Thea

2011-11-02T15:08:00.000-04:00

In John Bunyan's classic "The Pilgrim's Progress" Faithful and Talkative have a meaningful conversation while accompanying Christian on the way to the Heavenly Country. Christian is well acquainted with Talkative, since they are from the same home town. He informs Faithful that Talkative isn't what he seems--from far away he is handsome, but as "unpleasing as one gets closer", that he may seem able to have a theological discourse, but has "no religion in his heart or his home. They are as empty of religion as the white of an egg is of flavor. Religion is only on his tongue."

Faithful is not convinced, even though Christian warns him that Talkative has a bad effect on people, either by causing them to stumble or by cheating on them. Faithful finally believes Christian and wants to get rid of him, and Christian advises him that all he has to do is talk to him and tell him the truth.

Then Faithful called to Talkative, "How does the saving grace of God manifest itself, when it is in the heart of a man?"

"So we speak about the power of things? It's a very good question, and I'm happy to answer you. First where the grace of God is in the heart, it causes a great outcry against sin. Secondly--"

"Wait a moment," interrupted Faithful. "I think it shows itself by inclining the soul to abhor its sin."

"Why, what's the difference between crying out against sin and abhorring sin?"

"Oh, a great deal: A man may cry out because of a law against it, but he cannot abhor it unless he has a godly antipathy against it. What was your second point?"

"Great knowledge of the gospel mysteries."

"That is also false. Great knowledge may be obtained in the mysteries of the gospel and yet not work as grace in the soul. Consequently, he would not be a child of God. A man may know like an angel, and yet be no Christian; therefore your sign is not true. Indeed, to know is a thing that pleases talkers and boasters; but to do is that which pleases God. Not that the heart can be good without knowledge, for without that, the heart is nothing. There is therefore knowledge and knowledge--knowledge that rests in the bare speculation of things, and knowledge that is accompanied with the grace of faith and love--which puts a man upon doing even the will of God from the heart. The first of these will serve the talker, but without the other, the true Christian is not content. If a man 'can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge but has not love, he is nothing." countered Faithful. "What is another point?"

"None. I see we shall not agree."

Faithful isn't through with Talkative yet. Faithful accurately contrasts the difference between those who have grace working in their souls and those who merely observe it. Those with grace at work in them are convicted of sin and the Savior and His holiness are revealed to him, and subject themselves in "faith and love to the power of the Word." He goes on to eviscerate his acquiantence's lifestyle with the observation on how his life doesn't match his words, and how his words are actually foul lies. His final point that Talkative is a shame to all followers outrages Talkative who in return accuses Faithful to be a gossip and an "irritable, dismal man " who has no right to judge him and bids him a curt farewell.

Christian returns to Faithful and reassures him that "I told you how it would happen. Your words and his lusts could not agree. He would rather leave your company than reform his life. But he is gone. Let him go," said Christian. "The loss is no one's but his own..."

Faithful hopes that Talkative will think about what he said to him, and maybe it would curtail his destructive activities in the future. Christian appreciates Faithful's courage in being confrontive with Talkative.

Faithful sang:

"How Talkative at first lifts up his plumes!
How bravely does he speak. How he presumes
To overwhelm all minds near! But as soon
As I did speak of heart, like waning moon
He shrivels to an ever smaller part:
And so do all, but those who know the heart."

While in college, someone older used to call me "Thea-logical" because his impression of me was that I was always thinking about big theological issues. Maybe he thought it was so cute that a girl would spend so much time "thinking deep thoughts" as he put it. I didn't know whether to be flattered or to be annoyed that I wasn't taken seriously. After awhile, I realized I didn't have to do neither. I soon became concerned that my knowledge, such as it was at the time, was outpacing my obedience to God.

Looking back, I had the impression that all I needed was more information, more truth and that would make me more holy. So, I read a lot of books and got involved in a lot of bible study discussions. Which is really a good thing. But as Serena, my bible study leader for four years in college, pointed out, it's nothing without application to real life. She didn't want us to be merely well educated in the Bible, she was trying to teach us to live for God in obedience to His Word.

It wasn't until post college when I realized that my love for others was actually as thin as water. I talked the talk, but when it came to really loving people when they were hard to love and partaking in true community and real fellowship, I was blowing it big time. God brought me down as I saw my selfishness, arrogance and self-righteousness for the first time. Like Talkative, I could have walked away but I chose not to. I had to face that I fell short--way short--in the things that pleased God the most. Not long after that, worship was no longer a performance but a real expression of joy that God still loved me and still wanted me in His domain, as I knew I was the most unworthy citizen in His kingdom.

As William Shell explains in "Come Follow Me" :

"I will give God what he wants, regardless of whether he gives me what I want." This is the biblical response to the fact that Jesus is Lord; it is the very heartbeat of discipleship and submission to his lordship. Anything less than this is inconsistent and impoverished Christianity.

2011-09-04T21:20:00.000-04:00

I wasn't expecting much at my last visit to the doctor's last Thursday--as a diabetic, I need to see her every 3 months. And I have to have my blood drawn for tests on how my blood glucose is doing--the A1C primarily. I've been a diabetic for five and a half years, and I've had my ups and downs with it.

The last year and a half hasn't been a great year, but it was better than before when I was catching my blood sugar spiking to 342 on the meter 2 hours after a meal. I would go for a half hour walk to see it drop to 160, a more normal range. On top of that, I was having trouble getting my blood pressure to get below 140/90. It wasn't too bad, but alarmingly, it wasn't getting better.

When I've been checking lately, the fasting bg (first thing in the morning) has been normal--120-135, and before bed, around 160-170. I didn't notice any spikes. But I still dreaded the last A1C lab result. But it showed improvement--6.8, much better than 7.1 that I had last March. I blamed it on Valentine's Day.

The scale at the doctor's office showed a drop of nearly 10 pounds (actually, 7.5, but I went home and in my underwear on my home scale, it was 10, maybe that isn't totally accurate, but it makes me feel good). And the nurse murmured that my blood pressure was 120/80. I almost asked her if she was sure, maybe do it again. I was shocked--my bp hasn't been that good for years.

The doc and I talked about it for about a half hour. She asked if I had made any changes. I didn't know what to say, because I have worked harder than I have lately with no results to show for it. Reflecting about it later, I realized that Dennis and I had worked harder on controlling expenses overall which included less going out for meals and cutting back on the grocery bills. I ate more apples and bananas,nuts, peanut butter and included more fiber whenever I could, to the point I even got sick for awhile. We ate simpler meals with less meat. I passed up dessert at night, didn't feel the need. If I ate a sweet, it was usually at work when I was on my feet all day and sure to work it off, but I brought fruit usually to head off the temptation.

I didn't expect any improvements, but since the changes were minor, I didn't feel like I deprived myself. I even added 2 pumps of real carmel syrup instead of the sugar free kind to my grande latte a few times. I drank a caramel macchiatto that was made by mistake last week--the first one I have had in five years. It would have been tossed out, and it was just a small one, so I caved. I had that caramel macchiato on my mind while I went to get my lab test done on Tuesday.

The books on managing diabetes mention that you don't have to give up the occasional dessert or treat, but to work it into your plan and work around it--watch the total carb intake and exercise. Of all the changes recently, the one that had to help the most was the less eating out. But honestly, I didn't feel deprived. I had been reading about how the food industry has totally manipulated America--we have no idea what we are eating. Every meal has sugar, salt and fat amped up to incredible amounts to the point that it has destroyed the American palate. We don't appreciate plain food anymore. From my own experience, I can guess what has hurt me the most over the years.

Heidelberg Moment

2011-08-29T23:14:00.000-04:00

Question 28: What advantage is it to us to know that God has created, and by his providence does still uphold all things?

Answer: That we may be patient in adversity; thankful in prosperity; and that in all things, which may hereafter befall us, we place our firm trust in our faithful God and Father, that nothing shall separate us from his love; since all creatures are so in his hand, that without his will they cannot so much as move.

The Resistance

2011-08-23T16:11:00.002-04:00

The Resistance by Josh Garrels

Dana the soon to be Tenth Grader

2011-08-21T20:27:00.000-04:00

Dana wiped the sweat accumulating on her forehead and tied her bandana around her fluffy hair a little tighter. She looked straight up the side of the cliff and wondered how she got herself talked into a bit of rock climbing tomorrow. It was not a hard climb for a beginner like her, and she had practiced rappelling yesterday. But she still felt apprehensive and nervous.

Suddenly, an arm came around her neck and pulled her backwards, "Oh, I can't wait--this is going to be awesome!" screamed her best friend, Kellie. They had taken Outdoor Ed together last spring, and now, in the summer before 10th grade, they were camping with Kellie's family in Colorado.

Kellie's dad finished a medical tour in the Army in Iraq, and had recently retired to begin a new practice of his own in a sleepy little community in dusty eastern Washington state. He was the rock climbing instructor who was going to help Dana and Kellie learn the fundamentals. He assured them that they could climb to what ever height they felt comfortable with, which made Dana less nervous. Kellie, on the other hand, was already planning to climb Yosemite's Half Dome. She had plastered pictures of it on her bedroom walls.

"Ahh, you dork, I want to live long enough to get to 10th grade this year!" She pulled one of Kellie's many braids and Kellie let her go. "And I want you to be there, too!"

"Well, we got through ninth grade and Outdoor Ed--we're survivorwomen." Kellie threw a stone up to the top of the eight foot cliff. "This is nothing, right?"

"How's your photography project coming along?" Dana was changing the subject, it left her feeling a little queasy.

"I have a lot of pretty pictures, but I am still waiting for something really exciting and dramatic." She threw another rock up the cliff. "I'm hoping that rock climbing will give me another perspective."

Dana sat on the ground, not knowing if she could take another minute of this discussion. Kellie was obsessed, everything lead to rock climbing and "perspective". On the other hand, Dana thought, they were both strong girls. Mr. Johnson was pretty sure that they could handle this little cliff, and they would tackle more heights the next few days. Dana appreciated the slow breaking in approach but for Kellie, the process could not go fast enough. Dana figured that Kellie was pumped at finding something that combined her artistic interests and her boundless energy, but she wondered if she could keep up with her restless and creative friend. Dana was the tortoise to Kellie's hare.

Coffee of the Week--tasting notes from a barista

2011-08-01T07:47:00.001-04:00

As most of you know by now, I work at Starbucks and I get a free pound of coffee for life every week. This week's coffee mark out is Yukon Blend.

Yukon is a blend of Indonesian and Latin American beans, and on the tasting spectrum between mild and extra-bold, it is considered a bold one. But it is so smooth, it doesn't feel like it to me. Most Indonesian coffees have low acidic, herbal and earthy tones. Some differences occur like a spicey note that makes the Sumatra bean really feel like sandpaper on my tongue. In contrast, the coffee from Sulawesi tends to be silky smooth. Latin American beans are a lot brighter, because the post harvest processing of those coffee cherries is called "washed", where the mucilage and pulp surrounding the coffee bean inside is removed with an extra wash. Indonesian coffees are called "semi-washed" meaning the mucilage surrounding the coffee bean is left on for a while before it is removed by washing.

As a blend, the Yukon is well-rounded because the Latin American beans tend to cut the heaviness of the Indonesian bean. There is some acidity, but not much, which I detect on the sides of my tongue. There is an earthiness still present, but it doesn't linger as long. There is some spice, but it is silky, too. I never feel like I have "coffee breath" when I sip Yukon. When customers want to make a step up from the milder coffees in our line-up, I always recommend Yukon because it doesn't overwhelm them as much. But it is an outdoorsy, large and broad tasting coffee, and if you keep sipping it, it's like discovering a gold mine.

Bob Dylan Time

2011-07-26T01:02:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile. Dylan will be in Michigan sometime this summer, but I'm not sure I'm able to go. We'll see. The following lyric is a cut of "Heart of Mine" from Shot of Love, (1981). Ringo Starr plays the tom tom in it. The general idea of the song is based on Jeremiah 17:9 that "The heart is more deceitful above all else, and is desperately sick, who can understand it?" and applies it to a story of a man dealing with a unscrupulous heart which leads him into disasterous relationships with the wrong women. He's already lost the battle.

Heart of mine so malicious and so full of guile
Give you an inch and you’ll take a mile
Don’t let yourself fall
Don’t let yourself stumble
If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime
Heart of mine

Apparently, he hasn't heard of Proverbs 4:23 about guarding or watching over one's heart, because it is the wellspring of life. "Watch over your heart with all diligence, For from it flow the springs of life". If it is sick, then your whole life is sick. The man in this song will not have anything going right in his life for a very long time until he learns self control.

The discipline of self control commonly deals with what exposure from the outside world that I let into my thought life--my books, my Netflix account and the television I watch. In this day and age, this is a very tricky endeavor. For a long time, I used to battle depression. Part of the depression was from not facing the truth of the past, but it also had a lot to do with the books I read. Most Christians I know are careful about what they watch or read because of sexual content, but I think it is a little more complicated than that. I also think that discipline is needed to deal with the heart itself. Where am I directing it? How am I guiding it?

The bottom line, really, is how my heart is the dwelling place of God. He cleans it up, and He lives there. Every thought, every feeling and every attitude should be available to His scrutiny. He already knows it all. Psalm 139. Before I became a Christian, this was an intimidating idea. I had a lot of things in my heart I did not want Him prying into. But as I grow older in the faith as a believer, this actually comforts me. He knows me completely, I am completely known. Nothing surprises Him. As I learn to yeild to the Spirit and to His work on me, the more intimacy with Him I experience, because God is kind and good, as well as holy. I do not need to be perfect for Him to abide in me and for me to abide in Him. I just need to want Him and to want to be like Him, no matter how long it takes Him to make that happen. Sometimes, it feels it isn't happening at all. Sometimes, I am surprised at what He's accomplished with so little.

Moments

2011-07-19T22:07:00.000-04:00

On the way home tonight, I caught a glimpse of magical cows on the corner of Hagadorn and Jolly. Well, they were actually Black Angus cows. Their silhouettes were against the beautiful rose, orange and violet sunset, the grassy knoll was a deep tinge of green and the fireflies flickered as they grazed. It was worthy of a photo if I had a camera and by the time I remembered that the phone came with one, the light changed and I was holding up traffic.

Sometimes, life looks like a page right out of a Harry Potter novel. Not often, but enough. When I see something like that, it feels like a gift from God. It calms me down and reminds me that He's here. It was so beautiful, that I almost turned around and went back, but I realized that the moment was over, never to return. I'll have that picture in my heart for the rest of my life, though.

This week's coffee mark out

2011-07-12T23:34:00.000-04:00

One of the perks of my 10th year anniversary of working for Starbucks is a free weekly mark out of coffee for the rest of my life, even after I quit the job. It will be my 12th anniversary coming up on the end of July. Today, one of my old managers came in with her mom and two year old son on their way home to Detroit from vacation. Eight years ago, I told her how I didn't like the coffee from Guatemala. She prepared a french press of Guatemala Antigua, and during a special tasting just for me, successfully persuaded me to appreciate its fine elegance. In honor of her, this week's mark out is Guatemala Antigua. Thank you, Heather Alsip!

This coffee is a single origin bean with a medium strength. I think as I have gotten older, I've grown to like the less bold coffees. Guatemala Antigua is complex with a soft acidity and a little cocoa/chocolate tone. It doesn't bite like most Latin American coffees, but it does linger a bit towards the back of my palate. This is what I first objected to, until Heather had me taste a little cocoa powder and then sip my coffee. The sensation was amazing. It wasn't bitter, but a totally different taste profile that I had never experienced before. This coffee is meant to enjoy with a chocolate croissant or toast with Nutella spread on top it. Or have a chocolate biscotti for dunking.

I dedicate this tasting to my friends from Guatemala--Oscar, Delia and Ricardo!

Blogging versus Living?

2011-07-11T22:19:00.000-04:00

Dennis and I were without a computer and internet access in our home for a few months. We were sustained by Den's Blackberry for awhile, but its limitations included a short battery life and small screen size. Which adds up to poor support for significant blogging activity--reading or writing. I could start posting and then be interrupted by an incoming phone call, which are frequent. My husband loves talking on the phone. I think it is his spiritual gift.

So what did I do with all my extra time that used to be blogging time? Let me numerate the ways:

My closets are immaculate and organized. My dresser drawers are neat and also organized.
I've got lots of roses in the garden.
I've been reading C.S. Lewis from real books.
I've read everything on my Kindle.
I am caught up in my sleep.
My to-do list everyday gets finished.
No dirty dish is left in the sink longer than 10 minutes or more than 15 minutes after the meal has finished. Dishwasher gets unloaded everyday.
No laundry in baskets waiting longer than a day to get folded.

I'm doing stuff, in other words. For every blog I publish, there is something (somethings) that didn't get done. Or something I'm depriving myself of (see #5). I forgot about the pleasure of opening my closet door and being able to find everything I want to find. And finding the right socks for the right activity without having to dig through the ones that lost their mates a few years ago or have holes in the heel. Or having enough eye contact solution every morning without having forgotten to get some the day before when I was getting too low because I was thinking about a subject to blog about. Blogging was fun, but my life was a mess. And I'm not even getting into the effect this blogging distraction had in my marriage. Let's just say I feel more connected with Dennis.

Perhaps I could strike a sane balance between writing and living. I'm not sure, because my focus works like a laser. Imbalance is not so much a lifestyle as much as a personality trait. I'm 49, and I know what I'm like. In some ways, the laser-like concentration is a blessing, but it is hard to control. I've accepted that I am an INTP (without the genius part), and God has worked in my life to broaden my experiences (a life-long prayer for myself). Where to take that INTP tendency, I don't know. Blogging is a good outlet for it, and I appreciate that gift. Perhaps the problem isn't blogging versus living, because if I didn't have a life, there would be nothing to blog about.

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 10

2011-03-07T20:14:00.000-05:00

"I don't know what just happened." Dana gave her friend a quick hug. "It seems to me that you're too hard on yourself. Why should you worry about what Greg thinks?" She threw a new log onto the fire that was dying down. "It sounds like a funny idea actually, to put those clowns in the yearbook."

"I have a temper. Just ask Mike. He's fond of saying that 'hell hath no fury like Kellie scorned.' And his nickname for me is 'Killer'." She stood up. "I've been working on that, and things were going good all week until this afternoon and I lost the victory. Greg saved me from myself. He knows what I'm capable of." She pulled Dana up to her feet. "You have no idea! I was praying that I wouldn't get mad at you!"

"Well, you did, you dork!" Referring to yesterday's blow-up over breakfast.

"That wasn't mad, Kellie! Like I said, you have NO idea!"

"Wow, if that wasn't mad, then I'd hate to see what mad is!" Dana rolled her eyes. "I'm no Dr. Phil, but that dog don't hunt."
"You watch too much t.v.!"
"Dr. Phil is so educational! Whenever I feel like my life is all screwed up, I watch that show and I don't feel so bad anymore. Everyone else has it much worse! And they have to be on the show, too!"

For a minute, Kellie just looked at her. "Hey, if you need help, you can talk to me. I don't know much like Dr. Phil, but I can listen. And pray--God listens."

"I just might take you up on that. I need all the help I can get."

"Just don't whine. My offer ends the minute I hear you whine."

"Nope, I am going to whine like a little baby, Kellie."

"I've changed my mind!"

"No, you can't!"

"Oh, yes, I can!"

They laughed and headed to the Lodge's primative kitchen to make dinner. They planned to make a fruit salad and fried spam over rice and share it with Chris, who previously took a loss in a barter out of pity. Later that evening was a fire circle, and Dana was really looking forward to hearing what creative and inspiring essays everyone wrote. It was the last evening before they headed home the next morning, and she was surprised that she was sad about the idea.

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 9

2011-03-05T16:52:00.001-05:00

As they opened the door to the back of the Lodge, Kellie ran smack into Greg and Dana bumped into her from behind. Although they were tall girls, they only came up to Greg's shoulders in height.

Greg was the other senior Outdoor Ed alumni recruited by Mr. Branson to help chaperone the class. In the fall, he played football with Kellie's older brother, Mike, and was generally famous in the community for his blocking skills and college football scholarship prospects. Kellie knew him way back before his local celebrity status when he was an awkward chunk of a boy who played xbox for a few hours every Saturday with her brother in their den.

Although their gaming days were almost over, Greg still hung out with Mike in their den, mostly talking shop about football and their futures. Mike was accepted already to go to University of Washington in the fall for the engineering program there. Greg was also considering UW, but wanted to be closer to his family and had decided to accept a full ride scholarship to Washington State University to study Wildlife Ecology instead. The idea that they would be competing against each other was a constant joke between them, which Kellie could never figure out.  Why would being rivals be so funny?

"Yo, Strawberry Shortcake, what's the hurry?" When Kellie was a kid, everyone called her by her favorite dessert, which everyone forgot about except Greg.

"Nothing, Greg." He filled up the doorway and she was looking for a way to get around him. "Excuse us, we want to get through."

"You've got to wait, they're still cleaning the outhouses." With lightening speed, he grabbed Kellie's camera. "So, who invited you, paparazzi?  Whenever I see you with this thing I know you're up to no good."

"Just some nature scenes, Greg."

Greg looked at her skeptically. "Tell me what you're planning, or I'm handing this over to Mike. He's still mad about the photos you posted on Facebook."   He nodded his head toward the cleaning crew, which included the little Lipovsky kid that was on Kellie's hit list at the moment. "Let me guess, you were wanting some fun with those poor guys over there? They're just doing penance for howling at the moon last night, Kells." Which was true, Mr. Branson assigned them the worst jobs on the chore roster for literally howling at the moon after quiet hours.

For reasons that eluded Dana, Kellie confessed that she was mad and was planning to take some compromising pictures of Lipovsky cleaning the outhouse to put in the freshmen pages of the yearbook. Greg still hung onto the camera and stayed in the doorway.

"So, he threw pebbles at you and you're going to roll a boulder on him? Revenge isn't justice, Kellie. Over there, that's justice because Mr. B is the authority on this trip and he didn't make them do latrine cleaning duty because he was angry with them, but because they broke an actual rule and he made sure they paid the consequences.   What you're planning on doing is pure spite, Kellie." Greg put the camera in his jacket pocket. "I'm hanging on to this until you cool down. I know you're furious at me, but I'm your buddy." He went out the back and walked towards the boys scrubbing the outhouses. "Aren't you done yet? The faster you get it done, the less you suffer." The boys groaned. "Hey, I know what I'm talking about...Mr. B put me on latrine duty back in the day, too."

Kellie and Dana headed back to the fireplace. Dana knew that Kellie had a giant crush on Greg for years, but she would never admit it. She didn't deny it either when Dana teased her privately when she caught her looking at him from a distance or reading for the fifth time the blurbs about his performance on the team in the local newspaper. They sat for a long silent minute.

"I wish that he wouldn't call me Strawberry Shortcake."

"I thought you like that?"

"Not anymore." Kellie stared at the fire. "But what he said was true. When am I going to grow up?"

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 8

2011-03-02T20:51:00.000-05:00

"Did you have a "marmot moment" on the hike, Dana?" Kellie was warming her bootclad feet at the fireplace. The clouds had come in and the temperature was dropping in the late afternoon. Dana sat next to her on a rough hewn bench. The hike was easy and she had gotten some ideas for the essay she wanted to write for her project while on the mountain ridge.

"Almost." She patted her friend on the shoulder, "So, did God talk to you while you were up there?"

"Yeah, God told me not to murder that Lipovsky kid up there. He was throwing pebbles at me while I was trying to think. I even gave him one of my famous killer looks, but he just laughed! I went up the ridge and sat next to Mr. Branson. It was a better angle for pictures, anyway."

"He was trying to get your attention, Kellie. You know how these boys are--such babies!"

"I know! Grow up already! I think I've got little pebbles stuck in my hair, too. So annoying. Really, it took all I had not to go up there and do something violent!" Kellie started to look through her fluffy hair and sighed and gave up. "I was really looking forward to having a "marmot experience", too. I was so disappointed because all I could think of was how irritated I was."

Dana found a pebble trapped in Kellie's curls and pulled it out gently.

"Hey, Kellie, I'll get up early with you early tomorrow morning and watch the sunrise. Maybe you'll get your moment then... I promise not to throw little stones at you."

Kellie gave Dana a big hug. "Thanks, thanks and thanks! I'm a morning person anyway!"

"But we have to share about our projects tonight during the fire circle. What are you going to say then?"

"Oh plenty, I never run out of stuff to say. Speaking my mind comes naturally." Kellie looked around, "Hey come with me, I've got an idea." She grabbed her camera. "It's revenge time on that Lipovsky kid!"

Dana had a bad feeling about this. But Kellie looked like she was very mad and very determined. What could she say to make her change her mind and forget about her anger? Dana got up and started to follow, trying to think of how to divert her friend from whatever shenanigans she was cooking up.

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 7

2011-03-01T01:24:00.000-05:00

The assignment for the afternoon was to quietly sit on the ridge across from the mountain and write down any observations. Dana waited for something to happen to report, but after 15 minutes all she saw was a solitary bird soaring above. She couldn't tell what kind.

As mountains go, it wasn't all that exciting. There were patches of pine trees, patches of rockiness, patches of grasslands and patches of snow and a patch of a small lake. It was much further away than it looked, and probably much bigger than she thought, too. Between her and the mountain was a wide open meadow. It was too cold for spring flowers, it was just full of brown grass. She wrote all this down, plus the fact that the snow was melting away and the sun was shining very brightly.

A slight breeze was a little chilly, but she wasn't uncomfortable. She heard another student cough somewhere along the ridge--Mr. Branson had taken them out and placed them in spots a few feet away from each other, while he sat above them at the top of the ridge and kept watch. He had talked about this assignment a lot in the months leading up to this trip. How just sitting quietly in nature can teach you a lot. How he saw a marmot come up to him one day while sitting on a cliff, which is rare because marmots are really shy.

After a few more minutes, Dana was bored. She had 45 more minutes before they hiked away from the area, and even if something happened, like a deer or a marmot came out of the woods, she still wouldn't have anything more original than the rest of her class, because they would've seen the exact same thing.

She took a drink out of her water bottle and looked at the mountain again. Most of the time, she was always in a car traveling through the mountains when her mom drove to Seattle to drop her off at her dad's and vice versa. She never had a chance to actually sit and look at one. What did Mr. Branson keep saying? That everyone "looks but don't really see" what is right in front of them?

Sooo, Mr. Mountain, what I am not seeing? You are a bit of a nerdy mountain, not as rugged as the Cascades or majestic like the Rockies. You are far away from any highway or tourist trap. I had to hike 30 minutes in from the Lodge to see you. Nobody comes to climb you like your cousins Rainier, Adams and Hood. No one skiis off your slopes like at Baker. Are you lonely, Mr. Mountain? Are you glad to see us kids come and really pay attention to you? To really see you?

At this thought, Dana started tearing up. This was not a popular mountain, but it was pure in a way because of that. No one trampled on it. There wasn't garbage anywhere, unlike most places that people visited. Not even a gum wrapper. This mountain was better off in this wild and desolate place. Dana began to understand the value of a hidden, secret thing.

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 6

2011-02-27T00:34:00.000-05:00

"Wow. Fruit salad for lunch, Danana." Kellie said flatly. "I had better eat Spam for lunch, dinner and tomorrow's breakfast because I am not packing all of this down the switchbacks." She brightened. "I think I've got a packet of ketchup somewhere, too! I love ketchup with my Spam!"

Dana barely heard her friend's excitement over the Spam because her heart was still racing and she felt a little dizzy. She felt elated, concerned and proud at the same time. It was the first time she actually had a real conversation with Macho Man Chris, and she didn't say anything stupid. But she was worried that he thought that she had anorexia. Were there rumors going around about her? The thought sobered her up for a second until she realized that Chris's heart was in the right place. All the girls liked Macho Man Chris, but it was so good to know that he was as handsome on the inside as he was on the outside. She wasn't wasting her crush on some jerk.

"...Spam with ketchup, Spam with tropical fruit salad, fried Spam, Spam sandwiches, Spam on our boiled rice..."

"See you later, Kells, I've got to find Stephanie Hill." She shook her head, "Don't forget green eggs and Spam."

Stephanie Hill was a high school senior who was also an Outdoor Ed alumni and applying to study forestry in college. Mr. Branson offered credits to qualified upperclassmen to help lead and teach as well as chaperone on the class trips. Stephanie had experience as a camp counselor, and Dana considered her pretty cool. Stephanie was always surrounded with students, both boys and girls, vying for her attention--the guys thought that she was "hot" and she was like a big sister to all the girls.

When Dana finally found her, she was outside with a bucket of warm water trying to rinse biodegradable shampoo out of her long red hair. There was no shower, and Steph had warmed the water on the propane stove.

"Hey, Dana--mind helping me out here?" Dana took the bucket and slowly poured the warm water over her hair. "Hurry up, it's freezing!" So, Dana tipped the bucket all the way. "Whoa! Thanks!" Stephanie grabbed a towel and ran inside the lodge, drying her hair along the way, not stopping until she was in front of the massive fireplace. She poured a small bottle of stay-in conditioner and proceeded to quickly comb it into her locks. When she sat down to braid her hair, Dana sat down next to her on the wooden bench. Dana contemplated the fact that not only did this woman survive in the wilderness, she seemed to look good the whole time too. Stephanie pulling out a tube of lip balm just served to punctuate Dana's observation. Dana's orange knitted hat with the pompom on top of her head suddenly felt hideously tacky.

As if on cue, Steph remarked, "I like your hat--it's cute! Did you and Kellie plan to wear the same headgear?"

"Maybe Kellie did--she brought it because she knew I wouldn't"

"Good idea, really. I just brought my Mariner's ball cap." Steph produced it from her back pocket and put it on. Dana saw that it only upped her appearance, not subtracted it. "It's not as warm as yours. Wanna trade?"
When Dana hesitated, "I don't have lice or anything. And my hair is freezing. Please?"

Dana surrendered her hat, feeling weird because her mom always told her not to share hairbrushes and combs, and hats were kind of personal. The Mariner
s ball cap looked brand new, though. Dana put it on.

"The blue brings out your amazing eyes. I'll let you keep it."

"Thanks, orange is more your color than mine." Dana looked around for Kellie and saw her across the room, talking to Greg, "You can have it--don't tell Kellie that I let you."

Steph started laughing "Yeah, I'll tell her I stole it from you because I couldn't resist its awesomeness." Steph put on her new orange hat and pulled her braids under it. "What's up, Dana? Did you want to talk about something? Have any questions about your outdoor ed projects?"

"Yeah, well, no." Indecisiveness hit her like a wave. "It's not a big deal."

"So, it's easy to talk about then, right?"

"Not really. People are getting the wrong idea about me. I don't know how it got started and I don't know how to end it." Dana felt the momentum of her words moving towards the real issue. "I don't have an eating disorder. I'm not starving myself on purpose." Dana felt numb from the shock of spilling her heart out.

Stephanie sat quietly for a moment, choosing her words carefully before proceeding. "I see you are really concerned. I'm sorry. I saw you not eat not just during the meals that Kellie ruined, but you refused s'mores last night, too. I didn't know if it was because you were sick, emotionally upset or what. I remember from my health studies class that girls your age start to develop eating problems, and if this is a pattern, it's good to catch it early." Steph moved closer to Dana on the bench. "I've been a camp counselor for a long time and I've seen anorexia and bulimia before." Dana had hung her head so Steph bent low from bench to try to make eye contact. "And you are a dancer, right? Ballet? You are in such good shape, it's one of the reasons your application was accepted for the class. I'd hate to see your health on this trip ruined, or worse, because of an inadequate diet."

"Yeah, Mr. Branson mentioned that you were worried. I hate s'mores--they're too sweet. And Chris practically gave away all the fresh fruit he packed up here." Dana smiled, even though she blinked away big teardrops "I wanted him to notice me, but not that way."

"Aww, Dana, we all just care a ton about you." Steph gave her hug."Chris really loves fruit, so it was a big deal for him to sell it to you. He's a rock star, that's all."

"Yeah, he rocks." Dana dried her tears. "It's true, prob'ly, that I've got some hang ups about food. And learning to speak up. I'm figuring it out. Hey, watch this!"

Dana stood up on the bench "Listen up, Ninth grade Outdoor Ed people! I'm not anorexic or bulemic! You can all relax, now!" She laughed as the room erupted in applause and she jumped down and did a perfect pirouette.

"I want my fruit back!"

"No way!"

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 5

2011-02-19T12:59:00.000-05:00

"Hey, ladies, I heard that you are in the market for real food, not freeze-dried pouches." Chris said in stage whisper, "Have I got a deal for you!" From beneath his jean jacket, he pulled out a can of Spam. "How many fruit rolls are you willing to pay?"

Dana was not impressed. The only meat they had was turkey luncheon meat, because it was lightweight and she was tired of its saltiness. She had never eaten Spam, but it didn't look much different. As cute as Chris was, she was ready to tell him no sale. Kellie, on the other hand, looked like she was ready to pounce on it. Dana had to act fast if they weren't going to waste their fruit roll investment.

"It's processed meat. What else you got?"

Chris relunctantly pulled out an orange from his pocket and set it next to the can. He then extracted a banana, a mango and a kiwi from his jacket and laid them on the other side.

"Wow, Chris! How much weight did you haul up here in your backpack??" Now, Dana was impressed. It wasn't fair, the girls packed as lightly as possible and were hungry while the guys seemed to have whole refridgerators in their gear.

"Seventy pounds." Chris puffed out his chest a little, he was also impressed with himself. "I was in training for this trip for months, you know? But the hike down the mountain is actually tougher than going up, and I don't want to wreck my knees because of wrestling tournements coming up, but I don't want to waste the food." Then he whispered, "And I heard that one of you girls in this group is anorexic or something." He looked straight at Dana. "I'm a little worried about you all."

"Okay, four rolls for the whole lot." Dana didn't know whether to be mad or to be grateful. The confusion made her feel flustered so she didn't know what to say. "It's my final offer." Her face reddened, "Thanks, but I'm just a picky eater. I don't know what to do without a microwave in the wilderness, either. So, don't worry, I'm fine." She got the fruit rolls and gave them to Chris. "These are strawberry, my favorite."

"Well, my knees and I thank you--stay strong, Danana." Chris made his nickname for her almost rhyme with "banana". She smiled as he picked up his fruit rolls and left.

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 4

2011-02-18T15:41:00.001-05:00

It felt like Thanksgiving. Dana and Kellie leaned back to back on the picnic table bench in the Lodge, with their bellies full for the first time since they left civilization. Their teamwork finally coelesced that morning, with Dana taking over the cooking and Kellie bartering extra fruit rolls for more substantial food. Since the class was breaking camp the next morning and backpacking down five miles to the bus, many were eager to get rid of any extra food to lighten their loads. The lightweight fruit rolls proved to be in high demand.

"Dana, you make yummy freeze dried eggs!"

"Thanks for scoring that box of Macaroni and cheese!"

Kellie nudged Dana with her elbow and  cocked her head at Mr. Branson sitting in a corner writing stuff on his notepad."I wonder what grade we got on our tent last night?"

"Without the rocks under the floor, it would have been perfect." Dana sighed, "If we don't tell him, he won't know."

"He doesn't care about comfort. He is grading us on survival and if we apply the information we learned in class." Kellie's turn to sigh, "Don't you pay attention?"

"Huh? What did you say?" Dana played dumb and Kellie played like she was about to choke her until they heard a throat clear in mid-strangle. Mr. Branson sat across the picnic table from them. It was time for a verdict on their tent pitching skills.

"Ahem, your tent was solid, Smith and Johnson. According to Miss Hill's evaluation while you were assembling it, it was placed in the best direction--back against the wind. Nice trench around the perimeter, rain fly, pegs all in securely--not easy this time of year. You used a ground cloth, good. Were there stones underneath?" Mr. Branson looked at them straight in the eyes. The girls gulped. Sometimes, their teacher seemed to have extra superpowers.

"We missed a couple."

"Well, it is a rocky terrain--make sure you get as many as possible, they poke holes in the floor and if it rains, it could leak.   A-" Mr. Branson got up from the table with a rare smile "Tents have very thin walls. When I said lights out, you know it means all quiet. But you weren't the noisiest ones. However if you want an "A" from this class you need to work on adhering to the lights out rule."

"Mr. Branson?" Kellie got up from her seat. "What if the conversation taking place after lights out was necessary for team building?" Kellie described their reconciliation in the tent last night .  Mr. Branson was nodding his head. "...and I know you noticed we did better this morning than the previous ones."

"Ok, you've made your point." he jotted down 'team building' on his notepad. "Which raises another issue, about the food. Miss Hill said that you, Miss Smith, weren't eating. She was concerned that you had an eating disorder. I'm relieved to see you dined well this morning. So, we'll talk about this some other time."

He headed towards a group of gangly boys, barking "Buckly, McEnroe, Lipovsky and Dean!" They were the noisest ones of the tents, and were about to face their own Outdoor Ed Judgement Day. Kellie jubilently sat down, pumping her arm in victory. Dana laid her head on the table.  This "A" was the hardest one she ever had to work for. She sat up with a sudden realization.

"Kells!" she whispered.

"What?"

"Tents have thin walls!"

"So?"

"Think about it! How did our teacher know about the rocks? " Dana put her head in her hands, "What if everyone heard us talk about-" She looked to her left and right.

Kellie gazed at her with disbelief. "You mean, boys?" Dana hushed her. "Oh please, what are you? A twelve year old? "
As if on cue, Chris came over to their table. Dana looked like she was about to die.

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 3

2011-02-08T11:39:00.000-05:00

Sunshine hitting the exterior of the orange tent made it glow inside when Dana opened her eyes the next morning. Kellie's silver sleeping bag was rolled up and stashed in its bag. Dana groaned from all her aching muscles from a bad night sleeping on the ground--for the first time in her life, she got out of bed without wanting a few more minutes of snoozing. The cold air hit her like a slap on the face, so she dressed quickly. If only there was a hot shower, she thought. Dana pulled off the orange hat that kept her body heat from escaping out the top of her head all night. She glanced in the metal mirror she always kept in her jacket pocket. Not a pretty sight. She brushed her hair and put the hat back on.

After packing up her bag and sleeping bag, Dana retrieved some toiletries and headed out the tent. Kellie was nearby, sitting on a rock overlooking a view of the lodge down below. She had her camera out as well as an open small book and was deep in thought with her eyes closed. She looked so tranquil that Dana tried to quietly pass by without disturbing her. Throughout the trip, Dana sometimes found Kellie sitting off by herself either thinking, singing softly or meditating, like just now. Dana was curious, but Kellie's quiet times seemed pretty personal, so she didn't want to pry with questions. It was a sharp contrast to what she was like the rest of the times she was awake--always talking, joking around and laughing that Dana didn't know what to make of it. How could an outgoing, talkative girl like Kellie be also so... spiritual? Dana couldn't think of another word to describe this private side of her outdoor ed partner.

Kellie's eyes opened, and Dana blushed at being caught staring at her. Her friend didn't seem to care, and moved over on the rock to make room for her. "Hey, Danes, I've got some pictures to show you of the sunrise you just missed!" She picked up her digital camera and started to scroll through the saved photos on file. "It was just so beautiful! I wanted to go back to wake you, but if I did, I would have lost the moment, you know? And I would have woke you up for nothing, you would have missed it anyway. But I've got the pictures, I hope you don't mind."

Dana still felt like she was intruding, even as she sat down on the big rock. She took the camera and as she viewed the landscape photos, she concluded that Kellie indeed had a good eye. "Thanks, Kellie--as nice as the sunrise was, I appreciate you letting me sleep. Great photos!" She handed the camera back to her friend. "Are you serious, do you really want a career in photography?"

Kellie sighed. "I would like that, but it looks like I'll end up being a senator or some big wig. Mom wants me to be the first African American woman president someday. Destiny calls, you know? God's will?"

Dana shook her head. Sometimes Kellie said things that sailed right over her head. She often felt that Kellie dwelled in another dimension apart from everyone else--her goals were so lofty, but she herself was so down to earth. Was she an alien?

"Here, Dana. Mom showed this to me last week." Kellie picked up the small book laying open beside her. Kellie read a passage from it that sounded like another language, only it was still English. Dana saw her friend read often from it, and wondered what it was. Whatever deep thought she was attempting to share with her, was clearly bouncing off her like a rubber ball against a concrete wall.

Kellie turned to the scene below them. "It's about perspective, Danie. What we see from this point of view is much higher--we see a lot more than we would from down in the lodge. In life, we are down in the lodge all the time." Kellie jumped off the rock. "Hey, let's get the tent down! I'm hungry--let's see what I can burn for breakfast!"

Dana laughed as she jumped down, too. That's what Kellie thought. Dana was going to make breakfast this morning, just let her wait and see what real eggs are supposed to be like.

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 2

2011-02-06T20:52:00.000-05:00

"I know. This is really depressing." Dana was startled at Kellie's admission. Kellie had not complained once, except to complain about her complaining about her cooking.

"Yeah, I don't think we cleared all the rocks before we pitched our tent. I've got one under my ribs. Ouch!" Dana turned on her flashlight. Kellie had pulled the top of her silver colored sleeping bag over her head. Only the pompom of her hat was sticking out. "Are you warm enough?"

"Toasty, but I think I've got a rock hitting the back of my head here." Kellie's sleeping bag started to move around, like an inchworm. Dana started to giggle. "What?"

"Nothing." Dana's giggling turned into laughter. "You look like something out of Star Wars."

Kellie popped her head out and blinked at Dana's flashlight. "Sorry I yelled at you this morning about the eggs."

"Sorry that my whining ruined our whole day."

"Hey, why aren't you wearing a hat? Don't you remember Mr. Branson saying that most of our body heat escapes from our head?"

"Hat hair! I can't stand hat hair!"

"Who cares? Everyone has hat hair, why should they care about your hair? Here, wear this, I brought an extra." Kellie tossed an orange flourescent knitted cap like the one she was wearing. "We can be twins."

Dana put it on, carefully. "How do I look? Dorky like you?"

"I knew you wouldn't bring a hat. You're so vain, you know?"

"Why glow in the dark orange, Kels? I swear, I can see you a mile away with this thing on." pouted Dana.

"So you won't get shot by hunters looking for wild turkeys. You look like one, Dana."

"The hunters might shoot you for looking like Jabba the Hut in that crazy sleeping bag!" They started laughing. Dana found that the hat and the good humor actually made her feel a lot warmer. She laid back down, careful to avoid the rock poking her.

Kellie had outrageous taste in clothing--she was an original, but somehow it worked for her. She was outfitted in something that seemed bohemian, colorful and outdoorsy at the same time for this trip. Dana and she had long talks about her fashion sense as they got to know each other in class. Kellie said that she attracted attention as coming from the only African American family in their small town, so she thought that she might as well give them all something to look at. She found that she liked finding vintage clothing at thrift shops and making it her own. Except for the winter camp, she made sure she got the warmest high tech gear she could afford, in bright colors. Kellie was tall and willowy, Dana thought that she would make a great fashion model.

"Dana, have I been too bossy? I mean, for this class, in planning and all."

Dana thought for awhile. Kellie was a take charge girl, she was always something like class president, Associated School Body president, Honor Society president, and with all that experience and brains, Dana just trusted her.

"I don't think so. But I think I needed to speak up. We needed cooking lessons or something."

"Yeah, I think I was over confident. Food is pretty important. I just didn't think that it could be all that difficult. My mom cooks all the time, and she makes it look so easy."

"All you need to do is turn down the heat, Kels. That's all."

"Oh." Kellie turned towards her. "I've got to ask you something."

"Ok"

"Why did you take this class? Whatever got into your head to try this outdoorsy stuff?" Kellie was smiling. "You just don't seem like the type to rough it."

"Oh, I know. I'm a ballerina, a diva, a Glee fan. But I'm not a wimp, you see." Dana sighed. "I'm an only kid and my mom got me into dance lessons and music and stuff we both like. But my dad likes fishing and the great outdoors. I want to do stuff like this with him, but he won't take me. I guess I just want to prove it to him that I can do it." Dana turned to Kellie. "Why are you here?"

"Actually, because the most beautiful places in the world are right here in Washington state. I'd like to try photographing it. Maybe someday I could be like Ansel Adams."

"Oh. I thought you took this class because of Greg. You liar." Dana teased.

"No, you lie. I think you are out here freezing your buns off for Chris the Macho Man."

"We're both lying!" They laughed again. Dana turned off her flashlight. She was finally toasty warm and forgetting about her misery. "Good night, liar."

"Good night, silly."

The Awesome Adventures of Dana the Ninth Grader, part 1

2011-02-05T22:36:00.000-05:00

This sucks. Dana tried to keep that thought far away from her, but it was true. No matter how well she and Kellie planned for this trip, they weren't prepared for how cold cold could be. They were members of a popular ninth grade outdoor education class and they could only get in during the spring semester. Spring at home was different than spring in the northern Omak National Forest. It was not really spring. It was winter in April. There was snow everywhere.

And Mr. Branson wanted his class to learn how to spend the night in a tent in that snow. Kellie and Dana had heard all the lectures about winter survival and how to keep warm. How to pitch a tent in the right direction. The dangers of frostbite. Layering your clothes. He explained how half of the students were going to stay in the lodge next to the big warm fire while the other half spent the night in tents in pairs. And the next night they were going to switch--the lodgers will camp outside while the campers got the lodge. Mr. Branson and Mr. Smith were going to do rounds and check each tent, which were given spots a few feet away from each other.

Dana couldn't get her feet warm, so she tried curling up in a fetal position in her sleeping bag. Staying warm took a lot of energy, but she and Kellie didn't plan their meals very well. Neither girl could cook, but she trusted Kellie to know more than she did. By the time she discovered that Kellie was clueless, it was too late. They got along most of the time, but Kellie blew up that morning when Dana complained that she was burning the eggs over their little backpacker propane heater. Dana suddenly realized that she was always complaining all weekend long. But Kellie burned everything including oatmeal and Dana couldn't eat it. She resorted to cold lunch meat and fruit leather. Her stomach rumbled. She was sick of fruit leather.

Kellie was the talkative one, but throughout the trip, she got quieter and quieter. Dana shivered a bit. They didn't choose each other, Mr. Branson assigned them as partners the very first day. They had nothing in common. Kellie took charge most of the planning times that they had, and Dana stayed passively quiet. And now, she was paying the price for her silence. But to be fair, blaming Kellie was not the way to go. They were partners and shared equal responsibility for their decisions.

Dana had never planned anything before. This was her first experience with taking the information a teacher gave her and applying it to a real life situation. The dilemma that Kellie and she had to deal with is how to pack everything they needed and keep their backpacks under 40 lbs each. It was a 5 mile hike to the lodge from the bus. Uphill with a lot of switchbacks. The first night, Dana was glad that they got the lodge, the hike took a lot out of her. She didn't pay heed to Mr. Branson's recommendation that they get in shape by loading up their packs and taking long walks before their trip. She couldn't imagine walking around town with a loaded backpack and getting stared at all the time. It just looked dorky.

Dana tossed and turned, and gave a big sigh. Kellie was still on her side of the tent. She couldn't be asleep already.

"Kellie?"

She heard a groan. "Now what?"

"This sucks."

Surviving the Toddler Room

2011-02-01T00:55:00.002-05:00

After snack time of doling out handfulls of cheerios to fifteen or so 2 year olds, I spotted young Fifi draped over his Big Wheel. It was only 9:45am Sunday morning, but he had already pooped out from taking his little vehicle for a few spins around the Toddler room. We had at least an hour left to go. His large brown eyes looked at me expectantly. It was a little intimidating. When it comes to entertaining small children, I am a real amature. I'm sure Fifi saw right through me.

How I got into doing childcare during our church's early service, I don't know. One year I was holding crying newborns in the nursery, the next I was chasing crawlers and now I had graduated to the Big Time--toddlers/preschool. Which requires serious playing skills. Since I don't have kids of my own, I am a little out of my comfort zone. But I wasn't ready to wimp out on Fifi.

I asked Fifi to pick out a book for me to read to him and after careful consideration, he brought me a couple of books, one by Dr. Seuss. An obscure one I had never heard of, where there is a certain Mr. Brown who makes noises. Hmmm. Which requires you to make noises as you read aloud. Hmmm.

Fifi settled into my lap. At certain points of the story, the reader coaxes the readee into making a few sounds of his own. And Fifi obliged every time. Even the "whisper, whisper" part. I love Dr. Seuss. When you read his books to a child, he makes it easy for you. Your storytelling skills seem way and above what they really are. Shy Fifi just turned the book back to the first page and in his own nonverbal way, got me to read it again. And again. And again. And again.

And I really didn't mind at all. It was good to be sitting on the class/playroom floor, totally engrossed in this remarkable book together with Fifi. And before we both knew it, it was 10:45am and Fifi's parents were ready to take him home. And I realized, Fifi was as perplexed as to why he was in the Toddler room as much as I was. But we made the best of it. I want to do this again.

A Season

2011-01-06T14:59:00.001-05:00

There is a season for everything. A season to blog, and a season to not blog. I am busy beyond description in relationships and reading. This is clearly not my time to blog.

Yet, I have much to say. Even more, I have a great need to slow down and process everything. Which is where blogging often helps.

For the past two weeks, I've been fighting to stay involved with friends, celebrate the holidays, work effectively during busy shifts, and fighting the flu. Basically, treading wildly below to keep my head above the water. I'm recovered, and am now staring down the cold, steel barrel of a gun of things that need to be done to get ready for the upcoming events of this weekend, next week and the week after. All important stuff. I nearly had a panic attack earlier today, in which I said to myself, pull it together. Trust God. He's the one in control, not me. In the meantime, just do the next thing.

Last year, Dennis was predicting that we would be stretched out more than ever. And he was right. So far, God has been faithful. He has held us and our endeavors together.

So, I'm praying more. Having longer quiet times. Reading good stuff. Extending ourselves more in hospitality. Connecting deeper with friends. Blogging less.

2010-11-26T09:05:00.002-05:00

The last 48 hours has been a stream of constant planning, cooking, cleaning, and enjoying. Thanksgivings have been a mixed bag over the years of either hosting or being hosted. A few years ago, one celebration involved a buffet that included two turkeys, chaos and an overstuffed house. Since then, Dennis and I worked through what we wanted for our holiday:

1. To be in community with at least one other Christian--that no matter what, we want to include another member of our "spiritual family" or "church home" in some way. I wish there was a Thanksgiving church service, but any informal fellowship is better than none. At the heart of the holiday, is the experience of koininia.

2. Thanksgiving for us means expressing our gratitude to God which also means for us, worshiping Him because He is the center of our lives. He holds me together--sometimes, with "Crazy Glue" I think.

3. Know our limits. If time allows, yes, have a Thanksgiving blow out. But if we don't have the time, energy or means, it's okay to accept an invitation elsewhere and bring a dish. Potlucks are a beautiful thing. They are much harder to coordinate than most people realize.

4. If we decide to host, invite people from other countries. Don't expect that they will like the food (it is really different from what they might be used to). Don't expect that they won't, either. Prepare the meal to the full extent of your ability, and just be satisfied in that. I cooked for two days, just for the joy of sharing my culture and childhood memories. Ask them to bring a dish to share and taste it, inquire about the ingredients and preparation. Food is a vast source of cultural information as well as fun.

5. If we accept an invitation, bring something unexpected. The Thanksgiving menu is pretty much the same everywhere, so a surprise of some sort is a nice addition. I like bringing a light salad with mixed greens, pears, dried cranberries and my own vinegiarette, for example. Or a chocolate something or other.

6. If there are no invitations or inviting others (which is incredibly rare for us) because of no time or not knowing anyone (also very rare but it had happened at least twice in the last 21 years), be content. That means no pity parties. Sometimes, we just need a break to be reminded of God's perfect love for us and that is enough.

7. Do something other than eat. I told some international friends that Thanksgiving is one of the more boring holidays. Americans tend to do little else other than eat, watch a football game (men) or sit around and talk about Black Friday (women) or clean up (kids--at least in my family--washing dishes took hours in the kitchen because of our shenanigans). In college, I visited my friend's house in my hometown after our dinner and hers were over and played pinochle in her family's annual tournement (she had 14 brothers and sisters). Hands down, the best Thanksgiving experience I had up to that point.

8. When I cooked my first Thanksgiving in our own home for company, I was 29 years old. I worked at home for my own business and made my own schedule. I shouldn't have been as massively stressed but I was. It was about being driven by perfectionism and people pleasing. I had post-its all over the kitchen for days, and written down schedules and deadlines. It was an amazing dinner. I got lots of compliments but for some reason, I wasn't really all that thankful. Yesterday, I pretty much made the same menu without needing to use post-its and a schedule--some things worked without a hitch, somethings didn't pan out as they should have (no luck with the Shitake mushroom gravy), but you know, it didn't matter. I could execute the perfect turkey dinner but without love, it profits me nothing.

The Blessing of Ruth

2010-11-21T21:08:00.007-05:00

The first time I read The Book of Ruth was in college, in my sophmore year. Her story stayed with me for weeks after my first, second and third readings. Whenever I needed encouragement, especially about romantic relationships, that was where I went. I didn't understand everything with the book, but I learned something new as a young believer with every reading. If there ever was a Biblical character I wanted to be like, Ruth was the one. I still do, but sometimes, I feel more like Naomi.

After I started my narrative about The Book of Ruth several months ago, I discovered poems written by John Piper about Ruth. Then I found that these poems were based on his book about her called A Sweet and Bitter Providence. In the lounge area of the Meijer's today, I downloaded a copy onto my Kindle reader and read the first two chapters on my walk home from the store.

An encouraging excerpt:

"The mood of American life today is, If it feels good, do it, and away with guilt-producing, puritanical principles of chastity and faithfulness. But I say to you who are unmarried, if the stars are shining in their beauty, and your blood is thudding like a hammer, and you are safe in the privacy of your place, stop....for the sake of righteousness. Let the morning dawn on your purity.

My narratives about the characters in Ruth were mainly an exercise in meditation. The exercise brought me to places of understanding Scripture that I didn't have before. And it makes me want to know more.

35 Years Ago Today…

2010-11-10T22:04:00.000-05:00

Back in the 70's, I had a job but saved everything I earned as a 14 year old cook at the A&W. I bought a few albums, though, but only after careful deliberation. Then I played them to death. Gordon Lightfoot's "Gord's Gold" had the Edmund Fitzgerald song, which was my very favorite.

A few weeks ago, the winds blew so hard, the meterologists kept saying that the last time the wind was this bad was 35 years ago when the Edmund Fitzgerald went down.

Now, I live here, and when I see those ships on the Great Lakes, I think of this song.

35 Years Ago Today…

Naomi's Thoughts

2010-11-05T10:03:00.002-04:00

Naomi lit a lamp and sat up on her straw pallet. She didn't know how she would feel, being back home in Elimelech's house. So quiet. So empty. So different from her days here as a young mother, scolding her sons and happily nagging her husband--her men all took it in stride, sometimes mocking her behind her back, sometimes genuinely afraid of her. She chuckled briefly.

Then, the famine crept up on them, the fields yeilding less and less every year. The family grew more silently desperate, and Naomi learned quickly not too push her hardworking menfolk too much. Elimelech once said during an especially fatigued moment that he missed her nagging, the boys nodding their heads in grim agreement.

Missed my nagging! Naomi chuckled again at the memory of his comment. She recalled how she responded with "Did you remember to bring the goat back from the back pasture so I can milk it? Where's my goat?" with her old impatient tone. They all roared with laughter until they cried. It took hard times to appreciate the specialness of ordinary days. We miss the most strange things, she thought.

Before, this house seemed too small and constantly having to be cleaned and put in order, she mused. All that work! To be sitting without anything to do was uncanny and unnatural. Those were the days. Naomi closed her eyes. It was more painful being here than she thought.

Because of her little speech to the old friends and neighbors recieving them right at the beginning, people knew enough to stay away. No one knocked on the door to visit and gossip or ask a hundred questions. Naomi preferred it this way, which was so different from the old days. In the old days, her home was open to all the women in the neighborhood as they worked and talked and watched babies together. When the famine came, they came to worry and commiserate together with hushed voices so the children couldn't overhear.

Now, everyone must be at the harvest. The famine is over, and her family is gone. Not here to rejoice and celebrate and work. Elimelech knew this day would come, but didn't live to see it. The sight of the abundant sheaves of grain burned her eyes as they passed through the fields on the way to town.

Naomi laid back down on her bed. Such a contrast to the last harvest before they left for Moab. The whole town was at the threshing floor, witnessing the meager return for their year long labors. There wasn't enough to feed everyone and what there was, would go to the highest bidder, which would be very high indeed. People were going to die of starvation.

Some of the men broke down and fell on their knees, Elimelech among them. Like herself, he was thinking of Mahlon and Chilion, both whom were never strong physically and were the least likely to survive the famine. Near him was Boaz, a family member.

Boaz, even during this dark time, kept the old practices of providing for the poor by leaving portions of his fields for them to glean or gather food for themselves. He even left larger portions than required in the Law as times got tighter. Besides saving for seed for next year's planting, he was under much strain for his own livelihood. Knowing Boaz, like everyone did, he probably refrained from marriage and raising his own family in order to save seed grain and provide for the poor. He starved as much as everyone else.

In order to relieve the strain on the village and protect his vulnerable family, Elimelech decided to leave before it was too late. They still had food, they still had some strength and some means. The boys were of age to be married--how would we manage that in Moab, Naomi inquired of him. Elimelech replied that the Law prohibited our women to marry Moabite men, but not for our men to marry Moabite women. Well, make sure that they are rich, she replied. Her Eli laughed out loud. It was a rare sound these days and it made her smile a little. Yes, my Naomi, we will come back with daughters-in-law, grandchildren and food for everyone to share!

At recalling this, Naomi gave out a long sigh and closed her eyes. They had hoped the boys would grow stronger and recover from their health problems--Eli had secured good, caring brides for them but no matter what they did, they declined further and further. The burden of starting over in Moab fell on Elimelech's shoulders alone, and he was the first to go under the pressure. It wasn't long before Mahlon and Chilion followed him.

It was more than Naomi could bear. Do you care, Lord? Did we offend You? What do You want from me? The three questions haunted her and kept her from her rest, until she heard Ruth return from her gleaning.

Boaz

2010-10-24T20:36:00.005-04:00

There was something about her that reminded him of his mother, Rahab. Rahab had hid the spies in Jericho because she believed in the stories she had heard about the God of the Isrealites. He had heard her first hand account of how the spies gave her a red cord to mark her house to spare her during the invasion, how the army of the Lord marched around the walls of the city and how the Lord caused the walls come down. Although his mother made a living from prostitution, she left all of that behind to begin a new life with the God of Isreal.

Rahab always told him how she met his father, and how his family welcomed her into their family even though she wasn't from their people. His grandfather, Nahshon, was especially attentive and kind towards her as well as his grand-aunt and uncle, Elisheba and Aaron. His mother's quick thinking and faith had been a catalyst towards a great victory and miracle by God! But his mother was always different. She had much to learn about the Law and the ways of their people, so the family was very patient in teaching her everything she needed to know.

He had heard much about Ruth--she had a good reputation even before she entered Bethlehem, as travelers on the road had witnessed about how Ruth meticulously and tenderly looked after Naomi. Naomi probably would have died without her. Boaz felt badly, that perhaps he could have sent servants to meet them and bring them home. But by the time he had heard they were coming, they already had arrived in town and settled in Elimelech's old house. Ruth also acted quickly by coming to work this morning, he thought. Boaz was impressed with her diligence and wisdom. His mother would have liked Ruth very much, if she were alive today.

Before the mid-day break and meal, he glanced towards the field where he instructed Ruth to stay with his female workers. Not only did she heed his words, she was smiling as she labored under the sun. That one, he surmised, will have no shortage of suitors. She will be married in a very short time. The thought made him happy and strangely sad at the same time.

Ruth Meets Boaz

2010-10-24T14:55:00.003-04:00

Ruth observed the harvesting process, some fields were more orderly than others. She watched for awhile how the skilled paid workers cut down the grain and some gathered for the threshing barn. Then there were the unpaid workers, mostly women, who were cleaning up the fallen stalks left on the ground. The latter group were free to take the grain home with them, so Ruth introduced herself as Naomi's daughter-in-law to the foreman in charge and inquired if she could glean, too. He recognized Naomi's name and approved her request to work.

Back home in Moab, the owners of the harvests brought all the grain to be threshed and stored, the fallen grain and stalks were never left behind for the needy in the community. Although Ruth was still tired after her long walk to Bethlehem, she was glad to have something productive to do. However, her appearence and clothing set her apart from the rest of the workers-- Ruth felt like a crow in a field full of sparrows.

She worked without stopping all morning, for this was the food they were going to need to sustain themselves all year--there was no other food source for her and Naomi. She did answer the occasional questions from the other women as she worked: that Naomi was very tired from her ordeal and needed rest; yes, it's true that Elilemech and Mahlon and Chilion died in Moab; no, there are no grandchildren.

Finally, Ruth felt a little dizzy from being in the sun and left the fields to rest for a few minutes in a house set up for the workers. Just as she sat down, she heard it--the blessing she had heard from afar the day before--one man calling out loudly and joyfully "May the LORD be with you!" and the reapers response "May the LORD bless you!". The greeting made Ruth smile, and she realized that she hadn't smiled like this for a very long time.

The owner of the fields that she was working in was the the lone voice greeting the workers, and she saw him talk to the foreman for a minute and then walk up to the house she was resting in. Her first impression of Boaz was that even though he was older, he radiated strength and vitality. At the same time, his words were full of compassion and kindness.

"Listen carefully, my daughter. Do not go to glean in another field; furthermore, do not go on from this one, but stay here with my maids. Let your eyes be on the field which they reap, and go after them. Indeed, I have commanded the servants not to touch you. When you are thirsty, go to the water jars and drink from what the servants draw."

For the first time in years, some one took notice of her and her needs. Ruth had no one to teach her where to go, where not to go and what to do in this foreign place. She had been alone for a long time in taking care of Naomi without anyone caring for her. The sensitivity and understanding towards her caused Ruth feel overwhelmingly grateful, so much that she cast herself face down bowing to the ground "Why have I found favor in your sight that you should take notice of me, since I am a foreigner?"

Boaz did not hesitate to answer. "All that you have done for your mother-in-law after the death of your husband has been fully reported to me, and how you left your father and your mother and the land of your birth, and came to a people that you did not previously know. May the LORD reward your work, and your wages be full from the LORD, the God of Isreal, under whose wings you have come to seek refuge."

Joy pierced Ruth like an arrow. This was what Naomi was like back in the old days! She used to say things like this all the time! A man who knows Naomi's God! "I have found favor in your sight, my lord, for you have comforted me and indeed have spoken kindly to your maidservant, though I am not like one of your maidservants."

Ruth went back to work, but she couldn't stop smiling. She was truly comforted and blessed by God.

Ruth's Dilemma

2010-10-23T09:45:00.003-04:00

Ruth woke up with a start. For a brief moment, she was confused as to where she was until she remembered she was with Naomi in Bethlehem. She laid back down on the hard, cool, earth floor and pulled her cloak tighter around her as she waited for her heart to calm back down. She had never been this far away from home in her life. As exciting as it was, she had several fears to contend with.

She looked at Naomi lying across the room in the dark and sighed. Her mother-in-law had clearly given up. All the challenges for their survival paled in light of this particular dilemma. Ruth never felt so helpless. But by now, she saw what Naomi wanted. God's blessing.

Ruth dried her tears and sat up. She was in the Promised Land now. How could such a wonderful blessing for herself come through Naomi's pain? For what reason? Her mind sifted through all the stories Naomi taught her. Joseph's words to his brothers during their reconciliation in Egypt came to her, "What you intended for bad, God used for good."

The thought spurred her to her feet and she started to prepare for the day ahead. She found a water vessel and found the local water supply. She picked up some firewood and made a fire. They had a little morsel of food left over from their journey, and Ruth made a bit of breakfast for them, which Naomi refused to eat after she awoke. Ruth left it next to her in case she changed her mind later. Ruth also gathered some hay to make a more comfortable bed for Naomi. With some water and cloth ripped from the bottom of her cloak, Ruth made soothing poultices for Naomi's sore feet. The journey was physically brutal, but even more so for elders.

As she applied the wet cloth to Naomi's feet, she asked her if she could work in the nearby barley fields. Naomi consented, "Go, my daughter" and laid back down. Ruth got up and glanced at her good dress that she had carefully folded and placed in a corner of their room along with her small vial of perfume. Maybe she could sell those items if they needed some money. But she wasn't ready to totally rule out a marriage. God had provided a husband before when it seemed unlikely-- if He wanted, He could certainly do it again. How He would do it without even a dowry or family connections--the basics for any decent match--was beyond her imagination. It was going to take a miracle. Like the bread from Heaven, called Manna, that fed the Isrealites in the wilderness.

She brushed her hair, washed her face and headed out, not knowing where she was going. God will help me, she whispered to herself, I am totally in the dark here. Over the horizon, the sun was rising for the new day, and Ruth took heart.

I Know God is For Me

2010-10-18T20:42:00.002-04:00

"This is the reflex we should have: when we fear, we trust; when we fear, we have faith. This means that fear leads to trust which leads to praise. Christ is our promise and Christ is our grace. So we look to Him and conclude that “God is for me.” “I will not fear what man can do unto me” (vs. 11)." --Nancey Ann Wilson from her blog, Femina

House of Bread

2010-10-17T21:26:00.002-04:00

The sun rose upon fields full of ripe wheat and barley in the cool early morning. The pastoral scene took Ruth's breath away as she approached Bethlehem with Naomi leaning heavily on her shoulder. She saw the workers with their scythe blades flashing on their way to harvest, smelled the fresh aroma of the grain as it was bundled and carried away to the threshing floor. Both men and women were out laboring in the fields, Ruth noted as her stomach rumbled with hunger, each filling their assigned roles in the harvest. Such bounty! Ruth had never seen such abundance in her whole life!

And then she heard it--one man calling out a greeting "The Lord be with you!" and a multitude of voices responding "The Lord bless you!" in a distant field. Her eyes searched where the greetings had come from, but she couldn't tell. As soon as they entered the town and settled, Ruth planned to be out here the next morning. Maybe there was something she could do to support herself and Naomi. She wanted to be in that field where the blessing was.

Naomi had been quiet the whole journey back to her home. Ruth had hoped that she would begin to cheer up as they got closer, but Naomi seemed to regress even further. Maybe when she saw her old friends and family? She talked so much about them before the disaster in Moab struck, Ruth felt she knew some of them already.

Ruth suddenly felt conscious of her appearence. She had worn her good brilliantly colored robe under her plain outer garments and cloak, she wondered if she should make herself more presentable. In a pocket, she had some perfume that she hoped to wear at her own wedding some day, if God willed it. Instead of adjusting her appearence, she decided to pull her head covering more tightly over her head and face. It was Naomi's reunion, and she decided it was best she not attract any attention to herself. It was not her time for introductions, but probably a good time to observe the new culture that she was going to learn to live in. In fact, it was probably best to be quiet and blend in as much as possible.

At the outskirts of the town, Naomi pulled away from Ruth and straightened her back. She was more weary than she let on. Naomi walked ahead and Ruth followed a short distance behind her. As they rounded the bend into the main street, Ruth felt all eyes on them as they entered the main square. A crowd gathered around them as she heard some of the women ask each other if this was Naomi. Naomi turned to them, and said her first words since they left Moab.

"Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty dealt very bitterly with me. I went out full but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why do you call me Naomi, since the LORD has witnessed against me and the Almighty has afflicted me?"

Silence fell over the whole crowd and no one moved. Tears welled up in Ruth's eyes. She had no idea how deep Naomi's pain and anger had grown. It had grown very deep indeed. Ruth wanted to reach out and tell Naomi to take heart, but she kept her words to herself. The two women passed through the quiet crowd, towards a vacant dwelling place that Naomi somehow knew of and collapsed into a deep sleep without refreshing themselves after their long journey.

But Ruth's heart was full. Thank you, Lord, for bringing me to Your people. Thank you for bringing something good out of the bad.

More Naomi, Orpah and Ruth

2010-10-09T17:34:00.002-04:00

Orpah

After Naomi finished speaking, Orpah caught her breath and took a glance at her sister-in-law, Ruth. Usually, Orpah took a little longer than Ruth to understand Naomi, but this time they simultaneously got her meaning. After spending so much time together, Orpah and Ruth could read each other's thoughts without speaking.

That Naomi was too old to bear sons for them to marry was obvious-- yet, it was comforting to know that she would keep them in her family if she could. However, Naomi was not going to arrange marriages for them once they got to her hometown of Bethlehem. They were Moabite women, and there had been enmity between their peoples for some time.

In addition, no matter how carefully and completely Naomi taught them about her people and their ways and their God, Orpah had difficulty understanding and embracing it. The Moabites didn't worship one God, but many gods. When Orpah and Ruth joined the household of Elimelech, it was understood that they were not to bring their idols with them. Orpah missed her old traditions, and relunctantly adapted to the new ones.

Chilion, her husband and Naomi's son, was like his mother--very generous and loving, though. And most of their time together was pleasant. He teased her about her name, meaning "long necked one" and she teased him back about his odd name. Little did they both know, that the manner of his death eventually bore out the meaning of his name. He wasted away, and she gently and tenderly cared for him all those years. When he finally passed, Orpah decided that there would be no other husband who could ever replace Chilion. Furthermore, there was no other home for her but Naomi's home. But even then, Orpah did not believe in Chilion's God.

And now, here on this road, Orpah became acutely aware of the main difference between Naomi's people and Orpah's people. It was more than culture, dress and customs. After Naomi's final motherly kiss, Orpah turned her long, elegant neck away and headed back to her home in Moab.

Naomi

Tears streamed down Naomi's face as she watched Orpah walk away. She knew it was wrong that she and Elimelech left the Promised Land, and that it was wrong for them to find Moabite wives for their sons. Yet, she didn't fully comprehend that the price for their lack of faith would be blood. She should have. Their hunger and weakness drove them to desperation, despite their knowledge of the Law and History that Moses left. The people weren't delivered from Egypt to go to Moab. But she had hoped that they would eventually return with food to share with the community in Bethlehem, like Joseph's brothers of old.

Moab. When Ruth asked her about the original ancestors of her country, Naomi told her quietly and plainly. Both Ruth and Orpah wept at the story, each of their heads on each of Naomi's shoulders. Naomi consoled them that now they knew that they were very distant relatives. And even Moses had a Gentile wife. Yet while Ruth softened after this discussion, Orpah seemed more distant than before.

When Orpah left, it didn't surprise her all that much. When Ruth fell at her feet with the beautiful and heart-felt vow, she wasn't surprised either. We will see, she said to herself, if Ruth has real faith or not. But do I?

For the rest of the journey, there were no more stories, words or explanations. Naomi's silence grew even deeper. Ruth had many questions about how to behave in her newly adopted home, but kept them all to herself. She prayed that God would show her the way.

About Naomi

2010-10-07T22:26:00.002-04:00

Naomi didn't know what came over her, but she stopped in the middle of the road. She just wanted to be alone, all of a sudden. Orpah and Ruth had been by her side for nearly 10 years, and she didn't know what she would've done without them. There were hard times, for sure, but there was still hope that it would all turn around.

But it didn't.

All the stories, the songs, the teaching and the love she poured into the future mothers of her grandchildren so that they would know the ways of their God and people. It was for nothing. She didn't want to waste their time, their precious time. They had no idea how quickly the years sped by. One minute you are a busy young mother and the next, you are a childless widow.

What is there left to do but wait for God to finally take her? And then what would happen to Orpah and Ruth--they would be left alone in a strange country without her. In the middle of having been abandoned, she did not want to abandon them.

For the first time in months, Naomi felt an emotion welling up in her heart. She had been in shock and numb from pain. But this emotion was a new and strange one, mixed with her deep concern and love for her daughters by marriage. If God indeed was punishing her, then it would not be good for them to tag along to experience His anger. God is just, God is King and God does whatever He pleased. She prayed that He would spare them, that He would allow her little doves to fly and build their own nests elsewhere.

The famine 10 years ago was for disciplining God's people, but her husband thought that they would escape by fleeing to Moab. She knew he was trying to protect them and keep the family bloodline going by finding the best women for their sons in Moab. Naomi was surprised at his choices for their sons. They were not wealthy and had few resources to fall back on. He simply shrugged and said money did not matter this time. He picked these because they reminded him of Naomi in some ways. What, she asked, well they look nothing like me! You are right, he replied, but Ruth's friendliness and Orpah's industriousness are qualities that I see in you.

With that, she was content. Her husband always knew what to say to convince her. And he was right. Ruth was more than a smiling face, she was quick to listen and retained almost anything Naomi said or did. Orpah was more independent, but she was practical and organized. With intelligent wives like these, Naomi thought, much could be accomplished.

But now, here on this desolate road, she was about to break their hearts. They had grown so close, this was not going to be easy. But they had to know the truth. They had to be set free.

When Naomi opened her mouth, her voice was flat and her words heavy with despair. She didn't sound like herself, it was a long time since she tried to explain anything to them and it felt unfamiliar and strange to her what used to be a constant occurance as they worked side by side to build a home and a future together. They made a plan, but only God could make it happen and for reasons of His own, He had another one she knew not of.

About Orpah

2010-10-07T15:02:00.002-04:00

Naomi took Orpah's hand as they walked with Ruth slowly down the road, away from the village she had lived in all her life. Orpah squeezed Naomi's hand back and reached out for Ruth's. The three lived together and suffered together as their husbands passed away. Each took their turn in comforting the other over the years, knowing well how it was in each other's shoes. It was a kinship and a bond that felt closer than she ever had with her own family or even husband. Just a few days ago, Naomi told them that she was going back home and Orpah was too busy getting ready to leave to stop and think what it all meant.

Orpah assumed without question that she and Ruth were going to accompany Naomi on this trip, even though Naomi never directly asked them to come. Naomi was strangely silent for the last month, in fact, saying very little. Under the circumstances, that wasn't unusual for a woman in mourning. Orpah reminded herself that whatever she suffered, Naomi suffered three times more with not just the loss of a husband but also two sons. The grueling task of simply surviving left Orpah very little time to reflect about why this happened to them, but the question came to her at night as she drifted off in dreamless slumber.

The question remained unasked but floated over her mind as she drove herself to exhaustion finding and preparing their meager portions of food as well as scant twigs for firewood. They were on the brink of begging on the corner and Orpah was tired of going to her childhood home to ask her father and mother for a measure of barley and oil to make into small cakes. Her family had enough of their own problems keeping food in their larder, she didn't want to be a burden as well. Where to find their next meal was constantly on her mind.

She was dismayed to see that Ruth packed very little food to take--barely enough to make it on a week long journey by foot. None of them could afford to lose any more weight, what if there was nothing when they got to Bethleham? What if it was just a cruel rumor that the famine in Isreal was over and the people there were just as thin and hungry as she was? How would she know for sure? As much as she loved these two women and as much as they had endured as fellow widows, she wasn't sure that she was willing to die in the middle of the wilderness with them. Now that she had time to think, she wish that her thoughts would stop.

They hadn't walked very far before Naomi came to a complete halt. Orpah looked behind them, the village was still visible just over the rise of a gentle hill. Ahead of them was wind, sun and lots and lots of sandy dirt. Naomi turned to her daughters-in-law and looked them both in the eye. Orpah noticed for the first time how much older Naomi appeared. It took her breath away. Suddenly, she felt older, too. How many lines were etched around her eyes and furrows across her forehead? Who would marry her, now?

Naomi just stood silently in front of them, as the wind whistled around the trio and whipping their cloaks into the air. Naomi dropped Orpah's hand but Orpah tightened her grip around Ruth's. Orpah respected and loved Naomi , but she had disappeared so within herself and her grief that Orpah didn't know her anymore. Now looking her in the eye, she realized that they had become strangers.

Naomi used to talk non-stop, back in the good days. She told stories, she sang and she taught them everything about herself, her God and her people and their ways. They never had much, but they had Naomi who went out of her way to welcome them into the family and make them feel comfortable in their new home with her. Oh, the laughter! The jokes! Working alongside Naomi was never work! Orpah had hoped that the old Naomi would come back, that this move back to Bethleham would bring her to life, but looking at her at that moment, she realized that it was not going to happen. It was going to take much more to revive her old friend.

Orpah knew that it was more than death that made Naomi despair. She didn't know what it was, and if Naomi revealed it, would she understand? She didn't understand the stories that she shared which kept Ruth in a state of rapture so much she would drop whatever was in her hands as she worked beside Naomi who narrated stories to them. Most of what Naomi said went right over Orpah's head.

And now, what was on Naomi's tongue to say to break her long wordlessness? If only her husband and sons could see her now--a silent Naomi used to be incomprehensible. But no one, not even Orpah, minded that she loved to talk because everything was said with joy and kindness.

Finally, Naomi began to speak, and Orpah felt like every word was a blow to her heart. There was kindness but no joy. Instead, a bitterness that pierced her like a sword. She reeled and sobbed. Her dearest mother-in-law was certainly gone and someone else had taken her place. Where was the real Naomi? Did she really even exist? Who was this woman?

About Ruth

2010-10-06T23:03:00.004-04:00

I began writing a story in August and just finished it tonight. I led an international women's bible study this summer in The Book of Ruth and The Book of Esther, which were the sources of my inspiration. You can read it here: http://theasideas2.blogspot.com/2010/08/about-ruth.html

This particular scene comes from my meditation about Ruth's mindset as she prepared to accompany Naomi and Orpah on the road back to Bethlehem. I wondered how she felt about Naomi and about what Naomi taught her. I wondered about her struggles and how she dealt with them. I wondered about her desires, and how these desires were a foreshadow of what was to come--her great grandchild was King David, an ancestor of Jesus' bloodline.

It was a lot of work for just these paragraphs, not sure if I have the time to invest more. But if the process helps me meditate on God's word, then it might not be a waste of time.

Maturity and Failures

2010-09-07T09:52:00.003-04:00

I'm not an expert at how to handle failure, but I am aware of how fear of failure has kept me from trying new things or move past my comfort zone. The subject came up while driving home with a small contingent of Korean girls from a beginning of the Michigan State University year international student welcome party in a big barn. Even though it was hard to understand and be understood (on both my part and theirs) we tackled the subject with as much depth as possible. We have been friends for the better part of 4 months and ready to have more meaningful conversations.

We had just participated in a fun and informal volleyball game at the party way past dark. My friends were not used to joining in this kind of game and pretty much avoided it until a much loved American friend encouraged them to try after the picnic. Afterwards, on the way home, one of the girls commented that she thought I did well in playing the game. Actually, she should have seen me 25 years ago. I was a little better back then. So, my response was "I am getting old" which prompted much laughter in the car. Even though we were playing just for fun and not keeping score, I pondered in my heart how competancy was on the minds of everyone involved from the beginners to old fools like me. We all want to look good.

Finally, one of the girls started searching for an English word. It was hard, because it came with huge emotional connotations of shame. After several tries, she said, "Forget it, it's okay." I helped her out--"Failure?" I asked. She was quiet, and it was dark in the car so I couldn't see her facial expression. The word floated in the air like a bad smell. I told her about my supervisor when I started working as a barista who said that everyone makes mistakes and that I needed to "get over it". She laughed and said that she wanted to have a supervisor like that one. I said that my supervisor was getting tired of hearing me lament over every little thing that fell short.

I shared how Americans usually use the term "It was a learning experience" a lot and it really means "I messed up" and the Korean girls found this hilarious. I told them that American bosses like to hear this because it means that you know what happened, why it happened and how not to let it happen again. One of my friends commented that failure means you actually tried. I agreed with her wholeheartedly.

But it didn't stop me from kicking myself all night into this morning about mistakes and a memory lapses that kept haunting me from the previous evening's party. I saw many people I recognized from previous years and couldn't remember exactly how I knew them. I am very proud of my recall abilities, but now I think I have over reached my capacity. I got names and faces wrong and it bugs me to no end. In some cases, I worried if I hurt some people's feelings. In some cases, I worried if there was something wrong with my brain.

Like my physical self, my mental self has seen better days. However, when I was 21 years old, if I swam four laps in a pool, it was a huge acheivement. Now, at 48, I easily swim three times that and if I want to, a mile is achievable. Mentally, my memory may blur a lot, but I think my ability to comprehend "the big picture" of any meaningful thing I do is so much clearer than when I was a young whipper snapper. In other words, I no longer sprint so well, but I have enough endurance for what I need.

In the meantime, it's okay to slow down and begin to appreciate how many people from all over the world God has brought to me. I am human and weak and forget too many wonderful experiences with wonderful friends. But God is God and He is strong and His memory is infinite. My finite being that fails--I am a jar of clay--holds within a precious and glorious treasure. Jesus.

And that's the best way I know of about how to handle failure.

"We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves." 1 Corinthians 4:7-8 NLT

"My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak,

but God remains the strength of my heart; he is mine forever." Psalm 73:26 NLT

Forever Young

2010-09-01T09:35:00.005-04:00

Tony Ling blogs about Bob Dylan's music, posting a review about every song he wrote. (http://everybobdylansong.blogspot.com/ ) Since Dylan is still writing and recording, Ling's aspiration may well be a life long endeavor. Especially at the pace he's currently going (in between grad school commitments). But every entry is worth the wait, whether I agree with it or not. Today's blog is about "Forever Young", from the album Planet Waves. My favorite remark:

"Everything about the released master take, from Robertson's gentle solos to the harmonica stabs throughout and to Dylan's incredible vocal performance, maybe the greatest of his career ("Something There Is About You" is a personal favorite, but I will fully admit that this performance here blows it out of the water), is so inch-perfect that every time I listen to the track it takes all my, erm, inherent manliness to not just weep at how amazing the track is. "

Ling goes on to describe how Dylan's mastery of song writing is displayed in his ability to be both simple and meaningful with the lyrics, that the words and the execution of the song sink deeply in our hearts whether we are parents or not. It is the best Dylan song, in Ling's point of view.

And I agree. Parental love is the deepest of human loves and one of the hardest to articulate. The song goes further, though. It is about giving a child your blessing. We all long to be blessed by others, but to be verbally blessed by your father and mother is very special. But more wonderful than that, is the priviledge to give a child your blessing. In the Old Testament, the Patriarches blessed their progeny before they died. A part of themselves was continuing on even though they were passing away--because of their children and their children's children, they were forever young, too.

Happy 21st Anniversary, Dennis!

2010-08-22T23:40:00.002-04:00

One of the biggest surprises in life is finding out who is most compatible with you. Sometimes it isn't the things I have in common with Dennis that makes our marriage work, often it is those things that we have least in common. If you lined up all available bachelors in front of me at 21 years of age and I had to choose which one I would eventually marry in six years, Dennis would not have made the cut. In six years time, he became the only choice I would seriously consider. I watched him handle difficult life situations during those six years, and I knew solid character when I saw it. But I also saw someone who loved people, was fun and excited about life.

I wondered for awhile though, what kind of marriage it would be between a man of action and a woman of endless reflection. I had no idea, but I thought it would be interesting research. My conclusion after 21 years of experimenting on that hypothesis is that marrying Dennis is the best idea I've ever had. We allowed each other to rub off each other a little--Dennis has since become more thoughtful and I can sometimes get stuff done. But mostly, we are more effective when we are ourselves with Dennis following up on if I accomplished what I'm supposed to do and I ask the right questions before he leaps off into a brand new task.

We've had plenty in common, though. But it is those differences that I most appreciate. Adele sings about them in her song "The Same". Enjoy.

The Artful Conversation

2010-08-11T20:35:00.004-04:00

One of our favorite activities of the day is sitting around a table over dinner with friends. We talk about random ideas, personal histories, cultural differences, relationships, current events and life in general. Although cooking almost everyday for four people, plus a couple more on occasion, can sometimes be a hassle, I look forward to dinnertime. Conversation, although I'm a little introverted, is important to me.

It has always been vital--so much that while I suffered from painful shyness in fifth grade, I read a book recommended to me by my favorite Librarian at school about how to start and hold conversations. I don't remember the title of the book, but its principles have guided me ever since. The first chapter dealt mostly with proper grammar and ettiquete such as introductions. The subsequent chapters were helpful hints in how to initiate, broach a subject and keep a dialogue going, as well as dangers to avoid like monopolizing everyone's attention. A good conversationalist gives as well as takes, listens well and asks thoughtful questions. Everyone, no matter what their comfort level in socializing, can learn a few basic skills. I think the book had no more than 50 pages, it was one of the precious Scholastic books that I bought for just pennies but it gave me hope. I wore it out.

While at the public library last week, I ran across The Art of Conversation, A Guided Tour of a Neglected Pleasure by Catherine Blyth. Although I am not as shy as I used to be, I decided that it couldn't hurt to brush up a little. Society has changed since I perused that little helpful tome in fifth grade, so I could stand to learn something new.

Blyth's assessment of 21st century culture is that we are neglecting ourselves by neglecting good conversation by our technological dependence on computers, online social networks, cell phones and text messaging. All of that is fine, but it doesn't take the place of our human need to sit down and talk to a person eye to eye. "The irony of this communication age is that we communicate less meaningfully" page 8 of the Introduction. We are starving ourselves of real communication.

This is an opportunity for believers, I think, to meet needs of an increasingly isolated generation who don't know how to initiate a conversation and keep it going. The more skilled we are at communicating, the deeper the impact we may have for glorifying God in sharing His good news for everyone. It is hospitality that goes with us everywhere, in and out of our homes, to extend our attention and get to know someone else, hear their story as they articulate thoughts they didn't know they had until we asked them. Conversations can change lives. And it beats eating dinner in front of a television.

About Ruth

2010-08-05T19:42:00.004-04:00

She packed lightly. Just a little food and water plus the clothes on her back. If they die during the week long trek to Bethlahem, at least they would be together. If they survived, then it would mean a new beginning for her. But she didn't know what it would mean for her dear Naomi.

Sometimes, she missed the Naomi she used to know--the sweet and calm woman who radiated peace and kindness. Life had been one pounding blow after another, leveling Naomi's joyful spirit into the dusty ground. First, Naomi's husband died and then her sons. All Naomi had left was her daughter-in-laws--Orpah and herself. And these days, it didn't seem like she even noticed their existence. When Naomi announced her decision to go back home, Ruth felt her heart stop. She felt her mother-in-law was more than just her husband's parent, she felt they were best friends.

Who helped her prepare for marriage in her tender teen aged years? Who encouraged her and helped her laugh through all the adjustments of becoming a woman? She was just a poor girl from a poor hardworking family. And after Naomi taught Ruth everything she would need to know, she let go and let her be the kind of wife that she was meant to be. All along the way, through all the turbulent years, Naomi never complained but spoke of El-Shaddai--her God and her people--the Hebrews. Naomi was a friend, confidante and a role model. Ruth wanted to be just like her. She longed to meet the Hebrews and know their ways. She wanted to worship their God, but it was hard to do in Moab.

And now, she saw her chance. She would go with Naomi and take care of her as a kind of pay back for all the kindness that Naomi had shown her over the years. It was hard growing old, and she felt for her. She realized that Naomi might never recover from her losses, but she loved her anyway. Ruth would die for this woman who saw something in her other than just an impoverished, ignorant outsider with a pitiful dowry. Naomi would just hug her and say that they got a good bargain.

Finally, her preparations for the trip were complete. She had given her farewells to her family who couldn't understand why she, a rather young widow, would not stay among her own people and start all over with a new husband chosen among the local young men. She stopped by her friends' houses--all young mothers full to the brim with babies and toddlers-- to say mournful good-byes. Oh, they said, stay here with us! Find a good man here so our children could play with your future children!

Ruth was tempted, but she was determined that if she re-married, her children would have a different kind of upbringing. Her children would know the God of the Isrealites and hear the stories about Abraham, Moses, Joshua --all the great men of God. Maybe her future sons would also be men of faith who knew God and served Him. Her friends often whispered to each other--she heard them--that it was a mistake that she married the foreigner. The proof of that was the empty cradle in her home. When Mahlon died, they rejoiced, because it meant to them that Ruth could find a real man who could give her the children she deserved.

Ruth held back tears, but did not resent their comments. These young women did not have the priviledge of sitting at Naomi's feet as Naomi comforted her with the story of Abraham and Sarah's struggle with barrenness. How did those two go on? She wondered. Poor Sarah! Poor Hagar! Poor Ishmael! But God proved to be kind to everyone, even to Sarah in her old age when she laughed at the messenger's prophecy of bearing a son. If God provided for Hagar in the wilderness, surely He would help her even though she was not an Isrealite.

She trembled at the thought. This was the God who parted the sea so that His people could safely escape slavery. This was the God who wrote the Law--the Ten Commandments that Naomi carefully taught her. And He created the whole world! How could she remain in Moab? How much she wanted to be with Naomi and to know her God! This was worth more to her than a hundred children. Ruth had made her choice, she was never going to come back to Moab. She was going to the Land of Bread. She was hungry for more than a few barley cakes. She was hungry to the core of her soul.

She adjusted her sandal straps and pulled her cloak tightly around her. Waiting up the road ahead of her were Naomi and Orpah. She took her first step towards them, her heart pounding quickly in her chest. It was going to be a long and hard journey, but she was starving for God's spiritual bread.

Gazpacho

2010-07-21T20:17:00.003-04:00

Gazpacho

2 cups chopped fresh and tastiest tomatoes you can afford

1 cup chopped green pepper

3 teaspoons grated garlic

1 cup minced parsley or 1/2 cup minced cilantro

1/2 cup finely diced onion

2 avocados, diced

1 quart spicy V-8

salt and pepper to taste

1 package thawed colossal cooked shrimp

juice of two limes

In a large bowl, mix all ingredients thoroughly. Chill for at least an hour and serve with crusty bread.

Summertime

2010-07-02T11:16:00.002-04:00

In the summer, we eat dinner outside almost everyday. It's amazing to sit out there talking from 6 p.m. until almost sundown. I appreciate warm weather more since we first moved to Michigan.

Last summer, I enjoyed having people over for dinner every week and listened to Sheryl Crow at an outdoor concert. We went to Lake Interlochen to visit friends at their cabin and went up to Traverse City. I rode my bike a lot to the store and also to the YMCA for my swim work out.

This summer, I'm looking forward to canoeing, camping and riding my bike on Mackinac Island with Dennis. I want to go to the park every day, if possible, to picnic and read by the river. I also want to take a nap in the shade. And swim like crazy. Life is sweet.

A Satisfied Mind

How many times have you heard someone say
If I had his money I'd do things my way
Hmm, but little they know
Hmm, it's so hard to find
One rich man in ten with a satisfied mind.

Hmm, once I was wading in fortune and fame
Everything that I dreamed of to get a start in life's game
But suddenly it happened
Hmm, I lost every dime
But I'm richer by far with a satisfied mind.

Hmm, when my life is over and my time has run out
My friends and my love ones
I'll leave there ain't no doubt
But one thing for certain
When it comes my time
I'll leave this old world with a satisfied mind.

--Joe "Red" Hayes and Jack Rhodes

From Her Heart

2010-06-15T14:14:00.002-04:00

Ney Bailey has a newsletter that she puts out a couple times a year. Since meeting her in California 20 years ago I've been receiving it whether I forwarded my new address or not (and there have been many, many address changes). I'm glad.

In this season's letter, Ney quotes from William R. Newell's Romans Verse-by-Verse, words she carries around and tries to memorize. Here are a few:

"Grace is God acting freely, according to His own nature as Love; with no promises or obligations to fulfill; and acting of course, righteously---in view of the cross."

"Grace, therefore, is uncaused in the recipient: its cause lies whooly in the GIVER, in GOD."

"Grace, once bestowed, is not withdrawn; for God knew all the human exigencies beforehand; His action was independent of them, not dependent upon them."

"To believe and to consent to be loved while unworthy is the great secret"

"There is no cause in the creature why Grace should be shown, the creature must be brought off from trying to give cause to God for His Grace."

"The discovery by the creature that he is truly the object of Divine grace, works the utmost humility, for the receiver of grace is brought to know his own absolute unworthiness, and his complete inability to attain worthiness: yet he finds himself blessed--on another principle, outside himself."

"He has been accepted in Christ, who is his standing."

"He is not 'on probation'."

"Real devotion to God arises, not from man's will to show it; but from the discovery that blessing has been received from God while we were yet unworthy and undevoted."

On the bottom of the newsletter, Ney has a footnote:

"William R. Newell, Romans Verse-by-Verse, Kregel Pulications, 1994, pp. 245-247 (Originally published: Chicago: Grace Publications, 1945.) These words were taken from Newell's commentary at the end of Romans Chapter 6in a section titled "A Few Words About Grace"."

I hope you are encouraged about God's grace as I am.

It's Everywhere

2010-05-14T16:00:00.001-04:00

Political World

We live in a political world
Love don’t have any place
We’re living in times where men commit crimes
And crime don’t have a face

We live in a political world
Icicles hanging down
Wedding bells ring and angels sing
Clouds cover up the ground

We live in a political world
Wisdom is thrown into jail
It rots in a cell, is misguided as hell
Leaving no one to pick up a trail

We live in a political world
Where mercy walks the plank
Life is in mirrors, death disappears
Up the steps into the nearest bank

We live in a political world
Where courage is a thing of the past
Houses are haunted, children are unwanted
The next day could be your last

We live in a political world
The one we can see and can feel
But there’s no one to check, it’s all a stacked deck
We all know for sure that it’s real

We live in a political world
In the cities of lonesome fear
Little by little you turn in the middle
But you’re never sure why you’re here

We live in a political world
Under the microscope
You can travel anywhere and hang yourself there
You always got more than enough rope

We live in a political world
Turning and a-thrashing about
As soon as you’re awake, you’re trained to take
What looks like the easy way out

We live in a political world
Where peace is not welcome at all
It’s turned away from the door to wander some more
Or put up against the wall

We live in a political world
Everything is hers or his
Climb into the frame and shout God’s name
But you’re never sure what it is

--Bob Dylan, Oh Mercy

I'm Glad, Too! Lena Horne Video

2010-05-11T11:13:00.001-04:00

The Fountain of

Youth is dull as paint
Methuselah is my patron saint
I've never been so comfortable before
Oh, I'm so glad that I'm not young anymore

Old Woman

2010-05-04T07:59:00.002-04:00

Dennis and I have a lot of young friends--since he is 53 and I'm turning 48 in a month or so almost everyone we know is younger in this college town. But I remember when I was in my 20' and I thought 30-somethings were really old. Most people in their 30's had gotten through a lot of the hurdles I had standing in front of me--finishing college, finding a spouse and a job and making some sort of home. For me at the time, I had difficulty thinking beyond spring semester much less graduation. So, 10 years was practically a lifetime from where I was standing.

The church I attended was on campus and everyone was a student. There were a few grown ups with small children, but I was surprised when an older couple in their 50's started attending. They invited us students over for dinner, were available for advice and counsel and just seemed really relaxed about everything. I can't remember their names, even though I had been over for dinner on occasion. But what they shared about their walks with God was unforgettable.

One Sunday, the older gentleman got up and shared his testimony and he started with "Most often, I feel like I'm 16 still inside even though a 59 year old is staring back from the mirror at me". It occurred to me that people over 30 weren't aliens from another planet, but understand very well what it meant to be 20 or 21. As I approached my mid-20's, I was increasingly more comfortable with people 20 or more years ahead of me. But not completely. Because of my past, I had troubles really trusting elders. Well, for the most part, anyone, young or old. But especially old.

I appreciate Neil Young's song "Old Man". Young had just had his first gold record and was buying some estate that he finally could afford and settle down in. The elderly caretaker who showed him around the property impressed him, and he wrote the song about him.

Joni Mitchell is Right About Dylan

2010-05-02T16:56:00.004-04:00

I never listened much to Joni Mitchell growing up, but her music was everywhere in the 60's and 70's. In high school, I was listening to the radio late one Friday night while working on a story for English class, my notebooks and papers scattered all around me on the living room floor a favorite program came on that played a whole rock album at a time with interviews with the artist in between cuts. That's how I learned about my favorite bands on FM rock radio while doing homework: Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, The Moody Blues, Heart, Santana, etc... That particular night, I finally heard Joni Mitchell talk about her music and craft. I was impressed with her crystal clear Soprano and how she described coming up with her signature style--singing in the shower and letting the water hit her throat to make it undulate in an interesting pattern. I tried it later that night, it wasn't easy.

Right now, she's causing some controversy about her old friend Bob Dylan by calling him a phony, in so many words. In context of the interview, it sounds like she was getting rather irritated with the reporter making several comparisons between her and Bob, resulting in a testy response. She was making it clear that they had nothing in common, especially when it came to creativity and originality.

I agree with her. It was disrespectful because not often does the public give Joni Mitchell recognition for being as unique a musician/songwriter as she is. Not to the extent that Dylan is recognized and honored. Dylan strings along several phrases that he hears, reads and/or makes up on his own, to come up with something new from something old. It's interesting, but I'm not always convinced that what I'm hearing is really from his heart. Joni actually tells a story within a song that is visionary, poetic and from her emotions. She believes what she is singing, while Dylan works hard at making others believe that he believes.

Her music has always been complex, but as she has gotten older, they resonate even more with the intricate problems of intimacy and emotions. She became wiser and surer, but her life has not gotten easier. Maturity is coming to that place of knowing what to accept and what not to accept, of understanding where the true issues lie. Joni's work brings us deeper into the root of those things. Dylan, as much as I love his music, just wants to party on or vent, whichever of the two emotions is more pertinant. I have more of a connection with Joni Mitchell than Bob Dylan, but I prefer Dylan. He knows his audience needs music to vent or dance to, while Joni wants make an exploration and discovery.

As a freshman in college, when there was a shortage of dorm rooms, I had been thrown in with a senior for a roommate. I was 17 and she was 10 years older. I wouldn't exactly recommend it but one of the positives from that year was that she had quite the Joni Mitchell record collection and a really nice stereo. I had heard everything from Joni's work in the 60's, but her albums afterward I didn't hear much except for that radio program when I heard Don Juan's Reckless Daughter around 1977 or 1978. I especially liked "Jericho" for some reason.

Help Wanted

2010-04-26T08:17:00.004-04:00

I spent last weekend at a collegiate women's retreat, I was speaking on Sunday morning and leading the prayer time. It was an honor and a big challenge. The theme was about trials, suffering and temptations. There were several older women invited to speak, ranging from a single woman pursuing her doctorate, to a busy young mom of two, to a mom who has been married 33 years. Saturday night, older women from our church brought food for dinner and were available to hang out and get to know the college girls. I was also part of a discussion panel later that evening made up of the guest speakers and four men--a couple of young fathers, a middle-aged dad also a grandpa and then Tom, in his late 60's. We fielded questions from the college women, which ended up mostly about sexual purity.

Which was really, the underlying theme of almost everything.

In preparing for a couple of weeks, I had a feeling for which direction I wanted to go in my sharing for Sunday morning, but the question was how deeply I needed to go. How much vulnerability was necessary? Along the way, I've learned to draw boundaries in what is appropriate to share and what isn't and now I found myself confused.

By Saturday night, I found what the girls needed to hear and from the cues from the other wonderful speakers, I knew that I had to go a little further than I had planned to. Carol, who had earlier shared an excellent and moving testimony about God helping her in her marriage, came up to my room to pray with me on Saturday night to help me prepare for the next morning. By that time, my fuzziness had turned into a resolved focus. It wasn't necessary to make myself into some kind of spiritual hero. But it was essential to glorify God for His rescue of this weak and meager sinner. Carol agreed with me that if we older women of the church didn't share the hard stuff, who will? It's a big tough hungry world out there.

Usually, in the last year or so of sharing a testimony, I have it nailed down and rehearsed for a month before having to present it. That time, I wrote it fully in a few hours, which included my plan for prayer time. And I wasn't nervous at all. I was eager to proclaim the excellencies of our Lord, who is faithful and good to me and came to my aid as I suffered big temptations in some really weak moments. That Hebrews 2:18 is true, true, and true.

Commentary on Hebrews 2 by Matthew Henry:

The angels fell, and remained without hope or help. Christ never designed to be the Saviour of the fallen angels, therefore he did not take their nature; and the nature of angels could not be an atoning sacrifice for the sin of man. Here is a price paid, enough for all, and suitable to all, for it was in our nature. Here the wonderful love of God appeared, that, when Christ knew what he must suffer in our nature, and how he must die in it, yet he readily took it upon him. And this

atonement made way for his people's deliverance from Satan's bondage, and for the pardon of their sins through faith. Let those who dread death, and strive to get the better of their terrors, no longer attempt to outbrave or to stifle them, no longer grow careless or wicked through despair. Let them not expect help from the world, or human devices; but let them seek pardon, peace, grace, and a lively hope of heaven, by faith in Him who died and rose again, that thus they may rise above the fear

of death. The remembrance of his own sorrows and temptations, makes Christ mindful of the trials of his people, and ready to help them. He is ready and willing to succour those who are tempted, and seek him. He became man, and was tempted, that he might be every way qualified to succour his people, seeing that he had passed through the same temptations himself, but continued perfectly free from sin. Then let not the afflicted and tempted despond, or give place to Satan, as if temptations made

it wrong for them to come to the Lord in prayer. Not soul ever perished under temptation, that cried unto the Lord from real alarm at its danger, with faith and expectation of relief. This is our duty upon our first being surprised by temptations, and would stop their progress, which is our wisdom

Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings (Amazing Grace Intro)

2010-04-14T23:06:00.000-04:00

Dinner Tonight

2010-04-14T13:02:00.002-04:00

I start my shift at 2:30 today and so, I made dinner ahead of time to pop in the oven when I get home around 7pm. The recipe for the chicken parmesan is on Simply Recipes a food blog by Elise Bauer, only I couldn't find any reasonably priced chicken breasts for some reason, so I got more affordable chicken tenderloins. And I confess, I used pre-made marinara sauce. The chicken is in the baking dish, cooling down to be stored in the fridge until I get home tonight.

Thank you, Elise!

Love Well

2010-04-14T08:51:00.003-04:00

A cover of Bob Dylan's "What Good Am I?" for those who don't know how great his songs are because you can't handle listening to his voice.

Why I like this song: In the Bible, there is a passage that is well -known about what love is. You might hear it at a lot of weddings, it is so poetic. But not many people know much about the verses that proceeds the passage that describes many natural and spiritual abilities, and how they all amount to nothing if we don't have love. What Bob has done with this song was to show how real love makes a real difference in our personal lives, as well as society. He once said that all his songs are protest songs. Here, he is questioning himself. I think it is a question we could do well to ask ourselves. The Bible also says that God is love. Since God loves perfectly and we do not, we need Him to love well--it's about our actions and our hearts.

What Good Am I?

What good am I if I’m like all the rest,
If I just turn away, when I see how you’re dressed,
If I shut myself off so I can’t hear you cry,
What good am I?

What good am I if I know and don’t do,
If I see and don’t say, if I look right through you,
If I turn a deaf ear to the thunderin’ sky,
What good am I?

What good am I while you softly weep
And I hear in my head what you say in your sleep,
And I freeze in the moment like the rest who don’t try,
What good am I?

What good am I then to others and me
If I’ve had every chance and yet still fail to see
If my hands are tied must I not wonder within
Who tied them and why and where must I have been?

What good am I if I say foolish things
And I laugh in the face of what sorrow brings
And I just turn my back while you silently die,
What good am I?

happy easter

2010-04-04T20:09:00.003-04:00

A Hymn To God The Father

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, thou hast done;
I fear no more.

- John Donne

npr--tiny desk concert

2010-04-03T10:40:00.005-04:00

Jakob Dylan sings three songs from his about to be released album Women and Country in the office of npr for the employees. Songs are "Nothing but the Whole Wide World", "Everybody's Hurting" and "Holy Rollers for Love". It's ten minutes long and if you listen carefully, there are some mighty good biblical metaphors. (The first song reminded me of Matthew 5:1-11.) The album is produced by award winning T-Bone Burnett, whom I watched forego the mic during the Academy Awards telecast, letting his lesser known collaborator, Ryan Bingham, enjoy the limelight after winning an Oscar for Best Original Song, "The Weary Kind" from the movie Crazy Heart. Actions speak louder than words.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125475688

Check it out.

Deepening Our Conversation with God

2010-03-24T16:33:00.006-04:00

(I've always liked this picture, but I don't know if the little girl is praying or getting distracted)

A friend asked me today what I learned from our church's prayer conference. Although I've been applying much of what I learned, I had a hard time articulating it. (So, Stephanie H., this blog is for you because of my lame answers earlier this afternoon). Our guest speaker was Ben Patterson and his topic was "Deepening Your Conversation With God". I have the book with the same title and after the conference was over, I saw that much that was covered in the messages are already in the book.

The most convicting thing I learned was about persistent prayer. That God welcomes and honors pray-ers who don't let up and are willing to keep praying despite no observable answers or even when God ignores you, like Jesus did with the Gentile mom with a demon possessed daughter who kept worshipping Him in total humility. Patterson doesn't soften the story about Jesus' callous responses to her. But despite the cold initial responses, He healed her daughter and praised the mom's faith--something He only did twice as recorded in the Gospels. That compliment He also bestowed on another Gentile man--a Roman soldier who had a sick servant.

I've prayed long and hard about many things that are still unanswered. Some of these requests I've finally abandoned. My excuse is that I'm trusting God, but I think what I'm doing is protecting myself. From the Scriptures, the people of great faith were the ones who "wrestled" with God, not the ones who walked away. So, I when I do that, it's because I don't want to get dirty anymore with the spiritual sweat that comes from working hard at prayer.

The other thing I'm applying is when I'm talking with Dennis, my husband, I will start praying in the middle of our conversation directing what Dennis and I just talked about with God. Yes, I know that God just heard what we said because He is omniscient. But Dennis and I really enjoy our time together this way. Louretta, Ben's wife, and I talked in the hallway after church and I shared a burden about a family member. Before I left after our chat, Louretta spontaneously prayed with me for my family right there where we stood--no looking for a prayer closet or a quiet place but right in front of the coffee pot the busiest place on a Sunday morning in our church.

I also was glad to be reminded that the busier we are, the more we need to pray, not less. When I'm busy, it is easy to whittle away at the quiet time hour until I'm reduced to praying in the car going to where ever, which sometimes gives way to not praying at all. If I'm stressed because of a full schedule, I need to plan a lot better so that I remember that it isn't about me and that I labour in vain unless it's the Lord who builds the house. A friend (and she's really busy) and I will meet to discuss a bible study based on Bill Hybel's "Too Busy Not to Pray."

So there you go, Miss Hays. What you deserved to hear but I was too inarticulate to give you!

2010-03-16T18:45:00.002-04:00

I live in Michigan and enjoy four seasons. I haven't always lived in a place with four distinct seasons--some parts of California have basically two, and in Atlanta there's a winter that would be considered spring here. I've written in the past how the weather takes me by surprise--"Snow? Really?", "Hey, where did those flowers come from?", and my personal favorite: "What, no jacket, gloves, hat and scarf plus four layers of clothing?"

Right now, spring is ambushing me. We turned off the heat, opened some windows and the sunshine is streaming in. A loud bird is singing non-stop on our deck. It's just about 60 degrees right now. My neighbors are taking walks past my window wearing light windbreakers or hooded sweatshirts. Some green thing is poking through the mulch in the garden. After lunch, I'm taking a walk to the store to get potting soil to get some tomato seeds planted indoors. This morning the spring cleaning bug bit me and I organized and cleaned our bedroom closet. Oh yeah, and we had to change all our clocks.

Easter is a week and a half from now. It seems too soon. Dennis has been observing a Lent of sorts--no meat on Fridays, fish only and limiting desserts to once or twice a week (big deal for him). We both grew up Catholic and had some exposure to the Lent disciplines. In grade school to high school, I don't remember ever sticking to any abstinence of anything, although I did try something one year as in no sweets or desserts, which wasn't a big deal because I don't have much of a sweet tooth. I don't think I succeeded, because whenever I think of Lent I think of feeling guilty that I didn't give up a luxury for Jesus. I came to a point of wondering if it really mattered to Him if I didn't eat meat on a Friday, or abstained from a tasty cookie when I remembered that I had decided on it. I did manage fasting during Good Fridays sometimes, and I attended some Ash Wednesday services when I was an older teen. Short term goals of any type were more reachable for me back then.

Because I wasn't time or calendar conscious before Lent, I had no plan or purpose to practice any spiritual discipline of self-denial or fasting. But Holy Week is around the corner, and I have an opportunity now to make a few decisions on how I pursue a deeper focus on Jesus Christ my Lord and the Gospel. Maybe this weekend's Magnify Conference at my church, University Reformed Church can give some ideas.

Pizza Love

2010-03-14T18:46:00.002-04:00

I'm a pizza fanatic--any kind, any where. There are two reasons that I thank God that He created Italians--that they invented espresso and pizza. I want to go to Italy some day chiefly to experience both these pleasures in their original (not American) forms. Yet one of the things about pizza that I really appreciate is how creative you can be with what you put on it.

I'm making Easter brunch plans, we're having people over from other countries and who've never experienced the holiday before. What to eat is kind of tricky--other cultures have different food restrictions. Pork is a big minefield. Eggs are sometimes iffy--we have Hindu friends we want to invite who can't eat them. I usually make ham or breakfast egg and sausage casserole, but this year it would be inappropriate.

One of the candidates to replace or augment the old reliable casserole is Breakfast Pizza. I've seen some versions with scrambled eggs, but Smitten Kitchen's version has my attention with a raw egg baked on top with bacon. I'm thinking about using some other meat, like turkey bacon instead. I can prepare the pizza dough the night before and then have it ready the next morning for people to choose their own toppings, sans eggs or bacon or baconlike ingredients if they wish. There might be kids, so assembling a pizza could be fun for them, (along with decorating eggs). The pizzas take only 8-10 minutes to bake.

We'll have fruit salad, some veggies like asparagus, couscous and bruschetta on the side. If we have the money, we'll grill some lamb which some cultures are very familiar with. If it's a nice day, we could bring the whole shebang out on the deck but I can't recall a sunny Michigan Easter. If it isn't, we'll eat indoors and watch the Jesus film. I'm hoping that our guests will always remember this Easter--when they experienced some American hospitality, the Gospel and Breakfast Pizza.

The Truth Sets Us Free

2010-03-04T22:57:00.004-05:00

The hardest lies to deal with are the ones we tell ourselves. We know what the truth is, but we either sugarcoat it or flat out deny it. We build fantasies and exclude any hard cold realities that would confront it. We all do this, in varying degrees and styles. It's a survival mechanism, especially if we want to protect something or someone but more likely, protect ourselves. But then it can really be destructive because we try to protect ourselves at all costs, to the point that we would sacrifice someone else to do it.

For me, having people around who are not afraid to tell me that I'm fooling myself is invaluable. I prefer to have friends who are not afraid to hurt me for my own good. A long time ago, such a friend showed me my craziness and when I thanked her for it, she smiled and said that she ordinarily wouldn't confront people unless she knew they'd listen. My sisters and brother are also good sources of feedback--I need people who can ask me "What were you thinking?" I may not always agree, but it is good to know what people whom I love and trust are concerned about. For me, the ultimate in a relationship is loving someone else enough to help them see the truth while accepting them at the same time and putting up with their defensiveness. When I have that and can give that, then I know I have a real friendship.

These friends are not easy to find, and take a lot of time to cultivate once you do. So, I thank all my closest friends and family out there. Especially those of you who know the Gospel and live it every day. And thank you to God, who taught me to love the truth because He does, and that I can face it when I put my trust in Him. He liberates me.

Barista Memories

2010-02-28T16:26:00.002-05:00

One of the fun aspects of my job is meeting interesting people. While I was a barista for Starbucks in Marietta, Georgia, I was cleaning tables in the cafe enjoying the music by Buena Vista Social Club. Nearby were some elderly Hispanic gentlemen sitting by the sunny window sipping some espressos. They were speaking Spanish and dressed very well for a quiet Saturday afternoon. I greeted them and they started a friendly chat with me about how glad they were that we had opened our store there recently. It reminded them of old times in Cuba. They especially liked the music that was playing, and told me it was Cuban. I had no idea. Later, when I had a break, I went to sit with them for 10 minutes and asked them to interpret the songs for me. The best break I ever had.

As Iron Sharpens Iron

2010-02-26T09:47:00.006-05:00

Back when I was a student, I had the pleasure of meeting Helene Ashker for coffee when she visited our campus ministry. She was really excited, she had recently closed on a condominium in the Seattle area--she always had been living in apartments and for the first time she owned a home in her late middle aged season of life. As she was talking about this with a younger friend, her friend commented that after all that she had done in serving God, she deserved this. Helene responded with a blunt "I deserve hell."

The rest of our chat consisted of Helene quietly praising God for His care and grace towards her. Her love for God was genuine and from the heart--there was no forced phoniness or exuberant gushing of her emotions. Her emotions arose from her faith in God, her trust in His word and her appreciation of the Gospel. When Helene spoke of God, she glowed. My hour with her was disappointingly short, but her chat with me stuck with me for a lifetime. I wanted to love God like she did, and she loved God because she knew He first loved her.

Helene also knew that there was nothing that she did to earn God's love and salvation. Her relationship with Him was a precious gift of undeserved love, and she looked forward to eternity in Heaven because of Jesus' dying on a cross, suffering for the sins that she was guilty of. This gift was indescribably more precious to her than her lovely new condominium. Her true home was with God.

Helene modeled more for me than I know. In a short hour, she showed me how one's focus and perspective is truely affected by good theology. She didn't quote any verses, but everything she shared referred to the Scriptures--God's word clearly was treasured in her heart and life. She influenced me by not focusing on me at all--she didn't ask me all about my problems and hang ups but pointed me in a direction up and away from all my burdens and cares. And the fact that she was an effective evangelist just by being who she was and loving God didn't surprise me at all. She would have shared the same things with a nonChristian that she shared with me.

Helene was not a perfect woman, but she served and loved a perfect Savior. "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Not Just Another Pretty Pop Song

2010-02-11T21:08:00.003-05:00

A video from "In Performance at the White House: A Celebration of Music from the Civil Rights Movement" Tuesday night at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Bob Dylan sings "The Times They are A' Changin'". Dylan wrote the protest song during an era when a group of American people were denied the ordinary voting rights of ordinary citizens based on merely the color of their skin. It's unfathomable to me that was ever an issue, but it was during my lifetime.

I remember as a kid in the '60's standing in line for a cheap Saturday children's matinee at the local movie theater. The kids were not treated equally, there was a black father with two daughters who had to wait until everyone else (all white) purchased their tickets and popcorn. I remember them patiently standing there until they were the last to be served. If you were last, you probably got the seats in the back of the theater, and it was usually crowded and hard to find a seat by that time. That the workers behind the counters could nonchalantly get away with this was shocking to me. As far as I could see, I was the only one observing what was going on, besides the parent and his daughters. No one else seemed to care. And I was only a second grader.

So, the song means something to me, in more ways than that one. But this is all for now from my personal experience. There is a reason why Dylan was asked to perform this particular song for this particular concert.

Dylan's song has a lot of metaphors, but he's also referring to real events. For instance, "don't stand in the doorway, don't block up the hall" points to Alabama governor Wallace's symbolic stand in the University of Alabama's auditorium doorway against the entry of two African American students.

When Dylan sang "you'll be drenched to the bone" he referred to the fire hoses used during the Children's Crusade in Birmingham, May 3, 1963:

When Connor realized that the Birmingham jail was full, on May 3 he changed police tactics to keep protesters out of the downtown business area. Another thousand students gathered at the church and left to walk across Kelly Ingram Park while chanting, "We're going to walk, walk, walk. Freedom ... freedom ... freedom."[67] As the demonstrators left the church, police warned them to stop and turn back, "or you'll get wet".[53] When they continued, Connor ordered the city's fire hoses, set at a level that would peel bark off a tree or separate bricks from mortar, to be turned on the children. Boys' shirts were ripped off, and young women were pushed over the tops of cars by the force of the water. When the students crouched or fell, the blasts of water rolled them down the asphalt streets and concrete sidewalks.---Wikipedia

Dylan was warning that the ones who were using the hoses on the protesters would find themselves completely submerged and drowning, but the flood wasn't water, it was thousands of black protestors taking over downtown Birmingham on May 7th. The mayor and the commissioner who ordered the water hoses and police dogs on the young demonstrators ended up handing in their resignations after a truce was made a few days afterward.

It's not just a pretty song. It commemorates ugly events that defeated ugly Jim Crow laws of segregation in public places in Birmingham.

Some Thoughts About My Life, Marriage and God

2010-01-21T21:52:00.003-05:00

Last night, Dennis and I went out to an inexpensive dinner at our favorite place "Noodles & Company" and then to an MSU basketball game, with a nightcap of milkshakes at a late night diner. It wasn't the most romantic date we ever had, but it was a fun one. We enjoy each other's company now just as much (if not more) as we did before we even dated in college. When we were "just friends" without any expectations of "something more".

When "something more" did develop eventually, it was almost too exciting. I look at pictures of myself from back then, I was definately in some kind of exhilerated stupor. I held back my feelings about Dennis for a couple of years, and when we finally got to the place where we actually shared how we felt about the other, I guess all those supressed emotions just busted out all over the place.

Of course, I'm looking back, seeing all the good stuff, forgetting most of the struggles. I'm tempted right now to make it sound like everything was more perfect than it was. I'm tempted to gloss over the fact that Dennis and I were less the perfect people back then, just as much as we are now. And I've learned a lot since those emotionally heady days.

I'm a complusive journal keeper, and have been since middle school. But I didn't write much during our brief courtship. I think I poured all my writing energies into writing letters to Dennis during that time, since Dennis was working in California. I regret this now, because having a journal would help me be a lot more accurate in my memories. I do recall some days of feeling very strong and then others of feeling very vulnerable, especially in realizing that I had thrown my whole lot together with Dennis, who, like a man, took bigger risks and made bigger changes than I did my whole entire timid and narrow life. Would I truly go with this man?

After a few months, after Dennis made some more radical changes over the radical changes he just made--his path was not a straight or fearful one--I realized that going with this man would be impossible unless I go with God first. And every lesson along the way came down to that basic revelation. Through Dennis, God was going to rock my world, and He wanted me to trust Him. "Hold on tight, Thea, buck up and keep your eyes wide open looking for Me..." Well, that's my paraphrase of "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, For the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9

Marriage is many things, among them a friendship, a partnership, a companionship and an adventure. The relationship itself will have highs and lows, pleasures and pains as well as peace and struggles. There will be nonstop talking and also some phases of silence, but mostly something in-between. The profound knowing each other isn't something that happens in a year or even five. I think that really deep intimacy takes at least 10 years to appear in a marriage--at least. At least 10 years of failing and forgiving each other. Of learning how to understand each other's languages. Of spiritual fellowship. Of ministry partnering. Of supporting each other through losses and gains. Of mundane things. Of grace. Of transitions. Of repetitiveness. But biblically, marriage is a lot more than all this.

That God could take two wildly different people like Dennis and me and make us one is quite amazing. I wanted oneness from the get go--I imagined marriage to be like some Vulcan mind meld where Dennis would immediately sense what I was thinking and feeling and vice versa. And although marriage is being one with the other, spiritually and physically, I think that emotionally and mentally it takes more time, mostly because of our sin natures. When I dealt with my unrealistic expectations, I was able to enjoy our marriage a lot more. The Vulcan mind meld doesn't happen, if it is, then someone is fooling themselves by attempting to control the spouse. I love Dennis for the man he is--the separate human being God created and re-created him in Christ to be. I appreciate everything about him that is unique to him and no one else. And I marvel at the part of him that is joined to me that makes us "us".

Before Dennis proposed to me, I spent time with a friend who was in her 60's and had been married a while. She and her husband had been missionaries and were training missionaries at the time, as well as heavily involved with international student ministries. She said that learning how to adapt to change was vital in preparing for the mission field. I know for a fact that being an adaptable person was not my strong suit then, even though I was unaware of it. But over the years, God chiseled away at my inflexibility through Dennis among other things. Maybe that is why I have gone through so many addresses, more than anyone else I know. It took that much. Then working for a company that has gone through what my boss calls a "paradigm shift" in the last two years. In his evaluation recently, he stated that I adapted very well despite all the changes and transitions.

In other words, I have finally learned a little how to hang on, buck up and keep my eyes wide open for the Lord.

Random Reading

2010-01-14T10:12:00.002-05:00

I finished "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy, "Counterfeit Gods" by Tim Keller and something really funny by Dave Barry. I'm in the middle of a couple of other good books as well. More about those later.

For quiet times, I've been meditating through John 14-17, I'm almost done with chapter 16.

I've been following Kevin DeYoung's blog, today was really good, you can read it here: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/kevindeyoung/2010/01/14/just-do-something-according-to-game-theory/

Although I disagree a little, it's probably just my age. In my day, we called such behavior either procrastination or perfectionism.

Life is a Highway

2010-01-10T23:44:00.003-05:00

Dennis and I went on a short road trip to Ohio to visit friends in Dayton. It was an adventure, as it was kind of slick on the highways Friday morning. My husband was patient for the first hour and a half of my expert driving advice--when he finally said that I needed to chill out, it was actually a relief. I was beginning to annoy myself as well.

We have made thousands of trips on icy roads, long before we married each other and afterwards as well. I never really thought much about the risks involved, nor did I worry nearly half as much as I do lately. After Dennis got me to shut up, I was reminded that I wasn't always like this. What happened to me?

Actually, in my defense, there were six cars that were in ditches along a mile length of highway just 15 minutes into our journey. I've long dispensed with the magical thinking that it would never be us in the ditch or worse. And the fact that the economy sucks and the state is too broke to put out the ice melting potion on the highway anymore is never far from my mind. And I have enough experience with Dennis to know that he's an extremely good driver and that I can trust him, if I want to. It's just that even extremely good drivers still make mistakes every once and awhile, and I have saved our lives so many times in the last 20 years by my expert back seat driving, that it is hard to give up that very important responsibility. I've often wondered how he manages to survive driving without me.

[Yes, it's scarey how I really think. There is freedom in humility, in knowing that I'm not all that and I will never be. As many times as I "saved" us from serious danger, there were just as many times as I nearly cause it, too. Pride can make one really deluded.]

The irony is that we started out our trip with a prayer for safety, and not long afterwards, I behaved as though I never asked God for anything at all. I've fallen between two exhausting extremes, never worrying and worrying too much. I think trusting God is not about denying the irrefutable existence of ice on the road, but nor is it about being obsessed by it. If it is His will, we'd get to our friends' house and back. If not,well, then we will deal with it when we get to that point. Meanwhile, slow down and don't hit the brake pedal.

On the way home, it was a nice sunny day. I knew that there was still some ice on the road, especially when we crossed over the state line into Michigan. But by then I meditated on the truth that it's by His mercy and grace that I am even able to walk across the room, that without Him I can do nothing.

My Music Opinion

2010-01-04T21:56:00.004-05:00

In 1968, I was 6 years old, and this is what most of my babysitters were listening to. It was psychodelic folk, like this example of Gentle Soul's "See My Love", with the lovely vocals and pretty instrumentals. I could actually listen to this for awhile without getting tired of it.

It doesn't sound right as a digital recording, it needs to be a vinyl played on a turntable with everyone lying on the lawn on a sunny day looking up at the clouds for a few relaxing hours.

What's an "LP" you ask? I don't remember exactly what the initials stand for, but that's what we called record albums when they had two sides with at least a half hour's worth of music on each side. Yeah, you flipped it over. And if you were lucky, your record player did that for you. You also had a spindle that would hold several albums in a stack, and it would keep dropping them and the needle would swing its arm automatically for you and play each record for you.

I read an interview of Van Dyke Parks in Splice. He worked on albums as a whole concept back in the 60's and was involved with producing for several artists over the years like The Byrds, Gordon Lightfoot, Beach Boys and even U2. In fact, the keyboards in "See My Love" are played by Parks.

In the following video, Parks is accompanying Brian Wilson in "Orange Crate Art". Parks was Wilson's lyricist in his famous "Smile" project. I love it because it has poetic and comforting feel to the words. Yes, it's a pretty song. I miss that kind of music. Because of rock, every thing seems overly exciting--having to have a heavy beat and a loudness to it.

I was even listening to a local Christian radio, and the music seemed too noisy. There were a few songs with deeply felt and solidly Biblical lyrics, but the music just seemed overdone. Maybe I'm getting old, but what's wrong with just a vocalist and a piano? The only song I actually turned up was one by Jars of Clay, who seem to understand that a song needs to have a variation within it to express the meaning of the words. The song "Flood" is an older one by 10 years, but still very listenable without getting annoying.

Here is Parks in one of his earlier recordings:

There is an actual musicality to the song that keeps the joyful tone and reminds us that the song is about hoping in God. And I like the brassiness of the piece as well. It makes me feel like an Angel of the Lord is about to make an appearence any moment now. It sounds, well, alive. Not just noisy and loud with a beat.

Fresh

2009-12-30T15:20:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, on a walk in a different street from my usual route, I noticed how a simple ranch style 1950's house looked like some kind of confection with its light cream colored siding, white trim surrounded by pristine white snow and dusted with snow on its roof. Although it could have been bland, it sort of glowed. I don't know if the owners intended it to look so sweet like that in the winter time, or maybe it was just me or the way the light happened to hit it at that moment. The clean simplicity was refreshing to see.

Next month, I'm going to be studying Cynthia Heald's bible study "Becoming a Woman of Simplicity". I'm not sure what to expect, but right now I'm desiring a change in my life towards scaling down on things that are becoming clutter, emotionally and physically.

I'm at the point right now in my life that there is just too much accummulation. I don't know how it all got here (not by me, surely?) but I want so badly to get rid of it. If my pack rat hubby would allow it! This will be an interesting process.

2009-12-24T18:28:00.000-05:00

Time to Take a Break

2009-12-16T17:39:00.004-05:00

I finished a stretch of work days, including Sunday, in a row. I woke up this morning with a head cold. I needed a day of rest. And today was that day. Right now, the Christmas tree lights are on as the winter's day darkens early. I don't regret my decision at all, except that I have a lot of stuff to do and people to see. It's Erin's birthday and two young women from India want to learn how to bake Christmas cookies (and I want to learn their delectible cuisine as well). Oh yeah, and all those Christmas things that are currently not marked off my list yet.

Charlie Brown's Christmas CD just finished and Yo-yo Ma and his friends are currently on the player with mellow holiday music. Dennis is making chicken stir-fry for dinner (he learned how a few months ago) and I'm looking pretty chic with my hair still sticking straight up from a bad case of bed head. It goes well with my comfy attire--grey cotton pants, black tank top with a black v-neck sweater over it and fluffy baby blue slippers. They didn't have pink in my size at Meijers. But blue will do.

Dennis had a second interview today for a job that we both are pretty excited about. And it sounds like they are excited about him. I guess we can officially say that Dennis will be working at the YMCA (and getting free membership at the gym!! ). In February at the latest, we may be hearing back about another opportunity that might involve us with international students on a deeper level. This would be a step of faith for both of us, as it would mean raising support for awhile.

As for me, I'm feeling better already.

"...for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content..." Philipppians 4:11

Beauty with Brains

2009-12-16T10:05:00.005-05:00

CBS ran a story on its "Early Show" about the 10 most stupid and the 10 smartest dog breeds. Ginger (our golden retriever) got beat by the German Shepherds, Poodles (!) and those dang Border Collies as fourth most intelligent dog. Check it out here.

The Little Drummer Boy

2009-12-09T15:32:00.003-05:00

"The Little Drummer Boy" was the first Christmas song that I remember affecting me when I was a little girl. I didn't totally understand it, but the idea of someone longing to give something of worth to an infant touched my heart. The story's resolution of the baby acknowledging and accepting the poor child's gift of himself mirrored my own longing to be seen and appreciated.

The artist Jeff Scher's rendition in the video's animation is focused on friends and family making connections with each other and re-establishing bonds, what makes us feel loved. It also reminds me of Christina Rosetti's poem "In The Bleak Midwinter" another soul who also had nothing to give the baby Jesus and found his answer in giving Him his heart. And I really don't know any better way to celebrate Christmas other than opening the door of my heart to the Lord and to others.

Jesus often spoke of having faith like little children in order to enter into God's kingdom, and the style of Jeff Scher's animation in this music video evokes that point of view for me. Such a simple song, simply sung and simply illustrated with many layers of spiritual meaning, at least to me.

Reality Check

2009-12-02T22:17:00.004-05:00

What is going on with the LeBlanc's right now? We are struggling and getting blessed at the same time, as well as prayerfully and hopefully blessing others.

Dennis lost his job. And it turned out to be not the end of the world. He's studying for selling insurance again, for Aflac, and after the test will be trained in January. There are many more possibilities as well. More about those later. It's been comforting to see God work these things out for good.

Before he was fired, Dennis knew for a long time that it was coming. He was thinking that it would happen in January, but was shocked that it happened a lot sooner. But he saved a lot of money to prepare for a long haul, at least a year. That shocked me. He spent many months telling me we can't afford this or that. Honestly, he didn't mean to be secretive. He just did what he always does--he tells me every once in awhile and I forgot about it.

Initially, I was upset, though, even when he told me we had a financial cushion. We had a nice routine going, and it was a challenge to my sense of security that his paychecks were coming to an end. He was saving money even by walking or biking to work. A few weeks ago, on my way home from work, I was panicing in my car while waiting for a light to turn green. Dennis had no job, bills would be coming soon and how long could our savings hold out if something went terribly wrong? I suddenly felt very vulnerable.

And really, that is the truth, we are all vulnerable. This was not a bad thing to realize. I calmed down with the thought that we would do our best, and that Dennis needed my encouragement. After the light turned, it hit me that I needed to depend on God more than I knew. My focus had to be on God's faithfulness to His children, even if things are really difficult. In the meantime, Dennis and I had to proceed wisely and work hard.

A couple of days ago, we crunched our numbers on our budget status. We made some hard decisions. We are going to do our best to remedy the situation, and trust God for strength to keep going. But all around, we are fine. I am so thankful.

Dylan in Detroit...

2009-11-07T21:47:00.003-05:00

last night and I didn't go.

Dennis was out of town and I had to be at work relatively early this morning. No reviews on Boblinks yet, but the set list is posted. There is one that I would have loved to hear live "The Man in Me" which he doesn't play often--and it was from his "New Morning" album that could be best described as a bit uneven and probably experimental. I have the CD and it isn't one I choose to listen to very often. But I like "The Man in Me" which was a song that the Coen brothers used in their quirkily weird film "The Big Lebowski", picked by T-Bone Burnett who was in charge of the music.

I'm listening to it now on bobdylan.com, and I am now really wishing that I had gone. But it wouldn't have been the same without Dennis, who's starting to appreciate Dylan's music (he downloads it onto his ipod shuffle that I gave him a few Christmases ago).

Lyrics:

The man in me will do nearly any task,
And as for compensation, there's little he would ask.
Take a woman like you
To get through to the man in me.

Storm clouds are raging all around my door,
I think to myself I might not take it any more.
Take a woman like your kind
To find the man in me.

But, oh, what a wonderful feeling
Just to know that you are near,
Sets my a heart a-reeling
From my toes up to my ears.

The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein' seen,
But that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine.
Took a woman like you
To get through to the man in me.

And I have a feeling that it would've sounded like this:

Yes, it doesn't sound like "New Morning", but I like fact that Dylan is creative. Nothing is set in stone, not even the lyrics. And so it sounds fresh, making us all wonder who is the lady he's singing about.

Although Dennis wasn't able to go and I had to work the next day, I still could have gone. However, I had already decided not to go anyway. I nearly went, and had choice seats picked out on Ticketmaster but gave them up--temptation was pretty strong. I was concerned about turning Bob Dylan into an idol in my heart, where he would become larger in my heart than God. He's a person, imperfect and weak. Not worthy of devotion and worship. But I would like to think that his music points my heart and soul in the right direction, towards Him who lived and died for me, and Whom I need desparately.

Save the Date

2009-11-07T20:25:00.003-05:00

Empty Bowls

A fundraiser for hunger relief

6:00 – 8:00 pm, November 13, 2009

At University Reformed Church

4930 South Hagadorn, East Lansing
Suggested donations:$5 for meal only

Free meal for children 10 and under, or those experiencing financial hardship

$15 for each bowl
Individuals and families are encouraged to attend.

Come anytime between 6:00 – 8:00 for as long or as short as your schedule allows!

Brief presentation at 7:00.
Bowls created and donated by artists and friends of Reach Studio Art Center

I will be bringing Moosewood's Gentle Lentil Soup to share, made with petite french green lentils, and aromatic vegtables in a savory red wine and herb broth. Other soups will be available as well to choose from.

Infertility

2009-11-03T09:57:00.004-05:00

One of the many things that have assured me that the Bible is true is the story of Hannah in First Samuel. Hannah is an infertile woman living in an ancient society that places feminine worth in those who produce children. The description of her inconsolable depression is pretty accurate, I get Hannah. She is my kindred spirit.

I've changed a lot over the years, and infertility has a lot to do with it. When I asked God to get me married, I was ready for it and the whole raising a family package. I spent most of my late 20's and early 30's bracing myself for an onslaught of offspring that never came. My late 30's consisted of fertility treatments and working towards a plan for adoption.

My body and our financial situation weren't co-operating with our goals and desires. As we got older, I got more inward with my disillusionment and pretty much packed away my hopes for a family. How does one cope when things don't go the way she wants them to?

Hannah laid her heart at the feet of God with a remarkable prayer. She became peaceful and joyful before she became pregnant, which pretty much means she was liberated from her own desires to be validated as a woman--God validated her by listening to her, and her response was a trusting calmness. If she did not have a baby, fine. If she did, the baby was not hers, but God's. The ball was in God's court.

She came to a point where children were not the objective, but God's glory was. She could not fill her empty life or empty womb, but God filled her empty heart. She was not like Rachel who screamed "Give me children or else I'll die!" with a hunger that was not placated with her sons nor with family power plays against Leah's children.

No. Hannah was fulfilled and a fulfilled woman loves in a way that doesn't attempt to wring self worth out of others, things, sacrifices and everything that has to go her way. She didn't care about Penninah's cruelty or her society's obsession with family. But she knew that she was cared for by One who controlled all things, whether her desire was realized or not.

I'm glad that God not only gave her one child--whom she dedicated to be raised in His temple--but many afterward. She gave God what she desired most, because her desires were not about herself anymore but about honoring Him. And He honored her in return. It didn't have to be more children, it could have been anything that spoke to her of His love for her. She had Him, and He was worth more to her than a hundred children.

Infertility is frustrating, because despite all the medical technology out there, the results of treatments are unpredictable. No woman is the same. Reproduction is a delicate and complicated process that we take for granted because there's a ton of people on this planet and pregnant ladies everywhere. When everything goes right, it actually is quite a miracle. And most doctors seem pretty much like they are guessing when it comes to treating infertility which works out for a blessed few who stick it out through a lot of ups and downs.

Right now, Dennis and I are experiencing a lot of the instability that is in today's economy. We are wondering what the next step for us will be. There is a lot we can do, though, that others our age cannot. So, if you are thinking that I have sunk into passive resignation, think again. I'm on the brink of a very exhilerating high dive of faith.

A Walk in Beck Park

2009-11-02T23:44:00.002-05:00

Fall is my favorite time of year. And I don't take advantage of it enough. Ginger was ready, though, to take hold of some walkable weather before the snow hits. She blended in with the woods really well. Camouflage for rabbit hunting.

We ran into Rayleen and her two dogs, a gentle bull mastiff aptly named "Bruno" and another lively Golden Retriever, "Lily" who played with Ginger as though they knew her all their lives.

Beauty below my feet.

Ginger is well camouflaged.

Beauty all around me.

Ginger looking out for rabbit.

A walk, a walk, a walk, a walk.....!!!!

A Holiday Juxtaposition

2009-10-29T22:44:00.003-04:00

I'm listening to "Must Be Santa" a sample of Bob Dylan's "Christmas in the Heart" charity album. All proceeds go to Feeding America.

The record has been getting mixed reviews, mostly bad.

But I am listening to the cut, and trying to forget who's singing. I can't, because that voice is so distinctively raw. The music is a fast paced polka, and excuse me, jolly. The kind of song that would put me in a festive holiday mood. Or give me a push down nostalgia lane of good Christmases past. Not what Dylan is known for, and it is the weirdest juxtaposition. He sounds as though he is really having a good time in the studio.

And why not? Why can't I enjoy this aspect of the holiday as well? There is something kind of radical in this endeavor, and I can't put my finger on it. It's as if Dylan is saying Christmas is for everyone to enjoy and celebrate. He's invited himself to the party, thank you very much. And he wants us to stop hovering around the door and come in, too.

Dylan once said that all his songs are protest songs. And here, he isn't protesting against Santa, but against all us Scrooges. And against the feeling that since we are in economic bad times that we can't all have fun. This is what holidays like this are for. A little relief from the struggle, a break to relax and enjoy and to give to others a chance for a nice turkey dinner and bond over a full dinner table.

Wake up, America. We need music like this right now. And I love the fact that Dylan is doing it to help out, when food pantries and charities are finding the need overwhelming. I have a feeling he is meeting several issues head on at once. And these are just a few.

I'm buying my copy after Halloween. Here's a link to listen to "Must Be Santa".

Grateful Dead

2009-10-29T15:49:00.003-04:00

When I was in junior high school, one of my classmates told me she heard a song with my name in it on the radio. She didn't know who it was, but she thought it was a cool song. I had never even met anyone with my name, so it was amazing that there was someone out there singing a song about an Althea.

Years later, I heard from one of my co-workers at Starbucks that the song "Althea" was by the Grateful Dead. He even brought in sheet music that he downloaded from his computer, printed it up, and sang it for me, acapella, at work.

If I'm being a little self indulgent, please excuse me. I like the song, and not because of the name. Well, maybe a little.

A Gift from God

2009-10-20T10:41:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, I was engulfed in a panic attack in my sleep. I woke up feeling terrified of I didn't know what, but it felt real. I asked my husband to rub my back while I prayed that whatever was causing my intense emotion would dispel because of the reality of Christ's grace and strength. And I fell back to sleep. I don't have nightmares, if I have bad dreams, my brain does a lot of amazing gymnastics to resolve the scarey scenarios. Whatever it was, it disappeared and I woke up in the morning feeling apprehensive. It wasn't a good start to what I knew was going to be a long day.

I got to work early and sat for a few minutes in my car praying for grace and strength to do my job. My work has shown me how weak and prideful I can be, that I need to be still and know that God is God, so that I know who I am and who I am not. So, if I do anything right, I know to Whom I should give credit.

At one point, a customer expressed his impatience at having to wait 10 minutes for his drink. I had been on a lunch during what normally is a slower time of the day for customers, but when I got back, the drive through and the front counter were backed up with a lot of drinks at the espresso bar waiting to be made, so I jumped in to make them.

When in a rush, or business surge, I have to make some decisions to prioritize. I get the drinks that go in the drive through out of the way and then I start working on the drinks for customers waiting inside the store. I was moving pretty quickly and I was organized in my approach. Drink orders continued to pour in, but getting filled in a reasonable amount of time.

One cup was written with quick scrawl as a "venti nonfat no-foam no-water yadda-yadda something seven-pump chai". Since I wasn't there when the order was taken and everyone was really busy, I decided to wait to ask for a translation of the chai modifier I couldn't read and moved on to the next drink. In a few seconds, I realized no one had a moment to help me so I had to help myself.

I finally decided that the chai was supposed to be 195 degrees, which is almost boiling and has to be carefully made or the milk would boil over or get too foamy. It's a pain in the ass sort of drink that you have to drop everything to focus on and when I got to the point that I was ready to focus on it, the customer came up to me and asked me why he had to wait so long and then rambled on and on about how incompetent we were and accused me of sitting in the backroom while only two people were serving customers.

When he was hurling his insults at me in a tone of voice that was more lecturing than angry but angry nonetheless, I quietly apologized and told him I was working on his drink at that minute and it would be finished very soon. My supervisor explained that we were understaffed. Then my store manager who was nearby soberly explained that there were some emergencies and someone had to go see a doctor, then the customer apologized for his rude behavior. Yes, thank you, I replied, it's been very tough. I didn't say that before I walked out to help out on the floor, a dear co-worker was in deep pain and anguish. it wasn't necessary, since I saw tears well up in the customer's eyes.

The Bible says that a gentle answer turns away wrath. I think that it works, if you can manage it. The trick is, it can't be done in our own strength. In my own strength, I would have given that selfish, impatient jerk what he deserved. But instead, he was shamed into admitting he was in the wrong, which is a lot more satisfying. I have a feeling that man isn't used to saying stuff even remotely expressing humility. That was a gift from God.

Fear Not

2009-10-15T21:32:00.003-04:00

I am learning that there are times that nothing makes sense to me, and when I need something to be logical the most, it might not be there. I have to trust that it's okay to let it go for the moment, even if it seems important right then.

I had that kind of day today. I don't know what is in other people's minds or why they think the way that they do, and I may never know. But I'm not responsible for them or what they are thinking. It's not my job to know. Even if it someone who is in authority over me, and whose decisions make or break my day or my life. Sometimes, I don't have the control in that department, but then neither is it my responsibility then either.

However, I did find out something really spectacular in the meantime. That God does work on behalf of the powerless. He does hear the cry of the oppressed, even if it is for a moment of oppression. It was a pretty neat way that He revealed that to me, bringing the reality of His just character to my awareness. And I can trust in Him to ultimately right the wrongs if not in this life, but in the next, where we all give an account for what we were responsible for. His word is true.

"Fear not, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will help you, surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand..." Isaiah 41:10

And what specifically happened is my own private story, but I tell you, it is one I will treasure forever. I invited the Lord into a particular area of my life that I often leave Him out of. And it made a difference in a mighty way not in my circumstances or the cards that have been dealt to me, but in the most significant way possible: my heart.

Over and Whelmed

2009-10-10T17:23:00.002-04:00

An old friend asks in his blog post "Overwhelmed" if anyone else out there is feeling like he is after sharing honestly about how busy he is and how it is affecting him. And to answer him, I've decided to respond in blog form.

Yes, I know how it is. I've had to work too hard, get little sleep and have to clean and maintain my house as well as fulfill some well thought out and carefully chosen responsibilities at church, as well as invest in personal relationships. I've described it as juggling myself to death--either I drop a few balls or they drive me into an emotional or physical breakdown. It's been a long time, though, since I let that happen.

I would operate in a "go, go, go and stop, stop, stop" pattern which would involve constant activity until I got too exhausted or sick to function. When I began to see this after a few years of living this way, it was the real wake up call that I was significantly depressed.

I remember that moment really well--I was making a lasagne roll up dish for a church missions potluck, fighting a crushing feeling welling up in me. I got through halfway through the recipe and quit. I was trying to make the noodles stay rolled, and they kept unrolling themselves. They wouldn't look like the picture in my Betty Crocker Cookbook. I was ready to chuck those babies across my perfectly clean kitchen.

Instead, I called my friend, Tricia. We were both newlyweds at the time and loved our church's zeal for missions. Tricia and her husband were on the missions committee as well. She listened to my story and just said that she would pray for me and that I should take a break and stay home. And she asked if my problem wasn't about a stupid recipe, that maybe I was over-reacting.

I sat in my kitchen and looked at the factors that lead up to the feeling of being overwhelmed. It wasn't just I packed one more item into my schedule, plus a casserole. I wanted the casserole to be perfect, or I'd let everyone down. And ultimately, I was afraid to say "no" to my husband, because a perfect Christian wife would not do that. And I didn't want to fight with him. I was not in the habit of taking responsibility for my own welfare. I was not accostumed to giving myself a break.

So I prayed. When Dennis came home from work, I was still sitting in the kitchen with my unrolled roll ups talking to Jesus. He asked me when we were going to be ready to go to the potluck, and I calmly said not tonight, that we were staying home and I needed to rest. I was "peopled out". He told me he didn't mind staying home, either. I got some toothpicks, finished my recipe and we had roll ups for dinner.

A few years later, I found a good counselor. She asked what I wanted out of therapy. I told her I wanted a steady life, no crash and burns all the time. And for a few years, I worked on what was driving me. I learned that the inward pressure I sometimes felt was a warning sign that I was pushing myself too hard. I learned to ask for and get help. I learned to let go of perfectionism. I learned how to take care of myself. I took personal responsibility over what I could control, and gave up control over what wasn't my responsibility. And that Betty Crocker lied to me with that recipe.

Right now, as I am writing this, I have a laundry basket next to me full of laundry that has needed to be folded for a week. It's okay. Dennis and Youngbae are cooking steak for dinner right now. It's fine with me. I see an inch of dust in our living room, even though we've had dozens of people there since the last time I dusted. I can live with that. I need to call a carpet cleaner, but I'm waiting for the money to be saved to get the whole house done so it's taking a while longer. I'll wait, even though we have people in and out seeing the rug's condition. I haven't read all my mail, either. And I really don't care.

But I'm slowly dealing with my fridge that needs to be cleaned--chucking out the expired items and leftovers. I think about how to organize the linen closet (again) when I have a few moments. I am planning to do a thorough cleaning of our bathroom on Tuesday. I have a few phone calls to make to check on some friends and family. I find time to read "The Economist" while I'm on the can. It works for me.

But ultimately, I've chosen to draw near to the One who gave me this life. And only He can empower me to live it in a way that brings Him the glory.

Enjoy

2009-10-08T20:58:00.000-04:00

Joy

2009-10-08T19:46:00.004-04:00

"Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom also we have access by faith into this grace in which we stand and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.

And not only that but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perserverence; and perseverance, character; and character, hope. Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, having been justified by His blood, we shall be saved from wrath through Him.

For if when we were enemies we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son, much more, having been reconciled we shall be saved by His life. And not only that, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received the reconciliation."

Romans 5:1-11

In Chapter 4, Paul speaks of Abraham and how he had faith in God and in God's promise--the unwavering kind of faith that resulted in imputed righteousness, and how that is a picture of how our faith in Christ also results in an imputed righteousness--nothing we have done to deserve it but by faith in what He accomplished on our behalf.

Here in Chapter 5, Paul describes more in depth what real faith brings to the believer's life--peace, joy, hope, perserverance, character, love and reconciliation as well as righteousness--all treasures, all joy that we experience in Christ. The Christian life is meant to be a rich one indeed, in spite of any suffering and deep trials we go through. Life is full of losses here in our earthly life, but in Christ we have a hope that doesn't disappoint. Somehow, all these treasures amount to God's glory. It something He does in us. I'm still thinking about it.

Something

2009-10-07T09:41:00.002-04:00

I remember one Saturday morning twenty years ago, I was sitting in a park with my Bible and a cup of coffee reading in Luke about Mary's pregnancy with Jesus. As I read the story, it sank in that nothing was left to chance, it was all under God's control. Nothing escaped His will then and I realized that nothing escapes His will now. It was comforting and awesome at the same time, and I remember feeling a sense of reverence that went deep into my heart.

But as this memory comes back to me, I am also reflecting about the situation of a family two houses down from us. The mom died suddenly earlier this summer, due to a mix up of medication as she was being treated in a local hospital for a chronic condition that often left her dishabilitated but she still had many more years ahead with her husband and three children. The neighborhood pitched in and helped out at the house making repairs and cleaning and landscaping as the dad and kids spent the summer with extended family after the funeral. But it was still a painful return home to start the school year without their mom there.

The family are Christians and believe in God's love and soveriegnty, as well as in Jesus dying on a cross for sins and being resurrected the ultimate triumph over death. They believe that their mom is with Jesus and that they will see her in heaven someday. And I pray that their faith will get them through these growing up years without her.

This weekend, I'll be walking our Golden Retriever by their house and ask if the kids would want to join me for a few turns around the block. Ginger knows them and they know Ginger ever since she was a puppy. Maybe they would like to play fetch with her or frisbee. I feel helpless in the face of seeing others greive--especially children, but I got a dog with a lot of energy and love and even though that's all I can give for a few hours, I hope that it's something.

2009-10-04T22:18:00.002-04:00

I haven't felt like writing for awhile and that's unusual for me. Sometimes I just have a dry spell--plain old I don't have anything. Nope, got nothing. And then there's I've got too much on my mind and I'm having trouble processing it all. Or I'm having a rare moment where I want to keep it all close to me instead of floating around in cyberspace. It's scary when people come up to me and say that they are following my blog--and I love it at the same time. But I think I wrote more when I thought that no one actually reads this thing.

So yeah, right now I've got lots of deep thoughts just rolling around in my head. We've taken two trips this month and there's a lot to share about that, too. And I've been reading and that is blogworthy as well. So we'll see. It's one thing to have an idea and another to actually put some words to it. Most of my ideas have no words until I either start typing, writing or speaking. And it usually surprises me what comes out.

Most of my thoughts are in forms of images and feelings associated with them. Really abstract stuff. I've often wondered about that--it's like a series of movie clips, and if I'm really intrigued I run them on repeat over and over. Is this normal? It's like when I read, I have mental pictures associated with the words I'm reading. The mental pictures have given me an incredible memory. When I'm reading something that I cannot picture in my head, it gets really hard to connect with it or remember it. My heart has its limits. If it is a number or even a cold hard fact, it bounces right off of me and I have to fight to retain it.

So, when I have conversations with people, it usually means that the words that are coming out of my mouth are flowing from feelings and an image of an idea in my brain. I'm translating myself on the spot with words and it's usually spontaneous. So, that's a short tour of Althea's brain. I don't use words to think with and I don't know how I do it.

So on that note, I will tell you about my favorite CD by Fernando Ortega "The Shadow of Your Wings, Hymns and Sacred Songs". The imagery is lush and poetic, and the tunes are calming and peaceful. Ortega has this quality of worship with quiet tranquil humility--he really is bowing down in the presence of the Almighty. My most favorite track of all is the third one "Let the Words of My Mouth"

Let the words
of my mouth
be pleasing to You, pleasing to You
The meditation of my heart
be pleasing to You, pleasing to You
O Lord, my strength and
my Redeemer.

Whatever is true,
Whatever is pure,
Whatever is lovely,
Whatever is worthy,
Think on these things
Think on these things.

Let the words
of my mouth
be pleasing to you, pleasing to you.

Later,
Thea

Raising Arizona

2009-09-30T22:31:00.002-04:00

This is so different--the Coen brothers know how to make movies. I love the music, the acting and the unpredictability. Holly Hunter plays a "non-compliant" but supportive wife, she pretty much is my hero.

Health is Wealth

2009-09-24T21:46:00.003-04:00

My health care requires visits to an internist every three months for checking up and some blood work. This year I had no visits until yesterday. In February, Dennis and I finally paid off all my medical bills from 2008. And then I got a letter that my primary care doctor's office was closing in two weeks. Dennis started a new job, and wasn't eligible for benefits for awhile. And I lost mine because my weekly hours did not average 20 and I didn't make the quota for the quarter to stay eligible for benefits (too many people on the payroll at our store). So, as a diabetic, I was extremely stuck. And then my prescription for glucophage was running out.

I finally found a doctor, but it was three months before she could be available. I chose her because she specializes in diabetic care and she had been in practice for a long time. And then the appointment that I made fell through because she was sick and I had to wait another two weeks. So yesterday, was my long anticipated meeting with Dr. Eileen. And I was out of glucophage for only two weeks. I did the best I could with controlling carbs (limited flour, bread or white rice or potato) and walking to keep the numbers low on the glucose monitor. This last week was really hard, as though my system finally had it.

So, today, I checked my blood glucose and it was an odd relief to not see a high number in the mid-200's (needs to stay under 180) even though I didn't each much all day and a 20 minute walk would do the job of bringing it down, but that was getting harder to do as well. Today, I had a reading of 126 which was completely appropriate since I had not eaten for six hours at that point. And I took a walk with a friend an hour later because I wanted to, not because I had to.

I see why healthcare run by the government would be valuable, especially during an uncertain time such as this. If we can do it, great. But it has to be done well. I feel very blessed to have any coverage at all, but I've gotten a glimpse of what it feels like to be in need of care and not have it accessible. It is a desperate feeling.

The good news was that Dr. Eileen did a test for neuropathy on my feet and she told me that I don't have any loss of feeling. She had me close my eyes as she poked different places with a thin filament and told me to say if I felt something. I felt them all. For the last three years, this was one of my deepest concerns, and I changed what kind of shoes I wore completely. She said that I needed to keep my blood sugar lowered and I shouldn't be seeing any problems.

I walked out feeling like a free woman. On Tuesday, we discussed idioms in our beginning English as a Second Language class, and Sandra from Chile shared a favorite idiom from her country "Health is gold". It is indeed.

Some Family Pictures

2009-09-22T15:30:00.004-04:00

I have several nieces and nephews--all adorable and amazing. My nieces in Oregon are Nicole, Amanda and Kelly. While Kelly is still in high school in Astoria, her older sisters are studying forestry at University of Oregon in Eugene and fight fires in their spare time. I have a nephew and niece who grew up in Southern California--Brett and Keela. Brett is a freshly minted Marine and Keela is going to college in San Diego. I have two nieces and a nephew who grew up in Colorado. Phoebe attends college in Florida, while her younger siblings, Logan and Daisy are in High School in Boulder. My youngest nieces and nephew, Kalea, Noah and Jonna, are in Central California near Fresno, south of Sacramento.

My nephew, Brett.

Brett with his mom and my sister; with his Grandpa; with his sister.

Brett and his lovely girlfriend, Jenna.

Blog Shorts

2009-09-21T10:26:00.004-04:00

I've fallen off blogging this month and I am going to try to catch up with a long newsy post. This is not that post.

Reading: I'm reading a ton of books, but one of the most enjoyable is "My Life in France" by Julia Child. I've been meaning to get it once it came out in paperback, but forgot until I saw the movie "Julie and Julia", which I loved. I wished that it was mostly about Child's adventures in cooking instead of sharing the film time about an obsessive young blogger. But the film reminded me of the book I once wanted to read and even inspired me to visit the Julia Child exhibit at the Smithsonian Institute during our anniversary trip to D.C.

Home Life: We have roommates from Uganda and South Korea! And over the weekend we became "party central" for Eid and a Korean style birthday.

Spiritual: God is amazing, loving, good and soveriegn. And a lot more. I feel my need to trust Him with my whole heart.

Marriage: My husband told me that I'm "non-compliant" but a submissive wife at the same time. I don't know what to make of this, especially when he seemed proud of me when he said it. I decided this morning that he was giving me a compliment that I was an independent thinker (much like when we were dating 22 years ago and told me he liked "strong women"), but that I voluntarily supported him even when I thought differently sometimes (calm down, I let him know it) to save us both unnecessary headaches and prolonged arguements over really small issues. Usually with bigger issues, we generally agree. Hmmmm...I married a "servant leader" who sacrifices for me more than I dream of, and I appreciate him so our relationship is a mutually giving one. More about all this, later.

Travel: We went to Washington D.C. by way of Pennsylvania and are going to Montreal this week. We have pictures and will upload them as soon as we've got time.

Health: Some good. Some bad. Some in-between. I see a doctor on Wednesday. I'll keep you posted.

Coffee: Have you tried Via? Ask your local Starbucks barista about it today.

Hair: Blondes have more fun. Thanks Jessica!!

Post 9/11

2009-09-12T09:17:00.000-04:00

9/11

2009-09-11T10:57:00.003-04:00

This was posted today on my pastor's blog. And I think that everything that needs to be said was said by Billy Graham about this day.

Every Step I Take

2009-09-10T10:06:00.003-04:00

About a month ago, I found out that a 20 minute leisurely walk brought my blood glucose level down faster than an hour of vigorous swimming. It is counterintuitive but I began to walk more and swam a little less, which kept the glucose meter happy. The best walks of the summer were the evening ones right after dinner or the morning ones to the grocery store.

Until I experienced a condition in my foot of plantar fasciitis, or a heel spur, which made even my short shifts at work almost unbearable. When shoe inserts failed to remedy my problem, I took extra time off at work to rest the foot. Nothing seemed to work, so I decided that pain was just going to be a part of my life and that I was going to keep walking no matter what and keep working, too.

I had this before, 20 years ago after Dennis and I were married. I don't remember how it went away, because even though I quit the job that kept me on my feet all day, I still went on long walks by the ocean every day for my daily quiet times and Scripture memory review.

So I went back to a daily swim, until the pool closed for repairs. I will be back at the pool on Saturday when it re-opens. The heel pain is almost gone even though I still walk every day too. I found a really sturdy arch support made of hard plastic which makes me feel like I've got a big rock in my shoe, but it does the trick of keeping the pressure off of the heel spur. When I wake up in the morning I no longer feel like I'm going to collapse on the floor in agony when I make my first steps, even though I stretch before getting out of bed.

So, now I am thankful for every pain free step I now take.

Something Global to Think About

2009-09-01T20:27:00.002-04:00

From a favorite blog, Radical Womanhood , an excerpt from an article about a book about to be released called "Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide" by the New York Times op-ed columnist Nicholas Kristoff and his wife, Sheryl WuDunn:

"If you’re reading this article, the phrase “gender discrimination” might conjure thoughts of unequal pay, underfinanced sports teams or unwanted touching from a boss. In the developing world, meanwhile, millions of women and girls are actually enslaved. While a precise number is hard to pin down, the International Labor Organization, a U.N. agency, estimates that at any one time there are 12.3 million people engaged in forced labor of all kinds, including sexual servitude. In Asia alone about one million children working in the sex trade are held in conditions indistinguishable from slavery, according to a U.N. report. Girls and women are locked in brothels and beaten if they resist, fed just enough to be kept alive and often sedated with drugs — to pacify them and often to cultivate addiction. India probably has more modern slaves than any other country.

Another huge burden for women in poor countries is maternal mortality, with one woman dying in childbirth around the world every minute. In the West African country Niger, a woman stands a one-in-seven chance of dying in childbirth at some point in her life. (These statistics are all somewhat dubious, because maternal mortality isn’t considered significant enough to require good data collection.) For all of India’s shiny new high-rises, a woman there still has a 1-in-70 lifetime chance of dying in childbirth. In contrast, the lifetime risk in the United States is 1 in 4,800; in Ireland, it is 1 in 47,600. The reason for the gap is not that we don’t know how to save lives of women in poor countries. It’s simply that poor, uneducated women in Africa and Asia have never been a priority either in their own countries or to donor nations. ...

Why do microfinance organizations usually focus their assistance on women? And why does everyone benefit when women enter the work force and bring home regular pay checks? One reason involves the dirty little secret of global poverty: some of the most wretched suffering is caused not just by low incomes but also by unwise spending by the poor — especially by men. Surprisingly frequently, we’ve come across a mother mourning a child who has just died of malaria for want of a $5 mosquito bed net; the mother says that the family couldn’t afford a bed net and she means it, but then we find the father at a nearby bar. He goes three evenings a week to the bar, spending $5 each week.

Our interviews and perusal of the data available suggest that the poorest families in the world spend approximately 10 times as much (20 percent of their incomes on average) on a combination of alcohol, prostitution, candy, sugary drinks and lavish feasts as they do on educating their children (2 percent). If poor families spent only as much on educating their children as they do on beer and prostitutes, there would be a breakthrough in the prospects of poor countries. Girls, since they are the ones kept home from school now, would be the biggest beneficiaries. Moreover, one way to reallocate family expenditures in this way is to put more money in the hands of women. A series of studies has found that when women hold assets or gain incomes, family money is more likely to be spent on nutrition, medicine and housing, and consequently children are healthier. "

Home Life

2009-08-28T11:02:00.004-04:00

Why do I like turtles? Because God made them to be home wherever they go.

Today is a rainy day, reminding me of my Seattle years. This would be a fantastic time for a cup of coffee. The aroma and the smell of rain together brings back fond memories. I would go to Starbucks for a grande Verona or anything bold, take a walk to the muffin store on the Ave for something large and decadent and head to Greenlake for a morning with my Bible or my memory Bible verse pack. It didn't matter if it was raining or not. I had a hood on my raincoat and wore 2 sweaters on top of each other. It actually felt cozy to be outside, with my breakfast and time with God. Reading His Word about how much I was loved and how wonderful Jesus is probably added to the warm feeling.

Right now, I am in our living room looking at the rain through the still broken window. The replacement is in, but the installation won't happen until next week. I can't wait. Plywood is covering the hole, and clear plastic is covering the whole window. Our current window has a large segment in the middle plus two narrow windows that slide open on each side. The replacement window will be energy efficient with double hung side windows instead of sliders. We were tempted to replace the triad with two larger double hung windows, but it would impede the view. I was thinking that it would bring down the value of our house to go a cheaper way, and it wouldn't fit the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. Dennis was thinking about the cost, mostly because the triad window had to be special ordered.

I finally agreed with my husband that the estimate given to us by Lowes was too high, and I was willing to be patient as Dennis searched out other options. Dennis looked into buying the window from his old employer, Menards, and putting it in himself with the help of friends. He told Lowes why he changed his mind, and they negotiated a lower price. Dennis accepted, because he really didn't want to do the work himelf anyway. Lowes had a stipulation that all windows ordered through them had to be installed by them.

So, by the time the window is installed, it would be a whole month that our house has been an eyesore in the neighborhood. For several weeks, I was upset everytime I rolled up our driveway and saw the wreck from the outside. Nowadays, I don't even notice anymore. Having an imperfection so obvious to all has been good for my humility.

Yesterday, I spent extra time cleaning and vacuuming our home. I rearranged furniture, dusted, organized the laundry room, washed several loads of clothes and cleaned some traffic areas of the carpet. By the time I was done, it was 7pm and time to make dinner. There is still a lot more to do, like organizing the linen closet (again), cleaning the upholstery on the couch in the den, washing the curtains in the living room and dining room, straightening out under the bathroom and kitchen sinks, washing the walls and the woodwork, and mopping the wood floors. I might get to some of that this afternoon. But now, it's time for coffee.

Prayer Life

2009-08-24T23:25:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking more about prayer than actually praying, lately. But that is actually an improvement from where I was a few weeks ago.

When I was single, it seemed like I was always praying. As a single woman living in Seattle, I was more aware of my needs, desires and hopes. And my weakness and inadequacies. I worked hard and prayed harder. I prayed because it seemed like there was only One whom I could turn to who understood me completely.

As a newlywed, I was also driven to God in prayer--so much going on with marriage that I needed God to help me grow up and be a wife. I was experiencing a deep healing in my life and God brought me through one of the deepest depressions I've ever known.

As a woman in her 30's, longing for a baby and not coming to terms that time was against me in this matter, I dove into my conversations with God with desperation. At the same time, I was cultivating a faithful heart in order to pursue "a long obedience in the same direction". I had to grow up in my faith that I would serve God whether He gave me children or not. My walk as a Christian was no longer about my fulfillment but on obedience. Most of my prayer life was about hanging on when I was dealing with doubt and disillusionment.

So, what's wrong with me now? I'm rounding the corner and heading to 50. I am not going to live forever in this world. And this is what preoccupies me the most. How much time do I have and how I am going to make it count to glorify Him the best? I rely on Him to help me do His will and I trust Him completely in whatever He chooses to do (Proverbs 16:9) but in the meantime, I don't have long and I don't to waste my life. The only thing that matters is God's Kingdom.

Home

2009-08-22T08:53:00.003-04:00

This December marks the seventh year Dennis and I have lived in the same house in Michigan. In our 20 years of marriage (anniversary coming up in a week and a half), this is a kind of milestone. Before this, the longest we lived anywhere was our home in Acworth, Georgia for almost three and a half years. We've been rolling stones. Even when we lived in the same town, we still moved from one residence to another.

Our Michigan move was unique in that we decided to buy our home before moving to Lansing. We drove out, looked at homes for a week while staying with our friends, Bob and Donna Tobey. We put a bid on one home, but it fell through, and I had a backup plan for another, the current one we live in. We left our car with the Tobey's and took a memorable train ride back to Denver.

It's a three bed and two bath multi-level with a basement, garage and a storage shed. I've always liked multi-level homes as opposed to a ranch style or a two-story. They have a more contemporary feel to them, and are adaptable to any decorating scheme you decide on. For the price we paid, I feel we got our money's worth. When we bought it, it was only eight years old. I've just realized that now our home is fifteen years old.

Prior to moving in, we painted the family room and the living room, as well as put in some shelving, an automatic garage door opener and a ceiling fan in the master bedroom after buying our appliances. A year after, we replaced the light fixures with more modern ones, and since then, we've done little besides some landscaping and painting inside the garage walls and the wood trim around the windows and chimney. I'm looking around and seeing that we have a lot to do before the end of the year. The Honey Do list is starting to grow.

Since we have had a lot of animals, including an elderly german shepherd mix and a golden retriever puppy, as well as a destructive mother cat and her six kittens, the carpet needs replacing in some rooms. Our living room is small, so we are thinking of installing a wood floor ourselves. I've tolerated the wallpaper border in the dining room but now I'm sick of it. The kitchen is showing on the walls that I love to cook and that my eyesight is not so good, as well as a lot of wear on the laminate countertops. The cupboards are simple, but they are oak and I like them. When we bought our stove, I didn't insist on buying an overhead microwave/hood that matched it and now I wish that I did.

For all these projects, plus more, I'm planning to post some before and after photos as well as document all the decisionmaking that Dennis and I have to do. The first project is the window project, which will be posted in a few days. Dennis and our friend, Youngbae, went up on the roof a few weeks ago and had an accident with a ladder. Everyone is safe, but the ladder went through the living room window. A replacement had to be special ordered and with the plywood covering the shattered picture window, we ascended to the top of the list of the worst looking houses in the neighborhood. I'm looking forward to the new window installation on Tuesday.

Living here has had its ups and downs. There are other places I wish we could live, like closer to family in California. But I'm celebrating the fact that we actually have a home at all.

Love Rescue Me

2009-08-19T23:01:00.002-04:00

"

"Love Rescue Me" written by U2 and Bob Dylan, performed here back in 1988. It's a plea for God's mercy and grace.

"I'm here without a name
In the palace of my shame"

Read Well

2009-08-18T20:23:00.006-04:00

I've finished reading "Testimony" by Anita Shreve, a novel about the aftermath of a sex scandal at a private high school in Vermont. Each chapter is told from a viewpoint from a character in the story--the students, a few parents, a dining hall worker, an administrator, a newpaper reporter, a sheriff and a researcher. Shreve accomplishes the difficult task of finding a different voice and angle for each one, as well as letting each have information that others in the story don't have so the reader puts together the puzzle as he reads along.

The story begins with a flashback of a school headmaster going into shock as he watches a pornographic tape of three of his senior basketball star players with promising futures have sex with an underage freshman girl. I didn't want to read it, and Shreve means it to be that way. The consequences are devastating as well, the sins of the students as well as their parents cause a chain of events that haunt you all the way to the end. The video's subjects all have hearts and souls, and you will get to know each one. Some you will like, some you might not.

Through her dissection of a Vermont small town and its prep school, Anita Shreve is making a statement about the society at large and about the lack of character and sexual morals in America's youth these days. She is particularly alarmed that teen drinking is out of control and that little is done about it. "Testimony" is meant to be a wake up call, that there are more important things than success and prestige for American teens to aspire to, things like decency, honor and responsibility. Perhaps these would be good for American adults as well since the compass is set by the older generations.

As for me, I am tired of listening to how small town life is best to raise children in. I grew up in one where everyone knew a little to a lot about everyone else. Shreve gets it right in how gossip and rumors are spread--everyone has an opinion based on very little knowledge. In a way, our media is the same way. We hear a ton about nothing. Small town life can make most people watch their backs carefully and present a facade instead of the true self.

Then again you meet people like Silas and his father Owen who are real, caring and honest--people I remember meeting while growing up and wishing I could be like. Anita Shreve also gets it right that the ones who seem to have the most to lose end up paying the highest price. And that a sin harbored in one's heart doesn't just hurt you but also the ones you love.

2009-08-04T13:00:00.002-04:00

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The last month has been a flurry of activity for Dennis and me as we got ready to recieve 2 male international students to our household. We have a three bedroom house with two baths, but we occupy every square inch of it. The process of making room for more people to live with us has been a hard one, but it has been good.

For one, Dennis and I now have to share some space. The closet in our bedroom is tiny so I claimed it while Dennis got the closet in a spare room also designated as his office. As we contemplated having to empty that extra closet, I realized that I had to clear half of mine. Dennis also occupied the second bathroom downstairs while I dominated our masterbath. We like this arrangement because of our different standards of what is acceptably clean--Den is a little more relaxed while I'm a lot more obsessive. Sharing a bath together to make room for the students means making a compromise--i.e. Den will step it up and I will stop nagging.

Small, cramped quarters make for possible friction and irritation. Mostly for me, because I like my home a certain way. Organization equals peace to me in my physical surroundings. It kind of goes against that purpose if the way I have to achieve it is to harp, get impatient or mad. Living with me can be hard if all I do is insist that everthing has to be my way, and the only way I know to deal with it is to take responsibility for my feelings and put a higher value on the feelings of others than my own selfish desire for being a neat freak. Even the cat doesn't mess with me.

On the other hand, I need some cooperation from my husband and the students. Living with all guys will be a challenge for me, and I need their sensitivity to what I expect. A home is not a crash pad and consistent maintainence and cleaning is required. I want excellence, not perfection. So, Saturdays are chore days and everyday all members of the household have a task in daily upkeep. I don't think I'm asking for too much.

So far, the last three days have been fun ones with the students. One is from Africa and the other from South Korea and they are both learning English. They don't yet know Christ, but we are hoping that will change somewhere in their futures and that God would use us and this home in the chain of grace. It's worth it.

2009-08-02T23:55:00.002-04:00

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be!
Let that grace now like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above

The Real Julia Child

2009-07-30T21:07:00.001-04:00

Here is Julia Child's cooking show's introducing "The Chicken Sisters". If you look closely, you can see Julia in the background dancing to the music.

Fred the Cat

2009-07-30T08:56:00.003-04:00

Fred is the orange one on the left, giving you the "eye" for disturbing his naptime.

I've written about Fred before. When he was a kitten, his name was Fredo, the spunky fuzzy little orange ball with teeth and attitude. An older couple who came to look at him to see if they would adopt him had him pegged as an "alpha male". He was the one that fought his mom when she was trying to pick him up to move him, while she calmly ignored him and grabbed his scruff, dropping him "accidentally". He was the one who nipped our Golden Retriever, Ginger, on the nose when she came to inspect the litter. I started to handle him more so that he would calm down and stop biting people. Tough little fighter.

Fred is still a scrappy fellow, but he has a soft side too. He is the only cat I've ever known to love his stomach rubbed, like a dog. When he gives himself a bath, he jumps down to give Ginger a few licks on the nose as well. His preferred place for naps is anywhere close to Dennis or on him. He tolerates me picking him up and carrying him like a baby or slung over my shoulder like a sack. And if he goes outside when we don't want him to and try to catch him, he flings himself on the sidewalk onto his side in complete surrender. And he used to nap cuddled up to Ginger, their golden fur blending so well that you don't know where cat started or dog ended. Now he's ten pounds, and Ginger isn't willing to share her space with such a hefty guy.

A few months before we got Carly, Fred's mom, Dennis and I were sitting out on our deck one morning with our coffee looking at a scene where some rabbits were getting chased down by what we thought was an orange fox or a small dog. The scene seemed like it was straight out of "Wild Kingdom". When it came closer, we were amazed to see that the predator was actually a big orange feline. It had guts, because it was chasing down two rabbits in an open large lawn for at least half an hour before it gave up. When Carly got pregnant shortly after I brought her home, we speculated who the fathers of the kittens might have been. I haven't seen an orange tom since the rabbit chase, but I often wonder if he was the father of the three orange male kittens, including Fred, in Carly's litter.

Carly has been spayed since she weaned her kittens last year, and Dennis and I have learned the hard way that cats are older than they look. Carly is still small for an adult cat, and weighs nearly five pounds. We let her out, because she tears up the carpet if we don't. She has lost her kittenish ways, she behaves like an adult cat who is emotionally detached from me, except on rare occasions when she wants me to pet her and re-establish our bonds. She doesn't belong to me, but I belong to her. Dennis, not so much.

I worry about her outdoors, even though she is "street-wise". A month ago, she got into a scrap with a tom twice her size near the backdoor of our house. She had to fight him off, because she was trying to get in the house for safety and got cornered instead. By the time I got to the door, she ran in another direction in a panic to hide and the grey tom skulked off into the woods trying to spit out some of Carly's fur that got stuck in his teeth. I saw her later in the evening, with no scars or scratches anywhere on her, when I let her in for her dinner. She hunts, and leaves her prizes of large bluejays, moles, mice, robins and bats on our doorsteps.

Fred gets out, despite our best attempts to keep him in. He surveys the backyard from the top of our shed or the next door kids' playset like a sultan on his divan. He hunts, a little, not as prolifically as his mom but I think only when he gets bored from sitting in the shade all day. Fred is not a high energy feline. He will chase a squirrel, climbing up the trunk of the pine tree to make a point rather than actually catch the offending critter. One evening I heard a maddening ruckus of a pair robins in a panic, and Dennis found Fred with a baby robin in his mouth, still alive. He grabbed Fred and made him spit out the infant bird, much like Sylvester the cat with Tweety. A few hours later, the little robin was gone. Our theory is that he was learning how to fly, and after seeing a "putty tat" up close, was in shock and flew off when it wore off.

We can't find our camera, but I will post pics of our adult Fred as soon as I can. Meanwhile, enjoy the photos of Fred the Kitten.

Fred napping with Gina (the tortiouseshell on the right) and Sonny (the longhair orange with his back to us--he was the relaxed, laid back clown kitty)