Sand, Surf, and Serenity

Here's where we've been for the past few days! Glorious weather, quiet and peaceful. The lovely lovely Oregon Coast.




















Each night the sky was painted in a gorgeous sunset for us to behold, and be still before.









Crashing waves, tide pools, and long deserted stretches of shore gave us everything we needed..........to unwind.






Sea anemones and tufted puffins. Two of my favorite beach creatures!

















The old snap it yourself photo of Tom and me.





Tom and I went over alone for a couple days of quiet before Joe brought Cassie and Caroline over so they could spend a few days at the beach, too.





I'll write something substantial soon. For now, I'm going to bask in the afterglow. You understand.........



Self-explanatory, huh, Pam. Tom and Andy helped me do this for you. I thought it might make you feel good knowing your name is (was?) in the sand, by the water that you love and crave. ;-)

The Winner.....So Far

Every time Tom sees these pictures he salivates and says, "Those were the best ribs I've ever had IN MY LIFE!!" And he knows ribs. We found these in Jackson, Wyoming, in September of 2005. They were smoked, then barbecued. I had a taste. He's right. Delicious!














We discussed mailing the bones home for Sammy, our pup, who would have devoured them in giant slurps, but quickly concluded that would be silly.





I'm going to be away from the computer for several days, in case you wonder what's going on. I look forward to catching up when I get back! Have a TERRIFIC weekend, all!

Caroline Stayed

"Two isn't any better than one. We should have a couple more kids."

Back in 1989 our two boys Ben and Joe, then 8 and 5, were the joys of our lives. But when Tom said those words to me one night as we were talking about our family life together I was not surprised given the fact that he'd had a lonely childhood, being raised an only child. It was meant to be, that we'd have more. I'd been having the baby craving but didn't want to say anything. I ALWAYS have the baby craving.

After a sad miscarriage, God sent us Cassie. JOY! I've already posted about her, in October. Fabulous funny Cassie!

Now it was time for us to pray and hope for another child, so Cassie would have someone to grow up with, the way the boys had each other. We humans tend to think we can plan things any old way we choose; we tend to be dense.

Another miscarriage. Another tailspin. Another time that God graciously pulled me up and out of heartbreak and pain before I could crash and burn. Times like these reveal just how much God is loved, husband is loved, wife is loved, kids are loved, and friends are loved. The pulling together and support......but that's for another post.

Six months later I found myself pregnant again. Dare I hope! I did, and to my horror, right at the same number of weeks where my other two miscarriages had occurred, the familiar symptoms appeared. No. NO! Please, no.

Tom and I went outside, under the kitchen window, on a little white bench, and I cried. He cried, his arm firmly around my shaking shoulders. I so much wanted this baby. My arms needed her. My heart needed her. Our family needed her. "I guess we've taken our fertility for granted," said Tom, the practical one. I could only nod, and feel the utter emptiness, the heavy sadness. I trust in God's decisions for my life, I do. However, coping is not always easy.

Well, I fully expected this baby to leave. In anguish I waited. I hoped, I prayed, I cried, I talked, I was silent. Another doctor visit. "What? Everything is fine? I don't believe it. I can't believe it. I have to guard myself." My poor mind wanted to do cartwheels of joy and clam up in fear all at once. But then, I heard it: her heartbeat. Strong, clear, fast. A living baby!!

"Don't get your hopes up. Wait until you feel movement," I instructed myself. Defensive guarding.

It wasn't long before I felt that little bubble, that flutter we moms know so well. Caroline grew, she stayed. She didn't leave us, she stayed.

Twelve years ago I went into labor at night, heading to the hospital at eleven o'clock. Two hours later, Caroline came into this world hollering to beat the band. She didn't want to be held, to eat, to be bathed. I think she wanted to go shopping.

After she and I settled into our hospital room Tom went home and told the boys, who were taking care of the sleeping three year old Cassie, that they had another sister. They nodded happily, and fell right back to sleep.

Me? I slept for a few hours until Caroline needed my attention. Delighted, I tended to her needs, then peacefully counted her long fingers and toes again, and decided her head was about the size of a softball. I kept my tiny pink daughter right there on my chest until the sun came up. I was so 'high' that I could do no more than doze a little.

I prayed a lot that night, prayers of gratitude, of thanksgiving, of wordless, tear drenched emotion. "Thanks for letting this one stay."

Caroline turns twelve in May. She's my sensitive child, the one who teaches us to slow down, to notice the little lovely things, to appreciate the deeper side of life. She's athletic, smart, clever.

She can find just the clothes and accessories she wants and save money at the same time. A very good trait in a little girl!

"Thanks for staying, Lima Bean!"

Different Does Not Necessarily Mean Wrong

Our cats had litters now and then, when I was growing up. Getting a cat fixed wasn't something my folks wanted to do, so when a cat gave birth they just took the unwanted kittens to the pound once they could be weaned. How I hated to see the babies go. Playful, tiny, soft kittens.

One litter I remember particularly well, probably because I was a little older, about 10. The word 'runt' had flitted through my consciousness, but not until little Snowball was born did I become aware of what a runt actually was. She was the teeniest, tiniest kitten, the one the others shoved aside to get to mama's milk, the one the mother cat didn't seem to notice or care for, the one........who was different.

Mom warned me against naming the kittens or growing attached to them, advice I normally heeded, but for some reason this little white skinny thing kindled my flickering sensitivities. She needed help, or she would die. From the corner of the blanketed cardboard box I gently lifted Snowball over her robust siblings, setting her next to her mama for milk. I waited while she drank, nudging the other kittens away if they bothered her. I did this before school, after school, and before bed. Every day. Snowball was always smaller, always shoved aside, always different, but she lived, and grew.

Dad declared it was time to take the kittens away. How I'd dreaded the day! I asked him to let me keep "just one?". Somehow I understood his position. He wasn't being mean, just practical. As the box of kittens was loaded into the Lincoln I ran outside and climbed a tree, hiding myself and my tear streaked face amongst the mulberry leaves. I'd kissed Snowball good-bye and could still smell her creaturely breath and fur on my sleeve, feel the warmth of her tiny body on my cheek. "Good-bye little kitty," I sniffed sadly. I sensed somehow that something important, something 'grown-up' was happening in my mind and heart, knew it even at that young age.

At the dinner table the topic of the discarded kittens came up. I asked timidly, "Do you think they will all be adopted?" Of course I really wanted to know about Snowball, as I was quite hopeful the other fat lively kittens would be quickly chosen.

"Sure, all but that little runt," my mother replied. My siblings nodded their heads in agreement as they chewed and swallowed.

"Yes, they're cute and healthy, they'll find homes. All but that runt. She'll probably die. I'm surprised she made it this long," Dad said matter-of-factly, cutting his tough pork chop and stabbing it with his fork.

I had a piece of tough fried pork chop in my own mouth when these shocking words were spoken. No way could I chew that thing now. It felt like it had grown to three times its actual size. Rising emotions seized my throat. My upper lip quivered. My breathing came in irregular mini-gasps. My eyes began to water, everything went blurry. I put my napkin up to my face and with my tongue pushed the pork out of my mouth into that napkin, set the wad on my plate, and left the table murmuring shakily, "I need to go to the bathroom."

Once out of sight in the bathroom, I silent-sobbed until I could breathe again. Sobbed for Snowball. Sobbed for all those who were weak, who were different, vulnerable and unnoticed. It hurt deep, way deep in my soul. It was awful.

I knew I had to go back to the table or everyone would figure out I was crying over a "stupid runt kitten." As it was, no one was the wiser, no one knew of my love for Snowball or of my efforts to save her. After rinsing off my face and seeing my red eyes in the mirror, I tucked my chin and returned to the table. "Please, please, don't let them notice and make fun of me."

The meal was finished, dishes done, kids sent to bed, and no one noticed my upset. At all. Ever.

I've never said anything until now. I felt guilt for a few years for not trying harder to rescue Snowball. Maybe she died physically while still tiny, maybe not, but she has lived in my heart for forty years. I'll always remember that little 'runt,' unnoticed by her family, unable to reach vital nourishment without help, her own mother indifferent to her needs.

Because of Snowball, and the feelings of compassion and action that she aroused in ten year old me, I have an inkling of how God intervenes in the lives of those of us whose differentness is misunderstood. By intruding upon the indifference of our given environment He provides special means of nourishment for our hearts, minds, bodies, and spirits, while watchfully caring for and guiding us in ways unknown, though appreciated, to growth.

When those who ought to care do not, when differences seem too complicated to sort out, when ignoring comes easier than effort, from 'outside of the box' can come God's merciful hand to set things right, his own way.

He makes all the difference.

Sweet or Savory?

Tom took me to an Italian restaurant this afternoon where I ordered a garlic chicken pasta dish. The waiter smiled pleasantly and asked, "Do you like garlic, reaaallly like garlic?"

"Yes, I LOVE garlic."

Assured that I would be okay with this obviously garlic-strong dish, he stepped away to put in our order.

"I really DO love garlic," I repeated to Tom, "and onions, and herbs. MMMM. I guess I'm savory oriented."

We both paused as he gave me a knowing look.

"Yeah, I do love sweets, too. Do I have more of a savory tooth or a sweet tooth? I don't know. Both, I guess."

"You're bi-molar."

Sweet and funny and little off his rocker.

"A" is for Apple Pie

Gutenberg College sent Joe his quarterly grades, which we received today.

Another quarter behind. Two weeks of Spring Break are perfect for resting and recreating...






....and eating your favorite dessert; apple pie. Good job, Joe!!

Desert Meditation

If colorful flowers can dot arid landscapes, offering quiet beauty and cheer......



.......if slender-rooted, wind-whipped greenery clinging to hard flat rock can thrive, even crack the rock......




.......how much more shall we, made in the very image of God, move beyond mere dwelling, to beautiful, fruit-bearing, growth.

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"I've heard your anguish, I've heard your hearts cry out.
We are tired, we are weary, but we aren't worn out.
Set down your chains, until only faith remains.
Set down your chains."

~~~~"Life Uncommon" by Jewel

Kindred Hearts

Friendship. Tried. True.

If you’ve linked over to Cassie’s blog you may have read the post where she expresses pain from a cruel situation. Betrayal of friends is tough. The mean girls from my childhood have been replicated, and it pains me. Pains me terribly. Because they have hurt one of my cherished children. Deep disillusion. This is not the first time, nor will it be the last. Still.

I told Cassie that, in time, and possibly when she least expected it, she would discover sincere friendship.

In consoling my children I often wonder if my words are right, if they are true in the reality of a situation or if they just sound wise. It’s hard to know. Not everything I believe is concretely validated.

However, sometimes God gives a front row seat to a scintilla of his goodness. Oh my, the sweet awe.

Such a front seat blessing occured this week after the play that we attended in which Cassie’s friend starred. She and he have not seen each other at all this school year because of misaligning schedules. Even kids can become too busy to keep in touch.

In the last moment of the last scene of the play, Cassie’s friend took two flowers from a vase and handed one to his leading lady as they exited, stage left. Applause was loud and long. What a great show! The lights were turned up, my daughters and I raised from our seats, and headed to the aisle stairs.

There, standing at the bottom of the steps, was Cassie’s dear friend, holding the flower shown in the picture, with an eager glad smile on his face. Cassie lightly stepped toward him, he handed her the flower, and they hugged a heartfelt, tender hug, while sincerely, emotionally exclaiming how very much they’d missed each other! To others it probably looked like an ordinary pair of friends hugging, but the four of us knew how gratifying was this reconnecting, how needed. This moment in a crowded theater amidst jostling actors and audience members was absolutely lump in the throat, tears in the eyes, as if no one else was around beautiful. Neither kid knew just how much the other meant until they had been separated, left to wander among less than kindreds for months. Wonderful it is to be known.

Cassie’s friend had no idea what she’d been through, nor did he know how desperately she needed his genuine friendship at that very moment.

After catching up and promising to get together we headed for the car and home. Glowing, tears in her eyes, gently smiling, Cassie uttered not a sound. She didn’t have to.

But I did. I whispered, “You have a true friend, an always friend.” Tears rolled down her blushing cheeks, she sniffed the yellow flower, nodded and answered emotionally, “I do. I do.”

The contented filling from reconnecting with a flower bestowing friend would not have been so deeply encouraging had Cassie not first painfully lost something which she’d held dear, a thing which turned out to be false.

“In my loss I rejoice, for what I have found.”

Holy ground.

The Witching Hour

If you've managed to rummage through my archives enough, you may have read the 2006 July Fourth posting, which recounts the evening that Sammy, our dog, sniffed out a baby opossum playing dead under the lush leaves of our vegetable garden, while we were outside roasting marshmallows. Our normally easy-going beagle barked like a psycho.

For some odd reason Tom has always been taken with 'possums. He thinks they are cute. (Don't even ask what this means about his attraction to ME!) He rescued the little unharmed baby creature from Sam and, after much convincing, set him free. He and the girls were worried about the baby's survival chances. I was hopeful that the little guy would reconnect with his mother. (The above photo is the opossum right after rescue from the tomato patch.)

Two weeks later, at midnight, Sammy began barking like a maniac. Sure enough, there was a critter out there, on the fence. It was the baby 'possum, back for a visit. It only took a few midnight visits before Tom was hand feeding the 'possum and scratching the little bug-eyed thing's noggin.

Okay, rewind. Three years ago Joe named our beagle Samwise, after the true and faithful hobbit friend of Frodo, in 'Lord of the Rings', because our newly weaned puppy, Sam, was Joe's loyal friend right from the start. In the 'Lord of the Rings' books Samwise has a creepy nemesis named Gollum, who is constantly trying to steal the precious ring from Frodo. Samwise is on to Gollum, and foils him every time, faithfully warning Frodo.

Fast forward. Last summer this 'possum became Sam's nemesis right away. Each night the pointy-nosed, rat-tailed marsupial waddled along the tall fence pickets in the quiet darkness of night, until he came to rest among the branches of our flowering shrubs. For a few weeks Sam went bananas every single time, barking, jumping up against the fence, looking at Tom wild-eyed as if to say, "He's an enemy! Warning, warning! Don't TOUCH him! What the heck are you DOing!! Flee! Flee! Danger, danger!" Naturally, my animal loving family picked a name for the nightly visitor: Gollum.

Can you picture this? While a glowing-eyed, pink-nosed, slumping animal skitters along cedar pickets, Sam, after waking from his bed, begins tearing through the house. The crazed beagle then shoots out his doggie door. Clawing at the lawn as he streaks to the corner of the yard he hurtles his muscular body into the shrubs, where he then jumps, snaps, and barks, like a deranged nut. Tom, usually awake at this time, smiles and mutters contently, "Gollum." Out the door he saunters, cat food and veggies in his fist. Joe, also awake, meets Tom in the yard with a flashlight. The girls, not supposed to be awake, tippy toe in their little jammies down the walkway, squealing with girlish delight to watch as Daddy feeds the grizzled Gollum, then scratches him between his eyes. At midnight, mind you. Me? I remain in bed wondering how I ended up in the looney bin.

(Okay, this scraggly nocturnal creature IS sorta cute in an ugly kind of way. I have been known to participate in the Gollum Ritual. Thankfully, most nights last summer we just rolled over and went back to sleep. So did Sam.)

Tom was sad and concerned when the cold, rain, and snow kept Gollum away for two seasons.

Sam barked his crazy bark last night. We thought it was cats. The following morning, however, Joe told us that at midnight when he heard Sam bark he looked out his garden window, just in time to see Gollum hunching and skittering along the pickets, heading for the shrubs, looking for a good scratch. (This photo is Gollum after a head scratching last summer.)

Tom's little buddy is okay. He's so happy!

Good-bye peaceful midnight. Hello looney bin.

(Now I know why Grandma referred to midnight as, "The Witching Hour.")

Cell Phones - Revisited

Okay, is this a cosmic joke on me?

Tonight all you blogger friends who commented about my last post, the one about cell phones, came to mind. Why, you ask? Read on.

This evening I took my daughters to the theater, to see a play which starred one of their friends. Marvelous play! But guess what?

Yes, even though we'd been told three times in the moments preceding the play to silence our cell phones, the gray-haired fellow (65?) who sat directly behind Caroline let his phone ring twice before the play began. He gleefully sent a return text to whoever rang him up, after telling and showing his wife all about it.

"Okay," I thought. "This is too funny considering all the cell phone yapping I've been doing in the last, oh, 24 hours. He'll mute his phone in a few minutes. Calm down, old girl. You're being too critical. Iain says this guy's connecting. Lighten up! Something to admire. Find it. Well, he IS keeping his wife and friends entertained with his stories of getting drunk on different types of beer and wine-in-a-box." (Sometimes one can't be too picky on the sort of thing admired.)

The lights darkened, the play began, I relaxed. Five minutes into a 90 minute performance his phone rang. The sound split the silence in the audience. He eagerly sent a return text. The phone rang again, again, again, again, again, six times all together in the first half of the program. When I turned my chin over my shoulder in a sort of sidelong glance, he responded, "Oh, sorry."

You may think I'm lying, or at least exaggerating, and I know I am struggling with a bad attitude about this, but the ringing happened again, again, again, again, again and again before the play was over. Yes, six more times during the second half, twelve in all. I counted. I breathed deeply, and I counted, and I really did enjoy the play - somehow!

TWELVE TIMES!! (Taking shallow breaths now, can you tell?)

We were sitting in the center of the theater so there was a large circle of irritated, passive people who were too polite?/self-conscious?/chicken? to say anything.

Funny thing? During the 15 minute intermission, yep, his phone was quiet. Not a peep.

Oh well.

(Bottom of the Pacific Ocean!!!!)

Just Because You Can, Doesn't Mean You Should

The beach. The glorious Oregon Coast! My two friends and I were there for a long weekend, a supposed holiday from home and hearth, not because home and hearth are undesirable, but because we needed an emptying of sorts, to better live our lives.

The drive up and over was filled with delightful catching up, and sorrows shared. A good beginning.

Interrupting our revelry, her cell phone notified her there was a text message. Nothing important. Her co-worker texted, "Have a fun time! Wish I was there!" in text speak.

Similar messages were sent five or more times before our 2 hour drive ended.

Settled into our lodgings, we headed for the shore, to walk and be soothed at the sea's edge. She checked for messages. Ha, yes, a funny phrase from another friend. One of her adult daughters sent a funny picture. Her son sent a funny picture. Her husband asked where was the new tube of toothpaste. In the presence of our coast's guardian, the Pacific Ocean, lighted with millions of sunshiney sparkles, ebbing, flowing, hissing, crashing, salty-scented, squealing gulls, seaweed littered sands, shells and foam, and there she stood, staring at her tiny tiny screen at a picture of her grandson slobbering. "Isn't that funny!!"

Getting irked, was I, just a little. A teeny bit. "Shake it off," I told myself. "Keep your mouth shut."

At meals, in town shopping, back on the beach, in our room visiting, sharing, out came that cell phone with calls, messages, nothing crucial, just little 'funny things.' For all four days. Interruptions everywhere.

Irritation turned into zeal - I wanted to stomp that phone and throw it into the ocean, or was it HER I wanted to stomp and throw. Both!

I believe the term going around is 'absent present'. This is what she was, for though she was physically with us, her dealings were back home. She never really left home. She brought her trivial day-to-day stuff with her and subsequently dumped it at our feet.

I did manage to get to the beach alone, to unwind. Somehow, though, the purification, the washing I'd become accustomed to on these trips was elusive. Try as I may, the annoyance barred the full-fledged escape I needed.

I felt gypped.

I have a cell phone, yes, yes, I do. It's the family phone, intermittently used, given to the kids when they are on outings, or for emergencies, and for calling home when we are on trips. It costs us $17 a month. We seldom use all our minutes. And, yes, I understand cell phones for businesses. They are indeed handy. It's the silly stuff, the constant silly stuff that bugs me, when taken immediately, as if there were no such thing as an 'off' mode. When do the minds of these constant chatterers digest life's daily input?

Peace constantly shattered leaves little room for gently swirling, settling thoughts, dreaminess, even meditations. I wonder, what does this do to the psyche, to be always chattering, always 'on'? How vivid can experiences be when they are disturbed, when the mind is unnecessarily pulled away to another person, another place?

I was born 100 years too late.

A Quiet Life

Naturalist Olaus Murie was a quiet man, who lived a quiet yet profound life.

When questioned about his ability to get along with everyone, including the very disagreeable, he answered simply that in each person he met he looked for something to admire.

Something...to admire.

Give Us This Day......

Bread.

White and whole grain, rye, buckwheat, and oat.

Cornbread.

Biscuits.

Bagels, muffins, Artisan breads.

French. Sourdough. Irish Soda. English Muffins. More.

But my favorite bread, on a drippy, gray, almost dreich day........is honey whole wheat, warm from the oven, with a little soft butter spread on top. What's your favorite?




I can't wait to see the smiles on Tom and Joe's faces when they enter the house after work and school, the aroma of freshly baked bread greeting them.











To give such pleasure is a joy.









Simple Things.

Tearin' Up the Road

As you may know, Cassie is learning to drive, and I have been the one teaching her so far. She’s a quick study, with a bit of a lead foot sometimes.

To ride with someone who is learning, to know years more than they do, to have experience galore compared to their none, tends to make one take shallow breaths until the key is turned off.

I find myself trying help her avoid rookie mistakes by anticipating her responses, her tendencies. To keep my instructions full but brief, to keep alert yet calm, takes a lot out of me. See, I don’t know all of which she is capable. I don’t know all of her reactions ahead of time. I’m not in her head. One false move and we could die, maybe taking others with us. (Wish we had that “L”, Iain.)

Yet, I have a sort of confidence that I know her enough, and I know me enough, and I know human behavior enough to keep the car where it belongs, when it belongs there, even with my daughter driving. However, anything could happen. Sobering thought.

God, on the other hand, is inside my head, he does know how I’ll react, and one false move, well, is there such a thing?

I take great comfort in the knowledge that my Teacher knows his business and knows me much better than I do. He’ll keep me where I need to be, all the time. I don’t have to worry.

But I do have to do some driving.

St. Augustine Revisited

Joe came home from school energetic and vibrant after a "really good discussion" today.

He read me this quote:

"For as the same fire causes gold to glow brightly, and chaff to smoke; and under the same flail the straw is beaten small, while the grain is cleansed; and as the lees are not mixed with the oil though squeezed out of the vat by the same pressure, so the same violence of affliction proves, purges, clarifies the good, but damns, ruins, exterminates the wicked."

St. Augustine, "City of God, Book 1, Chapter 8"

Thought provoking.

Revisited: Been thinking about this quote. It reminds me of Romans 9. Also of the passage that says something like Jacob I loved, Esau I hated.

It's easy to think of God as a kind, wise grandpa who gently lifts us from a destructive path, carries a big stick to shoo away those people and things that would hurt us, with a twinkle in his eye, and doting pats to our little heads, straightening our halos, a grandpa who requires us to remind him of what needs doing down here in the universe. Or, to think of him as an angry, lightening-hurling, crazy-mad sort of megalomaniac just looking for an excuse to torture humans. He is neither.

It's imperative that we get this as right as we can, the true nature of God and his creation, otherwise, well, won't we be following a different god than the God of the Bible? Won't it be a different faith? Isn't our salvation at risk if we don't have it right, if we aren't believing the Truth, but some watered down, plucked, twisted, synthetic pseudoversion? Paul implores of us to, "continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling [does this mean anticipation and excitement, maybe even anxiety?], for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose." (Philippians 2:12-13) Some interpret that passage to mean you have to earn your salvation through works. That's inconsistent with the rest of the Bible. Was Paul intending to communicate to us that we need to know for sure that the belief we stake our very lives on is The Truth? That we understand correctly? To keep striving for more accuracy, and thus clearer alignment with this Truth, as God changes us from within? This makes more sense to me.

This whole God thing is not so sweet and easy as I was taught it was in Sunday School. "...but damns, ruins, exterminates the wicked." I want to get it right, because it matters, more than anything. And I feel the urgency, and the longing, to know.

Color of Prosperity

Yellow is supposed to be the color of prosperity.

If that's true, our valley is in good shape!

These delightful daffolils are blooming in our backyard right now.

On our daily walk today the kids and I saw this sight repeated in the yards of neighbors, parks, and other places. It's a jovial time of year!

Daffodils: Smiles in the shape of skirted bells!




"A garden is the best alternative therapy."

~~~Germaine Greer

"How fair is a garden amid the toils and passions of existence."

~~~~~Benjamin Disraeli

Of Yuk.....and Dragons

Being basically computer illiterate, it has taken me awhile to discover that this blog looks really yukky when viewed with Internet Explorer - at least, when I look at it with my I.E.

I created it on Safari and Firefox, and when I look at it with those browsers I like the look. It's green and cream, orderly, easy to use, and pleasing on the eye. On Explorer it's white where it should be cream, black where it should be green, the post text should be light brown, not black, and the comments and quotes on the side, besides being hard to read, look absolutely horrid in an ugly orangey color and without their neat little boxes. Blyaaaa. Besides the colors being off, the design is all goofed up.

So, for you who see it that way, I'm sorry. I appreciate your viewership all the more, after knowing what you have to endure.

I wonder if any of you see it with Internet Explorer the way I see it with Safari and Firefox, or if it's always just going to be ukky for you?

I suppose the fact that I have an Apple Computer in a world of PCs may add to the disconnect, too.

Frustrating!

Today a new movie theater opened in our area, offering tickets for a dollar, so the girls and I took them up on the offer. We went to see Eragon. What a wonderful way to escape! I loved it. Anytime I can escape for awhile to a fantasy land where there is no technology, I'm pretty much there.

And the way I feel now after this browser discovery, I think I'd be better off flying around on a dragon this afternoon, than sitting here griping.

I'll go walk the beagle. That always helps!


Postscript: For my own tallying, I just received my first whiff of spring through the open window - a delicate scent of something blossoming somewhere, carried on the wind, to my waiting nostrils! Be still, my heart, sunny days and happy moods are on their way!

One of Four and a Rubik's Cube

On Thursday Tom's mom had a frightening heart episode and her kidneys began to fail. She was rushed to the hospital in the nick of time. The cardiologist recommended her heart be stopped and restarted, like a computer, to get its rhythm back. It worked! Whew.

Being an adopted child, Tom was blessed with four parents, two natural, and two adopted. All loved. We lost his natural dad some years ago. Both Tom's adopted dad and his natural mom died within 3 months of one another two years ago. That was a rough spell. As the last one of four remaining, Tom's adopted mom remains a very precious person in Tom's life. He was raised an only child thus the bond between them is quite significant.

This morning we learned that Mom's kidneys are functioning again, not up to snuff, but quite sufficiently. She's diabetic, so this is a concern. Her heart sustained only minor damage but should need no tweaking in the near future. It looks like she gets to go home today. YAY!!! She misses her doggie, and he misses her. A tail wagging, joyful reunion awaits.

My dad had a small stroke a few days before Christmas. My mom seems a bit more frail each time I see her.

I don't like this.

But I accept it.

We have entered into the ranks of brave, compassionate souls who care for kids at home, have kids in college, and have parents who require just a little more time and care. When I say I don't like this, I don't mean that I dislike that our parents require more time and care, I mean that something is potentially coming which I am not emotionally or mentally ready to wrap my mind around. When I believed Dad was going to die in December a veil parted, giving me a glimpse of that which left me feeling like I was free falling, no ground in sight.

I'd better buck up, huh.

God is gracious to go slow with me, to let me adjust in the quietness of my overly sensitive heart (another one of my mom's descriptions of me - overly sensitive. I 'think too much' and am 'overly sensitive'. Wanna be my friend??!! Ha!)

On a more upbeat note, Cassie solved her brand new Rubik's Cube in three days! Holy Moly! No wonder math is so easy for her, and not so much for me. Caroline was right on her heels, with a little help from big sister. They get their brains from their daddy.

I feel stupid.

But that's okay.

:-)

Signs of Spring

Erupting all over the city are signs of spring!! Our backyard is perking up, too, as these daffodils and hyacinth attest.







Chopping wood is high on Tom's list of Favorite Things To Do. No fooling! In the rain, in work clothes, with a smile.




Cassie practiced driving again yesterday in the Autzen Stadium parking lot, with me as her 'Adult over 21' to guide her. A furious windy wet snow flurry offered itself to her growing list of inclement weather experiences. When the flakes fell hardest, she expertly stepped on the clutch and brake, yanked the emergency brake, shifted into neutral, opened her door, jumped outside and caught several snowflakes on her tongue. Caroline and I joined her!

Winter and Spring! Youth and Maturity!

Harmony.

Balance.

All at once.

I'm feeling cheerier today.

Bonus Features

"Well, Penny, like anything worth writing, it came inexplicably and without method." ~~ Karen to Penny in, "Stranger than Fiction"
-------------------------------------------------
Watching the bonus features on the DVD for the movie "Stranger than Fiction" rekindled something which has been flickering in my mind for years.

I've always loathed Will Ferrell. The characters he has played have, to me, been vulgar and stupid. The few interviews I've seen with him were silly, nausea provoking, and quick, gimme the remote - turn this OFF! idiocy.

"Stranger Than Fiction" was recommended to me by people I trust, so I kept an open mind when I learned Ferrell was the lead. To my pleasant surprise he was excellent in this mostly serious role. Just brilliant. Huh? Will Ferrell?

For some reason I found the incidental interviews on the DVD's bonus features somewhat perturbing. The cast and crew described the lead actor in words incongruous with my perception of "Will Ferrell." Humble? In the moment? Intelligent? Interviews with Ferrell himself astonished me. He behaved like a normal, mature adult. "Remember," I told myself, "he's a performer, playing a part. Stupid is the act, not the whole man. There is more."

Just as there is to each one of us. Rumination began.

Let's face it, not unlike a celebrity with his professional and private persona, most of us have our public and private personas, the public image being remarkably different from our private genuine selves. In order to fit in, or be invisible, to hide, or to impress, a facade is created and projected to the world: this is me!

Masked, lest we be found out, we walk our paths. Society is a cruel mistress, rejection is hard and fast, crippling even. Posing prevents our true faces from being seen and thus judged, and yet to be false, to bury ourselves in fakery induces a sort of madness. We search. We stumble. We excuse and we rationalize. In our conditioned states we sense something is terribly wrong, but what? Out of touch with our integrity, our honesty crusted and scabbed over, we play the roles which protect us, roles we've created from trial and error all our lives. Ridiculously complicated roles.

To stop the sham. To just stop. To quit piling on the crusty muddy costume of pretense so that what is normal and true can be revealed would be incredible relief. Right? To cease the posing!

But to be seen! To be known! Vulnerability terrifies! I know some of the evil that lurks in my heart, and I am not certain of what is good about me. Do I have the courage to look deeper, further, to come to realize the full extent of both? And to reveal them outwardly? To make use of my good gifts, I must discover them. To eradicate my evil, I must face it, admitting it exists. Vulnerability is required.

How I long to sort of unzip my costume from head to toe, kicking the rumpled heap aside, in order to step away from it in courage and confidence that the truth of who I am is enough to accomplish my purpose from God. I don't have to fake. I don't have to hide. I don't have to perform.

Besides hiding me and shielding me from unsettling aspects about myself, does this costume protect others from me?

More ruminating is required. And prayer.

I still don't like Will Ferrell's typical work, but I do have a tad more respect for the man. How weird that bonus features on a DVD would stir me to contemplate personal authenticity.

Mysterious Ways!


Postscript: I'm back to brooding again, yes, 'tis true. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I just need some sun. Sigh.......

"24"

You think you know a person.

Jack Bauer doesn't know who to trust.

His brother, Graem, used to be a heartless, rude ER doctor, until he got his arm cut off by a helicopter rotor up on the roof and later was smashed by another flaming copter, but that was after he did unspeakable things as an x-file.

Jack's dad used to be good ol' Farmer Hogget. What happened?!?!?! No more, "That'll do, Pig"?

His sister-in-law, all innocence but we can tell she has a secret, was previously Mrs. Ned (Lois) Quartermaine, for goodness sake, a free-spirited Brooklyn girl, before she was crippled by her flying hero husband in a car crash and landed in a wheel chair.

Tom Lennox used to be good at Numb3rs before his Space Shuttle training, and long after he bugged Ally McBeal. Reed used to be married to a Million Dollar Baby, and he was John Denver, and before that he was dying of AIDS as Bekka's one true love, Jesse.

And that evil digit-less guy who was after Mighty Joe Young, well, he's after the USA now!!

Poor Jack Bauer.

Hope he's in good hands, with David Palmer!






The writing of this post took place between the hours of 12:00 A.M and 1:00 A.M.

Viewer Discretion Advised - it will make NO SENSE if you have not watched as much TV as I.

Miscellaneous

"In relationships, whether it is man-woman, parent-child, or among friends, we are there to set the other free, and not impose upon them any more chains than they are already wearing. This is not an easy thing to do. In fact, it's one of the hardest." ~~~~Tom Crum

"This is the true joy in life. The being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy." ~~~ George Bernard Shaw

_____________________

When Cassie was a tiny tot we planted a Blue Spruce tree in the front yard and named it Hope. "Hope for the future! We shall watch it grow and be constantly reminded that life goes on, that things grow and become mighty! There's always Hope!"

Hope has grown tall and strong, taller than each one of us, even Joe who measures over six feet. A pretty tree! Christmas lights on it in December, light green, supple new growth in the spring, sprinklers wetting it in the summer. Such fragrance!

Today we cut Hope down. New plans for the yard demanded it. Tears were shed. Mouths turned down. Shoulders sagged.

Joe said, "I've been telling you guys for years, in this world there is no Hope. Believe me now?"

We have another little evergreen tree in a pot that Tom saved from somewhere years ago. It's about four feet tall. We're going to plant it...

and name it...

Doom.

Just in case.

Oregon

Let me say it right upfront, I am a native born Californian - Boo Hiss! - I know, I know. I'm hardened to the contempt from you Oregon Natives. You can't hurt me anymore. Birth through twelve I lived in sunny California swimming, biking, roller skating, climbing trees, and going to school. It was fun. Then, to Oregon we moved and I've been here ever since.

I LOVE OREGON!! It's gorgeous. West of the Cascades it's green and lush, eastern Oregon is high desert glory. With discovery and fantastic vistas around each corner, I am constantly inspired by this great location, my home.

Yesterday we drove up to Willamette Pass high in the snowy Cascade Mountain Range. Breathtaking scenery lined the highway as we drove along its bends and slopes. Hinting at its upcoming arrival, Spring has somehow begun the glowing of the woods. Thick, luminous green moss-coated rigid tree branches and trunks created a surreal enchanted forest. Tiny, plump, bud nubs silhoutted against the pale gray skies spoke of life and leaves to come. White capped, clear, cold waters bubbled over rocks and boulders as if singing joyfully that nature was about to burst forth with newness and growth.









Our mission was simple: snow tubing at Willamette Pass, on Presidents' Day. A friendly amount of folks had the same idea. The girls hooked onto the tow rope and up they rode!




Looking like sugared doughnuts, these tubes sat ready for action.





"Smile, Honey!" Snap! Relaxing to the rhythm of one last wintery hurrah before Spring.



With one final Winter Fix under our belts, we stand ready to embrace-----Spring!

ADHD

Tom showed me an ad he ran across this week in a newspaper.

It said something like:

Do you find your mind wandering from tasks or conversations that are uninteresting or difficult?

In conversations do you start to answer questions before the questions have been fully asked?

Do you say things without thinking and later regret having said them?

Even when sitting quietly are you usually moving your hands or feet?

Do you have a quick temper, a short fuse?

You may have Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder!


Then it went on to ask the ADHD reader to join a clinical trial where experimental medicines will be tested. I have every confidence that these good people have the best of intentions.

Tom has all those behaviors. He's had them all his life. Ben has them, too.

And do you know what, I've never thought they needed medication. I can't imagine them any other way. They are fascinating, enjoyable people to know. When I am seeing life from the ground, they let me know what it looks like from the sky. When I'm above the water, they give me the underwater view. It's absolutely terrific! I feel like an absolute bore sometimes when I'm allowed into their amazing energy. Neither one of them feels they are suffering in any way, they enjoy life. We enjoy them.

However, in the course of his life, Tom has withstood too much criticism and condescension because of his fidgetiness. He has been made to feel inferior because his behavior is misunderstood as wrong, or bad.

I wonder, is there some sort of pinch in society that programs us to channel everyone into the same pigeon-hole? And then, when they don't fit, to fuss around, squish, prod, and medicate them until they do? Devalue and dismiss them if they won't?

What makes us think that way? To label people, categorize them, and then, worst of all, to rank them?

It's true that some symptomatic folks have a rougher time of it than Tom and Ben, and maybe they would like to calm their brains down a bit for an easier time of it. My heart and support go out to them. They need to do what they need to do without being stigmatized.

But for those expressive, energetic ones who feel fine until society tells them that fine means Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional, as quoted in the "Italian Job," I say, "Hey, you ARE normal!"

After I read the article Tom showed me, we hopped into the car to go buy milk. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror on the visor flap as we motored down the street, and noticed my expression of sober thoughtfulness. "Tom, how come we don't see people with so-called ADHD as within a normal range with everyone else? Why don't we just adjust to the differences? Why homogenize people with medicine? It seems ridiculously small-minded to me, to expect everyone to behave the same, and when they don't, well, drug 'em!"

This issue is quite interesting to Tom, since his behavior fits the bill.

In an enthusiastic voice, left index finger stabbing the air above the steering wheel, he blurted, "Hey! Look! They're putting a new roof on that house!"

Pause.

We simultaneously burst out laughing! He agreed with me. And now we have milk.

Church Lady

"I'm telling you that the church has really crippled women when it tells them that their beauty is vain and they are at their feminine best when they are 'serving others.' A woman is at her best when she is being a woman."

"My friend, Jan, says that a woman who is living out her true design will be 'valiant, vulnerable, and [daring].' That's a far cry from the 'church ladies' we hold up as models of Christian femininity, those busy and tired and rigid women who have reduced their hearts to a few mild desires and pretend everything is going just great."

~~~ ~~~ from "Wild at Heart", by John Eldredge
_________________________________________
There she was, sloppy, slouching, sighing......and 'serving.' Half-heartedly. Same as last week, and the week before, and the month, year, and decade before that. The perfect epitome of the church lady. Not Dana Carvey's "Now isn't that special" Church Lady. No, this was the real deal. Looking into her corpse-like eyes chilled me to a shiver. "Look at her, Tom. Look. She's been that way for twenty years. Still walking behind her husband, going where he points, picking up his things, silently." Resigned, sincerely believing she's serving God, she has given up the best parts of her, willingly trading them for a fool's notion of a 'godly woman.'

This is the woman who is living out what the Christian subculture tells her is the noble woman, the one who works, who serves, who in 'submission' throws herself down and out with the bath water in order to promote her husband. Her young daughters look up to her as their example, practicing the killing of their desires thinking them sinful. "Women are to remain under the complete leadership of men." Yep. Don't misunderstand, here lead doesn't mean lead, it means dominate. For Eve isn't to be trusted. She ate the forbidden fruit first. Women must be tamed for they are baaaaaad.

The problem isn't the fact that the husband is the ultimate decision maker. When an irreconcilable difference of opinion presents itself, then the man is to make his best informed choice, which settles the matter. This is what leadership means. A wise woman kindly places her trust in her husband, for he is the one God holds responsible for the results of the marriage. This isn't the problem. It's a woman's joy to use her life and gifts to help her husband with his goal of a healthy, godly marriage. It's her goal, too. It's why she married him. They represent a team, two thriving human beings who will each stand alone before God, working in this life together to come to understand spiritual realities.

Men who have both oars in the water are in awe of their women. They don't fear them. They don't resent them. They love, respect, and know them. Constantly surprised by decades of unexpected feminine delights, these enlightened men live with tiny satisfied smiles playing around their mouths. "Smother this girl and you'll miss it," they wisely advise. "Keep your senses alert, boys, tip of the iceburg. There's more where that came from." "Forget about her age, man, look into her eyes. Life! Fire! Wisdom!" Men desire to be invited into a full on experience with a lusty intelligent woman. Their women eagerly invite them. Complete satisfaction.

Unless she's constrained by the foolishness of some hypnotized misguided schlump a woman will delightfully dance in natural step with the rhythms of life. It is in this capacity that she offers help to her man, help that flows as naturally as water from a spring. To share her many dimensions thrills her as much as it pleases her mate. Magical synergy.

The problem comes from that foolish misguided hypnotized schlump. When he has his way, he dutifully trusses his woman's passion, spirit, and self-expression then shoves her into that fusty, restricting box marked "Submissive Christian Woman." It doesn't take long before she's as passionless, insecure, narrow-minded, and misguided as he is, which seems to be the goal of the Christian subculture.

It's easy to spot that 'perfect Christian couple'. The Stepford wife has lost herself, stopped dreaming, and the man strangely resembles a spoiled sophomoric teen. Obeying what he's been taught, he orders. She serves. Serves, not helps. Serves, not delights. Serves, not inspires. Serves, not leaves him breathless, howling at the moon, exhausted from encountering a vital, mysterious force of nature who truly desires him: his wife. He's a conditioned tyrant. She's an efficient, depressed, swirly-eyed minion. A sticky straight-jacketed union which looks like something from hell, not heaven.
______________

I remember when you were his dog.
I remember you under his thumb.
Yeah baby, when he would call
Every time, you had to come.

Hey, baby, you're a free girl now.
Hey, baby, you're a free girl now!

~~ "Free Girl Now", by Tom Petty

Our Old House

For years Tom and I have toyed with the idea of remodeling our house. It's about 70 years old, a bungalow. Very cute. Lots of character. Home, sweet home!

It's small. 1100 square feet. In the 1940's a medium sized family would live in a home like ours. Medium sized, you know, two parents, two or three kids, and a dog. The doorways are arched, there are many large, lovely, leaky windows made of wood and glass, the layout is simple and sensible, the doorknobs are glass. The front door is solid and heavy and sticks when it rains so that you have to bump it a few times to get it open. The grated floor furnace ticks soothingly at night as it pumps heat into our rooms. The antique window screens are easy to unlatch and wash, and they keep the bugs out just fine.

We've updated, added some personal touches, made it more comfortable, a little more fuel efficient.

This little house has played a major role in creating a very close-knit family. It has character, humility, charm, and comfort. Its cozy size has forced us to master social skills such as sharing, consideration, and generosity. When you get mad there is nowhere to run. You slam a door and the whole house shakes. You holler and the neighbors know your business. It keeps you honest. You care about a distraught person when you can hear them crying in the next room. You go to them. You can't ignore the many moods whether happy, excited, frustrated, sad, or cranky. You learn to control yourself, and you learn to communicate. The living space, being common to all, creates a healthy knowing.

Tom and I agree, we could live anywhere and be a loving family, but it's easier here where the air is fresh, and the character is genuine.

Brooding? Me?

Yes, yes, I picked a new template.

The black was beginning to depress me - but I loved the way it framed my photos, making them vibrant. That's why I picked it in the first place, and held onto to it for so long. This new one is - eh - different. It's lighter, not so gloomy. We'll see if it grows on me.

Upon hearing that I was going to change my template, and observing while I sampled several, Cassie kept chuckling at my heaving sighs of, "Oh THAT won't work."

She said matter-of-factly, "Yeah, you're right, They're not right for your brooding posts."

Brooding posts?!? My posts are brooding? Huh? Me?

Okay, okay, okay yeah, I admit it, sometimes I dig so deeply into my inner sanctum that the light cannot follow. Not that I am deep. No, not suggesting that. My mother says, "You think too much." I guess that's it. My brain is constantly swirling with thoughts which I try to follow, because I really do want to get to know myself and the world around me in order to change, and become less......

......brooding?!?!

In high school I used to wake up every morning with a grouch on that repelled family members just fine, thank you very much. (Tom is going to smirk here because I awakened that way for several of our early married years, too - okay - okay - okay - I STILL do it sometimes.................. OKAAAYY! My 'grouch' follows me around a LOT! Sheesh. Give me a break. I'm SHARING here.)

ANYWAY, I have to repeat that the reason I started this blog was strictly for me, a place where I could chronicle some of my conceptual struggles, encouraging discoveries, life experiences, and peeves, for evaluation and memory purposes. For those reasons I keep it up.

And guess what, oh skeptics who think blogs are useless, this little exercise in bloggishness has actually begun to change my behavior for the better! In repeated perusal of said blog, for I am its biggest fan, I find that the notions imparted are sticking, and coming upfront when I need them.

For example, we watched the Grammy Awards last night and found that Tom Petty's excellent album 'Highway Companion' did not garner a trophy. This morning the girls and I were brushing our straight lovely teeth, carefully spitting into the oval sinks, when I whined, "It's too bad Tommy didn't win. Stupid Grammy people. I wonder if he's upset." Before I could even get enough foamy spit brushed up to aim and fire I realized that I myself have been blogging on about holding our contentment in our own hands, rather than expecting it to come from others. Another shining light-bulb above the head moment - here is an opportunity to practice what I've learned.

My inner voices whispered excitedly, "You know what? Tommy knows he made an outstanding album. He doesn't need to win another award for personal validation." Then, I smiled, "Wow! My own words have come to my rescue, wisdom from within." I was kind of amazed, and sort of got some foamy dribble in Cassie's hair. (I don't think she knew because I used a warm Mommy hug to close in and sneakily wipe it off.) She sweetly smiled and said, "Good for you, Mama." The desire to complain about the Grammys vanished and serenity took it's place, not because I got the spit out of Cassie's hair, but because I was able to change a negative reaction about Tommy's non-Grammy into a thoughtful, wise response which is that we don't measure our value with externals.

This episode is evidence to me that change is occurring, and that thrills me, because there are miles and miles and miles between goodness and where I now stand.

I'll still brood. I'll still grouch. I'll still blog. And every now and again, wisdom will softly alight, infusing her gentle whispers into my grateful, thirsting heart.

Vitality

He won two more Grammies last night.

















It's not for awards that life is lived. He knows who he is. His accomplishments and capabilities are known to him with or without acclaim from the fickle folks who pick and choose who gets a nod and who doesn't.


















Still, they were given, and I'm pointing it out, just because.


Bobby Dylan. Still creating. Still playing. Still vital.






For what it's worth, Bobby, we listen, we watch, we enjoy! It's all good.


















Bob Dylan's words of acceptance after receiving his Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1991: "Yeah, my daddy, he didn't leave me too much, you know, he was a very simple man, and he didn't leave me a lot, but what he told me was this, he said, "Son,"........He said so many things, you know..........He said, "You know, it's possible to become so defiled in this world that your own mother and father would abandon you, and if that happens God will always believe in your own ability to mend your own ways. Thank you."'

Barnacles Begone!

"I tell my kids: 'You know yourself when you've done a good job and you know when you have let yourself down. We all know all these things inherently so look to yourself and don't blame other people or let them give you a sense of your value, that is a lie. It is false."'


~~ Sorry, I don't remember who said this, but it must be someone I respect, because I copied it into my little book of quotes a few years ago.

* * *
This is good advice for anyone, not just for kids. To understand that you alone are responsible for your actions and sense of value and that to live life accordingly frees you from the blaming on one hand, and the desperate need for approval and attention on the other. It's a middle way, without extremes, and without dependency on others for excuses or happiness.

I like it.

Wish someone had imparted this wisdom to me long ago. There would be less self-inflicted barnacles of warped perspective attached to my hull today, barnacles I spend precious time tediously scraping away.

But scrape, I do. "You know yourself when you've done a good job and you know when you have let yourself down." Yes. Yes, I do. And it is enough information for choices.

It's easy to get caught up in believing what others may think of us. Good or bad. We lose sight of ourselves when we believe flattery, undue criticism, or manipulation. Best to have a correct sense of ourselves, take personal responsibility, carry our integrity and happiness in our own hearts and minds. We become brighter, truer beacons for those in our path when we are true to ourselves.


"Set down your chains, until only faith remains,
Set down your chains
And lend your voices only to sounds of freedom.
No longer lend your strength to that
Which you wish to be free from.
Fill your lives with love and bravery
And we shall lead a life uncommon."

~~ Jewel

Sellout?

I read something a singer/songwriter wrote about staying true to herself by writing the songs that expressed her heart rather than just writing songs she knew would be hits.

A contemporary rumination for me, the idea of selling out, or not, along with all the ways selling out manifests itself.

Defining the word sellout would be something like abandoning your authentic self expression for a false behavior in exchange for a commodity from others, such as kudos, adulation, fame, money, whatever.

Bob Dylan was accused of selling out when he wore a leather jacket. He just liked it, that's all. Disenchanted fans labeled it his 'sellout jacket.' This is the man who repeatedly 'went electric' to the boos and jeers of audiences everywhere, staying true to his creative desires despite harsh criticism and the rude behavior of others.

He's not a sellout.

But a lot of us are.

It's easy to leave our original intention whatever form it may take (writing, music, speaking, etc.) crossing over into pleasing the masses to attain personal praise in its many forms. The loss of authentic self expression is a tragedy, most especially when it's replaced with something common.

What is it about praise from others that is so tantalizing? Why is it that we will alter ourselves, our intentions, behavior, lives for praise? Is it because we need validation? Is it because we deathly fear praise's opposite, rejection, which can be so demoralizing? I wonder.

We start out with a sort of gift or talent, we try our hand at it, we get a little feedback that maybe we are okay at this, and then we have a little success,. Before we know it, we find ourselves compromising. Changing our attitude - maybe puffing up - changing our behavior to please more people, for more praise, and why? Again, why? Why do we lay our validation in the hands of others, when in actuality, our validation comes from God, comes from within ourselves. Each of us is a complete entity, the one and only, truly known by our choices not by what others have to say about us.

I had an sobering experience a few years ago, and I'm so glad I did because it was a revelation. I was speaking before a large group of people. I was on a roll, had the crowd roaring with laughter, then nodding in thoughtfulness. It was all off the cuff, spontaneous, one of those right place, right time sort of occurrences. After wrapping it up, I exited the room with applause ringing loudly from all around the auditorium. Wow! Elation. Later, in the lobby, I was surrounded by a mass of strangers wanting my e-mail address, wanting to shake my hand and hug me, telling me how I'd helped/touched/inspired them, pushing to be near me, praising me. I heard people talking to one another about ME, and wasn't I funny and wasn't I great, and "Oh look! There she is!" It was surreal.

"They love me! They accept me. I could get used to this!" Sweet validation.

But when I got home I quickly assessed the situation. I could pursue this avenue, but it felt too heady. It wasn't an aspiration of mine, but the rush was fantastic. No, this was going to be a one time thing. I actually recognized the line between my own self and that false self that I could so easily become - for the attention. The 'fame' had been thrust upon me too quickly and I had a bad reaction to it! Thank God for the eyes to see what was going on, and fast.

It soon dawned on me that to sell myself out for the attention of others would be the rejection of my true self. Self-rejection! What emptiness! Better to remain anonymous and authentic than to sellout for something I can give myself anytime, anyplace.

And I'm not talking about a leather jacket.

Skiing, Kids, and Priests

Tom Crum is, among other things, a ski instructor in Aspen, Colorado. Here is an excerpt from his book, "Journey to Center."

"I was teaching a group of five-year-olds one day. 'Teaching' means jump-the-bumps with different animal sounds on the way down and belting out 'Little Bunny Foo-Foo' on the chair-lift riding back up. On one particular 'Big Bear' jump, a little pigtailed munchkin came flying off the lip making perfect redeep frog sounds. The next thing I knew, two skis complete with boots attached were racing toward me in perfect parallel, but there was no skier! Just a ghost downhiller whizzing past me and disappearing into the trees below. I looked back uphill and there was the little girl, on her back with her stockinged feet raised to the heavens, focusing happily on catching snowflakes with her tongue. Are we having fun or what?"

I LOVE that story! What a picture of pure freedom, living in the moment!

Crum again:

"When philosopher-priest Thomas Merton was a young man, he found himself eating scrambled eggs with his friends after another one of his many all-night parties of drinking, smoking, and idle talk. The gnawing desire to do something more to create value from the clutter and debris of his life suddenly broke through. An idea came to him with great clarity, and he stated, amidst the eggs, coffee, and smoke, 'You know, I think I ought to enter a monastery and become a priest.' Many of us have made similar statements under the influence of guilt or spirit. The incredible thing is that Thomas Merton put out his cigarette and did it."

"Change does not take time, it takes commitment."

Penetrating Gaze

This week I sat in a small classroom in the midst of ten students who were listening to their teacher go over their lesson for the week. With lesson books on their laps and pencils in hand they appeared absolutely willing to learn and participate. Heads up, eyes on the teacher, attentive.

Until the teacher asked a question, and paused for answers.

Down went the heads, pencils were squeezed in terror, movement ceased, and breathing paused. Stillness. The teacher's caustic eyes slowly scanned the cranium of each kid. "Well?"

Seriously, do kids really believe that invisibility occurs if they look to their laps and hold their breath in such situations? Apparently so, because, as we can attest, we've attempted the same thing over and over again, in classrooms all over the world. Some kid somewhere must have achieved transparency because we all retain hope!

It's easy. Hide your eyes. Pretend you are otherwise occupied in a studious endeavor. Fake thoughtfulness, ummmmmm......"Please please please..... do NOT pick me!" chants your silent inner voice.

Why? Why not answer the question? Because we didn't do our lesson and don't know the answer? Because we are afraid we'll look stupid, or worse, like a geek for having an answer?

Sheesh.

It got me to thinking. Don't we adult human beings do sort of the same thing when it comes to God? We, who claim to be believers in Jesus Christ, know that we live in a broken world, that we ourselves are broken, and that there is much reason to seek spiritual understanding. Yet, when we think about God's penetrating gaze upon us, we freeze, we look down, we dummy-up hoping to keep God's eyes off of us. Why?

"Busy now, God. Maybe later," is one excuse for no response.

By that we may mean that we will be busy putting him on hold for most of our lives until we experience fear when facing our mortality at which time we'll expect him to comfort us with soothing thoughts of heaven and a pain free afterlife.

Or maybe we will keep busy learning ABOUT the truth, without ever acknowledging that our lives are to be lived in the light of it. The ability to converse about God may convince us that we are his. "Just, God, don't ask anything of me. I'm busy learning about you. Don't look at me. You make me nervous."

Or maybe, just maybe we misunderstand that penetrating gaze. We think it actually does somehow miss us. Yes, it flashes right past us onto our neighbors! Thus we spend our lives ministering to our neighbors, revealing to them their sins, teaching them 'a way', when in actuality, we may be more lost than they. The blind leading the blind. "I'm busy serving you, God. I'll deflect that stern questioning look of yours. I'm sure it's meant for someone else. I'm already saved."

For God's children it is a fearsome thing to come under the gaze of the almighty God. We cringe and shrink in shame when his holiness is viewed through our sinful eyes. But we know that working out our salvation with fear and trembling requires regular inspection. And answers. For growth to continue we must look up. Avoidance will not do. Thankfully, the Father's gaze is coupled with irresistible goodness which compels true believers to lift their faces in sober response to their uncompromising Creator, no matter how unsettling the experience.

Oh, for lifelong courage to meet his gaze, to experience the hurt of the Truth as well as the relief.

"Stare on, oh loving God, your disintegrating stare. In you lie all hope and meaning."

Home

"Fight to remember what is big and important amidst all the distractions in life."

"God is very serious about what's going on in our lives, more so than we are. We get caught up in trivia, but the reality goes much deeper than the temporal life here."

"How we live now is directly linked to what we believe about the future."

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I found these quotes in my notebooks. Don't know the authors for certain, but know the sentiments to be true.

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My breath quickens as I contemplate the first quote. It's a continuing theme for me, to keep pure and on track, or to try to anyway. It's so hard! Too many distractions, some of which are disguised as 'important things.' I think it's the word FIGHT that snaps my mind to attention. Fight. Struggle. Persevere. Be determined, and even get mad.

Because as the second quote suggests, God is more serious than I am about what's going on in my life. Reality IS deeper than the nonsense that captures my awareness. But I want to be serious! So, back to the first quote; I fight for it, fight to know the truth, and fight to drink the cup of truth rather than have it sit on my table in a clean lovely glass, undisturbed. For it is not enough to know; it is everything to experience, to partake, to engage - to believe. Drink.

And I strive to live this way why? Because I know the future is BIG. It's beyond what I know here. The haze of distraction will be gone and visible at last will be the Truth we believers struggle toward. Today we are privy to bits and pieces, but there is more. Hungering, thirsting, we fight, we strain, we grope in the dark, and slowly, s l o w l y, God's finger raises the curtain of haze just a little, to allow another lying on your belly scrunching your open eye under the hem peek. Those tiny glimpses fuel the urge. I want more. No, I need more.

Home. I long for home.

Sound of Silence

"Men go abroad to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering." ~~ St. Augustine

The snow is melting after surviving a week here in the valley. Yep, it snowed last Thursday and today's sun is calling the water back up into the heavens, to go snow on some of you! Enjoy it. We sure have.



When it snows here it gets -- quiet. Pleasant, peaceful, muffled quiet.

As a hard of hearing person, I find it quizzical that I covet quiet. But I do. Quiet for me is different from quiet for those blessed with keen hearing. Hearing with my ears would sound quiet to you, it would probably be frightening. It's all I've known. Noises annoy me. Noises like traffic - grrr. And thumping, booming stereos in cars and houses. An idling car will test my temper like nothing else. I've learned how to breathe through it and stay calm. Took awhile. Never did run out the front door in my jammies waving a baseball bat with the intention of smashing the windshield, though I battled the urge enough times.

Anyway, yeah, the snow just muffled everything. Walks were peaceful because traffic was so very light. It was like walking in the woods - almost. People smiled, laughed, talked to one another. Camaraderie. Refreshing.

And quiet. I relaxed deeply like I do when we go up to the cabin.

How I enjoy my silent world at times.

There are many imperfections in the human race. Lousy hearing is only one of them. As with anyone who has a physical hardship, there is an upside. For me, it's silence, the realm of quiet, for it is there that distractions depart, thoughts flow freely, and I can contemplate deeply.

Until the neighbor starts his car in the morning, warming it up, for FORTY FIVE MINUTES.

Clive, Jewel, and JD

"God, overcome us that, so overcome, we may be ourselves." ~~ C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

"We are half-hearted creatures fooling about with drink and sex and ambitions and religious effort when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." ~~ C. S. Lewis

"Growing up is not the absence of dreaming.
It's being able to understand the difference between the dreams you can hold
and the ones that you've been sold." -- Jewel

"Dreaming won't fit in a cage." ~~ John Denver
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Imperative for me to constantly contemplate. Several, singular, and all at once.

Journal Entry - August 2001

Fresh words still evade me today. How about some old words?

In perusing a journal I've been keeping off and on for years, I found this entry which sparked a warm memory of a time in my life when something magical transpired.

This written record is unedited, unpolished, and unsophisticated. Copy and Paste. But it means the world to me.

August 17, 2001

At bedtime tonight, Cassie, referring to my prayers where I implore God to teach us to listen to Him asked, "How do you know what He's saying, Mommy? Can you HEAR a voice?"

Ah, I answered to her, God talks to me in many many ways. Sometimes through the Bible, or through other things I'm reading. Sometimes through memories or impressions or the behavior of other people. Through nature. And often, God speaks to me through the words and love of other people. "For example, Cassie, for years and years I've been lonely. I prayed to God for someone who would understand me. When I was a kid there was no one who really understood, who would let me lay my head on their shoulder and would just sit there, knowing how I felt, comforting me by their understanding."

I'd had a rough time with Tom earlier that day, and Cassie was very in tune with my struggle to sort it all out, as I sat on the big stump outside and just pondered and prayed. Tom tried to get me to "snap out of it," which is NOT what I needed. Joe asked what was wrong and was uncomfortable. No one likes it when Mom is quiet and thoughtful and unsettled.

But Cassie, after Tom went to work, came over and looked at me and sat down next to me.....right next to me. I just instinctively laid my head on her shoulder, and there was enormous comfort in that. She just sat there, knowing it was what I needed, and she offered it to me for as long as I needed. She's nine.

For decades I've prayed for someone to know me. All this time I've found my comfort in the invisible God. But I've still longed for a human's physical understanding. No, Tom doesn't do it for me. He tries. He loves me. But his efforts are often clumsy and forced. He, like a lot of men, doesn't know how to just be there and to listen, how to express himself. He just wants me well and back in control. Sometimes I just need to be a mess. And for the first time in my life, someone, Cassie, let me be a mess, without words, and I drew strength from her.

Well, as I continued answering her question about God's voice, I told her how God used her that day to speak His love and comfort to me. You should have seen her precious face! She appeared surprised, and honored, and it was as if she knew she'd entered into the holy, on God's behalf. We hugged and I tucked her in and we kissed, and I turned out the light. Caroline had fallen asleep already, breathing peacefully and heavily.

I went in to get dressed for bed myself, feeling really warm and loved and I was praying, thanking God for those little girls, and for the boys and for Tom and for how we all fit together and how we all are part of the plan for each other and for God. Cassie came in, softly, after knocking.

"Mommy, I was just thinking about what you said. Mommy, I was thinking how the thing that you never had when you were a girl, is the thing you have the most of now, and the thing that you give to all of us."

Her face didn't look like the face of a nine year old at that moment. It was the face of a messenger of God. We hugged. We transcended time and space, in that moment. We were kindred spirits, not a mother and daughter, a 45 year old and a 9 year old. We were creatures of God, meant for each other and for God, and it was beautiful. I told her that perhaps because I had a hole in my heart it made me a better Mommy, because I sure didn't want MY kids to ever have to feel that awful empty feeling. I told her I remember vividly how it feels to be a kid. I told her how I'd prayed for decades for someone to understand, and that I realize now, that she, my little Cassie, is the answer to that oft-repeated prayer!

At last, I have someone who understands! Someone who thinks as I do. I am nine again, and I can start all over, this time without the emptiness.

Never ever believe that God doesn't hear your prayers. He listens, and His timing is perfect. And the answers you await for your whole life appear quietly, on a summer's day, in the midst of the world's busyness, during the separate struggles of a mother and a daughter. Those answers appear, as we listen and make room.

Thank God for your struggles! They are the means for your heart to open up and listen and search intently, and they are the bearers of great blessing. Give them time.

January 2007 - Nuttin' Much to Say

Sam's got the right idea!

My inner child begs my outer adult to follow the pup's example.

Always honor the inner child.....

Heavy-lidded yawning carefree January.