimes very difficult period in my life. Let me close with a quotation from him, but first let me tell you the story. John is a Fedex delivery guy and we had grown friendly over time as he delivered packages to me. Upon first seeing my collection of rotation verses and hearing what music I might be playing, he realized that we were of the same religious persuasion and we would talk now and again as he ran in and out. Sometimes I would give him a verse that was really speaking to me, sometimes he would do the same. I would occasionally run into him outside the office and I shared with him the struggle I was having over leaving my church and needing to go elsewhere. Anyway at some point during this time, John walked in with his package and without any 'hello' or other pleasantry simply said:

I've been thinking. We are warriors and this is a battlefield. We are not meant for rest and comfort at this time

Then he left.

John, I've thought of that so often ever since. There are times that I am ready to give up because I think I need rest or comfort, but I've decided that you are right.

We are warriors and this is a battlefield. We are not meant for rest and comfort at this time

It never works out like I thought it would...

2008-12-20T16:35:00.002-07:00

You know that picture you get in your head about what it will be like when you...

Buy a car. I have two scenarious in my head. The first I never seem to recognize until it doesn't happen. I expect to walk into a car dealership and turn the corner when...oh, my...the perfect car is sitting there at the perfect price. No one has been looking at this little, low mileage baby because it is painted that incredible shade of purple (or yellow or green) that I had my heart set on. The second is that car dealerships are in the business of ripping me off. In fact, I'm fairly certain that after hours, car salesmen and their managers laugh their heads off about how they suckered me into buying a perfectly awful vehicle. "She didn't even notice that the engine block is cracked!" or "I wonder how long it will be before she loses the chewing gum I sealed the radiator with."

Somewhere in between is the truth. In between the good and bad, between the dealerships that ignore you when you are purchasing a lower priced vehicle and the one's without a decent car in my price range, "would you like a little rust with that car, ma'am?" are the places with reasonable deals shown by salesmen who understand that they aren't necessarily making the deal of a lifetime on this purchase, but are possibly making the start of a potentially long-term relationship with people who will likely purchase other cars in their lifetime and may know other people who will buy vehicles as well.

They don't pretend that something is what it isn't, nor do I pretend that I am some super-important client whose purchase will set their sales goal for the month. It is human beings dealing with human beings.

I am not indecisive, what I am is unprepared to buy something I don't want. There are red flags that pop up in the back of my mind that sometimes take me a half hour or so to figure out what they are about, but my biggest problem is that I feel like I am being rude or taking up someone's time unnecessarily if they don't have what I want. I feel for salespeople. It is a difficult way to make a living. Sure, it can be a fairly well-paying proposition, but it is also a risky one.

I had in my head that I would buy a Jeep. Or a Toyota or a Honda. I bought a GMC Yukon in all it's glory. Big enough for a comfortable road trip with the dogs, big enough to haul things needed for the house, or to haul things to the Goodwill, big enough to haul a load of firewood, and comfortable enough for me with my arthritis and other issues. This is a wonderful vehicle.

What shall we give?

2008-12-05T16:35:00.002-07:00

I frequently find myself a bit depressed this time of year. Despite my best efforts I find my expectations for the season of joy and delight are above and beyond what my life actually produces. I hear about the busyness of the season and I think, what busyness? I do not have this social calendar brimming with dinners and parties which I must choose from. I do not puzzle over my wardrobe wondering if I can get one more wearing from that festive skirt before people begin to comment.

I love the idea of all of that, but I lead a fairly quiet, boring day-to-day existence. And now, I am being asked what I am going to give up this season, or what I am going to change. I honestly don't know. I struggle to give what I do now, and I am fairly good at not over-spending.

I am struggling, however, with the nature of God. This is not the deep struggle I have had in the past, more like a struggle against the discomfort of knowing that I do not understand and that my expectations of God are being tried. I have a friend whose baby is not forming properly in the womb and because of that is unlikely to be able to live outside the womb for even a breath. I cannot bear their sorrow. I cannot stand knowing their pain. I am wounded for them more deeply than I can even express and I am asking God, why? Why does one person's struggle to find work threaten their adoption? Why does one young friend struggle with a brain tumor? Why have I been struggling with physical pain for 17 years? Why does there seem to be no relief? Why does one friend struggle with a drug-addicted husband? Why are there starving people? Why is there evil? Why do we get old and some of us have such intense physical struggles and intense pain? Why is this young couple facing such a painful time as they know what they are expecting and must wait to see their baby die?

A young man I know told me that he has been reading through the old testament as I suggested and wondered, Doesn't God seem awfully bloodthirsty? I heard the hesitation in his voice as he asked the question. It is a question I know well. I've wondered many times, and gone round and round with the mystery of who is God? Who is this God of love and of vengeance? Who is this friend of sinners?

So that is my question, God. Who are you? Can you be known? What about this suffering? What about your unchanging nature that pardons and exacts vengeance? And...if you don't cause all of our sufferings, but you are in a position to prevent them, why do you withhold your goodness from us at times?

I ask these questions even as I am thinking on the meaning of the incarnation. I am thinking on the wonder that God became flesh and dwelt among us, making himself the sacrifice that sin required.

Whining

2008-11-22T13:18:00.002-07:00

Since I was little I wanted to have the home that invited people. I wanted to have the party house, you know. I wanted to have a house full of people. Do you remember "Grandma's Feather Bed"? John Denver sang it years ago and that was what I wanted. I wanted a house filled with cousins and aunts and uncles, friends, brothers and sisters and people whose relationships are of the hard to trace kind. Are they a third cousin once removed or a fourth cousin? Is that Uncle Jason's third wife's son from a previous marriage or is that Danny, Aunt Ethel's son by Uncle Daniel who died in the war?

I don't know quite why, but I am too boring or sedate of something, not at all the person I wanted to be, because when I invite people over they rarely come. My kids back out of holidays, and even my parent's bail. That's pretty bad when your own parent's bail on you.

So...I have decided that perhaps I don't have true friends. Perhaps I do not have people that will show up. We don't get invited to join people very often and no one wants to join us. I don't know why.

That's not true. I do know why. We aren't fun. Well, that's going to change. I've spent too many years being overwhelmed by life circumstances. Too many years just this side of depressed. It's too easy for me to slip into that.

I thought my kids would want to come home to be with us no matter what we were doing. Oh well. Not true. Okay.

What's all this about a beaver?

2008-11-21T10:47:00.004-07:00

I was talking to a good friend at lunch yesterday about the different ways we do things. She laughed when I told her I carefully measure my pictures, include the length to the hanger and then carefully and precisely hang them, ensuring the same amount of distance between them, but only after looking at them for several weeks laid out on the floor in front of the wall they are going on, changing the order until I am certain it is exactly as I want it. I told her that it drives me nuts when people move things after I have carefully arranged them (I didn't mention how it bothers me when other people hang things in my home without the same attention to detail.)

She said I am a beaver. Well I looked it up online and many of those characteristics apply to me, but many of the lion characteristics do too. I am decisive and stubborn, but I also like things very precise. I will have a picture in my mind of what I want and nothing else will do. I line up pictures with a level and measuring tape so that they are evenly spaced and level, looking at them sometimes for weeks prior to hanging them.

Apparently that type level of perfectionism (which does not advance to the level of OCD or mean that I actually complete things with any predefined level of perfectionism, but the attempt and drive to do so is what makes one a beaver.

Perhaps she simply meant my body type.

There's Something About Mary...

2008-11-19T10:23:00.003-07:00

I have a friend who I will call Mary. Mary's life is a series of mostly good stories. Good times. Noodle salad. Her children have fairly good strong marriages, her grandchildren all seem to be doing well and are embracing the faith of their fathers, walking after God in a great way. Family comes for the holidays and they have grand celebrations with 15-20 family members cooking, talking, laughing, playing games and having a great time. I love her life. It reminds me of the Shire, before the Ringwraiths come. They work hard, save their money, spend time with friends and family, and are happy people. At a certain point, they retire and live a somewhat comfortable existence. All is as it should be.

Then there's folks like me. An uneventful, unremarkable life is not what I live. I can look back to certain choices that have added to the turmoil, but many things have been out of my control. The flood was out of my control. Often family members make decisions that affect you in ways you could not imagine. There are the calls, "My car was stolen." "About your son..." So many, many things that I had no control over, and things I did not instigate. "We decided to cancel your contract." So many things.

My friend calls me if we haven't seen each other for over a week just to find out what's new. In her life what's new is that she finished a blanket for the mission, she canned a carton of peaches, she had this family or that over for dinner, she cleaned out the garden beds, shampooed the carpet, etc. I love that about her. I love the normalcy of it all. I love that when I call they are out "trimming the bushes" and soon there will be neatly cut bundles of branches from the shrubs, tied neatly with twine. They attend ballgames of their grandkids, entertain others in their home, visit family and friends. They are terrific.

When she calls me the conversation goes something like this: "Did I tell you Steve came home?" "No, you didn't." "He just showed up early last Saturday morning. He got laid off and so he grabbed his stuff and drove all night." "How wonderful to have him here, but he doesn't have a job?" "He's supposed to have started one yesterday, but the plans aren't ready, so it will probably be next week. But, they did finally hook up the stove and we started on the dining room walls, finally." "Oh my. So much goes on in your life." Then I go on to tell her the rest of the story.

See the thing is, I know she does not long for the craziness of my life, but she loves me in the middle of it and wants to hear what's happening. Sometimes she may think that she is boring, but I don't see it that way at all. She works so hard to maintain a good home and to prepare good nourishing food and making the budget stretch so that their retirement allows them to enjoy some of the things they like to do. She is a wonderful hostess, in part because her life runs a bit like clockwork. Her home is peaceful and inviting.

Welcome to my home...or rather, I should say welcome to my construction zone. There is always something undone. Some project in some stage less than complete, and usually involving a mess. It drives me up a tree. In the middle of that craziness, I enjoy the respite of being in her home, in that peaceful spot in the middle of the Shire with good Shirefolk.

Oz, the Great and Terrible

2008-11-18T13:21:00.004-07:00

We all know what happened when the curtain was drawn back on the great and mighty Oz. He was revealed to be a sham. A great showman, but a sham. He gave everyone what they already had. I find so much of religious talk, secular motivators, psychology, etc. is to tell folks that they already have the answers inside themselves. I just read a quote about becoming aware of our true self that is one with God.

Scripture tells me there is only one way to become united with God, and yet none of these sham wizards are willing to tell the truth. You don't have the answers within yourself. You don't have the strength within yourself. Oh, you may have been shown some truth, you may know some of the answers, but you are not the source of truth. You know that you can lie to yourself. There are pills or lozenges that can alter your tastebuds 'til lemons taste like candy. Women convince themselves that their man will never do it again. Men convince themselves that those moments of bitchiness they see in their girlfriends are an anomaly that will go away after the wedding day.

We convince ourselves that lies are truth all the time. Even when confronted with truth, we often only accept a part of that truth. We like verses like Deuteronomy 7:9

"Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping
his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and
keep his commands."

We make plaques out of it, put it on the calendar, and meditate on it. Nothing wrong with that. But we don't make plaques out of the next verse:

"But those who hate him he will repay to their face by destruction; he will not
be slow to repay to their face those who hate him."

We don't like to look at the fullness of God. He is both great and terrible. He is both gentle and wild, loving and just. Even as his mercy is adored, we don't like to face the fact of his wrath.

I don't like to look at it either. I don't understand the fullness of God. I'm still that little kid running into daddy's throne room with my hurts and fears, climbing into the lap of the Almighty, not understanding his glory or the weight of his majesty. When the curtain is pulled back on God, there is no sham pretense, making us believe he is doing things that we have done for ourselves. We will see glory and holiness that cannot help but throw us to our knees in worship.

If I hide myself from his glory and his greatness, chosing only to see the sweet, fuzzy, loveable grandfather or daddy that I want, I miss so much of who my daddy is. In that I also miss part of who he has made me to be. I fail to be grateful for him bringing such a sinfull soul into his presence; I fail to understand the wonder of what Jesus the Messiah did for me in making me acceptable in the sight of God and allowing me to come boldly to the throne as his child.

O God, make me more aware of the awfulness and terrible weight of your righteousness and holiness. Make me more aware of the price you paid for me and make me ever more grateful for the price you paid for me. Make me ever more aware of the fullness of yourself. Oh, let me know you more. You are a gracious and forgiving God to allow me to run in without a true understanding of your nature, of your glory and majesty. I am humbled and exalted in your presence. You have my heart and my worship. You deserve every bit and every moment. Forgive me for my whining when things don't go my way and when things get hard. Why should I long for a road that is so much easier than the one you have set for me?

2008-11-18T09:46:00.002-07:00

A layoff is a scary thing. I wonder where my next job will come from. The news all looks so scary. The negative news stories are seeming more ominous than they probably are. I forget the fact that people are still being hired, that jobs are still being filled and that better than 93% of the people who want to work are working.

I am amazed when other people take my upcoming layoff so casually. Makes me wonder how many times I have casually dealt with devastating events in someone else's life. Knowing this has been coming does not really make it easier, although there is some consolation to not being handed a box and escorted out the door without finishing projects, putting everything in order and calmly collecting your effects.

I have seen people escorted from the building upon giving their notice. It was my first concrete indicator that the company I was working for at the time was not who they claimed to be. Their darling, (and truly one of the sweetest and most competent people on the project) who had moved around the country from project to project for them, had been offered a position where she could go home and not move around. Their reaction was instant removal from the premises. She was humiliated and left the office in tears in front of 200 or so of her co-workers, clients and sub-contractors. It was horrible.

Anyway, for some reason, this feels like a death to me. I want to close my door and bawl like a baby, even while I reach for and cling to hope. I KNOW that my redeemer lives. I know that I am not abandoned or forsaken. Yet I run to him as a frightened child. Outwardly I am calm, inwardly I am in turmoil. During these last few weeks I have gone from calm to upset, to peaceful, to sad, to sad and peaceful, to scared and weak and devastated.

I alternately dread and look forward to the future. Yet another adventure where I must run out and hope that I have remembered my kerchief and my pipe. Yet another road to travel where no one has provided a map. I get to a guidepost but none of the choices seem better than the other, no path looks clear.

I am seeking an open door through which I may walk. Sometimes my courage is real, based on who I know holds me, and sometimes it seems more like whistling in the dark to show a courage I have yet to find. The hope is in this--I need not worry. My God will never leave me. He has not abandoned me, nor does he stand back and ask me to let him know what I work out. He has already prepared the way before me, even though I cannot see. It has been wild and crazy so far, I wonder what he has next?

Snow on the Peak

2008-11-13T08:43:00.003-07:00

I watch as he gathers his wintry coat to him,
Gathering it as if from wisps of clouds and vapor and mist.
He weaves it about his head and shoulders left bare to summer suns.

In valleys and rifts he lays the framework,
The warp and weft of his fine coat lain
in the defiles and northern faces of his rugged form.

With a gentle hand he gathers from the stormy clouds of night
his dazzling cloak with which to keep his warmth.
His face will soon be covered by the thick white handiwork
of snow and ice he gathered in the days of fall and mist.

The winter snows will gather
the northwinds wildly blow
But til the spring he'll sit beneath
This cloud he deftly wove.

The mountain mocks my silliness
His silence more profound
than all the words my pen puts down
his majesty profound.

For in this winter dance I find a hint of heaven's face
The mountain shows me majesty that points me further still
It speaks of great and glorious things I cannot comprehend
As if in whispers lightly heard from far, far distant shores.

A picture is the mountain,
A picture in the snow,
A mere reflected glory
seeing heavenly things below.
I cannot see them clearly,
their wonder fully know,
Oh I would know that majesty
reflected in the snow.

God is still in business

2008-11-12T22:43:00.002-07:00

I often think that we, and by we, I mean me, that we look at the Bible as stories--magical stories of things that happened in the past when the world was more adventurous, more dangerous, in a long-distant past. Paul, meeting the Lord in a blinding light; Philip disappearing from the Gaza desert road and the Ethopian eunich, to reappear twenty miles away; healings, casting out demons, prisons bursting open, the Red Sea opened; all these and more read more like a novel. Even though I believe these things actually happened, that an actual flood covered the entire face of the earth and that a remnant were rescued in an ark, even believing that, it seems to be part of a different reality than what I live in.

I am thinking this evening that my faith is too small. Nothing is unsurmountable. No trial, no struggle too big for God. No cancer is too far gone for God too heal, no marriage in too much trouble for his restoration, no sinner too far gone. And I am not too far gone, ever, for him to work in my life. He can still use me and he is still working. He is working in our country, in our church, in our home, in our family, in our neighborhood, in our city, in our world, in our ministries, in our missions. He still calls people. He still gives us instructions, both in his word and personally.

When I am afraid I must remember that God has not changed. He can still move mountains, and he can still change hearts. My own heart which can feel like a lump of granite at times can be melted and molded by him. He is still at work in his church and he has not withdrawn his commission to "go and make disciples". He still asks of us that we be available, that we be ready, that we be willing.

For my part, I need to remember that there is nothing insurmountable with God. Nothing is impossible with him. No circumstance is so dire that he cannot reign over it, change it, dismiss it or walk me through it. No financial situation, no family crisis, no work issue, no disappointment, no church situation, no illness, no anything is beyond his stepping in, showing himself in a remarkable, extraordinary, even a miraculous way. I tend to forget or dismiss his abilities.

He is God. The everlasting, unchanging, all-sufficient, miracle-working God. I can ask him for anything. If it is his will--watch out. Mountains will fall, rivers change course, lives will change, needs will be met, doors will open.

It's all a country-western song...

2008-11-04T18:51:00.002-07:00

I often find myself laughing at inappropriate times. I hear or receive bad news, particularly relating to me, or watch family drama around me and somewhere in the back of my mind I take a step backward. I hear twanging guitar and a fiddle as the lyrics of a bad country-western song are playing in my head. Lost my job today, honey, but it's okay tomorrow I'll be on my way. I hear they're hiring out Las Vegas way....

How about this one? Tired of you complaining 'bout no water in the kitchen. I'm sick of you complaining 'bout no stove. You've got the grill out on the deck and to make cooking simple, I moved the 'fridge outside the kitchen door. You ask how can you cook this way, and what 'bout when the snowfall comes. It seems to me like an improvement baby, 'cause no one likes your cookin' anyway. Or something like that.

I find that it helps to see your life as a series of episodes in sitcoms or a song straight off of Hee Haw. Of course, if you let the laugh track escape your head, you might get decked by a family member and then you'll have to explain your black eye at work.

Anybody game?

2008-11-03T10:11:00.003-07:00

I seriously need an exercise partner. Really. I do. I need to get to the gym as the best way to ward off depression, also I need to build up my strength and endurance (gently) because the fibromyalgia is in a bit of a flare up stage lately. (I'm a member of 24 hour Fitness.) I'm weary of it all, but struggle to get myself out the door. I can be in my workout clothes, standing in the house, fully intending to go and yet I do not. Why wouldn't I go to do the thing that I know has such positive outcomes?

Why do I let the weariness keep me from it? Part of it is that I am tired of so much solitary activity. The more I think about it, the more I think that is the core of it. Hmmm. I'll have to think about that some more and figure it out.

Sometimes all it takes is to figure out what the block is keeping me from positive activity and then I can beat it. Still, the weariness is a huge thing. One of the things that gets me to push past the weariness and pain is the anticipation of seeing someone I know. That is such a positive thing it is worth the effort.

If you are interested...call me.

The Best Laid Plans...

2008-11-02T18:34:00.002-07:00

The plan for the weekend was to install the sink, get the stove hooked up and the refrigerator in off the deck. The sink is NOT in, the stove is NOT hooked up and the refrigerator? You guessed it. It is still sitting on the deck. Snow is in the forecast for this week.

What did get done? Well we discovered a pretty serious electrical problem and had to have the kitchen wiring redone, the electrical box replaced and the circuits redone to reduce an overload on them. The wiring and electrical is now safe.

I could cry. I don't usually allow myself to expect things to happen the way they are planned, but this time I was pretty sure it would work.

Humility

2008-10-29T15:30:00.003-06:00

The subject of humility or of being humbled has come up a lot over the past two days. There are many ways in which we face being humbled or have to lose some dignity or pride. For me, I am humbled every time we go through changes in the worship team (see previous posts) and am reminded that this is not a place where I can have ego and hurt feelings. I am humbled when I limp in the door. For some reason I feel shame and embarrassment when I have trouble walking. I was ready to push Alyssa out of her wheelchair the other day and use it to get to the car.

It is humbling for me to use my dark glasses when I sing. They make me look different than everyone else and draw attention to the fact that I am not like other people.

Being a woman brings a lot of times when your dignity is stripped away. (OB-GYN appts. of any kind, childbirth, buying the warehouse size box of super-plus Tampax from the cute checkout guy....) But men have these humbling times too. First they are too young to be respected, then for a moment they have the respect of their peers, but it passes as the grey hairs appear and more scalp appears, and suddenly they are perceived to be too old to know what they are talking about.

Suddenly we find ourselves faced with bosses who are a decade or more younger than us, doctors who are our children's age, and a body that does not keep up with the mind. My face has betrayed me in the mirror. That person is mature when I feel like a kid. If I get "ma'am"-ed one more time.....

But in all kinds of ways we are humbled. If we don't humble ourselves it will be done for us. I found myself thinking about a co-worker one day as I was heading down my back stairs. Boy is she stupid, falling down the stairs. No sooner were the thoughts in my mind than I fell headfirst, hurting my arm, twisting my ankle and being put in a sling for a couple of weeks.

But where people are bent on putting me in my place, I sometimes forget my REAL place. I am the child of the king of the universe, the author and creator, the great I AM. I am forgiven, I am chosen. If our worth is determined by how much someone is willing to pay for us, then I am amazed to discover that the Creator, the I AM gave all for me. For me. Although I have no intrinsic value of my own, being but dust, my creator made me something more and has made me his child. I get to run in and out of the throne room crying "Daddy!" I am assured that the Master of all Creation holds me, watches over me, loves me and has called me his friend.

Yet, should I get a swelled head as I am given this position, I can only look to the example of Christ, who humbled himself and suffered the insults of his own creation. He was wounded for MY transgressions. The punishment which enabled my position was upon him. If this God-man, the very transcendent Christ, the author and finisher of our faith, who called himself the "I AM" took insults and humiliation, why should I expect more, being his created being.

It is a great mystery to ponder. But the humiliations of this world do not change what God has done for me, nor make me any less his child. In that I can rest, and in those humbling moments I can run into the throne room of an awesome and holy God. What a blessed person I am.

meltdown

2008-10-29T00:18:00.002-06:00

I had a meltdown of sorts the past several days. I really struggle with losing my job, even though I know this is guided by and instituted by God. I also have been struggling with Steve being sent to Las Vegas to work, and feeling very alone.

The worship team has a new leader. He is terrific, but the transition is always difficult for me. Will I be obsolete? Am I too old? I know Miriam led worship when she was quite old (was she ninety something?) but the modern church does not want to use a woman in that capacity at any advanced age. At a certain point I will simply be eased out as being too ancient. Each time there is this transition I go through the same wondering. Each time as the schedule changes and I find myself being used only occasionally, I wonder if this isn't it.

Each time there is a struggle inside about whether God finds me of little use anymore. I like to lead, but I am always willing to follow, and to take whatever place is asked of me. If it is to sing backup, fine. What is not fine is to be shelved. Each time this happens I go through a time of sorting through with God that it is His right to determine when and where and how I am used. So I must not think too highly of myself, but remember that I am a tool in the hand of my God.

I am a tool in the hand of my God altogether. Whether in the worship team, in work, at home, or in any other area of life. I would love to say that I never fight his will for me, but sometimes his will is hard for me. I forget or have a hard time seeing his love and his good plan in the midst of some of the difficulties of life. When I see what seems likely to happen, I sometimes ask why or how am I supposed to do this? I do want God's will, but the adventure of living in his will, sometimes the adventure is a dirty, nasty uncomfortable thing. I want it to be exciting AND safe. It's a silly idea. Nothing truly exciting and good is safe. Nothing that is truly ennobling and worthwhile is easy.

Rock My World

2008-10-26T23:02:00.005-06:00

Pastor Ron was speaking today about Paul's conversion and how the world was changed, not only for Paul and Ananias, but for the whole world with that amazing circumstance. Ron asked us to pray that God would rock our world and that we would be ready for what was coming and trust God to make a way.

I can't help but think that God has already been rocking my world for months or even years. I'm not sure I want to be rocked more.

What I would like is to be part of a grander plan and to see lives changed and souls saved. I would love to see and be part of 10's or 100's being saved. Even one would be exciting. I want to see marriages changed, divorces halted, people get off drugs, and people turn from chasing their dreams of dust and empty promises to truth and joy.

So I told God that while I wanted to be part of his grand plan, to live out that adventurous life winning souls and encouraging Christians in the faith, of seeing lives transformed, but that I was really hoping and longing not to be moving again. Even that I will do if he asks it of me, though it makes me very sad and depressed.

Whirlwind

2008-10-21T20:46:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, Steve got a job. Yea! It meant he had to leave in the middle of the day to drive to Las Vegas. Boo! It also meant he had to take my truck. Boo! Hisss! So, I am sharing a vehicle with my parents, which I don't want to do. Waah. Throw me a pity party why don't you.

Seriously though, these are the times that test our mettle. I thought I knew how God was going to handle this. I didn't really think about it until he got this job. That's when I realized I really thought Steve was going to get a job here. After all, he has already worked away for a year.

I believe that God has the right to do what he wants, but I just don't really understand this. My understanding is not required.

Horrified

2008-10-20T21:30:00.003-06:00

On Saturday I attended a seminar at church "Who is God?" on the nature of God. To my dismay and continuing horror, I sat unmoved. I sat down later to write the following:

How can I sit here unmoved
By the God over all creation
The Glorious One.
Why does my heart beat calm in my chest
As we study your righteousness
Why does my soul not cause me to shout
or fall on my face and weep.
How can I hear of your glory
and sit and nod quietly
Surely the trees were clapping their hands
and the rocks cried of your majesty
Because I sat silently.
Turn my heart from this lukewarm mass
to flesh that's alive in you
Forgive me for my callousness
Oh Lord, please make me new.

Awake me to your presence God
Tear all the deadness away.

A Chill in the Air

2008-10-14T11:24:00.001-06:00

30°F Partly Cloudy

Feels Like: 22°F Humidity: 80% Wind: N 9 mph

Driving to work today I was struck again by the glorious colors of fall. The trees are various shades of green, red, yellow, gold and grown, outshining the splendor of the gardens that are putting forth a great show just now. Lately snapdragons have been showy, the mums are in full bloom and my roses have gone into full bloom again amid the drying stocks of other earlier bloomers. My raspberry bushes are covered in unripe berries and the lavendar has put out a few late blooming stalks, high above the bushy silver-green leaves. All of this is out-shown by the rich colors of the trees.

I love fall. I love the nip in the air, the feeling that you should be pulling out your sweaters, and already I have lit the first log in the fireplace. Still, this year I am kind of sad because I feel like I missed the summer altogether. I was so busy and working so much that I didn't enjoy the garden in full bloom, never got the weeds taken care of, rarely sat out in the lawn chairs taking in the beauty of the day. I didn't sit beside a stream or lake or river even once during June, July or August. Even September slid by virtually unnoticed.

I need to make a concerted effort to enjoy being outside for as long as I can, before I feel trapped rather than cozy being inside on bitter winter days. While the nip is in the air and before snow comes, I'm going to go for a walk. Yes I will be in my heavy coat, and yes I have not one but two sweaters on today, but that should make it even more pleasant, don't you think?

A House Divided

2008-10-14T08:56:00.002-06:00

Some may wonder why it is a big deal to live with a spouse who does not believe as you do, or isn't devoted to following after God and his commands in the way that you are. As I was reading Deut. 6: 4-9 I was struck by how hard it is to talk about God's commandments and his truths all throughout the day when the one you are with is a skeptic, a gnostic, or antagonistic. How easy it is to talk about the things of God with those who are like-minded. Does the conversation ever get stilted? Is your joy increased or diminished in such company? How empty and shallow the conversation must be when minds and hearts are not in tune.

I would ask those of you who do not know what it is like to walk a lonely road like this to imagine for a moment that your deepest thoughts, the deepest revelations of God into your soul are unwelcome, unwanted, misunderstood, or simply unappreciated. Imagine what a gulf--a divide--exists in this kind of marriage. What a loneliness there must be when you cannot share the thoughts that take up your days. Can you imagine? Even where there is no open hostility, it would be like talking all day to someone who doesn't even speak the same language.

I feel this way to a lesser extent when I get around people who love baseball. To me, baseball is like watching paint dry. I don't get the fascination. I don't understand the excitement. As far as I can tell, the only interesting positions are catcher, pitcher and the guy at bat. The batter seems to fail more than he succeeds, a "perfect" game is where nothing happens. The pitcher throws the ball, and inning after inning it lands in the catcher's mitt. Wake me when it's over.

I suspect this is what it's like to listen to the conversation of people who are excited about God, about what he's doing, and about what they are learning in scripture if you aren't a believer. Even if you are friendly toward those people, their excitement baffles you.

How then do we, in effect, show our team spirit and wear the jersey, put the pennant on the wall, plaster the car with bumper stickers, and carry on the never ending conversation about batting statistics, league scores, the injured list, etc., when the other person falls into a stupor within seconds of the start of conversation? The fact is, we don't. We mention the game. We smile broadly when there is a win. And we spend time with those who "get it".

At home, however, the conversation about this important area of life is minimal. The one we love does not love what we love, does not love who we love, is not interested in what interests us.

Oh, it can't help but show. After all, a girl in love with the Rockies is going to wind up with black and purple ribbons in her hair, or wearing the t-shirt to bed, and a woman or a man in love with Christ is going to have their Bible around, may have a special verse taped to the bathroom mirror, or may wear a shirt from their church or a Third Day concert, but a lot of what goes on in their heart and head will stay inside until they are with others who also believe.

So, if you have one of those marriages where you can talk about God as you walk, as you sit, as you work, and can share your deepest thoughts, rejoice, but don't be so quick to leave the church service where the guy or gal who shows up without their spouse seems to want to linger and talk. Don't shut them out. They need to share with like-minded folks.