The cost of cool

Its been mighty hot at my house the past week. Actually, it has been very hot outside of my house as well, all of Kentucky is melting. But it's the inside my house that has been bothering me the most. That glorious invention, the air conditioner, has not been functioning propertly at the home place. This is a major problem and after a week of waiting and investigating and smelling funky, a new air conditioner has been installed. Thank heavens.

We have suffered greatly, our friends and coworkers have suffered greatly as have innocent bystanders as they have had to smell us and listen to us whine. We tried to endure as troopers. We said it wasn't too bad. We are all gone during the day in air conditioning at work and school so we have places of reprieve. We ran the attic fan at night and sucked in outside cooler, wetter air and then woke up with moss growing on our toes. I think that's when I fell off the wagon and just got to be a big whiny baby. Even I couldn't stand me.

Repair people are in great demand. I feel for them, everyone wants them yesterday, no one wants to wait and everyone thinks their job is the top priority. However, I did want them yesterday, I was very tired of waiting and my coolness ought to be every one's priority. Unfortunately I let the husband call and apparently they didn't understand it was for me and wait I did, day after day after day. Finally when they came it was to say it couldn't be fixed. This was bad news. It would take thousands to replace. This was very bad news. It would have to be ordered and I could have it Tuesday. This was a complete disaster.

God intervened in the form of a church member and the new unit went in today and I am basking in the glory of a cool house and a new unit that will take my grocery money for some time to come. This has been a serious refresher course in how much I take for granted stuff like being cool and comfortable. I cannot remember one time this entire summer when I woke up and said, thank you God for a cool house. I certainly mentioned more than a hundred times how sad I was to be in a warm one.

All this reminds me of the bad old days when I had no washer and dryer and had to go to the laundromat. This is certainly a fast way of getting your clothes done, but it's sort of a world of it's own and I dreaded going to wash clothes. When I got my first washer and dryer I was so grateful to be able to wash clothes at home I swore I would never complain about it again. That was a long time ago, and I have forgotten laundromats. Now I want a bigger washer, two dryers and I am complaining again about laundry. This is a great time for me to stop and remember just exactly how much I have and give thanks.

And it's much easier to do now that the house is cool.

Critical Eye

I like to think I have a critical eye. I like to match colors and textures, I think I have an appreciation for things that are done well and the desire to improve my work. I think that excellence comes in all forms and I love to celebrate it. I try never to be overly critical of myself or others but I do like to evaluate how things have been done to see if there is room for improvement.

This became a joke during the first year of contemporary worship. Being part of the implementation was a green light for me to adopt this service as if it were all about me and worry to death over ever moment. I used to go home every Sunday and start my list of things that were wrong. My friend Peg, equally neurotic, and I would spend two days grieving over a poor introduction, a bad musical moment, forgetting to light the candles. We had to go to Overanalyzers Anonymous for several months and take the "I shall not pick" pledge before we could graduate back into normalcy.

Lately though I have been wondering if I also have a critical spirit. This isn't quite so admirable. A critical spirit is much more like the dark side, looking for the fault, being hyper critical and tearing down instead of building up, ignoring the positives and emphasizing the negatives.

I was quite sure this could not be true of me. I have known several people with a critical spirit, and I am closely related to one. I was determined to not allow this spirit to get it's grimy paws on my being and have rebuked it any number of times by saying : "Maybe they are having a bad day", "maybe that was an honest mistake", "maybe they just thought they had 20 items". I have tried to look on the bright side, give people the benefit of the doubt and turn the other cheek. I have majored in turning the other cheek. And as for letting go and putting buckets down, I might give a seminar. I have even a beautifully designed bucket I keep in my work space to remind me to let it go.

So where does this critical spirit come from? I have noticed that I have a few places where I cannot get back to ground zero. I am not exactly over the something, whatever that may be. So the next something doesn't need to be very big before I begin to feel the irritation build and the bucket ends up back in my hands. Lately, I haven't even needed a new event. I watch for a little crevice of a possible, might under certain circumstances be construed as a something to get a nasty attitude. This does not become me, and I don't like me this way. I want that old rose colored glasses girl who thinks the cup is always pretty doggone full and there is a party going on somewhere, if one just looks long enough.

I think recovery is in remembering that I am just as much a knucklehead as anyone else on the planet. I need a lot of grace, even from myself. I can hardly need so much without being willing to dispense quite a bit too. I lose my sweetness when grace has been given and behavior has not changed. Then we have to move to phase two. This is where I remind myself that I am lots of things and certainly well advanced among my species but still not quite God. In fact, not close to being God. And all these people I share the planet with are not really here to suit my fancy, as much as I would like this to be the case. And while I am permitted to rebuke and exhort, bottom line is that it is mostly between them and God. Lately phase two isn't enough either. I am stuck in the rebuke/exhort mode and can't quite get to the them/God stage.

I have decided that phase three must be the pray for your enemies phase. I will say with complete honesty, none of my buckets are enemies. I love them all in one way or another. But I think it's really the same prayer. I need to learn to live and love because of and despite their shortcomings. I can only do that through prayer. Prayer is the vehicle that God uses most often to change our minds, our hearts and our vision. I think that as I breathe in the depth of God's love for me, I will breathe out more of God's love for others.

I hope to keep the critical eye, but replace the critical spirit. Perhaps the answer to a critical spirit is the Holy Spirit. Come Holy Spirit, come.

Micah's Song

I have a friend named Greg. Greg is an attorney by profession but he is a poet, a musician and a theologian by heart. Greg is a theologian in the purest, truest sense of the word; he seeks to study God for no other purpose than to know Him. Greg has light bulb moments that not only light up his life, but they light up those who are blessed with the ears to hear.

Greg wrote and worked hard to produce a cd in the last year or so. The cd was definitely a work in progress. I heard bits and pieces of it for a long time before the final cd was produced. I was fortunate enough to be present for a private concert or two and heard many of the stories behind the songs. Every couple of months I would ask about the cd. It was always coming along. When I was finally gifted with the cd I knew many of the songs and sang along. I put it in the car and played it for the family. Many of the songs had an appeal for one member of the family or other.

In the midst of a trying week, as I was driving into work, Micah's Song was playing. I was listening to the melody line,(ba ba dah, ba da da, ba da dah dah ba da da da da dah)and it really spoke to my heart. I listened all the way through and hit the button to play it again. Then I hit it again and this wave of joy just welled up within me. I can't really describe it better. It's not happiness, it's not really a feeling though of course you feel it. It's this sensation of all being well in my world. It's warm and peaceful and exciting and joyful. It's a shame how inadequate words can be. I reached for my cell phone immediately (don't tell anyone but occasionally I talk while I drive) to tell Greg but he was tied up with a client. I told him later but it wasn't exactly the same. It was such a joy filled moment I wished I could share it with him. I probably wouldn't have had the words then either but perhaps he might have caught the Spirit in my voice.

I know Micah's Song was born from a tune Micah woke up with in his head one morning. I thought the song might have meaning to me because Greg and his family have a special place in my heart, but I think its much more than that. I have thought about how funny we people are. We think we have so much to contribute but really God gives gifts and then enables people to use them in such a way that he can reveal himself to others. That's what I think Micah's Song is; born from an idea in one head, crafted by the gifts given to another to reach others, me included, with the joy of the Spirit, beyond description. I have listened to Micah's Song from time to time since then, always enjoyed it, always thought the melody was refreshing and renewing.

Today on my way back from a long weekend, the sun was shinning. The sky was a beautiful blue with huge white clouds dotted here and there. It was warm but not too warm and I drove with the sunroof open. Micah's Song started and the joy began to bubble up again. A smile filled my soul and I felt the presence of God in a tangible real way. And I felt that sense of love that defies words, that God really thinks I am the apple of his eye and he delights in these moments with me. It was a wonderful gift and I am so awed that in all of the universe, God should choose to spend a delightful moment dancing with this knucklehead.

I thought instantly of my friend Greg, but the timing was wrong again. I wondered if perhaps it was wrong on purpose. Maybe that moment was just a moment for me to share with my Eternal Father. Somehow I think Greg already knows. I think God has danced with him a time or two and he has honored the desire of Greg's heart. I think that God will go on using his children to touch his children, one knucklehead to another.

Kentuckisms

I live in Kentucky. I haven't always lived in Kentucky but I have now for twelve years and I am becoming an adopted native. I don't speak like I am from Kentucky, though my family in Pennsylvania thinks I do, Kentuckians are quick to assure me I do not. I will admit that I can translate fairly well now when I am in mixed company. For example, at the never ending meeting, I jumped right in to explain when one person said they "didn't care to do that" it really meant they didn't mind doing whatever the job might have been. I remember that threw me for a loop the first year or two when I was there. I would ask for something and be lost when I was told that they didn't care to do something. Actually, the correct terminology in Kentucky for this state of being is, "I was as lost as an Easter egg".

If you don't remember the details of something, the correct response is, "remind me what we said, I have slept since then". I have found this expression very handy when I didn't really want to comment on something or commit myself. By the time they have brought me up to speed again, I am usually prepared with some response. And if I am not, or I don't want to get involved, then I say, "I am sorry, I don't have a dog in that fight." I think if you examine that one too closely it's very icky, so I would stick to the surface there, if I were you.

In Kentucky all carbonated beverages are coke. Once you are asked if you want a coke, almost always you will be asked what kind. I was very confused by this my first year here. I always felt I should think of some exotic kind of coke. I finally settled on diet coke as a good answer and now have an addiction problem. Trying to reign in the diet coke thing, but not having amazing success.

When people are in a bad mood they are said to be ill. Only if you are a country girl you say "eel". Sam's year in kindergarten was filled with weekly stories of Miss Janet and her threatening to get "eel". I can see her wearing it around her neck now as she teaches. It's great visual imagery. I can certainly see where a class of 20 five year olds would make you wish for a large scary monster to wear around your shoulders as discipline.

One of my favorite early days stories was the dental hygienist who asked me if I was 'locking it' in Kentucky. I keep asking her what she was asking, what did she want to know. Finally after several other attempts that resulted in more kentuckisms and several rounds of charades, she finally communicated to me that she wanted to know if I was enjoying living in Kentucky. If I was liking it here. I had never had anyone ask me if I was liking something. Since then I have really enjoyed the expression, are you liking your job, your family, your church are all excellent questions. Some days I am liking them, some days I am not liking them.

My son played soccer and got on a traveling competitive team the spring after we arrived in Kentucky. His coach was a good soccer player himself, and a very good coach. He taught the kids excellent skills and yelled encouragement when they did good stuff on the field. Only, I didn't know that was what he was yelling. I heard him yell Tim's full name often, which in my experience is not usually a good thing. Then he would say something like "naaaawwwwwwse". I had no idea what that was. I thought it might be a soccer term, kind of like far post. I couldn't figure out what that one was either. It took me several seasons to learn far post wasn't a code word, they just wanted the kids to shoot cross field. But "naaaawwwwwwwse" wasn't a soccer term. It translates as "nice" and was meant to encourage my child to repeat a move. I don't know if my child fully appreciated that, I can only tell you his mother didn't not.

For all of the interesting terminology, let me tell you my favorite. I love that in Kentucky you may say anything you want about someone as long as you follow it up with "bless his/her heart". You can also start with this phrase if you know what is to follow will be slightly insulting or, at times, very insulting. Blessing someones heart seems to cover any sting they might have felt in being spoken of in less than endearing terms. I know this isn't a perfect system but it's better than just saying ugly things, and it probably keeps you from dwelling on them too. It's very handy, I like to bless people's hearts.

I am no longer a stranger in a strange land, though the land is still strange at time. I have learned the language and I have learned to love the people and the lifestyle. I still move much too fast for most of the folks, and I certainly talk too fast, but I do appreciate their measured pace and gentle spirits. I appreciate their involvement with each other, and the way they go the extra mile to help one another out. And I love that they have adopted my family and me. I didn't know I was going to fit in so well in Mayberry, but this city girl is getting pretty comfy in these country ways. I don't think I will ever understand grits or the need to cook green beans until they are no longer either green or beans, but it isn't at all bad. In fact, it "might could" be just fine.

You crack me up!

I have been getting email lately from a pastor at another church who is coming to do a talk for my seniors. I don't know him at all well, though we have met a few times. I am on a committee with him and up to this point I have considered him a nice, quiet, sort of Eeyore kind of a guy. He says a little at the meetings, I say even less. Me, because I am paying no attention, him, haven't got a clue. At one point in a meeting he made a funny comment I figured was a fluke. However, I did give him a little credit.

I invited him to come speak to my seniors because he repairs coffee grinders and I thought it would be interesting for them. I also exchanged email with him about a softball league and in the process I realized I have seriously underestimated him. He has a great sense of humor and a quick wit. I have enjoyed shooting email back and forth with funny lines and witty comments. He has made me sit in front of my screen and howl on several occasions. I don't know that we will cross paths very often but there have been several days that have been made better because he cracked me up.

Why did I miss he was funny, had a quick mind, and a gift for the absurd? I guess we can't really walk around with a card that says, hey, get to know me better, I am really funny. It would simplify things greatly but it's hard to get funny people to pay attention long enough to give instruction. There is no doubt though that there are people who I recognize as kindred spirits immediately. We connect and I am often doubled over in laughter just a few moments into a conversation. I love people who see things slightly out of kilter just like me, when we can start stacking lines, one on top of the other until we just fall out. That is pure joy.

Then there are sleepers like my friend who surprise me with silliness. I think we all size up folks and put labels on them. I don't mean necessarily judgements, but classification. I usually have two basic categories, kindred spirits and non kindred spirits. If the non kindred spirits are annoying, they move into the stupid sheep category. And stupid sheep are nearly always the largest percentage of the population, so kindred spirits are even more delightful when they wander into your life.

I think I missed the boat about Rev. Funny mostly because my mind was already made up. I decided, long before I went to the first meeting of the committee we share, that there wouldn't be a soul in the room I would like. I have this slight attitude problem with clergy in general and with a large group of them in particular. I am very critical about this particular profession and I am not always very reasonable about my expectations. I know better but it doesn't seem to help me behave better. I think to be a kindred spirit and a pastor is a very rare thing, and I mostly close the door fairly quickly, seems to save time. I am rethinking a little, trying to have a more open mind in this particular area. I am not optimistic about changing this life view, but I will work hard on trying to allow a person to be a kindred spirit based in themselves and not their position.

I hate to tell ya, but I expect I will go on missing the boat. I think I will go on being surprised by the sleepers who will crack me up from time to time. I really think cleaning up your act only goes so far and your nature is your nature. Try as I might I am going to categorize people and decide who is funny and who is not. After all being surprised isn't bad, who knows who will pop up tomorrow with a delightful sense of humor. Those moments of instant connection are surprises in themselves and happen just often enough to remind me what a gift they are.

And in the meantime, I have to go write some more email. I crack myself up.

Meetings

Have you been to demotivators.com? You must go if you have not. I find it to be one of my most favorite mind diverting places. I get to reading all the funny comments which are funny but so true. I get a little gloomy and I love to pop over there and read things like Customer Care: If we really cared about the customer, we would send them someplace better. Defeat: For every winner there are dozens of losers. Odds are that you are one of those. Meetings: None of us is as dumb as all of us. This is a profound truth. It should be placed over every conference room in America, just as a word of warning. Abandon thought, all who enter here is another possibility. I heard a speaker say once concerning commercials on television that often after watching one she thinks, I am dumber now. I think that following almost every meeting I have ever attended, I am dumber now.

Today is a meeting day. We are discussing things of importance, we really are. Only after an hour or two I am done with meeting, I think it's all silly and people talk on endlessly. They probably are saying valuable things but it has become all blah, blah blah to me. Or just like Charlie Brown's teacher, Wah, wah wah wah, Wah. I have gone to other places in my mind. I am to the point of doodling, and every once in awhile I look up and realize they are waiting for me to comment. I have no idea what I am supposed to comment on. I think this is evidence of the dumbness over taking my brain.

Why do we do this? Why do we sit together in a room and become talking heads until no one could possibly benefit from this???? Why do we all have so much to say. Why is it so hard to listen to everyone say all that they feel led to say. The answer is, I don't have a clue.

I used to have lots to say about everything. I used to need to tell someone my every thought. I used to believe if I knew it, it was my job to tell somebody, anybody. I no longer have this sense of obligation, need or urgency. I now feel like if I got it, anyone who wants to do so can. If God wants them to know he will clue them in. All that stuff about one sick man bringing another to the great physician is no doubt true. Still if they are sick enough they will find the Great Physician, and if they want details I will share what I know. I am just out of the hunting down and sitting on folks to tell them. I think that was making me dumber too. Guarding brain cells is becoming a priority for me. That, and I realized that I sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher too.

The demotivator for stupidity says this: Quitters never win, Winners never quit. But those who never win and never quit are idiots. Let this be a word of warning.

A little help from my friends.

We had a crisis in the church family. One of our kids was injured in an accident and was airlifted for help. It was a frightening time, wondering the extent of the injuries, dealing with the time lag and waiting for information. There was no lack of faith, just the stressful feeling of the unknown. The injuries were serious but not life threatening. There are long days of recovery ahead but there is every reason to believe it will be complete.

I learned a little in the midst of the crisis about taking care of one another. It was a very natural response to extend help, it happened time and time again. In every way the body reached out to be a part of the support team to help the part that was in need. No one had to tell them it was time to do so, they knew and responded. I was inspired by the outpouring of love and concern. My cell phone was overwhelmed, the batteries were dead before breakfast. It was very good to see the community behave as the Body of Christ.

I also noticed that this response is only part of the equation. While the Body was motivated to respond, I noticed that the member in crisis is sometimes very uncomfortable in accepting the outpouring of love. This difficulty in allowing others to help us in some way actually creates a barrier and the body fails to function as it was designed. Frustration results as the giver is not accepted and the intended receiver closes down and cannot absorb the love expressed. The failed connection creates distances and hard feelings that are hard to address and resolve.

My sympathies go to both parties. I have been a very frustrated giver many times. You offer to help and you cannot get a taker. Sometimes I will admit it is a good thing to offer help and be politely turned down. Still, when you want to be of help and no one will let you, it's frustrating. I have also been in the receivers position and I can hear myself turning down help I needed. I think it has made me feel needy or vulnerable at times, both of which are true but I like to pretend they are not. I guess I am realizing that when I deny the need for help, which is obvious, I not only fail to receive a blessing, I fail to give one.

I pray daily to be a blessing to someone. I failed to realize that sometimes that happens not because of what I give, but by what I receive.

Just for Giggles

I have a bizarre sense of humor. I know this is true as even I find some of the things I am amused by very strange. Strange or not, I often find myself tickled by something that was said, what someone has done, just the oddities of life seem to entertain me.

I love to people watch. I don't have lots of time these days to go sit at the mall and watch people walk by, but when I do I am always tickled. Sometimes it's what people are wearing, sometimes it's by the body language, sometimes it's by the relationship they are working out as they walk. One day while people watching at the mall, I was tickled by one of these events when I realized someone was watching me. From across the courtyard I could see a man looking at me being amused by something and getting amused himself sort of like the ripple effect. That amused me even more.

Sometimes in the midst of an argument or moment of drama, I find the need to giggle overwhelming. I sometimes make impassioned speeches when the mood takes me and even in the midst of them, I say something that makes me chuckle. And even when I am counseling with someone over something very heavy and sad, I have to at times bite back a comment to lighten the mood.

Humor is a God given gift and there is nothing better for mental health than laughter. There is something very healing in having your mood lifted and the sense of joy that usually accompanies a good giggle. I am grateful that I am easily amused and when no one else is there to crack me up, I can usually crack myself up, I know that is a gift.

Like any gift, humor needs to be disciplined to be fully appreciated. It can be a useful tool for stress relief and for pure enjoyment, but it should not be used to avoid dealing with difficult things or to keep others at arms length. I can see I have blurred those lines at times. I have not always been willing to endure the pain that is part of whole life at times. This is not healthy and robs others of the chance to walk through that with me. I don't really regret being goofy, just would like to be more deliberate in my goofiness.

While I work all that out, you ought to look around you and giggle a little more. Life is funnier than you have been appreciating. A little chuckle goes a long way and is tons better than an angry outburst. If you haven't laughed today, you ought to do so. Life truly is funnier than you think .

Goodnight Prayers

I put son Sam to bed last night. He is old enough to do this mostly for himself but he still likes being read to and he still submits to being hugged and kissed, but only a little. I think he hugs back but he doesn't like kissing and since we are heading toward adolescence at warp speed I am okay with that.

Recently it has mostly been my husband who puts Sam to bed. I spent almost a year working many long hours and it became easier for the two of them to work out a plan than me to stop, put Sam to bed and start again. Mark was gone often during the years the older boys were being put to bed, so he very much enjoyed the time with Sam. They have their own things that they share and it has been very positive for both of them.

However, Mark is tied up for a little while and last night it was my turn. Besides the normal complaints about how he wasn't tired and didn't want to go to bed, it was a piece of cake. Only one real slighly annoying moment was when he put his hands on his hips and sighed at me and rolled his eyes. I had a horrible flashback to his brother at 13 and nearly went looking for the number to a military boarding school. I simply got very quiet and raised my eyebrows and he recovered quickly. Oh that this response would last.

He cleaned up, did all the normal stuff to get ready for bed and we read a story about a little boy who ate fruit during a rain storm and turned invisible. I think this had no impact on Sam but I was sure I would have nightmares. I think he is made of tougher stuff than me. It is a well written book with lots of humor, but just enough off center to make me wonder if the author knows he is funny.

Finally, two chapters later, I put the book down and Sam prays. Says the same prayer he has said in going to bed that I think he has prayed ever since he could talk. He prays the now I lay me down to sleep prayer with a modification I made for his brothers many, many years ago. We don't pray about dying before we wake, we pray to be kept safe all through the night and be awakened with the morning light. Then he prayed for his immediately famiy, his grandmothers and all his aunts and uncles and cousins. It is very very close to the same prayer his brothers prayed every night with me or their dad until they were too old to be put to bed. I don't know if they go on praying it for themselves or not. I would hope they have added some diversity to their prayers, and some silence in listening for a response, but I hope that tradition has been a good foundation for developing a prayer life.

I was struck last night at the normalcy my kids have found in prayer at least before meals and bedtime. I wonder how much of that tradition continues in the lives of their friends. I wonder if the foundation we lay has the impact we hope and if when Sam prays he feels God's presence, his watchful eye and protection as he sleeps. If he realizes when he prays that God would bless us, he is inviting God to be very active in our lives. Or does he just pray with the childlike response to the right process for sleeping. I dont know for sure, but I do know that his brothers have developed a strong sense of faith and the reality of God in their lives. I pray for the same in Sam.

And when I prayed last night, and again this morning, it was with thanks that God would give me the sense of wonder and appreciation to enjoy praying with my child again.

It's time for Fluff

Do you remember Black Sabbath? I think my brother must have been very much into Black Sabbath because I can remember being in junior high when I heard Sabbath Bloody Sabbath for the first time and a song entitled Fluff. I know, Christian blog, no room for Black Sabbath. I agree only Fluff is a delightful instrumental piece that always created pictures in my mind the way any good symphony piece does. It's not the symphony of course, but it is a pretty piece of music. I find pretty music, music that paints pictures of big green grassy fields with trees gently moving in the breeze and a gorgeous sky with big white fluffy cotton candy clouds floating past restful and restoring music, no matter who wrote it, or performed it.

I have been attending a Taize worship service on Sunday evenings when I can. Sometimes there is a piano player who is particularly good at creating delightful picture music. The sanctuary is very conducive to worship anyway. The windows are delightful stain glass and the architecture is graceful and glorious. The woodwork is absolutely gorgeous and my brother, the finish carpenter, would find it satisfying. Each week as I sit in the silence in the presence of God I am awed at the workmanship that has gone to make that worship space not just a sanctuary but a gateway to the heavenly realms. What a work of excellence that space is in so many ways. It is a joy to worship there.

The music enables the process. In addition to a piano player who gets lost in the music, we sing short repetitious responses, some in English, some in Latin. The voices raised in song add texture and color to the picture and there are many moments when the picture is so breathtaking I have to stop contributing and just take in the beauty and wonder. Even the liturgy and responsive readings lend themselves to creating an image of God that is tangible, so close and yet so enormous that I am torn between awe and intimacy. This is exactly what I like to think pure worship would be. Every element is part of the total focus on God, and being in his presence.

By the time we gather to celebrate the Lord's Supper I am feeling so much in tuned with my Saviour it seems like the most natural thing in the world. Tonight I served a young man standing at my right. He was maybe 10 or 12 and I thought it was the high point of my night. I have always enjoyed communion, I always felt it was like a commissioning service, wipe the slate clean and start over. I know it is a throw back to my youth when we had communion every week and I always loved that feeling of being clean again. I think that sweet young man reminded me of those days and the need we all have to be clean again.

Those mental images we are given from time to time are good. They bring us places we cannot go in any other way and isn't it amazing that God uses them to bring us in. I like being in, I recommend it highly. And you thought I had lost my mind on the Black Sabbath memory. Perhaps Fluff isn't fluff at all, but a glimpse into the light in every soul.

Okay, I am Annoyed

There is no point in pretending anything else. I am put out, bothered, irritated, aggravated, offended, frustrated, angry and a few more colorful words I was instructed not to use during my years in junior high. There I was taught that only those whose vocabulary was limited used such language and it reflected their lack of intelligence and education. This is perhaps true, but today for just this minute I would like the ability to reveal limited intelligence and lack of education with a few exclamation points and perhaps a black block where a censor has deleted a word. I am peeved, my friends.

No doubt, at this point, you have moved to the edge of your seat and with bated breathe you await eagerly the revelation of what horror of nature has occurred to cause this state of being. Your rapt attention is very soothing and might even on another occasion serve to reduce my annoyance and instead assist me to a mood of mild perturbance, but such is not the case today. Today I hold on to the anger and despite many deliberate, confrontational, come to Jesus conversations within my head, I cannot bring myself to lay this particular bucket down. And therein lies my difficulty. I think the bucket has little significance, the need to keep it firmly in my grasp has become the stumbling block.

This has me in deep thought today. I had a long conversation with an old friend this week. We discussed "powers and principalities" in terms of Paul's thoughts in Ephesians. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Ephesians 6:12 She mentioned a very difficult situation she had found herself in and her awareness that it really wasn't the people she was struggling with, it was the spirit working through the people. This leads me to wonder this; is the issue itself one kind of personal affront and then the emotional response another? More pointedly, does an injury create opportunity for the spiritual forces of evil to mount an assault?

I know, I can hear you backing up now. Sliding back in your chairs, crossing your arms and murmuring things like, I think you may be over reacting. We are not particularly comfortable in talking about evil, powers of this dark world or any sort of 'warfare'. It sounds very much like looking for devils in bushes, and I am not at all suggesting this is a valuable use of time. (I will admit that I have been thinking some of my associates are resembling devils in the bushes or anywhere else, but this is merely a flight of fancy solely for purposes of diversion.)

Nor am I suggesting there is something demonic about anger or annoyance or any of the other emotions listed in the first paragraph. I believe we are emotional beings made that way in the image of God and all emotion is part of the whole. I think there are healthy ways to express and process emotion, but I am a firm believer in feelings being real and God given.

What I am saying is this; when we are injured either accidentally, deliberately or negligently, the injury is real and sparks a response. What we do with the response can become a battlefield. Paul thought so too, he was trying to tell us to be ready for battle by arming ourselves with the equipment God had provided. And it is in the middle of the battlefield I find myself in all my heated radiance. How do I take this God given response to an injury and respond appropriately? And really, how on earth does all that armor get this bucket out of my hand and my serenity restored?

I have gotten as far as the belt of truth. I am a big fan of belts. They are making a fashion return, or perhaps I am making a belt return, I haven't quite decided. The last couple of shopping trips I found some darling additions to the closet and I am pleased as punch. I think they are also helpful in keeping my pants where they belong and my shirt tucked in. And, yes I admit, sometimes my cell phone in place. Don't repeat that, I have just discovered it is a no-no. I always wear a shirt over it....does that count?

The truth part speaks to me as well. Part of my anger today is in the repeated behavioral cycles I find myself in, and the injustice offends my sensibilities. The repetition makes me wonder where I am missing the boat and why I keep finding myself here. It also gives me cause to wonder if some of this is not my fault and if I am doomed to do this over and over again. I think I fear being held against my will in places that are painful, and I want to hold onto the anger because I think it protects me. What a silly thought. This truth thing is helpful!

More truth is that while I am a knucklehead and get more wrong than I do right, Jesus died for me while I was still quite lost and not at all making any attempt to be found. In fact, if I never get it, if I continually repeat the same pattern, his death on my behalf is still enough. Hebrews says that we have been made perfected and Jesus said it was finished. I am just trying to learn to live that way. There is a lot of comfort in remembering that I am a beloved daughter of the most high God and all the aggravation in the world cannot change that.


Finally, God tells me to let go of the bucket. That he will take it for me and he will see that it is both redeemed and made right. He never told me to set it down because it wasn't a big deal, didn't really hurt, was a complete misunderstanding. He said I wasn't the one to deal with it, he was. And he would deal with it perfectly. Forgiveness allows me to set the bucket down, and move on, knowing that my Father who loves me in ways my mind cannot conceive has it all well in hand and is redeeming all of it even as I release it.

I am less angry, and I haven't even gotten to the breastplate of righteousness. This might be good, as in my mind I see this as a bra and this is a rated G kind of blog. Still, there is much to be considered in all of this battle gear. I think for now I am stuck in the realization that I have a responsibility to understand it is a fight, and I can be equipped for it, if I choose to be. I do not think I chose to be today. I trust tomorrow I will choose more wisely.

Complaint Department

I studied the book of Philippians a few years ago with a great Bible study group. Good interesting mix of people, most dedicated to digging deep. We did a Precepts study which for those uninformed folks is a word by word, verse by verse, draw little symbols in colored pencil kind of in depth Bible study. One day when I arrived a little late six weeks or so into study, our leader said we are in Philippians and all I could think to respond back was...still? By the time we were done, I knew Philippians. I might have forgotten some of it over the years but I remember lots. Many may argue the value in Precept studies, I am not willing to attack or defend, just say I learned a lot.

One of the least favorite passages in Philippians was Chapter 2:14 where Paul requests that we Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe . I find this is much better when it is advice to others rather than personal application. It is hard to do anything without complaining or arguing, let alone everything. All of Chapter 2 is a challenge to me in many ways. Yet I wish very much to follow Christ's example. Oh my, the circular arguments that are already starting in my head.

It is not difficult to put others before me, consider their interests first, be like minded and of the same purpose when it is apparent to me they are attempting to do likewise, when they are older or weaker or even less mature in the faith. I can generally suck it up, endure and keep smiling. I wont promise I don't complain. I do try not to complain, mostly because I think it is so whiny, but sometimes I do. It is those folks who think I ought to put them first, who pay not the slightest amount of attention to anything happening outside of their line of vision, who have the only needs worth addressing that I can neither keep from complaining about and arguing with or consider them higher than myself. I have no wish to be of one mind, one spirit, one love with such beings and a very real part of me feels that I need not.

I can hear the argument in response, in fact I can make it. Christ did not empty himself and become nothing for our sakes because we were worthy. He did not endure abuse and suffering and death on the cross because he judged our attitudes to be correct and our hearts in tune. As a sidebar, I think Jesus might have complained a little. He seemed to get awfully tired of the disciples from time to time and wondered if they were ever going to catch on. That thought aside, there is no doubt he was a willing sacrifice because the Father asked him be. The prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane is certainly not s prayer of complaint, but there is no arguing that Jesus is clearly praying that if there could be another way, he would like to take it. This offends some people but it so much encourages my heart. Jesus in my view approaches the throne of the Mostly Holy God and states what he wants, and submits to what the Father wills. Oh to have this kind of faith.

So having blown my position out of the water, how do I come back to reclaim it? Well, I can't of course, but I can say this. There is a time to submit for the good of others and a time to stand firm for the good of others too. Sometimes it is more loving to tell someone no than it is to support negative and sometimes harmful behavior. Do we really want to tolerate or encourage other members of Christ's body to behave badly? Don't we have some responsibility to be wise about who's purpose and spirit we become one with? How do we treat others as better than ourselves when we cannot support their actions?

I think the answer to that is complex. I think I often feel I need to correct a behavior my Father is not at all ready to have corrected by me. I think I am quick to judge others and I think my attitude is not at all like Christ's. In fact I am not willing to be poured out, I demand to be filled up. Yet, I believe there are also times where I am called to stand, to speak the truth in love, and trust God will weave together the brokenness in me, and in my brothers and sisters as a result. The only way I think we know the difference is by sitting quietly at God's feet, telling him what we want, then submitting to his will.

I guess while I am sitting quietly, I might quit arguing and complaining so much. I might even practice turning the other cheek, going the extra mile, giving up my coat and my cloak. I might discover becoming pure and blameless and shinning like a star will delight me in ways complaining and arguing never have. I think the star thing will work for me. Now if the rest of you could just get your acts together.

Excellence

People who have accomplished work worthwhile have had a very high
sense of the way to do things. They have not been content with mediocrity.
They have not confined themselves to the beaten tracks; they have never
been satisfied to do things just as others so them, but always a little
better. They always pushed things that came to their hands a little higher
up, this little farther on, that counts in the quality of life's work. It
is constant effort to be first-class in everything one attempts that
conquers the heights of excellence.

Orison Swett Marden
(1850-1924, American author, founder of Success Magazine)

For many years now I have been getting these daily quotes. I can't even tell you where they come from. They just show up, mostly every day, sometimes only a couple of times a week. There was a long spell where they stopped and I figured I had been removed from the daily quote list. Then one day they were back and I was a happy camper again.

The daily quotes do not always speak to me. Sometimes when I read one I scratch my head and think, what does that mean?! I think the person picking the quotes, who ever that may be, is doing the same thing. I think sometimes it's late and they need a quote and they pick one and they think perhaps that is so esoteric everyone will think it means something. This may not be entirely true, but I think it is a possibility. For example, I think Maya Angelou is a profound writer, but if she shows up in the daily quotes, there is not a chance in the world I am going to understand. I think the quote is chosen to be deliberately thought provoking. I do enough provoking thought without encouragement.

This quote spoke to me. This quote could easily become my creed. It is exactly how I feel about life, about work, about purpose and vision. I think it is stuff that dreams are made of, the pushing harder and higher, dreaming ever bigger and better dreams. I think the idea that we can take something and develop it and make it a little better than we found it, is an inspirational one. It is certainly the desire I try to instill in my kids and one I try to live out every day.

I guess the question is, am I trying to win approval or salvation as a result of working toward excellence. The answer is, yes, there was a time, a long time when that was exactly what I was trying to do. The results were somewhat less than satisfactory as for every moment I had of excellence, I had two of disappointing failure. In embracing God's grace, unmerited favor not based in what I can do for him but in his amazing love for me, I didn't change my outlook but I sure changed my motivation. It isn't any longer a push to earn God's love, but in response to God's love. I don't think anymore how can I make God happy today? Now I think, I have been given so much, how do I give back?

I have thought for a number of years now about Bishop Robert Morgan and his analogy of scriptural/spiritual/sacrificial/sacramental: have to/want to/choose to/ need to. I have hungered for a relationship with God that is based in needing to be in fellowship with him. I have prayed about it for years. I think understanding grace has moved me another step closer. I certainly have moved beyond having to and wanting to. I think I often choose to, every now and then I need to. I want the sacramental to become much more a part of my being.

Moving higher up and farther in is a very satisfying pursuit. May today we discover many opportunities to embrace satisfaction.

Frantic Time

Yikes! I have done it again. I have thrown three hundred balls into the air and now I am trying to keep them all up there. Why do I do this? Why do I feel the need to have at least two, three, seven, ten projects all running at the same time.

I will tell you why. Despite the frantic, stressful feel, I love the energy! I do. I really like the way it feels when I am running full throttle. When my brain is fully engaged and I am jumping from thought to thought to thought, ping ping ping. I like the way I have to use every neuron and electron to hold all of the details in place. I really like that fast action, check it off the list and move on intensity and I really like when it comes together and the results are fabulous. When they aren't, I am not so happy, but still I am ready to learn from the experience and move on. Learning and moving on are a good combination.

I love the creativity of a new project. I like the ground clearing, brain challenging, idea formulating, volunteer recruiting, vision sharing part. I really love it when you communicate an idea that excites people who then take the concept and run with it. I love that. It is like giving birth. Only no diapers. Heck, I really like that. Come to think of it, no tuition later either.

And I love a challenge. Give me a job, let me figure out how to get it done and then let me move on. I need something in the wings all the time, my friends. What will I ever do when I run out of new projects to take on? I think then I will know it's time to do something else. I think that's how I got out of accounting. There came the day when I felt like I had done it all for the billionth time and I just couldn't do it again.

Some folks find repetition comforting. I suppose it is in some ways. I certainly tend to react the same ways to stress and even happiness. I like my routines left alone. I like order and method and I don't want mine interfered with. But when it comes to energy, to passion, to the stuff that makes me jump out of bed in the morning and wake up in the wee small hours making notes, it needs to be something new. Something that makes me turn on the creativity and get it lined up and out. It's the stuff that gives me a buzz and makes my eyes light up. I have been told from across a room you can tell when I have had a new idea. Perhaps this is true, but I am doubtful. I always have a new idea!

The deadline is approaching, the details need nailing down and the make or break point is now. The blood is pumping, my wheels are whirling and those who love me are headed for cover. From now until Sunday at 7, when the latest project is over, it's all speed and fury. As show time approaches a million questions fly through my mind and the adrenaline pumps by the gallon. It may not be pretty but boy it's fun. Life is a party, my friends. Grab your sneakers and lets go!

Dog Days

I have hit that place. You know that place I mean. Like the dog days of summer, when the heat has finally gotten to you, the grass crunches when you walk on it, there is no energy, no joy, just vast endless unrelenting waves of heat. There is no breeze, the air is still and lifeless. Its bound to be what our forefathers thought hell would be. That's where I am on the inside: dead, dead, dead.

I hate being here. Sometimes when I see it coming I get in such avoidance mode that I don't speak to myself for days. I hate when the sun loses it's fascination for me because I am hiding from the heat, and when I feel the same way about the Son. And the Father. Today, the heat it too great and I wish to hide from it all.

I need to say this. I know what to do. I do. I understand when it gets like this I need to recite the promises God gives me in His word. I need to revisit the many times I have wandered into these places and He has rescued me. I need to center in prayer, clean my thoughts, remember that I am not supposed to solve the problems of the world. I know. My soul needs rest, my cups needs to be refreshed, my thirst quenched. I know. I need to sit at the feet of a good teacher, let my spirit be encouraged, remember where I have come from, see this as an opportunity to develop my faith, look for the promise, keep my eyes focused on Jesus. I know. I do.

And I will. Only, for right this moment, I am weary. I am too tired, too sore, too overwhelmed and too defeated to be proactive. Right now if I truly have permission to be, to be present, to be aware, to be real, to embrace the moment and feel what I am truly feeling, I am weary to the core. I find no safe harbor, no kindred spirit, no help or hope and no desire to find any. I find colors lifeless, inspiration shallow and comfort empty. I feel abandoned and unwanted, put upon and depleted, friendless and faithless.

Even as I write the words I begin to feel the cloud gently lifting. I am in just a few short moments going to see one of my dearest friends and he always refreshes me. Just being with him is like drinking from the coolest well. It will help me tremendously. I am starting to think about how good the shower will feel, how nice it is to have my house empty and my son home. I am aware that help is coming.


Embracing the desolation enables me to embrace the consolation when it comes. I resist it very much. It makes me uncomfortable, I feel like a bad person, a bad friend, a bad daughter. I know that others dislike it when I get this way and that adds to the rejection and loneliness. So I resist and encourage others to resist. I begin to believe that is wrong. I begin to believe desolation is essential to consolation and failing to be present in it creates the very demons I try so hard to defeat. And I wonder this, what if being faithless in the moment will result in more focus on faith in the big picture. What if acknowledging emptiness, the joyless weariness that robs you of hope actually makes you ready to receive a hope that is based not in positive thought but sacramental truth. What if it does?