A conversation with a friend yesterday brought to mind my favorite poem. Chances are good that I've posted it before or that I’ll post it again, but I want to post it today because of what I’ve learned over the past two days. This morning, we finished an 8 hour spiritual development workshop entitled, “Lead Like Jesus.” I must admit that I wasn’t excited about having to attend this workshop; however, I was wrong to discount the time before giving it a try. The material was actually very good--something that I could see myself leading one day. In fact, I asked the presenter how I could become a trained facilitator after today’s session was over and he gave me all the information that I need.
During the first part of the seminar yesterday afternoon, we examined the heart. The leader presented the concept that we let our EGO's get in the way of leading like Jesus. EGO stands for Edging God Out and the two things that most often edge out God are pride and fear. While sitting through that part of the seminar, I realized that I need to examine my pride, figure out the areas where I am prideful, and begin working on those areas. I know they exist, but pride is not an area that I tend to focus on when naming my demons.
But fear...most people who know me know that fear often paralyzes me. The workbook that we're using said that fear is "an insecure view of the future producing self-protection." Self protection makes one hide behind their position, withhold information in an effort to hold on to power, try to intimidate others, try to hoard control, and run from honest feedback. Fear and pride are said to separate a person from God, others, and self; lead to unhappiness through comparisons; and distort the truth into a false sense of security and self. The opposite of fear is confidence in God's love, resting assured in God's nature, goodness, purpose, plan, process and provision; being transparent; and proceeding in faith one step at a time.
While I do rest (or at least actively attempt to rest--that's an oxymoron, eh? :-)) in God's nature, love, goodness, process, and provision, and while I am fairly transparent with many people, I realized yesterday that I don't always rest in God's purpose and plan because I don't understand God's purpose and plan, where I fit in how it plays out, how free-will fits with any of it, or if "it" really exists. I don't understand God's interaction with this world, God's answering of prayers, God's allowance of deep suffering, and so many other things. So while I want to move forward in faith one step at a time, and while I'm learning that the process of journey is where life abides, I still often live in fear. Not in fear of dying. But in fear of failing. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being alone. Fear of making the wrong decisions. Fear of being abandoned...even though I will scream until I'm blue in the face that we are never, ever alone. I truly believe that...I just have a hard time feeling it for myself.
So I suppose this poem resonates with me because of my deep, underlying fears...fears that have often turned to reality. I first read this poem in the tenth grade. It’s the only thing I remember from that year’s English class. Since that time—and even before—I have loved deeply more times that I can count but had to watch that love die as people have walked away.
I don't want to live in fear. I don't want to greet life with a skepticism that never really fades. I've just seen and felt too much unwarranted heartache to be able to ignore it and believe that life always ends up happily ever after. Maybe it does. Maybe heaven is the happily ever after. Then again, maybe my faith just isn't strong enough and my expectations are too high. I don't know. But I know that I'm going to keep fighting my fears and trying to embrace this life with the faith and joy and hope and peace and love that I know exist and that I know are God’s ultimate design for God’s beloved.
I hope you'll join me in doing the same.
-----------
Colours
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
--Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Why I Look Like A Tomato
My staff members say that I look like a cantaloupe instead of a tomato. But I think I look like a tomato—even if I do have on an orange shirt with seed-like holes in it. “Why do you look like a tomato?” you might ask. “Because I went floating on the lake without sunscreen,” I would say. “And I loved it.”
I’ve lived by the lake for two and a half years now, but I hadn’t been into the water until this weekend. Thanks to some adventurous friends who showed up at my apartment and waned to swim in the lake, I finally ventured into her waters…and it was awesome.
Dressed in my orange fish bathing suit and a bright orange life jacket, carrying a lovely blue noodle, I jumped into the lake’s refreshingly cool-warm waters and floated. I can’t float without a floatation device. After trying many, many times and even going through informal floatation lessons, I just can’t get my body to float. My butt sinks. But not with a life jacket and a nooooodle!
I wish that I could adequately describe how I felt floating on the lake yesterday. For someone who is always thinking and connecting one piece of the world to another and for someone who has tremendous difficulties relaxing, I floatingly sank into a place of total rest and peace as I put my complete trust in those floatation devices to keep me in contact with oxygen. I let the water take me where it would. Every once in awhile, a friend would gently grab my arm or leg and steer me back toward the dock so that I didn’t float too far away. But for the most part, it was just me and the water in this lovely, freeing unison of life. One of my friends said that I looked like I was waking up each time I sat up to be social. I said that I’d felt like I was waking up. In those moments, I had been completely relaxed, thinking of nothing but the present, feeling the sun’s warmth on my skin, silently praising God for the amazingly beautiful day and experience and the feeling that I was floating on God’s unfailing love. It was like nothing I can describe.
And so…today…I look like a tomato. Or cantaloupe. Either way. I’m a very happy tomato or cantaloupe who is extremely grateful for her apartment on the lake, her wonderful landlords, her adventurous friends, turtles, fish, water, lifejackets, noodles, and sunscreen (even when I don’t use it, get burnt, and end up looking like a tomato).
I’ve lived by the lake for two and a half years now, but I hadn’t been into the water until this weekend. Thanks to some adventurous friends who showed up at my apartment and waned to swim in the lake, I finally ventured into her waters…and it was awesome.
Dressed in my orange fish bathing suit and a bright orange life jacket, carrying a lovely blue noodle, I jumped into the lake’s refreshingly cool-warm waters and floated. I can’t float without a floatation device. After trying many, many times and even going through informal floatation lessons, I just can’t get my body to float. My butt sinks. But not with a life jacket and a nooooodle!
I wish that I could adequately describe how I felt floating on the lake yesterday. For someone who is always thinking and connecting one piece of the world to another and for someone who has tremendous difficulties relaxing, I floatingly sank into a place of total rest and peace as I put my complete trust in those floatation devices to keep me in contact with oxygen. I let the water take me where it would. Every once in awhile, a friend would gently grab my arm or leg and steer me back toward the dock so that I didn’t float too far away. But for the most part, it was just me and the water in this lovely, freeing unison of life. One of my friends said that I looked like I was waking up each time I sat up to be social. I said that I’d felt like I was waking up. In those moments, I had been completely relaxed, thinking of nothing but the present, feeling the sun’s warmth on my skin, silently praising God for the amazingly beautiful day and experience and the feeling that I was floating on God’s unfailing love. It was like nothing I can describe.
And so…today…I look like a tomato. Or cantaloupe. Either way. I’m a very happy tomato or cantaloupe who is extremely grateful for her apartment on the lake, her wonderful landlords, her adventurous friends, turtles, fish, water, lifejackets, noodles, and sunscreen (even when I don’t use it, get burnt, and end up looking like a tomato).
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Layers of Life
A few weeks ago, I posted the statement: “We put so much pressure on ourselves to perform—to be accepted—to earn approval—to be loved—yet, really, we are already loved…not because of our accomplishments but because of who we are.” That night, as I felt like a total failure unworthy of being loved because of my extremely poor bowling performance, I remembered this status and shook my head at the reality that I had posted it somewhat prophetically. I stopped, reminded myself of my own words, and tried to accept the fact that I wasn’t loved because of my ability to bowl average or above but because I am me.
On Monday, I posted the statement: “There are always layers of life going on around you—know which layers you can affect and work to make an impact on those—trust life’s journey and the God who created it all to take care of the rest.” This week, I have been reminded of this statement time and time again and I find myself shaking my head at the reality that I, once again, posted something prophetically.
Through texts, e-mails, chats, phone conversations, and face-to-face interactions and observations, I have been overwhelmed by the amount of hurt that people are carrying beneath their masks of holding life together: worries of physical sickness; anxieties of jobs; fears of not being good enough; grief of death, dying, and naturally fading relationships; stresses of not getting everything done; doubts of the existence of God; questions of identity and faith; feelings of intense loneliness; concerns for children and parents; pains from wounds both literal and figurative; and more.
“There are always layers of life going on around you…”
I know this. I get this. I understand this as much as I understand that we need oxygen to survive. Yet. I forget. I forget to be patient. I forget to be loving. I forget to be gracious. I forget that the world does not revolve around me. I forget to be kind because everyone I meet is “fighting a great battle.” Oh. I’m not necessarily outwardly rude—at least I hope I’m not. But my thoughts aren’t always godly and my expectations aren’t always reasonable and my tact is sometimes lacking and my release of peace isn’t always far-reaching.
So, friends, if you are reading this, know that I know that you are fighting a great battle. Whatever it is. Whatever you are fighting. Know that I know. And know that you are not alone. You are never, ever alone…
God has promised faithfulness. And God, who is community in and of Godself, has placed you on this earth in common humanity. So whatever layers of life you are living, know that you are not alone. You do not have to sort through the layers as the sole pioneer of a new frontier. As the Ecclesiast said, “There is nothing new under the sun.”
At this moment, as I write, I am breathing in all of the junk of this world—the dark, dank, stale air—and I am imagining Jesus filtering it that I can breathe out light, love, goodness, hope, joy, peace, and everything good…for you…and for all of the other people in this world who are walking with you…whoever, wherever you are…
I will keep breathing. And I will keep trying to remember what I know to be true…that there are always layers of life going on around me and I must work to make an impact where I can and to trust life’s journey and the God who created it all to take care of the rest.
I hope you will accept my forgiveness when I fail…and accept my challenge to do the same.
On Monday, I posted the statement: “There are always layers of life going on around you—know which layers you can affect and work to make an impact on those—trust life’s journey and the God who created it all to take care of the rest.” This week, I have been reminded of this statement time and time again and I find myself shaking my head at the reality that I, once again, posted something prophetically.
Through texts, e-mails, chats, phone conversations, and face-to-face interactions and observations, I have been overwhelmed by the amount of hurt that people are carrying beneath their masks of holding life together: worries of physical sickness; anxieties of jobs; fears of not being good enough; grief of death, dying, and naturally fading relationships; stresses of not getting everything done; doubts of the existence of God; questions of identity and faith; feelings of intense loneliness; concerns for children and parents; pains from wounds both literal and figurative; and more.
“There are always layers of life going on around you…”
I know this. I get this. I understand this as much as I understand that we need oxygen to survive. Yet. I forget. I forget to be patient. I forget to be loving. I forget to be gracious. I forget that the world does not revolve around me. I forget to be kind because everyone I meet is “fighting a great battle.” Oh. I’m not necessarily outwardly rude—at least I hope I’m not. But my thoughts aren’t always godly and my expectations aren’t always reasonable and my tact is sometimes lacking and my release of peace isn’t always far-reaching.
So, friends, if you are reading this, know that I know that you are fighting a great battle. Whatever it is. Whatever you are fighting. Know that I know. And know that you are not alone. You are never, ever alone…
God has promised faithfulness. And God, who is community in and of Godself, has placed you on this earth in common humanity. So whatever layers of life you are living, know that you are not alone. You do not have to sort through the layers as the sole pioneer of a new frontier. As the Ecclesiast said, “There is nothing new under the sun.”
At this moment, as I write, I am breathing in all of the junk of this world—the dark, dank, stale air—and I am imagining Jesus filtering it that I can breathe out light, love, goodness, hope, joy, peace, and everything good…for you…and for all of the other people in this world who are walking with you…whoever, wherever you are…
I will keep breathing. And I will keep trying to remember what I know to be true…that there are always layers of life going on around me and I must work to make an impact where I can and to trust life’s journey and the God who created it all to take care of the rest.
I hope you will accept my forgiveness when I fail…and accept my challenge to do the same.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Back To School Note: Inspired By Deanna's Morning Commute
As I left for work this morning, I thought about all of my friends who are returning to school in last weeks of August—whether they are returning as teachers, professors, staff, or students. I thought that today should be the day that I post a note to honor them—a memory, a prayer, an inspirational writing—something to indicate the passion that I feel for education and the support that I feel for them. So I began to pray that God would show me what to write and that whatever I wrote would bless the persons who read it...
And then I came to halted traffic and a sign that said, "Incident ahead. Right lane closed."
I must admit that I have had trouble arriving at the office on-time since moving to SC three years ago. I’m not going to spend a lot of time on that statement, but just let it be known that I really do try! Boss has been in and out of the office for the past couple of weeks, and it just so happens that I've been on time to work on the days that she's been gone. I'm not exactly sure why this has been reality, but I've arrived on time almost every day this month—yet Boss hasn't been here to see it! I was even ten minutes early last Monday! Boss is here today. As always is the desire, I wanted to demonstrate my ability to be prompt—because it really does exist. So I made the decision to get off the Interstate and take a back way to work. Almost an hour later, I arrived at the office. It's only supposed to take 20 minutes to get here.
My first mistake was not waiting to come to the exit ramp that would take me in the right direction. There are two exits for the same road, each one going a different way, and since the one going the opposite way came first, I decided to take it and make a u-turn. I thought I’d save a few seconds. A bunch of other people thought this, too, so the exit ramp got backed up more than the traffic on the Interstate. My second mistake was staying in the right lane once I did my u-turn. That lane ended. And my third mistake, which I guess was really my first mistake, was taking the back way at all. Due to the amount of other cars that rerouted and the stop lights that I had to cycle through, I feel certain that if I had just stayed on the Interstate and slowly moved past the incident to normal non-stoplight speed, then I would have gotten to work faster than I did taking the "short cut." The incident was only three miles from where I got off of 26.
Being the "N" that I am, and recognizing that I had prayed that God would show me what to write today, I was reminded of some things through this morning's commute.
1) After talking to a friend over the weekend, I told her that she was on the right track and challenged her to stay the course. As I stopped and started my way to work this morning, I thought about that phrase "stay the course" and realized that I had abandoned the course that I knew would most efficiently get me to work. In an attempt to avoid known congestion that would slow me down, I took a detour that slowed me down even more. I eventually got to work, yes, but the commute was a lot more stressful than it would have been had I just stayed the course and rolled my way past the incident.
2) Even though staying the course is the most efficient way to get to where we're going, straying from the course will teach us a lot and provide us with lovely experiences if we let it. Because of the insane amount of traffic on my detour, I had the opportunity to be kind to a bunch of drivers, I found a Good Will, and I saw an awesome Billboard that said, “Hit The High Notes.” The board included a picture of Mozart and stressed the importance of great music. Amen!
3) Everyone should always do the thank you wave when someone lets him/her into traffic. I very graciously let a car get in front of me this morning but the driver didn't do the thank you wave. It made me feel a little ill. But I forgave her and kept going.
4) There's really no reason to get mad at things beyond our control. I couldn't control traffic. I couldn't control that Boss once again was not going to see me get to work on time. I did everything I needed to do to get here on time, but circumstances outside of me prevented it. I could have gotten mad but that would have done nothing but make my ride miserable. Instead, I just stopped and started along, knowing that my work would be here when I got here; tried to wake up; prayed for my friends starting school, my nephews and niece, my work, the Department of Juvenile Justice, whoever was being picked up by an ambulance, a woman stranded with an overheated car, the people at my rental car place; thanked God for my car and prayed that it would provide me with many more safe trips; drank my coffee (that was particularly good this morning); and tried to just let be what was.
And so dear readers—especially teachers, school staff, and students—this is the message for you today:
Stay the course. When the work is hard and the days ahead are long, stay the course. Education is one of the most beautiful and essential gifts we have. Educators and support staff: You are some of the greatest people on earth. You have the potential to mold and shape the lives of countless students. Your influence will live for many, many years come. I pray that your influence will encourage students to sing rather than teach them that their voices aren’t good enough to be heard. And, students: Going to school is an honor and privilege. Learn all that you can with an open mind and do it honestly. Taking short cuts may seem like the way to go, but it’s not. The process of learning is more important than the grade.
When things go wrong and you make stupid mistakes, use the consequences as an opportunity to learn. There is always something to be learned.
Thank the people who help you along the way—coworkers, administration, staff, family, parents and guardians, students, volunteers, teachers—everyone who takes part in the educational process. We always have something to be grateful for, and it is up to us to make sure our gratitude is felt and heard. Never underestimate the power of encouragement. It can change the world…especially after a long day of paperwork and testing.
Control what you can. Try to let go of the rest. There is a lot that we CAN do. There is a lot more that we can’t. When other people’s lack of planning becomes your emergency, do your best to fight the fire but try not to panic and make sure you keep breathing. Meditate. Pray. Keep your eyes open to what is happening beyond the surface. There are always layers of life going on around you—know which layers you can affect and work to make an impact on those—trust life’s journey and the God who created it all to take care of the rest.
Oh, dear friends…especially educators, professors, school staff members, students, and others involved in our school systems (home, private, public, collegiate, and graduate)…let it be known that I believe in you and the educational process. You have my deepest respect and love. And I am praying for you—yes you—today and in all the days to come.
And then I came to halted traffic and a sign that said, "Incident ahead. Right lane closed."
I must admit that I have had trouble arriving at the office on-time since moving to SC three years ago. I’m not going to spend a lot of time on that statement, but just let it be known that I really do try! Boss has been in and out of the office for the past couple of weeks, and it just so happens that I've been on time to work on the days that she's been gone. I'm not exactly sure why this has been reality, but I've arrived on time almost every day this month—yet Boss hasn't been here to see it! I was even ten minutes early last Monday! Boss is here today. As always is the desire, I wanted to demonstrate my ability to be prompt—because it really does exist. So I made the decision to get off the Interstate and take a back way to work. Almost an hour later, I arrived at the office. It's only supposed to take 20 minutes to get here.
My first mistake was not waiting to come to the exit ramp that would take me in the right direction. There are two exits for the same road, each one going a different way, and since the one going the opposite way came first, I decided to take it and make a u-turn. I thought I’d save a few seconds. A bunch of other people thought this, too, so the exit ramp got backed up more than the traffic on the Interstate. My second mistake was staying in the right lane once I did my u-turn. That lane ended. And my third mistake, which I guess was really my first mistake, was taking the back way at all. Due to the amount of other cars that rerouted and the stop lights that I had to cycle through, I feel certain that if I had just stayed on the Interstate and slowly moved past the incident to normal non-stoplight speed, then I would have gotten to work faster than I did taking the "short cut." The incident was only three miles from where I got off of 26.
Being the "N" that I am, and recognizing that I had prayed that God would show me what to write today, I was reminded of some things through this morning's commute.
1) After talking to a friend over the weekend, I told her that she was on the right track and challenged her to stay the course. As I stopped and started my way to work this morning, I thought about that phrase "stay the course" and realized that I had abandoned the course that I knew would most efficiently get me to work. In an attempt to avoid known congestion that would slow me down, I took a detour that slowed me down even more. I eventually got to work, yes, but the commute was a lot more stressful than it would have been had I just stayed the course and rolled my way past the incident.
2) Even though staying the course is the most efficient way to get to where we're going, straying from the course will teach us a lot and provide us with lovely experiences if we let it. Because of the insane amount of traffic on my detour, I had the opportunity to be kind to a bunch of drivers, I found a Good Will, and I saw an awesome Billboard that said, “Hit The High Notes.” The board included a picture of Mozart and stressed the importance of great music. Amen!
3) Everyone should always do the thank you wave when someone lets him/her into traffic. I very graciously let a car get in front of me this morning but the driver didn't do the thank you wave. It made me feel a little ill. But I forgave her and kept going.
4) There's really no reason to get mad at things beyond our control. I couldn't control traffic. I couldn't control that Boss once again was not going to see me get to work on time. I did everything I needed to do to get here on time, but circumstances outside of me prevented it. I could have gotten mad but that would have done nothing but make my ride miserable. Instead, I just stopped and started along, knowing that my work would be here when I got here; tried to wake up; prayed for my friends starting school, my nephews and niece, my work, the Department of Juvenile Justice, whoever was being picked up by an ambulance, a woman stranded with an overheated car, the people at my rental car place; thanked God for my car and prayed that it would provide me with many more safe trips; drank my coffee (that was particularly good this morning); and tried to just let be what was.
And so dear readers—especially teachers, school staff, and students—this is the message for you today:
Stay the course. When the work is hard and the days ahead are long, stay the course. Education is one of the most beautiful and essential gifts we have. Educators and support staff: You are some of the greatest people on earth. You have the potential to mold and shape the lives of countless students. Your influence will live for many, many years come. I pray that your influence will encourage students to sing rather than teach them that their voices aren’t good enough to be heard. And, students: Going to school is an honor and privilege. Learn all that you can with an open mind and do it honestly. Taking short cuts may seem like the way to go, but it’s not. The process of learning is more important than the grade.
When things go wrong and you make stupid mistakes, use the consequences as an opportunity to learn. There is always something to be learned.
Thank the people who help you along the way—coworkers, administration, staff, family, parents and guardians, students, volunteers, teachers—everyone who takes part in the educational process. We always have something to be grateful for, and it is up to us to make sure our gratitude is felt and heard. Never underestimate the power of encouragement. It can change the world…especially after a long day of paperwork and testing.
Control what you can. Try to let go of the rest. There is a lot that we CAN do. There is a lot more that we can’t. When other people’s lack of planning becomes your emergency, do your best to fight the fire but try not to panic and make sure you keep breathing. Meditate. Pray. Keep your eyes open to what is happening beyond the surface. There are always layers of life going on around you—know which layers you can affect and work to make an impact on those—trust life’s journey and the God who created it all to take care of the rest.
Oh, dear friends…especially educators, professors, school staff members, students, and others involved in our school systems (home, private, public, collegiate, and graduate)…let it be known that I believe in you and the educational process. You have my deepest respect and love. And I am praying for you—yes you—today and in all the days to come.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Oh, Roaches
I made a pretty profound statement last night. I said, “I know that all things have a place in the circle of life, but I think that Noah could have left behind the two roaches.”
I am not a fan of roaches. They didn't bother me so much until I moved to SC and had one fly at my head. I hit it with a shoe, sprayed it with roach spray, hit it again, sprayed it again, and the thing still wouldn't die. It kept fighting for life--and flew at my head. I squealed like a girl! And then it ran for cover, not to be seen until a few days later, dead. That night, I dreamed that a giant roach like the one on the Orkin commercials came to visit me at my house.
The next time I saw a roach, it was struggling to get out of a floor lamp in my apartment. The lamp has a cone shaped top and the roach couldn't get enough traction to climb out. I don't know if his wings weren't working or what, but he couldn't get out, and I didn't want to risk moving the lamp and him flying at my head, so I just left him there. I figured that I'd let him bake in the heat and hope that he felt like he was on the beach getting a roach tan. I left my lamp on all night and when I woke up the next morning, the roach was fully in-tact but completely dead. I had baked him into a roach specimen. He's actually still there--preserved--antenna and all. I figure he serves as an example to other roaches who want to come into my apartment.
Although...it doesn't really work. One night a few weeks ago, I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. It's what happens to you when you get older. In my state of blind sleepiness, I looked at the wall beside me and noticed a roach staring at me. He was about two inches away from my head. For a moment, I was paralyzed with eek-i-ness. I wanted to get up and leave immediately, but I didn't want to water the apartment. So I sat there, not breathing, until I was finished, and then bolted off of the toilet. The first thing I did was get my glasses. Then I got a sturdy shoe. Then I went back into the bathroom and stared at the roach while flashbacks of his ancestor flying at my head made me squirm. I carefully considered the angle at which I needed to hit the roach in order to ensure that he did not get away. I practiced my approach from a few different angles while considering the virtues of roach spray until I finally decided on an approach and attacked. Sure enough, the ugly stubborn creature got away after the first blow, but I quickly reacted, letting out a little scream, and squished him into pieces. Part of me felt bad for hurting him so badly, but the thought of him flying at my head turned me into a savage roach killer. I cleaned up the carnage, flushed it down the toilet, and went back to bad, somewhat afraid that the roach would reform himself and come back to haunt me.
And then last night...I saw yet another roach scurry across my floor. Without hesitation, I slipped on a sandal, calmly walked over, and stepped on it. It ran away. I ran after it. And then it was dead. As I cleaned up its remains, I thought to myself, "Why do we need roaches? Really. What eats them? What purpose do they serve? Why do the ones in SC have to fly at your head? And why do they have a roach exhibit at the zoo? It's disgusting!"
I wrote a poem once entitled, "The Life of a Roach Right Before Death." I'll try to remember to post it sometime. It's currently handwritten in one of my earliest books of poems. It's a high school writing that must have been a prophetic poem about the encounters that I would have with roaches throughout my life. Don't worry. My apartment is clean. It's not a breeding ground for roaches and disease. Roaches just decide to come in sometimes when I open the door or when they wander into an air shaft or when they think I need some bedtime entertainment...or when I'm at Office Depot in Lumberton and they run across my foot.
What about you? What is your roach story?
I am not a fan of roaches. They didn't bother me so much until I moved to SC and had one fly at my head. I hit it with a shoe, sprayed it with roach spray, hit it again, sprayed it again, and the thing still wouldn't die. It kept fighting for life--and flew at my head. I squealed like a girl! And then it ran for cover, not to be seen until a few days later, dead. That night, I dreamed that a giant roach like the one on the Orkin commercials came to visit me at my house.
The next time I saw a roach, it was struggling to get out of a floor lamp in my apartment. The lamp has a cone shaped top and the roach couldn't get enough traction to climb out. I don't know if his wings weren't working or what, but he couldn't get out, and I didn't want to risk moving the lamp and him flying at my head, so I just left him there. I figured that I'd let him bake in the heat and hope that he felt like he was on the beach getting a roach tan. I left my lamp on all night and when I woke up the next morning, the roach was fully in-tact but completely dead. I had baked him into a roach specimen. He's actually still there--preserved--antenna and all. I figure he serves as an example to other roaches who want to come into my apartment.
Although...it doesn't really work. One night a few weeks ago, I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. It's what happens to you when you get older. In my state of blind sleepiness, I looked at the wall beside me and noticed a roach staring at me. He was about two inches away from my head. For a moment, I was paralyzed with eek-i-ness. I wanted to get up and leave immediately, but I didn't want to water the apartment. So I sat there, not breathing, until I was finished, and then bolted off of the toilet. The first thing I did was get my glasses. Then I got a sturdy shoe. Then I went back into the bathroom and stared at the roach while flashbacks of his ancestor flying at my head made me squirm. I carefully considered the angle at which I needed to hit the roach in order to ensure that he did not get away. I practiced my approach from a few different angles while considering the virtues of roach spray until I finally decided on an approach and attacked. Sure enough, the ugly stubborn creature got away after the first blow, but I quickly reacted, letting out a little scream, and squished him into pieces. Part of me felt bad for hurting him so badly, but the thought of him flying at my head turned me into a savage roach killer. I cleaned up the carnage, flushed it down the toilet, and went back to bad, somewhat afraid that the roach would reform himself and come back to haunt me.
And then last night...I saw yet another roach scurry across my floor. Without hesitation, I slipped on a sandal, calmly walked over, and stepped on it. It ran away. I ran after it. And then it was dead. As I cleaned up its remains, I thought to myself, "Why do we need roaches? Really. What eats them? What purpose do they serve? Why do the ones in SC have to fly at your head? And why do they have a roach exhibit at the zoo? It's disgusting!"
I wrote a poem once entitled, "The Life of a Roach Right Before Death." I'll try to remember to post it sometime. It's currently handwritten in one of my earliest books of poems. It's a high school writing that must have been a prophetic poem about the encounters that I would have with roaches throughout my life. Don't worry. My apartment is clean. It's not a breeding ground for roaches and disease. Roaches just decide to come in sometimes when I open the door or when they wander into an air shaft or when they think I need some bedtime entertainment...or when I'm at Office Depot in Lumberton and they run across my foot.
What about you? What is your roach story?
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Every Time I Remember You
Many years ago, one of my friends and I decided that we would memorize scripture together. We took turns choosing one verse or passage per week, and we worked together to commit its words to memory. I suppose it was like a grown up version of Bible drill—only we got to choose the verses. After we chose the passage of the week, I wrote it down on an index card so that I could carry it with me wherever I went. I remember being so serious about my scripture memorization that I once took my note cards to Busch Gardens and worked to memorize the week’s verse while standing in line to ride a ride! Eventually, I bound the note cards together and made three booklets. I still have booklets. They are what you see in today’s picture.
While I cannot still quote all of the passages that my friend and I learned together, I can remember some of them—at least partially—and I find myself saying them on a regular basis. Today, in fact, as I’ve thought of various friends for various reasons, I’ve found myself saying the following passage out of Philippians:
3 I thank my God every time I remember you. 4 In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy 5 because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, 6 being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
7 It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart and, whether I am in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God’s grace with me. 8 God can testify how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus.
9 And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, 10 so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, 11 filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God.
I do thank God for you, my friends, and I pray that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight and that you may be able to discern what is best and pure and blameless and righteous through the love of Jesus Christ. And as we journey together through the ups and downs of life, sometimes feeling as if we’re speeding ahead, sometimes feeling like we’re stuck, I am confident that he who began a good work in you—and in me—will be faithful to complete it as we share in God’s abundant grace.
While I cannot still quote all of the passages that my friend and I learned together, I can remember some of them—at least partially—and I find myself saying them on a regular basis. Today, in fact, as I’ve thought of various friends for various reasons, I’ve found myself saying the following passage out of Philippians:
3 I thank my God every time I remember you. 4 In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy 5 because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, 6 being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
7 It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart and, whether I am in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God’s grace with me. 8 God can testify how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus.
9 And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, 10 so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, 11 filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God.
I do thank God for you, my friends, and I pray that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight and that you may be able to discern what is best and pure and blameless and righteous through the love of Jesus Christ. And as we journey together through the ups and downs of life, sometimes feeling as if we’re speeding ahead, sometimes feeling like we’re stuck, I am confident that he who began a good work in you—and in me—will be faithful to complete it as we share in God’s abundant grace.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
This Writer's Thursday Confession
Sometimes, on note writing days, if I spend a lot of time writing something else, then I’ll choose to edit that writing and post it as my note for the day. Such is the case today—especially since I’m going to spend the rest of the day in the river and in my car. This writing stemmed from an e-mail that I just wrote to a friend, and I hope that, somehow, it will cause you, dear reader, to chuckle…if for no other reason that I take Vera Bradley shopping so seriously!
I have a confession to make. I didn't originally buy you Indigo Pop. It was the pattern that I was first drawn to when shopping for you. But the more I stood in the store and looked at patterns, the more confused I got. I debated what I knew of your color preference (which was that you don’t have a favorite color but that each color has a personality of its own) and who you are (which is a beautiful juxtaposition of many things) and I stood there for a long time waiting for a pattern to tell me to buy it.
And Paisley Meets Plaid is the pattern that I left the store with. It was the most unique pattern of Vera Bradley I had ever seen. And you, to me, are unique. The grey plaid in the background was very rustic--yet I thought very pretty. I knew that the bag would travel well and hide dirt--and you travel a lot. And I thought that how the grey plaid was paired with the pink paisley was an odd combination--kind of like your desire to go camping and dig worms and be outdoors and not really care about showering every day mixed with the fact that you are absolutely gorgeous and so well put together. I wouldn't usually put those two characteristics together. But they are you. They are completely you. And they are completely lovely--which is how I viewed the bag. Unique. Sturdy. Practical. Striking. Feminine—but not sickeningly so. An odd cross-roads. Which is how I view our friendship. In so many ways, we are such different people, yet our friendship works. And I'm so glad it exists.
I think that my process of picking out the bag is, itself, a good example of our differences. I was looking for all kinds of deep meaning during the buying process--which I obviously found--when in all actuality I should have just gone with my gut reaction and gotten the bright, fun pattern that reminds me of you. I think all things at all times and am accidentally sometimes overly serious. You try to stay present at all times and enjoy joking and taking things lightly.
Anyway...
I was going through some bags of stuff the other day and found this tiny little poem that I penned to give you with the bag. I wrote it as a picture of how I perceive our friendship and I didn't use a lot of words because I thought that simplicity was best. Since I ended up going back to the store and exchanging Paisley Meets Plaid for Indigo Pop, I didn't give you the poem. But I'm giving it to you now…with this confession...and a smile of gratefulness that you ended up with a pattern that you actually like and that you didn't have to pretend to be happy when I gave it to you.
"There's Beauty In The Stitching"
Paisley meets plaid,
Differences unite,
Opposites come together,
Form the fabric of life.
I have a confession to make. I didn't originally buy you Indigo Pop. It was the pattern that I was first drawn to when shopping for you. But the more I stood in the store and looked at patterns, the more confused I got. I debated what I knew of your color preference (which was that you don’t have a favorite color but that each color has a personality of its own) and who you are (which is a beautiful juxtaposition of many things) and I stood there for a long time waiting for a pattern to tell me to buy it.
And Paisley Meets Plaid is the pattern that I left the store with. It was the most unique pattern of Vera Bradley I had ever seen. And you, to me, are unique. The grey plaid in the background was very rustic--yet I thought very pretty. I knew that the bag would travel well and hide dirt--and you travel a lot. And I thought that how the grey plaid was paired with the pink paisley was an odd combination--kind of like your desire to go camping and dig worms and be outdoors and not really care about showering every day mixed with the fact that you are absolutely gorgeous and so well put together. I wouldn't usually put those two characteristics together. But they are you. They are completely you. And they are completely lovely--which is how I viewed the bag. Unique. Sturdy. Practical. Striking. Feminine—but not sickeningly so. An odd cross-roads. Which is how I view our friendship. In so many ways, we are such different people, yet our friendship works. And I'm so glad it exists.
I think that my process of picking out the bag is, itself, a good example of our differences. I was looking for all kinds of deep meaning during the buying process--which I obviously found--when in all actuality I should have just gone with my gut reaction and gotten the bright, fun pattern that reminds me of you. I think all things at all times and am accidentally sometimes overly serious. You try to stay present at all times and enjoy joking and taking things lightly.
Anyway...
I was going through some bags of stuff the other day and found this tiny little poem that I penned to give you with the bag. I wrote it as a picture of how I perceive our friendship and I didn't use a lot of words because I thought that simplicity was best. Since I ended up going back to the store and exchanging Paisley Meets Plaid for Indigo Pop, I didn't give you the poem. But I'm giving it to you now…with this confession...and a smile of gratefulness that you ended up with a pattern that you actually like and that you didn't have to pretend to be happy when I gave it to you.
"There's Beauty In The Stitching"
Paisley meets plaid,
Differences unite,
Opposites come together,
Form the fabric of life.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Worth More Than A Ginormous Diamond
I arrived at Candlestick Retreat Center around 4pm today. As I settled into my space for the week, I took in the familiar sights and smells that have surrounded me for one August week each year for the past six years and I breathed a peaceful breath of thanksgiving. I am grateful for this retreat center, for the people of FBC Aberdeen who invite me to join them here each year, and for the markers in time that Candlestick holds in my life.
As I was saying my hellos today, one of the chaperones who I have come to know and love asked what was new in my life this year—what had happened in the last year that was notable. Surprisingly, I didn’t know what to say—I didn’t know how to boil down a year in one or two statements. I still don’t. The best I can do is say that I turned 35, and while getting older has never been a big deal for me, this birthday has hit me pretty hard…with the realization that all of my friends my age are married and that most of them have children while I remain single with no prospect of marriage. I’m happy for my friends. I’m sad for me. And sometimes I get really lonely.
But alas…
Instead of dwelling on that aspect of turning 35, I want to focus on something that happened at my 35th birthday party. As we sat the dinner table, my nephew Griffin decided that we each needed to tell a story. In honor of my birthday, the stories were to be about me. While mostly everyone recounted the events of a true story, Griffin decided to make one up. This is what he said:
“Once upon a time, Dee went for a walk in the woods and as she was talking, she found a whole bunch of gold.”
Then he grinned as if he had just told the best story in the world. After we asked if there was more to the story, he said:
“And then Dee kept walking in the woods and found a whole bunch of gems.”
With the same satisfied grin, he looked at everyone in triumph. Once again, we asked if there was more, and he said:
“And then Dee kept going further into the woods and found a ginormous diamond.”
And that was it. In the story, I didn’t share the gold, gems, or diamond with anyone. I didn’t change my life by buying a whole bunch of cool stuff. I just found the loot…
…And Griffin found himself extremely proud of his story. And I caught myself thinking that my nephew’s creative spirit and radiant smile, in real life, were worth more than any gold, gems, or diamonds in the world.
As I was saying my hellos today, one of the chaperones who I have come to know and love asked what was new in my life this year—what had happened in the last year that was notable. Surprisingly, I didn’t know what to say—I didn’t know how to boil down a year in one or two statements. I still don’t. The best I can do is say that I turned 35, and while getting older has never been a big deal for me, this birthday has hit me pretty hard…with the realization that all of my friends my age are married and that most of them have children while I remain single with no prospect of marriage. I’m happy for my friends. I’m sad for me. And sometimes I get really lonely.
But alas…
Instead of dwelling on that aspect of turning 35, I want to focus on something that happened at my 35th birthday party. As we sat the dinner table, my nephew Griffin decided that we each needed to tell a story. In honor of my birthday, the stories were to be about me. While mostly everyone recounted the events of a true story, Griffin decided to make one up. This is what he said:
“Once upon a time, Dee went for a walk in the woods and as she was talking, she found a whole bunch of gold.”
Then he grinned as if he had just told the best story in the world. After we asked if there was more to the story, he said:
“And then Dee kept walking in the woods and found a whole bunch of gems.”
With the same satisfied grin, he looked at everyone in triumph. Once again, we asked if there was more, and he said:
“And then Dee kept going further into the woods and found a ginormous diamond.”
And that was it. In the story, I didn’t share the gold, gems, or diamond with anyone. I didn’t change my life by buying a whole bunch of cool stuff. I just found the loot…
…And Griffin found himself extremely proud of his story. And I caught myself thinking that my nephew’s creative spirit and radiant smile, in real life, were worth more than any gold, gems, or diamonds in the world.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Tiny, Salty Tears
On most weeks, I couldn’t do this because I usually cry at the drop of a hat. But this week, I’ve only gotten teary eyed three times, so I’m going to share about each of those moments, all of which are very different.
Moment One: I conducted SC WMU Youth Panelist interviews yesterday. The entire morning was an encouraging experience—talking with teenagers who really have things together—but one particular moment quietly moved me to tears. As I spoke with the last girl we interviewed, I asked if there was a particularly missionary who stood out to her. She responded that the missionary who stands out to her was one of the speakers from Blume last year—a young woman whose life was profoundly and dramatically changed by an Operation Christmas Child shoebox. She said, “I just really liked her story because Operation Christmas Child is my thing. I try to pack twelve boxes a year and keep my eyes open for things to put in the boxes throughout the year.” She went on to say that she used to try to pack one box per month, but since she learned about couponing and store sales, she tries to get supplies when she can save money.
Even now, as I write this, I am moved to tears. A teenage girl. Culturally expected to be focused on herself. Has the vision and desire to single-handedly stuff 12 shoeboxes per year. Using financial skills that exhibit wise stewardship. Completely, but quietly, living outside of herself. Twelve shoe boxes per year is one box per month AND one box for a girl and boy of every age level bracket that Operation Christmas Child serves. Twelve shoeboxes per year has the potential to change twelve lives per year. And this is coming from an American, public-school educated girl. This is coming from an Acteen.
Moment Two: I was watching the Olympics last night when I saw a human interest feature on John Orozco. While I’m a sucker for all of the human interest features—I love the dramatic music and video footage from the past—I hadn’t been moved to tears until the end of John’s piece last night. One of John’s main goals at the Olympics was to somehow make life easier for his family—to help ease their financial burden so that they wouldn’t struggle anymore. At the end, as John was talking about how important his parents were in his life, he said, “I just want to make them proud.” With tears in my eyes, I said aloud, “You already have, John. You already have. It doesn’t matter how well you perform. You have made them proud by just being you.”
Again, I find myself with tears in my eyes. There he was, an Olympian who had accomplished so much in his life, still just wanting to make his parents proud. We put so much pressure on ourselves to perform—to be accepted—to earn approval—to be loved—yet, really, we are already loved…not because of our accomplishments but because of who we are. I wanted to remind John of that last night. [Shoot. I've wanted to remind all of the Olympians of that.] And I’m sure his parents wanted to remind him, too.
Moment Three: This morning, Facebook suggested that I become friends with someone who used to be a really good friend (in real life). As a form of self-discipline, I rarely allow myself to send friend requests, rather I wait for the requests to come to me. She hasn’t sent a request, so we are not FB friends. Yet. Like a dufus, I broke my other rule of self-discipline and went to this friend’s page to see if anything was public. It was. And I found myself looking at pictures of a terrible car wreck that almost took both her and her children’s lives. The wreck happened last week. I had no idea. I cried. I cried for the wreck, yes. But I also cried for how time, distance, and life can pull persons apart.
Isn’t it amazing how tears can come from so many different feelings and emotions?
Inspiration, Hope, and Encouragement.
Love, Respect, and Belief in others.
Relief, Loss, and Grief.
All in the form of tiny salty tears.
Moment One: I conducted SC WMU Youth Panelist interviews yesterday. The entire morning was an encouraging experience—talking with teenagers who really have things together—but one particular moment quietly moved me to tears. As I spoke with the last girl we interviewed, I asked if there was a particularly missionary who stood out to her. She responded that the missionary who stands out to her was one of the speakers from Blume last year—a young woman whose life was profoundly and dramatically changed by an Operation Christmas Child shoebox. She said, “I just really liked her story because Operation Christmas Child is my thing. I try to pack twelve boxes a year and keep my eyes open for things to put in the boxes throughout the year.” She went on to say that she used to try to pack one box per month, but since she learned about couponing and store sales, she tries to get supplies when she can save money.
Even now, as I write this, I am moved to tears. A teenage girl. Culturally expected to be focused on herself. Has the vision and desire to single-handedly stuff 12 shoeboxes per year. Using financial skills that exhibit wise stewardship. Completely, but quietly, living outside of herself. Twelve shoe boxes per year is one box per month AND one box for a girl and boy of every age level bracket that Operation Christmas Child serves. Twelve shoeboxes per year has the potential to change twelve lives per year. And this is coming from an American, public-school educated girl. This is coming from an Acteen.
Moment Two: I was watching the Olympics last night when I saw a human interest feature on John Orozco. While I’m a sucker for all of the human interest features—I love the dramatic music and video footage from the past—I hadn’t been moved to tears until the end of John’s piece last night. One of John’s main goals at the Olympics was to somehow make life easier for his family—to help ease their financial burden so that they wouldn’t struggle anymore. At the end, as John was talking about how important his parents were in his life, he said, “I just want to make them proud.” With tears in my eyes, I said aloud, “You already have, John. You already have. It doesn’t matter how well you perform. You have made them proud by just being you.”
Again, I find myself with tears in my eyes. There he was, an Olympian who had accomplished so much in his life, still just wanting to make his parents proud. We put so much pressure on ourselves to perform—to be accepted—to earn approval—to be loved—yet, really, we are already loved…not because of our accomplishments but because of who we are. I wanted to remind John of that last night. [Shoot. I've wanted to remind all of the Olympians of that.] And I’m sure his parents wanted to remind him, too.
Moment Three: This morning, Facebook suggested that I become friends with someone who used to be a really good friend (in real life). As a form of self-discipline, I rarely allow myself to send friend requests, rather I wait for the requests to come to me. She hasn’t sent a request, so we are not FB friends. Yet. Like a dufus, I broke my other rule of self-discipline and went to this friend’s page to see if anything was public. It was. And I found myself looking at pictures of a terrible car wreck that almost took both her and her children’s lives. The wreck happened last week. I had no idea. I cried. I cried for the wreck, yes. But I also cried for how time, distance, and life can pull persons apart.
Isn’t it amazing how tears can come from so many different feelings and emotions?
Inspiration, Hope, and Encouragement.
Love, Respect, and Belief in others.
Relief, Loss, and Grief.
All in the form of tiny salty tears.
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