You're Fired

So, did you come back to hear about the day I fired my friend? We'll call her Penelope. I had known Penelope for years, met her in school. This was one of those very few people that I did stay in touch with post graduation. Penelope was really the one who stayed in touch, I was as antisocial then as I am now. But she was energetic and talkative and her phone calls kept us connected. We stayed in the same area so we got married within a year of one another and became a "couples" friendship. Penelope and I talked daily. Spent lots of time together as two young moms with a lot in common.
One of the things we did not have in common was that I was in a painful marriage and as far as I knew, she was not. This made me that much more grateful for her presence in my life, someone who was MY friend. Someone who wanted to spend time with me.
The truth is, I was selfish where Penelope was concerned. Because I didn't particularly like her. I didn't particularly want to be best friends, I just didn't want to feel entirely alone in the world. I wanted something normal in my life, something that was pleasant and during the play dates with our children I could pretend that my life was fun and easy and healthy.
Penelope did some things in my life that in hindsight I suspect were intentionally hurtful. I have my theories for this but it isn't really important. I was using her and she was using me; each for our own agendas. Having been friends for so many years, she fit easily in with my family and other friends. She was in the end a part of every aspect of my life. It was about this time that the Lord healed my marriage and the veil dropped from my eyes about a lot of things. There was a lot of responsibility for me to take in the hurts I had endured. It was time to grow up and use some wisdom instead of blaming other people for my problems and then expecting other people to fix those problems. I slid into the driver's seat and it seemed that Penelope was not willing to give up control.
The subtle things that she did became more apparent. There was a time when I would occasionally wonder at her motivation or I would be irritated with her but blame myself for being unkind. The stronger and more self-assured I became though, the uglier things got with Penelope. She wasn't celebrating my new life.
Just before God touched us, I finally came out into the open with just a few trusted people about our problems. I was desperate for prayer and help and Penelope was one of the people who I invited to sit in my living room while I exposed my wounds and my marriage. She was, as I knew she would be, compassionate and gentle with me.
Then within a few days someone heard her telling everyone about my marital problems. About my deepest secrets.
Not long after, I noticed these people starting to look at me differently. There was an obvious dislike directed at me from people I barely knew. Eventually, it was an all-out assault on my reputation and character with Penelope smiling sweetly and claiming ignorance.
That was when I fired my friend. I was so angry I could barely speak and I let her know it. I was so embarrassed I didn't want to show my face. There was no one in my life that Penelope wasn't connected to and I wondered how deep her damage to me had gone. I didn't know what to do and I prayed that she would just move on. It didn't happen.
Through all of this she was still calling me every day and pretending that I had turned on her. Well, in truth I had. I was avoiding her in my anger but not doing it quietly. In a way, I added fuel to the flames of her stories of my flaws.
Finally during one of her regular phone calls, I fired her. I told her that she was no longer welcome in my life or in my home. I told her that the only option I could see to combat the rumors she was spreading was to completely withdraw from her and respond that I had nothing to do with her. She tried to debate me with me but I finally told her that the only way I could avoid hating her was to not be in a relationship with her. I still heard stories of Penelope's version of what happened and who I was. But it was such a relief to break that relationship that I scarcely cared. I was free.
Several years later, I ran into Penelope on day. We caught up politely on what had happened in our lives. Some bad things had happened to her and I was truly sorry. Some good things had happened and I was truly glad. She said we should get together for lunch. I declined. I told her it was just better to keep doing what worked, and the distance worked. I wished her well and hugged her good bye.
So I don't regret firing my friend. Sometimes, the other person is to blame. Sometimes, the other person isn't out for our best interest and God provides a way out when he knows there is no cure. We need to stop wrestling with toxic relationships and let God sort us out. Sometimes we need to hang in there and fulfill his purpose. Sometimes we need to apologize and change. Sometimes the other person will finally find grace in our patience.
And sometimes, God says, "Go."
Go be happy. We can do this knowing that even the ones we left behind, he continues to follow. Let him take it from here.

Thank You For Being A Friend

I have had to fire a friend. It has been a while ago now, and I don't regret it. It was a difficult decision but the right one.
I think in the first part of life we make friends based on availability more than compatibility. Most kids in the first few week of kindergarten have a "best friend." Probably someone of the same gender in the same class. Someone who is there for recess and lunch time. Maybe even someone that actually lives within blocks but in your five year old life, you hadn't ventured that far. Most of our friendships progress along similar lines, school mates, kids we go to church with, the children of our parent's friends. If you are very fortunate, you and your friend will grow into a true friendship based on true devotion to one another and your shared experience. Other friendships will simply drift apart without anyone really ending it. You'll bump into each other in the mall and be happy to spend five minutes catching up with your former "best friend."
In the early days of learning to be friends, we think these friends will be with us forever. We swear eternal loyalty and infinite trust. And we mean it. I had many wonderful relationships in high school with people I really did love at the time. I laughed with them and looked forward to every day to just be with them. The day after graduation I never saw most of them again. Twenty three years after graduation I don't see any of them. I couldn't even tell you where they live, if they ever married or if they died between then and now. They were there; in my Algebra class, on the same lunch period, riding the school bus or trying to be invisible with me during gym. But when Algebra, cafeterias, school buses and dodge ball ended we had no further reason to be together.
On the other hand, some of us have had the same friends for almost our entire lives. My friend Sue is still close to the five girls she grew up in school with. My sister keeps in touch with some of the kids from her youth. My best friend in kindergarten through second grade was Dawn. I haven't talked to Dawn in years but we reconnected when she was a bridesmaid in my wedding and I know I could track her down today if I needed to. It is one of those friendships that drifted apart gently and without hard feelings.
And then there is the friend I fired.

Here Is The Church...

My new old home is within blocks of the old Henry Ford homes. These are wonderful old houses built by Mr. Ford for his employees years and years ago. I think that the Ford influence goes beyond the blocks he actually claimed. Our new old house is just a bungalow, not a Ford home like the one shown here. But I can feel the old fashioned neighborhood feel along the street where I live.
The other day I was taking a short cut home from Target when I noticed a little brick church tucked back into the trees of the Ford neighborhood. It was Village Baptist Church, and it doesn't have a web site that I can find. It looked sweet there, perfect in the old Ford neighborhood. I had a strange impulse then, that I want to go to Village Baptist Church. I am not Baptist, have never attended a Baptist church as a regular member. Although brothers and sisters in Christ, there are some differences between "their" beliefs and "our" beliefs and here and there has even been some animosity. Shame on us.
Today I attend a nondenominational modern church. We gather in a converted grocery store under spot lights and smoke machines and worship to modern rock with lyrics on big screens. We have a Panera-esque cafe and a book store. It is many things but quaint is not one. So why this draw to Village Baptist Church all of a sudden?
As I drove on past I thought about it. It seems like it would be comfortable and familiar to me. I bet I'd know most of the hymns and I can imagine sermons that might remind me childhood. Nothing modern inside those walls I bet. After all, no website and no cafe. Church was long over when I drove past but I picture ladies in Sunday best and men in suits walking under the old trees on sunshiny Sunday mornings with Bibles in hand. In the modern world where I live, I guess I convinced myself I could step inside of a Norman Rockwell painting at Village Baptist Church.
For twenty years I'd have debated the finer points of theology and questioned what ministries the church offered. Were they active in overseas missions? What kind of youth ministry? Do they reach out to the disenfranchised? The homeless, mentally ill, AIDs victims? This front-line kind of church has been a part of my life for a long time. Little steepled churches in old fashioned neighborhoods aren't likely to be aggressive in their approach to kingdom work. At least, not the way that draws attention and makes you feel like you're really doing something significant.
I imagine little steepled churches in old fashioned neighborhoods probably open their doors on Sunday mornings with organ music and a pastor in a three piece suit reading from a King James Bible. I bet there's a board somewhere showing where the missionaries are waiting for the offerings of the congregation so that they can teach far away people about Jesus. Maybe in the basement, four or five little ones are sitting around a flannel board learning about Jonah and the Big Fish.
I've been a gospel snob. I've looked down my nose at "Sunday morning Christians." I've attached myself to one or two or five "ministries" in my church as a show of my commitment to the work of God. But today I'm wondering again about a church like Village Baptist Church.
I don't have any idea what it's like in there. If I were to drop in, I might very well high-tail it out of there and regret my flights of fancy. Right now, though, I'm wondering....when did we decide that only the church ministers? What if I go to the Village Baptist Church to sing old hymns to an organ and listen to familiar passages from a preacher to fill up the parts of my soul that are hungry for quiet and comfortable church.
Can't I still love and help and minister even if it isn't official?
Maybe we all need to take a moment to consider that Jesus didn't put a clipboard at the welcome desk to organize outreach. He went to the Temple to be filled and to the streets to be poured out.
I might just dust off my big old fashioned King James Bible and drop by a little steepled church in an old fashioned neighborhood.

Pic: One of the Ford homes not far from my new old house.

Out of Egypt

I've just finished reading "Out of Egypt, Christ the Lord" by Ann Rice. A good friend lent me the book a few days ago and being a loaner, I wanted to finish it quickly so I could return it quickly. I was a bit skeptical about being as enthralled as he was with the novel about the life of Christ. I half hoped to be thrilled, half expected to be offended.
I was raised in the Assemblies of God under strict Christian conservatism. I was taught holiness and the importance of man's pursuit of it; and the reality that we will always fail in its achievement. In the frailty of trying to put mortal minds to divine ideas; much like the Pharisees I think we attached a lot of laws to act as our safety nets. Some would say we were self-righteous to which there is probably some truth. But I never saw us as that, just as people who really wanted to please God. Somehow the best way we seemed to be able to try to attain this pleasing of God was to avoid displeasing him. Then came the rules, the Law for the modern church. No drinking, smoking, swearing, divorcing, dancing, secular music, movies, amusement parks, and if you were really serious, no women wearing pants. Certainly not to any church function. We all had at least one pair of culottes worn to the Sunday School picnic every year.
We were trying with sincerity to be holy.
I stayed within this purpose for most of my life and today do not entirely turn my back on those precepts I once embraced. I no longer believe the consumption of alcohol will sentence you to hell. I have also not broken my own childhood vow to never taste alcohol. I have never smoked. It does not seem so much a sin now as just stupid. I like to dance and always have. Movies are a tricky thing. Like most of man's designs, movies can be used for everything thing from inspiration to depravity. We, in the old days, must not have trusted ourselves to know the difference so we just avoided the thing altogether. Now most of us do watch movies (VCRs made this a little easier, nobody would catch you!). And I suspect most of us watch movies we should not. I still wonder if we were better off to turn away from the things we could not be trusted with.
Today I have moved away from the Assemblies of God. Not in a stand against them so much as a leading to a new place. I have tried, by trial and error, to hold tight to the teachings that God requires of me with the courage to examine the things I only knew to be true by the mouths of men. It sometimes seems to be a tight rope. We are called to be holy, this I know. We are not able, this I know. Still, we must reach after God to guide us toward the unreachable and to cover in us what remains blemished.
I find myself now in a more personal and less afraid relationship with God. I am aware of him continually and still learning to live in constant worship. I do not care about the things that used to matter. I am not offended by people's sins, my own being quite enough to keep me busy.
I have found a new heart to hurt for people who I once judged. Yes, I judged them. Never in those words, but the spirit of the thing was the same. It said I am closer to holy than you because _________________________.
Closer to holy or closer to God? Or did I ever understand what either of these meant outside of my own actions? I spent many moments trying to redeem myself through obedient hands and a distant heart.
So I read "Out of Egypt" over the last few days almost afraid that it might displease God. This woman had written some pretty offensive material. Her own explanation of her faith walk was at odds with even my growth into faith and grace beyond Law. But I read it.
I do not write this to recommend this book to you or to turn you away. Like my own walk with Christ, it must come of your understanding today or tomorrow what you should do. But what I did find within these pages was a little shove toward a more personal Christ. Through fictional moments that might have happened in the life of Jesus at seven years old, I found a little more of my Jesus. Through the Psalms sung by the family of Christ I found a voice to worship as the Hebrews might have done, as David had done.
Is it blasphemy to read about a little boy Jesus raising the dead "acccidentally" or causing snowfall with his imagination? I thought it might be, the Bible being enough and all that needs to be said on such matters.
I did not learn about a different Jesus in this book. I did not change my thoughts about holiness or sin; law or grace. But I spent two days fully immersed in God among us. I have to think that at the turn of the final page, for me, it was time well spent.

A-Peeling

Maybe next I can teach him to peel oranges?

My Gramma's Dead Dogwood

There is a Christian legend of unknown origin that proclaims that the cross used to crucify Jesus was constructed of dogwood.[3] As the story goes, during the time of Jesus, the dogwood was larger and stronger than it is today and was the largest tree in the area of Jerusalem. After his crucifixion, Jesus changed the plant to its current form: he shortened it and twisted its branches to assure an end to its use for the construction of crosses. He also transformed its inflorescence into a representation of the crucifixion itself, with the four white bracts cross-shaped, which represent the four corners of the cross, each bearing a rusty indentation as of a nail and the red stamens of the flower, represents Jesus' crown of thorns, and the clustered red fruit represent his blood.

However, Like the "The Cherry-Tree Carol", it is unlikely to have any factual bases because the modern dogwood is typically too small and twisted in trunk and branch for such a task as cross construction, although the point of the story is that it isn't good for cross construction anymore.[4] (Wikepedia)

My gramma was impossible to buy for. Truly she was. When gift-giving occasions drew near, my mom, sister and I would race to Hudson's to buy her a box of Godiva chocolates. This was the gift with the greatest probability to please her. She had very specific taste, generally high end. She was not frivolous so costume jewelry and the like (which thrill me) did not amuse her. Being, shall we say, blunt (glad I'm not); she didn't mind pointing out what any individual gift lacked. She might even hand it back to you.
So a few years back, my mom and my Uncle Bob purchased my gramma a dogwood tree for her yard. Its delicate flowers sure to please her delicate sensibilities. A tree is anything but frivolous and it would adorn her yard and give her years of pleasure. And she liked it! After that we all wanted to buy her trees for holidays but how many trees could she really use? Drat!
As my gramma grew older and so did I, I became less aware of her yard and more aware of her decline and I didn't take much notice of the dogwood. Then this year, after my gramma passed, my mom and I were walking down the drive when she said that the dogwood was surely dead. It was gray and dry looking. Even as the rest of the yard was returning to life, it stood in place with no growth and no signs of life. I am not sure when it stopped leafing out. Probably a few years back. But this year, my mom proclaimed it dead and I seconded the motion. After a thoughts of cutting it down and wondering if I should plant something else there, I decided to leave it. There is a slab of cement right in front of it where my grampa's birdbath always sat. I decided I'd put a birdbath there again and that I'd hang a few bird feeders from its dead gray branches. I thought it would be kind of pretty.
Then on Saturday morning I noticed what might appear to be grayish green buds at the tips of the branches. I took a bit of a closer look but being not so much a yard person and lacking my grandparents' expertise, I didn't know if this was new growth or old buds that never made it during the tree's last season. The rain fell much of Saturday afternoon. Glancing out the window to see what Donny was up to, the dogwood danced in the corner of my eye. Pale green, pink and white pushing from the gray branches of the dead dogwood.
I took some pictures to send to my mom and put in the subject line, "gramma's dead dogwood." I picture her crying as she looks at the delicate little tree she and her brother hoped would please their aging mother. The tree that she pronounced dead with the sigh that defines the way she talks out loud about cleaning out the house, remembering the times we spent there and knowing that it is time to move forward.
I wrote to my mom that even if the dead dogwood only blooms for one more season, it is enough for me. My mom and I have relived my gramma's decline and how sad it made us to see her so sick. How it was a reason to celebrate to know that she is whole.
The dead dogwood may or may not be a miracle. Maybe my mom was wrong. Maybe it bloomed the same way last year or maybe it hasn't bloomed in five years. I really don't know. What I do know is that when I glanced out my gramma's bedroom window I saw the same beautiful delicate tree that she saw. And I laughed out loud as I grabbed my camera.
I cried when I took the pictures. But somewhere in heaven, I am sure my gramma was giggling.
Why should I be so surprised at life pushing through death?

May 4, 2008

Isaiah 45:8 You heavens above, rain down righteousness, let the clouds shower it down.Let the earth open wide,let salvation spring up, let righteousness grow with it I, the LORD, have created it.


Pic: Grampa's mystery sprouts; week four.

Ten Things

1. Overcast and a little warmer, typical Michigan Spring day.
2. Got a Sam's Club membership this week, might go use it.
3. Long work week, glad it's over!
4. My hair is in between short enough to be easy to style but not long enough for a pony. In other words, high maintenance. The worst.
5. Finally cleaned the interior of my car.
6. Today, car wash, despite the sprinkles. It has to be done.
7. Have three movies to watch and plan on being home and relaxing with an iced tea doing just that by late afternoon.
8. Recently suspecting someone that I thought was very honest may not be. I am not offended but rather interested in this new insight.
9. Nurse's week is next week, just thought I'd mention it. ;)
10. Had a busy Sunday last week so here are Grampa's mystery buds week three. Will post week four tomorrow. And a smaller patch sprouted last week as well. Still no flowers. Maybe they are just rather dignified looking weeds?

Wabbits

When Donny first came home to live with us, we bought him a doggy toy. It was a fleece stuffed animal that he carried around and snuggled up to go to sleep with. Puppy teething came along and his "fuzzy" didn't survive the massacre. So we bought him another one. Fuzzy number two met a similar fate. Behold, fuzzy number three, aka the wabbit.
The wabbit had been sitting on my shelf for a few years. The Mr. bought it for me on day in one of those donate to this cause and get this bunny campaigns. So some orphans got some books and I got a white stuffed rabbit. After fuzzies number one and two went to fuzzy heaven, I turned my rabbit over to Donny and it became his wabbit. It was one of those stuffed animals that is weighted with these pebbly looking things. Having seen the effects of puppy teething, I cut a small whole in the wabbit and drained his backside of his pebble innards to save myself a messy clean-up. Over time I have also grabbed the wabbit when I noticed a tear here and there and removed the stuffing from him. Today the wabbit is pretty much a floppy furry shell of his former self. But Donny loves him. He carries him between our house and other destinations in the car and when he can, sneaks him outside. When Donny is kenneled in the mornings, in goes wabbit with him. When we come home, there Donny sits with wabbit still in his mouth. You'd think he'd have dry mouth.
Is there anything in your life that no one else would value but never ceases to give you comfort when you hold it, look at it and think about it?
Tell me what wabbits you hold when you just need a little comfort.

Deflated & Drifting

Ironic for someone of my continuous battle with the bulge to say, but today I found myself asking God to re-inflate me. Spiritually.
As you can see from my life verse, I truly believe in the promise of seasons. I don't really feel that any situation or idea is a promise (or a sentence) of forever. So when life ebbs and flows, I really try to flow right along with it, patiently awaiting the next season. For me, this is just an expression in my faith that ultimately God holds it all and His consistency is all I really need.
Back to me being deflated. Don't think that is some metaphor for depression or disappointment or disillusionment. I've been all three, but not lately. No, it is more of me feeling distanced from some of the personality traits that have often defined my spirituality. I have worried here and there that this shift in me might represent a drift from God. I didn't know how to interpret this down-time of mine. The weird thing is that I didn't feel convicted or uncomfortable in the drift. It has been gentle and soothing. Almost a relaxing of my spirit. Truly, like drifting down a river on a warm soft raft. Nothing pulling at me or demanding my attention spiritually speaking. I haven't taught anything faith-based since last summer, haven't counseled since last fall. Not in any official capacity. The last time I spoke I felt a forced-ness, an unnaturalness and the ugly mortifying realization that I had made no sense. For those of you familiar with Christian-speak; I felt no anointing. So I decided driving home that night, that's it for me. Clearly my time for teaching was a season and I was more than willing to leave the season behind if the alternative was this embarrassing display of babbling. And you know what? I have not missed teaching or speaking for a single moment. I have not missed counseling. I have felt liberated. Drifting without a destination. I've liked it.
This month marks a year since some people I love started down a painful path. I won't say I felt their pain with them, but I attempted to share some of the weight when I could. I don't believe I actually relieved them of anything in the end. But I knew then that I was anointed. I was driven by God. It was intense twenty four hours a day for my heart and I think I may have temporarily emptied myself out. It was just a month after God stepped me back and away from the situation that I had the ill-fated speaking engagement. Laying in bed that night I had the strangest thought, did I empty myself out once and for all? Maybe I had a limited store of knowledge and wisdom and using it so doggedly for those months had finished me. I found myself thinking, "Huh., I think I'm through."
Not wanting to direct the attention to myself and my own grief related to my friends, I pushed through and just quietly starting shutting down Ministry Sara. I felt like a rag doll and yes, now and again the devil tells me that I am a failure because I couldn't see them through. I have felt like the person who was supposed to throw out the life preserver and somehow I missed. I have drifted away from the teacher and counselor I've been for so long.
Now you might think I'm painting a picture of martyrdom and that is not true. I know most of the time that I followed God's call and the rest is left to others. I do not blame myself for my friends pain. I am honored to have been allowed to walk with them through dark days. And a year later, I love them more than before.
So I've just been drifting for a long while now. I've had to redirect my energy to my grandmother's illness and then her death. Arlene's illness and passing consumed my heart. I have started a new job that requires lots of new learning and long hours. I have moved into this new old house and invested my heart in other places. Places of no ministry. Places that reflected in and in and in.
Maybe I got selfish but it has felt good. I have not made myself teach a Lifegroup or even dragged myself to church when it seemed like I was enveloped in peace on my own couch. I have excused myself from dramas and battles and gone to sleep with not a thought in my head. Yeah, I've turned in.
Then Jada's Gigi commented the other day about "freedom in Christ" related to my shameful church-skipping and I cannot tell you the joy and revelation that she brought to me. I have not drifted from Christ, I've been free. Free to believe I'm safely in God's hands and that He is not tapping his foot waiting for me to teach a Bible study. I have been on sabbatical. I have spent all of these months enjoying freedom, the freedom of God. That is why when I wondered if I was sliding away (backwards no less); I never really felt that my drift had gone that far. I have been the one who needed a life raft. God placed me on a gentle sea and held the rope so that I would not drift too far.
I still don't have any desire to teach or counsel. Maybe that was a season that is truly gone. If so, that's ok. I won't mourn it. I have ministered and been exhausted in the same breath. Now I am quiet and joyful. I don't think either are mutually exclusive but I'm good with where this season has me.
I am like a balloon that has been, at times, over-inflated. When I am full and floating I look like I am at my best, that I am fulfilling my purpose. For several months I have slowly let the air out and been deflated and still.
While I thought I had left ministry behind, I was being ministered to by God. In all the personal ways that bring me peace, He has ministered just to me.
I am ready to be re-inflated now. Refilled and renewed. If I am truthful, I think I deflated a while ago and God has been breathing life back into me. I won't grasp after what I want that to look like anymore. I'll just greet the day of the season I'm given with faith in the promise of Life.
I am ready to breathe deep and discover tomorrow.

Romans 8:20-21 For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

Floored

Click.
Do you see this woman? She told me something today as I leafed through "Cottage Living" magazine. You see, she was on the inside back flap wanting to sell me Quick Step flooring. Only she wasn't telling me about the floors today. She called me fat. Fat and stupid actually. But I think she meant well.
My weight is creeping in the wrong direction again, up. I started dieting on April 1, 2002 and I would call myself successful. Success for me is measured in days and not pounds at this point. I reached my "goal" weight a few years back which I maintained for a long time motivated by the numbers on the scale and the tag on my jeans. In order to maintain this ideal weight (according to Weight Watcher standards); I had to eat very very little. But I was ok with that because the numbers were pretty. After a while though, I started to wonder if it had been long enough for me to trust myself to eat without counting every calorie and point and even to let my weight settle somewhere healthy even if it wasn't necessarily "ideal." Again, I would call myself successful. Yes, I settled about ten pounds higher than Florine Mark prescribed and so that sort of put me in the Lifetime Member penalty box. I was about one size bigger and decided that it was acceptable. The new challenge is now to be aware and healthy and not take advantage of this new freedom and become a size twenty six again. Or, frankly, a size fourteen. Size fourteen is the cut-off for me personally, the point when I seriously need to lose weight. That's just me; please do not feel that I'm out there hunting for size fourteens to judge overweight.
This remains for me a bit of a tight wire act. I settle in and then start to creep a bit too high. Time to reign it back. I've yet to wake up to that glorious day when I've inadvertently gotten too skinny.
So this woman with the beautiful laminate floor. What drew me to her? Her shoes. Look closely, in the middle of that floor are a pair of black high heeled sandals. I looked at this picture and thought, "My feet would be killing me if I wore those shoes to work." You see, I had assumed the woman had just gotten in from work, kicked off her stilettos and reclined to listen to some smooth jazz floating in a sea of perfect fake hard wood flooring.
And this is what she told me...
Why don't you try something, anything, other than food to unwind with. I have heard this before in terms of taking a walk, working out, scrap booking. All things that seemed a misery to me. After work is my absolute pig-out moment. I don't want to wait for dinner and it's not because I am necessarily so hungry or a piece of fruit or salad would take care of it. It's a method to calm down and relax. Food is my evening cocktail.
And it's having an ugly effect on my own tail.
Now I'm thinking, hmmm. Maybe I too, could quiet down with some music. Maybe I could take a little snooze before making dinner. Maybe I could read for a while. I know that none of this seems like tremendous insight. But this woman with the smooth jazz piano keys floating over her head and her cute little dress looks relaxed and thin.
I don't know. It's just an idea not yet tested. Maybe I need to take a lesson from this person.
Clearly, what has been missing all long in my struggle with food has been...
a laminate floor.

You Might Be Surprised To Know

1. That my husband is stronger-willed and more secure than I am.
2. That I have not called off work in one year as of this month.
3. That my car is an absolute pig pen.
4. That I watch two rerun episodes of The King of Queens every evening.
5. That I bought a murder mystery book this week and before I finished the first chapter, I thought "this is really a downer, I need something uplifting to read."
6. That I love Netflix.
7. That I spent hours raking my lawn.
8. That I am sure I'm good at my job.
9. That my dirty little secret pleasure is skipping church on Sunday mornings to watch old movies in a quiet, empty house.
10.That I cannot stand David Archawhoozits on American Idol.

Through My Window

Well, today is birthday number forty one and I've been thinking all morning about something profound to write.
It is overcast today but promising to warm up into the seventies which, for my birthday, is pretty warm. We need the rain so I say bring it on. After three weeks and many hours of raking this old new yard, the lawn is greening up and looking pretty and just two days ago the leaves on the trees appeared. I never used to be so aware of the day the leaves appeared or the growth of perennials a day at a time but I am more attuned now and I find it fills me with a sense of blessing and joy to know how to find the fingerprints of God on average days.
I am sitting in my future office, my computer facing the window which looks out over the back yard. There's Donny sniffing around for something that seems very important. He sneaked his bunny into the yard last night so this morning he dragged it inside wet and smelly from the overnight sprinkles. Into the washer it went to his dismay. I think he preferred the stinky bunny.
From here I can also see my grampa's grape vines. As a kid I'd eat the green sour grapes unwashed as I walked under the canopy of leaves. In the last several years it has ceased to produce grapes, obviously my grampa pruned it in his daily care of the yard although I don't recall ever seeing him do so. That brings me to another point of happiness, my cousin Tom. Tom is Trish's husband, you'll see her blog to your right. Tom is the son of my gramma's sister. Got that? We have always been close to these cousins on the Hungarian side of the family. I have always felt deeply loved by Tom and Trish and their daughters were in my wedding twenty two years ago and would be again today. Tom painted this house after my gramma's death and the very paint on the walls feels like a gift from him when I walk through these rooms. When I came over to see the progress, he seemed to feel honored to work in my grandparent's house. He understands this house too.
So back to the grapevines outside my window this morning. I mentioned that I'd like to bring them back to life but I was afraid to work on them not knowing what I'm doing. To no one's surprise, Trish said Tom could prune them. And so I came home from work to find the brown vines trimmed and pruned and a pile of dead vines that had been choking back the fruit. And once again, Tom has convinced me that he did not come here to work but to love and minister to us. Us being my grandparents, my parents, all of us.
We are the grapevine outside my window. Intertwined and flourishing in our day. Thickened and unproductive in quieter years. God has pruned away the vines that have served their purpose and left what seems like just a few to grow deeper roots and bring forth the next harvest. The grape arbor seems stark outside of my window with so many vines now missing. But it does not make me sad to see it. I know from seasons past that it will fill in with healthy new growth and it will flourish again. Some vines are many years old and once touched by my grampa. Some vines have come to be since his death that he has never seen. And someday vines will curl up the wires of the arbor that I will never see. All bearing the handiwork of loving hands and God's purpose.
So this is my birthday. Very likely the half-way mark of my mortality. I too have been pruned to reveal what more I can be by loving hands.
I too am intertwined, my branches among so many others and inseparable at the root.

John 15:1-3 I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.

Marches On

On Saturday morning, the day of the April Birthdaypalooza, the Mr. rolled over, kissed me on the forehead and said, "You're beautiful." And I agreed.
Not that I agreed in the literal sense of about to be crowned Mrs. America beautiful. But I felt beautiful to him and now, that is not just enough but it's everything. I don't think any longer when he calls me "Beautiful" that it's an empty word or a compliment born of pity. He sees me beautiful. He makes me beautiful.
Ever the insister of reality, as we snuggled up talking about the busy day to come, I looked at his face just inches from mine. Sleepy eyes and tousled hair so familiar to me and still so sweet. And I thought, "Man, are we old." Those sleepy eyes are wrinkly around the corners and that tousled hair is becoming more salt than pepper. I kept these facts to myself though. I figured the "beautiful" statement was better left to ring in the morning air.
In just the last five years or so, I have become no longer the youngest one in the room at work. I look around and see lots of prettier faces and sexier bodies. I nearly shouted for joy when belly shirts went "out" and longer shirts with empire waists came "in." I now use Gold Bond lotion on my face at night during the winter because it is so dry. Seriously. Same for my hands. In my twenties I never wore foundation. Now I have an arsenal of sunscreens, lotions, potions and powders.
I've no doubt under my highlights and lowlights I now sport gray lights.
I have had moments of fleeting panic for as long as I could remember dreading the inevitable. Daboyz growing up, my grandparents passing, my parents and my husband growing older. What will I do if/when...?
The only comfort the Lord ever offered me in those days was that when it came along, I'd be ready. So far, this has been true.
Time refuses to wait for my mind to catch up to its handiwork. And so I wake up in the mornings now to a middle-aged man with crow's feet who was once a seventeen year old boy with braces. And the girl in the red strapless prom gown has gray hair.
And the threat of time has become the gift of time.
And we are beautiful.

Psalm 102:27 & 28 But you remain the same,and your years will never end. The children of your servants will live in your presence; their descendants will be established before you.

He Did A Bad Bad Thing

So as I'm walking in to the family room in the morning, this is what I find. Later in the same day, the mystery of the disappearing landscaping trim is solved. Good thing he's cute.

Little Lewiston

One of the pleasures of our new old home is the yard. My grampa was a genius in the yard and you could be sure to find him outside working during any warm day if you dropped by. Then around 3:00 he would leave his dirty tennies on the deck and come in to shower downstairs. The yard is a largish lot and in his days of care-taking, it was breath-taking. Or maybe just we who loved it found it so. It was never a fussy yard. In fact, the front yard has always been trim and neat and honestly, nondescript. The back was lush and green. Never formal but somehow extravagant-feeling anyway. Hedges ran down every fence offering a buffer to the neighboring yards without appearing to be there for privacy's sake. A tree next to the deck not only blocked the yard next door but was such a pretty sight you didn't really think that there were stranger's just feet beyond it. On the far side of the yard, more hedges ran the length but they were trimmed casually. They appeared to have simply grown up in their places with soft limbs hanging low but never growing wild. Perennial bulbs were placed here and there (note my ongoing photo gallery of Grampa's Mystery Buds) along the back hedge without a specific plan. Again, they seemed to have simply sprouted from where God might have placed them, rolling them from his fingertips as he walked by one evening.
Large trees from which a wooden swing hung when we were small. The cement rooster and chick from The Farm's yard pulled out every Spring and put unceremoniously under the tree nearest the garage where you'd always notice it when you pulled in but never really paid attention to it. From those tree branches also hung a number of bird feeders filled daily with seed and in the distance, a bird house high on a pole where nests were built and babies squeaked every spring.
Around the deck would hang heavy glorious baskets of flowers. Usually petunias in every vibrant color and no particular plan except to serve as a banner around us while we sat on the deck as my Grampa drank ice water and rested from his work.
It was an easy-seeming yard although it grew from the constant attention of my Grampa. It seems he just loved the labor of it and the result reflected the man that he was, a farm boy. Unsophisticated and easily amused with silly jokes. Informal and perfectionist all in one. The yard just reflected him. Unplanned it seemed and yet a prettier yard I've yet to find.
Now it is our turn to care for this yard. After he passed, lawn companies took over the work for my gramma. She liked simplicity and clean lines. And so the unruly hedges were removed because their maintenance was too much if they were to be kept to her high standards. The baskets of flowers around the deck never appeared again after the summer my Grampa passed. The tree next to the deck is no longer there and I can't remember when it came down. The landscapers didn't clear out around the hedges to look for the willy-nilly perennials and so they didn't bloom out in the open. I imagine that only a few of us understand the magic of this yard and what it was meant to be. I understand the intentional unintentionally lush green of it and how it somehow smelled like The Farm and how the same breezes have blown for forty years over my life from there to here. The cool sweet air surrounded me then and hovers at the edges of the chain link fence waiting to swirl around me again. I feel the yard waiting to wake up to play again like it did with my Grampa.
I've never been a yard person and the Mr. is even less of one. And despite his love for my Grampa and for me, he cannot understand what the breeze and the trees are hoping to be again. Only a very few of us understand that this is a sacred place. So I tell him what needs doing as I quiet myself and listen for what I used to know. And I walk around the edges as my Gramma did looking at every corner and understanding every leaf. And I work in the sunshine trying to recreate details that looked accidental when my Grampa's hands were at work. And I take my shoes off on the deck at around 3:00 and come inside to shower and have dinner.
And it is working. Those very few of us who understand see the color of the grass and the willy-nilly perennials and feel the breeze begin to laugh and dance again. We know that Grampa's yard is waking up. It reaches up to cradle us and soothe us. It draws us all, I think, my sister and my parents and my cousins who walked on the cool grass while my grampa sat in old iron lawn chairs admiring the trees. We want to be here when the temperatures start to climb and we are drawn to baskets of petunias. I see my father sitting on the deck with a cup of coffee and feel his spirit breathing deep. I see my mom watching quietly from a lawn chair as another generation runs on the lawn. I see my sister as she looks at the sturdy beams of the deck and remembers my grampa's hands hard at work building it.
It is our Israel and our Eden. It is our homeland and our inheritance. Not just bricks and mortar and an address. Deep and nourishing to the few of us who understand, my Grampa's yard is coming back to life and teaching us all again to live.

"Little Lewiston" refers to what we've nicknamed the yard. My parent's cottage is in Lewiston and it symbolizes "The Farm" of my children's boyhood. It is the ultimate honor to have them equate this place with Lewiston and speaks of four generations breathing in the goodness of the land. Jay, being a man of letters, has also referred to this placed as C.S. Lewiston.

Where Is The Little Boy I Carried?

Oh, he's in the basement apparently. Empty nest indeed.

April 20, 2008

Job 17:9 Nevertheless, the righteous will hold to their ways,
and those with clean hands will grow stronger.

Click here for a peek at the April Birthday Bash '08!

Pic: Grampa's mystery buds Week 2.

Saturday In The Park

1. Yellow flower bush whose name I do not know flowered while I slept.
2. Sat on the deck drinking coffee playing fetch with Donny.
3. Birthday party today for our April birthday bunch (Dad, Me, B Girl)
4. 72 degrees promised!!
5. Soooooooo happy for a day off!
6. The Mr. wacked me in the nose while I slept. Just thought I'd mention that.
7. Utterly relaxed.
8. Gonna grill hot dogs.
9. Donny going to the beauty parlor this morning, I mean barber shop.
10. Time to get moving! Happy Saturday!

Or Under Wire?

Job advice overheard today:
"Why can't you just strap the sisters into an appropriate device and dress like a professional already?"

Smooth Operator

Donny has quickly made the rounds of his new domain meeting the multiple neighbors. Single guy, man with a couple of young sons, retired couple, renter directly behind us. This has become the standard greeting as we introduce ourselves, "Hi, we're Dean & Sara.."
"Oh yeah, I met your dog. He's a really nice dog. Aren't ya boy? Yeah, who's a good boy? Isn't he a good boy? You're a happy guy aren't you? Such a good puppy! Yes you are! You never bark do you? No, you're a good boy!"
And so on.
Additionally, Donny who is not allowed table food came trotting happily into the house ten minutes ago with something suspicious tucked away back in his mouth. The Mr. made him drop it. "It" was a hunk of fresh French bread. A baguette perhaps. I believe it was buttered. Now he's got the neighbors slipping him forbidden snacks through the chain link.
Not wanting to have him running back to tell them what ogres we are, we let him eat his baguette.
We're hoping he'll bring home a pie next.

Pic: Donny last Saturday with his beloved wabbit.

Abundantly Desolate

The list of things I am able to do is far longer than the list of things I should do.
And the two lists are constantly trading back and forth. I have to pay close attention to see what is where.
I can teach, speak publicly, do well in school, cook, decorate, counsel, read, dress well, give myself a French manicure, do well at work, be funny, write, be an excellent snow driver and sing all the words to The Devil Went Down To Georgia.
I cannot sing, tap dance, draw, perform on the uneven parallel bars, levitate or clean dentures.
There may be more items for each list but I cannot currently think of them. So I guess thinking of more things goes on the "things I cannot do" list.
It gets really interesting when other people cast their ballots as to what I can, cannot, should or should not do. And most of you are very convincing. That is why I do not listen to you. Because you are crazy and I cannot medicate you.
I have both underdone and overdone life. I have done a whole lot of nothing productive. This is fine as long as it doesn't become one's specialty. I have noticed that the less things I choose from the things I can do list that also qualify for the things I should do list the more of things I am not supposed to do surface. Such as being un-graceful, being very sarcastic, being discontent, being easily hurt...
Now let's talk about overdoing life. And life can indeed be overdone. Let me share with you a true story from the Mr.'s life. When our marriage was gasping its death rattle, he became a Golden Boy. The Golden Boy of Ford Motor and our church that is. Nothing the guy wouldn't do...except be at home. Working twelve hour days and weekends. Need someone to go to midnights? He's your man! And ministry? MINISTRY in bold caps I tell ya. Practice, church services, street ministry, prison ministry; you name in. How can you fault a guy so dedicated to the WORK OF THE LORD; also in bolds and caps you'll note. Things in bolds and caps cannot be questioned as they are holy. If you question them you will incur the wrath of God and his PEOPLE (note bolds and caps.) You'll pray to be turned to a pillar of salt when they start looking concerned about your lack of passion for the WORK OF THE LORD.
Anyhoo, I was not and am not impressed with the Golden Boy. He was doing a lot of nothing. His life was abundantly busy and personally desolate. He was hiding in abundance (neither capitalized nor bolded.)
A very good measure of whether you might have items displaced to the wrong list is joy. Do you find joy in what you're doing or do you look for joy in what you're doing. Hmmm. That's profound if I do say so myself.
Are you tired from a season of hard work for a specific purpose or are you exhausted from trying to do more than you did yesterday or last week?
I think we all need to look at the Things I Can Do List and make sure every item is not also on the Things I Am Doing List.
If the two lists are identical, be very careful. You might find yourself starving in the feast. You might be golden but tarnished. You might be abundantly desolate.

1 Corinthians 10:23"Everything is permissible"—but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible"—but not everything is constructive.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today is my dad's birthday so if you'd like to celebrate with him, stop by Border's. That is his office.
I remember getting yellow roses from my dad for Valentine's Day because I was born in Texas. I remember getting candy in a heart shaped box every year too. I remember my dad working on prom night but coming to the house in the rescue wearing his uniform (and dragging another firefighter along) to see me in my dress. I remember being taught to swim in my grandma's pool with his quiet and gentle lessons. I remember reaching up to hold his hand in K-Mart because he was so tall. I remember having my head anointed with oil and being prayed for out loud when I was sick in bed. I remember a special Christmas gift every year just from him. I remember scuba gear in the closet in the garage. I remember riding behind him slowly in circles on Avalon street when he got a motor cycle. I remember a green Chevy Luv and an orange van and an old blue pick-up from Bronson. I remember a green Army tent in the back yard to play in, until Daisy threw up and it smelled bad in there. I remember a full beard shaved off to become a fireman. I remember candy in a plastic garbage can when he was a garbage man. I remember his Royal Ranger's uniform that matched Tom's and Pinewood derby every year. I remember being allowed to shoot skeet and bow and arrows.
I remember him always remembering it was my birthday and calling me no matter where he was or where I was.
I bet if you know my dad, you have some "I remembers" too. And you can be sure he remembers you.
Happy birthday dad!

Pic: The family at Mac's high school football game. I remember my dad being the king of tail gaters!

April 13, 2008

Luke 12:27 "Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these."

(My grampa's mystery sprouts. Lilies maybe?)

Is It Spring Or Is It Michigan?

1. Thought I heard birds singing this morning, then I realized my stuffy nose was whistling. (This is true.)
2. Hooray! It's forty two degrees! I'm wearing my spring coat!
3. It's in the sixties outside but if I turn off the furnace, my house is freezing.
4. Don't work in the yard when it's above forty and you'll have a brown lawn all summer.
5. Work in the yard when it's above forty and you'll get a sinus infection.
6. It is entirely possible to slip on the ice while wearing flip flops.
7. Half the windows have storms, half the windows have screens.
8. Grilling hot dogs, wearing a stocking cap.
9. Feeling very spring and so I'm sleeping without socks.
10. A/C in the car, electric blanket on the bed.

Hot Brown Water

For three years I started every morning with a cup of hot brown water.
Sometimes I got the hot brown water and sometimes Becky got us each a cup.
I've been thinking all week about abundant life. I would suspect this arises from the current changes in my own life but these thoughts haven't been rooted in the visible and material. It's been more about the abundance that overflows from inside of me and an awareness that I wasn't always aware of it. Over time, we all meet people who God uses to show us where the abundance is. To teach us to look and listen and feel for it. Because abundance is always there. I learned a lot about abundance drinking hot brown water with Becky.
I was a special education teacher's aide for six years. The first three were spent as a substitute working in all the classrooms in the city providing special ed. I worked with everyone from toddlers with medical conditions in a preschool to a 23 year old who had sustained a closed head injury at sixteen and was working through a modified high school program. For the third year I was assigned as a one to one assistant to an autistic child. The expectation was that when that position was posted as full time in the next school year's job bid, I would take the position full time. Summer break wound to a close and the union sent out a flyer for the upcoming bid. Only there was a glitch in my plans. Alongside of "my" position was another one. McDowell Elementary School, Emotionally Impaired 4,5,6 graders. I'd spent a few days in that classroom as a substitute. I really liked it. All the way until I wrote out my bid, I was not sure which job to choose. I chose McDowell. And hot brown water. And a teacher named Becky.
Becky and I were a great team. Seriously, we were awesome. We made huge strides with the kids in our class. And I rocked at that job. When Becky was off, the substitute teacher would function as the aide and I would teach. I loved every day there. And I loved Becky. We were best friends for those three years. And Becky taught me abundance.
Becky fully embraced all that gave her joy without concern about her age, dignity or station in life. She still loved children's books, so she bought them and read them with the joy of a first-grader just discovering literature. From her, I learned to read children's books if it made me happy despite being an adult. She liked only gentle movies and humor and books. Nothing sad or upsetting. From her, I learned to be aware that I could feed my soul the diet it needed purposefully. She was confident enough in herself to be my "boss" and the teacher of a classroom of difficult little boys without ever seeming bossy or authoritarian. From her I learned that confrontation is a fluid thing, best to be hesitant, be sure and then act. She was not afraid to confront but to confront wrongly.
Becky laughed at herself and at me and everything that caused a giggle to rise up within her. Becky put on sandals on the first really warm day of the year and realized that her toenails needed painting so she painted them after putting on her shoes and then walked like a duck for the first hour of the day waiting for them to dry. Her pinky toes did not get painted because they did not show in her sandals.
Becky was teeny tiny. She was roughly 5'1" and I'd guess less than 120 pounds. I was 5'5" and 260 or so pounds. Becky also regularly came to work in the winter time in a heavy sweater and no coat. At recess time she wore my giant coat outside and somehow I didn't feel embarrassed at how it hung on her. There was so much sweetness in her that I just laughed at her while she laughed at herself and turned no attention back at myself.
Becky loved Walt Disney and stuffed animals and pet rats. From her I learned that rats are very cool and I'd put ours on my shoulder to go get our mail from the office just to watch the secretary, Rusty, flip out.
Becky had an amazing work ethic and when she was sick, she'd have her husband wake her up two hours early so she could take medication and a long shower and drink some tea so she'd be ready to come to work on time. I would wake up slightly happy that I had a sore throat so I could call off. From her I learned the joy of hard work.
Becky knew herself and was true to herself. She painted her living room whatever color made her smile even if no one else smiled when they walked in. She considered long and hard what was right and wrong. She sought her mom, her husband, God, me or anybody else she believed in when she was unsure. Then she stood on the ground she believed in without a second thought to the consequences. From her I learned that good breeds good.
Becky cried as easily as she laughed and on 9-11 we stood together crying and holding hands. And when I told her I had to leave and go get my kids and hold them she told me to go, and spent that awful day alone trying to comfort six special ed. kids.
And in year three of our time together, Becky told me I was made for more than being someone's assistant. And when I mentioned going back to school she smiled and cried at the same time and hugged me hard. And when I started Weight Watchers she insisted she could see every half pound I lost and ate whole grain bagels for breakfast with me.
I've seen Becky twice in the six years since we worked together. In that time I've changed in abundant ways and think of her often when I read a children's book to no one but myself or watch Nanny McPhee because it's gentle to my soul.
And I am thankful. To her, of course. But most of all to God who brought her into my life at a time when I needed to be brave while terrorists attacked and I was obese and I needed to go to college. God knew that I'd have to insist on joy to ease the pain and courage to do right and confidence to move forward. And laughter to hold it all together.
This morning I e mailed McDowell Elementary to let Becky know that she is someone that God used to teach me to look for abundance.
About that hot brown water, our cooks at the school would brew coffee for us every morning. Becky and I love coffee. But bless their hearts, being frugal women, they used very little actual coffee in the coffee. The result? Hot brown water.
Who would have thought that God could started three years worth of mornings with hot brown water to flood my life with abundance?
Only He. And Becky.

1 Peter 1:2 Grace and peace be yours in abundance through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord.

Getting There...

I am officially posting from my own computer! Of course, all the bugs aren't worked out but we're getting there. Apparently the Mr. and Daboyz hooked this bad boy up using my mom's ethernet cable. Whatever that is. The point is, she wants it back.
It's a pretty day here in Michigan finally. About 70 degrees and sunny. But the wind is blowing in some rain. That's ok, it's April Showers time, right?
I would like to post some pics but in the computer moving my camera was still left behind. Not sure how that happened since someone would've had to have unplugged it to move the computer but there you have it.
In my raking out around the perimeter of the yard, I uncovered a patch of tiny buds that promise to be tulips or daffodils when they finally bloom. My grampa must've planted them years ago and I suspect they've been buried under years of leaves that the landscapers didn't properly clean out from under the privacy hedge. They are just random and willy nilly enough to bear the mark of my grampa and thoroughly irritate my gramma in their disorganized planting so they gave me a smile. When I grab my camera in the next few days, I'll share them with you.
The Mr. and I are gonna grab some dinner and just laze around the ranch for a bit this evening. We've raked up a lot of the leaves but it's too windy to get much more accomplished today. I'll take that as a hint to relax on the deck and watch Donny romp. Maybe tonight we'll sleep to the music of those April showers. Might just wake up those willy nilly mystery perennials.
Hope all is well in your world.

Judges 5:31 "So may all your enemies perish, O LORD!But may they who love you be like the sun when it rises in its strength."Then the land had peace forty years.

The Weekend

1. Change sheets (check)
2. Laundry (started)
3. Move computer (shooting for Sunday afternoon)
4. Grill dinner (done, with the 'rents and a fine time was had)
5. Rake leftover leaves (2/3 of the back yard done)
6. Sweep hardwood floors (not yet, running out of weekend)
7. Move more shoes to new house (not gonna happen)
8. Move sock monkeys to new house (see above)
9. Church on Sunday (Yup!)
10. Go to the movies (not this weekend. it seems to be flying by)

Nighty Night

I am worn out for no good reason today. I've spent the last two days in a leadership class at the D. Well, I guess that does explain why I'm so tired! Back to the office tomorrow and then the weekend off.
I also know that my body has a cycle (yes, THAT cycle) and this is the time when I'm really tired and usually develop a monstrous headache...yup; there it is. There was a time that I would be so frustrated with this headachy tiredness but I've come to embrace it as just part of what I am and stop fighting against things that are the result of this frustratingly human body I occupy. Nowawdays, I just take these predicatable days in stride. I put on my jammies and go to bed early. On the bright side, being a lifelong insomniac, the deep sleep I get for these nights is a treat! Actually, I haven't had insominia for a few months but I still appreciate a good night's sleep.
The Mr. is off to pratice tonight so it's a good evening to hunker down with a blanky and drift away in front of the television before I climb into bed officially. I went out to dinner with some friends and then to Old Navy to bum around and buy flip flops...2/$5! Now I'm in for the night and about to wash my face and brush my teeth for the much anticipated sofa nap until bed time.
I love the getting-to-know-yourself that comes with age. I used to say, "I'm so exhausted I don't know what to do!" Well, at forty one I've figured out what to do. I'm gonna go to sleep.
With age comes wisdom they say.
Good night, sweet dreams.

Warning, Boring Blog Ahead.

Hello! Well, this is going to be a boring no picture blog because figuring out how to post a pic with my mom's laptop is just beyond any measure of motivation I can muster. Yes, I am still without my computer here at the new crib. We are officially having internet installed this morning but now the Mr. and Mac are debating over how to solve the shared computer quandry. Our p.c. is at the other house and Mac uses it for homework. Last night the Mr. and Mac ventured out to purchase a lap top so there would be access at both houses but somehow that disolved into some plan to wipe our desktop and sell it to Mac or Mac will buy the lap top and we'll take the desk top and the long and short of it is, I am still using my mom's lap top. Having used this fancy schmancy laptop, I really do prefer a desk top and don't feel I need a laptop. I don't want to take it on vacation and I work in an office with a computer so I just want my old dependable desk top back. Well, that was all very interesting and worth waiting for, huh?
In other news my "new" job continues to be a joy. Yes, it is challenging and I have moments when I sit at my desk and wonder what in the world I got myself in to, but it is the right place for me and everyday I am happy to drive to work.
Yesterday I was off and went to the old hospital to visit my former co-workers and friends. It was a nice few hours I have to say. Everyone was so warm and sweet and it reminded me how very blessed I am. And it was as busy and stressful as ever so I was really happy to stand there and observe without having to do any work! I spent a little time with my sister and her medical floor was equally ridiculous. I am truly grateful for my office with a bathroom! I also stood there and was reminded again how wonderful it is to be in this profession that provides me so many options.
We spent some time yesterday doing more moving and organizing around here. My mom will be having an estate sale in a few months so Mac and I took a few hours to divide up the garage sale items from the other stuff and lend some kind of order to everything around here. Tiring but satisfying work that ended up with Mac conking out in the spare bed and spending the night here.
So hopefully the internet freeze will come to and end soon, although I still don't have an actual computer of my own in the house in which I live! Oy-vey, as my gramma would say.
Hope all is well with all of you. I'm off to check in with everybody and then get this day started.
Love you guys!
Update: I have stopped by the old homestead and uploaded a picture. Enjoy!

Be Here Now

Don't be afraid to do something wacky with your hair. It's hair. You can change it. Put in a pink streak, cut it all off, wear a rhinestone barrette. It is you that is beautiful, not your hair.
Put orange and yellow and pink together somewhere in your life. If you like it, it will lift your spirits. If you don't like it, it will be a silly spot in your controlled life. it's win-win.
Eat a delicious dessert with full-caff coffee after dinner once in a while. It does not make you bad or weak. It does not make you foolish because now you can't sleep. Stay awake and think about how lovely it is to be so sweet to yourself.
Wait until one of those inevitable moments when you say or do something mortifying. Look forward to it. Know that it is coming. Welcome it. When it finally arrives, look it over, examine it, think about it and realize...nobody died. It's ok.
Wear giant fake diamond earrings. Unless you're a man. Never mind, go ahead regardless.
If you get dressed and find your jeans are too tight, put on some sweatpants and realize that you can reverse the process. But only if you want to. You can also buy bigger jeans. Either option is acceptable.
Wear comfortable shoes that are not attractive. Wear fabulous uncomfortable shoes. Decide every day which one you want to do. Don't let anyone tell you which days are which.
If you need something from God and have not prayed or studied your Bible lately, ask him for it anyway. Be bold. Be brave. Be sure that he is not a distant relative who is angry that you haven't called lately. Consider it a moment to realize your faith still drives you back so it is still there. And realize that his love has held him close anyway.

Just Shopping In The Basement

Well I'm still working with my mom's laptop so bear with me. The link below again takes you to my mom's photographic memory lane.
Being a homebody at heart, it's really hard to haul myself off to work each morning when I really want to stay here and enjoy my new nest. I want to cook dinners and cookies and be June Cleaver but in order to buy a new house, one must have a job after all.
The Mr. and I are fortunate that not much will need to be done around here to make it finally ours. Whether he likes it or not, the Mr. seems stuck to live in a house where I am surrounded by the furnishings of my childhood. "Do we need to keep this?"
Yes it was on The Farm.
"What about this?"
Yes it was in the bedroom when I spent the night.
"We don't need one of these."
I need that. It smells like my gramma.
You get the idea. I keep telling him how grand it is that we don't need much new stuff. He is actually lucky I keep him around, he's the newest thing in this house!
As I've rearranged and "decorated" I have not spent a dollar. You see, I shop in the basement. My grandparents moved most of the furnishings from The Farm back to this house and simply set it up in the basement. So I just wander downstairs now and again when I feel the need for a basket here or a quilt there. New entertainment center? Hand on a minute. Clomp clomp clomp downstairs.Nah, we don't need a new entertainment center! Look what I found!
And so it goes.
I will admit that I am not entirely trapped in 1974. No, I have retrieved my beloved Bundt coffee pot! And my favorite mugs. And Lord knows my cosmeteticals had to be moved over immediately. It's not about going back in time. It's just about coming full circle. Suddenly, The Farm isn't gone. It makes sense to me. Just smile and nod your head.
Really, you should be jealous. While you're standing in line at Ikea, I just walk downstairs to my own Pier One and think of ways to put a funky spin on some old stuff that my grandparents probably forgot they had.
The Mr., my Bundt, Donny and Pier One all under one roof. Oh, and daboyz still manage to find their way "home" quite a lot.
Gotta go. I need a little something for that corner in the kitchen....

Kodakgallery.com Slideshow

Welcome Home!

cKodakgallery.com Slideshow

Here we are, home at last!
I have borrowed my mom's laptop and have no idea what I'm doing so let's just hope for the best. The slideshow link above is also courtesy of her photography a few days go. I attempted to put comments on each picture to give you some idea what you're looking at.
We are settling in happily and starting to feel more at home all the time. It's a slow but sweet process combining our stuff with that of my grandparents. Much of what will be given to others has already been removed and what remains we will decide over time. A few items are furnishings from The Farm saved for all these years. I have been claiming them for as long as I can remember and they will stay. The farm table upon which you will see our television was in the kitchen at The Farm. The pie safe with the tin front was there too. There's a fireplace mantle surround in the basement from the living room at The Farm.
Of course, there are other items representing that man that lives here, including his new television. I just wish it was bigger.
We are starting to figure out how we want to decorate and I'll share that as we get going. I have already rearranged quite a bit and I am happy with how everything is starting to look.
Donny is enjoying the yard and spends most of his awake time out there. As usual, with some item in his mouth and often laying in the snow. When he finally comes inside, he tends to lay directly on the hearth in front of the fire. I feel this is ill-advised as I've visions of hound tail flambe'. The Mr. thinks I worry too much. He has also brought many sticks onto the deck where apparently we are storing them. Perhaps to build a dam as the Michigan snow melts. Donny I mean, the Mr. rarely builds dams.
Speaking of the deck, I cannot wait for warm weather because on those mornings you can meet me out there for a cup of coffee. My grampa always had flowers hanging around the deck and I intend to bring his influence back by doing the same. Pictures of that to come.
So the long and short of it is that you can expect to see quite a lot of pictures of the place including this weekend's Easter dinner which we will be hosting. Appropriate I think, a day to celebrate new life.

March10, 2008

Deuteronomy 11: 19-21 And ye shall teach them your children, speaking of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. And thou shalt write them upon the door posts of thine house, and upon thy gates: That your days may be multiplied, and the days of your children, in the land which the LORD sware unto your fathers to give them, as the days of heaven upon the earth.


Yesterday the Mr. and I started the BIG MOVE to gramma's house. A very busy good day, as predicted. We did some moving in of Smith Stuff. Some storage of gramma & grampa stuff and a lot of blending of the two. Rearranged furniture that had been in the same location for twenty years and patted ourselves on the back for our cleverness.
Naturally, I went without my camera so day one is left to memory and description but I am packing it up today. The only room that is finally done to reflect us is our bedroom so maybe that will be the first to make the blog!
This morning I am sore from moving and rearranging, and rearranging, and rearranging again. But I feel good. At some point in the long day, we crossed a thresh hold literally and symbolically. We walked in to the home of my deceased grandparents. More than once there was a catch in my heart that if I settled in and truly moved them out, it meant they were dead.
Another thresh hold was just beyond the sadness and that was a feeling of inheritance. No, I am not inheriting the house. We are not the Kennedys after all. I am buying it from my mom and uncle. But I am buying my inheritance. And with it I am claiming it as my own. If my gramma and grampa convinced me of anything, it was that whatever they had was mine as well. Not in an entitled and spoiled manner but in a blessed and grateful manner.
I think the house needed to sit, frozen in time for a while for me to be ready for it to be no longer theirs. I wonder if anyone else felt the same way.
So it has been a time of crossing over thresh holds of homes and of hearts.
I promise to take you along via photographs, be warned that some will be forty years old and some hours old. This is part of my journey. But I think the tears have given way to delight as I embrace the whole of life. Puppies and houses, antiques and new televisions. Living and dying. And being fully alive. Just like my gramma and grampa are.

Busy With Good Things!

1. Starting the move to gramma's.
2. Dreaming about decorating.
3. Planning a barbecue.
4. Donny has school.
5. Need groceries!
6. Looking for a beautiful picture to go in my new beautiful green bedroom.
7. Loving my job and moving from "new co-workers" to "new friends."
8. I hear the Mr. loading the dishwasher, one thing off the list!
9. Feeling so wacky I think I might plant a garden!
10. Rested, happy, hopeful, joyful, silly, peaceful, grateful, BUSY!

Say Cheese!

Dear People,

Hats off to those of you who allow your picture to be taken and those who take the pictures.
I love photographs. I like ones of strangers that are just beautifully done and I love those of my friends and family even if they are out of focus and goofy. I am not such a fan of posed studio pictures.
Barry takes tons of pictures. And Arlene let him. So there are tons of pictures of her now for them to enjoy and remember her with. They were generous enough to share those at the funeral home. I wonder if they know how that soothed me?
It made me realize something. There aren't all that many pictures of me. Sometimes because I duck out, vanity~vanity. Often because I am the picture taker. Which leads me to believe my husband does not necessarily want pictures of me. I didn't realize that until just now. Clearly, I need to be hurt and perhaps devastated. Will work on that after I finish washing towels.
I was writing a post that would've done nicely with a current picture of me. I don't have one. I have just a few that I keep recycling and upon checking, I think they are all at least a year old.
T~'s mom, Sister Maryann, takes pictures of everybody. Constantly. I am convinced she takes pictures of strangers while grocery shopping to remind her to pray for them. She probably has a recent picture of me now that I think of it. The only way she could have so many pictures is that she obviously hides in shrubbery and snaps them. She is like a Baptist Paparazzi.
Arlene, Barry and Sister Maryann are right. As is Kellerbell although she too is the face behind the camera too often. I don't care if you're having a good hair day or feeling bloated or prefer that people use pictures from 1983 and pretend you have not aged. You are not Rick Springfield and you are not performing at the county fair. Nobody believes you haven't aged. Let us take a picture of you.
I was thinking that if I passed away, the Mr. would have to display pictures of me that would cause people to say, "Who's this chick?" Silliness. Not letting someone take your picture is selfish. I should be honored that someone wants a picture of me. After all, it is no secret what I look like anyway.
Having said all of this, I have nothing wise to conclude with other than photographs are awesome.

Quotable Quotes

BRING ON THE BELLY BUTTONS!

sorry, slow news day.

Rescue

I was reading an article about medical malpractice the other day that involved a bunch of different professionals. One phrase kept being repeated, "failure to rescue." As in, "Dr. John Doe's failure to rescue the patient resulted in permanent paralysis on the left side." "Nurse Nancy's failure to rescue the patient resulted in..."
You get the idea. A medical professional puts eyes on a patient, doesn't see what needs seeing or do what needs doing and it is considered failure to rescue that person from danger.
As a medical professional, I can tell you that what makes someone a good nurse or doctor is their inability not to rescue. It's in our blood. We can't walk away.
As a Christian, I am ashamed when the same instincts don't drive my behavior. I would not turn my back on a patient who had fallen. I'd run across the Target parking lot if someone was in distress. I'd do CPR and mouth to mouth on an accident victim covered in blood. No second thoughts. But do I feel the same urgency when the injury is buried deeper?
I confess to you that I have walked away from people in imminent spiritual danger. I've thrown up my hands and decided that nothing could be done. Including, apparently, praying. I say this because sometimes you can't talk someone into heaven but you can pray them there. I tend to stop talking and praying at the same time.
I'm not just talking about Bible-thumping. "Do you know Jesus as your own personal savior?" "If you were to die today, where would you spend eternity?"
No, I mean redemption by example. Jesus loved people into healing. It was urgent for him, he couldn't not rescue.
Would I put my bare mouth over yours knowing you had HIV if you stopped breathing?
Would I keep calling if you kept lying to me, deceiving me, playing games with my trust in you?
Yes to the first. Probably no to the second.
Will there someday be a malpractice case against me?

1 Corinthians 12:12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

Things You'd Rather Not Know About Me

1. I have perpetually sweaty armpits.
2. My bedroom is a disgusting disaster.
3. I had a mole removed under my jaw but the scar still sprouts hair which I pluck regularly.
4. I know all the words to "The Devil Went Down To Georgia."
5. I am easily bored during sermons.
6. My car is full of stuff that should've been cleaned out months ago.
7. My kitchen table is piled with additional stuff forcing us to eat on the couch.
8. On a regular basis I attempt self-portraits with my camera and immediately delete them shocked at how ugly I am.
9. I have vericose veins in my legs.
10. I have a re-occuring wart on my right thumb that has been removed approximately 600 times. It is not currently there although that thumb is so scarred it no longer has a finger print. Also, I used the knowledge that the wart was on the right thumb to learn right from left in the first grade.