September 11, 2006

Today is the anniversary of two events. My mom was born on this day several decades ago, and five years ago today we all watched in horror as the second plane hit and we knew that this was no horrific blunder, but a deliberate attack on the United States. Then we watched, tears streaming down our faces as people leapt to their deaths, escaping who knows what horrors, then as the towers fell. We listened in disbelief to the reports of Flight 93 and of the attack on the Pentagon.

I believed that this was my generation's Pearl Harbor. I still believe that. The enemy isn't as clear, and operates without a defined military presence and is not under the overt and readily recognizable control of any one government, but is instead a stealth operation of factions of Islam. That most of the Muslim world seeks our destruction and that of Isreal should not really surprise us, but it does. We are a hopelessly naive culture, more and more taken up in the artificial worlds of fashion, celebrity worship, entertainment and sports. We seek merely to continue to have a good time and not to be troubled with "that stuff".

We dislike facing harsh realities. We want the world to have no complications, no difficult riddles, no choices more difficult than which lip gloss is more kissable. We want to continue our football pools, our parties, our mind-numbing entertainment, our vain pursuits. I include myself.

My son is in Iraq, fighting a war that is unrecognizable by any historical battle I read about. He has internet service, often makes phone calls home, orders entertainment from Ebay or Amazon.com, and has learned to tolerate being shot at. It's terribly hot, very uncomfortable and mind-numbingly boring. Thank God! And thank him for not telling me all the bad stuff. I worry about him enough as it is.

I love my country, but I can't say that I would be thrilled to give my son for her. I am terribly proud of him, but I want MY son to come home. I want all our sons and daughters to come home, but I especially want MINE.

This war has cost me nothing but increased gas prices and unpleasant news. Nothing, that is, except my son, who chose to join the Army after we were already at war.

I'm conflicted. I believe that we have to defend ourselves, even seek vengeance on those who brought such evil upon us, and that a sovereign nation must defend and even be on the offense after such an assault, but I don't really believe this war is winnable. It must be fought, but it is an unwinnable war. Oh, perhaps short-term we may beat back the militant arm of Islam, but if history teaches us anything it is that Islam will rise again and again and seek the destruction of the non-Muslim world, particularly Isreal. The fight began with a child born to Hagar and another born to Sarah. The conflict has been there ever since.

We cannot give in to this threat or the world will head into a great darkness the like of which has not been seen in hundreds of years. I don't mean to dismiss the horrors of Nazi concentration camps and the destruction of millions of Jews, cripples and other "undesirable" peoples, but I truly believe this would be worse for the world in general. However, when I think about prophecy I am left to wonder if this signifies the end times. If so, worse than war will be the peace that then will lead to a storm of sorrows the world has never seen.

September 11th. A good day to think. Also, the first day I saw snow on Pikes Peak. Just a lacy shawl so far, and this will melt away before winter hits, but it was lovely and a pleasure all the same.

Wallpaper

Well, the time has come to replace the wallpaper in the dining room. Much as I love the pattern, the paperhangers ruined the paper when installing it, and I can no longer find the same pattern. Three hours in Home Depot (this trip) finding the paper and ordering it. For the first time I had an unpleasant sales clerk at Home Depot. That has never happened to me before. I was offended at first, then I decided that perhaps working Home Depot on a holiday weekend is not a lot of fun. The store is crowded, there are screaming kids, demanding customers, lines and who knows what kind of pressure is put on them by their co-workers or managers.

Well, when it was time to order the paper, I found out one of the pressures is that the computer systems wasn't working properly. I watched as the clerk's frustration rose as the system kept refusing to complete the transaction because it was asking for an installer, even though this store does not have wallpaper installers available. In the meantime there are people in the aisles wanting help, and the more experienced clerk disappeared.

Three hours and a crapload of money later, we left the Depot, drained, but with the paper ordered and the tools to remove the old paper.

Here's the wallpaper plan:

You can see the pictures at the beginning of this post. In the suggested installation, the paper with the diamond pattern is on the upper wall, the shaped border at the ceiling, the straitedge border midway down the wall and the plainer pattern on the bottom. That looked too busy, so I altered the plan. The busy paper on the bottom, the straitedge border midway, the plainer paper above, with the shaped border at the crown molding. I think it will work well.

Still, I'm a little sad to lose the paper that's there. Ah well, nice that the business is throwing off enough income that we can put back into the house what we took out of it in equity. Hopefully next year we can replenish the retirement funds we took out.

Life Routine

A friend of mine just laughs when we get together after only a couple of weeks apart at all the busyness and changes from just one week to the next. I don't know if most people's lives are stable, routine and predictable, but mine sure isn't.

Just in the past couple of weeks:

1. Painting. Bye-bye red. The entire entry, living room and hallway went from Opera House Red to a color called "Bagel". It is a beautiful warm yellow. To go from the red to the light color required a day of primer (thank you Sandra for helping!), then two days of painting (Thank you to Evelyn and Mary!).

2. Pre-menopause. Well as I have suspected for a long time, I am there, no matter what any doctor says. Older women take one look at me sweating, flushed and fanning myself and laugh, "oh girl, you're flashing!" My husband who is clueless about such things mentioned that I constantly run the air conditioning, or turn on the fan, turn it off, put the sweatshirt on, take it back off...our new landlord laughed and told him that I'm going through "the change".

3. Kristen. Our daughter came to visit for a few days. We haven't seen her for more than a year. It was a really good visit. Kristen is getting married in a few weeks, so we could have waited, I suppose, but you don't really get a chance to talk and enjoy each other during a wedding! Alex came home for the weekend, so we had a great time together.

4. The Business. We have a new office. I am having to plan the build out of the office space, as well as planning what we need to buy to furnish and equip the new space.

5. Parents. They've decided to move back to Co Spgs! This is pretty exciting, but it has its own challenges. When you live on social security and have no other resources, you have to keep the rent pretty low. I have checked out a bunch of unsuitable places, made a number of calls, and eliminated a number of places. Today, however, I was prepared to be dismayed by a place in a part of town that used to be known for run-down places. The area seems to have undergone a renovation and even some nice new building, while the rents stayed affordable. It was very nice and I think it will work.

6. Golf. I'm not supposed to golf. Drs. orders. (Well it was more of a suggestion than an order...) I was kicking myself for having signed up for our office scramble tourney, and spent entirely too much money buying suitable clothes for golfing (fortunately they will work for many other things as well). I was convinced I would humiliate myself, and it started out convincing every one that I was correct in my assumption and couldn't even get the ball off the tee. Lack of depth perception aside, I decided to keep at it and managed a few decent swings, even a 70 yd. straight down the fairway. I was thrilled to actually connect with the ball, a real challenge with no depth perception.

7. Lights, Camera, Action. I've been installing a new light fixture lighting up the entryway. I'm not strong enough to trim the screws down to size, so I had to go back out tonight to find the right size and length among the thousands hanging on the aisle.

8. Office Mate. I now share an office with Michelle, an energetic, funny, outgoing former special ed teacher. I never saw any evidence of my former office mate, and I guess now I know the reason why. She apparently quit without telling anyone.

9. Organization. I bought, put together and put two shelving units in the laundry room, even cleaning and organizing the laundry room between hot flashes.

10. Landscapers. Two different landscapers have come out to give us a bid on our yard. Each time I have to walk them through the yard and explain what I want done and my "vision" for the completed project.

11. Flooring. The guys came the day after putting on the first coat of paint to replace the dining room floor so that it would match the rest of the flooring. The two days it took to finish it were days when painting could not be continued (to keep the sawdust out of the fresh paint).

12. Billing and other office stuff. Ohmigosh. Where do I start? Contractors ask you to do a job, you do it, then they refuse to pay the bill because "we didn't think it would cost this much." When was the last time I made an appointment with the doctor, a lawyer, or even the hairdresser, got the bill and said, "You charge too much, so I'm not going to pay." Un-freaking-belieavable.

13. Wallpaper. Hunting out replacement wallpaper for the dining room. I've been through dozens of wallpaper books. The problem is that I love the paper I already have, but the paperhangers did a horrible job installing it, ruining it. I can't find the same paper. :-(

14. Music. Practice and singing on Sunday morning. Really great, but it is Thursday evening, and nearly 6 hours on Sunday. For extra special fun, this week as an illustrative part of the sermon, prior to the service an entire can of vanilla deodorizer was sprayed in the auditorium, sending me into the worst asthma attack I've had in ages. I can't find a single inhaler. It's been so long since I used one I may have thrown them away as expired. Anyway, a bad asthma attack makes it very difficult to sing as it irritates the lungs and bronchial tubes, and the coughing messes with your voice. But God is still in his heaven and with his help I was able to sing.

15. Firewood. See previous blog "Cousin Roy".

16. The Trim Guy. The reason for all the frantic activity (painting, floors) is that our trim guy is installing the crown molding, baseboard, door and window trim, handrails, and the new front door and storm door. It doesn't make sense to paint after the trim goes in, so it needed to be done before he got here. We've waited months for this guy to fit us in, because his portfolio is amazing. It seems to me that you're better off waiting for the busy guy, than taking the guy who has lots of time on his hand. The craftsman is probably busy, busy, busy.

Well that's a brief overview of the past couple of weeks. I left some stuff out, of course. When you consider the speed I work at, and the fact that it's ragweed season and I'm hot flashing right and left, even I'm impressed.

"Cousin Roy"

I have a friend I'll call Roy. We treat him like family, so let's just call him "Cousin Roy". Cousin Roy has always been a character. There are few people more generous than he is. Yet, though he's more than 20 years my senior, he always acted like a demented teenager, but is one of the most well-read people I know. Not of novels, but if there is a non-fiction book or article on health, engineering, Christianity, cars, airplanes, etc., especially a terribly technical manual, he's read it, understands it and remembers it. If there is a potato cannon needing to be built, or some other article of teenage boy havoc-wreaking machinery needing to be built, he has done so, can tell you exactly how, has the materials, and probably has a working model, if you promise never to reveal where you saw it.

He is also an incredible packrat.

If you don't know a true packrat, let me tell you it is no joke. A true packrat fills most every corner of their home with...well...stuff. Piles, mounds, stacks of papers, merchandise and junk of all descriptions. Boxes and boxes of electronic components, tools, automotive parts, yacht batteries (we live in Colorado), lumber, odd bits of everything people didn't want at the neighborhood garage sale, stacks of corrugated roofing material, rebar, fixtures of all descriptions removed from houses of friends, neighbors and people he doesn't even know. There will always be a use for the hoarded item one day. These things are so useful that life become impeded by their presence. A couch becomes not a place to sit a weary body and chat with a friend, but storage for boxes o'crap and piles o'junk papers. One need not sit at the dining table when it will hold an extra generator, a compressor, broken picture frames, rc airplane motors, submersible pumps and a case of WD-40. The stove becomes yet another storage place, making it unusable for the preparation of food. The kitchen sink may be unreachable for months on end when a new pump for the well is sitting in front of it.

A true packrat has stacks of items they bought and never used, whether at a garage sale or at the clearance rack at the hardware store. Women packrats may have dozens of unused, still wrapped aprons, bags of linens, blouses spanning many colors, styles and eras, all with the tags still on them. Men may do the same thing, but often they are obsessed with things like radios, power tools, TVs, bags of tube socks, pens, rulers, oil filters, and cameras.

Well, if you need a whazit for a schedingyding, the '43 model, not the '44 or '42, Roy probably has one, and if you give him a few minutes he can probably locate that whazit and the doohickey that goes with it, as well as the schlemlerdinckel that makes it work better, and will be able to tell you just how to remove the ringydingy nozzel to replace the whazit, the doohickey and to add the schlemlerdinckel as well.

Some time back, Cousin Roy told me he had made me executor of his estate. Given the sheer volume of stuff filling his house, garage, screen porch, storage sheds, trailers on his property as well as the stuff stacked against the house, I can remember being both flattered and horrified. Over the last 6 months, Roy has made considerable progress reducing the piles o'crap. I have been quite hopeful that he had finally conquered this compusion.

Alas. Today I was called to come pick up free firewood. It wasn't a good time, but I was told that it was now or never, that the stuff would be gone tomorrow, so I went. I picked up a truck load of firewood, and while I was doing that, I watched as Roy filled his truck with used and excess building materials, including a one-piece shower unit. He has no possible use for a shower unit. None. He told me he had been working loading and unloading for days and had a stack as high as his privacy fence. He has a six foot privacy fence. I am officially horrified. Horrified and depressed.

In the space of a couple of days he managed to undo 6 months of progress. It depresses and overwhelms me with the magnitude of the task should he die tomorrow. There is no flattery in being the executor of this estate.

Also depressing is that the place where we were gathering the free materials had bags of discarded possessions, presumably from a series of tenants of a rather rundown old house. Bags of children's toys were amongst the piles of firewood. We uncovered either two dead birds, or the decomposing spread out remains of one. I also uncovered a broken glass pipe. I don't know what drug turns a pipe black, but I imagine most any would as the substance is burned. Sad to think that there were drugs and children, poverty and misuse of funds involving children. The human despair and the depravity...oh, it just makes me so incredibly sad.

I want to run and clean out something, throw something away, but I realize that just this past week I tacked the laundry/utility room and brought it to some semblance of order, even throwing away some things in the process. Good. The panic attack is held at bay, and is even receeding. Breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Ahhhhh. Must remember to breathe.

God is Not Enough

Years ago as I was struggling with thoughts of suicide and needing to find a reason to go on, I had a vision. It was my children, my neighbors, friends, co-workers, etc. standing around my tombstone. The inscription read "GOD IS NOT ENOUGH". To this day this haunts me. It is the message my life would have given had I given in and taken my own life.

I have been with people whose loved ones took this out. It is perhaps the most hostile act I can imagine short of murder toward those who love you. You never know who is watching you as an example. You never know who is reading your story, watching your life to see if what you believe is true--if the God you claim is faithful and trustworthy.

In one act I could have forever told my children that God is not faithful, that he is unreliable and that his promises are not true. I would have said to my neighbors that I served a lie and that the Bible did not have the answers and was not the source of truth, help, encouragement, and life.

I want my life to say "Look what God can do with little!" I want my life to point the way to the Jesus who paid my penalty, to the God who gave himself for me. I want my life to glorify the Creator of the Universe who has made me his child and calls me his own. I want my tombstone to be able to say that I followed God in gratitude for his mercy by which he saved me. It should read, "GOD IS MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR EVERY HURT, EVERY NEED, EVERY SINNER".

High Capacity Individuals

At the WCA Summit, speakers kept talking about seeking out high-capacity individuals to fill positions of ministry in the church. The phrase sticks in my craw, especially used in this context. I've been chewing it over for over a week, and while I'm not sure I have it all figured out, I do know what bothers me about it.

1. I am not a high-capacity individual. Some are 78's, some are 45's, some are 33-1/3, and some are even 16's. (If you don't understand this, you are probably under 30 years old.) I like to imagine that I am a 33-1/3, pushing it to 45 every now and then, but it's more likely that I'm a 16, truth be told. 78's accomplish a lot, they really do, but I wonder if they are even capable of spending an afternoon listening to a hurting person or if their schedule and accomplishments rule them.
2. I don't see where God selects "high-capacity individuals". He is not in the business of seeking out people who are most qualified to help him. He empowers willing hearts and hands to do the work he provides for them to do. Moses was in exile, living nomadically in the desert when he went to investigate the burning bush where God called him. Moses was sure no one would listen to him so God gave him signs, and when that wasn't enough for Moses, he gave him Aaron to be his mouthpiece. God chose a teenage girl of no particular stature to bear his Son, and a carpenter to raise him. The people of Isreal picked Saul to be their king--handsome, tall and possessing the characteristics they wanted. God picked a shepherd boy, David. It was a prostitute that God used to save the spies, and who made it into the lineage of Christ. Who were Christ's disciples who he empowered to change the world? Fishermen.

As far as I can tell, God wants willing hearts, not high capacity. What does Scripture say to you? I mean I understand what they are saying. You don't select a person who physically can't work more than 5 hours a day to have a high level position in a church of more than 3,000 members, a staff of 30, and hundreds of volunteers. The smart thing to do is to hire the guy who accomplishes much, works long hours and has bundles of energy. The guy who doesn't know what it is like to work a 40 hour week. Sometimes though, God surprises us by building a ministry through a quadraplegic (Joni Erickson Tada). Maybe, just maybe, he is not through with a low-capacity individual like me.

Sermon from a Rock Star

The biggest surprise of the WCA Leadership Summit so far has been a video interview with U2's Bono. I was prepared to be underwhelmed based on nothing but other's derision of his do-gooder attitude and misrepresentation of his statements and my general disregard of the integrity, intelligence and relevance of celebrities. I was persuaded in spite of myself.

This is a man whose Christianity is real, and who shares my disdain, frustration and disappointment in the church in general who act as if sin is a surprise to God, and who measure certain sins and appearances as vitally important and either don't understand or don't practice grace and mercy. These are the part of the body of Christ who seem prone to anger at sinners, who look at the world and expect Ward and June Cleaver. These are the same people who have made themselves irrelevant in this world. They are the salt that has lost its savor. They are who I am terrified of becoming and who I am ashamed to have been.

Bono sees a church that has refused to be part of the problem of worldwide poverty, pandemics such as AIDS, injustice, segregation, racism, and who look at the sin of corporate greed as somehow less important--less sinful than sexual immorality.

Measure me. See if I live what I believe. At the moment I do not. Oh, I support Compassion, but I haven't visited a prisoner in ages. I haven't visited the hospitalized, the elderly, feed the hungry, given drink to the thirsty, clothed the poor, comforted the fatherless and widows. At least not much, and not as a regular part of my life. Hold me accountable. I must seek out opportunities to visit the imprisoned and to care for the homeless, the poor, the sick.

I am challenged once again to live my faith. Not merely to show grace and mercy to the fallen, but to be the hands and arms and feet of God.

We have been so blessed in this country, how are we going to use those blessings to ease the suffering of the world? How am I going to use my resources to ease the suffering of the world? Is this the primary source of my depression? Is it that I have made no impact in my world? I feel in me the longing for greatness--not as some would define it, but for relevance, for impact. My small life is a waste of the goodness and mercy of God. I have received too much from my Creator to keep it to myself.

Once I heard Rush Limbaugh talk about the tendency for Americans to rush for Prozac to cure their depression without taking the time to work out what is really bothering them and making changes in their lives. Now I confess that I don't necessarily want to pattern my life after El Rushbo, but I have thought a lot about that statement, particularly in light of my recent gloom. I am taking serious stock of what I want to do with the rest of my life and how I want to accomplish it.

Hopefully, if I have done this right, you will now see a banner on this page for one.org. This organization is working to really make a difference in global poverty. Joining together we can speak out together for the cause of justice as I believe Scripture talks about--cancelling the debt of the poor, and helping the impoverished, the widows and orphans. Let us no longer simply make lip service and call out "Brother, be warmed and filled," then go on our way feeling as if we have done our part. The only difference between the sheep and the goats is what they did and didn't do. Look up the organization. If you still want to know more about why I am supporting this organization after checking them out, ask me. No pressure on you at all. I just want to keep it real and let you know what I'm thinking about.