Reflections in Review

Today I took a tour of the old home town. I didn't really mean to do so, only I think I zigged when I should have zagged and I ended up in a section of Pittsburgh I haven't been to for more than twenty years. It was fun! It was funny to recognize parks, and streets and remember looking for an apartment over a bar that smelled just like rotten apples I drove past a park that Gus and Yaya were legends and sold snow cones. I stumbled upon the Steelers Stadium and Pirates Stadium and I feel in love with the skyline again. It was a fun trip, though none of it is exactly as it was twenty years ago.

This is entirely appropriate. I am not exactly as I was twenty years ago. It would have been sort of strange to have found the place in a frozen state of time, just waiting for me to stumble back. I liked finding a few memories though. I liked discovering though that they still have a place for me. Somewhere amidst all the new construction and road design, the shopping centers that have moved in and the businesses that replaced the old ones, I caught sight of a memory or two.

There, where Walgreen's now stands proudly on the corner which now boasts a stoplight, used to stand a Dairy Queen. It was a landmark not only for the wonderful taste treats and the hanging out in the parking lot, but also because they employed me for a summer. Only they paid me less than minimum wage because I was a trainee. I stayed a trainee all summer. Go figure. I think I still won that particular war though because they may not have paid me well, but I ate my weight in brownies and ice cream and various and sundry food items. Like the deep fried mushrooms. Yum. This is the place where a very large muscular man once dumped a blizzard on the counter because according to the advertising you should be able to turn over the cup and it should stay put. The guy who was working with me made the blizzard and turned white when it went all over the counter. He stood looking at me with horror said repeatedly, what do I do now, what do I do now? I said, make him another one... I don't think we said duh in those days. But we no doubt thought it.

I drove past the Salvation Army Harbor Light's Center, or at least where it used to be. I didn't see it. I remember working there though! I was the
receptionist/bookkeeper for a year. It was an interesting job, to say the least. Perhaps the best story was the guy who was staying at the center named Jesse. He wrote me love notes every morning and offered to make me the mother of nations. I think it was when he left me a kiss puff that his lips had brushed against 100 times that he was sent for psychiatric evaluation. Or maybe the man who came in and told me that he had delivered babies during the Vietnam War. I thought he was fairly sane until he told me that when women who are older have babies, they are born with teeth and he had a scar from being bitten. That's when I called the Vets Admin and told them I had one of theirs.

Or perhaps the park, just down the street from where the Center had been. It looked remarkably the same with the same exercise equipment and playground. I remembered visiting it at lunch time and seeing a homeless man, in a huge tee shirt and large baggy sweatpants taking food from the garbage can. I remember watching and thinking this must be as down and out as you could get, not only eating others trash but picking for it in broad daylight. I was a baby in those days, very naive and innocent about much in life, strangely wise and experienced in others. I think back to what I knew then and what I didn't know, and I am astonished that much of me is very like the ever so young lady trying to start adult life. I still am somewhat naive and innocent about somethings, very wise and experienced about others. Time has changed the areas but not the outlook.

I am remembering memories I have intentionally remembered before. Some are like old wounds that from time to time I poke to see if they still hurt. Some do, some have healed up and just a scar remains to remind me of the injury. I am grateful for the healing, wondering if a time comes when all is healed and no emotional response is stirred. I hope so.

I am sitting in the home where I grew up. I cannot imagine how it is that we put six people in this tiny house with one bathroom. I stand in my bedroom and think not only did I fit into this room with all my worldly possessions, my sister did too.
One bathroom, think about that?! And we weren't alone, I had only one friend with two bathrooms and that wasn't until we were in high school and her parents remodeled.
I remember sitting on the bedroom, hiding with my back to the dresser, feet on the heat vent and book in hand. I guess that was what we considered personal space. I also remembered that when you took a bath you had to pull the curtain a lot so that other family members could use the facilities. This no doubt lead to my phobia of going to the bathroom in groups. And I remember my siblings and I going to bed and chatting with one another. This didn't last long, my older siblings being MUCH older (my emphasis not theirs) were away from home before too long, but for a few years we used to fall asleep being goofy and making fun of our next door neighbor, Gil Capone, whom we did not like.

I have recently become a fan of a contemporary worship song that contains the line, 'who I am is who I've been'. I discover this is true, I am who I have been. But not only who I have been. I had a professor tell me that our roots are God's gift to us, not always perhaps what we would have wished but foundational to what God will do. Our choice is to live in a way that reflects God's glory through them, or to shut the door. I think it's a good time to shine the light and watch the glory.

Christmas Traditions

It's that delightful moment on Christmas morning. The presents are unwrapped and everyone is happy and enjoying their gifts. The ham is in the oven and it's Christmas nap time. I love Christmas nap time. It is the best nap of the year. It's that wonderful, my responsibilities are finished, I am free moment when there is nothing left that has to be done but rest. It doesn't last long, it's a small block of time between the unwrapping and the dinner preparations, but it is wonderful.

The Christmas nap is a custom that has long been handed down in my family. My parents would get up with us at the crack of dawn, or prior to the crack of dawn,watch us unwrap all of our wonderful presents and then go back to bed. As the years went by, we all got up, all unwrapped and all went back to bed, or at least my sister and I did. When my kids got old enough to be up without me I would be back in bed the minute the tape was off the last gift and all the ohhhh's and ahhhh's had faded. It is a tradition that should be practiced by all. Many times extended family has called our home and talked to the husband while I was snoozing away. I don't know why they didn't know it was time to sleep. Good thing he doesn't need to nap as long as I do.


I personally prefer the holiday tradition where the Christmas nap is followed by the Christmas bath. This is not for cleanliness purposes. This is for lying in soft warm soapy water, book in hand and the family locked on the other side of the door. "Honey, the house is on fire!" "That's okay, this is the way I want to go."
The book that always goes with me on Christmas is Will Mrs. Major Go to Hell? which is a collection of writings by Aloise Buckley Heath. My parents got this book for me a long time ago because they thought she was someone I would enjoy and would relate to, and they were completely right. There is much in her writings that I identify completely with, and get tickled by and think I know this person, she is living my life!!! It is the perfect Christmas read. It has no profound truth, it inspires no response but total enjoyment. Ah, the rest to simply enjoy without agenda. Who would have thought such a thing still existed?! I think the secret lays in the date it was written, while I was in my infancy. I think it explains a lot.

The book also makes me think of my dad. My dad loved this book and wanted me to share his enthusiasm, which was easy. I think that's how it is some time when you have a strong response to things. You want others to feel the same way and it's so comforting when they do. I will read something that makes me giggle and I wish for my dad because he would giggle too. He has been gone for a long time, I think this is the 10th Christmas, but Mrs. Major makes him very alive to me. I can see his eyes twinkle when he tells you something he enjoys. I like to think that in eternity with God, his eyes sparkle all the time.

Another wonderful Christmas tradition we need to celebrate is the giving and receiving of homemade goodies. I mean when others give them to me and I receive. This is a wonderful thing and I am concerned it could be fading. You people out there need to hold fast to these traditions. I cannot make fudge or all those wonderful Christmas cookies. I need you to keep this up!

The tradition that means the most to me is in the week that follow Christmas in preparation of the New Year. I always take some time and try to reflect on the changes in my children over the last year. To think about all God has done in our lives, to see all the ground we covered and to celebrate some of the successes. I try to make a record of funny things people have said, times when I got teary or was surprised by God's grace. I want to savor the gifts in the last year so I can remember to take them with me into the next.

There are lots of traditions that make this season magical. I would write more but we are cutting into the nap/bath and this cannot be permitted. May this day fill you with the awe and wonderful of a God so big and so powerful yet loving His creation so much that He became a part of it, to show us the way home. And as you celebrate take a moment to say thank you, and enjoy His sabbath rest.

Sliding In

We are in the midst of defrosting from an ice storm. We got ice first, snow afterwards and it made for a royal mess. We have more snow equipment now than when I arrived in Kentucky more than ten years ago. I can remember the first year here when a little snow, blowing across the road was a big problem. Born and raised in Pittsburgh, PA, I know how to do snow. I know how to do ice too, you stay home! I know when you are sliding you are supposed to turn into the slide and there was a time when I didn't even have to think about it, I just did it naturally. I am out of practice now. I wonder if the instincts would kick in.

Yesterday, after the main roads were cleared, I went into work, taking Mr. Sam along since schools are still closed. We had no troubles getting in until we hit the church parking lot. It was solid ice and would have been funny had I not wondered how we were going to get from the car to the building. My car has all wheel drive and I have always been impressed by this but never used this feature until we hit the parking lot. It came in very handy then!

Our policy is to park away from the building and allow visitors to take the spaces closer in. I violated this policy with no guilt whatsoever. I would have driven up to the door but with all the ice, I thought it entirely possible the car would slide right through the door. While this would have solved my walking on ice dilemma, I suspected the trustees would be vocal about a car in the hallway. They are mighty particular.

Mr. Sam and I began the cautious journey into the building. It was less than 15 feet. It took about three hours. Okay, that is an exaggeration, but we were taking baby steps followed by a lot of 'ohhhhh's as we slid and lost footing and giggled at our slow progress. I could see the news feed. Women breaks leg in icy parking lot, trustees say it was her own darn fault. I suppose it would have been.

When I feel out of control, I have the same kind of reaction going on in my head and my tummy. Regardless of the circumstance, it's a very uncomfortable feeling to be unable to take a sure step, to feel that the ground I thought was secure is sliding away from beneath me. It isn't often due to ice, it is much more likely to be a new situation, a problem I thought I had resolved, a matter of faith. When control goes and I am dependent on baby steps, a lot of sliding and a good chuckle or two, I remember that God is really always in control. Sometimes, because I think the ground is solid and I think I know what I am doing, I am deluded into believing I am in control. I am not sure a little ice storm is a bad thing every once in awhile. I need reminding. I bet I have company.

Discovering one's gifts

I have discovered a new thing about myself. I have learned that cooking for lots of people is just like organizing an event, or a Wednesday night program or a trip with a group of women. It takes details, it takes a good plan that is flexible to adapt to change. It takes a firm smile, gentle direction and a confident attitude so people believe you know what you are talking about. A great sense of humor will not hurt either.

Through a series of events, which are pointless, I was forced to cook a meal for about 200 hundred people over two nights for our church Christmas dinner. This is not my gift. This is certainly not my interest and it really is not my job. It is my job to see that it is done and it was too late to get someone else to do it, so I did.

I did this the only way I know how. I asked for help, I begged for help really. I got help in choosing a menu. Many people voted on what we should cook and finally we agreed to a couple of recipes. Then I carefully made my list of groceries I would need, bought then, brought them in and put them away. Organization. I like it!

Then the cooking began. Much of this I enjoyed too. More help was rounded up, my friend rode in with recipes in hand. I followed direction, assembled, melted, stirred and at the end of the day I had this sense of control and clarity and purpose. It was good. I felt good. Life was good! Next day, more help, more directions, more good feelings. Whew, we are going to make it work. Off to lunch, rest, buy more supplies and back again. Only when I get back something has gone astray. Yes, what should be cooked is not. What should be coming out is staying put and what should be going in cannot. Oh dear, oh me oh my. I am in a cold panic and I cannot think what to do. In to the rescue rides another source of help, a lady from the church who caters for a living. I don't know exactly what she did, but she took a boat that had clearly hit an iceberg and was slowly sinking, healed us up and got us into shore.

Don't you think for even a moment I wasn't taking notes and giving thanks. By the end of the evening, the food was good, the kitchen was clean and all was well with the world. Except for the huge cloud that was following me around saying, you have to do it again tomorrow, you have to do it again tomorrow...But I had learned my lesson. I planned my game with care and started two hours earlier than anyone told me to start. I gave myself all kinds of wiggle room. I got great help again, I got things organized so they made sense to me and we stayed on time and with no skirmishes and panic attacks. The food got out, people ate again and the kitchen was cleaned one more time. I heard no complaints about food. It was all consumed and I was done! Hurray!

I do not think this is my gift. I do not like it much, it stresses me to no end. But organization, direction, game plan, this I love. Cooking is this. It's a form of art for some people. I am not an artist, but I can take ingredients and organize them into something that tastes fairly good. Even when I am not sure why. Knowing what you need and how long you need and what things go well together is probably an ingrained gift for some. Not me. But give me the stuff I need to get, the time to get it done and a wise person to show me a time or two what to do and I can do it. I am not sure cleaning is ever going to be my talent, but let's be honest. I can live without it, you know what I mean?

Stepping out of my comfort zone and into the mysterious world of Martha Stewart, where my confidence level is subzero and my ability not much more, was a stretching experience. It wasn't my first choice, but I know how to do it now. I know exactly what you do, you call and find a caterer. And you show up early to lend a helping hands with the cooking, someone else purchases all the supplies. At the appointed hour you go sit down, food appears and you can enjoy it. If you have to do more than this, I think you need to do exactly what I was taught to do. Start early and pray without ceasing.

A lesson in humility

I am a very bad note writer. I do not know why this is true of me, but it is. I don't know if I am short a gene, if I have some mental block, if I am just too darn shallow to be able to consider others, I do not know. I only know that I am very bad at it. If I have written you a note, sent you a card, remembered an event, you should absolutely save this. It is a collectors item and will be worth huge sums of money, if anyone will ever be brought to see the the value, as it is a limited edition.

I really cannot see how anyone would be encouraged by my notes. I think of someone I love, knowing how much they are grieving the passing of their spouse and how lonely it must be, and I just can't see how the little note I write will make a difference. I think it is an imposition to thrust myself into someone else's private life and think I have a word to inspire hope or companionship or whatever. I will send goofy notes if I happen upon one and remember to actually send it, once I bring it home. It is all so much for me. I promise I have tried. I took this project on for Lent on year. I would send one card a day to someone who needed it. I made it the first four days. I have done the card organizer, they look good I just don't use them. I have even written thank you notes, sealed them up and put the person's name on the envelope and because I didn't have the address they never got mailed. I know this because I was cleaning out a book bag from Wesley and there they were, from last January. If only those people would buy me the same gift I could send them this year. What is wrong with me?!

I have a friend who is a note writing expert. She is always the person who sends you a little love and tells you she is thinking of you. She is always the first one who will send me some encouragement, a sweet card, a goofy card, a loving reminder that I am not alone, or what I did was noticed or my place in God's kingdom has been affirmed by one other person anyway. She never forgets a birthday, she never forgets a major event, she is organized and thoughtful. I have tried to be like her. I have saved all the cards she has ever sent and I know this is a wonderful gift. She thinks it is a very simple thing to do and anyone can do it. Maybe anyone can, but I cannot. I have this big black hole of card writing that keeps me from being better at it.

Last night at the Secret Angel Dinner, the lady I was a secret angel for mentioned that there were times when her feelings were hurt because I hadn't written in a couple of months. She is a precious lady and I was so sorry to have hurt her feelings, and I said so immediately. I told her how bad I am at this and it was not a reflection on her at all but my ineptness. She was quick to say she felt that she had put me in an awkward place because she said she wanted to participate too late and I had to adopt her myself. Oh man, that was even worse. I assured that was not the case, that I just am so very bad at this. I am lower than lower, the very lowest of all. How horrible it is when one's weaknesses cause pain in others.

After one of those long evenings when her sweet little face just haunted the life out of me, I tossed and turned all night with thoughts of every person I know who needed a card and hasn't gotten one. I am ready for God to redeem this place in me. I know that I wont be different because I try harder, been there, done that and I have several tee shirts. I need God to help fill the black hole of whatever the disconnect is in there that makes me be so bad at it, and heal me up. As this is exactly what God does over and over and over again, I am at peace that He will do it here. This gives me hope, this morning I need some.

Another Generation

My Son got married this Spring. It was an exhausting time and while I loved the wedding and enjoyed the party, I was a very happy girl when it was over and everyone was on the road. I have seen my son and daughter in law fairly frequently since then, they live about two hours away and have lots of friends and connections still in the home town. They have had lots of adjusting to do, as all married people do. Starting life as a couple, finding jobs and places to live. Figuring out how to juggle taking care of home and work and relating to family and friends. It's all hard work and takes time. They seem to be doing it well.

It's an adjustment for the family too. I am trying to relate to a son who is a husband now. He has done a remarkable job of remembering that we are adjusting too and has gone a long way to stay connected with his father over football and with me over family life. It's weird sometimes, for both of us I bet. I have to repeat the mantra over and over again, remember when you were doing this, remember when you were doing this.

There are lots about those days I do not remember, I am sure. I remember the floor that sloped so badly that it was unwise to set a glass on the table, it would slide to the floor every time. Or when my mother in law found the potato in my window and asked me why it was there and I said because it was green. Apparently the reason potatoes get green is because of exposure to sunlight. Who knew. The phone calls to my mom at lunch time to ask her how to make something else. I really had only mastered macaroni and cheese and rigatoni. I wasn't really even sure about those. I also remember that it was hard to want to hear wisdom from others but still be allowed to make my own decisions. I hadn't really learned to listen for good counsel and still being confident to make my own choice. I don't know that I struggled with the transition from daughter to wife. I think I had been pushing myself out of the daughter role for years.


Last night my daughter in law came into the kitchen and helped to get the casseroles for Thanksgiving started. She has certainly helped me do this in the past, but this year there was some urgency as I am recovering from pneumonia and somewhat wobbly. She was extremely helpful and encouraging without being smothering. She was independent and jumped in to find things so she was real help instead of just two extra hands. She was helpful and thoughtful without making me feel like an invalid. In fact, she was another adult in the kitchen. It was a very gentle tender moment and I felt honored that she would make the effort.

There are going to be many such moments, I suspect, as I learn to relate to my children as independent adults and enjoy them. I think it's nice to see them take charge of their life, develop a plan and life from it. I think it's delightful that they are nice people who's company I enjoy. I am blessed that God is good to such a knucklehead like me.

I wonder if they know the potato thing? I hope not.

Giving Thanks

It's the pause before the annual consumeristic Nirvana. Yes, I am talking about that glorious moment that begins at the crack of dawn, or just before when all my lunatic friends and I line up at the gates and shop until we drop, or we get to noon, whichever happens first. At noon the fabulous sales are over and it's just regular shopping, anyone can do that any time. I don't know why this particular activity should be worth all the effort, but trust me it is. I feel like high fiving all the retailers when I buy something....hey dude, check me out!

Oops, I forgot, this is about Thanksgiving. Sadly, I think I am not alone when it comes to this fault. Lots of us seem to see Thanksgiving as the precursor to the good stuff. This is sad. It didn't used to be this way. In fact, when I was a girl, Thanksgiving was a much awaited holiday. My grandparents would come from Virginia and bring us goodies from the farm. We would have turkey and stuffing and all the accessories and it would be an event. Why did it stop being an event?

Just a speculation, I think we can have an event involving food anytime we want. In fact, I know we can. We have restaurants everywhere, grocery stores, fast food, coffee shops, tea shops, you name it we got food covered. A special meal isn't special any more. Special meals with family is still special, but many of us aren't around family and gathering for a few days is hard. Many wait for a longer break at Christmas.

As for being thankful, I don't know. Many of my friends and family are people who practice an attitude of gratitude. I really know very few people who are blind to their blessings. All of us have time when we need to be reminded of them, but mostly the only people I know who are ungrateful are people who are ungrateful always, Thanksgiving included. They can find the grey cloud in every silver lining and I don't think anything short of the unconditional love of God will change that. So, it's not like we aren't thankful.

Maybe it's because the history has lost its meaning to us in the age of political correctness. Now that we are told our pilgrim ancestors were nothing short of bandits coming in here and taking this land that belonged to someone else. That they were lazy and foolish and treated the Native Americans so badly, we may feel some hesitance to celebrate a holiday connected to that. If this is the case, let me say this is sad. While all of that may be true, what is also true is that they came for religious freedom which we seem so eager these days to give away. They paid a pretty hefty price for this freedom and while they certainly made mistakes and chose some very bad priorities, they also laid for us a tradition of faith that formed who we are as a country. North America is far from the only land that was settled by people who wandered in and claimed some land, and while I would never say Native American's were at fault, they also contributed to the problems. No one is perfect, that's the reality. It's really time we stop bashing our forefathers and celebrate their faithfulness and praise God He redeems our mistakes.

I am for stopping the entire desire to rewrite history to make it fit a political persuasion, of any type. Let it be what it is and learn from it. Those who refuse to learn from history are destined to repeat it. Apologizing for it doesn't seem that effective.

So, be thankful this Thanksgiving. Celebrate your heritage as flawed as it may be and remember our Savior is the descendant of some interesting ancestors. We can be thankful not that our heritage is flawless, but that our God redeems it all. Thank goodness.

Deflation of Ego

I have what I am calling the flu. My head is about to explode, my chest has been filled with concrete and for three days now I have laid in my bed, in my bedroom and I am about to go crazy. I have missed a women's event at my church, the hauling out of Christmas Trees for the decorating party and now worship, Sunday School and a luncheon to celebrate the trees. I am irritated, aggravated, frustrated and put out. I have given my body adequate time to rebound and it lays there like a lump of jello, just gently swaying but not really seeming to be making any kind of effort to get itself together. Don't think I haven't tried to help it. I have poured enough fluids into it to cause it to flush out every cell, every sign of infection, every single invader or any kind. I have taken enough meds to conquer infection of any sort and I have rested until the concept of nap is about ruined for me. I am beyond suffering quietly and into full-out-head-biting-everyone-run-for-cover attitude. While I hate being sick, which I loathe beyond loathing, I am absolutely horrified by not getting my job done. I am torn between thinking this had better be a big deal and it had better be gone by morning. I can't stand the concept of missing more work.

Let me make something perfectly clear. I have been accused of being a workaholic. I think this is untrue, but I do like to work and I do like to do a good job at what I do. I am not upset because I am not at work, though that is a bummer, I am more upset that the work is not getting done. I have had to give my work to coworkers and volunteers to ask them to fill in for me. I had to let a few folks down who were counting on me being with them and I couldn't go. I have had to ask for favors and let my Sunday School class run amok because I couldn't get there to cover my responsibilities. I am dropping not one but many balls and it's making me ill. Oh wait, I already am.

Here is what I think is likely to happen: everything will go on just as scheduled. Yep, I bet the world goes on rotating, I bet people go on worshipping, I bet no one's spiritual life is altered for the worse. The Christmas trees will either go up or not and the luncheon will either happen or it wont. The lady in charge of the women's event will eventually forgive me and the classes who have to do their own tree construction will mutter bitterly under their breath but the trees will go up and they will have a common enemy to unite them. I suspect that the people who have stepped up to cover for me will be blessed by their willingness and God will do wondrous things with this time. So why am I fighting it so much?

Lots of reason, of course. I had a plan and I hate to have my plans messed with. I have a need to be needed. Seems like a bad thing that I can be so easily replaced. I do not want to look bad or that I have failed to do my job. I do not want to be so easily sidelined. I want to be above human failings. I hate when I am not. It is not that I think I am the only one who is able to get the job done, I just hate to leave my jobs to others to do, along with their own. Oh that I could achieve all the things I believe I am capable of!

So mostly I am angry because I am dealing with the gentle or not so gentle reminder that it's not by might but by His Spirit. It's not about me, it's about Him. God is God all the time, not just when I feel good. When people are disappointed in me, let down by my failings or angry with me for my absence, I need to remind myself that my friend Greg would say, what did you expect?! Of course I will be a disappointment and a failure at times, I am a fallen, broken person redeemed and in the process of being made perfect only by God's amazing grace. Let no man be lead astray, the glory is all God's

Now that I have that straight again, do you suppose I could go back to work?

Pondering purpose

Today I crossed over to the land of the balanced and mature, the thoughtful and the pensive, the both/and. I was inspired by much, I learned much, I didn't stay long. I hope I hauled home some truths that I can use. I will attempt to keep them handy anyway, as I do not believe I can cross over too often. I fear that I will find it tempting to stay. What on earth would my world be like if I didn't have to say, gee, I am sorry six quadzillion times a day? What might happen to me if I learned how to say, no, I don't believe I will? Where would the excitement and joy come from without the fires to put out, the emotional outbursts to redeem, the lovely make up gifts to purchase? It makes my head hurt and my heart ache just thinking about it. So let's not, shall we?

One of the things I learned is that when people say there are two sides to every story, they are right and both sides have some merit. Most people hold an opinion and a value because they believe it to be the right thing. Some I will admit hold these opinions and values because someone else did and they seemed reasonable. Some of them because it seemed right and they have never cared enough to discover whether it really is. But mostly people, having given the matter some consideration, think their opinions are right. And good people thinking they are right often line up on opposite sides from other good people who are also sure they are right. Tonight I heard one of those discussions and I can say without hesitation both sides were right in part. They needed to acknowledge where each other was right and try to find the places where they could bend and compromise, but they couldn't. They were too busy defending their positions and attacking the others. I understand when one thinks they are right it is hard to think compromise and acceptance for another view point. I usually cannot pull this off myself. In the land of balance and maturity though, this is a way of life and essential to conflict resolution. Accept that there are two sides, try to listen to both, even if you hold the opinion that the other side is wrong and figure out what is common ground. Piece of cake in the land of the thoughtful and pensive. Harder than nails in the land I live.

Another truth from the land of both/and, everyone has a gift and a purpose. Everyone. Even those lousy, no good, pond scum bottom feeders who have been placed on the planet for the soul purpose of irritating me. They have a gift and a purpose. Everyone does. Someone's gift and purpose may be nothing more than pointing out that when God said this is my commandment that you love one another, He meant everyone. If you can discover a gift and a purpose even the most EGR (extra grace required) person on the planet they are little easier to appreciate. If you cannot, ask someone else, they may know. If the two of you can't find anyone who can help you with this, pack this person up and take them to the land of balance and maturity. They are too tough for you and me to mess with.

Finally, nobody always knows the right direction. Yes, no one. Even the GPS system that lead me through every corn field in southern Illinois. Nobody can know for 100 percent certainty, all the time, without fail, that they are going the right way, made the right choice, told the right people, did the right thing. Everyone has a day or a week or a moment or a lifetime when they wonder if they are doing the right job, living in the right home, have proper furniture placement for the feng shui thing. It's universal. If you find someone who says they have never wondered, please immediately connect them with a person who's gifts and purpose you are having a hard time identifying. The two of them not only belong together, we must keep their influenced limited. The real truth from the land of the balanced, is that it's not confidence in direction that merits admiration, it's confidence that if we are not going in the right direction God recalculates us and it all works for the good because we love Him and are called according to His purposes. Whenever we can figure out what they are...

The land of balance and maturity has a lot of good stuff going for it. There was a whole section there about being a cheerful giver and sharing what you have and treating others with the respect and affection you would like for yourself, but I really can only hold so much information at one time. Besides my shallow indicator was buzzing me, warning me that I was about to move into thinking that had depth and required pondering. Today is national don't think deeply day. Just my luck!

A sock monkey Christmas

My grandmother was one of twelve children born to a farming family. All of them lived to grow up, though some died as young adults. They were not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination and my grandmother wasn't the youngest nor the eldest but somewhere in the lower middle. Born into a small farming town in rural southern Virginia, my grandmother never lived anywhere else and in the last thirty years of her life, she lived less than a mile from the home where she was born. Many times before the home was declared off limits because it was no longer safe, I crawled around checking out this house that held so many. No indoor plumbing and smaller than almost any house I know these days. I always wondered where they put all those children but I guess they just stacked them somewhere. I suspect personal space did not exist in my grandmother's youth.

She was an interesting woman, she had this interesting way of telling stories, the details always wrong and the point being one she wanted to make, whether the story was really about that or not. My grandfather used to listen until his patience was gone and he would announce loudly. "Ah Nell, that is not the way it happened." When I was a child that was enough to silence my grandmother but as I grew older, and she did as well, she began to argue back some. My siblings and I enjoyed "Ah Nell" almost as much as anything else my grandfather ever said.

She was a good if simple cook and worked many years along side my grandfather on the farm. They were not partners as I understand the word, my grandfather was the last word and he held all the responsibility for the children and for her, but they worked well together and enjoyed one another very much. My grandfather was a reserved stoic man in my early years but as he aged he also mellowed and the younger cousins could often talk him into a game of hide and seek. My grandmother entertained by assigning us jobs and letting us 'help'. She also had this knack with socks. She could take these work socks and turn them into things we could play with, most often a sock monkey, though I have had a baby doll or two in my day made from white socks. I did not know anyone when I was growing up who had a grandmother who made sock monkeys. I lived in the city and there everyone had grandmothers who made pasta or kielbasa but not sock monkeys. I was an oddity and I am not sure I looked at the sock monkey as a badge of honor.

My grandmother would make, for my siblings and I, a pair of pajamas for Christmas. I have countless pictures of my sister, my brothers and myself standing in front of the Christmas tree wearing our Christmas pajamas. Always the same general color, made from flannel and opened with the same sort of response each year. Someone would find your package, wrapped in bright Christmas paper and toss it over to you saying, "Sus, here are your Christmas pajamas." As we got older and my grandmother had more difficulty sewing, the pajamas stopped and so did the sock monkeys. One year though my grandmother was in the crafty mode and she made me a Santa Clause out of white yarn that I have to this day. She made me two actually, the first one was consumed by one of the dogs we had through the years. When she made the second one she told me to keep it high and I have.

Over the years I have come to discover that sock monkeys weren't invented by my grandmother. I see they are making a comeback and tonight I found a sock monkey ornament. Of course I had to buy it and it will grace our tree, but isn't it interesting how a few years and a new perspective change the way you look at things. I am old enough now to know that the things that matter are those that return a memory, that remind you of a blessing and bring back to your thoughts someone who you dearly loved. Not in the rosy glasses kind of way, but in a very real, very vivid, contemporary kind of way. I stood in the middle of the store and I could hear my grandmother say my name, or one of my cousins names trying to get to mine. I can right now picture the chair in the living room and photo albums and see the table that used to belong to my great grandmother but now graces my dining room. I can picture the kitchen and the table and chairs and the library table. The library table makes me think of my cousin, also graduated into eternity. I often wonder if she enjoyed the table as much as she had hoped she would.

My grandparents were faithful Methodists all their lives. I often chuckle when I stop to think about working for the Methodist Church. I am quite sure they know and they probably discuss it often. My grandmother starts the stories, the details all wrong and after a bit my grandfather chimes in "Ah Nell" and the battle begins. My dad is there and he rolls his eyes and goes on reading the paper. I can't imagine the three of them any differently.

God blesses us with heritage. Some of it is comforting, its affirming, it tells us we belong to family and tradition. Some of it is less so, there are skeletons in most closets and some painful memories. Some of us spend our lives trying to live better than our roots and some of us trying to live out of them. The word for all of us is redemption. There is much to be redeemed for all and there is much redemption that is coming, some in this life, some in the next. Redemption is a promise and we can count on God to do what He says He will do, in His own way and in His own time. Today as I stood in the store looking at my sock monkey I see some of the injury and woundedness from my childhood being redeemed. The very thing that used to tell me I was different from my friends, my background was different and I didn't quite fit in, told me that I belonged to a family who did it's best to love it's members. Even if that meant sock monkeys.

Who knows this year someone may make me pajamas and make me a new sock monkey. In fact, we could start having a traditional sock monkey Christmas. Redemption at it's very best.

Lost in the back and beyond

Did you ever wonder where the back and beyond was? Wonder no more, I know and I will tell you. Just drive to Kentucky and get on a route #473 and follow it faithfully. I don't know exactly at what point you arrive to the back and beyond but at some point you will look around and say, hey, here I am! I know this to be true, I had it happen today!

There I was lost in my lack of sleep state of being, kind of a state of heightened numbness if you know what I mean. Absolutely exhausted but still moving forward on the caffeine induced state of consciousness. Have you ever done this? I don't really recommend it, I heard myself speaking tonight and I thought, will someone ask that annoying woman to stop talking and then I realized it was me. Not only that but after a lot of caffeine your body parts seem to work in slow motion, you think about your arm raising long before it does so.

So back to the drive, I am sipping coffee and following the route sign and projecting positive thought to all the deer who might be standing just off the road waiting to time their sprint into the middle of the lane with the arrival of my passenger door. I begin to notice the houses are farther and farther apart, I haven't passed a car in a long time and all of the sudden I cannot see another light anywhere. I begin to look for the closest street lights and security lights in yards and I think wait, stop! You have reached the back and beyond. Too bad I didn't have my camera. Only it was dark and you wouldn't have seen anything but dark anyway. Still, seems a shame not to record this moment for posterity.

I did a u turn and got excited when I thought I saw lights coming in the distance and thought, wouldn't it be funny if in the middle of back and beyond I get hit by the only other vehicle left on the planet. Only of course they were not lights at all, just reflections of my lights on the water in the ditch. Golly. I guess if I had sat there waiting for the car to pass that would have been worse, but only just barely.

Moral of the story, sleep more, worry less and when you get to the back and beyond stop and giggle a little. It makes you feel so much better and who can see you anyway. I don't think the police do a Breathalyzer test for people who are sleep deprived but I am not entirely sure about that. I can tell you this, I couldn't have walked a straight line if my life depended on it. I wasn't even sure I was wearing my own shoes for goodness sake.

By the way, if I happened to be talking to you today, it wasn't really me. It was either my evil twin sister or it was all a dream depending on which alternatives means more to you. And have I mentioned lately what a great gift grace is? Gosh I needed lots today.

Comfort by the Campfire

It's cold all of the sudden! I know it's winter and all of that, but it has been just delightful weather. Then all of the sudden, bam it's like winter! I mean we had to scrape ice off the truck this morning, what is up with that?! My feet have been frozen and I absolutely couldn't get the car warm enough, fast enough to make the drive to the gym bearable this morning. I kept putting my hair up in a pony tail, and then pulling it out because my ears needed covering. What a pansy this Pennsylvania girl has become.

The best part of this weather is the early morning hours when you are warm and drowsy and the world seems like a hazy memory and life is good. It's those pre-alarm coming and going from consciousness moments that are delicious and delightful and I want it to go on and on and on. Water too, water tastes so much better when it is really cold as it comes out of the facet. I love that first glass, it's refreshing all the way down. I can't seem to get anyone else excited by that, but I think its remarkable. I also love the smell of wood burning. It's comforting even if you can't see the flames.

The worst part is looking out the window at 5:00 pm and the sun gone and the dark closing in. By 8:00 pm you feel like you have been up into the wee small hours and you are too tired to stay awake any longer. It's depressing. The skies seem to be greyer, longer and the leaves fall and the trees look sad and barren. It's not the comfort season, it's the season of our discontent. It would be unbearable only the water is delightful to drink, the covers make the bed a haven and smell of wood burning remind you of friends and family and the comfort of their presence.

I am finding that presence is the key to lots of comfort moments. Quite often when I am frazzled to the core and feeling lost and defeated an email arrives, a card, a phone call and somehow that little touch is enough to love me into a better frame of mind. I love when God seems so far away and someone pops in to tell me about a God moment. I really love when some silly thing I have done, or said, or written becomes a means of grace and God allows me to know. It's like winning a medal or finishing a long detailed exhausting job, it's a feeling of intense satisfaction. The same one I have felt many times, laying in front of a fire, feet on the hearth and head on a big squishy pillow. Life is very good.

I don't know why God made comfort an essential need, but it is. I don't know why certain things are comforting but they are. And I don't know why we should have to have times when we feel bad to appreciate how good it is to feel good. I only know this, God is faithful and in time dancing replaces weeping and a crown of beauty replaces ashes. The fire place is calling my name. Discontent is a brief season, comfort is a life time.

Sunday, Sunday

It's Sunday morning and as I roll out of bed I am already thinking through the responsibilities of the day. I have a class to teach, two worship services to attend, a Bible study to attend and the work week to prepare for. I am certainly not unique in Kingdom work, all those who are involved in ministry have schedules that are very similar. We are busy people, trying to be faithful to the people God has entrusted to our care. I heard Adam Hamilton once say that those in ministry had to do whatever it took to be up and positive even if that meant drinking a six pack of mountain dew because it is our job. I think he was right, it is our job and we need to take is seriously. I try to, I think about it every Sunday morning and try to remind myself that I am entitled to feelings and moods but they can't impact work.

Still, because I was not always a full time ministry person, I think we are missing something. God wants us to enjoy worship, it's our offering of praise and thanksgiving. He wants us to have grateful and joyful hearts. He wants to us to see these moments as opportunity to be embraced, not as work to be endured. I know we can't always run gleefully to worship every Sunday but I think it ought to be more than obedience. Obedience has it's place and I am all for responding faithfully, but I am also sure God wants us to come in expectation of a moment in His presence. I want to go knowing I am a fortunate woman, that God has blessed me with the opportunity to serve on the front lines and through His grace, and filled with His Spirit, I might actually be able to further the Kingdom. What a privilege! Why do I keep forgetting this when Sunday mornings roll around.

I think part of the responsibility in the community of faith needs to be the constant reminder that what we do is a gift. We have been given the talent and courage and the resources we need from God. We are given the people and the opportunity and the time from God. Whatever fruit we bear and whatever lives are changed and whatever mercy is evidenced is all God's. We just get to say yes, and be present. What kind of glorious job is that? Of course the yes is hard. Of course the work is difficult and the days are long and the people are well....stupid sheep. But we are constantly renewed with what we need if we remember where to go to get it. What kind of opportunity is that?


I don't always like this job. In fact, there are days when I dislike it greatly. There are times when the people are tough, the sacrifice is great, and being sold out and surrendered sounds better on a tee shirt. There are dry spells where my soul is parched waiting for refreshing grace to rain on me. There are times when, like Elijah, I cry out to God; I am the only one you have left! Why are you treating me this way? There are times when the awesome nature of a mighty God so astound me that I am humbled to my knees and amazed that He would ever mess with a silly little girl like me. There are times when the presence of God is so strong that it is electrifying and I can hear the rushing wind and I know that I know that I know He is in this place. God save me from thinking this job is just another job. Or that a day is just another day.

So it's Sunday. Let's go see a miracle take place.

A sabbath rest

It is Saturday. This is a a day I reserve for my favorite past time, a hold over from my teenage years. I sleep in. I love to sleep in, it's like decadence at it's very best.

I have always longed to sleep in. I didn't realize, until I had child number three, that sleeping in is a genetic trait. It is inborn. You might always have to get up early but you are a sleeper-inner under all that discipline. Mr. Sam is a sleeper inner too. The rest of the boys have their father's preset to rise early. I believe this is genetically inferior but it must be acknowledged that Benjamin Franklin disagreed with this. After all he wrote that stuff about early to bed and early to rise and the early bird gets the worm and yadda yadda yadda. Still, is there truly anything better than sleeping in and waking up to feel like king of the world?

I think this is better than just about anything I can think of, with perhaps an exception or two. It's soothing to the soul. It's refreshing and invigorating. It's glorious, no wonder God wanted to include a day off in the creative order. Why on earth doesn't everyone enjoy this experience?!

Yet the truth is, it is not every one's cup of tea. There are folks who think bounding out of bed is some kind of wonderful gift, who smile over coffee in the morning and bound off to whatever the day holds full of life and cheer. They even do this when they don't have to do this, even on a Saturday. I run into some of them at the gym. They are so chipper. I believe their behavior to be wrong. I try not to tell them so. I am not always successful.

This past week while at the gym, before the sun had even though about shifting to my side of the globe, one of those cheerful morning types accosted me (yes,she did). She not only wished me a happy morning but she told me to help my self to candy or take some home for my grandchildren. Let me say I do not have any grandchildren. I do not look old enough to have grandchildren. It is unwise for a cheerful morning person to speak to me at all, let alone offer me candy for nonexistent grandchildren. That woman is lucky I am too tired in the morning to let the air out of her tires. It wasn't like I had even had caffeine yet. Goodness.

In addition to sleeping in, I have grown partial to the nap. I like a good hour to snooze away in the afternoon. I think the younger set has it right, though they are sometimes very stubborn about giving into nature. I think I am getting a little crabby about mid day and with a little nap I am wired and ready to go again. I like to stay up late and I am much more productive if I am allowed to get started and keep going uninterrupted. I find that doing that during daylight hours is impossible. The only hope is to wait for life to slow down, and grab a project and work it until you drop or it's finished. That's a nighttime thing.

So here is to sleep in Saturday and the lovely mid afternoon nap. For a world that would run on my time schedule and for everyone to realize I am much too young for grandchildren. Even when I am a grandmother, I expect people to say I am much too young to be a grandmother. Even if I have to pay them to do so. Somethings are just worth the investment.

To all of you Benjamin Franklin morning people, go ahead enjoy the morning. You can even smile and be chipper and cheerful. Just don't call me on Saturday mornings.

I hope this isn't a sacrilege to my fellow sleeper inners but, it turns out the sunrise is just as beautiful as the sunset. I drive home from the gym in awe and wonder watching the sun wake up. It fills the sky with those same gorgeous colors that I love to watch appear in the evening sky. I have been looking forward to the drive home just for that reason. I just can't figure out why on earth God makes it happen to early.


This and other questions will be answered one day. But I bet not on Saturday mornings. In eternity, everyone sleeps in then.

End of Season

In my life lately there have been a lot of endings. The time change is around the corner, days get dark so early already, the leaves are starting to pile up, right along side last years leaves that are still waiting to be raked. The days without a jacket and slip on sandals are done and I am digging through the cedar chest to find sweaters that I still like. I don't really know why I put stuff in there. The next year I am always thinking....what on earth was I thinking...

Today I took a little reflection time. It is a particularly hectic week and I have lots of deadlines and activities this week. It is always at this point I put my head down and try to move through as much as I can as quickly as I can. While this sounds good, I find I get very crispy somewhere along the way and those who know me best run for cover. So, I thought I would do us all a favor and rest up a little today to re-center myself. By the way, when one wishes to re-center one's self I highly recommend mindless television. It requires absolutely nothing, can be slept through with ease and in the end you just end up feeling like you are at least superior to what you just watched.

But I digress. My thoughts today are filled with death. Sounds joyful, doesn't it? I am not pondering my own, I am thinking a bit about those who I love who have died. Those who I do not know but have come to know through others who have died and even a little about what my feelings about death ought to be. It's a natural part of life, it is one of the two things I am told are absolutes: death and taxes. Who wants to ponder taxes?! I understand grief, we invest a great deal into the lives of the people we love. They not only live as themselves, they live with part of us in their make up. We live with part of them in ours. When they are gone, there is no recovering that part, it is gone too. You can't loose a portion of yourself without pain. I have had doctors tell me after surgery to remove a body part or two that I would have discomfort, but I can assure you that was pain.

Yet, if death is a given and we believe that to be absent from the body is to be present with God, why is death such a gloomy, bleak, depressing topic? Why has dying become almost shameful? Why, when we record the death of someone from cancer, do we also list how long they bravely battled the disease? Why does it make us so angry? Do we believe that death is punitive? A failure? A result of a heartless God who just couldn't be bothered to intervene? Do we believe that God is able to provide for us, even when our pain is great and our future expectations have just vanished? If not, then we are grieving much more than loss, we are grieving the smallness of our God.

Just to make you dizzy, let me counter all that with this: if death is inevitable and a natural part of life, why did God give us such a strong desire to live? In my father's last days, I remember the exchange between him and the hospice nurse. His sweatshirt was interfering with the IV line and she reached into a pocket, pulled out some scissors and tried to cut the cuff. He grabbed the scissors and said, you can't cut this, it's a good sweatshirt. I saw the light go off in his eyes when he realized that it didn't matter anymore about saving his clothing. It was a sad moment but it crystallized for me how very much my father wished to live. Why does everything in us cry out to live if we are supposed to realize that death is simply the doorway to eternity? It puzzles me greatly.

I didn't find any solutions today, but I found great peace in airing it all in God's presence. At times when it is all much too much for me, I have learned that peace comes not from answers as I have always thought, but from being allowed to say it all. God is so much bigger than I am, deeper than I am, wiser than I will ever be, dropping all my questions into His hands is enough. It's the release and the joy in giving it to Someone much more competent than I am, that gives me peace. Often I find, in the course of living, I come across answers to questions I dropped off years ago. Many I am still waiting for. Some answers come I wasn't even wise enough to ask. I think it doesn't matter nearly as much as the practice of being present.

Let's hope it was enough to keep me from getting too crispy and perhaps burning those around me. This season is passing, another one is coming, and in all we give thanks.

New and Improved

It is an election year. I have been scrambling hard to find things to be thankful in an election year. It is dismal and depressing and I have completely given up television, newspapers and I am close to moving into a cave and refusing to allow others to talk to me at all. As it is, when someone mentions politics an alarm goes off in my head and I go into defensive mode. I can only hear "wah, wah wah wah wah" just like Charlie Brown's teacher and my verbal communications become limited to the repetition of "You could be right", "well" , "might be so". Lest you think I have failed to be thankful, let me assure you I have triumphed. I am so thankful we only have to do this every four years. I am thankful that we have a merciful God who allows us enough room to hang ourselves and yet will step in to save us when we ask. I am beyond asking, I am into the begging mode. Please! Come Holy Spirit Come!

Here is what I really think is the bottom line on politics, and the feeding frenzy that everyone gets in at this time. We think a new party, a new person, a new policy, a new thought process will change everything and life will be good. I am sure that who we elect matters, don't miss understand, but I am equally sure there are wonderful, devout, thoughtful people who will argue both sides with passion about how one candidate is better than the other. I don't know how to think about it all anymore, so I have stopped thinking about it. I have prayed faithfully every day, and I encourage others to pray, that God will give us NOT the leader we deserve but the leader we need, who ever that is. That being a child of God will have some real significance in the world and we will positively transform the part we live in. That we will grow beyond the need to be right and the need to be heard more than the need to respond to the love God has poured out for us. I don't think the world of politics will ever address that, do you?

What is with our need for new and improved? I cannot tell you how often I buy new and improved stuff. My new laptop, new and improved. The laundry detergent for goodness sake is now condensed and improved. I bought new and improved sneakers and new and improved work out clothes and today I meet with a new and improved physical trainer for a new and improved work out. No doubt health and healing have already begun coursing through my body. I am not at all saying the my clothes aren't maybe a little cleaner but once you get to white, where do you go from there? My physical trainer is an excellent young man and I can tell you this, if I do what he tells me to do I will be in much better shape. My new laptop is very smart, I love that it figures out what I need and gets it for me. Still my life is about where my life always has been. Real transformation doesn't happen externally, it happens within. When inner transformation occurs it ought to change the external too, and the impact should be beyond new and improved, to new creation.

We will never shine up a pig and make it look like a Clydesdale and we can't change politics by changing the names. Real transformation, life changing transformation begins truly with new life. Why don't we spend oh say a billion dollars promoting that for a change. Maybe I could turn on my television again.

Sybil

Years ago I heard a lady say that she had so much work to get done over the course of the weekend, it was a good thing she brought all of her personalities. It was a great line, we all laughed. However, as the weekend went on, I began to see some truth in her humor! And not just in her, several people packed a wide variety of personalities that emerged as lack of sleep and stressful conditions increased. It was very inspirational to see peace and good will emerge in worship and somewhat scary to see that peace and good will be swallow up in terse conversation and strong jaw lines when things weren't going quite as well. Just exactly how many personalities does each person get issued?

I have noticed this a lot since stepping into ministry full time. I would like to believe it's because accounting people are not so subject to mood swings, but I suspect it is more because back in the bookkeeping days I was working a lot on my own. It is soooo easy to remain level when you can come and go fairly quickly. I used to call it the touch and go method of connecting. The stop, eye contact, conversation, hand to the shoulder or arm, pat, pat, pat, get in the car and done for another week. It really has a lot of merit and one size fits all when it comes to inter-relating.

The ministry thing is a lot tougher for me. First, I am in an office with a whole lot of people, this is not always good. Then, when people come, well, they stay a lot longer than a touch and go visit. Worse, people are beginning to figure me out. They have noted that my neck flushes when I am annoyed or embarrassed or sucking up something I am really dying to say. I have also been told that my voice goes up an octave and I become overly sweet and polite. I guess these are some of my alternative personalities coming to work with me to help me keep my job. I think there is a pretty serious curmudgeon personality in me that could be a challenge if it weren't for these other characters kicking in to provide interference.

There is a very funny personality that I just love and provides the comic relief I need so often. It is a good thing I enjoy this one because I have noticed that while I tickle myself often, sometimes I am the only one laughing. I have a couple of dear friends who also have these personalities and when we get together, we just tickle ourselves silly. There is a deeply serious, focused, passionate personality that gets incensed with ineffectiveness and things that waste time. It suffers fools poorly and really needs that squeaky voiced character to step in and remind it to breathe deeply and count to one billion before it speaks. Sadly, it is stronger than squeaky and on occasion I have seen it forcibly eject squeaky right out of my head. There is the social personality that loves a party and the deeply introverted one that hides to read and re-cooperate. You know, there are so many personalities in here, it is no wonder I weigh so much.

I think the only difference between Sybil and me is that all my personalities talk to each other, they all interact pretty well and all of them except for the passionate one and the curmudgeon one, can be taken out into public. Even the passionate intense one can see the light of day if it can be brought to allow the squeaky polite one to interject at the appropriate time. They all have the same voice, mine, and they all really want the same thing, their own way. If I was fortunate enough to be able to control them all with a tazer I am sure I would be a model of decorum. In fact, people would be writing books right now entitled, Be Like Susan, She is Super. Don't ask the Booksamillion folks when this might be on the shelves. That kind of question makes them irritable.

Do you see why we need so much grace? All those personalities to cover. Good luck with that this week.

Dead, dead, dead

There was a movie made a long time ago called The Happiest Millionaire. It was a musical all about this kind of wacky millionaire family in Philadelphia. I always liked it, but I don't really know why. I think because I grow up as a musical junkie, loved all of those old movies. I can still remember bawling like a baby over West Side Story and being so mad that no one told me it didn't end well.

Anyway, in Happiest Millionaire, there is a scene where the new butler has left the windows open in the conservatory and all of the 'pet' alligators are frozen in their tanks. They try to thaw them out but they don't seem to re-animate and from time to time the family members take turn patting them and saying dead, dead, dead. Later after a night in front of the fire, the alligators warm up and are active and alive after all. Nice for the story, even funny for the story as once back to the land of the living and unrestricted, they are free to roam the whole house and find all kinds of interesting places to explore.

So what? I hear you and I am going somewhere here, beyond thinking that I need to watch this movie again. I have been thinking a lot about the Methodist Church. I have been walking around in it for the last twelve or thirteen years kind of patting it and saying, dead, dead, dead. We would be assigned pastor after pastor, each one it seemed to have less depth, less vision, less drive. Dead, dead, dead. My local church seemed to live in spite of it's leadership and even grow and thrive despite a pastor or two who seemed determined to kill it off. I went to my first annual conference and I thought dead, dead, dead. In fact, what I really thought was if it's not dead someone had better kill this thing off.

Lately, I have cause to wonder if like the alligators, perhaps there is hope for the Methodist Church, at least in my conference. The issues are there, and just as big and bad as I thought they were. In fact the further in you go, the bigger they seem to become. Just lately it seems some signs of life are beginning to stir. The conference seems to be instituting some stuff that might actually work. At least the they are making some effort to try to bring about change. In a few places I even hear that there are churches who are doing some really good ministry. I begin to hear a similar theme from various parts of the connection, focus on developing excellent young leaders, developing strong lay leadership, intentionally developing a discipleship plan. All of that sounds like life, doesn't it? Could it be that God is in the process of thawing us out and restoring some life into these old frozen corpses?

I am reminded once again of the people standing at the edge of the promised land. They had God's blessing to go in, take the land and the promise that He would go with them, He would protect them, He would provide for them. They had the opportunity to check it out and see for themselves and it was every bit as good as God said. But they learned that there were giants. Huge hulking giants. They were grasshoppers in comparison; they thought so, the giants thought so. So, despite God's invitation they didn't go. The rest of the story is, forty years later the opportunity is finally offered again, but not to those who turned it down the first time. If this is God, and this is an opportunity to go to the Promised Land, to see Him bring life and vitality to a conference and get to be a part of that, I sure don't want to miss it. I know the giants, and I know I am a lowly grasshopper, but I am confident that my Father is enough. If it's not Him, well, I am praying He makes that abundantly clear and I am smart enough to listen.

In the meantime, someone make the popcorn and let's watch a movie.

The world at 10

Yes, Mr. Sam is 10. I don't know why ten doesn't have a name. The terrible twos are no worse than whatever is happening inside the mind and body of a ten year old. But terrible tens just really doesn't have the same ring. It's not really accurate either.

Mr. Sam is not terrible. He is a weird mixture of little boy and teen wannabe. He is fun and rambunctious, weepy and emotional, clingy and completely independent. He likes to stay home alone, doesn't want to sleep in the dark, rides his bike all over and investigates the neighborhood, prefers someone go downstairs into the family room with him. His reactions are all over the place, he is like a great big dial a mood wheel. Don't like this one? Just wait another option is just around the corner!

He is wise beyond his years and such a little boy. He makes pronouncements that come from the wisdom of the ages and funny little comments that you can't seem to follow at all. He chastises me, "Mom, we have talked about this" and he has a great variety of sound effects that accompany whatever story he is imagining. In the fourth grade,we had to discuss the sound effects being controlled while at school. I have wondered often if he ever says to his teachers, "Miss Whatever, we have talked about this". I sure hope so. I would hate to be the only one.

Recently we noticed that he has a tendency to smell like a goat. We have discussed this at length. He tells me this is all in my head. I tell him, no I have witnesses. We argue about it at great length. Still he eventually gets into the shower. Last night he appeared at my elbow recently having emerged from the shower. He said, "Smell me now." which of course I did. He smelled yummy and I told him so. He said, "Well, I guess so. I used strawberry shampoo, ocean breeze body wash and mountain fresh deodorant. I ought to smell like a vacation." We both laughed at how witty he is. He laughed longer though.

I am reminded of the email that tells me that if God has a refrigerator that my picture is on it. While I am not at all interested in discussing the theological ramifications of this, I am standing in great hopes that my Eternal Father enjoys me even half as much as I enjoy Sam. That when we discuss whether I am behaving, He glows with that same sense of inner pride and when I tell Him to smell me now, He breathes in deeply and laughs at my witticisms. When my behavior is erratic and my moods are all over the boards, I hope He shakes His head and says "this too shall pass" with the same conviction I have. I hope that as He loves me perfectly, He is helping me to love Sam better every day.

Sam had a good day today. He told me he didn't want to ruin it by taking a shower. The world has many sources of frustrations at ten. Guess cleanliness is one of them.

Rolling with the Punches

I love people who rise to the occasion. I just love those people who, when their plans go awry, put on a big smile, put their best foot forward and somehow make you think that this new plan is so much better than their old one. Whose ability to size up the seriousness of a situation and make a good judgement is so comforting and assuring that everyone responds with confidence. I just think these people hung the moon. I would like to sing an ode in their honor, only no one does that anymore. Thank goodness.

I am not this person. I can be funny during these moments. I can exude a calm exterior and a warm grin. I can be reassuring and I can do what I am told. But I am not at all at peace. I am furious that my plans are being thwarted (this is a big no), I am trying hard to think of a replacement plan, one equally perfect to the first, and I am repeating my mantra, 'this is no big deal, this is no big deal, this is no big deal'. Because, of course, I think it is a huge deal and I am going to be ashamed of this shortly.

The last few days I have had great examples of taking a punch and rolling with it. We had a wild storm come through here on Sunday morning. We had no power and it was our day to be in mission and ministry. Many of our projects were outside, all of our music and sound needed power for worship and quite frankly it was a mess. Cars were damaged in our lot. I really was clueless about what to do. I thought it was smarter to give it up and send everyone home only sending them out might be worse than keeping them. I was smiling big and thinking fast and feeling way over my head. I needed someone to hear all the concerns and make good decisions, and my pastor did. I sure did like him in that moment.

It is not any one's favorite thing, rolling with the punches. But those who know how to take a hit and rebound with grace and ease take away the sting. It's a gift to everyone there as well as ones self. This rocks. This is win/win and it is what I want God to do in me. I want to learn to take a punch better and see it as an opportunity to be a blessing and to bless rather than endure and survive. To take my big deal and quite trying to convince myself it is not, but claim the greater deal it could be. Wouldn't that be cool?

I know perfectionism has its roots very well anchored in insecurity. Wont it be delightful to come to the place where one's security is so complete in their value and worth as a child of God that the rest of this stuff is like water from a duck. Doesn't even make an impression. Oh Lord, make it so. Now would be good.

North and south going Zax

I had the painful experience of observing a north going Zax and a south going Zax carefully try to navigate each other this week. It was a truly very difficult for both and they were trying very hard to honor one another. Only the desire to honor one another when intersected with the deeply ingrained directional indicator was causing an intense response. It was not expressed, it was just below the surface but it radiated out into the room and everyone there was effected.

I was pained for both parties and I understood that for each the need was beyond having their way. These were set points that were being seriously pushed and the result was such an electrified environment that it stressed everyone who came into it. Words were dripping with emotion, movement was careful and guarded, discomfort was everywhere. It was frightening and sad and overwhelming all at the same time.

I thought about it for a long time and still have no resolution for how some of that could be diffused. Neither party is being willful, both have a tremendous need here and it is taking a carefully choreographed dance to keep everyone moving in rythm. I believe in this moment all participants had lost track of the shared music and were hearing their own strains loudly.

My Zax friends are bound for a destination neither of them want. This is a hardship. They are approaching the journey from an entirely different bent, this is also a problem. They are not free to say what they are feeling because they deeply love one another and they don't wish for the journey to be more of a burden for the other. They are tied up in knots all the time and they don't know how to unravel them. They are trying to keep their knots private but they cannot, they spill out into the world around them and this creates additional stress.

I wish I could help. I can't change their destination either. I can't rearrange their set points or give them a way out. I don't know how to really listen to either without being more of an intrusion and I don't know how to make it safe for them to express the emotion and tension. I have tried to be creative and I have no ideas. I can't come up with anything that wouldn't be an even greater invasion.

I am praying, and I am coming to the conclusion that there are truly times when the only way a north going Zax and a south going Zax who have come foot to foot and face to face reach resolution is by divine intervention. I think this is easier when the Zax want a resolution and my Zax do. They just wanted a different resolution. I wanted a different resolution for them. In some things, the answer is only to bend the knee. This is one of them.

The Quest for Peace

I had a hard time sleeping last night. In fact, I don't think I did. My mind would not stop, my stomach churned and I found no way to get comfortable or peaceful. Finally this morning when I have tried long enough, I just got up. I have a series of disciplines I usually work through that are comforting. Centering prayer, a bath, reading a book, working on my gratitude journal. All of those have been helpful in slowing my heart rate, calming my spirits, but none of them have helped me sleep. I have given up that goal and instead I am trying to make peace my focus.

So often the things that make me a little nuts are the things that move me out of the center and take away my sense of peace and well being. I am aware that this is not a unique reaction, it's not like most people don't have this experience! I am just pondering why peace is so fragile and when Jesus left us His peace, not as the world gives, why am I still often running back to His arms and asking Him to give it to me again. Am I so careless to loose it over and over again?

I hear you, I haven't lost it but I have let it go. This is true and profound and important but it doesn't resolve the issue. Why is that? More, how can I learn to have a better grip?

I had a delightful meal with a dear friend last night. We truly enjoyed the time and the discussion and I learned a great deal in the process. I have mulled over some of the conversation quite a bit in the hours I was not sleeping. I think God is the God of perfect timing, meaning I am given what I need when I need it. I think the morsels of truth I was given last night have a lot to do with my peace search. We discussed wounds and the on going message that God is in the business of healing them. We both agreed this was the case but we moved into talking about wounds that do not heal this side of eternity. What does God do with wounds that take graduation to eternity to heal?

He keeps them clean. He becomes the antiseptic that keeps infection at bay and even is gracious enough to create in our minds an alarm system that makes us react to a wound being invaded again. It's the fear or the anger or the emotion or physical response. It's the pounding heart that sometimes leads to the pounding head. It's God's gift to us to remind us to turn. Turn fast, run home, and stay until the cleaning is done. It's not peace lost, it's peace in union with God. That is where we are disinfected once again.

I was reminded yesterday in church of a time many years ago in the play land of a MacDonald's. A friend's little girl, who is now a very attractive and darling teen, was a little whiny and complained that someone was not playing with her. Her mom turned and called her over and said "Honey, let me love you". She pulled her up in her lap, wrapped both arms around her and her daughter snuggled into her shoulder and sighed the most contented sigh. I thought it was such a good thing to do! In my heart I can feel my God doing the same thing. "Daddy, they aren't playing with me!" "Come here honey, let me love you". When I come, He wraps both arms around me and I snuggle deep into His should and sigh with relief. Gosh that is so good!!!

So maybe peace isn't lost, maybe it takes on a new feeling when it calls you home. Maybe it creates a sense of urgency that invites you to run with every ounce of strength you can muster to get the wound tended before infection can set in. Perhaps the better we get at recognizing the symptoms, the faster we get clean again. At least the quicker we can feel the warmth and safety of a Father who knows who we are and loves us completely.

I would write more but I am going to sit with my Father and let Him love me some more.

I, the ex-jury

Yes, I was notified by mail that for the next three months I would be required to report for jury duty. I was displeased about this. I am a busy girl, I don't have either the desire or the need to go sit on a jury. I am blessed with friends who are attorneys so my first call was to one of them. I said, how does one get out of this and they said....you don't. Turns out I had no reason to be excused, apparently lack of interest and busy schedule don't qualify you.

So I reported for jury duty and discovered that I have not only been placed on jury duty, it's little pretend jury duty. We can't decide anything more than $400 and only misdemeanors. The only big thing we can do is decide if someone is competent and assign a guardian. Excuse me, but who on earth thinks I am competent to judge someones competence?

So I went for orientation and I really thought the judge was gracious and kind. He pointed out that regardless of the charge or the circumstances they deserved the same treatment as those with bigger matters. I agreed with that and thought it was pretty profound. I tried to swallow my impatience and frustration and take it on as a civic responsibility. Okay, no joy in this civic responsibility but I would do it faithfully.

Then I went to jury duty. It started off okay. I said here to roll call and they said they would be calling 12 of us and heck, there must have been 35 people. What were the odds they would call me? I noticed the deputy had been sitting in the last chair of the jury box and I remembered vaguely wondering if it was a jury seat or an extra one, thought it probably wouldn't matter to me anyway, only the first person selected. I must have communicated the thought to the deputy because I notice him push it back in line with the others. Yep, one of the jury seats. I hear the announcement about random selection and then they call my name. First. I almost laughed. I didn't though, I just strolled up there very naturally and sat in the chair recently realigned. Before long others joined me, a very sweet lady sitting next to me who seemed to know me from somewhere. I find this disconcerting a little because I have no idea who she might be. Before long there are twelve of us up front. I am feeling slightly panicky too when I realize that I know the prosecuting attorney and the police officer who will be testifying. I remind myself that this is Mayberry RFD and everyone knows everyone and I just need to say I know them and I am going to remain unbiased. Until they ask.

First I raise my right hand and promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth which I am sure I can do. Then we are introduced to the defendant and she stands and we are asked if we know her and I do not. Then her lawyer stands and though she looks just like Melinda Kelly from 7th and 8th grade, I do not know her. Now we move to the next table and one of my attorney friends stands and I agree I know him and I am asked if I can remain unbiased and I say yes, I believe so. However, no one else agrees they know him at all. This is disconcerting. Next the police officer stands up, and I raise my hand that yes, I know him, but none of my fellow jurors admit to this. Now I am beginning to feel a little more uncomfortable. I tell the judge the officer and I go to church together and say I believe I can be objective and he pushes the subject a little and I say I do not believe my relationship with him will effect the case. I am so sorry I raised my hand to promise that truth stuff now.

I am a little peeved with the man from my church sitting in jury chair 12 who is acting like he has never laid eyes on any of those people in his life. Oh well, I have told the truth, responded honestly and now the lawyer I know stands. He asks questions of the whole group and I answer all that apply to me, but few do. Then the lawyer I don't know begins to ask questions. First she goes after a lady sitting in front of me, juror number 8. I realize 'go after' is a highly inflammatory expression, but that is what she does. Jury number 8 has said she doesn't know the defendant but it turns out they graduated together. She says she doesn't recognize the name or the person but when told the lady's maiden name she recognizes her and then is berated until she says she would rather not serve and she is dismissed in tears from the courthouse. I wonder what is going on. Why is the jury on trial?

I am the next under the microscope. I am asked if I am sure I am unbiased and I say yes. She asks again how I know both individuals and I repeat it again. I am asked in the most aggressive manner if I am sure I am unbiased and I say yes, I believe so. She then begins cross examining my education and background and out of the blue asks me about a 'negative'. She asks me to tell her about a negative. I am now completely lost and say in terms of accounting? Accounting isn't about negatives, it's about balance. She says just in general. Can you prove a negative? I say....prove a negative....theoretically? and now she is getting peeved with me and says yes, in theory can you prove a negative? I am absolutely stunned. I finally say that I would say that perhaps you can't prove something didn't happen, in terms of my faith. She turns and jumps on juror number 8's replacement asking him the same question. He decides you can prove a negative and then she makes the rest of the jury raise their hands to say if a negative can be proved. No one moves, no one even understands the question. It is a little like Alice in Wonderland. She goes on to berate several other jurors, confusing a sweet little old lady so much I want to smack her. She finally turns back to me and says isn't it a remote possibility that since I go to church with the police officer I might let that bias me and I agree, yep it's a possibility. She then says would I understand if I was dismissed and I assure her absolutely and she says would I take it personally and I said no (as if I were not taking personally the cross examination). And I gather my stuff and wait to be dismissed, only I am not. Cruella Deville sits down again and I remember how much I didn't like Melinda Kelly and called her Jelly Belly Kelly.

My attorney friend stands, asks some follow up questions and says, Mrs. Engle, I don't want to beat a dead horse but can you be unbiased? And I say, yes I believe I can. Jelly Belly stands and asks a number of provocative questions and I think we are about done when she turns to me again and begins another assault. Now I have lost my patience and when she attacks, I respond assertively. She implies I have changed my answer and I respond she has changed her question. I lose my patience and correct her twice. I think well at least now I will be dismissed only not quite yet. Yet another break and finally I am free. I cannot get out of the courthouse fast enough and I am furious that I have wasted an entire morning to prove something. Sheesh they told us over an over there was a presumption of innocence but only for the defendant and they were the only person in the court that had been arrested.

Please someone tell me how it is that this is justice? I will have to say that by the end of the discussion I was severely prejudice not in favor of those I know but against Jelly Belly Deville. In fact I was trying to find her car so I could let the air out of her tires and leave a note under the windshield wipers questioning her legitimacy and heritage. I thought that juror number 8 and the other jurors who had been abused could gang up on her and tp her trees and fork her yard and encourage skunks to take up residence in her garage. How could that serve her client? Why did the judge allow that?

I got a phone call from juror number 12 who kept maintained silence and learned he had been on the final jury only to have the case declared a mistrial. Then the bell went off in my head. She was stacking the deck from the get go, trying to get something, anything to use for a mistrial and she finally got it. Did you remember I said this is baby court? If she was found guilty it could only result in 30 days in jail, maximum. Why on earth would Cruella gear up for that?! I think it had to be she has other more serious charges or has already been found guilty of something else. Or else, Jelly Belly Deville is just so doggone mean by nature that she can't turn it off.

I think this is more than an irritation for little old me. I cannot imagine one normal person on earth who wants to give up an entire day for all the abuse you can handle and $12. This, so a person can be judged by their peers. A person who is certainly presumed innocent until proven otherwise but since it's appeared highly likely there is enough evidence of their guilt to move beyond reasonable doubt, all there is left to win the case is to try to create a legality. Sacrifice whatever it takes to create an opportunity for appeal. It's a nasty system and I am confident there must be a better way. I am sure it's better than many others countries, but surely it can be improved.

Meanwhile, can someone please take my name off the list?