Phone message

A sort of backdrop of sadness, loss as a year passes.

And you got a phone call today! From Sweetwater Sound.

I am sure the guy didn't know why I was quiet. Your sister is doing well, all things considered. She is throwing her muscle behind her academics, coming up with high achievement.

Your baby sisters still ask about you, the answers are never very easy. I wish you were adjusting to a dorm room, counting your scholarship money, and feeling the achievement that college can bring (as well as Friday nights in the library).

Ugh, I am sure you are someplace easier than where you were the night you left, but you are missed.

Inherent talent vs. sustained hard work

He wrote me the tabs to the song and I used his guitar to try to play them over and over. He was in the other room and I was really self conscious as I practiced the words in Russian that he had written down, and as I tried to get my fingers to do as he had shown me. See, he had just completed his first album, and now he was showing me how to play this Russian folk song on a guitar. I had been practicing guitar in the ample free time I had in my komnata there in Saratov Russia. Maybe he thought I was more practiced than I was, or maybe more talented than I was.

I liked being behind the guitar, I liked reading and singing the Russian folk song, I liked feeling like I might get this, if I practice long enough... I didn't like continually goofing up in front of my new musician friend.

It was St. Petersburg, 1997. He had just turned his hair purple and completed a record. I was at the end of my time in Russia. I had spent a year and a half drinking tea with women 2 times my age. To me, a person my age who made music and lived in St. Petersburg was somewhat novel. Ok, I will admit it, I was happy to finally be with someone my age who was cool.

It was white nights, a time when the sun never actually sets, lending to the whole experience a surreality. I lost an important ring. I explored St. Petes on my own sometimes. Traveling alone is a topic for another time.

It was there that the question first came up.

Should you bother to do it if you don't have a natural talent for it? I mean, can you say you do anything if really, you aren't 100% (or even 90%) confident that you can do it pretty well? Isn't there any room for the tinkerer? Sometimes, it felt, in Russia anyway, that you perhaps best not mention your interests lest you were ready to demonstrate.

I have a friend who is beautiful. And her parents raised her so well. She sings. And her singing is beautiful, not because it is perfect, but because it is sung with her heart. And to me, it is that heart that makes things beautiful and perfect. Maybe it is because she is gifted to make people feel loved, maybe it is the life she lives as a Christ follower, not back-biting or 2-faced, not hypocritical or self interested, but just really filled with love for people. Her song is the best to me.

The question reasserted itself time and time again. I realized that it lived in all the people I traveled with to Ecuador who were trying to learn Spanish, amidst others in the group who poked fun.

Should you bother to do it if you don't have a natural talent for it?

And if I wanted to escape it, I went into the wrong profession. Teaching.

Should I bother to do it if I don't have a natural talent for it?

Ok, I admit it, no. No. No, I don't have a natural talent for it. But I plead...

Look, I can do this, I will work very hard and I won't ever give up. I will do the best I can I will work so hard. I will be gentle, kind, encouraging, patient. Watch, I will do all the things no one ever thought I could. Because it is that important to me. I want this.

And after so many years of teaching, I can honestly say, yes, I am a good teacher. Because I have the heart. I have managed to translate that heart into every interaction with students to know what they need, and when I don't I, by default, encourage.

Somewhere else, there is Beethoven, Mozart and every savant with an affinity for something that ever was. Playing chess, speaking to each other in prime numbers, or maybe with colors. Everyone given a tremendous talent. Everyone who is really good at something, anything. They are there. With their talent. And probably an angst or two.

And the rest of us are over here, trying very hard to figure out either what we are good at, or, if in a world with people dying of hunger, if we are permitted to do what we would love to do every day if we were in heaven.

And what if what we do isn't what we are good at? And what if what we are good at isn't something we love?

For example, I am really good at making snarky jokes, being a bit cynical. But I am also good at seeing good stuff in people, encouraging them and I can be articulate. I am a good learner when it's important to me, and I work hard at what I have decided to do. But was I born to teach? Born to be a musician? Born to speak words of wisdom to folks? I dunno, I have to believe that if a person deeply wants to cultivate some ability, they can do so.

So the question is, what is more important, what is inherently in a person as something they are just born with, or a lifetime devoted to crafting and cultivating talents or characteristics that match their values? just curious...

Should you bother to do it if you don't have a natural talent for it?

Abuela

There was an argument in my head over the stone that was, in my mind thoughtlessly placed on her grave. Her son, my father, had chosen dice to put on the stone. It was, I suppose reflective of the way he viewed things. But I couldn't help thinking it looked like gram was a gambler or crapshooter.

The Grandma I knew was 20 to 30 years older than I am now. What I remember are her wrinkly pudgy fingers dirty from working in the garden cleaning up a collander full of green beans. I remember goats milk yogurt drunk with trepidation and secretly enjoyed for its milky sweetness with strawberries. I remember the glasses of wine, the endless games with the backgammon board and the John Deere tractor which she rode all over her property as she kept things clean. Chicken coops that seemed mysterious and ordinary all at once. Chicken wire which I clung too as a toddler and the creek with all its multicolored stones at the bottom.

And now I see other things too, my own love for gardening as its own escape. I see the farmers my family were. I see what a farmer is, someone who doesn't give up easily, knows the entire landscape of human emotion by glaring it in the eye with each waking day's coffee, or crawling into ones pillow at night.

I remember the smells, oh the smells of her farm house. Strongest of cats, then some indescribable earthy smells, fire smoke, hard water, dirt and bacon.

More recently I remember trying to build friendships at a university, in a ladies group starting off by describing their grandmothers. By the time the 5th girl described her grandmother, I was wishing I could either slowly be swallowed by my easy chair. I also wondered how conspicuous I would be if I ran out. I considered lying. Not out of shame, mind you, more of feeling like I had fallen in with a group of fine young ladies whose grandma's were worlds apart from my own. I didn't want to stick out, but I didn't want to lie, either.

Their grandmothers reminding them to keep their knees together in church by saying "Close your bible book!" contrasted sharply with my sweet granny who was scolded by a pastor for not wearing dresses to their small town church. I don't believe she owned a dress. To say nothing of him asking her not to come back till she quit smoking.

Or the time she ran her car into the smoke shack.

Or I could have told them, in retrospect about how grandma started following Christ when she was about 80. Or that she lived in the South Pacific with her family for a time. Or about the owls around her house.

One must mention her raising 4 kids, as well as 2 of her grandchildren. I can only imagine as an only child, it wasn't what she had anticipated.

Their grandmothers with lacy aprons baking something light and fluffy and scrumptious, mine with hands in the soil and cooking. I do think of her really as a very rustic Martha Stewart, actually.

I wish I could catalog all the stories of grandma, because they are wonderful. She was a true character. In her latest years she never stopped, receiving awards for her letter writing campaigns to begin veteran's history projects and revamping forgotten sacred lands.

I remember kissing her felt just like I imagined kissing Yoda would be like. Sorry gram, but each one of those kisses I anticipated such.

And when my turn came to describe grandma, I didn't chicken out, I told them that my grandma wore coveralls and rode around on a John Deere tractor and probably secretly wished that someone else would "weedeat the crick" (and sometimes not so secretly). But truthfully, I didn't go back.

When she died, her main entertainment was the birdfeeders outside her window. She loved, no, she lerved the birds and would make all varieties of suet and hummingbird food for them.

I remember as a very little girl her house seemed filled with secret stashes of Prang watercolors and coloring books and blank paper screaming to be drawn on. And strange interesting books and photo albums. As a little girl, I loved her sort of dirty but exotic seeming house. It just seemed to contain a million benevolent secrets.

Things I seldom think about: Women in church

Because I was not raised in a church, I don't have all that baggage goodness of understanding roles that women play in the church.

I have felt at times that I wasn't particularly good at "staying in line" in the context of what a "female role" was in church, but I was a pretty lousy "renegade" too.

Truth be told, I seldom thought about it.

But lately, there are so many different things coming at me about prescribed places women belong, and men too, that I never even realized existed. I am meeting intelligent people who have interesting stories to tell about where they bumped up against the edges of what was expected and came away a little flounced, and maybe surprised. And perhaps a feeling a bit turned out.

Like the married couple youth pastor team who had difficulty explaining to a pastoral staff that they worked together as a team and needed to each pull a wage.

Apparently the pastoral staff that the wife came for free, maybe with a plate of cookies.

And the young woman who has observed throughout her life the gentle nudging off the platform of female deacons and elders. Why didn't they get to serve?

And the man who can find no purchase within ministry at churches, carrying a message that it is men's job to help their wives realize their life goals (oh! I LOVE this!).

And things that I haven't thought much about arise in realizing "oh, yes, I guess they are there," and I have never very well played into the role of abiding female, have I? or have I? Maybe I have played into it more than I even realize.

Drowning in Love notes...

Fingers click clacked the letters urgently. The white paper set intrepidly by the keyboard and the soft eyes looking, waiting so quietly for the click clacking to stop, and the realization to set in. Focused deeply on a task, the click clacker doesn't realize what the blue eyes are patiently waiting for.

Realization of a love note.

There are times in life when you have to let go of precious things, things that you wanted and thought would be normal for you. Dreams deferred, deep sorrow, caring for people who need a person there to catch them.

And then there is that one little persistent beam of hope. somewhere. it just won't go out, it won't stop shining, it won't stop being beautiful, it won't stop being just whatever it is.

for the past i am not sure how long now, I have been receiving weekly love letters from my oldest daughter.

to tell you the truth, when she began writing them with some regularity, after i was overwhelmed with the sweetness that caused her to write them, and when she kept writing them i started to wonder why? and began to imagine that i had some how messed her up in a way that caused her to write a bunch of love letters to me.

I want to pause on that for just a second... wouldn't it be great if we could somehow parent in such a way that made our kids adore us? Ah... an impossible dream.

But as they came daily, I began to get overwhelmed "I love you! don't forget! I LOVE YOU!!!" I wish more people wrote love letters as prolifically as she. Would we all be so bedraggled then?

She is persistent. It has been months. I must have received upwards of 50 love letters from her. They are all over my desk, shoved in my bible, shoved in notebooks, used as book marks, in between recipes, taped in random places around the house... wherever you go around my house, you are likely to find a love letter.

I am no longer fearful that I somehow messed her up and the outcome is love letters. I must be very careful to cherish each one, as she observes carefully what I do with them.

She will say, "You just set it down, don't you like it?"

and I will stop what I am doing and look at her, and take her pink pillow cheeks in my hand and say "Are you kidding? Whenever I get one of your love notes, it's like God is using you to tell me how much he loves me. He loves me so much that he gave me a daughter that writes me love notes every day. They are the BEST part of my day,"

Then she perhaps has gotten exactly what she wanted from writing that love note, and we are all happy.

Lately, when i tell her that i love her too, she tells me "I love you more!"

I could post a few here, but for now, it has been wonderful just to meditate on being drowned in love letters. I hope it is an experience that everyone gets to have at least once in their lives.

The call to profession

I am truly grateful that in my family, one was really strongly encouraged to find a direction in life that would sustain one financially. Being a writer, a poet, an artist, a dramatic artist, an anthropologist, a naturopath... ahhh nah. Be an engineer.

Never mind, I didn't become an engineer, but I did obediently find a path somehow, that would keep me from being dependent on someone else. And THAT is a really important thing for a young female. And to my complete surprise, and what seems like completely by accident, I have a solid amount of education and experience under my belt anymore, I am finally discovering that elusive thing I couldn't find when I was younger: confidence.

My daughters, I don't think, will know this problem. They seem to have the confidence of a tsunami.


In retrospect, I realize I could have become anything, a nurse, a weigh station attendant (why does this profession fascinate me?), a waitress and even an anthropologist or a writer.

But at certain age, one might look at the career that they have ended up in and start thinking a little Parker Palmer, is this what I was meant to do?

I have. no. clue.

Do I know a lot about it? Yes. Am I knowledgeable and trained in my profession, oh heavens yes. And then some.

Do I feel like I am good at it? What measures that? Do I seem to be doing well at it? I have no idea. Am I doing something good? Ugh. How can one know?

I have landed as a teacher. For many years now! I think one comment from an immature friend who was great fun to be around, a comment which peeked out someone much more in step with what was important than what he usually portrayed, made a big difference:

If it will make me a better dad, than it will all have been worth it.

When he said that, I realized he had spoken something true and important, and at the time I had no kids much less marriage prospects on the horizon. If it would make me a better mom, it will be worth it.

My husband says, if you love it, these questions will go away. Because you love it so much you will inevitably become good at it. It might be true.

But sometimes I wonder why the notion that I would be a good teacher at all would ever occur to me? I am snarky, irreverent and come from a family who is selfish, arrogant and well, selfish (like me, at times).

I remember: I thought, I will learn much much much. And it is true. I have learned much. But I want to be a Very Good something or other. I am not sure if I will get there with teaching, because teaching takes something like an amazing personality or a tremendous mind blowing amount of wisdom like Yoda . I haven't found an educational program yet that will give me either of these things(maybe I should go back to The Evergreen State College, I bet they have a program to become Jedi Master).

Truth is, Great Teachers have something Special. A Confidence. A tremendous amount of knowledge, an ability to articulate and a fortitude to do so. And love, but half of that I have covered. Really, I do.

Except that, I feel like I have always been taught and reminded to keep my mouth SHUT.

How is one supposed to do all these things at once?

Once a student told me I had missed my calling, that I should become a photographer. I buckled inside. Who me? An artistic endeavor?

But that would go against EVERYTHING I HAD LEARNED.

I would love it, though. But for some reason I had learned that I was to be the weigh station attendant, not the career anyone feels born into, the one that you did because you could, and it served the purpose.

And truly, first world problems, anyone? That's what this pondering is, and I know it.

Service. It's not easy.

In reading Mother Teresa some years ago, I remember she told her new helpers that all the people that came to the Home for the Dying were "Christ in his most distressing disguise,". That is to say, that the help and comfort that they were giving to people that arrived at the home were to be treated as though they were Christ. She went on to describe people stuck in sewers whose open wounds had attracted all varieties of nasty things, and for the sisters of Charity, those people were their opportunity to show love to Christ.

This all spoke to me.

Service is hard. Even when you are not taking care of people abandoned in death, it is hard. Taking care of the living is messy, hard.

Even if we get over ourselves enough to give a few hours of the week, there are challenges we never anticipated. People who take advantage of charity. People who somehow seem to know our weaknesses and go right at them. People who lack any gratitude, but rather complain about the quality of what they receive. People who ask much more than we are able to give.

It is enough to make almost anyone just quit.

And so?

My husband does a ministry he loves. It is the wood ministry. He delivers wood to people who need heat for the winter. He brings the kids, they make friends. It is altogether a good thing. He also makes coffee for a group who meet to worship and learn. He realized later he did have hopes of what might have come of these service ops, but they never manifested. Of course he doesn't stop. He loves to be useful.

My own work in service has been messier. It has played on personal weaknesses, have felt taken too far in what I could give. Life lesson? Boundaries, and perhaps a dusting of not guilting myself to give more than I could, because the end of that was quitting.

Where am I going with this? Am I saying it is better we don't serve unless we are good at it? I am not ready to say that.

I have heard that doesn't call us only if we are ready (or equipped), rather that he makes ready (or equipped) those he calls. So I wait. Equip me, please.

Service is not easy. Even harder when what lands in our lap is exactly going to need us to be strong where we are weak.

And when our "confidants" point out "Well the problem is that you are weak in this area," OH! Thank you, I was hoping someone would come along to offer some criticism.

My point is, at some point service will likely become hard. Maybe even too hard. Ministry work is not messing around stuff, your boundaries will be crossed, your anger may be activated and the areas of weakness in your character will be exposed. What is the use then?

Well, then I supppose one might ask themselves then "Why am I doing this?"

Is it because it makes me feel magnanimous?
I want to be redeemed for my faults to do something good?
Because I have nothing much more to do?
Because I feel guilty about something?
Because I want to do good?
Because I want to give back for what I have received?
Because I feel like I ought to?

Figuring out why to pursue doing things which are hard, painful, unpleasant is an important thing too, the motivation to service is really relevant, it will determine one's level of commitment for when things get hard, unpleasant, messy or inconvenient. And service-related work will eventually get at least one or more of those things.

But if one finds the enduring reason (for me, it is the example Christ set), then maybe in going through those times when one feels insulted, diminished and undervalued (by one's own perception) might bring some good wisdom, humility, honesty and reality to one's life.

Perhaps? Didn't Jesus get all that stuff too? Didn't St. Francis tell us to consider ourselves blessed in persecution because of our faith? Uh. Hard truths.

file this under: things I am still working on.

Perpetually hacked

For almost 7 years now I have published at chezwhat.net.

I am happy with the work I have done there, I see quite a change in the person that started that blog to the person who writes this today.

But chezwhat.net is perpetually hacked these days. We have tried many things to undo this, fix and repair and amend and deal with it, and none of it sticks. Eventually it gets hacked again.

So I have given up I might try to print that blog and just start afresh here anyway, it had its run, it has taken me from the mom of one infant to the mom of 2 and erstwhile mom of a young lady.

I changed towns since beginning chezwhat, changed houses and a couple times changed jobs. So I still have so many things to write about, and now I am just going to write them all out here.

Welcome. Kick your feet up and perhaps at some point something I write will make you think or at least go "awww" when I put up the pictures of my extremely beautiful monkeys...er girls.

Agree

Donald Miller, a story teller who is a follower of Christ, wrote this:

Yesterday, at lunch, my friend David mentioned he’d spent some time in Colorado with the guys at Ransomed Heart. David used to work with them and went back to hang out with them for a weekend in the mountains. He mentioned that one of the guys reminded him that spirituality was not a context. I asked David what the guy meant, and Dave said what he meant was that you learn about God while learning to fly a plane or raising a child or planting crops in a field. It’s not a hard, fast rule to be sure, but the idea is that sitting around looking at your spiritual belly button isn’t going to provide an object lesson for your faith. The idea is that faith makes sense in the context of some other pursuit.

And that might be the reason I don’t migrate toward conversations specifically about faith.

I agree very much, as it seems like it is always through the experiences I am having that God uses to teach me a thing or two, or bring me to my knees. For example, raising kids, or being married. I am fairly certain I could do neither of these things on my own, and if I did, I know there would be enough mistakes that I would recognize only in retrospect, that doing what I thought was best at the time would eventually be my undoing.

If the past indicates the future, that is where I would stand.

Confessing

While reading a book, I realized there was this thing that I had honestly been beating myself up for for years.

I thought about how it came up years after it occurred. The depth of the jerk that I had been. And searching my mind on ways, things I could do that would make me *feel* absolved of this. Merely confessing seemed completely inadequate to the damage I had done.

I considered restitution.

It wasn't a money sort of damage that I had done. And I suspected the people involved might be more annoyed that I even went back to that time and place than grateful for a heartfelt apology. We have all done what normal people do: move on.

When someone apologizes, it is sort of hard. It puts the recipient of the apology back into the unpleasant memory of having a wrong done to them, and then having to say "that's alright" or be a jerk.

Plus, when we are talking old relationships, trotting out this garbage seems really backwards-moving.

What can be done for the person who has done the wrong to put it behind them?

I apologize every time I remember that situation. I don't bury it or hide it. I have learned that I have to be nice to people because, due to some mental or genetic defect, I never let myself forget when I have been a jerk to good kind people who have cared for me.

I have to believe that God has let me off the hook for this a long time ago. Since I can't go back, I have to move forward and avoid making this mistake again, and continue confessing until it is etched over the memory of me being a jerk.

Steward or pilgrim?

Which direction does the bible point to with regards to money? Am I to give it all away and follow Christ, as it says in the New Testament or am I to be wise and save for my grandkids, like it says in Proverbs?

I found myself needing some words of wisdom, and not merely opinions. As a parent of young children, how the question is answered is relevant for more than just myself.

Some well-known writers have also put forth the urgency of the call of a Christian to follow Christ. Living like a pilgrim before I had kids was all for me, but now I wondered if it was the right choice with their well-being to consider.

My husband and I consider carefully the way we divide our resources; setting examples, making moral choices and being obedient are all priorities. So which path is correct? New Testament living by faith or Proverbs wise stewardship?

Who can answer that question of each of us?

The Lord has blessed our family in a way that feels lavish to us. We are grateful for opportunities to give back to our community. But is it sufficient?

For the time, I will be intentional and wise with what the Lord has provided. I will do everything I can to imbue my kids with a sense of the importance of service. I trust the Lord will bless this, as we try to steward wisely the overflowing bounty that he has given our family.

How do you answer this question in your own life?

Lent

This year for Lent I wonder if I gave up sleep, control, perseverance or hope. I can't figure out which cos it seems like at times I gave them all up.

Easter is coming though...

What I said

I spoke at a women's retreat this weekend, and this is what I said ...

Faithwalk March 13, 2010

Learning about God through raising my own daughters and teaching her about God

1. Prayer

2. Introduction

Relatively speaking, I am new to the Friends church. Before arriving here in Newberg, my faith persevered often times in spite of the church rather than being encouraged from it. I understand those who would be disenchanted by the church, but still having been on the inside of it and the outside of it, I know that outside of Christ there really is absolutely nothing Good, and that comes from life experience. I have given thanks daily and weekly for the Lord’s leading us to Newberg Friends. Here I have found people who I respect, people from whom I might learn a thing or two, and a community where it seems that the aspects of my faith I cherish the most are of high value. I am incredibly grateful for finding this fellowship.

3. Some history, and topic

When thinking about what I was supposed to talk about, I found I had absolutely no desire to talk about what led me to Christ, It feels wrong to go through all the twists and turns that finally brought me to a point where I became Christian… The only really important thing to say might be I rejected Christianity because I didn’t like the culture of the church, and I came to the Lord because I wanted something so much better than what I could find in the world, and truly that is what I have found since turning to Christ when I was 21. From the folly of youth and the day the Lord lifted me out of my own mess, I can see a ribbon of his presence winding its way through my life, introducing and reintroducing himself.

I used to think I would have to turn off my brain to be a Christian, and it has been quite the opposite, that it has kindled an ongoing process of wrestling and reconciling and understanding. I love the story of Jacob wrestling with God, it speaks so much to life in faith, but while I feel like that characterizes my coming to Christ, that isn’t where I am going today,

More intriguing to me these days is the process I am starting of raising a child and what it is teaching me about God. How do I show my own children the face of Christ when I feel so ill-equipped? Sometimes I have wished I had a Christian upbringing, but seeing my husband work through reconciling his own Christian upbringing I am not so sure that’s where its at.

Here I would like to tell a little story about what our family looked like in the spiritual sense….


When I was growing up, I lived in a cul-de-sac with a couple other girls. They were from Christian families. Mine wasn't really that way so much.

Me and Karen and LaVonne played together alot. Karen went to an Assemblies of God church. Karen to this day is one of the sweetest people I can think of. She had a child like wisdom, good behavior and kindness that seemed to be a inherent part of her character. I thought very highly of her. One day I was over at her house for lunch. Before we could eat, she put her hands together, bowed her head and then in a little bit she stopped and ate her tuna salad on white bread.. I watched this. I had no idea what she just did, but I thought this was good, like she was. I asked her what she did, and through a mouth full of tuna salad sammich, she told me she prayed.

When I went home that night for supper, as we gathered around the table I announced "We should pray!" My parents looked at me.
.
"Ok then, pray." I stalled. I had never prayed before I realized at this point, and had no idea what praying really...I just had no idea.
The tension mounted for me, because as I was the youngest, the idea that anyone would pay attention to my suggestion was altogether unusual.
"Ok, well you have to stand up,"
"Why?"
"Because that's how you pray." The family stood up. At this point I am feeling really in trouble because here the same people who usually interrupt me and talk over me at the dinner table are doing what I am telling them to, and I have no clue what I am doing.

"You have to put your hand on your heart"
"What? You do not," said John, my brother.
"Just pray already, I'm hungry," says someone else. So I piously put my hand over my heart and said

"I pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America..."


I have struggled with a sense of not really being equipped to raise a child to love Christ.
I hope to raise a daughter who perhaps doesn’t have to detour through so many painful choices before she comes to realize the value of the presence of the lord in her life. I don’t feel like I am without resources and some ideas of what is right and good, and that’s what I am going to talk about.

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young. Isaiah 40:11

I do really feel like when I seek I find he DOES GENTLY lead those that have young. He gently leads me sometimes. And so I try to gently lead Addy. It is important to me that her learning be organic, without stress… gentle. This makes my time with her sometimes more like a rest from everything else—for that moment, the most important thing is that puzzle, or the fort, or the new art supplies. At times it seems that parenting is just a collection of moments, and making the best of each one as we are able to.

4. Resources for the job at hand

• I have found resources along the way that have encouraged me, reassured me, informed me, made me curious, and guided me and more than once I feel like the Lord has done the work for me when it comes to having the right heart about things happening, relating with my daughters

The best so far has been the community of moms I have found in Newberg and specifically at Newberg Friends. I really can’t say enough about how grateful I am that the Lord put us here. I appreciate the words of friends who tell me it’s okay for the kids to have nothing to do for awhile. I appreciate the simplicity of bumping into friends or strangers at a park. I am grateful for prayer groups, play groups with moms who I admire and respect and who have walked my path before. I am so grateful for this community which values the things that I value and around whom I am glad my kids will grow up. I am most specifically grateful for friendships with women who do not complain, but look for ways to cope with circumstances, women who set good examples as believers, women who listen and do not judge. I am constantly encouraged by the friendships the Lord is leading me to.

I have reassurance that the relationship that I have with my daughters offers me insight to the relationship and love the Lord has for me. How could I know the deep soulful love that I have for my girls if the Lord didn’t first have that love for his children? The quantity of joy I take in her has to come from somewhere, and I believe it comes from God, who delights in me as well.

1 John 3:16
By this we know love, because Jesus Christ laid down his life for us…

I know that I am not alone in this path with my girls. He is gently leading me as Isaiah 40:11 says

• Another resource I feel like I am learning a little more about is prayer. The sermon series about prayer resonated with me-Jeff and I talked a lot about it-and I started reading last summer. I read The Way of a Pilgrim by an unattributed author, but coming from the Russian orthodox church and also Prayer by Philip Yancey. The books have changed my prayer life entirely. My own prayer life had its shortcomings and I suspected that there was more to prayer than what I really knew about, because it never seemed as powerful as what people said. My readings lead me to see that prayer was something that might result only in changing my own heart about a circumstance, but so far that has been significant….

Now, when the virtues went around I am pretty sure I got shortchanged on patience.
Some of the suggestions about prayer mentioned in the book have really, really helped me to keep what is most important to me right in front of my face: to be a patient and loving mom at times when I wasn’t sure there wasn’t any more patient left. Daily with my girls, I cannot without regularly praying for mercy, patience, gentleness, self control and the measure of love that is required to be a good parent.

• Prayer has changed my decision making. It has clarified what the purpose of this time of my life is, raising children and looking for things that will make me a better mom. Sometimes that means learning from a gifted teacher of children, sometimes it means learning to play the piano, or other activities that do not require me to be a mom…. And when all else fails, sometimes being a good parent means a little time apart from the kid.

5. God gives me deeper understanding of himself through her

Being much time with a child really is a pouring out of ourselves. It can be really exhausting and also an amazing blessing. She verbally reminds me how God loves me, she blesses me with the singing of hymns we sing together. My heart grows when I see her loving God in her childlike way, and I am encouraged and grateful. In the difficult times the simplicity she represents which is a rest and respite from the complexity of messy problems.

Sometimes I wonder if God doesn’t give us children to teach us something very specific about our relationship with Him, but I am not sure what that is yet.

While I talk about this, I hope it doesn’t sound like “I have this all figured out!”, what I have learned through trials is that I can control pretty much almost nothing in my life, but I can control how I respond. And I am still trying to get on top of that one.

The thing that makes me really joyful is that I am so very much at the beginning of this process, and I am looking forward to what God will reveal. If this sounds overly optimistic, it also again reminds me of how very much my daughters and this whole process is in God’s hands, I cannot worry (though I will probably try)

. It might be important to add, that while I feel like I am learning a lot, it’s because I have a lot to learn…

• Teaching her about showing Christ’s love to those around her, getting her past her own selfishness, and getting me past my own selfishness as well

• Authentically demonstrating my faith, mostly this is through the way I live, the choices we make as a family, priorities

• Choosing the responses what will resonate in her heart

• Showing her how, and what to pray for, and why.

• Nurturing her spiritual growth… what will this look like? I am infinitely grateful for moms around me who if they don’t have all the answers, they encourage me so much.

• Equipping her to go far in life, not hobbling her with hangups (is this even possible?)

In conclusion, the choices, paths or turns my daughters life takes are things that are in God’s hands. The only thing that I can really control on is my response to things that happen, so I pray the Lord will be there teaching me at those times too. Despite what I might lack in informing me how to raise my kids, I am constantly encouraged as the Lord seems to give me what I need, when I need it—how to pray, a community that seems tailor made for where we are in life, encouragement, friendships.

Read Psalm 25: 4-10

Belonging in a Quaker Community

(This is a part of my “Top Ten things that drive me crazy about Quakers” list. from "Gregg's Gambles")

4. Why aren't U.S. Quakers exploding in growth?

Our combination of inward, deep spirituality with outward, passionate social activism is one that a postmodern world is crying out for. It drives me crazy that we aren't catching on like a contagion. Why aren't we exploding like an epidemic?

About 2 years ago, we moved and started going to this church with an amazing history reaching deep into Oregon's rather measly little past (Sorry, but when you have celebrated the 800th anniversary of a town, 100 years is like the fly on the ass of a cow as seen by a person in a car going by at 55 mph).

It was like a drink of cold refreshing water when we arrived in this town to open up this church and see what was inside.

What was inside?

A place where people valued community.
A place where people hung around with each other.
A place where people scratched their chin about their own faith, read books talked and wrote about the bible.
A place where people cared deeply about social justice issues, and how that translates into their daily lives.
A place where people did not value material garbage.
A place where there were people who spoke to you, invited you to their home and included you in the community (gasp! I didn't think people did that anymore!)
A place where people showed their understanding of their own redemption by Christ in the way they lived their lives, humbly, with love. And with a sense of humor.

I really did not think such a place existed in America. All I saw when I looked at the church were frozen chosen, very emotional charismatic worship, Joel Osteen or other figures that made me feel like I could find no common ground, and what was wrong with me? I chastised myself for being too critical, and I gave up.

So can this begin to express my relief? My joy? My sense of blessing at having found a place that if I didn't belong entirely, at least I belonged enough to want to be there, show up and be a part of what the Lord had planned. I felt blessed.

But honeymoons end. I still am grateful to have found "Friends", I am as close as I can ever be to professing a denomination, but I really do miss the cup and I will baptize my girls if they ask. (Quakers don't officially do this).

However, these Quakers, they really don't party nearly enough. Someone should tell the pastor! (tongue firmly in cheek)

Christmas Present

A “Yes” Beyond Emotions

By Henri Nouwen



Everything was there to make it a splendid Christmas. But I wasn’t really there. I felt like a sympathetic observer. I couldn’t force myself to feel differently. It just seemed that I wasn’t part of it. At times I even caught myself looking at it all like an unbeliever who wonders what everybody is so busy and excited about. Spiritually, this is a dangerous attitude. It creates a certain sarcasm, cynicism, and depression. But I didn’t want or choose it. I just found myself in a mental state that I could not move out of by my own force.


Still, in the midst of it all I saw - even though I did not feel - that this day may prove to be a grace after all. Somehow I realize that songs, music, good feelings, beautiful liturgies, nice presents, big dinners, and many sweet words do not make Christmas. Christmas is saying “yes” to something beyond all emotions and feelings. Christmas is saying “yes” to a hope based on God’s initiative, which has nothing to do with what I think or feel. Christmas is believing that the salvation of the world is God’s work and not mine. Things will never look just right or feel just right. If they did, someone would be lying. The world is not whole, and today I experience this fact in my own unhappiness. But it is into this broken world that a child is born who is called Son of the Most High, Prince of Peace, Savior.


I look at him and pray, “Thank you, Lord, that you came, independent of my feelings and thoughts. Your heart is greater than mine.” Maybe a “dry” Christmas, a Christmas without much to feel or think, will bring me closer to the true mystery of God-with-us. What it asks is pure, naked faith. (Nouwen, The Road to Daybreak)

and to this add...

~ Because God loved us all soooo much, He was attentive to our need and our pain, and sent His only child to help us ~ so that whoever believes in Him will not live and die in hopelessness, but have life eternal and everlasting. (John 3:16) Read it again, for the first time.

Let's go full speed ahead in the wrong direction.

Once again, I agree with Rick McKinley who says...

"Christians get all bent out of shape over the fact that someone didn't say 'Merry Christmas' when I walked into the store. But why are we expecting the store to tell our story? That's just ridiculous."

Taken from this article about Advent Conspiracy.

I got an email with a website that ranked a store showing how "Christmas-friendly" it was, and encouraging Christians to not shop at stores that weren't "Christmas friendly".

Huh? I can think of a million gazillion other ways to spend our energies as Christians.

I just googled it and apparently this is a Foxnews Bill O Reilly thing.

my favorite evangelist

Shane Claiborne

http://www.esquire.com/features/best-and-brightest-2009/shane-claiborne-1209#ixzz0Yk4R9iNK

Being the change...?

When I started this blog, I felt this huge burning desire to DO something bigger and more significant with myself. Kept reading these authors who urged the reader to take seriously the role of a Christian to follow Christ... seriously! Books about pilgrims and cheap grace and "the Simple way" all this made me want to realize this.

Its hard not to make fun of this intention, because I am so trained, but there it was.

But before I even started drawing up grand plans, I knew that there were people here, in my house, waking up with me in the morning that needed me more than any orphanage thousands of miles away. And there are even people with whom I don't wake up that for them, the fact we are here is good. I am referring to the daughter of my husband.

But this has led me in this thought circle. I want to serve>overseas>i can do it>but what about ....>okay i will do it soon>I want to serve>overseas...etc.

I walk in this circle mentally wearing ruts in the green shag basement carpet of my mind.

Doesn't it sound tiresome?

Another woman commented to me that I "have so many plans"... I do.

The one thing that has been a thorn in my side for, gee, I don't know, forever, is confidence.

I do not understand this elusive creature. How can someone be so equipped and still have faltering confidence in self even occur to them? I tell you, I have no time for this!

I think any person who as aspired to more in there own lives has run up against those who have told them "they can't do it" or, if they can, it will be as a demonstration in failure, or why bother.

Am rather perpetually in awe that a person would tell another person such a thing, but that circuitously leads into another topic. I mentally note to never ever ever ever ever impart anything but encouragement to my children so they would be equipped should they meet these people.

So when, if I ask, "Being the change...?" it may be a little of a challenge, because sometimes my knees might shake despite my own commitment, i may not jump forward as quickly as I ought, I might not have the resolve in my own voice that should be worn in by now after some of the messes I have weathered.

Bill Maher and Religulous

Last night we watched a documentary called Religulous by Bill Maher. I think I have seen this guy before, but didn't really know what his shtick is. I guess I was hoping someone would mount a real argument against the tenets of faith and see if they could knock them down. I left before it ended.

I was disappointed. Maher himself is more interested in listening to himself feel superior. He interviewed all variety of goofballs and then actually Frances Collins, who is the originator of the Human Genome Project, but edited the interview so ferociously that it basically was just Maher talking. Then on to the goofballs and a bunch of clips of snake oil salespeople (who have existed for all of eternity, but now we can see over and over thanks to TV), disgraced televangelists and movie shorts.

But in no way can I improve on what Frank Shaeffer wrote about Religulous and Bill Maher. Found here, and worth a read because it is also funny.

Here's some Schaeffer asserting the well known tenet that Maher's form of Atheism is not only akin, but ostensibly equal to fundametalist thinking.

The New Atheists' books provided a context for Bill Maher's movie Religulous, the most blunt instrument imaginable. Maher's documentary expands what Harris started in his book The End of Faith. Harris begins his book with a scene of a young Islamic terrorist in Jerusalem smiling as he commits suicide while blowing up a bus full of innocent people. In Religulous, Maher gleefully includes many more images of look-how-crazy-God-makes-everyone, religion-inspired violence. The Harris/Maher message is as clear: the world would be better off without religion.

There is another message in the Maher/New Atheist oeuvre: everyone must think in categories stripped of allegory. Forget the idea that perhaps one may hold two contradictory ideas at the same time, say that none of the stories in the Bible happened as written, but that they are true in more subtle ways than mere historicity, or that we're nothing but jumped up chimps, but are also connecting to a deeper reality when we say, "the Lord is my shepherd" and hope that he is.

The New Atheists don't seem to "get" grown up allegory any more than the fundamentalists of the Religious Right do, let alone literary imagination. And both the Religious right and the New Atheists also seems oblivious to serious religious thinkers from Confucius to the Sufi poets, from Reinhold Niebur to one of Reinhold Niebuhr's biggest fans; President elect Obama.

Maher's world contains no Pastor Deitrick Bonhoffer (martyred for trying to assassinate Hitler, and who defined the intellectual and theological terms for resistance to state tyranny based on Christian ethics), or the intellectual man of letters and convert from atheism to the Roman Catholic Church, Malcolm Muggeridge, let alone an awareness of the prayers written by the "atheist" W.E.B. Du Bois for his students, a poignant demonstration that faith is not so easily abandoned.


Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/frank-schaeffer/president-obama-bad-news_b_141342.html

Surprised by life

A poem I found from Pam Ferguson, who is what I hope to be when I grow up.

A link to her here.

(Confessions of middle age)

I have been surprised by life.

I never thought I would reach middle age
and in the blink of an eye I’m 55.
I still catch glimpses of myself as a 16 year old,
a 20 year old, or a 40 year old.
I see where I came from, where I have been,
people from my past and sometimes
I see my life through their eyes.

And I am surprised.

What an amazing amount of experiences I’ve had in my 55 years,
some good and some bad.

I’ve seen the pygmies dance.
I swam in the Indian Ocean.
I gathered seashells on Zanzibar Island.
I’ve been to the source of the Nile.
I’ve seen the whirling dervishes in Khartoum
and a riot in the middle of Kampala.

I walked where Paul and Silas broke free from prison and I stood at the Acropolis where Paul told the Greeks about “the God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and doesn’t live in temples built by hands”.

I’ve eaten grasshoppers and termites,
rattlesnakes and crocodile.
I’ve smelled the blossoms of a coffee orchard,
incense from sandalwood, frankincense and myrrh
....and open sewers, burning trash, rotting flesh,
drying fish and camel dung.

I’ve awakened to the Muslim call to prayer,
applauded communion with Catholics in Africa,
worshipped in opulence with Greek Orthodox,
and in silence with Quakers on three continents.

I’ve heard the explosions of land mines and
gunshots fired in celebration, in fear,
in anger and in rebellion.
An AK 47 was aimed at me as thieves stole our car
and I was held hostage in my home by an escaped prisoner.

In spite of the good and the bad and the many surprises of life,
I discovered an unexpected peace in middle age.

Of course there are regrets.

I never experienced the joy of childbirth.
I spent too much time in sin and selfishness.
I’ve ignored my creator too many times in too many ways.
And I know there is much in life that I have not experienced
nor that I have lived as fully as I was capable,
loved as much as I could or forgave as much as I know God intended.

I am surprised those regrets aren’t the focus of life now.

Middle age always brings questions of

“who am I?”
“What have I given my life to?”
and “for what (and my whom) will I be remembered?”

I’ve yet to discover many of the answers.
But I am surprised I no longer fear the questions.

I’ve confessed that I never thought I would reach middle age.
I think I’ve always thought I would die before I got this “old”.
Now I am catching glimpses of the rest of my life.

What a joy to realize I’ve learned
material possessions matter less than relationships;
obedience is more satisfying than success;
and the highest calling in life is
to make a difference in the world for Christ.

Middle age is a wake up call to use
the time I have left to love unconditionally,
give unselfishly, make right what I’ve wronged,
cherish what time I have with the man I love,
and to use every waking moment to live and walk with God
and to grow in my love for God with each passing day.

Middle age is a gift. I am surprised.