I don't understand much Shakespeare, but I know that "the winter of my discontent" is a line from one of his plays, that I understand. I have been privileged to live in Montana nearly all of my life, but I am not a winter person. This is unfortunate because Montana is into winter in a big way. Kalispell has made the problem worse; it is cloudy during many seasons, but the white skies are particularly depressing in the winter. There is also a cumulative effect, I don't begin each winter with a clean slate, there is leftover discontent from previous years, like rollover phone minutes but in a negative way. The winter blues have now been upgraded with an official title: Seasonal Affective Disorder. The title doesn't make it any easier to bear, but it gives you an official sounding reason to complain, "I have S.A.D." sounds less whiny than , "I am sad."
After decades in Kalispell I have learned ways to help myself: spend some time outside, even if I don't want to, let in as much light as possible during the day, close the shades as soon as it begins to get dark, turn on lots of lights, exercise, occasional visits to a tanning booth. But my favorite coping technique is the geographical cure--leave. Frankly, once New Year's Day is over, I am done with winter. Montana, unfortunately, will not be done for four more months. This year I began getting restless after New Year's dinner was over, when we officially ended the holiday season by letting my nephew blow up the gingerbread house with firecrackers. Happily, we were leaving the next day--for Seattle, but at least there were green plants to look at.
Somewhere in my family tree there must be a real tree because my branch of the blood line seems to be contaminated with chlorophyll. I get energy from the sun. This lasting feeling of warm contentment is a sensation I privately call "sungasms". God understands my frailties. I am a bundle of frailties wrapped, loosely, in skin. Shakespeare has a quote about that too, "frailty, thy name is woman", but that is just ridiculous.
This winter God has arranged Reed's work schedule so that we will be gone most of the dreary months. I am able to travel with Reed because I work just a few hours a week in home health care and there are 50 employees who can replace me when I'm out of town. Because I have both a wonderful God and husband, I have had the rare blessing throughout most of my marriage of being able to work outside my home without having to work outside my home. My goal for retirement is to be a snowbird, but until then I will deal with the restlessness one winter at a time. Spring will come again and the winter of my discontent will end much like all our struggles will--with a glimpse of the Son.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Earth--as is
God is in the business of beauty. This planet could have fulfilled all its life sustaining functions just as well in a no frills version, but God made it unnecessarily beautiful. There is a kind of beauty in big cities, even among so many man made things, but for those privileged to live surrounded by the beauty of nature, it is obvious that God enjoys making things beautiful. And the beauty we see is that of a sin cursed, flood ravaged world. The upheaval of the flood gave us majestic mountains, sculpted plains, impossible rock formations and, of course, rainbows. If the "not to original specifications", "as is" earth is still so magnificent, what must the original have looked like?
Another example of God's love for beauty is the Tabernacle He had built to his specifications. Although for many years God demanded worship only on altars of natural stone, since man made efforts always went awry, He eventually allowed Israel to build a tabernacle. Although plain metals and materials might have sufficed for function, God commanded it to be built with gold, precious stones and elaborate, colorful fabrics. Not only did He demand beauty and artistry, but He divinely enabled the craftsmen who made it, just as He always empowers those He calls to serve.
If God can take something as destructive as the flood to make something as ugly as sin into something as beautiful as the earth, He is welcome to use what He chooses to make something beautiful out of me. I am proud to be Connie--"as is".
Another example of God's love for beauty is the Tabernacle He had built to his specifications. Although for many years God demanded worship only on altars of natural stone, since man made efforts always went awry, He eventually allowed Israel to build a tabernacle. Although plain metals and materials might have sufficed for function, God commanded it to be built with gold, precious stones and elaborate, colorful fabrics. Not only did He demand beauty and artistry, but He divinely enabled the craftsmen who made it, just as He always empowers those He calls to serve.
If God can take something as destructive as the flood to make something as ugly as sin into something as beautiful as the earth, He is welcome to use what He chooses to make something beautiful out of me. I am proud to be Connie--"as is".
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Say Aah
There are places I can go and feel my body relax and say "aah", not necessarily places you would expect. The place this most often happens is in hotels, not the really fancy hotels, those make me nervous, like they're going to find out I don't belong there and throw me out. But when the hotel is clean and spacious and nicely decorated, I can walk in the door and instantly feel my shoulders relax. I know I am going to spend several days away from housework, or any other kind of work. The hardest thing I will have to do while I'm there is pick which restaurant to go to for dinner.
The second place this happens is at the hotel pool. When my children were young and we traveled together, I spent many happy hours sitting by the pool while my children swam. Now the mere smell of chlorine makes me feel happy and relaxed, though I'm not planning to devise a chlorine scented air freshener, and I still like to sit by the pool and read when I'm at a hotel.
I have had massages for the sake of my migraines and that feels good, but not in the "aah" way. I have had food that delighted my palate, seen sights that filled my senses, heard music that lifted my soul and had times of worship that I wished would never end, but they didn't make my body say "aah". That feeling is more like cuddling up with my husband at the end of the day feeling safe and relaxed and happy. I expect heaven is the place our souls will at last relax and say one final "aah".
The second place this happens is at the hotel pool. When my children were young and we traveled together, I spent many happy hours sitting by the pool while my children swam. Now the mere smell of chlorine makes me feel happy and relaxed, though I'm not planning to devise a chlorine scented air freshener, and I still like to sit by the pool and read when I'm at a hotel.
I have had massages for the sake of my migraines and that feels good, but not in the "aah" way. I have had food that delighted my palate, seen sights that filled my senses, heard music that lifted my soul and had times of worship that I wished would never end, but they didn't make my body say "aah". That feeling is more like cuddling up with my husband at the end of the day feeling safe and relaxed and happy. I expect heaven is the place our souls will at last relax and say one final "aah".
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Gotta Travel On
As a girl my experience with travel consisted of visiting grandparents. Fortunately my maternal grandparents lived in eastern Montana, unfortunately, eastern Montana was 8 hours away. My paternal grandmother, however, lived in Missouri, 3 days away. We made annual trips to Wolf Point and triennial visits to Missouri. Despite these low budget, no frills vacations, I developed a love of travel. Also, one of the cheap entertainments when I was growing up was going for a drive, mostly on Sunday afternoons. This was especially enticing because Dad often stopped for a treat like pie or ice cream before we headed back home. By the time I was in high school I was so infected by the travel bug that I wanted to be a truck driver. The main difficulty with that plan was that I had never driven a stick shift and few 18 wheelers are automatic.
One of the last jobs I had before leaving my home in Missoula was at Brownie's Motel. Though being a motel maid was not the glamorous part of the travel industry, I felt second hand excitement as our equally nonglamorous customers came and went from our nonglamorous hotel. My goal for adulthood was to be in a hotel long enough to unpack, not just spend the night and leave the next morning. I had little expectation that my travel dreams would ever come true, so I kept that wish deep inside and almost forgot about it--but God didn't.
We made a few trips while our children we young, Canada, Mt. Rushmore, Oregon, but the dream trips began after Reed started working for Semitool. Traveling with the airplanes when they went out of state for maintenance was part of his job as aircraft mechanic; sometimes we were able to accompany him. Our first experience with corporate travel was going to Tulsa. We flew there in one of the company jets and we stayed at an Embassy Suites. I walked into the hotel's arboretum with its lush plants, glass elevators and the grand piano that was played during the nightly receptions, trying unsuccessfully not to stare open mouthed. I was overwhelmed. I never expected to set foot in such a nice hotel, much less stay there for two weeks. In fulfillment of my childhood dream, we unpacked our suitcases. Our kids slept in the bedroom with the two queen beds, we slept on the hide-a-bed in the livingroom. It was worth it to have the privacy, and Reed's stirrings in the morning getting ready for work wouldn't disturb the children. After the hot breakfast that came with the room, the kids would swim in the morning. In the afternoon I would take them to the zoo, museum or some other activity in town. So much for driving my semi to the Super 8 dreams; God had bigger plans.
By this point in my life I have made many such trips, most of those without our children. I like to stay in "lotion" grade hotels. Any hotel will provide soap and shampoo, a higher class will also provide lotion and breakfast but beware, really high class hotels offer everything but charge you extra for it. When Reed was on the Falcon jet advisory board, we stayed at resorts so classy I was afraid to sit on the bed or put on the robe for fear of getting charged their "nominal" fee. Their idea of nominal was $10, mine was ten cents.
It took me a while to realize that God had remembered my childhood dream and upgraded it exponentially. He had looked into the forgotten depths of my heart and brought deep, but unnecessary joy to my life. One look at creation shows us God is in the business of making things not just functional but beautiful. Together Reed and I have seen wonderful places, England, Hawaii, Springfield, well maybe Springfield wasn't wonderful, but it is enough for me to get time away from the dreary winter, or away from the routine of work and errands, to have time to read, think and write long blogs like this. But I'd better finish this, I've got places to go.
One of the last jobs I had before leaving my home in Missoula was at Brownie's Motel. Though being a motel maid was not the glamorous part of the travel industry, I felt second hand excitement as our equally nonglamorous customers came and went from our nonglamorous hotel. My goal for adulthood was to be in a hotel long enough to unpack, not just spend the night and leave the next morning. I had little expectation that my travel dreams would ever come true, so I kept that wish deep inside and almost forgot about it--but God didn't.
We made a few trips while our children we young, Canada, Mt. Rushmore, Oregon, but the dream trips began after Reed started working for Semitool. Traveling with the airplanes when they went out of state for maintenance was part of his job as aircraft mechanic; sometimes we were able to accompany him. Our first experience with corporate travel was going to Tulsa. We flew there in one of the company jets and we stayed at an Embassy Suites. I walked into the hotel's arboretum with its lush plants, glass elevators and the grand piano that was played during the nightly receptions, trying unsuccessfully not to stare open mouthed. I was overwhelmed. I never expected to set foot in such a nice hotel, much less stay there for two weeks. In fulfillment of my childhood dream, we unpacked our suitcases. Our kids slept in the bedroom with the two queen beds, we slept on the hide-a-bed in the livingroom. It was worth it to have the privacy, and Reed's stirrings in the morning getting ready for work wouldn't disturb the children. After the hot breakfast that came with the room, the kids would swim in the morning. In the afternoon I would take them to the zoo, museum or some other activity in town. So much for driving my semi to the Super 8 dreams; God had bigger plans.
By this point in my life I have made many such trips, most of those without our children. I like to stay in "lotion" grade hotels. Any hotel will provide soap and shampoo, a higher class will also provide lotion and breakfast but beware, really high class hotels offer everything but charge you extra for it. When Reed was on the Falcon jet advisory board, we stayed at resorts so classy I was afraid to sit on the bed or put on the robe for fear of getting charged their "nominal" fee. Their idea of nominal was $10, mine was ten cents.
It took me a while to realize that God had remembered my childhood dream and upgraded it exponentially. He had looked into the forgotten depths of my heart and brought deep, but unnecessary joy to my life. One look at creation shows us God is in the business of making things not just functional but beautiful. Together Reed and I have seen wonderful places, England, Hawaii, Springfield, well maybe Springfield wasn't wonderful, but it is enough for me to get time away from the dreary winter, or away from the routine of work and errands, to have time to read, think and write long blogs like this. But I'd better finish this, I've got places to go.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Well, Shut My Mouth
I am an admirer of the slogan, "Lord, put your arm around my shoulder and your hand over my mouth." You would think shutting my mouth would be something I could accomplish without divine intervention, but this has not been the case so far in my life. There have been several notable instances though, when God has prevented me from saying what was on my mind, for which I am very grateful. One of these was a driving incident. I was stopped at an intersection where I had the stop sign, but the car in the cross street stopped also, and refused to move, leaving me in that auto limbo of not knowing whether to stay or go. I was tempted to yell at the other driver, "YOU DON'T HAVE TO STOP!". But I'm so glad I didn't because I met that exact same car a few minutes later pulling into the parking lot of our church. Actually, that couple had attended our church for a long time. Thank you Lord for shutting my mouth.
Another miracle occurred when we had our house reappraised for a loan application. A husband and wife team did the appraisal, he measured outside, she checked the inside of the house. When the appraisal came back it was for less than we had paid for the house, and we had added an extra bedroom. I was furious and wanted to tell them so but wanted to have my facts straight beforehand, so called the realtor who had sold us the house. The appraisers had used comparables on less desirable streets and one that we knew was undergoing major, structural repair. They hadn't bothered to look inside the houses or check their history for the $400 fee. But instead of mouthing off, I submitted an appeal and prayed a lot. There was no reason for them to accept our appeal, they had already been paid and it would only make their first effort look incompetent, but they sent the bank a new appraisal that more than covered what we needed. Later, that woman and I were coleaders at Bible study. We had lunch together most Mondays. I am so glad I didn't have eat my words.
A third miracle happened at the bank drive through. I was cashing a check and told the teller how many of which specific denominations I needed. When the cash came back it wasn't as I requested, so I repeated it through the intercom. She replied irritably, "You should have told me that before!" I wanted to say, "I DID!", but my children were in the back seat. Then the most unexpected words came out of my mouth, "We should pray for her, she's having a bad day." I prayed while waiting for the correct cash. I'm sure it was a nice change for my children to see mommy doing the right thing.
I tend to say, and write, a lot of thoughtless things, but it is my goal not to say or do anything that would ruin my testimony if I had an opportunity to talk to that person about Christ. I still write letters of complaint, but find it much easier to be careful with my words when I am writing them down. It is not difficult to communicate what (or who) the problem was without being rude or personal. The best approach is to let the facts speak for themselves. With the exception of some cable television watchers, nobody likes to be told what to think. (See, rude again.)
In the Bible, an angel shut the lion's mouths to protect Daniel, I'm sure my family would appreciate having this Lamb's mouth shut more often, but that angel would have to be really fast. Zingers fly into my head at out my mouth in an instant. My heart's desire though, is to practice a verbal version of the Hippocratic Oath, "First, do no harm." Though it may seem like I write the first thing that pops into my head and post it instantly, I actually screen this blog for hurtful humor. If the Lord's hand isn't over my mouth, it can at least be guiding my fingers.
Another miracle occurred when we had our house reappraised for a loan application. A husband and wife team did the appraisal, he measured outside, she checked the inside of the house. When the appraisal came back it was for less than we had paid for the house, and we had added an extra bedroom. I was furious and wanted to tell them so but wanted to have my facts straight beforehand, so called the realtor who had sold us the house. The appraisers had used comparables on less desirable streets and one that we knew was undergoing major, structural repair. They hadn't bothered to look inside the houses or check their history for the $400 fee. But instead of mouthing off, I submitted an appeal and prayed a lot. There was no reason for them to accept our appeal, they had already been paid and it would only make their first effort look incompetent, but they sent the bank a new appraisal that more than covered what we needed. Later, that woman and I were coleaders at Bible study. We had lunch together most Mondays. I am so glad I didn't have eat my words.
A third miracle happened at the bank drive through. I was cashing a check and told the teller how many of which specific denominations I needed. When the cash came back it wasn't as I requested, so I repeated it through the intercom. She replied irritably, "You should have told me that before!" I wanted to say, "I DID!", but my children were in the back seat. Then the most unexpected words came out of my mouth, "We should pray for her, she's having a bad day." I prayed while waiting for the correct cash. I'm sure it was a nice change for my children to see mommy doing the right thing.
I tend to say, and write, a lot of thoughtless things, but it is my goal not to say or do anything that would ruin my testimony if I had an opportunity to talk to that person about Christ. I still write letters of complaint, but find it much easier to be careful with my words when I am writing them down. It is not difficult to communicate what (or who) the problem was without being rude or personal. The best approach is to let the facts speak for themselves. With the exception of some cable television watchers, nobody likes to be told what to think. (See, rude again.)
In the Bible, an angel shut the lion's mouths to protect Daniel, I'm sure my family would appreciate having this Lamb's mouth shut more often, but that angel would have to be really fast. Zingers fly into my head at out my mouth in an instant. My heart's desire though, is to practice a verbal version of the Hippocratic Oath, "First, do no harm." Though it may seem like I write the first thing that pops into my head and post it instantly, I actually screen this blog for hurtful humor. If the Lord's hand isn't over my mouth, it can at least be guiding my fingers.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Reflections
Reflections
On the coldest days of winter
here, in this beautiful land
the sun shines.
When it sets in early evening,
the alpenglow reflects
like fire on the snowy peaks.
Do I, on my earthly journey
here, in the busyness of life,
reveal the Son?
Can His light, which most see dimly,
from my placid soul reflect
like fire amidst the darkness?
On the coldest days of winter
here, in this beautiful land
the sun shines.
When it sets in early evening,
the alpenglow reflects
like fire on the snowy peaks.
Do I, on my earthly journey
here, in the busyness of life,
reveal the Son?
Can His light, which most see dimly,
from my placid soul reflect
like fire amidst the darkness?
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Before Pictures
There comes a point in life when you realize you are the "before" picture, before the weight loss, before the face lift, before the makeover. In all probability, the only "after" picture will be placed next to your obituary in the paper--you can't get much more after than that. On the subject of obituary pictures, I have a theory on why obituaries for deceased octogenarians display their high school senior picture, it may have been the last good photo taken of them. I actually feel sorry for stars pursued by paparazzi; I know how many shots it takes to get one decent photo of me. I think that is why obituary photos are often from previous decades. Camera shy people compound the problem; "leave no trace" is for hiking, not lives.
But back to the issue of "before" pictures and the certainty that "Prevention" magazine is never going to want you for the cover, how do you reconcile with the changes aging brings to your body? Some choose to stand and fight, but after age 40 you are only as beautiful as you can afford and I'm not that rich. Some surrender unconditionally; they run around in pajamas, bedhead and no makeup. This disguises age by making 60 to 80 year olds look alike, but not in a good way. I have two coping strategies, both involving prayer. I pray the serenity prayer over my body: Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things (about my aging body) I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. This prayer is just as useful if the struggle is with health, finances or its usual purpose of addiction. I also pray that I will grow in the inner graces that God finds beautiful--a gentle and quiet spirit. I can be gentle, quiet is another matter.
As a partial answer to my prayers God has given me a few objects lessons in women in the end stages of a lifetime of vanity, after all those years peering into the makeup mirror, they have lost sight of everything else. An acquaintance recently reminded me that it's no coincidence that your looks and eyesight go at the same time. We should probably take that as a hint. Another hint is to recognize what products are appropriate for your age. Too much make up on young girls makes them look even younger, too much make up on elderly women makes them look even older. Also, when young people tell you some contemporary style looks cute on you, what they really mean is pathetic. Leave contemporary to people who are. As someone who had a limited supply of beauty to begin with, now seeing the expiration date on that supply come ever nearer, I need to remind myself that the only truly sad "before" picture is what life was like before Christ.
But back to the issue of "before" pictures and the certainty that "Prevention" magazine is never going to want you for the cover, how do you reconcile with the changes aging brings to your body? Some choose to stand and fight, but after age 40 you are only as beautiful as you can afford and I'm not that rich. Some surrender unconditionally; they run around in pajamas, bedhead and no makeup. This disguises age by making 60 to 80 year olds look alike, but not in a good way. I have two coping strategies, both involving prayer. I pray the serenity prayer over my body: Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things (about my aging body) I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. This prayer is just as useful if the struggle is with health, finances or its usual purpose of addiction. I also pray that I will grow in the inner graces that God finds beautiful--a gentle and quiet spirit. I can be gentle, quiet is another matter.
As a partial answer to my prayers God has given me a few objects lessons in women in the end stages of a lifetime of vanity, after all those years peering into the makeup mirror, they have lost sight of everything else. An acquaintance recently reminded me that it's no coincidence that your looks and eyesight go at the same time. We should probably take that as a hint. Another hint is to recognize what products are appropriate for your age. Too much make up on young girls makes them look even younger, too much make up on elderly women makes them look even older. Also, when young people tell you some contemporary style looks cute on you, what they really mean is pathetic. Leave contemporary to people who are. As someone who had a limited supply of beauty to begin with, now seeing the expiration date on that supply come ever nearer, I need to remind myself that the only truly sad "before" picture is what life was like before Christ.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
A Prayer for my Old Age
For as long as I can remember I have loved older people. Perhaps one of the reasons is that I was privileged to have an "old grandma", great grandmother, who lived until I was nine years old. She stands out in my life as the first Christian I remember meeting. She died at age 100, still living alone in her own tiny house, still gardening. She told wonderful stories of long ago, her childhood, homesteading in eastern Montana in middle age in the 1910's, the way neighbors took care of one another, or failed to. But her stories were permeated with Bible truths lived out, not just talked about, long before I knew what Bible truths were. I look forward to seeing her again.
It doesn't bother me when the elderly give bowel status reports and "organ" recitals. I am a nurse of sorts, these things are important. I also understand that the hardest losses of all come late in life. Yet there are things about old age that frighten me, not the narrowing of the arteries but the narrowing of the mind and the careless opening of the mouth, as if age has granted a verbal license to shoot it off . As access to the outside world decreases with physical limitations, life becomes increasingly lived in the confines of the mind. I would like that mind to be as spacious as possible. Alarmingly, I have recognized signs in myself that I may be on the verge on burdening others with the benefits of my years and experience. That is one of the reasons I started this blog, to satisfy my need to share without victimizing those around me. No one is required to read this blog.
Older Christians are not immune to oversharing or fear of debility and death. They don't fear what comes after death, but the process of death. All Christians are to look forward to the imminent return of Christ, but for some this becomes motivated more by fear of their death than love of His appearing. I wrote the following poem as a reminder to myself of what I don't want to be when I grow up.
A Prayer for my Old Age
Lord, let me not grow old before my time
stiff in body, stiffer still in mind.
Strengthen me to speak with grace and tact,
long-held opinions don't turn into fact.
Help me to remember that the wise
don't give unsolicited advice.
Let me grant to other souls the grace
to grow in you, as I did, at their pace.
May my desire to live til you appear
be driven by my love and not my fear.
As my body shrinks and my steps slow,
may my faith enlarge that I may go
boldly after you, even to death,
and trust and grow in you with my last breath.
6/27/2010
It doesn't bother me when the elderly give bowel status reports and "organ" recitals. I am a nurse of sorts, these things are important. I also understand that the hardest losses of all come late in life. Yet there are things about old age that frighten me, not the narrowing of the arteries but the narrowing of the mind and the careless opening of the mouth, as if age has granted a verbal license to shoot it off . As access to the outside world decreases with physical limitations, life becomes increasingly lived in the confines of the mind. I would like that mind to be as spacious as possible. Alarmingly, I have recognized signs in myself that I may be on the verge on burdening others with the benefits of my years and experience. That is one of the reasons I started this blog, to satisfy my need to share without victimizing those around me. No one is required to read this blog.
Older Christians are not immune to oversharing or fear of debility and death. They don't fear what comes after death, but the process of death. All Christians are to look forward to the imminent return of Christ, but for some this becomes motivated more by fear of their death than love of His appearing. I wrote the following poem as a reminder to myself of what I don't want to be when I grow up.
A Prayer for my Old Age
Lord, let me not grow old before my time
stiff in body, stiffer still in mind.
Strengthen me to speak with grace and tact,
long-held opinions don't turn into fact.
Help me to remember that the wise
don't give unsolicited advice.
Let me grant to other souls the grace
to grow in you, as I did, at their pace.
May my desire to live til you appear
be driven by my love and not my fear.
As my body shrinks and my steps slow,
may my faith enlarge that I may go
boldly after you, even to death,
and trust and grow in you with my last breath.
6/27/2010
ALARMISM
Normal may still be a setting on your dryer but apparently not on the news. What used to be considered normal winter weather is now "winter storm warning". The same conditions that in years past would be called bad winter weather now inspire "emergency travel only" warnings. Since when did expected conditions become alarming? I realize with the media saturation available today, the only way to get people to listen to a program about weather, health, politics etc. is to make it sound more exciting than it is, but that doesn't make it an emergency. The Aesop's fable about the boy who cried wolf still applies. When we are repeatedly warned about threats that don't materialize, we will not be paying attention if there is a real emergency.
One of my older acquaintances, Dee, has a seemingly endless capacity to be alarmed. She fears diseases found only on other continents, bacteria in food she has never eaten, and bedbugs in the bed she has had for 40 years and no one else has ever slept on. She seems to delight in warnings and worry. She is a shut in, worry gives her something to do. The more important the worry, the more important she feels for worrying about it.
When I was in school we had a normal bell that made a "brrring" sound to tell us when it was time for school, recess and various class changes. The fire drill bell, on the other hand, made a sharp "Bzzzzzzt" sound that started adrenaline pumping even if you knew you were having a fire drill. Todays broadcasters have sounded the fire drill alarm so often most of us have cotton in our ears. I think there should be some penalty attached like there is for calling 911 to order pizza or using the emergency broadcast system to announce a bake sale. But the only penalties that are available to us are tuning out the warnings or turning off the TV.
Having grown up with a geniunely paranoid person, I can tell you that the fact that the dire predictions never happen is no deterrent to believing they are about to, or moving on to a new threat. This win-win, or in this case, lose-lose aspect is especially appealing to people who are naturally pessimistic or devoted worry warts like Dee. I hope this alarmist phase of broadcasting will be short lived, but if it continues, I am going to use this blog to repeatedly WARN PEOPLE OF THE DANGERS OF ALARMISM!! There will always be some gullible cynic willing to take it seriously.
One of my older acquaintances, Dee, has a seemingly endless capacity to be alarmed. She fears diseases found only on other continents, bacteria in food she has never eaten, and bedbugs in the bed she has had for 40 years and no one else has ever slept on. She seems to delight in warnings and worry. She is a shut in, worry gives her something to do. The more important the worry, the more important she feels for worrying about it.
When I was in school we had a normal bell that made a "brrring" sound to tell us when it was time for school, recess and various class changes. The fire drill bell, on the other hand, made a sharp "Bzzzzzzt" sound that started adrenaline pumping even if you knew you were having a fire drill. Todays broadcasters have sounded the fire drill alarm so often most of us have cotton in our ears. I think there should be some penalty attached like there is for calling 911 to order pizza or using the emergency broadcast system to announce a bake sale. But the only penalties that are available to us are tuning out the warnings or turning off the TV.
Having grown up with a geniunely paranoid person, I can tell you that the fact that the dire predictions never happen is no deterrent to believing they are about to, or moving on to a new threat. This win-win, or in this case, lose-lose aspect is especially appealing to people who are naturally pessimistic or devoted worry warts like Dee. I hope this alarmist phase of broadcasting will be short lived, but if it continues, I am going to use this blog to repeatedly WARN PEOPLE OF THE DANGERS OF ALARMISM!! There will always be some gullible cynic willing to take it seriously.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Unlikely Guides
I came to know Christ as a teenager so the people involved in my salvation were also teenagers. The first was Calvin. Calvin was a friend of my older brother. He had a round, acne prone face, a pear shaped body and somewhat effeminate mannerisms. He was, of course, extremely unpopular at high school. Calvin attended a teen Bible study to which he invited my brother, Clell. Clell, who had been raised in the Mormon church like me, started inviting me to the monthly parties for the teen group. I attended some of the parties, but began to feel guilty for not attending the Bible studies on Thursday nights. My brother seemed to believe what was being taught and I was in a spiritual gap between the Mormon church, in which I believed but no longer attended, and the various theories popular at the time: evolution, the lost continent of Mu, ancient astronauts etc. Like many people, I was creating my own beliefs combining whatever spiritual elements I found most compelling.
Then I encountered the book of John. The pastor of the small, Baptist church was leading the teens in a study of the book of John. As a Mormon I was taught to believe the Bible, it was one of our articles of faith. "We believe the Bible to be the Word of God, as far as it is translated correctly. We also believe the Book of Mormon to be the Word of God." Somehow, when the Bible conflicted with the teachings of the Mormon church, I believed the Bible. Though I didn't know it at the time, this was God's grace working in my life. In Mormonism, as in all other cults and most other religions, salvation is a result of things we do: baptism, church membership, attendance, obedience, service etc. In the Bible salvation, is the result of what Christ did for us by dying on the cross to free us from our sins, our only role is to believe and trust in that. I found this interesting and, mentally, I agreed with it, but I wasn't ready to admit my sin and ask Jesus to save me.
That is where Donna came in. Donna was a friend from grade school, a fellow "smart" girl and in my homeroom. I never discussed spiritual beliefs with Donna, Donna impacted my life by dying. We were 15 and sophomores when she started acting and talking strangely. Somehow Donna knew she was dying before she knew she was sick, she had even written about it. By the time she was diagnosed with hepatitis, it was too late. She died on my mom's birthday, March 14th. Suddenly I needed to know what happens after we die. It was not enough just to have ideas about it, I needed to be certain of what I believed.
Still I resisted trusting my life to Christ. I realized it would be unfair of me to ask Him to save my soul without offering to give Him my life after all He had paid for it. And I desperately did not want to give up control of my life, or the illusion of control we humans have. My childhood had been controlled by my mother's mental illness and I didn't want my emerging adulthood to be spent controlled by someone else, even someone like Jesus. I wanted to hold the steering wheel. So I resisted, even through the altar calls to come forward for salvation that the pastor gave at the end of every service. I stood gripping the pew in front of me until my knuckles were white, fighting the inner urging of the Holy Spirit to go forward and give in. I resisted until October 1972 when, after hearing a speaker at our church harvest dinner, I went home and asked Jesus to save me from my sins.
That night changed everything. Looking back I could see hundreds of events that brought me to the place of believing. It was my mom's paranoia that got me out of the Mormon church, it was Calvin's invitation that brought Clell and then me to Bible study, it was Donna's death that forced me to decide what I believed. They were the most unlikely guides to God you could imagine. When I wonder how God could possibly use me to serve and bring others to Him, I need to remember the unlikely creatures He used to guide me.
Then I encountered the book of John. The pastor of the small, Baptist church was leading the teens in a study of the book of John. As a Mormon I was taught to believe the Bible, it was one of our articles of faith. "We believe the Bible to be the Word of God, as far as it is translated correctly. We also believe the Book of Mormon to be the Word of God." Somehow, when the Bible conflicted with the teachings of the Mormon church, I believed the Bible. Though I didn't know it at the time, this was God's grace working in my life. In Mormonism, as in all other cults and most other religions, salvation is a result of things we do: baptism, church membership, attendance, obedience, service etc. In the Bible salvation, is the result of what Christ did for us by dying on the cross to free us from our sins, our only role is to believe and trust in that. I found this interesting and, mentally, I agreed with it, but I wasn't ready to admit my sin and ask Jesus to save me.
That is where Donna came in. Donna was a friend from grade school, a fellow "smart" girl and in my homeroom. I never discussed spiritual beliefs with Donna, Donna impacted my life by dying. We were 15 and sophomores when she started acting and talking strangely. Somehow Donna knew she was dying before she knew she was sick, she had even written about it. By the time she was diagnosed with hepatitis, it was too late. She died on my mom's birthday, March 14th. Suddenly I needed to know what happens after we die. It was not enough just to have ideas about it, I needed to be certain of what I believed.
Still I resisted trusting my life to Christ. I realized it would be unfair of me to ask Him to save my soul without offering to give Him my life after all He had paid for it. And I desperately did not want to give up control of my life, or the illusion of control we humans have. My childhood had been controlled by my mother's mental illness and I didn't want my emerging adulthood to be spent controlled by someone else, even someone like Jesus. I wanted to hold the steering wheel. So I resisted, even through the altar calls to come forward for salvation that the pastor gave at the end of every service. I stood gripping the pew in front of me until my knuckles were white, fighting the inner urging of the Holy Spirit to go forward and give in. I resisted until October 1972 when, after hearing a speaker at our church harvest dinner, I went home and asked Jesus to save me from my sins.
That night changed everything. Looking back I could see hundreds of events that brought me to the place of believing. It was my mom's paranoia that got me out of the Mormon church, it was Calvin's invitation that brought Clell and then me to Bible study, it was Donna's death that forced me to decide what I believed. They were the most unlikely guides to God you could imagine. When I wonder how God could possibly use me to serve and bring others to Him, I need to remember the unlikely creatures He used to guide me.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Memorized Moments
I have stated previously that I am not an observant person. I don't notice what vehicles my acquaintances drive, what they are wearing (with the occasional exception of earrings) or a weight loss/gain of less that 40 lbs. I pay more attention to how people seem to feel than how they look or even what they say. This is a blessing as well as a curse. I may not notice your 10 lb. weight loss, but neither do I notice your stained clothes or bad hair day. I am unobservant but also untroubled. But there are moments I try to memorize. Mostly these occur when we are traveling but not usually in the picture postcard places you would expect. This is especially important to me when I need a sustaining vision to get me through the dreary days of winter. I store these impressions in my memory, paying careful attention to the sights, sounds and feel. One of these stored memories is of being in Phoenix in January many years ago, sitting with Reed by the pool of the Residence Inn with my legs in the water, warm and content, looking up at the stars and deep blue twilight I can't edit out the sound of airplanes because the hotel was near the airport, but I can call that moment into my mind, complete with soundtrack.
Another memorized, magical moment was in the Bavarian themed town of Leavenworth, WA at Christmas time. Christmas music was playing, the shops were decorated and the lights on the large plaza trees were reflected by the snow on the ground and softened against the twilight blue sky. It was all the magic of Christmas in a mental snaphot. I believe I will have it forever.
Today I am in Port Orchard, WA. We left behind subzero, January weather. After the morning fog burned off, it was sunny and in the mid 50's. Our hotel is on the bay and I walked from here to the waterfront park and marina. I filled my eyes with boats, water and the green plants that I won't see in Montana for months. I listened to the sound of the water lapping on the shore, the call of gulls, barks of seals and mournful boat whistles. I wore the expensive red wool jacket that Dad bought as a love gift for Mom and she rejected. I had chili and chai tea in a diner, aptly named "The Hideaway". I was the only customer and there was a television in the corner tuned to soaps. I stood by the water and memorized the mildness of the moment so I can keep it with me in years to come, and I am journaling it here for myself, if no one else.
Port Orchard was discovered by Captain Vancouver and originally named Sidney, after the father of the man who platted it. In the early 1800's canoes were the most convenient way to travel and trade from here, sails and rudders made the trips faster and allowed more passengers, this led to fleets of steamships whose comparative speed got them the nickname "Mosquitoes". Roads made the little boats obsolete, but there is still a foot ferry to Bremerton from here.
The town appears old. There are multistoried houses of all ages and conditions perched on steep hillsides with roads that would be impassable in the winter in icy weather. Except for being on a bay, it reminds me of old mining towns in Montana. This was what I call "a day like a cup of tea", warm, satisfying, perfect. Why am I so surprised that God knows how to make me happy, that He gives me these comforting, memorized moments?
Another memorized, magical moment was in the Bavarian themed town of Leavenworth, WA at Christmas time. Christmas music was playing, the shops were decorated and the lights on the large plaza trees were reflected by the snow on the ground and softened against the twilight blue sky. It was all the magic of Christmas in a mental snaphot. I believe I will have it forever.
Today I am in Port Orchard, WA. We left behind subzero, January weather. After the morning fog burned off, it was sunny and in the mid 50's. Our hotel is on the bay and I walked from here to the waterfront park and marina. I filled my eyes with boats, water and the green plants that I won't see in Montana for months. I listened to the sound of the water lapping on the shore, the call of gulls, barks of seals and mournful boat whistles. I wore the expensive red wool jacket that Dad bought as a love gift for Mom and she rejected. I had chili and chai tea in a diner, aptly named "The Hideaway". I was the only customer and there was a television in the corner tuned to soaps. I stood by the water and memorized the mildness of the moment so I can keep it with me in years to come, and I am journaling it here for myself, if no one else.
Port Orchard was discovered by Captain Vancouver and originally named Sidney, after the father of the man who platted it. In the early 1800's canoes were the most convenient way to travel and trade from here, sails and rudders made the trips faster and allowed more passengers, this led to fleets of steamships whose comparative speed got them the nickname "Mosquitoes". Roads made the little boats obsolete, but there is still a foot ferry to Bremerton from here.
The town appears old. There are multistoried houses of all ages and conditions perched on steep hillsides with roads that would be impassable in the winter in icy weather. Except for being on a bay, it reminds me of old mining towns in Montana. This was what I call "a day like a cup of tea", warm, satisfying, perfect. Why am I so surprised that God knows how to make me happy, that He gives me these comforting, memorized moments?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Hitching
I can remember vividly every experience I've had hitchhiking because it only happened once. I was with my husband so it was more like a blind double date. In the passionate poverty days of our early marriage, we bought an ancient, but reconditioned washer and dryer. We were ecstatic. We invited our poor, washerless friends over for dinner and laundry. Unfortunately the washer malfunctioned. Fortunately, the place we bought it from would fix it. Unfortunately, that place was in Missoula. One of our other acquisitions that second year of our moneyless marriage was an ancient, unreconditioned pickup. Reed and I were born in 1956, the Chevy was born in 1954. I didn't distrust it merely because of its age, I was taught to respect my elders, but because you could see the pavement through the floorboards, it wandered all over the road if you managed to exceed 55 m.p.h. and it listed to starboard. But it was a pickup and could hold the washer so we headed from Helena to Missoula.
About 45 miles from Helena the truck started to die. We pulled into a rest area so we could either give it cpr or pronounce it dead. Actually it was the coil that was dead and apparently vehicles need them so we headed to the highway so we could hitchhike to a town and buy another one. We were picked up by a couple in a car that I, with no mechanical ability, could diagnose as having no muffler. The young woman up front turned around looked at my blond, bearded husband, then turned to me and shouted "YOU don't look like a hitchhiker." Apparently I had "virgin hitchhiker" written all over me.
It all turned out well. We got the part, hitched a ride back to our truck with a Wyoming cowboy who had a Stetson rack built into the head liner of his pickup cab. You've got to trust a guy like that. The pickup ran, the washer got fixed, happy ending. Similarly, we haven't picked up many hitchhikers but we have picked up a couple, memorable stranded motorists.
Returning from a trip to Billings a couple years ago I was reading the paper and Reed was looking at the road, which was fortunate because he was driving. The highway was slick with snow. Reed noticed tracks heading into the median, then noticed an SUV lying on its side. We turned around at the nearest "Authorized Use Only" access and stopped at the side of the road. Reed climbed up onto the passenger side of the upturned car and saw a young woman sitting on the inside door. He asked if she wanted to get out. She did. Being uninjured she climbed out, jumped to the ground and sat in our car to get warm. Her jacket and belongings were still in her vertical vehicle so I gave her my coat. The accident had already been called in by other passers by so we waited together for the highway patrol. When we learned Sarah was a student at the U of M in Missoula, we offered to take her there after her car was taken care of. Missoula wasn't on our way home, but neither was it too much out of our way. There were many accidents that morning and we waited for the tow truck for over an hour when the patrolman finally sent us to a truck stop in town. I talked to Sarah's tearful mother on the phone and promised to do for her what I would want someone else to do for my daughter in a similar situation.
In the end Sarah decided to wait for the couple she had been visiting in Wyoming to pick her up and make repair arrangements for her car. We left Sarah in the care of the Town Pump cashier and a nice young man we met at the truck stop. She e-mailed us after she got back to Missoula to arrange to return my coat but we never saw or heard from her. It didn't bother me that I didn't get my jacket back because I had given it to her, she could do with it whatever she pleased.
Our other road refugee was Sean. We were on a little used shortcut near Helena, returning from a trip to Boise when we saw a van with the hood open at the side of the road. The driver was standing next to it, forlornly holding a pair of jumper cables. We turned our Chevy around and Reed jumped his battery. The van started but we noticed in our rearview mirror that it was going very slowly and finally died. We jumped the van again and this time followed him to make sure it kept running. We repeated the process a couple miles further down the road. But the three strikes rule must have applied because it finally died and could not be restarted; we offered him a ride. Sean was working in Helena but lived in Bigfork and had bought the van for his daughter. Reed and Sean pushed the dead van further off the side of the road. Sean grabbed his backpack and the gun he had bought for his son and locked the van.
Even in Montana it's a little odd to let a hitchhiker bring a rifle with him, but it was still in the box and he laid it on top of a rifle Reed had just bought in Boise. If he wanted to rob us he was the world's most inefficient thief, not many people give you three opportunities to get it right. He dropped the rifle at a friend's unlocked, unoccupied home and we dropped him off at a casino to wait for a ride. He thanked us. We wouldn't have left anyone on that deserted stretch of road.
I have a unique perspective on situations like this, helping stranded motorists or homeless boys: I would rather take a loss once in a while than live my whole life as if I already had. Despite opening our vehicle and home to strangers, we have never been robbed or harmed. It is hard to balance being good stewards of the blessings God has given us, with the tendency to guard them so closely that they are unavailable to bless others, to walk the line between safety and selfishness. For now, I choose to be willing to take a risk to make a difference.
About 45 miles from Helena the truck started to die. We pulled into a rest area so we could either give it cpr or pronounce it dead. Actually it was the coil that was dead and apparently vehicles need them so we headed to the highway so we could hitchhike to a town and buy another one. We were picked up by a couple in a car that I, with no mechanical ability, could diagnose as having no muffler. The young woman up front turned around looked at my blond, bearded husband, then turned to me and shouted "YOU don't look like a hitchhiker." Apparently I had "virgin hitchhiker" written all over me.
It all turned out well. We got the part, hitched a ride back to our truck with a Wyoming cowboy who had a Stetson rack built into the head liner of his pickup cab. You've got to trust a guy like that. The pickup ran, the washer got fixed, happy ending. Similarly, we haven't picked up many hitchhikers but we have picked up a couple, memorable stranded motorists.
Returning from a trip to Billings a couple years ago I was reading the paper and Reed was looking at the road, which was fortunate because he was driving. The highway was slick with snow. Reed noticed tracks heading into the median, then noticed an SUV lying on its side. We turned around at the nearest "Authorized Use Only" access and stopped at the side of the road. Reed climbed up onto the passenger side of the upturned car and saw a young woman sitting on the inside door. He asked if she wanted to get out. She did. Being uninjured she climbed out, jumped to the ground and sat in our car to get warm. Her jacket and belongings were still in her vertical vehicle so I gave her my coat. The accident had already been called in by other passers by so we waited together for the highway patrol. When we learned Sarah was a student at the U of M in Missoula, we offered to take her there after her car was taken care of. Missoula wasn't on our way home, but neither was it too much out of our way. There were many accidents that morning and we waited for the tow truck for over an hour when the patrolman finally sent us to a truck stop in town. I talked to Sarah's tearful mother on the phone and promised to do for her what I would want someone else to do for my daughter in a similar situation.
In the end Sarah decided to wait for the couple she had been visiting in Wyoming to pick her up and make repair arrangements for her car. We left Sarah in the care of the Town Pump cashier and a nice young man we met at the truck stop. She e-mailed us after she got back to Missoula to arrange to return my coat but we never saw or heard from her. It didn't bother me that I didn't get my jacket back because I had given it to her, she could do with it whatever she pleased.
Our other road refugee was Sean. We were on a little used shortcut near Helena, returning from a trip to Boise when we saw a van with the hood open at the side of the road. The driver was standing next to it, forlornly holding a pair of jumper cables. We turned our Chevy around and Reed jumped his battery. The van started but we noticed in our rearview mirror that it was going very slowly and finally died. We jumped the van again and this time followed him to make sure it kept running. We repeated the process a couple miles further down the road. But the three strikes rule must have applied because it finally died and could not be restarted; we offered him a ride. Sean was working in Helena but lived in Bigfork and had bought the van for his daughter. Reed and Sean pushed the dead van further off the side of the road. Sean grabbed his backpack and the gun he had bought for his son and locked the van.
Even in Montana it's a little odd to let a hitchhiker bring a rifle with him, but it was still in the box and he laid it on top of a rifle Reed had just bought in Boise. If he wanted to rob us he was the world's most inefficient thief, not many people give you three opportunities to get it right. He dropped the rifle at a friend's unlocked, unoccupied home and we dropped him off at a casino to wait for a ride. He thanked us. We wouldn't have left anyone on that deserted stretch of road.
I have a unique perspective on situations like this, helping stranded motorists or homeless boys: I would rather take a loss once in a while than live my whole life as if I already had. Despite opening our vehicle and home to strangers, we have never been robbed or harmed. It is hard to balance being good stewards of the blessings God has given us, with the tendency to guard them so closely that they are unavailable to bless others, to walk the line between safety and selfishness. For now, I choose to be willing to take a risk to make a difference.
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