Okay. Confession time.
While I am able to put on a front that may appear like I am able to cope with the idea that my child will be boarding a plane and flying off to fulfill his mission for himself and for God, I worry that my act of bravado (which is what this is) will crack before I am ready to kiss him goodbye.
Of course, the goodbye will not be forever but it will be for two years. And the time he is serving his fellowman will change and shape him in ways so personal that only his journal and our Father in Heaven will know them until the time comes that he is ready to share them either in words or appearance.
Both my husband and my brother went through this particular part of the 'refiner's fire' in foreign lands away from Momma. And both came back as men who were sure of the path that they wanted to take in life.
Like Tevya in 'Fiddler on the Roof', I can't help but wonder how the little boy that came home from the hospital as a newborn not so long ago could have become this self assured young man who is ready to begin life as a grown-up. Only this evening he sprawled over the chair and ottoman slaying spies and assassins to make the world a safer place as an I.M. specialist in the realm of fantasy brought to homes near you via an X-Box.
I didn't buy the X-Box. That was another moment of glorious comprehension that dawned when he began to realize that when you want something in this world, you have to work to achieve or purchase it. He worked the hours and saved aside a portion of the paychecks until he had saved enough to bring home a used, but serviceable unit that would take the edge off of reality and offer a variety of escapes from spy versus spy to the thrilling auto racing games that literally leave you sweating and palpatating.
Though both my husband and my brother never lost the desire to play video games, their play is now tempered with the experience of life that never lets the diversion take the place of the responsibilities that being an adult have imposed.
But having said that, I would do nothing to deny my son these last few days to try out the multitude of hats that represent the choices available in life. Though they be a shadow of reality, within the message is a grain of truth.
The good guys are supposed to win and evil is defeated by skill, cunning and some pretty cool tools and gadgets.
Now, the good guys will be dressed in suits. They will defeat the evil of the world by shedding the Light of Christ and the Love of God into the darkened spaces of the world. Their tools will be the simple and pure testimony that can lead even the most lost of the fold from the thicket of dispair and into the everlasting joy that comes from following in the path of the True Shepherd of us all.
Being an undershepherd is hard. It requires you to leave the known and venture into the unknown to save the bleating sheep that has wandered into the unfamiliar paths and become lost. It requires you to forsake the comforts of home for the welfare of the sheep whose names you do not yet know and bring them into the sheepfold safely and securely to go no more out.
Mostly, it means being out day and night to call out, to guide and to share the message of the comfort and bliss that comes from being one of the flock and knowing the voice of the Good Shepherd who most assuredly calls to us all.
So, I guess that little boy I carried will now be carrying someone else's child. And bringing them back home where they can have their wounds bound up, their broken heart healed and their reunion with the Master assured.
If he can be that brave to go out into the wilderness to seek after the lost and lonely sheep of the Master, then I can be brave enough to encourage him to go.
Learn to serve, my son. Learn to love. Learn to lead and return with honor in having given all that is important and necessary at this time in your life. I have seen the results in both your Father and your Uncle when they returned from their service to the Lord. While it is a change for us all, the best change will be within you.
July 7, 2007
A Voice in the Wilderness
You know, the thought dawned on me today as I was surfing the waves of the net that the reason blogs and places like 'Facebook' and 'Myspace' have become so much an omnipresent part of our modern existence is that we all want to believe that we have a voice in the wilderness that someone will hear and respond to in some way.
No one wants to think that they are just an anonymous traveler who doesn't leave a ripple in the tidal pool when they pass.
Could be the reason that we 'network' our lives with technology to supply an immediacy that we need in order to feel that our lives have meaning beyond what we assign to ourselves.
I stop in and look at the pages of friends and strangers alike and visit the portion of their personal life that is on display in the blogs or chat rooms or web pages that fill the void of the world wide web.
Like spiders seeking to lure in their prey, each site has a hook or some sort of bait to attract our attention and hold it long enough for our presence to be registered and taken into the web presence of the person behind the technology.
Similar in many respects to the scene in the 'Wizard of Oz' where we are instructed to ignore the man behind the curtain, we are to believe that the persona on our monitor is the sum total of existence for the digital representation of life we are given.
Seldom have I seen a website that shows the undiluted truth about who a person really is. That is simply privileged information only shared with those who are close enough not to judge, pity or condemn.
If we were to present our true self, as my father says 'warts and all', I don't think we would find it quite as compelling as we do the highly varnished and photoshopped 'truth' that is shared with us on the net.
Is there such a thing as an unexamined life?
In this day and age of technological perfection at the click of a mouse, I am not sure that exists anymore. Even photographers who bring the distress and horrors of the world to our doorstep have micromanaged the images and the story to represent whatever slant or spin is the most lucrative for their career.
Perhaps the reason we blog and fill up various websites with our life's representation is that we need to feel like we can leave a remnant of our presence if only in mega pixels and gigabytes.
Sometimes, when I sit here and type, it is just to sort things out. Other times, I wonder if the things that I think and feel and experience will make more sense and have more meaning if I manage to find the words to express them in print. I don't know if that makes the things that happen mean more or if it simply lends a minor bit of permanence to something that might have otherwise passed by unnoticed.
Regardless of circumstances, I have always written things down. The good, the bad, the painful and the pleasant all have found a space in my journals over the years.
Reading back through them at times has been an exercise in agony or joy. Seeing that circumstances don't have to dictate my future is the biggest blessing of writing down my feelings and thoughts in whatever medium I have used. It has also been a journey of discovery that has created tersely worded entries on days that writing my true feelings seemed to difficult to manage and pages of feelings on those days where I have tried in vain to find the words to express the deep emotional responses I am feeling.
Sharing time with the people in my life who mean the most to me creates some of those pages long entries that remind me of the emotions and feelings that those times are all about. Even years later, reading about the shared time and the wonderful moments together can cast a ray of sunshine into my life that chases away the gloominess for days on end.
Being a single voice in the vast wilderness of life isn't a solitary pursuit. But learning to express your own pitch and timbre in a world of shallow imitators can be a sometimes daunting task. We all want to fit into the chorus, but if we do it for the sake of fitting in without considering our own unique outlook, we miss the harmony that results from many voices that create their own music within the majesty of sound.
So here's to all the writers, the poets and wordsmiths, to the wanna-be's and the no talent hacks that sit and type the ebb and flow of their life for the world to see or for only themselves.
Keep crying out with your singularly wonderful voice in the wilderness. Only you can share your personal message and only you can decide what is going to be offered up as the token of your life's journey.
God willing, if each person finds one moment to share their voice, the chorus that results will sing a beautiful song of what it means to be a part of this experience we all share called life.
No one wants to think that they are just an anonymous traveler who doesn't leave a ripple in the tidal pool when they pass.
Could be the reason that we 'network' our lives with technology to supply an immediacy that we need in order to feel that our lives have meaning beyond what we assign to ourselves.
I stop in and look at the pages of friends and strangers alike and visit the portion of their personal life that is on display in the blogs or chat rooms or web pages that fill the void of the world wide web.
Like spiders seeking to lure in their prey, each site has a hook or some sort of bait to attract our attention and hold it long enough for our presence to be registered and taken into the web presence of the person behind the technology.
Similar in many respects to the scene in the 'Wizard of Oz' where we are instructed to ignore the man behind the curtain, we are to believe that the persona on our monitor is the sum total of existence for the digital representation of life we are given.
Seldom have I seen a website that shows the undiluted truth about who a person really is. That is simply privileged information only shared with those who are close enough not to judge, pity or condemn.
If we were to present our true self, as my father says 'warts and all', I don't think we would find it quite as compelling as we do the highly varnished and photoshopped 'truth' that is shared with us on the net.
Is there such a thing as an unexamined life?
In this day and age of technological perfection at the click of a mouse, I am not sure that exists anymore. Even photographers who bring the distress and horrors of the world to our doorstep have micromanaged the images and the story to represent whatever slant or spin is the most lucrative for their career.
Perhaps the reason we blog and fill up various websites with our life's representation is that we need to feel like we can leave a remnant of our presence if only in mega pixels and gigabytes.
Sometimes, when I sit here and type, it is just to sort things out. Other times, I wonder if the things that I think and feel and experience will make more sense and have more meaning if I manage to find the words to express them in print. I don't know if that makes the things that happen mean more or if it simply lends a minor bit of permanence to something that might have otherwise passed by unnoticed.
Regardless of circumstances, I have always written things down. The good, the bad, the painful and the pleasant all have found a space in my journals over the years.
Reading back through them at times has been an exercise in agony or joy. Seeing that circumstances don't have to dictate my future is the biggest blessing of writing down my feelings and thoughts in whatever medium I have used. It has also been a journey of discovery that has created tersely worded entries on days that writing my true feelings seemed to difficult to manage and pages of feelings on those days where I have tried in vain to find the words to express the deep emotional responses I am feeling.
Sharing time with the people in my life who mean the most to me creates some of those pages long entries that remind me of the emotions and feelings that those times are all about. Even years later, reading about the shared time and the wonderful moments together can cast a ray of sunshine into my life that chases away the gloominess for days on end.
Being a single voice in the vast wilderness of life isn't a solitary pursuit. But learning to express your own pitch and timbre in a world of shallow imitators can be a sometimes daunting task. We all want to fit into the chorus, but if we do it for the sake of fitting in without considering our own unique outlook, we miss the harmony that results from many voices that create their own music within the majesty of sound.
So here's to all the writers, the poets and wordsmiths, to the wanna-be's and the no talent hacks that sit and type the ebb and flow of their life for the world to see or for only themselves.
Keep crying out with your singularly wonderful voice in the wilderness. Only you can share your personal message and only you can decide what is going to be offered up as the token of your life's journey.
God willing, if each person finds one moment to share their voice, the chorus that results will sing a beautiful song of what it means to be a part of this experience we all share called life.
July 6, 2007
All things Harry
Well, the days are flying by and soon the last volume of the HARRY POTTER books will be in the stores and mailboxes worldwide.
I must confess that I am a total fan of the series and feel that regardless of the outcome of the books' finale that J.K. Rowling has done something that is, in it's own way, a feat of magic.
She has made reading books cool again, even for boys.
I have been reading with great interest the various news and quasi-news articles about what must certainly be the denouement of the series.
In reading an article in an unrelated subject, I came up with the answer to it all. Because Harry has known through sacrifice what true love really is and truly represents, I honestly believe that love will be the determining factor in the outcome of the series.
The only issues have been those of love and hate in the books. Everything else stems from these 2 vital concepts. Motivations for actions are strictly determined by love and it's flowering care or hatred and it's withering glance.
Harry will most certainly be faced with the choices that all those who battle against hatred and it's attendant ills must wade through. There are always sacrifices on the idol of violence and hate and this will be no different.
Sacrifices by their very nature must be of someone who is decent and pure or they cannot make the powerful testimony against the evil that is required to vanquish it forever. Only when someone who loves powerfully allows themselves to be the willing victim to spare others is the hold of the evil one broken.
This parallel is not only a main theme of great literature, it is the absolute metaphore for the Atonement of the Savior. That is, after all considerations, the GREATEST story ever told. Without the sacrifice and expiation of one who willingly takes on all hazards for the benefit of others, all is truly lost.
I look forward to seeing how J.K. Rowling weaves the tapestry together that will form the colorful and vibrant storyline that will lead, thread by thread, to the climax and that final moment of 'Aaaah' or 'Ooooh' that we are all awaiting.
I will continue to keep these books on the shelf of my personal library because despite the critics, the reviews and the oddities of public opinion, they are masterful works of great literature. Beyond that, they have carefully told us time and time again that the best that lies within us all is something that can't be replicated with a wand or an incantation.
For better or worse, who we are defies charms and potions and we reveal our true character in the actions we perform for good or ill in the lives that come in contact with our own.
I already have 'dibs' on the book when it comes in. I read the fasted and I paid for it. That and I will allow myself a moment of undiluted self interest in this particular case. Harry Potter has become more than just a character in fiction.
Harry has become family. Hermione and Ron are children by extension and the Weasley family (even poor misguided Percy!) are the cousins we didn't know we all had until the transcendant spell of J.K. Rowling was cast over us all.
July 21st can't come soon enough!
I must confess that I am a total fan of the series and feel that regardless of the outcome of the books' finale that J.K. Rowling has done something that is, in it's own way, a feat of magic.
She has made reading books cool again, even for boys.
I have been reading with great interest the various news and quasi-news articles about what must certainly be the denouement of the series.
In reading an article in an unrelated subject, I came up with the answer to it all. Because Harry has known through sacrifice what true love really is and truly represents, I honestly believe that love will be the determining factor in the outcome of the series.
The only issues have been those of love and hate in the books. Everything else stems from these 2 vital concepts. Motivations for actions are strictly determined by love and it's flowering care or hatred and it's withering glance.
Harry will most certainly be faced with the choices that all those who battle against hatred and it's attendant ills must wade through. There are always sacrifices on the idol of violence and hate and this will be no different.
Sacrifices by their very nature must be of someone who is decent and pure or they cannot make the powerful testimony against the evil that is required to vanquish it forever. Only when someone who loves powerfully allows themselves to be the willing victim to spare others is the hold of the evil one broken.
This parallel is not only a main theme of great literature, it is the absolute metaphore for the Atonement of the Savior. That is, after all considerations, the GREATEST story ever told. Without the sacrifice and expiation of one who willingly takes on all hazards for the benefit of others, all is truly lost.
I look forward to seeing how J.K. Rowling weaves the tapestry together that will form the colorful and vibrant storyline that will lead, thread by thread, to the climax and that final moment of 'Aaaah' or 'Ooooh' that we are all awaiting.
I will continue to keep these books on the shelf of my personal library because despite the critics, the reviews and the oddities of public opinion, they are masterful works of great literature. Beyond that, they have carefully told us time and time again that the best that lies within us all is something that can't be replicated with a wand or an incantation.
For better or worse, who we are defies charms and potions and we reveal our true character in the actions we perform for good or ill in the lives that come in contact with our own.
I already have 'dibs' on the book when it comes in. I read the fasted and I paid for it. That and I will allow myself a moment of undiluted self interest in this particular case. Harry Potter has become more than just a character in fiction.
Harry has become family. Hermione and Ron are children by extension and the Weasley family (even poor misguided Percy!) are the cousins we didn't know we all had until the transcendant spell of J.K. Rowling was cast over us all.
July 21st can't come soon enough!
Tick, tick, tick
The passage of time and it's attendant need for my participation has been a fascination of mine since childhood. I keep a calendar on my desktop, one hanging over the monitor, one in my purse and have a couple tucked away here and there just so I don't forget anything. I finally quit wearing a watch on a daily basis when I realized that life would go on without me being totally punctual.
Having said that, I must confess that my greatest pet peeve in life is being late. To anything. Anywhere. I am a creature of habit for better or worse and the idea that if I am not where I am supposed to be at a given time has always bedeviled me to distraction.
There are blissfully ignorant souls who possess the ability to float along as cosmic jetsam and flotsam in the whirlwind of activity that touches their life. I am not one of them. Instead, I find that I am a pot-stirrer who wants to control the direction and flow of my life and, in many cases, the lives of others in my circle.
Being somewhat of a control freak in certain aspects of my character can be attributed to having been raised by parents who set a particularly high standard of performance and participation. It was not in our nature to lie abed while there was work to be done.
Okay, it was not in our PARENTS' nature for us to lie abed while work was to be done. The simply believed that coddling us was not in our best interest. And they made sure that if it was our turn to do the dishes or carry out the trash that our chore remained just that - OUR CHORE. No matter how long it took us to accomplish it, they didn't step in and do it FOR us.
I have an aquaintance who is seriously concerned with her household time. She is endlessly wiping up or putting away or straightening behind her children who ignore her with elan. Instead of insisting that they do what they should, she does it because 'it will be quicker and easier for me to do it that to wait on them'. She has raised them to believe that somehow she will always be there to wipe their behinds for them and clean up after them because they 'aren't doing it right' whatever "IT" is.
I lack both the patience and the fortitude to do that for my family. Part of it is deep, down to the bone laziness that prevents me from adding to my work load in order to prevent suffering on their part. I honestly believe that gender is no obstacle to doing the laundry, sweeping the kitchen or vaccuming the bedrooms (when we have bags for the vaccuum).
Call me mean.
But the very idea of sending a child out into the world with the dizzying expectation that the maid will be there to clean up after them is a form of child abuse that receives no recognition whatsoever. It is a pernicious evil that prevents them from ever taking on their responsibilities as functional adults.
I read an article recently about parents who followed their children to college to 'take care of them during this tough transition'.
DO WHAT??!?! I have already experienced that 'tough transition' for myself, thank you very much and managed to survive.
While it is fine for kids to live at home and attend school or to go away and attend school, it is most assuredly NOT fine for Momma and/or Daddy to be there to make sure Junior or Juniette is getting their assignments done.
There is nothing like getting a bad grade to let you know that you weren't doing as much studying as you thought you were.
Or finding out on a Monday morning when you woke up late and are fishing through the pile on the floor for something that doesn't smell like it's dirty that your laundry isn't done by Hogwarts house elves (this concept certainly must be where pajama pants came into vogue for class attendance!)
Most sane people look at the passage of time and think about when they will be able to do or be whatever they have worked to achieve. Those who perpetually hope for better circumstances with no prior planning simply watch the days and hours stroke by without any real change. They become old people without ever having lived.
Our son is preparing to go on a 2 year full time mission for our church. During this opportunity for growth, sacrifice and maturity he will be in a foreign country. He is a reasonably mature young man. But there WILL be rude shocks and discoveries along the way in the process of serving the Lord fulltime.
But even if he never left the confines of our home, there would be rude shocks and discoveries. Like your work clothes don't wash themselves and your dishes don't crawl into the kitchen unaided by human hands.
He cooks because we taught him how. Admittedly, he is not a gormet chef. But the fact is what food he does prepare is good and he knows enough to make three nutritious, and reasonably well balanced meals a day for a week. Beyond that, he can learn more recipes or he can eat the same thing every week. The fact is, most of us who do cook tend to lean on a few favorites for our routine plans and try something new only occassionally.
A helpful bit of advice was given to us about his mission opportunity regarding money. "It is good for missionaries to sacrifice and do without from time to time. It builds character, understanding and helps them live by a budget." Good advice indeed. Since we live and die by our budgetary constraints within our family, he is not too young to learn that sometimes we DO have to choose between eating or having fun because we can't do both. And that is not a bad lesson to learn.
Time is passing quickly and I am looking at the calendar reluctantly now. It serves as a visible reminder that he will pass from a boy into a man on God's timetable. While we are all excited, nervous and happy for him, we are also realizing that the boy we now see (although he disputes the title 'boy' most vehemently!) is truly becoming a remarkable young man.
And though we seldom take stock of all that he has accomplished, it is definately a testament to the people over the years and days of his life that have shared something of themselves with him that has made him into who he has become and is still becoming.
Without the input of effort, concern and most of all, time - he would have missed out on a lot of those little life lessons that will help him to find his footing, not only in Europe, but throughout his life.
We do not plan to place our lives in cold storage while he is gone. Nor do we expect to cry by the mailbox or email box for the latest letter from him. Instead, we expect him to be up, about and be doing good things in the service of the Lord for his fellowman.
This time is now his. And we will be as encouraging and as helpful as we can. . . from a distance.
The truth is, that is the job description. Woeful as that may be to those pitiful parents who have followed their children around with a mop and a sponge, we are SUPPOSED to let them go and watch them fly.
I don't want to clip my son's wings.
I want him to soar.
After all, he was a Golden Eagle in high school, he earned his Eagle Scout award and now it is time to take a breath, take the plunge and expand those powerful wings and fly.
The nest can't hold him much longer.
Having said that, I must confess that my greatest pet peeve in life is being late. To anything. Anywhere. I am a creature of habit for better or worse and the idea that if I am not where I am supposed to be at a given time has always bedeviled me to distraction.
There are blissfully ignorant souls who possess the ability to float along as cosmic jetsam and flotsam in the whirlwind of activity that touches their life. I am not one of them. Instead, I find that I am a pot-stirrer who wants to control the direction and flow of my life and, in many cases, the lives of others in my circle.
Being somewhat of a control freak in certain aspects of my character can be attributed to having been raised by parents who set a particularly high standard of performance and participation. It was not in our nature to lie abed while there was work to be done.
Okay, it was not in our PARENTS' nature for us to lie abed while work was to be done. The simply believed that coddling us was not in our best interest. And they made sure that if it was our turn to do the dishes or carry out the trash that our chore remained just that - OUR CHORE. No matter how long it took us to accomplish it, they didn't step in and do it FOR us.
I have an aquaintance who is seriously concerned with her household time. She is endlessly wiping up or putting away or straightening behind her children who ignore her with elan. Instead of insisting that they do what they should, she does it because 'it will be quicker and easier for me to do it that to wait on them'. She has raised them to believe that somehow she will always be there to wipe their behinds for them and clean up after them because they 'aren't doing it right' whatever "IT" is.
I lack both the patience and the fortitude to do that for my family. Part of it is deep, down to the bone laziness that prevents me from adding to my work load in order to prevent suffering on their part. I honestly believe that gender is no obstacle to doing the laundry, sweeping the kitchen or vaccuming the bedrooms (when we have bags for the vaccuum).
Call me mean.
But the very idea of sending a child out into the world with the dizzying expectation that the maid will be there to clean up after them is a form of child abuse that receives no recognition whatsoever. It is a pernicious evil that prevents them from ever taking on their responsibilities as functional adults.
I read an article recently about parents who followed their children to college to 'take care of them during this tough transition'.
DO WHAT??!?! I have already experienced that 'tough transition' for myself, thank you very much and managed to survive.
While it is fine for kids to live at home and attend school or to go away and attend school, it is most assuredly NOT fine for Momma and/or Daddy to be there to make sure Junior or Juniette is getting their assignments done.
There is nothing like getting a bad grade to let you know that you weren't doing as much studying as you thought you were.
Or finding out on a Monday morning when you woke up late and are fishing through the pile on the floor for something that doesn't smell like it's dirty that your laundry isn't done by Hogwarts house elves (this concept certainly must be where pajama pants came into vogue for class attendance!)
Most sane people look at the passage of time and think about when they will be able to do or be whatever they have worked to achieve. Those who perpetually hope for better circumstances with no prior planning simply watch the days and hours stroke by without any real change. They become old people without ever having lived.
Our son is preparing to go on a 2 year full time mission for our church. During this opportunity for growth, sacrifice and maturity he will be in a foreign country. He is a reasonably mature young man. But there WILL be rude shocks and discoveries along the way in the process of serving the Lord fulltime.
But even if he never left the confines of our home, there would be rude shocks and discoveries. Like your work clothes don't wash themselves and your dishes don't crawl into the kitchen unaided by human hands.
He cooks because we taught him how. Admittedly, he is not a gormet chef. But the fact is what food he does prepare is good and he knows enough to make three nutritious, and reasonably well balanced meals a day for a week. Beyond that, he can learn more recipes or he can eat the same thing every week. The fact is, most of us who do cook tend to lean on a few favorites for our routine plans and try something new only occassionally.
A helpful bit of advice was given to us about his mission opportunity regarding money. "It is good for missionaries to sacrifice and do without from time to time. It builds character, understanding and helps them live by a budget." Good advice indeed. Since we live and die by our budgetary constraints within our family, he is not too young to learn that sometimes we DO have to choose between eating or having fun because we can't do both. And that is not a bad lesson to learn.
Time is passing quickly and I am looking at the calendar reluctantly now. It serves as a visible reminder that he will pass from a boy into a man on God's timetable. While we are all excited, nervous and happy for him, we are also realizing that the boy we now see (although he disputes the title 'boy' most vehemently!) is truly becoming a remarkable young man.
And though we seldom take stock of all that he has accomplished, it is definately a testament to the people over the years and days of his life that have shared something of themselves with him that has made him into who he has become and is still becoming.
Without the input of effort, concern and most of all, time - he would have missed out on a lot of those little life lessons that will help him to find his footing, not only in Europe, but throughout his life.
We do not plan to place our lives in cold storage while he is gone. Nor do we expect to cry by the mailbox or email box for the latest letter from him. Instead, we expect him to be up, about and be doing good things in the service of the Lord for his fellowman.
This time is now his. And we will be as encouraging and as helpful as we can. . . from a distance.
The truth is, that is the job description. Woeful as that may be to those pitiful parents who have followed their children around with a mop and a sponge, we are SUPPOSED to let them go and watch them fly.
I don't want to clip my son's wings.
I want him to soar.
After all, he was a Golden Eagle in high school, he earned his Eagle Scout award and now it is time to take a breath, take the plunge and expand those powerful wings and fly.
The nest can't hold him much longer.
July 5, 2007
Walking the Dog
It all sounds like a pleasant diversion. Go out when the fireball that is the Southern summer sun has retreated enough to allow both skin and retinas a break and take the extremely excited dog for a walk.
I grabbed my cell phone and the leash. The bouncing off the wall begins now.
Amid the exciting dancing and whining at the door, we open it and go out onto the driveway where the command to 'lay down!' is issued and reluctantly allows me to snap the leash into place. She wriggles and squirms as if I will somehow just 'forget' to attach the leash and allow her to run amok throughout the neighborhoods that we visit on our journey.
Thus far, I have been quick enough to prevent this from happening but it is only a matter of time before she scampers into the field next door without me. Her tongue will be lolling to one side in the slobbery grin of an escaped canid felon. She will dart and dance, coming near only to dash away in an open mouthed,ears back run that lets me know that it is she and not me who is in control of the greatest question of all: "to leash, or not to leash; that is is the question".
Of course it seems like an exercise in futility to explain to her why the leash is important. My sore arms bear ample testimony to the fact that she views the leash as her control over me in terms of speed and direction on our little jaunts into the unknown within our neighborhood. In her mind, she must certainly see herself as the lead musher in an Iditerod that has yet to be announced for the verdant, dewy, magnolia scented city.
Perhaps that is what she is dreaming when she paddles her feet like mad and barks in her sleep. I am quite sure she isn't chasing bunnies or squirrels because she doesn't bark at them until they escape from her through the mesh of the fence or up a tree.
No, this is the kind of barking that lets you know that she has an agenda and speed will be a factor.
Sometimes, she awakens from one of these episodes of 'Wild Kingdom' with a startled expression and rumpled fur that makes me laugh. It is as if she has become so excited in her dream world that it has collided violently with her waking hours and come to an abrupt stop like a mushers sled slamming into a snowbank.
She gets up somewhat unsteadily and walks over to me seeking some kind of reassurance that everything is just fine. I invite her up to sit with me (or on me) and I stroke the soft fur on her cheeks.
She will lay her head down on my chest and tuck it under my chin as if she is just a tiny little puppy. In a few moments, all is right in her world and she jumps down to patrol the yard or see what is going on in the other rooms of our home.
For those who don't know the rare wonder it is to share your life with a four legged, fur covered companion, I can guarantee that their company beats most others in spades.
Even though the pace is faster than my stiff legs are used to, there is something about the pace of a dog on a mission to lead her personal sled to victory.
I grabbed my cell phone and the leash. The bouncing off the wall begins now.
Amid the exciting dancing and whining at the door, we open it and go out onto the driveway where the command to 'lay down!' is issued and reluctantly allows me to snap the leash into place. She wriggles and squirms as if I will somehow just 'forget' to attach the leash and allow her to run amok throughout the neighborhoods that we visit on our journey.
Thus far, I have been quick enough to prevent this from happening but it is only a matter of time before she scampers into the field next door without me. Her tongue will be lolling to one side in the slobbery grin of an escaped canid felon. She will dart and dance, coming near only to dash away in an open mouthed,ears back run that lets me know that it is she and not me who is in control of the greatest question of all: "to leash, or not to leash; that is is the question".
Of course it seems like an exercise in futility to explain to her why the leash is important. My sore arms bear ample testimony to the fact that she views the leash as her control over me in terms of speed and direction on our little jaunts into the unknown within our neighborhood. In her mind, she must certainly see herself as the lead musher in an Iditerod that has yet to be announced for the verdant, dewy, magnolia scented city.
Perhaps that is what she is dreaming when she paddles her feet like mad and barks in her sleep. I am quite sure she isn't chasing bunnies or squirrels because she doesn't bark at them until they escape from her through the mesh of the fence or up a tree.
No, this is the kind of barking that lets you know that she has an agenda and speed will be a factor.
Sometimes, she awakens from one of these episodes of 'Wild Kingdom' with a startled expression and rumpled fur that makes me laugh. It is as if she has become so excited in her dream world that it has collided violently with her waking hours and come to an abrupt stop like a mushers sled slamming into a snowbank.
She gets up somewhat unsteadily and walks over to me seeking some kind of reassurance that everything is just fine. I invite her up to sit with me (or on me) and I stroke the soft fur on her cheeks.
She will lay her head down on my chest and tuck it under my chin as if she is just a tiny little puppy. In a few moments, all is right in her world and she jumps down to patrol the yard or see what is going on in the other rooms of our home.
For those who don't know the rare wonder it is to share your life with a four legged, fur covered companion, I can guarantee that their company beats most others in spades.
Even though the pace is faster than my stiff legs are used to, there is something about the pace of a dog on a mission to lead her personal sled to victory.
The Price to know God
I was reading in the scriptures this morning, something I habitually do virtually every day, and was reading in a passage that I have read many times but the words came to my mind more forcefully than I have ever received them before.
Perhaps that was because they were in Spanish and therefore required more attention to detail since that is not my native language.
But I choose to believe it was because the message in the words was more important for me to understand today than at any previous time.
The particular words are "Oh God . . . if there is a God, and if thou art God, wilt thou make thyself known unto me and I will give away all my sins to know thee."
I have been sitting here sort of ruminating over the meaning of that simple phrase. Within its short message is an entire universe of understaning.
Not only is the question one that our world struggles with today, but it echos the search that is in the heart and mind of every living soul. 'Is there a God and if there is, how do I get to know Him?'
While there are many who would dispute the existance of God, to me that is a moot point. I have experienced too many miracles in my life to believe that happenstance and accident rule the regulation of the creation. I know there is a God because I have felt His hand working in my life - sometimes a strong influence and sometimes a breeze that brings refreshment to my soul or just an impression that lets me know what I should do next.
The part of the question that occupies my thoughts and actions is how do I personally come to know God? I know that prayer is a sublime form of communication which allows me to have the priviledge of coming into the presence of God the Father, if only in a spiritual sense, and to literally talk WITH Him.
I have received answers to prayers and solutions to problems as I have sought to come to know God.
The older I have become, the more I have realized that the object is to come to know God over all of my life. It cannot be accomplished completely in one shot. It requires a relationship that grows over time and that develops a trust that surpasses the finite and grows daily into the infinite realm of His presence and Light.
The troubling part of the equation is my own lack of faith, trust and belief that I can literally give away all of my sins and that there will be a completeness and wholeness that I cannot have unless I am willing to walk by faith and not by sight. I have to be totally obedient. There cannot be a partial participation grade.
For something so absolute, I will need help. And I seek it every single day in my prayers. I keep that thought uppermost in my mind.
Though I fall short of perfection on a daily basis, I can seek forgiveness and repent of those things that keep me out of His Light.
It is only throught this understanding that I am able to make it through the day. And some days, I know I don't do a great job at it. Some days are more like a lick and a promise, but I keep trying.
I truly hope to be able to arrive at that point where I can truly say I have given away all of my sins, my pride, my arrogance and the multitude of shortcomings that have defined my struggles and reach out for something more.
Like the painting of man reaching his finger out to touch the finger of God and hence to touch the Divine, I really do want to be able to touch and know that the price I have paid was worth the effort.
Does that mean I am faithless now? You bet. That is the whole point. When faith becomes absolute, it isn't faith anymore because it turns into something a whole lot better. Faith grows into KNOWLEDGE. And that is what it really all comes down to. We seek the knowledge that only comes by the trials of our faith.
But, like me, I guess most people are hoping to skip that trial phase and move right on into the eternal reward without the sweat equity neccessary to build that mansion in the sky. That may well be why we keep hearing the same messages over and over again about how to be a follower of Christ and a Child of God.
The message hasn't changed, but God is hoping over time that our PERCEPTION and our RECEPTION of His message will . . .
Perhaps that was because they were in Spanish and therefore required more attention to detail since that is not my native language.
But I choose to believe it was because the message in the words was more important for me to understand today than at any previous time.
The particular words are "Oh God . . . if there is a God, and if thou art God, wilt thou make thyself known unto me and I will give away all my sins to know thee."
I have been sitting here sort of ruminating over the meaning of that simple phrase. Within its short message is an entire universe of understaning.
Not only is the question one that our world struggles with today, but it echos the search that is in the heart and mind of every living soul. 'Is there a God and if there is, how do I get to know Him?'
While there are many who would dispute the existance of God, to me that is a moot point. I have experienced too many miracles in my life to believe that happenstance and accident rule the regulation of the creation. I know there is a God because I have felt His hand working in my life - sometimes a strong influence and sometimes a breeze that brings refreshment to my soul or just an impression that lets me know what I should do next.
The part of the question that occupies my thoughts and actions is how do I personally come to know God? I know that prayer is a sublime form of communication which allows me to have the priviledge of coming into the presence of God the Father, if only in a spiritual sense, and to literally talk WITH Him.
I have received answers to prayers and solutions to problems as I have sought to come to know God.
The older I have become, the more I have realized that the object is to come to know God over all of my life. It cannot be accomplished completely in one shot. It requires a relationship that grows over time and that develops a trust that surpasses the finite and grows daily into the infinite realm of His presence and Light.
The troubling part of the equation is my own lack of faith, trust and belief that I can literally give away all of my sins and that there will be a completeness and wholeness that I cannot have unless I am willing to walk by faith and not by sight. I have to be totally obedient. There cannot be a partial participation grade.
For something so absolute, I will need help. And I seek it every single day in my prayers. I keep that thought uppermost in my mind.
Though I fall short of perfection on a daily basis, I can seek forgiveness and repent of those things that keep me out of His Light.
It is only throught this understanding that I am able to make it through the day. And some days, I know I don't do a great job at it. Some days are more like a lick and a promise, but I keep trying.
I truly hope to be able to arrive at that point where I can truly say I have given away all of my sins, my pride, my arrogance and the multitude of shortcomings that have defined my struggles and reach out for something more.
Like the painting of man reaching his finger out to touch the finger of God and hence to touch the Divine, I really do want to be able to touch and know that the price I have paid was worth the effort.
Does that mean I am faithless now? You bet. That is the whole point. When faith becomes absolute, it isn't faith anymore because it turns into something a whole lot better. Faith grows into KNOWLEDGE. And that is what it really all comes down to. We seek the knowledge that only comes by the trials of our faith.
But, like me, I guess most people are hoping to skip that trial phase and move right on into the eternal reward without the sweat equity neccessary to build that mansion in the sky. That may well be why we keep hearing the same messages over and over again about how to be a follower of Christ and a Child of God.
The message hasn't changed, but God is hoping over time that our PERCEPTION and our RECEPTION of His message will . . .
July 4, 2007
Truth
Just reading through the news items that make it to the various Internet sites made me wonder about the truth.
Why don't people tell the truth?
It begs the questions 'whose truth?' and 'what is truth?'.
When I took a creative writing class in school, our teacher told us the things every good reporter needed to ask 'THE FIVE W's' in order to write a story on any event. We needed to know WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE and WHY in order to make something solid from the wispy bits of fact and fiction that surround every event.
Now it seems another question must be asked. HOW?
How did we get to the point that violence seems to be a universal constant and an unfortunate answer for entire civilizations?
How did we get to the understanding that truth was a commodity that fluctuated in value according to the political expediency of the answer we wished to present?
How did we become a nation that speaks only in half-truths and distortions that employs 'spin doctors' to make plausible that which should never be considered?
How can we overcome the tendency to put self - interest ahead of the common welfare of all mankind?
While I understand that sometimes our perspective on what happens in life depends upon where we sit when events unfold before us, that additional view on the action should not be determined to exist as a sole point of reference on the scales of truth and lies.
Our personal truths are unfortunately tainted with circumstance and the level of understanding we might happen to possess at that moment in time. We have all, at one time or another, looked back and said 'Now that was stupid! I wish I could take it back'.
But sometimes our learning curve must be tempered with our stumbling attempts to fine tune the direction of our lives through mistakes. As individuals we do tend to learn more from our failures than our successes by virtue of the fact that we fail much more than we succeed.
Our memories tend to dwell on our successes since they are pleasant. Our mind begins to discount and cheapen our failures in order to eliminate the unhappy thoughts from our consciousness.
It is at that moment when the dilution of truth begins and rationalization takes the place of what happened in order to spare ourselves the unvarnished truth of our own existence.
So, we come to the crux of the matter. We must inevitably decide how far down the road of self deception we are willing to go and upon what shifting sands of public opinion and glorified personal comfort that we will employ as our personal foundation.
Can you ever be honest enough? Is truth circumscribed into one great whole from which we must each take that part with which we can comfortably live within our own skin?
Can my personal truth replace or supplant yours?
Can your truth sway the validity of mine?
These are things that will take a lifetime to sort out and probably more. Especially since you consider that way back in the Garden of Eden the chief disciple of propaganda hissed his message of 'refined truth' to Eve who chose to believe him and his pleasant message.
Does this mean there was no truth in the message?
Nope, quite the contrary.
Adam and Eve got what they were promised - they had their eyes opened and understanding came to them after they ate the fruit. Instead, the preeminent spin doctor of them all also led them to believe something that wasn't true by his cunning and subtle pitch. There was no rainbow and no pot of gold. Just a lot of 'sweat of thy brow' and 'thorns and thistles'.
Unlike today, the fallout didn't just affect Adam and Eve. Satan got a healthy dose of 'personal truth' when he was cursed and cast out.
I guess what I'd like to see is that same application of reality for those who distort and malign for personal gain.
Come to think of it, maybe for most of us, it does exist. We can't dance on the edge without falling off or getting hurt in some way or worse yet, without hurting someone who placed their trust in us.
Truth in advertising. Maybe we are the ones who determine if that is an oxymoron or if it can be a reality.
Why don't people tell the truth?
It begs the questions 'whose truth?' and 'what is truth?'.
When I took a creative writing class in school, our teacher told us the things every good reporter needed to ask 'THE FIVE W's' in order to write a story on any event. We needed to know WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE and WHY in order to make something solid from the wispy bits of fact and fiction that surround every event.
Now it seems another question must be asked. HOW?
How did we get to the point that violence seems to be a universal constant and an unfortunate answer for entire civilizations?
How did we get to the understanding that truth was a commodity that fluctuated in value according to the political expediency of the answer we wished to present?
How did we become a nation that speaks only in half-truths and distortions that employs 'spin doctors' to make plausible that which should never be considered?
How can we overcome the tendency to put self - interest ahead of the common welfare of all mankind?
While I understand that sometimes our perspective on what happens in life depends upon where we sit when events unfold before us, that additional view on the action should not be determined to exist as a sole point of reference on the scales of truth and lies.
Our personal truths are unfortunately tainted with circumstance and the level of understanding we might happen to possess at that moment in time. We have all, at one time or another, looked back and said 'Now that was stupid! I wish I could take it back'.
But sometimes our learning curve must be tempered with our stumbling attempts to fine tune the direction of our lives through mistakes. As individuals we do tend to learn more from our failures than our successes by virtue of the fact that we fail much more than we succeed.
Our memories tend to dwell on our successes since they are pleasant. Our mind begins to discount and cheapen our failures in order to eliminate the unhappy thoughts from our consciousness.
It is at that moment when the dilution of truth begins and rationalization takes the place of what happened in order to spare ourselves the unvarnished truth of our own existence.
So, we come to the crux of the matter. We must inevitably decide how far down the road of self deception we are willing to go and upon what shifting sands of public opinion and glorified personal comfort that we will employ as our personal foundation.
Can you ever be honest enough? Is truth circumscribed into one great whole from which we must each take that part with which we can comfortably live within our own skin?
Can my personal truth replace or supplant yours?
Can your truth sway the validity of mine?
These are things that will take a lifetime to sort out and probably more. Especially since you consider that way back in the Garden of Eden the chief disciple of propaganda hissed his message of 'refined truth' to Eve who chose to believe him and his pleasant message.
Does this mean there was no truth in the message?
Nope, quite the contrary.
Adam and Eve got what they were promised - they had their eyes opened and understanding came to them after they ate the fruit. Instead, the preeminent spin doctor of them all also led them to believe something that wasn't true by his cunning and subtle pitch. There was no rainbow and no pot of gold. Just a lot of 'sweat of thy brow' and 'thorns and thistles'.
Unlike today, the fallout didn't just affect Adam and Eve. Satan got a healthy dose of 'personal truth' when he was cursed and cast out.
I guess what I'd like to see is that same application of reality for those who distort and malign for personal gain.
Come to think of it, maybe for most of us, it does exist. We can't dance on the edge without falling off or getting hurt in some way or worse yet, without hurting someone who placed their trust in us.
Truth in advertising. Maybe we are the ones who determine if that is an oxymoron or if it can be a reality.
July the 4th
Independence.
It is the word that represents the hopes and dreams of every man, woman and child who seek to be of themselves, by themselves and for themselves an individual who is self determining and able to steer the course of their personal ship of state.
For a group of people to share the same vision for not only themselves but for an expanse of land that was growing into a quilt of opportunity from the fabric of hope is not only a wonder, it is a true miracle.
Struggling for days on end to find a compromise that would recognize the rights and privileges of individuals and as states, our founding fathers labored over the documents that would bring from the cradle of ambition and desire the infant cry of freedom and independence to what would become a nation.
Now, we are celebrating the 231st anniversary of the documents that speak sacred words about the rights of man ordained by God Almighty. I wonder how many of us have read the words of the Preamble and the Constitution and drunk deeply of their meaning.
When was the last time we read the Declaration of Independence, those mighty words and phrases that led our nation from the arms of our mother country toward those first toddling steps of freedom?
It is a heady elixir filled with the sweet wine of freedom and responsibility. The full bodied and rich reminder that we are only a nation because of the blessing of God is prominent and encouraging.
Within the words is a reminder that we are not just individuals, but a people, who are dedicated to the principles of freedom and liberty for ourselves and our posterity. We have been given a holy and sacred charge to keep the flame of freedom alight and vibrant for those who will surely follow us.
No less for our posterity do we keep this charge than for those who will see the light of liberty as a beacon of hope and seek by all means possible to flee from the tyranny and oppression that keeps them slaves to corruption within the lands of their nativity.
Though they come to our shores without a lot, they bring with them an ember of hope, a spark of desire and a willingness to work long and hard to achieve the dream that has unfolded before their eyes for centuries under the banners of our nation's colors.
While immigration is a hot button issue, we must remember that most of us are not native to this land. What few of us are Native American somewhere back in the murky genealogy of our past must remember even they came from another land before this was America.
Can we deny the opportunity to see clearly the meaning that our founding fathers wrote into our Declaration of Independence and later into the Constitution? Do we, who have been so blessed to share in the nourishing feast of freedom have the right to deny another the rich banquet that has been set before us?
I know that legalities and niceties must be satisfied. Were it not so, Lady Justice and her scales of equality would forever remain out of balance. But do we not owe something to Lady Liberty, who on her very book is enscribed the merciful message: "Give me your tired, your poor, your weary, your huddled masses yearning to be free..."?
We are all part and parcel to this nation of immigration. Without the mercy of a fledgling nation extending her arms, her sons and her blood to those ancestors who came - led only by the light of hope - to this new nation, we would have remained in the place of our own national nativity.
Someone has to be willing to open their heart, extend their hand and help those who have come, by whatever means, to these shores to find the right path and fulfill the demands of Justice that Mercy can shed the brilliant light of opportunity across the land for everyone who seeks to be free.
God Bless America and may it always be possible that He CAN continue to bless us in our choices - as a nation, as a people and most particularly, as individual children in his sight.
HAPPY 4th of July!
It is the word that represents the hopes and dreams of every man, woman and child who seek to be of themselves, by themselves and for themselves an individual who is self determining and able to steer the course of their personal ship of state.
For a group of people to share the same vision for not only themselves but for an expanse of land that was growing into a quilt of opportunity from the fabric of hope is not only a wonder, it is a true miracle.
Struggling for days on end to find a compromise that would recognize the rights and privileges of individuals and as states, our founding fathers labored over the documents that would bring from the cradle of ambition and desire the infant cry of freedom and independence to what would become a nation.
Now, we are celebrating the 231st anniversary of the documents that speak sacred words about the rights of man ordained by God Almighty. I wonder how many of us have read the words of the Preamble and the Constitution and drunk deeply of their meaning.
When was the last time we read the Declaration of Independence, those mighty words and phrases that led our nation from the arms of our mother country toward those first toddling steps of freedom?
It is a heady elixir filled with the sweet wine of freedom and responsibility. The full bodied and rich reminder that we are only a nation because of the blessing of God is prominent and encouraging.
Within the words is a reminder that we are not just individuals, but a people, who are dedicated to the principles of freedom and liberty for ourselves and our posterity. We have been given a holy and sacred charge to keep the flame of freedom alight and vibrant for those who will surely follow us.
No less for our posterity do we keep this charge than for those who will see the light of liberty as a beacon of hope and seek by all means possible to flee from the tyranny and oppression that keeps them slaves to corruption within the lands of their nativity.
Though they come to our shores without a lot, they bring with them an ember of hope, a spark of desire and a willingness to work long and hard to achieve the dream that has unfolded before their eyes for centuries under the banners of our nation's colors.
While immigration is a hot button issue, we must remember that most of us are not native to this land. What few of us are Native American somewhere back in the murky genealogy of our past must remember even they came from another land before this was America.
Can we deny the opportunity to see clearly the meaning that our founding fathers wrote into our Declaration of Independence and later into the Constitution? Do we, who have been so blessed to share in the nourishing feast of freedom have the right to deny another the rich banquet that has been set before us?
I know that legalities and niceties must be satisfied. Were it not so, Lady Justice and her scales of equality would forever remain out of balance. But do we not owe something to Lady Liberty, who on her very book is enscribed the merciful message: "Give me your tired, your poor, your weary, your huddled masses yearning to be free..."?
We are all part and parcel to this nation of immigration. Without the mercy of a fledgling nation extending her arms, her sons and her blood to those ancestors who came - led only by the light of hope - to this new nation, we would have remained in the place of our own national nativity.
Someone has to be willing to open their heart, extend their hand and help those who have come, by whatever means, to these shores to find the right path and fulfill the demands of Justice that Mercy can shed the brilliant light of opportunity across the land for everyone who seeks to be free.
God Bless America and may it always be possible that He CAN continue to bless us in our choices - as a nation, as a people and most particularly, as individual children in his sight.
HAPPY 4th of July!
July 3, 2007
Sitting on the porch
Have you ever noticed that a lot of houses these days have beautiful lawns, lovely entryways and a total absence of a front porch?
A real front porch where you can sit and feel the breeze ruffle your hair and ripple your clothing as it passes light as a touch over your skin in the cool of a summer evening - a porch where you can pass the time saying everything or saying nothing and either way is fine.
Most houses have a little front entryway just large enough to let one or two people get a bit of shelter from the rain while waiting for admittance into the home of a friend. That's all well and good, but the conversations that happen on the expanse of a front porch beat the heck out of a well appointed entry any day.
When you sit on the porch, there is no pretense. People who sit on the porch are wide open. They are willing to just sit without ever opening their mouth just in case you might need to say something or nothing at all. Time passes pleasantly on a front porch because it becomes a visible extension of our emotional ties to each other.
Maybe that is the antidote for our lives. Build more front porches and take the time to sit out on the steps or in a nice rocker. Wave to the neighbors who pass by even if you don't know their names, you know their smiles. Let the dog greet them and share the evening breeze as friends who just haven't met yet.
I think I need more time on the front porch.
A real front porch where you can sit and feel the breeze ruffle your hair and ripple your clothing as it passes light as a touch over your skin in the cool of a summer evening - a porch where you can pass the time saying everything or saying nothing and either way is fine.
Most houses have a little front entryway just large enough to let one or two people get a bit of shelter from the rain while waiting for admittance into the home of a friend. That's all well and good, but the conversations that happen on the expanse of a front porch beat the heck out of a well appointed entry any day.
When you sit on the porch, there is no pretense. People who sit on the porch are wide open. They are willing to just sit without ever opening their mouth just in case you might need to say something or nothing at all. Time passes pleasantly on a front porch because it becomes a visible extension of our emotional ties to each other.
Maybe that is the antidote for our lives. Build more front porches and take the time to sit out on the steps or in a nice rocker. Wave to the neighbors who pass by even if you don't know their names, you know their smiles. Let the dog greet them and share the evening breeze as friends who just haven't met yet.
I think I need more time on the front porch.
But It's a Bargain . . .
Common sense dictates most of the purchases that go on in our household.
After all is said and done, the fact remains that there is only so much money in the pot and all to often more bills than can be paid just by the sheer effort of daily living.
So why is it that when we get 'an offer too good to refuse', we casually consider the purchase of an item that would simply have never registered on our financial radar screen mere moments before the 'bargain price' was introduced?
What is it about these spurrious pricing guides that makes otherwise unattractive items seem like a veritable catalog of 'necessary' purchases for the successful completion of daily life on planet Earth?
Do we really need a blanket with dolphins for $7.47 marked down from $14.99? Consider the fact that our closet has plenty of blankets and more to spare. More especially so since we do not live anywhere near the Artic Circle.
And is my life going to be made whole, complete and useful if I whip out the plastic and bring home a combination birdhouse and feeder that resembles the Tower of Pisa, tilt and all?
I don't doubt for an instant that the purveyers of these items of dubious use will certainly come off the beneficiaries of my impulse purchases. But what do I get out of the deal, other than an addition to the already enormous balance on my charge card?
Even as I sit here decrying the use of these hawkers of uncertain wares, I confess that the little set of battery powered button lights for use in dark closets would be useful in my hall closets where no lights exist.
Please, somebody stop me now.
It has to be an addiction to shopping, even when the price and the product really aren't a bargain.
After all is said and done, the fact remains that there is only so much money in the pot and all to often more bills than can be paid just by the sheer effort of daily living.
So why is it that when we get 'an offer too good to refuse', we casually consider the purchase of an item that would simply have never registered on our financial radar screen mere moments before the 'bargain price' was introduced?
What is it about these spurrious pricing guides that makes otherwise unattractive items seem like a veritable catalog of 'necessary' purchases for the successful completion of daily life on planet Earth?
Do we really need a blanket with dolphins for $7.47 marked down from $14.99? Consider the fact that our closet has plenty of blankets and more to spare. More especially so since we do not live anywhere near the Artic Circle.
And is my life going to be made whole, complete and useful if I whip out the plastic and bring home a combination birdhouse and feeder that resembles the Tower of Pisa, tilt and all?
I don't doubt for an instant that the purveyers of these items of dubious use will certainly come off the beneficiaries of my impulse purchases. But what do I get out of the deal, other than an addition to the already enormous balance on my charge card?
Even as I sit here decrying the use of these hawkers of uncertain wares, I confess that the little set of battery powered button lights for use in dark closets would be useful in my hall closets where no lights exist.
Please, somebody stop me now.
It has to be an addiction to shopping, even when the price and the product really aren't a bargain.
Hero worship
While I sat here looking up some information on the computer, it really hit home that when you look at the jobs that really matter in life, they all begin and end with a teacher.
I cannot imagine the talent required to create a 'new' way to teach an old concept to the fresh faces that fill a classroom day after day and year after year. Probably that lack of imagination is the reason I didn't go into the teaching profession.
Yet, because of women and men who did choose to teach others, my own life has been immeasureably changed. Oddly enough, not all of those teachers were in the classroom and not all of the lessons that have been shared were graded.
Without the insight and tender sensibilities of women like my sister Xan and my friends Sherri and Beth, the world would indeed be missing some very special teachers. And they are not the only people who have changed my life for the better with their skill in bringing home a point that had circled aimlessly above my poor ability to grasp and comprehend the meaning of what had been presented.
I recall being in science class in either the 5th or 6th grade and having Mrs. Collins for science. She had the absolute ability to open my head and pour the knowledge in distilling forever those priceless lessons that made science my first and most deeply held love.
Sometimes, the information that is shared is a startling moment of crystalline beauty that forever shapes my spiritual growth and development. For these moments, there are no words of thanks that can adequately meet the gift that has been bestowed upon my understanding. Some of the lessons are painful - like forgetting homework and trying to fake my way through the maze of questions in class. Others come as a brilliant gem that brings a radiant light into the darkened corners of my own limited understanding.
It is for these people who have shared themselves in order to teach me that I have the deepest level of hero worship and admiration. For they have done something that truly follows in the steps of the Master.
They have taught at least one of His lost sheep.
I cannot imagine the talent required to create a 'new' way to teach an old concept to the fresh faces that fill a classroom day after day and year after year. Probably that lack of imagination is the reason I didn't go into the teaching profession.
Yet, because of women and men who did choose to teach others, my own life has been immeasureably changed. Oddly enough, not all of those teachers were in the classroom and not all of the lessons that have been shared were graded.
Without the insight and tender sensibilities of women like my sister Xan and my friends Sherri and Beth, the world would indeed be missing some very special teachers. And they are not the only people who have changed my life for the better with their skill in bringing home a point that had circled aimlessly above my poor ability to grasp and comprehend the meaning of what had been presented.
I recall being in science class in either the 5th or 6th grade and having Mrs. Collins for science. She had the absolute ability to open my head and pour the knowledge in distilling forever those priceless lessons that made science my first and most deeply held love.
Sometimes, the information that is shared is a startling moment of crystalline beauty that forever shapes my spiritual growth and development. For these moments, there are no words of thanks that can adequately meet the gift that has been bestowed upon my understanding. Some of the lessons are painful - like forgetting homework and trying to fake my way through the maze of questions in class. Others come as a brilliant gem that brings a radiant light into the darkened corners of my own limited understanding.
It is for these people who have shared themselves in order to teach me that I have the deepest level of hero worship and admiration. For they have done something that truly follows in the steps of the Master.
They have taught at least one of His lost sheep.
Just breathe
Nothing like waking up with your head so stuffy that the act of breathing takes a sheer force of will to accomplish. I cannot imagine how people who suffer from breathing disorders manage to get any air at all on days like this.
Of course, this becomes a metaphor for whatever is going on personally. Sometimes, we hold our breath in anticipation of what might come up next. It isn't necessarily something bad, it's just the fear of the unknown, whatever that might be.
I had a strange dream last night that sort of upset my little apple cart. I dreamed I had a baby girl but for some reason, my brother in law and his wife had the little girl and wouldn't let me take her. They didn't even want me to see her yet I knew she belonged to me and with me.
Strange indeed.
But when I woke up and realized it was just a dream and not a reality, I must confess the first thing that ran through my mind was that at 45 years old, the idea of having an infant in the house presents some not so fun scenarios.
While I still have sleepless nights due to panic attacks and bouts of insomnia, they are infrequent. With an infant, you can pretty much guarantee that there will be sleepless nights for months on end while they adjust to life on the outside of the womb.
I'm not sure what all of this baby talk is really all about.
Guess that is why I'm writing about it to sort it all out.
In an total direction change, I read a comic strip this morning that really had me laughing. Normally a fan of comics anyway, this particular strip appealed to me because like the characters in it, I am not always on target in my aims and ambitions.
Pearls Before Swine is an irreverent look at the things in life that are supposed to be taboo but which are exploited by the characters as a vehicle for the authors' humor. I must confess that I totally enjoy the strip and the completely looney little world that it represents.
Like the "crockydiles", I find that I often want to be seen as more than I am in reality only to find the mask of circumstance is ripped away to reveal my true person in painful detail.
Because I am trying to learn another language (Spanish), I can totally sympathize with the efforts of the "crokydiles" to appear more sophisticated and learned than they really are. And that is why the comic is so funny. Inevitably, whenever I try to appear sophisticated or worldwise, I manage to come off a weak sister who is a day late and a dollar short.
It's like a scene from one of my favorite movies "Bells Are Ringing" featuring Judy Holliday. She shows up a the house of a famous producer when a party is going on. The guests are busy impressing themselves with the namedropping and schmaltzy behavior that marks them as society wanna be's.
When Judy's character tries to fit into the name game, she finds that her life simply doesn't measure up with the yardstick used by the glamorous guests and she runs from herself and her truth in a vain attempt to fit it.
Needless to say, like most of us in real life, she fails both miserably and publicly in her attempt to 'be one of them'.
Maybe that is what the journey is all about. Learning to just take a breath, be yourself and like who you see in the mirror everyday.
Of course, this becomes a metaphor for whatever is going on personally. Sometimes, we hold our breath in anticipation of what might come up next. It isn't necessarily something bad, it's just the fear of the unknown, whatever that might be.
I had a strange dream last night that sort of upset my little apple cart. I dreamed I had a baby girl but for some reason, my brother in law and his wife had the little girl and wouldn't let me take her. They didn't even want me to see her yet I knew she belonged to me and with me.
Strange indeed.
But when I woke up and realized it was just a dream and not a reality, I must confess the first thing that ran through my mind was that at 45 years old, the idea of having an infant in the house presents some not so fun scenarios.
While I still have sleepless nights due to panic attacks and bouts of insomnia, they are infrequent. With an infant, you can pretty much guarantee that there will be sleepless nights for months on end while they adjust to life on the outside of the womb.
I'm not sure what all of this baby talk is really all about.
Guess that is why I'm writing about it to sort it all out.
In an total direction change, I read a comic strip this morning that really had me laughing. Normally a fan of comics anyway, this particular strip appealed to me because like the characters in it, I am not always on target in my aims and ambitions.
Pearls Before Swine is an irreverent look at the things in life that are supposed to be taboo but which are exploited by the characters as a vehicle for the authors' humor. I must confess that I totally enjoy the strip and the completely looney little world that it represents.
Like the "crockydiles", I find that I often want to be seen as more than I am in reality only to find the mask of circumstance is ripped away to reveal my true person in painful detail.
Because I am trying to learn another language (Spanish), I can totally sympathize with the efforts of the "crokydiles" to appear more sophisticated and learned than they really are. And that is why the comic is so funny. Inevitably, whenever I try to appear sophisticated or worldwise, I manage to come off a weak sister who is a day late and a dollar short.
It's like a scene from one of my favorite movies "Bells Are Ringing" featuring Judy Holliday. She shows up a the house of a famous producer when a party is going on. The guests are busy impressing themselves with the namedropping and schmaltzy behavior that marks them as society wanna be's.
When Judy's character tries to fit into the name game, she finds that her life simply doesn't measure up with the yardstick used by the glamorous guests and she runs from herself and her truth in a vain attempt to fit it.
Needless to say, like most of us in real life, she fails both miserably and publicly in her attempt to 'be one of them'.
Maybe that is what the journey is all about. Learning to just take a breath, be yourself and like who you see in the mirror everyday.
July 2, 2007
Memories
We all come into the world the same way: naked, wet and hungry. For some, the ride is short and for others the ride is long. Either way, it's more about that space between when the ride starts and when it stops that defines each of us as an individual.
While I don't lay claim to a photographic memory (unless one considers that a photographic memory without film or storage medium is sufficient), I do recall certain elements of my childhood and growing up years that have become in and of themselves a photograph etched into my personal memories photo album.
Like that long walk after I let go of Momma's hand from the door to Mrs. Christopher's room to the desk she had placed my name on when I started first grade.
Or the time that I found out that you can bring lightening bugs in at night for a personal 'fireworks show' in an old mayonaisse jar.
These aren't necessarily startling moments of clarity or insight. They are just part of the album that makes up the moments that have become my life.
In the years since I became (allegedly) an adult, I have missed some of the things that are part of a childhood in a rural place in the American South. Like making homeade ice cream in a hand crank churn that required every child to have a turn before the ice cream could be dished up.
Or eating watermelon so refreshingly cold and tasty on a 4th of July so hot and sunny that you would swear you could see the heat waves rising from the pavement as if passing through the desert toward an oasis.
And the sublime joy of being the winner of a game of 'freeze tag' across the neighborhood yards just at dusk when all of the lights in the houses and out on the porches were coming on heralding the safe conclusion of another day.
There are a lot of little random bits off the floor of life that we can all share with one another. There is no eight second rule when it comes to picking them up and making them our own or bringing a bit of joy to our days. The little bits are worth noting because they are not so overwhelming or large that they prevent us from picking them up, sharing them, and enjoying them over and over again.
Some days are just made for reminiscing over those random bits that have made us who we have become.
While I don't lay claim to a photographic memory (unless one considers that a photographic memory without film or storage medium is sufficient), I do recall certain elements of my childhood and growing up years that have become in and of themselves a photograph etched into my personal memories photo album.
Like that long walk after I let go of Momma's hand from the door to Mrs. Christopher's room to the desk she had placed my name on when I started first grade.
Or the time that I found out that you can bring lightening bugs in at night for a personal 'fireworks show' in an old mayonaisse jar.
These aren't necessarily startling moments of clarity or insight. They are just part of the album that makes up the moments that have become my life.
In the years since I became (allegedly) an adult, I have missed some of the things that are part of a childhood in a rural place in the American South. Like making homeade ice cream in a hand crank churn that required every child to have a turn before the ice cream could be dished up.
Or eating watermelon so refreshingly cold and tasty on a 4th of July so hot and sunny that you would swear you could see the heat waves rising from the pavement as if passing through the desert toward an oasis.
And the sublime joy of being the winner of a game of 'freeze tag' across the neighborhood yards just at dusk when all of the lights in the houses and out on the porches were coming on heralding the safe conclusion of another day.
There are a lot of little random bits off the floor of life that we can all share with one another. There is no eight second rule when it comes to picking them up and making them our own or bringing a bit of joy to our days. The little bits are worth noting because they are not so overwhelming or large that they prevent us from picking them up, sharing them, and enjoying them over and over again.
Some days are just made for reminiscing over those random bits that have made us who we have become.
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