Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Pool Jeans
Four of us girl cousins journeyed from afar and spent a wonderful weekend together here in my town. Since we had previously done a lot of talking about our childhood and family roots, this visit we enjoyed "hanging out" and getting to know each other better as adult women. My mother joined in and added life from her octagenarian point of view. It was a memory-making time. It's always interesting to see visible demonstrations of the gene pool we share. Not only in the way we do things,
the way we think, our looks, but also demonstrated in the purses
most of us chose to carry--at least for this weekend!
Monday, May 14, 2007
Monday, May 07, 2007
A View of History
Most of the things sitting around my house have meaning. I love that. I can walk from room to room and be reminded of our family, dear friends, events or trips .... These things that decorate my house are not just "purchased possessions" ... to me they are like jewels illustrating our family history. For example, left to right: 1976: Williamsburg; 1942: parents and grandparents at the Jersey Shore; 2005: my father's funeral; 1942: spouse's parents' wedding; circa 1920: my father and brothers. Forefront: circa 1910: my grandmother and girlfriends; 2006: birthday pottery. All sitting on crocheted handwork brought from Romania. Oh yes, and the pewter pitcher? Spouse's thoughtful purchase at Good Will (knowing my love of pitchers). (By the way, thanks for the idea of using this image, Cann!)
Saturday, May 05, 2007
In the Suitcase
Spouse is back from across the ocean and look what a dear friend sent me in his suitcase!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Roses for December
Thirty-nine years ago today, yes that's 39, "Chief," the tall, lanky captain of the basketball team, asked me to attend a student government debate with him, followed by an ice-cream sandwich at the college snack shop. As we squeezed up to the crowded counter and placed our order I felt every eye on us. A small college and a new dating couple ... that was something to be noticed. And 37 years ago today, the same young man, now a college senior, hid a shiny diamond in his volkswagon glove compartment, took me up a mountain top overlooking the Hudson River, and asked me to marry him. I said "yes."
While Spouse is far across the ocean today, I found a good way to note this significant day in my life was to honor good friend Boniface on her birthday. We had a lunch and what was special to me was that this gracious birthday girl allowed me my dream of not sitting, but serving her and her friends gathered around the table. (Casablanca said, "I've been somewhere today!") Boniface always blesses us with short or long quotes in her notes or emails, so we decided to make this a "Quote birthday" celebration. Throughout our lunch, we unrolled small scrolls of quotes she knew and loved and then blessed her with our own favorites. It was a pleasant time and made a memory, as, in one scroll was written: "God has given us our memories that we might have roses in December." (J.M. Bauie). Here's to roses and more, Boniface!
While Spouse is far across the ocean today, I found a good way to note this significant day in my life was to honor good friend Boniface on her birthday. We had a lunch and what was special to me was that this gracious birthday girl allowed me my dream of not sitting, but serving her and her friends gathered around the table. (Casablanca said, "I've been somewhere today!") Boniface always blesses us with short or long quotes in her notes or emails, so we decided to make this a "Quote birthday" celebration. Throughout our lunch, we unrolled small scrolls of quotes she knew and loved and then blessed her with our own favorites. It was a pleasant time and made a memory, as, in one scroll was written: "God has given us our memories that we might have roses in December." (J.M. Bauie). Here's to roses and more, Boniface!
Monday, April 30, 2007
Where Did Selah Go?
I took my mother to her old church yesterday. It's a big church in a beautiful building. I opened my eyes during the prayer––I confess––and what to my wandering eyes did appear––but musicians and others scurrying around the platform. Getting themselves ready for the next thing. (And probably not focusing on God in prayer.) The second syllable of "Amen" was barely out of the pastor's mouth before music broke forth in full force. Apparently we have so much to include in a service we can't waste a "nano second." It's not this church alone, it seems to be a trend in all churches.
I don't like to be one who recalls and compares to the old days ... but there is something to be said for a pause, a "selah," so indeed, one can pause and meditate. Yes, in the old days, after a prayer, for instance, there would be quiet, the rustling of pew sitters changing position, while a quartet or soloist made its way to the pulpit to sing (yes, a lot used to go on "behind" the pulpit). Back then they even had a book to sing from, and, I might add, the harmony was beautiful.
Technology has probably enabled crammed-full worship services. There is just so much we can include. And we are almost out of breath by the time we settle in to listen to the preacher. I think my vote, not that anyone is asking, is to slow things up a tad and have room for more "Selah."
I don't like to be one who recalls and compares to the old days ... but there is something to be said for a pause, a "selah," so indeed, one can pause and meditate. Yes, in the old days, after a prayer, for instance, there would be quiet, the rustling of pew sitters changing position, while a quartet or soloist made its way to the pulpit to sing (yes, a lot used to go on "behind" the pulpit). Back then they even had a book to sing from, and, I might add, the harmony was beautiful.
Technology has probably enabled crammed-full worship services. There is just so much we can include. And we are almost out of breath by the time we settle in to listen to the preacher. I think my vote, not that anyone is asking, is to slow things up a tad and have room for more "Selah."
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Let There Be White!
Nine years to make the decision; one minute to be glad we did! And two seconds for Spouse to be thankful he's far away on the other side of the Big Pond.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
A Fountain of Joy
What is it about a book club? There's something very special about a group of friends gathered around the table discussing a book we've read. Colorful teapots, an apple tart, fruit, dancing votives, faded tulips, and books decorate the table in a delightfully cozy room. We come together, loving each other, caring about the written word and ready for a good time sharing our thoughts. The discussion is profound as we read favorite quotes and cite thought-provoking passages. In a dimly lit room it seems like CS Lewis himself shows up and speaks to us through the pages of his books. At times it 's almost tangible. We laugh and then grow thoughtful as our discussion tangents to thoughts and ideas spurred from words written long ago but relevant for us today. God meets us too as we talk about heaven, forgiveness, and the fountain of joy.
"REAL Men Eat Quiche"
Or so Spouse use to say when I made quiche for a meal. But it's been a long time since I made one. So long I had to phone Lydia Grace twice for instructions. Thanks, LG! And Boniface, now that I have practiced, you may see this next week!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
getting a handle on My broom
After the grass is cut I reach for a broom. It's just how I was raised. Mow, then sweep. No power blowers for me. No electricity drain, no fuel smells or loud noises to disrupt our quiet cul de sac. Green readers should appreciate this. And not only is it environmentally helpful, it works those arm muscles too. I don't reach for just any broom now, but one my dad used that we stashed in our garage after my parents downsized yet another time before my dad's promotion home.
I love the sound of sweeping (like I love the sound of tires on gravel, sister). I remember the sound of sweeping early mornings in Ghana when people were getting their houses or front doors in order for the day. Now when I sweep I can't help but think of my father and how he loved to sweep (or it seems he did, for he used his broom a lot.) He taught us to sweep the front stoop before guests arrived. "Do you want them tracking dirt into a clean house?" he'd query. So it's almost inborn in me. When the meal is ready for guests, the last thing I do is go out and sweep the porch. And remember my dad. Apron on, of course (was I not born for another time?)
Which reminds me that tomorrow is "National Hang Out your Laundry Day" ... even in the better neighborhoods where it might be against "community guidelines." There could be a whole lot said about hanging clothes outside on a line and what it can do for a person, as well how it saves a ton of energy resource.
Does any of this have anything to do with the tragic events at VT a few days ago? Probably not much, though it does take us back to a simpler time when life was not as complex. We knew our neighbors and spent time with our families. Slowing down enough to do these simple chores allows us time to think––to mull, process, wonder, pause. And one person and then another and then another, doing that, could in time ripple* change for the better in our mixed up world. I really think so.
*I may have just made a new verb. I love it!
I love the sound of sweeping (like I love the sound of tires on gravel, sister). I remember the sound of sweeping early mornings in Ghana when people were getting their houses or front doors in order for the day. Now when I sweep I can't help but think of my father and how he loved to sweep (or it seems he did, for he used his broom a lot.) He taught us to sweep the front stoop before guests arrived. "Do you want them tracking dirt into a clean house?" he'd query. So it's almost inborn in me. When the meal is ready for guests, the last thing I do is go out and sweep the porch. And remember my dad. Apron on, of course (was I not born for another time?)
Which reminds me that tomorrow is "National Hang Out your Laundry Day" ... even in the better neighborhoods where it might be against "community guidelines." There could be a whole lot said about hanging clothes outside on a line and what it can do for a person, as well how it saves a ton of energy resource.
Does any of this have anything to do with the tragic events at VT a few days ago? Probably not much, though it does take us back to a simpler time when life was not as complex. We knew our neighbors and spent time with our families. Slowing down enough to do these simple chores allows us time to think––to mull, process, wonder, pause. And one person and then another and then another, doing that, could in time ripple* change for the better in our mixed up world. I really think so.
*I may have just made a new verb. I love it!
Friday, April 13, 2007
Chore Time
Anyone who knows me well could call me the "Queen of Flight of Ideas." My mind usually is on overload as I dash from one thing to another throughout the day. I confess I have never known boredom. It is amazing, when I get a chance to focus on the "mundanity" of household tasks, such as dishes (I seriously LOVE to wash dishes), lawn mowing, folding laundry, etc., how my mind eventually slows down and better focuses. It's therapeutic. That's when the contemplative thoughts come; that's a good time to pray; that's a time when I can hear God's voice.
I love a quote from Brother Lawrence that was in my devo reading today. "The time of labor does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and, in the noise and confusion of the kitchen where I am at work, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquility as if I were upon my knees at the Blessed Sacrament."
I love a quote from Brother Lawrence that was in my devo reading today. "The time of labor does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and, in the noise and confusion of the kitchen where I am at work, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquility as if I were upon my knees at the Blessed Sacrament."
Thursday, April 12, 2007
no quilting bee ...
... but an afternoon of card-making can be just as fun. Followed by tea, of course.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
What's In a Pie?
Strawberry pie has a rich history in our family. When it's strawberry season, the pie begs to be made, and usually is. At least once every spring. Going back about 30 years now.
Favorite recipes are like family heirlooms, in a way. I love it when I have a recipe from a friend or from my mother. Making the recipe brings them to mind. Sometimes I remember the meal we had at a friend's house when I asked for the recipe and then made it a favorite of my own.
I always think of Betty when I make strawberry pie. The recipe is in her handwriting. Thinking of Betty then makes me remember the morning I baby-sat her little girl, and later realized it was the exact time number one son was being born. But more than that, strawberry pie takes us right back to northern Ghana.
We had left our southern city and gone up to the "bush" to visit a good friend. While there we piled into the pickup truck and went across the border to shop. In Burkina Faso the markets were plentiful (compared to practically empty stalls in Ghana, at that particular time). I always enjoyed visiting Ghana's neighboring French countries...there were potatoes for one thing. They had become a rare treat for us. They also sold apples...another thing we never saw in Ghana in those days. I remember coming up to a market stall where there were fresh strawberries! A wonder to the eye! We had to have some. So we bought them, put them in the cooler, and never thought about the trip home over bumpy roads and what damage might come to them.
We got back to the mission station. No electricity and an outdoor shower and toilet. No other houses around for many kilometers. It was a "Little House on the Prairie" experience for us. On the way there from B.F. we talked excitedly about making this strawberry pie. Our host thought he had a package of strawberry jello.
Sure enough he did. It was in a sad state of affairs, rather old, brought from the states a few years ago. When I opened the package it was no longer red, and rather a big lump. But we crushed it into granules, found some sugar, margarine, and flour (though the flavor was distorted by weevils). I went to open the strawberries and was dismayed to find the bumps on the road had turned them to mush. Never mind, it would work. And it did. Maybe not to the standard of taste we might expect today, but it was delicious to us and a work of art.
When I saw strawberries at the grocery store this week it seemed the time to make one again. So at our Easter dinner today, as we celebrate the resurrection, we will enjoy the pie ... and the memories.
Favorite recipes are like family heirlooms, in a way. I love it when I have a recipe from a friend or from my mother. Making the recipe brings them to mind. Sometimes I remember the meal we had at a friend's house when I asked for the recipe and then made it a favorite of my own.
I always think of Betty when I make strawberry pie. The recipe is in her handwriting. Thinking of Betty then makes me remember the morning I baby-sat her little girl, and later realized it was the exact time number one son was being born. But more than that, strawberry pie takes us right back to northern Ghana.
We had left our southern city and gone up to the "bush" to visit a good friend. While there we piled into the pickup truck and went across the border to shop. In Burkina Faso the markets were plentiful (compared to practically empty stalls in Ghana, at that particular time). I always enjoyed visiting Ghana's neighboring French countries...there were potatoes for one thing. They had become a rare treat for us. They also sold apples...another thing we never saw in Ghana in those days. I remember coming up to a market stall where there were fresh strawberries! A wonder to the eye! We had to have some. So we bought them, put them in the cooler, and never thought about the trip home over bumpy roads and what damage might come to them.
We got back to the mission station. No electricity and an outdoor shower and toilet. No other houses around for many kilometers. It was a "Little House on the Prairie" experience for us. On the way there from B.F. we talked excitedly about making this strawberry pie. Our host thought he had a package of strawberry jello.
Sure enough he did. It was in a sad state of affairs, rather old, brought from the states a few years ago. When I opened the package it was no longer red, and rather a big lump. But we crushed it into granules, found some sugar, margarine, and flour (though the flavor was distorted by weevils). I went to open the strawberries and was dismayed to find the bumps on the road had turned them to mush. Never mind, it would work. And it did. Maybe not to the standard of taste we might expect today, but it was delicious to us and a work of art.
When I saw strawberries at the grocery store this week it seemed the time to make one again. So at our Easter dinner today, as we celebrate the resurrection, we will enjoy the pie ... and the memories.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Swinging into and out of spring
I'm so glad we made it home in time to catch at least part of the spring color!
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
First Class Sleep
Several months ago I wrote about Spouse's feet flying home from England in first class. Fairly often his body gets upgraded to first class also, such as on our way to Los Angeles enroute to Thailand. But I have never gone first class ... until on our way home from LA. I could hardly believe it! But, alas, no white linen table cloth, or the tinkling of glass and airline bone china. We were on the "redeye" overnight to hometown. All I got was a bottle of water and sleep.
Sleep came quickly and deeply, but only for a short while. Before long I was wide awake in a sleeping upper class cabin filled with folks who could pay so much more for a ticket. I was feeling a little cheated by just a water bottle when I looked out the window to behold the beauty of the night skies. It was a clear night. The stars were so close, dimmed only by an occasional lightening in the distance. It was as if God had set this first class time up just for me: a comfortable chair, a decent size window, water to drink and a view of the heavens. I gazed in utter awe of my Creator and time flew as I watched, wondered, and worshipped.
"When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have ordained..."
Sleep came quickly and deeply, but only for a short while. Before long I was wide awake in a sleeping upper class cabin filled with folks who could pay so much more for a ticket. I was feeling a little cheated by just a water bottle when I looked out the window to behold the beauty of the night skies. It was a clear night. The stars were so close, dimmed only by an occasional lightening in the distance. It was as if God had set this first class time up just for me: a comfortable chair, a decent size window, water to drink and a view of the heavens. I gazed in utter awe of my Creator and time flew as I watched, wondered, and worshipped.
"When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have ordained..."
Great Respect
These ladies did our foot massage. Notice the yellow shirts. The one on the right could speak some English and we talked a good deal about her king. Her eyes glowed as she said, " I love my king. I really love him. He can do anything, really he can." She went on to tell us about the terrible brush fires we heard about on the news, that were consuming northern Thailand. "My king can make it rain to stop the fires. He really can. People come from all over to learn from him. He can take a plane up to the clouds and he make the rain come." Pride filled her eyes. "My king never takes a vacation. He works all the time. He is such a good king."
Spouse said, "My king also never takes a vacation ... "
Spouse said, "My king also never takes a vacation ... "
Long Live the King
Yellow shirts are visible everywhere in Thailand, marking the important year of 2007: the king's 80th birthday and his 60th year of reign. Large photos of him are everywhere, along with the words, "Long Live the King."
To see just how much respect some world leaders are given, paste in your browser: http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=070329122727.dcptduzl&show_article=1
To see just how much respect some world leaders are given, paste in your browser: http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=070329122727.dcptduzl&show_article=1
In the Shadow of Another World
I was frequently drawn to the ocean view from our 17th floor hotel room in Pattaya, Thailand. Modern high rise hotels and apartments dotted the seaside while small fishing boats, jet skis and other vessels rose and fell with the ocean waves.
But if I turned from the sea and looked straight down I saw another world. In the shadow of the huge hotel, next to the resort's sewage treatment, life appeared to be far removed from the relative luxury of resort life. Roaming skinny dogs reminded me of our days in Ghana where street dogs lived on scraps. Cars, small motorbikes and "tuk-tuks" parked alongside small cafes made of tarps or other makeshift roofing on poles, providing shelter as people ate food or drank spirits. My natural curiosity often drew me to the balcony to observe life below.
Then there were several shacks brightened by flowering vines on their cement block walls. A Coke sign was part of the metal covering of one such abode. Laundry hung on lines half covered by creeping lush foliage. Basins sat on the ground after laundry duty, while cook pots simmered over open fires. People came and went, seemingly in slow motion. One house seemed to be drying a group of teddy bears or other stuffed animals over the door. I guessed that inside the walls of those homes life went on much like mine. Cooking, cleaning, sleeping, eating, laughing, and living life in community––maybe without the trappings that we entail in our western world––a simpler, more basic life, but most likely without the wondrous dimension of God in the mix.
But if I turned from the sea and looked straight down I saw another world. In the shadow of the huge hotel, next to the resort's sewage treatment, life appeared to be far removed from the relative luxury of resort life. Roaming skinny dogs reminded me of our days in Ghana where street dogs lived on scraps. Cars, small motorbikes and "tuk-tuks" parked alongside small cafes made of tarps or other makeshift roofing on poles, providing shelter as people ate food or drank spirits. My natural curiosity often drew me to the balcony to observe life below.
Then there were several shacks brightened by flowering vines on their cement block walls. A Coke sign was part of the metal covering of one such abode. Laundry hung on lines half covered by creeping lush foliage. Basins sat on the ground after laundry duty, while cook pots simmered over open fires. People came and went, seemingly in slow motion. One house seemed to be drying a group of teddy bears or other stuffed animals over the door. I guessed that inside the walls of those homes life went on much like mine. Cooking, cleaning, sleeping, eating, laughing, and living life in community––maybe without the trappings that we entail in our western world––a simpler, more basic life, but most likely without the wondrous dimension of God in the mix.
Looking for Gideon
When I opened the hotel bedside table drawer, I looked for the Gideon Bible and found this instead.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Foot Patrol
Let it be known that we didn't ride an elephant in Thailand. If you're ever going to ride one, that's the place to do it. We did spend a fun afternoon visiting friends and exploring some of the markets and very modern shopping malls in the heart of downtown Bangkok. We walked and walked and walked, and towards the end of the day, came upon two massage stores (a common thing there of course). One had no front to the store, was rather dark, decorated with palm trees, and filled with middle aged people on big old recliners getting their feet or heads massaged. The scent of spices wafted out of the area. What a sight!
The other looked more like a beauty shop. I suddenly remembered my "secular" goal when visiting Thailand: to get the massage that I could not afford at home. Women pushed price sheets into our hands begging us to try a foot massage. Why not make a memory we asked each other. We bargained on a price and asked if they would split the hour between the two of us. They were happy to oblige, though their eyes grew big as Spouse pulled off the required long support hose and they struggled to fit his long frame into their chair. Side by side we sat as two young girls did the work massaging our tired feet. We had a great time communicating with them (communication is a better word than "talking," as it was not all with words, though one did speak some English.) They were great fun and I think we got more like 45 minutes ... and for $4.50? Wow did that feel good!
The other looked more like a beauty shop. I suddenly remembered my "secular" goal when visiting Thailand: to get the massage that I could not afford at home. Women pushed price sheets into our hands begging us to try a foot massage. Why not make a memory we asked each other. We bargained on a price and asked if they would split the hour between the two of us. They were happy to oblige, though their eyes grew big as Spouse pulled off the required long support hose and they struggled to fit his long frame into their chair. Side by side we sat as two young girls did the work massaging our tired feet. We had a great time communicating with them (communication is a better word than "talking," as it was not all with words, though one did speak some English.) They were great fun and I think we got more like 45 minutes ... and for $4.50? Wow did that feel good!
An Endless Night
As we got on the plane in our hometown and headed west, the sun was about to set. We chased it across the country but it faded soon after we landed in LA. We had our first taste of Asian hospitality while we waited in the Singapore Sky lounge for our next plane (all the travel spouse does has some benefits such as sky lounges). It was dark, rainy, and foggy as the van carried us back from the temporary lounge, set up somewhere in the middle of the tarmac, to the airport. As we headed to our gate, making our way through a crush of humanity, I wondered for a minute what country we were in. But no, we hadn't left the US yet.
We boarded the aircraft and crammed into our bulkhead seats. Could we endure 18 hours in such tight quarters...three of us like sardines: one Asian gentleman, one spouse, and one me crammed against the window. The flight went on and on and on, as did the night. We slept often. It was continually dark outside––for at least 24 hours of our journey west around the globe. Thankfully what seemed like an endless journey was sweetened by the wonderful hospitality of Singapore Airlines, and the gracious flight attendants caring for us, beautifully garbed in Singaporean traditional dresses; the men in light blue suit jackets.
Thirty-eight hours later (26 hours of actual flying time) we arrived in the land of smiles. And the land of abundant flowers, fruit, tasteful decoration, and wonderful hospitality. But a heartbreaking bleakness steps into it all as you see shrines and spirit houses everywhere. The poorest of homes has a gleaming spirit house in some prominent spot outdoors, adorned with flowers or other offerings.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Leave It Home
I have a very mild fear of flying. When turbulence causes the plane to shake or rattle, I imagine myself on a worn-out bus going over the uneven terrain of a pothole-filled road in Ghana. That seems to help a lot.
But the upcoming trip to Thailand will be the farthest I've ever traveled, and the very longest amount of time on a plane. The fear factor on this trip is spouse's two blood clots this year and this excessive time in the air. The battle over fear is a real one indeed, and this fear needs to be placed on the alter many times a day. How often in recent days, as I go over my packing list, do I declare that I will not include fear in my luggage? I'm determined to leave it home. (How about replacing it with flexibility? That's what I tell young missionary women to pack.)
So with this on my mind, I open a "bon voyage" card today from a friend who often thinks to send one before a trip, assuring me of her prayers. Once I got through enjoying the beautiful tea party on the envelope, I opened it to find her wonderfully creative home made card. "Be fearless"––a message from God for sure! How well this friend knows me. I admire her sensitivity, and how she allows God to live through her into others' lives.
But the upcoming trip to Thailand will be the farthest I've ever traveled, and the very longest amount of time on a plane. The fear factor on this trip is spouse's two blood clots this year and this excessive time in the air. The battle over fear is a real one indeed, and this fear needs to be placed on the alter many times a day. How often in recent days, as I go over my packing list, do I declare that I will not include fear in my luggage? I'm determined to leave it home. (How about replacing it with flexibility? That's what I tell young missionary women to pack.)
So with this on my mind, I open a "bon voyage" card today from a friend who often thinks to send one before a trip, assuring me of her prayers. Once I got through enjoying the beautiful tea party on the envelope, I opened it to find her wonderfully creative home made card. "Be fearless"––a message from God for sure! How well this friend knows me. I admire her sensitivity, and how she allows God to live through her into others' lives.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
All Days Are Not What We'd Like Them To Be*
It's not all that unusual to have a day that isn't what we anticipate it will be. Today was such a day. I had looked forward to leisurely washing clothes and working on preparations for our trip to Thailand. But so much for that idea! We suddenly realized that today was the only day to seal the new floor before we leave. Never having done such a thing before, I was a little antsy about the whole deal. Then some urgent errands arose. I worked on a sample area, left it to dry and headed out in the car.
My children think I'm a terrible driver, though I've never had a speeding ticket (well, one small one 20 years ago), nor a wreck (unless you count a fender bender in--of all places--a carwash, back in the days when there would be a chain of cars in a car wash). Anyway, I drove in less than a godly way, madly dashing to the shops. I found myself snarling at dawdling drivers in front of me. I mentally stopped cold. Where is the grace I need to give to others? And the effect of grace in me?
I ran into a shop just as it opened. The owner helped me find something and then proceeded to tell me how he had changed out all the lightbulbs to florescent (the lights were slowly coming on), and was now saving $100 a month in power bills. Did I need to hear that, I thought to myself. I was in a hurry, but politely listened, congratulating him and smiling. He needed to tell someone, and it had made him feel good, I'm sure.
I headed over to the counter and not-quite slammed down my purchases, rattled off my requested phone number, and pulled out a credit card. I hadn't even looked at the clerk. Could he feel my angst? "How has your day been so far?" he questioned in an annoying upbeat voice. Really...it was only 10:00 a.m. for goodness sake. I looked up and for the first time focused on a very young man working the cash register. "Oh, pretty good." I must have sighed. "Really?" He obviously didn't believe me. So I proceeded to tell him about the floor I was working on, and that I was not happy to be doing it. "Well, I hope you can do it in the joy of the Lord and in praise to Him." Uh... since when did clerks become preachers?
I was already pushing the door open as I heard his words sail across to me, "Have a wonderful rest of the day in the Lord." That certainly put me in my place. I'm sure he felt he was having a ministry with me (and he was.) I breathed in a big breath of air as I took my parcel to the car and began to assess my inner spirit. At the moment it wasn't a pretty picture, but easily rectified.
Later, after the next phase of the floor was sealed, I sat down and read some wisdom from Andree Seu, a favorite editorialist of mine in World Magazine. "At any ... moment that my religious activities become mere doctrine and not communion with Jesus, I have, for that moment at least, stepped out of truly biblical Christian living into some other mode of being––judge, spectator, player at religion. Francis Schaeffer said true spirituality 'is a moment-by-moment, increasing, experiential relationship to Christ.'"
As I processed the ugly parts of the day and worked on my "inner spirit," I was reminded that this life needs to be a moment-by-moment sacrifice of worship and grace, making my religion true and pure ...
*Title adapted from Ghanaian saying, "All days are not the same."
My children think I'm a terrible driver, though I've never had a speeding ticket (well, one small one 20 years ago), nor a wreck (unless you count a fender bender in--of all places--a carwash, back in the days when there would be a chain of cars in a car wash). Anyway, I drove in less than a godly way, madly dashing to the shops. I found myself snarling at dawdling drivers in front of me. I mentally stopped cold. Where is the grace I need to give to others? And the effect of grace in me?
I ran into a shop just as it opened. The owner helped me find something and then proceeded to tell me how he had changed out all the lightbulbs to florescent (the lights were slowly coming on), and was now saving $100 a month in power bills. Did I need to hear that, I thought to myself. I was in a hurry, but politely listened, congratulating him and smiling. He needed to tell someone, and it had made him feel good, I'm sure.
I headed over to the counter and not-quite slammed down my purchases, rattled off my requested phone number, and pulled out a credit card. I hadn't even looked at the clerk. Could he feel my angst? "How has your day been so far?" he questioned in an annoying upbeat voice. Really...it was only 10:00 a.m. for goodness sake. I looked up and for the first time focused on a very young man working the cash register. "Oh, pretty good." I must have sighed. "Really?" He obviously didn't believe me. So I proceeded to tell him about the floor I was working on, and that I was not happy to be doing it. "Well, I hope you can do it in the joy of the Lord and in praise to Him." Uh... since when did clerks become preachers?
I was already pushing the door open as I heard his words sail across to me, "Have a wonderful rest of the day in the Lord." That certainly put me in my place. I'm sure he felt he was having a ministry with me (and he was.) I breathed in a big breath of air as I took my parcel to the car and began to assess my inner spirit. At the moment it wasn't a pretty picture, but easily rectified.
Later, after the next phase of the floor was sealed, I sat down and read some wisdom from Andree Seu, a favorite editorialist of mine in World Magazine. "At any ... moment that my religious activities become mere doctrine and not communion with Jesus, I have, for that moment at least, stepped out of truly biblical Christian living into some other mode of being––judge, spectator, player at religion. Francis Schaeffer said true spirituality 'is a moment-by-moment, increasing, experiential relationship to Christ.'"
As I processed the ugly parts of the day and worked on my "inner spirit," I was reminded that this life needs to be a moment-by-moment sacrifice of worship and grace, making my religion true and pure ...
*Title adapted from Ghanaian saying, "All days are not the same."
Sunday, March 04, 2007
ME ? ?
A bridesmaid? Call it a MATRON ...in the very real sense...a matron of distinction, of age, sage, wrinkles, rolls and sagging everything. Not a junior, but a senior bridesmaid? It's a high honor at any age. What can I say? Stay tuned ...
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
My Cell Phone is Ringing
What better photo to use as I make sure the new blogger system is working, than this one of an adorable blueberry munchkin!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Oh No! I Feel A Blog Coming!
redpickup
Originally uploaded by podso.
Sitting in traffic on the way to work today I noticed a modest red pickup truck sitting a little farther up than my car, in the left lane next to me. The older man driving the truck looked just like my father from the rear and from the side that I could see. I stared, inching my car up to get a better look. Incredible. Same hair, tan jacket. glasses, dignity. His truck inched ahead of me and I pushed to keep near it. I strained to look at him; he looked so much like Daddy. Tears filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. My cousin, whose parents had predeceased my father, had warned me that there would be moments when spontaneous tears would surprise me on this journey of grief.
For a third time my car neared the little red truck. The man put his hand up to his neck and rubbed it, In my growing imagination, it was like my dad's hand. What if he was down on a little visitation from heaven. Could there be such a thing? Though totally out of the realm of possibility (I think ...) it was strangely comforting, We neared the traffic light, and when it turned green, the little truck sped forward and out of my sight. Tears clouded my vision as I went on to enter the expressway. The truck had looked like a humble carpenter's truck. Could my dad be doing his favorite hobby in heaven, that of carpentry?
The experience stuck with me and I shared it with my husband this evening. An infrequent reader of my blog, he blurted out, "Oh no! I feel a blog coming!" I couldn't resist. It was a nice moment in my early morning commute.
Ninety Minute Gift
Gift
Originally uploaded by podso.
I felt like I was unwrapping a package. Construction workers were absent, spouse had headed out for a breakfast meeting, and I had just heard the putter-putter of resident son's now-functioning Sumarai heading out of our cul de sac. I bustled around with morning tasks enjoying the tidiness (after the new kitchen floor last week) and the quietness--yes, the serenity of a Monday morning all to myself ... for 90 minutes. I settled down with my Bible.
Peace pervaded my soul. It seemed an extra sense of peace for one who is usually in high gear thinking hard about the next thing. Times like this aren't all that frequent, sadly, but seem to be such a gift directly from God. He knows we need moments like this in our busy lives. I'm so glad I could be aware of the gift and celebrate the joy of it all.
Over 100 years ago, Henry Van Dyke wrote about a "she" whose identity I can only guess at. "She spoke of the duty of being ready to welcome happiness as well as endure the pain, and of the strength that endurance wins by being grateful for small daily joys, like the evening light, and the smell of roses, and the singing of birds. She spoke of the faith that rests on the Unseen Wisdom and Love like a child on its mother's breast, and the melting away of doubts in the warmth of an effort to do some good in the world."
Sort of a "stop to smell the roses" moment!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
A Missive
window view
Originally uploaded by podso.
Dear Bonifice and Emily,
Thanks for the drop by visit. Just like in Jane Austin's day, only you did not leave a calling card. Neither did you have tea nor some refreshment. Next time we will rectify that. I enjoyed seeing the new writing paper. Beautiful, and to allow me to have the unwrapping of the exquisite package as you watched, was just a memorable way to break up a busy afternoon of messy house rennovations.
The way the letter is an 8 x 11 folded piece of stationery brings back to my mind spouse's first letter to me. He wrote on plain paper folded in half and penned it in his very neat, small handwriting (he now only prints tiny tidy letters [as in alphabet letters, because if I was referring to the missive type of letters, I would have to say not all are tiny, but for sure they are tidy].) Anyway, I was in the hospital with a four-in-one wisdom teeth extraction when the letter somehow arrived at my bedside (how that happened is now a mystery not worth solving.). He made comment about the formation of the letter into a sort of book form. "It brings out the scribe in me, don't you think?" he wrote. I have never forgotten those words for some silly unknown reason, or else it's just one of those incidental things that clutter the cobwebs of the mind. But, say ... they have become prophetic haven't they, for he has become a writer. Speaking of letters, here is the missive word information:
"From Middle English (letter) missive ,(letter) sent (by superior authority) , from Medieval Latin (litterae) miss?vae , feminine pl. of miss?vus ,sent , from Latin missus , past participle of
mittere,to send .]"
So, 40 years ago, Miss Wilson pounding Latin into my head while her arthritic hand struck the desk in a rhythmic motion, I guess paid off, at least for a word today.
Come again, any time whether or not you have "show and tell."
Monday, February 05, 2007
Gravy Reminders
Sisters
Originally uploaded by podso.
Whenever I thicken a sauce or gravy, I reach for a Tupperware mixer container and think of my aunt. It's funny how certain things trigger memories. I am immediately back in her kitchen where she is cooking us newlyweds Sunday dinner and working on the gravy with a similar container.
But more than just remembering gravy, I sense the warmth of her hospitality when I think of her. That's what I remember the most about my mother's sister, the woman I was named for. She was a lady seasoned with grace. Her 20 years living as a doctor's wife in a little Alaskan village were not easy, but she was not one to complain. I didn't visit her there but did after they returned to the "lower 48." Her home was gracious, as was her hospitality. I remember delicious meals, and the comfort of the Prophet's Chamber, with every detail perfect for weary travelers. She wasn't the most talkative of the bunch, but she had a great sense of humor and a ready, listening ear. She was a homemaker in every sense of the word, coming alongside her husband, loving and caring about and for her kids,--even her nieces and nephews--a true “Proverbs 31 woman.”
Now her pain is gone, replaced with perfect health and pure joy in her Savior's presence. In no time at all we will join her, but for now we savor that hope …
"The list of loved ones who have gone every year grows longer,
And everyday that I live on my ties to them grow stronger.
I long for family and friends, to see some lost face.
But I know at my journey's end, they are saving me a place
At a table bright with candlelight and linens edged with lace.
The ones so dear from my time down here, are saving me a place."
~R. & L. Williams
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