On sensing the seasons

“Be the designer of your world 

and not merely the consumer of it.”

~James Clear, Atomic Habits

It's fall, y'all! Where you live, that might mean cooler temps, crisp air, trees ablaze with fiery autumnal glory, and -- my favorite part of the season! -- sweatah weathah. 

But not here in Alabama. The temps climb into the 80s most days, the trees still boast their bright green hues, and we might throw on a sweater in the early morning when the temps are a chilly 70° but we're still wearing flip flops and shorts, because... it's the South, y'all.

What do you do when you are desperately ready for the change of seasons but it simply doesn't feel like fall? 

Normally, I'd be making my way to Hobby Lobby and Michael's and Target to buy ALL THE THINGS related to fall decor: pumpkins and gourds and cotton boll stems; grapevine wreaths intertwined with fall foliage; mums and corn stalks and hay bales (for the outdoors, of course); and maybe a few gossamer spider webs and black paper bats in a nod to All Hallow's Eve.... because it might not feel much like fall right now in the Yellowhammer State, but I can make my house look like fall, by golly.

Except... not this year. We are in the middle of a never-ending renovation project and simultaneously prepping for a major estate sale, and I could pen an entire novel about the stress of that chaos but frankly, I'm too overwhelmed to even think about it let alone write about it, and all that to say -- I'm not buying any new decor or bringing out any seasonal decorations until this home improvement project is complete. 

At the same time, my soul desperately longs for fall. It doesn't feel like fall, and I can't visually create the feeling of fall inside my house, so I'm tapping into the other senses: the sounds, the smells, and the tastes of fall.

Frankly, I've always done this, I just didn't realize I was doing it. We are sensory beings, and we associate sights, sounds, smells, and tastes with different seasons of the year -- and with different seasons of our lives -- and we tend to keep them compartmentalized as such.

• We don't listen to Winter Wonderland in July.
• We don't drink hot apple cider in April.
• We don't fill our homes with the scents of lilacs in December.
• We don't don delicate pastels in October.

We certainly can do those things, but when we do it can feel... jarring. Out of sync. Incongruent. We can't always put our finger on it, we just know deep in our bones that it feels wrong somehow. 

Many of these sensory associations are universal. Some are very personal -- a particular scent, sound, taste, or sight may evoke powerful emotions and awaken memories, either good or bad. Most of these sense-season relationships, however, are completely subconscious.

I want to develop positive connections in my life on every level, and so I've decided to be very intentional this fall about using my five senses in a constructive way to create peace and harmony and well-being in my soul. I want my home to reflect that same sense of calm and comfort for others who enter -- even in the midst of construction and chaos.

Over the next few blog posts, I'll be sharing my favorite sounds, smells, and tastes for the fall... but until then, a question for you: 

What makes fall feel like fall to you?

On making a fresh start

 

"Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."

~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Changes. Fresh starts. New beginnings. 

These are things we typically associate with New Year's Day -- a new year, a new you, new habits, new routines. But for me, nothing inspires a feeling of opportunity, of change, of fresh potential quite like the fall. 

Even though it's been 30+ years since I graced those hallowed (brick-and-mortar) halls as a student, I still equate September with the start of a new year. And today -- being the autumnal equinox, the official first day of fall -- I'm feeling inspired to make changes, to dream big, to explore new possibilities. 

More importantly, I'm ready to leave behind old thoughts, ideas, perceptions, and processes that no longer work for me, that I have outgrown.

What fresh starts are you making this fall?

On remembering God's faithfulness

“Nobody ever outgrows Scripture; 

the book widens and deepens with our years.”

~Charles Spurgeon

I've never been one of those who subscribed to the idea that if I needed some divine guidance on a particular issue, I could simply close my eyes, say a prayer, open the Bible, and voila! There would be the exact passage of Scripture I needed for whatever challenge I was facing. And if not, I could just keep turning pages until I found the answer I was looking for.

OK, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, because I doubt anyone really believes that's how it works. It's Holy Scripture, not a Magic 8-Ball. 

Lord, should we sell this house now or wait a few more years?

:::opens the Holy Book to a random page:::

Reply hazy... try again.

But I absolutely do believe God's Word is alive and active and, as the Apostle Paul wrote to Timothy, that "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness" (2 Timothy 3:16)... and so, when I find myself led to a certain passage of Scripture over and over again, perhaps I should sit up and take note.

That's exactly what happened today. Twice in less than an hour, I found myself in Psalm 61. And I found in Psalm 61 an outline for what to do when I feel overwhelmed, fearful, isolated, or under attack. And let's face it. Who hasn't felt one or more of those emotions lately during these -- brace yourself, I'm about to write that overused phrase we've all come to hate -- unprecedented times? 

In these "unprecedented times," we still can't attend church for corporate worship. Well, actually -- we can now in my home state of Alabama, but our church was limiting the number of worshippers and you had to "sign up" for one of the services and we didn't realize that until it was too late and all the seats were "sold out" for this Sunday... so all that to say, it was another day of online church for us. 

We decided to tune in to the live streaming service of a church we attended eight years ago when we lived in New Jersey. We enjoyed the exegetical preaching of that pastor and figured if we were going to have to do remote church again, we might as well "visit" one of our former churches. And yes, I'm sure you guessed this: The message was based on Psalm 61.

Later, as I was getting ready for the day (what? don't you do online church on the couch in your pajamas at your house? #dontjudge), I was listening to my "Read Through the Bible in a Year" plan and y'all... today's reading was Psalm 61.

OK, Lord. You have my attention.

First of all -- who can't relate to David as he expresses himself in the Psalms?!

It's OK to not be OK... and based on many of the psalms he wrote, David was definitely not OK during various seasons of his life. And yet, in the midst of his pain, fear, confusion, grief, and isolation, he wrote beautiful, heartfelt prose to God. 

(Oh, that I could learn from that right there! More often than not, when I am feeling pain, fear, confusion, grief, or isolation, I turn to everything but God. But I digress.)

Look, I am no Bible scholar, and nothing I'm going to share about this particular Psalm will be that... revelatory. But maybe -- just maybe -- God took me to this Psalm twice today not just for my sake, but because He knew I would be moved by the experience and feel the need to share it and maybe -- just maybe -- it's something you needed to hear today, too. 

Or maybe I just needed to record it for myself, because a big part of this is remembering God's faithfulness. 

First, take a quick read of the psalm here (don't worry -- it's short): Psalms 61.

The takeaways for me today:

1. Call out. No matter how "lost" you are, no matter how far from God you might feel you are -- you can call out to Him and He will hear you. You may be far away -- but He is not. (Psalm 61:1-2a).

2. Remember His faithfulness. During times of struggle, remember all the times He has been faithful to you in the past. (Psalm 61:2b-3).

3. Know that He is your refuge. He will bring you under his wing; you belong to Him and will be with Him forever! (Psalm 61:4-5)

4. Believe His promises. Remind yourself that "all the promises of God find their 'Yes' in Christ" (2 Cor. 1:20) and recall specific promises of God to help you remember what He has done, is doing, will do for you. (Psalm 61: 6-7) God's promises for us include (among many):

• He will not leave you or abandon you. (Joshua 1:5)
• He will give you abundant and eternal life (John 10:10)
• He will be with you always. (Matt 28:20)
• He will set you free from sin. (John 8:36)
• He will bring goodness form every broken and twisted thing. (Rom 8:28)

5. Praise His name. Do the work He has called you to do, and glorify Him! (Psalm 61:8)

This probably spoke to me primarily because of #1 and #2. I, too, found myself a long way from "home" a while back, and frankly, I wasn't sure if God could -- or would -- hear me if I called out. Remembering His past faithfulness was a challenge, in part because I hadn't journaled it like I wished I had and in part because my own unfaithfulness made me wonder if I'd "used up" my allotment of grace and mercy.

Thankfully, "the glory of God's faithfulness is that no sin of ours has ever made Him unfaithful." (Charles Spurgeon) A recounting of His faithfulness -- even when we have NOT been faithful -- helps us to remember that. 

In a world of uncertainty -- and regardless of your situation, this is most assuredly a world of uncertainty -- we can turn to God's word for assurances that He hears us when we call to Him... that He is faithful... that He is our protector... that He keeps His promises... and that He is worthy to be praised.

On the unexpected gift of time

“Nearly all the best things that came to me 
in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.”

~Carl Sandburg

It's spring 2020 and America has been experiencing a long, pregnant pause in the everyday hustle and bustle of life thanks to the coronavirus. 

Schools closed, colleges sent students home, concerts and sporting events and all theatrical productions were canceled, churches went to online services only, office workers found themselves "telecommuting" from their kitchen table, and (with the notable exception of a few key service industries) it seemed we had all been suddenly gifted with something we often claimed we long to have more of: time. 

I am not naive or obtuse; I realize that this unprecedented shutdown of our country has created huge financial burdens and other hardships across just about every sector and segment of our society. But there is no denying that, at the same time, most of us have found ourselves with extra time on our hands. 

Time we didn't expect. Time we have desperately longed for. Time for rest. Time for play. Time for special projects. Time for hobbies. Time to learn something new. Time to perfect something learned long ago. Time for our partner and family.

During this time, I was searching old computer files for some homeschooling resources to share with my daughter-in-law and I ran across a letter of sorts -- one I'd written 20 years ago, in the year 2000. We were living in Ankara, Turkey, and had a day of unexpected time on our hands. It was just a single Sunday, whereas this shutdown has been a whole year of Sundays... but the feeling is still the same. All this time on my hands... what will I make of it?

I'm not sure I made the best use of that unexpected day at home back in 2000, and I for sure have not made the best use of these unexpected days at home in 2020 -- but perhaps there is still, well, time to remedy that.

Here is the letter (really, a blog post of sorts) that I wrote back in 2000 -- well, a portion of it, anyway:

Ankara is, by far, the largest city we have ever lived in, its population numbering roughly four million. It is crowded and congested, plagued by the problems most major cities face – homelessness, excessive noise, poverty, overflowing garbage dumps, and pollution so severe that on most days we cannot see the northern wall of the valley opposite us, which is only a couple of miles away as the crow flies. 

Our apartment building is on the southern wall of the valley, in an area inhabited primarily by foreign diplomats, the politicians of the city, and the extremely wealthy Turks who have carved out a fortune that is nearly incomprehensible to their fellow countrymen. 

... 

In all parts of the city, however, the streets are crowded, clogged with taxis, buses, school vans, and more automobiles than there are parking spaces. The only rule of the road seems to be that there aren’t any rules, as drivers make right-hand turns from the far-left lanes, left turns from the far-right lanes, while the cars in the middle make perilous attempts to simply drive straight through the intersection. Stop signs, one-way streets, no passing zones, no parking zones, dashed traffic lane lines, and other traffic signs seem to be merely suggestions and are routinely ignored.  

Taxi drivers trolling for business in the right lane think nothing of locking up their brakes right in front of you in order to stop for a fare. Actual bus stops are also a rarity, as most of the buses simply stop for anyone flagging them down or for passengers wishing to disembark. You cannot predict when this might happen, so you must always be on the alert.  

Four million people, buses, taxis, cars, pedestrians, and the general sounds of the city – perpetual construction projects, garbage trucks, screeching tires as another driver slams on their brakes to avoid hitting a pedestrian or stopping taxi, political vans loudly broadcasting music and announcements as they pass, honking car horns pressed angrily by frustrated drivers, peddlers calling out their wares and services as they push their carts up and down the streets – all add up to a noise level that, when we first arrived, kept us awake long into the night and woke us early in the morning. Now it is merely “white” noise to us, background music that lulls us to sleep in its ordinariness.  

Today, however, the streets of the city have been eerily calm, as though some great tragedy has struck the metropolis, leaving it barren and deserted. The silence is deafening. Not a single vehicle has passed our house. No strolling street vendors hawking bread, potatoes, or onions. No buses ambling by. No children passing noisily on their way to the park. In fact, no sign of any life outside our window; the sight of our security guard the only proof we have that the entire city hasn’t mysteriously disappeared in the middle of the night. 

As for us, we are housebound –  not because of inclement weather, not because of illness, not for lack of transportation, not even out of a self-imposed curfew. Rather, we are here at home for the day because, should we venture past the confines of our garden, we could be arrested, jailed, or heavily fined. 

This is national census day in Turkey, and except for extreme emergencies, the entire nation has been restricted to their homes for the day. Between 6 a.m. and 7 p.m., no one is to leave their home for anything other than a medical emergency – and even then, the police will make the decision as to what constitutes a medical emergency. The Ministry of .. what, exactly? Labor? Domestic Affairs? … has issued permits to a select few who must be at work on this day. Hospital staff. Firefighters. Turkish military generals, perhaps. The rest of the populace – foreigners included – must remain at home under threat of imprisonment. 

This bizarre mandate, which had those of at the embassy muttering and shaking our heads at the absurdity of it all, has been an unexpected blessing. A forced day of rest. Unlike any holiday, even Christmas Day in the States, where you could still go to the grocery store, gas station, even the movie theater, today any possibility of this is out of the question.

No stores are open. No gas stations are open, since no one should be driving. No trains are running. Even those folks who arrived at the airport today had to sit in the terminal and wait until the curfew lifted at 7:00 p.m. before they could go to their hotel or home. 

As for the silence – well, it was amazing how quickly we adjusted to this new sound. Or lack thereof. We lit a fire in the fireplace. Paul taught Ryan the game Risk. As the boys busied themselves with world domination, Olivia visited our fourth floor neighbor, a single woman who simply adores Olivia and spoils her rotten. I curled up on the couch with a short novel that I actually read in one day. Austin played dress up (“Army man” is his current fave), watched Barney, and found new ways to drive his brother and sister crazy. We all took naps – almost unheard of for our family – then continued the lazy day with more of the same.  

This was better than a holiday. There were no expectations for a huge family feast. No presents to purchase. No pressure to go anywhere or do anything. It was almost as though this were a “bonus” day – like the hour we “gain” at daylight savings time, we suddenly “gained” this extra day for which nothing was planned. We didn’t quite know what to do with the day, so we did nothing, and we reveled in it. 

The darkness fell almost unexpectedly tonight, as we had not been marking the hours pass as we usually do on the weekends. The beautiful quiet was sharply interrupted by a passing car. As we glanced at the clock, we saw that the curfew was over. The city was beginning to stir. By 7:30 p.m., the noise of the street burst through the silence like a jack-in-the-box springing free from the confines of his container, jarring us out of our dreamlike stupor and bringing us back to the reality of life in a city of four million people.

On rediscovering myself

“Who in the world am I? 

Ah, that's the great puzzle.”

~ Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Tap, tap, tap... is this thing on?

It's been a hot minute since my last post. I'm aiming to change that.

I lost myself for a while. Lost sight of the things I truly valued. Lost sight of the people I truly loved. Lost sight of the things I loved most to do. Lost sight of my purpose in life. I fell down a rabbit hole and couldn't seem to find my way out.

The funny thing about getting lost is that it happens so gradually. You're busy taking in the new scenery, not realizing that it is growing increasingly dark and dangerous. You often don't realize all the wrong turns you've taken until it's too late.

If you're lucky, you have people who love you -- people who keep searching for you, who are worried about you, who are calling out for you. Their voices cut through the swirling fog. You look around and realize just how lost you really are.

The journey back isn't easy. You're finally aware of the dangers surrounding you.... but you've grown used to the dark rabbit hole and the bright light of freedom seems both blinding and impossibly far away. You look around and notice that there are others like you, trying to scramble their way out of the pit. You grab their hands, they grab yours, and together you make your way to freedom.

Along the way,  you begin to find bits and pieces of yourself that you thought you'd lost forever on that dark journey. Those bits and pieces are now damaged, dirty, trampled, and shattered... but many of them can be repaired and restored over time.

For a time, I lost my creative spark, my passion for learning, my joy in life, among other things. I found fragments of them on my journey back to sanity. I've been cleaning them off, gluing them back together, polishing them up, making them useful again. They are a little cracked. Terribly imperfect. But they are mine. They are... me.

Whether anyone ever reads this blog or not, I want to keep writing. I've missed it so much.

It feels good to be home again.

On calling a spade a spade

“We can ignore reality, but we cannot ignore 

the consequences of ignoring reality.”

~Ayn Rand

I was watching the most recent episode of The Walking Dead last night, in which one of the characters -- who had, until this point, been shielded from the worst of the zombie apocalypse, living in a well-protected enclave where they still had electricity and running water and medicine and where their most pressing concern was the fact that they had to ration chocolate -- came face-to-face with the realities of the current world, when evil men invaded their utopia and ruthlessly attacked these peaceable people who had done nothing to provoke this violent group.

Her friend was left for dead, and then became a zombie, which she had to kill. The shocked townspeople stared at her in disbelief, that she could so calmly and coldly kill her friend-turned-zombie (before her dead former friend killed her). The woman turned to her neighbors and said:

"I used to not want to see the way things are. It’s not that I couldn’t. It’s that I didn’t want to. But this is what life looks like now. We have to see it. We have to fight it. If we don’t fight, we die."

It made me think of the liberal West... ignoring the growing terror of the Islamic Middle East, because we are safe in our enclaves, where our most pressing issue is getting the government to pay for free stuff and where we delusionally believe we have a "right" to "safe spaces" where no opposing viewpoints can enter our precious, fragile consciousness.

On Twitter, I saw several people referring to the terrorist attack on Paris as a “criminal act” -- as though it was merely a random act of violence. I saw another group calling the dead “victims of gun violence.” No, people. No. We can’t end this by downplaying it. When I called out one Twitter user for calling the terrorists a criminal group, he replied with: “I prefer peace over war.”

What the heck? Who doesn’t prefer peace over war -- except for terrorists? Do people really think they can end terrorism simply by calling it something else?

Believe me, I want peace. I’m a mom with one son on active duty in the Army, and another son contemplating the same. I don’t want war, The thought of war terrifies me. But we have to stop refusing to see the truth. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, war is being waged against us.

We have to see it. We have to fight it. If we don't fight it, we die.

On my own grief, observed

“Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley 

where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.” 

~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

This is how it happens, so suddenly, so unexpectedly: 

A scene in a TV show reminds me of a funny moment from childhood, a story that features my dad. I tell it. We laugh. "I can just hear your dad saying that," hubs remarks. 

I chuckle. "Yeah... " I start to muse, "he was..." 

Chest tightens. Throat closes. Words fail. For the next hour or two I'm lost in bittersweet memories, sorrow spilling down my cheeks, my heart once again in a million little pieces. 

Melancholy dreams fill my night. Tears stain my pillow. Morning brings puffy eyes, a swollen face, and a heaviness in my soul, as if I'm hearing the news again for the first time.

On waiting for the Supremes

I'm not a political junkie, and I'm not well-versed in all the issues of our day, but I am... passionate, I think you could say, about my political beliefs. I'm sure it's no surprise to anyone that I lean right. 


I believe in the free market and virtues of capitalism, because I value the equality of opportunity it offers. For the same reason, I reject socialism, which focuses on equality of outcomes; by its very nature, in trying to "level" the playing field, socialism punishes excellence and rewards mediocrity. 


I respect our Constitution and believe it should be interpreted and applied with the view towards limiting the powers of the state, not expanding their reach. I do not believe the Constitution is a "living, breathing" document that "evolves" with our culture. I want government's role in my life limited to protecting my individual liberties: I want to be free to practice my faith and pass those traditions and beliefs on to my children. I want to be free to educate my children in the way I deem best. I want to be free to arm and protect myself and my family and my property. And I want to be free to make my own decisions about healthcare: what doctor I will use, what treatment plan I will follow, what insurance provider I will choose. I don't want or need socialized, government-run healthcare. I don't want the government telling me I have to purchase their insurance. 

Although I'm not expert in Constitutional law, I'm pretty sure our founding fathers never intended it to be used a means of empowering our leaders to control our lives in such a freedom-destroying manner. So this morning, I am on pins and needles as I wait for the Supreme Court ruling on Obamacare. I haven't been filled with this much nervous excitement since the 2008 Election Day. 


Tick, tock. Today we learn if we are a nation one step closer to socialism, or if our Constitution still preserves our personal liberties.

UPDATE: So... this is what it feels like to be sucker punched? *sigh. I'm going to hibernate and abstain from all news coverage of politics until after the November elections. Or until after my nap this afternoon. Whichever comes first.

On being a writer

I read advice once, a long time ago, that suggested if you want to be a writer, you should stop telling people, "I want to be a writer," and start declaring to people, "I'm a writer," as a statement of verifiable truth. I am a writer. Even if, in fact, you hadn't actually written anything yet (or, perhaps more specifically, not written anything you could say was published somewhere) (or not anything worth reading). I think the idea behind the advice was this concept of thinking your way into being what you wanted to be. If you identify yourself to be   (fill-in-the-blank)  , then you will start acting like you are _______, and eventually you will then be _________.

This was terrible advice, by the way. Frankly, I don't believe one can think their way into acting. To wit: For years, I could actually picture myself as one of those people who ate healthy foods and exercised regularly and looked slim and trim and svelte and fit. I mean, I could actually envision myself skinny like that, and what my life would look like if that's what I did and if that was how I acted. Amazingly, however, that thinking didn't translate into action. I don't know. Maybe that kind of mind game works for others, but it definitely did not work for me. Your mileage may vary, as they say.

But I digress.

Another problem with the "Call yourself a writer and make it so" advice is that it was definitely offered up before the age of the internet. These days, everyone considers themselves to be a writer and can claim that their work is published... on their blog site, anyway.

I don't want to examine too closely the reason why this person, me -- the gal who started writing stories when she was old enough to bang out words on a typewriter (and, oh, my... you should see those stories I wrote when I was seven and eight and nine years old; they are hiLARious) -- didn't, in fact, become a writer. Or even a very good (let alone consistent) blogger. But, for whatever reason, I gave up storytelling for news writing in college, and then gave up news writing for press release writing when I couldn't find a job in journalism, and then gave up press release writing for lesson plan writing when I started to homeschool, and, well... here I am.

And, yeah, I know. Plenty of folks hold day jobs and/or even homeschool a quiverfull of kids and still find time to blog and write and create amazing recipes and post elaborate pictures of the individual ingredients along with the finished dish and then end up with a book deal. But we can't all be the Pioneer Woman.

Heaping further coals of discouragement on my head was this recent article: Why You Shoudn't Be a Writer. It was a pretty harsh reality check, but I realized the author probably had some pretty good points. Am I really as good as I think I am? No, definitely not. Am I compelled to write; do I feel as though I will burst if I can't write every day? Uh... that's a negative, Ghost Rider. (Or should that be Ghost Writer? Bwahahaha! Get it?) (*sigh.) (This is why I shouldn't write.)

In any case, this whole post was spawned by the fact that I have an idea for another post churning in my brain, but my attempts to "put it on (virtual) paper" have proved futile thus far, and it makes me question whether I really have that.... je ne sais quoi it takes to be a writer. In fact, this post is actually the perfect example of the problem I have with the other post, and it's not writer's block; just the opposite: I know what I want to say, but it's taking too long to get to the point, and, in fact, I have more than one point I want to make, and they are related... and yet they aren't, and trying to bring the two stories I'm sharing back together so the reader can see the relationship between them and how (in my mind) it all ties together... and, more importantly, the significance of it all... well, it's challenging.

And then, I wrestle with yet another aspect: Who cares? My mom and my sister and my husband and maybe a couple close friends (if they have time) read this blog, and that's about it, so why am I worrying about it so much?

Because I want them to think what I want to think of myself: 

Boy, that girl can write.

 

On having it all figured out

A friend of mine was getting ready for an extended vacation (which, in this case, is not a euphemism for a trip to the funny farm, as it usually is around my house; no, my friend was actually going on a real vacation, to Florida), and she joked with me: 

I am almost packed. :) Well, except for actually packing it... but, you know, I have it all figured out. You know what this like, don't you?

Yes. Yes, I do. And I wish it were just limited to my packing (OK, fine, my overpacking) issues. Unfortunately, it pretty much describes every endeavor I attempt to undertake. 

I am almost finished with my blog post. Well, except for actually writing it... but, you know, I have what I want to say all figured out.

And this is why my blogs are still empty.

I almost have 20 pounds lost! Well, except for actually losing it... but, you know, I have the diet and exercise plan all figured out.

And, meanwhile, nothing really changes. Except, now I have thirty pounds to lose, instead of just (just?!) twenty.

I am almost debt free! Well, except for actually paying off my debt... but, you know, I have the payment plan all figured out.

Seriously, we're going to start on that. Soon. Right after we pay for the expenses for our oldest son's upcoming wedding. And my daughter's college tuition. And my youngest son's first car. And a trip home to see my family. And maybe an "extended vacation," if you know what I mean.

I almost have my spiritual life squared away. Well, except for actually spending daily time in prayer, studying God's Word, putting Him first in all I do, and fellowshipping with like-minded believers... but, you know, I have a library filled with study guides and devotional books and commentaries and Bibles in every version, and I know a group of godly women who meet weekly for fellowship and, really, I plan on going... one of these days; so I have the plan to live a holier life figured out.

And then I wonder why I am experiencing a crisis of faith, and why God seems far away, and why I find it easier to do things that merely please me or please others (with the hope that they will like me) instead of doing the things that please God.


Yep, I really have things " all figured out," don't I?

On getting spammed with comments

I haven't blogged for awhile... but suddenly received a spate of comments, all of which went directly to my spam folder (awaiting approval... which won't happen). They are quite hilarious. Even more fun if you read them in the voice of the spokesperson for the Sokoblovsky Farms Petite Lap Giraffes. "Welcome to world wide web. This cause you to laugh till you make tears."

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On the benefits of being the 99%

Today is May Day. Supposedly, the Occupy Wall Street mob planned to storm the city and shut down commerce for the day. (Sidebar: I live in Jersey now; do I need to specify that "the city" is New York City? Around here, we all know what we mean when we say "the city." But I digress.) Anyway, I think the OWS crowd was sending out its own May Day distress call by the end of the day, as the whole thing was a bit of a  a huge bust (which, quite honestly, gave me a serious case of the glees).

Coincidentally, my 14-year-old son and I started an economics unit this week, and part of today's reading included this article: a letter written in 1942 (!!) from a grandfather to his grandson. Apparently, the grandson (who was just a schoolboy at the time) heard many people disparaging the profit system, and wrote about it to his grandfather. This was the grandfather's reply. That we read this today, on this big OWS "We are the 99%! Down with the 1%" day of (failed) protest, could not have been more perfectly timed if I had tried. Believe me, I'm not that on top of things. 

The book we are using as our primary text is Whatever Happened to Penny Candy? by Richard J. Maybury. (Excellent book, by the way.) This article came from the study guide to that book, A Bluestocking Guide: Economics by Jane A. Williams. 

In the letter, the grandfather tells his grandson to imagine a primitive community of 100 people, who do nothing but work hard all day just to obtain the mere necessities of living. They live in a village at the base of a mountain; their water source is at the top. Every day, each person must climb the mountain for water, which takes them one hour. 

One day, one of the hundred notices that the water trickles down the same direction he walks. He decides to build a trench down the mountain, leading to a basin he digs out by his house. None of the other 99 people pay any attention to what he is doing. When his trench and basin are finally complete, he turns some of the water from the spring into it. Soon he has fresh water at his house. He tells the other 99 that he will let them get water from his basin if they will give him the daily production of 10 minutes of their time. They agree. So he now has 990 minutes (16.5 hours) worth of production from the others every day, and the 99 have each saved themselves 50 minutes of time every day, because they no longer have to go up and down the mountain for water.

Now that the one man has 16+ hours of production from others, he is free to spend part of his time observing things around him. He notices the water has power; it carries sticks and pushes small stones along as it travels. He contemplates this for some time, and eventually devises a water wheel to harness that power, which he uses to run a mill to grind his corn. There is enough water power to grind the corn for the other 99, also. So, again, the one offers the 99 a deal: If they will give him one-tenth of the production from their time saved, he will let them use his mill to grind their corn. Again, a win-win for both the one and the 99.

With all this production coming to him, the one is now completely free to spend all his time observing others. He realizes one of the 99 is the best shoe maker in the group; he encourages that one to spend his time making shoes for the others in exchange for a portion of their production. He sees that another one is more skilled than all the others at making clothes; again, he helps that one devise a plan to make all the clothes in exchange for portion of the others' production. Bit by bit, people begin to specialize their labors, doing what best fits them, and the whole community benefits.

But what would have happened if, at the very beginning, the 99 had turned on the one, and said, "We are ninety-nine, and you are only one. We will take what water we want and you can't stop us. We will give you nothing." What then? There would have been no incentive for this enterprising one to continue to solve problems.

And so the story continues... I encourage you to take a few minutes to read it in its entirety. The best parts are boxed in red. My favorite part? This: 

"Unless envy and jealousy and unfair laws intervened to restrict honest enterprisers who benefited all, progress promised to be constant. Need we say more to prove that there can be profit from enterprise without taking anything from others, that such enterprise adds to the ease of living for everyone?" 

Indeed, nothing more needs to be said.

On gaining new perspective

A friend shared this blog post on Facebook (no, she wasn't the author of the post; I don't personally know the woman who wrote this) and I found the sentiments expressed within ... well, relatable. I haven't been in her shoes, but I do know that desperate feeling of trying to hold it all together on the outside when everything is falling apart on the inside; when no one realizes the extent of the turmoil in my life, my heart, my soul.


On top of that, however, this blog post is a beautiful reminder that we need to be gentle with our fellow travelers, because you never know the kind of pain or sorrow hidden within a person's heart. Our first instinct should always be to extend a measure of grace. This blog post was (for me, anyway) also an eye-opening reminder that as bad as our own problems seem to us, there are many people out there with even bigger burdens to carry.


In any case, it was a blog post worth reading, so I thought I would share:


We must see past what it seems...

On being marked for life

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do. ~James 1:22-25


I have long loved inductive Bible study. I loved looking at the historical timeline to add detail to the picture: When did this event happen? What other events in the world were taking place at the time? How did those other events impact this event? How did this event change history? I loved looking at the people who were talking, or being talked about, or being spoken to. Who were they? Where had they been? Where were they going? Why were they there? What had happened to them? All these who, what, where, when, why, and how questions appealed to my inquisitive nature, the one that led me to pursue a degree in journalism. 

I loved digging deep into the Word of God, going beyond the printed word on the page; I wanted to look at the words behind the words. I loved looking up those verses in the ancient Greek or Hebrew to discern the true meaning of a passage. I would spread open before me Strong's Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible, Vine's Expository Dictionary of Old and New Testament Words, Zodhiates' Complete Word Study Dictionary... and, of course, my Bible. The scholar in me thrilled at the etymological hunt for the deeper, truer, more precise meaning of the words.

I had my colored pencils close at hand, and would fill my Bible with shapes and symbols and colors to highlight key words and phrases, like an artist fills a canvas with paint and images. Purples and yellows for the Trinity and Heaven. Greens for geography and time. Blues and oranges for speakers and listeners and the saints. Browns for sin and suffering. Red for Satan and Hell.  Hearts, arrows, exclamation points, squiggles, squares, circles, triangles... no word left untouched, unexamined, unexplored.

I carried this Bible to services, and furiously scribbled notes in the margin whenever the pastor made a particularly profound observation. On my own, I made lists. I watched for contrasts and comparisons. I searched for themes. I read commentaries and added these observations of others to my own.

Until one day... I stopped. Not suddenly. Not on purpose. It started with a major schedule change that prevented me from attending weekly Bible study. Then a series of events--some within my control, others beyond my control--eventually took me down a path where I no longer attended church regularly, let alone had quiet time with God on my own. And the less time I spent in the Word, the less inclined I was to want to spend time in the Word. Where once I thirsted for the knowledge within, the thought of reading God's Word now left a bitter taste in my mouth. I railed at God for abandoning me, even while I knew, in my heart, that it was I who had abandoned Him.

The realization of this was startling.

For years, I had been marking my Bible. But in all that time, had I ever really allowed God's Word to mark me?

On feeling a little flushed...

A conversation this morning:

13yo son (to Hubs, who just got home from being out of town the past few weeks): Dad, I'm so glad you're home! My toilet is clogged and I can't get it unplugged.

Hubs: When did this happen?

Son: Monday.

Hubs: What bathroom have you been using, then?

Son: Huh? What do you mean?

Hubs: Your toilet is clogged; so which toilet have you been using all this week?

Son: Oh! Mine. I've been using mine. I just can't flush it.

(-'_'-)

On effectively effecting change

I believe protests and rallies are important to the political process in our country. The freedom to assemble, to collectively voice our concerns about governmental policy, to provide a visual of a gathering storm that can't be ignored -- all this is essential for maintaining a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. This is what Tea Party rallies are all about. They are one-day affairs, and the intent is shine a spotlight on their issues and concerns; namely, a desire for the federal government to rein in spending, employ conservative fiscal policies, and reduce its size and scope, returning power back to the individual states as the Founding Fathers intended.


Most Tea Party activists recognize that they aren't going to effect any real change by camping out on the National Mall for days on end, holding up placards and shouting epithets at government employees trying to go to work. (Besides which, most Tea Party members have a job, a family, and a real life to get back to.) More importantly, however, they realize that such a strategy may garner lots of attention, but it doesn't tend to garner a lot of sympathy. Real change can only happen in the voting booth.

On my New Year resolutions... more or less

New Year's Day: Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions.
Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.
~Mark Twain

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I am usually quite reluctant to share my New Year resolutions, because, in the words of John Selden, it's then twice as onerous a duty to keep them. But, perhaps, a little accountability is a good thing. And so, in vague generalities and with as little detail as possible, my resolutions for 2011... more or less:

• Talk less; listen more.

• Read more; watch television less.

• Blog and write more; Facebook and Twitter less.

• Less impulsive buying; more careful budgeting.

• Less red meat; more alternative protein sources.

• More actual letter writing; less emailing and messaging.

• More exercising and daily activity; less sitting around on my butt in front of the computer.

• Less clutter; more organization.

• Less mindless game-playing on Facebook and my iPod; more time spent on piano playing, graphic design, and other creative pursuits I've abandoned along the way.

• Teach more; slack less.

• Less sugar, salt, caffeine, and fats; more raw & organic foods.

• More deliberate planning of my time; less procrastinating.

And, most importantly...

• Less of me; more of God.

On waking up in Narnia

On Christmas morning, right here in northern Alabama, we awoke to a scene straight out of Narnia:




A white Christmas! In the South! This was balm to soothe this Midwestern gal's soul. I so wanted to be home (as in, at my parents' house in Kansas) for Christmas, but it didn't work out this year. This was the consolation prize.

We enjoyed making a snowman:


Next Christmas, I might just have to use this as our Christmas card picture (if I ever get around to sending out cards, that is; don't hold your breath):



I'm just glad I managed to get this posted before the end of 2010! That makes one whole post for the year! I know, it's a lot to keep up with. Thanks to my two subscribers for hanging in there with me.

On the amazing feats of Houdini the Hamster

I am not sure how, but somehow our hamster managed to get out of her cage Thursday night. There were no open doors, no chewed-through wires, no logical openings big enough for her to wriggle through (and, yes, I know they can get pretty small if they want to, but believe me, not that small)... it's a puzzlement, to be sure.

We have not yet found her. And now, the race is on ... who will find her first? The cat? The dog? Or the human? If the poor thing has already met her untimely demise, I hope it's not in some hard-to-reach place. Dead rodents don't smell so pleasant, you know.

Of course, even if *I* catch her first, she might still meet her end at my hand after what I discovered in my search for our little Houdini. When I pulled out from the wall the bookcase upon which her cage sat, I saw dozens and dozens of little turds stuck to the wall, the back of the bookcase, and on the floor! That little stinker has been pitching her poop out through the wires of her cage!

(She obviously didn’t like the Craisins I gave her as a treat, either; some of those were stuck to the wall, as well. Ungrateful little fuzzball.)

After overcoming my initial irritation (and nausea), I just had to laugh. I found it fascinating that she did that dirty little deed out the back of the cage, and not the front or sides ... almost like she was trying to hide it from me 'cause she knew it was wrong! Stupid rat. Smart rodent.

---

Your Fun Fact for the day: Did you know that it is illegal to keep hamsters as pets in Australia? They fear "escapees" could breed in the wild and become "feral" pest animals.

On cleaning up cobwebs

I used to always think, “Wow! What an amazing coincidence!” when the pastor’s Sunday morning message corresponded with a devotional I’d read that very day, or when a topic I was reading about for a weekday Bible study class ended up being discussed in our Sunday morning small group... and then I wondered, why am I surprised by this? God’s Word encompasses and is applicable to every area of our life, no matter the topic; His Word is never contradictory; and much of His divine plan for our lives and wisdom for living is repeated over and over again (just in case we missed it the first time, which we usually do) throughout the Bible, in various passages, books, subtexts, and parables.

Yet, I still get tickled when I read a blog and it just happens to coincide with the passage of Scripture I’m studying, which is exactly what happened (again!) this weekend. My friend, and worship leader (er, I mean, lead worshipper) at our church, wrote about the evidence of self-examination. If we claim to have examined our way of living, and profess to be making a change… well, we might convince some folks just by our self-proclamation, but those closest to us will know the truth, for they either will or will not see the evidence of the change.

Our Sunday morning small group has been studying the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. These books not only provide a fascinating history lesson, but are also rich with application for right living (specifically, how to overcome fear and obstacles in our quest for obedience).

After some fits and starts in their attempts to rebuild the city walls, Nehemiah comes in, gets them organized, and, under his strong leadership, they rebuild the wall in 52 days (which they’d been working on for some 70 years at this point!).Upon its completion, Ezra the scribe reads from the law, and the people have an incredible revival – a six-hour worship service that culminates in one of the greatest prayers in history (see Nehemiah 9). They are so moved, so convicted, so determined to live right, that in Nehemiah 10 we read that they signed a covenant, promising to keep God’s commandments.

As I prepared to help lead the discussion on this, I turned to Warren Wiersbe’s most excellent commentary, Be Determined. He opens his discussion on Nehemiah 10 with the following story:

In a certain church, there was a man who always ended his prayers with, “And, Lord, clean the cobwebs out of my life! Clean the cobwebs out of my life!”

One of the members of the church became weary of hearing this same insincere request week after week, because he saw no change in the petitioner’s life. So, the next time he heard the man pray, “Lord, clean the cobwebs out of my life!” he interrupted with, “And while you’re at it, Lord, kill the spider!”

When I read that, and then read my friend’s post on self-examination, I thought, “How true this is for us!” We take a look at the superficial messes in our life, those pesky cobwebs, and ask God to clean them up, all the while ignoring the true source of the problem – the spider!

When we pray for God to help us tidy up the messes in our life, are we serious about making the changes necessary to keep it clean? So often we try to keep that spider as a pet. We wipe away the cobwebs and try to destroy the evidence of the spider, but can’t quite seem to bring ourselves to remove the spider itself.

As my friend points out, some people will think we’ve exterminated the spider. We get ourselves ready for our guests by cleaning the cobwebs out of the corners and off the chandeliers, and they come in and think, “Wow! You really have it all together!”

But our family, the ones who spend the most time with us, who live with us day after day… they know that the cobwebs keep coming back. They know the truth.

So, as I thought about that, I wondered about my own sticky webs of deceit I’ve been spinning… the ideas that the spiders I have hanging around aren’t all that bad, not really a problem, only occasionally bite me and leave their venom coursing through my veins…

Hmmmm, on the other hand, maybe it’s time to finally call in the Orkin man.

___________________________________________________________

These spider pictures were taken in our backyard, around our AC unit. This friendly little orb weaver had made quite a home for herself and her two huge egg sacs, right under my oldest son's window. He's no pansy, but the thought of hundreds of little spiders hatching and possibly crawling into his room was more than he could handle.