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".
Saturday, January 22, 2011
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.
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