Book Review: Bad Idea a novel (with coyotes)

It's been a long time - years, even - since I've read a book good enough to consume an entire Sunday afternoon. I changed into pyjamas at 2 o'clock, brewed a pot of tea and enjoyed a good, long read.

In Bad Idea, the Hafer brothers combined the angst of the teen years with enough humor to pull the reader through a difficult story. The main character and narrator, Griffin, reminded me of Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye in his sarcasm and intelligence. Unlike Holden, though, Griffin sees the good in people of true faith and he despairs of ever reaching their level of goodness. He logics his way to self-mutilation as a means to salvation or something near it.

The book is set on a road trip Griffin is taking with his dad and his dad's cliché, I mean, fiancé. But most of the story doesn't happen there. In a masterful use of flashbacks and inner thoughts, the Hafer brothers tell us all about Griffin, from the smart Christian teen he appears to be to the tormented, lost child of divorce that is his reality.

Bad Idea steps outside the bounds of a novel you would expect from a Christian book publisher, but not in a bad way. It's smart and it doesn't skirt the fact that Christians face real temptations and succumb to real sins that destroy themselves and those around them. If you read Christian fiction to escape the problems of real life, you may not enjoy this book. But if you'd like a ride inside the head of a teenager whose security has been jerked away from him, this is one the best books I've read in a long time.

Don't even ask about the coyotes. You'll just have to read it for yourself.

Missing Out

This weekend is the World Missions Workshop in Lubbock, TX. I've never attended one in Lubbock, but I've been to similar workshops in Abilene, Searcy, Nashville, Henderson, and Malibu. And no matter where they take place, it's like a big family reunion.

College students, fresh blood, excited to get out there and change the world.

Missionaries with a little experience under their belts, eager to share newly gained wisdom.

Older missionaries, whether still on the field or not, trading war stories and seeking out new recruits.

Missions committee members, teachers, family and friends-- dreamers all. These are the people who not only imagine the world as a better place, but who march out to make it so. These are the people who stand up for what they believe and who change lives on every continent. These are the people who, whether in ignorance or in faith, set aside their own temporary comfort for the eternal comfort of souls. These are the people who hug their children good-bye at the airport, cheering and waving and hiding their tears until the plane takes off.

I love these people. They're my family.

lessons learned addendum

Another thing we learned at the electric company is to never approach an opened transformer box. Back away and call 9-1-1. Apparently a man in our county had never been on this field trip, though.

The front page of this morning's paper showed a picture of a transformer station, 2 EMTs and a stretcher carrying a covered body. A man broke into the station to steal copper wire and was electrocuted. He died.

Lesson learned.

lessons learned

Opposites attract.

All water flows to the ocean.

It takes more energy than my kids can generate to run a hair dryer.

Natural gas prices affect us, too.

It takes a lot of children to equal 1300 pounds.

These are all truths we learned on our field trip to the public utilities district.

Of course what my kids learned was, morning field trips are great 'cuz then you don't have to do math.

First Date

Does every couple have a bad first date story? We had dinner with some friends this week who told us about their first date-- his car broke down so he caught a ride to her house, but she thought they were meeting somewhere else. Her little brother insulted him, he had to ride the bus to get to where she was and, to top the evening off, he had to accept a ride home from a "guy friend" of hers and watch her ride off with the other guy at the end of the date.

For my first date with Edwin, he showed up at the door with Calla Lilies and Mom opened the door and asked, "Who died?" Then, as part of the date, we went to the mall and called his family from a pay phone.

The first thing my dad ever said to my mom (he denies it) was, "You're cute but your dress is too long."

Maybe there's something to facing awkwardness and foibles right up front. These 3 couples have been married 13, 18, and 42 years.

More on the Status Quo

A couple of days ago I explored the physical things I think I need. Turns out very few of them are actually needs. Most are attempts to keep up with the expectations of society, to find ease and safety. But if I flip my priorities the right way around, I find the truth in Jesus' words: it is difficult, if not impossible, for the rich to enter God's kingdom. If I ever want to fool myself into thinking I am not rich, I just have to open photo albums from Africa to remember what poverty looks like.

But what of the soul? What does my spirit crave? What do I need to thrive?

• Food - "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. " (John 6:35)
• Water - "Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'" (John 4:13-14)
• Clothing - "You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ." (Galatians 3:26-27)
• Shelter - "Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings." (Psalm 63:7)
• Health - "Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." (Isaiah 40:30-31)

Why, if God offers not only what we need, but abundantly, overflowingly more, do I still feel hungry? Why do I thirst yet not drink of what he offers? Why do I feel tired and weak?

I think I, and probably many others, have gone to the wrong source. I attend church on Sunday and expect to be fed. I drink from cultural books about the church and I still feel thirsty. I look for safety in the company of friends only to find that they are flawed and feeble, too.

When I started the first part of this the other day, I was going to conclude with, "the church needs to do this, be this, change this," to meet people's needs, but as I've let my thoughts spill out, I realize that my emphasis was misplaced. If I go to the source, the spring of living water, to fulfill my needs, I will be filled with the overflow of God's rich gifts-- and I'm not talking money here. If I'm overflowing, then I've got something to share.

The Status Quo

Is it possible to be content in all circumstances, yet dissatisfied with the status quo?

When the apostle Paul talked about being content in all circumstances, he spoke of his financial situation. He said he'd learned the secret of contendedness whether rich or poor (and, a little more pointedly, whether the Philippians sent him money or not, but thanks for finally sending some). But I don't see that he was content with the state of the church in so many places he visited. He hoped for something better for them-- for freedom from sin, for love toward each other, for growth in the spirit.

Doesn't it feel like we get that upside-down sometimes? I know I do. I find myself complaining about what I can't afford (right now it's the $2500 transmission job that our van desperately needs or another van to replace it), forgetting that there is really very little that I NEED.

• Food (Even rice and beans is all I need, I certainly enjoy a variety of tastes.)
• Water (At some point, clean running hot and cold water inside the house became a necessity in the West, but it's really not a need. It's a convenience.)
• Clothing (In so many places, people have only the clothes on their backs. I can't even keep up with the mounds of laundry we go through around here.)
• Shelter (A roof, some warmth is nice.)
• Health (I'm not sure where the idea came from that we should be able to live completely pain-free lives. I like the idea, but it's just not a reality for most people.)

I complain so often because I can't afford this or that, I can't sign the kids up for such-and-such an activity because it's too expensive, but I really have all the physical stuff I need, and more.

In my spiritual walk, though, I sometimes feel like I'm settling for less than what God offered. His grace is abundant, his peace is beyond comprehension, his joy bubbles up and overflows. But I sit back and pat my belly. "No thanks, I'm stuffed," I say, like I'm on some kind of starvation diet.

(to be continued)

no longer a beginner

You know how when you start something new, it's awkward and strange and you're sure you'll never catch on? Like long division or riding a bike or doing a cartwheel?

Or running through the basics of martial arts? When we started TaeKwonDo a few months ago, I had to twist my body in all sorts of directions I never imagined. In fact, the way I learned how to do certain moves was to imagine how I thought they should be done and do the opposite. My arms wanted to go every which wrong way.

But, just like teacher Tony said, practice brings understanding and skill. And today we were rewarded with a little recognition of that skill-- yellow belts.

So, I'm nowhere near an expert, but I'm learning. And I'm proud of my 54 sit-ups in 90 seconds, my 43 push-ups in the same amount of time (not the girly kind either), going through my forms and sparring with tough guys. Okay, they weren't really sparring back, so that might not count.

I'm happy to change from looking like a marshmallow, to a marshmallow with a yellow belt.

Be Among the First to Own...

And now, ladies and gentlemen, may I present...

MY MOM'S BOOK!

After 30 years of thinking and dreaming, 3 years of researching and writing, 3 months of wrestling with self-publishing, JESSIE: the story of a genteel lady in frontier Alaska is in print and available for purchase.

It has been an interesting journey so far, one that has paralleled my own in many ways, but now she pulls out in front of me in offering her novel to the world.

So, world-- how 'bout it?

The book is available at lulu.com. Once there, do a search for Betty Wyatt and you'll find JESSIE. The price to order from lulu is $14.99 plus shipping. Or, if you'd rather and you're localish, Mom is offering to pay the shipping for those who buy directly from her. And that way you can get it inscribed, too!

Phase Two

Voila! The second wall is painted! All it lacks it a little glow in the dark paint to bring the stars out at night. I'm going to try to pretend I didn't hear the third child ask for paint in her room, at least for a couple of weeks.

instead of counting sheep

I've never suffered from insomnia. Or rather, I don't let insomnia bother me. If I can't sleep, I use it as an opportunity to read or surf the net or pray. This week, though, I've woken in the middle of the night every night, unable to sleep, but unable to concentrate, too.

I want to submit a story about a beach memory to a compilation book, but I'm having trouble coming up with the right story. So this week, in the middle of each night, I've been taking an inventory of beaches I've visited to put me back to sleep.

Here are the ones I remember, from (kind of)East to West.

Mombasa, Kenya
Grand Popo, Benin
La Plage, Robinson, and Ramatou, Togo (and various points between Aneho and Lome)
Elmina Castle, Ghana
Coconut Grove, Ghana
Marseille and Nice, France
Tortolla, Virgin Islands
Marguerita Island, Venezuela
Rehobeth and Bethany Beach, Delaware
Palm Beach, Florida
Hermosa, Redondo, and Zuma Beach, California
Newport, OR
Canon Beach and Hug Point, OR
Ft. Stevens, OR
Long Beach, Ilwaco, and Gray's Harbor, WA
Kalalok, WA
Sand Point and Cape Alava, WA
Dungeness Spit and other beaches on the Straights of Juan de Fuca, WA
North Beach, Ft. Worden, Kala Point, Indian Island and other beaches on the Quimper Peninsula, WA
Auke Rec, Sandy Beach, and others in Juneau, AK
Dyea, Admiralty Island, Portland Island, Pelican and others in the Inside Passage, AK
Barrow, AK

I have many, many happy beach memories and very few bad ones. How about you?

pbththth!

I'm really bummed about switching over to blogger beta since it made me lose touch with everyone in Comment World. I cannot post or receive blogs from regular blogger. It turns out that becoming a beta-ite (betazoid?) made me lose my identity as a regular blogger.

The helpers said that eventually EVERYONE will be switched over to what is now the beta program. (You, too, will be assimilated). In the meantime, here is my solution:

1. I started a new blog in the original version of blogger so I can leave comments on your blogs. The address for the blog is http://inkconcerto.blogspot.com. I've been wanting to start a new blog anyway, to host my writings on writing. Don't feel obligated to follow that blog, but do feel free to drop by from time to time to see what's up in my writing life.

2. I'd love for you to leave comments on this blog. Until you are assimilated, though, I'll have to moderate your comments (don't be offended-- it's the only way I can get them to post). So sign in as "other" and leave your comments.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled blog.

John 15

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so it will be even more fruitful... No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing... This is my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you... This is my command.

Love each other.

Jesus is the vine, the root, the life giver; God, the gardener.

I am but a branch. My only job is to stay stuck on the vine. Beyond that, it's all up to the plant and the planter. Even fruit bearing is ultimately not my job. If I'm attached to the life source and if the gardener has pruned me well, I'll produce good fruit. Just as the branch cannot will itself to produce fruit when it sees the gardener headed over with the lopping shears, so I cannot force fruit out of myself.

It is the product of living water flowing through my heart.

books, books, books!

Book tag-- now that's more like it! And at such a great time. The very first copy of Mom's book arrived yesterday. It's beautiful. I am so proud of her. For those of you who are waiting to buy your copy, we've got to comb through this one for errors first. I'd say within a week or two she'll be ordering her first batch to sell.

And now, on with the game!

BOOK THAT CHANGED MY LIFE (BESIDES THE BIBLE):
Jessie: the story of a genteel lady in frontier Alaska by Betty Wyatt
Healing Grace by David A. Seamonds
Financial Peace University by Dave Ramsey


BOOK I'VE READ MORE THAN ONCE
Letters from Togo by Susan Blake
Edge of Eternity by Randy Alcorn
Where There Is No Doctor
Mike Mulligan and the Steam Shovel (and a host of other picture books)


BOOK I WOULD TAKE WITH ME IF I WERE STUCK ON A DESERT ISLAND
Foxes Book of Martyrs
1,001 things you can do with palm leaves

BOOK THAT MADE ME LAUGH
Dave Barry's Only Travel Guide You Will Ever Need


BOOK THAT MADE ME CRY
God's Smuggler by Brother Andrew
Sayonara by James Michener
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

A BOOK I WISH I HAD WRITTEN
The Great American Novel


A BOOK I WISH HAD NEVER BEEN WRITTEN
Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler

BOOK I'VE BEEN MEANING TO READ
The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay
Hercule Poirot Quitte La Scene par Agatha Christie


BOOKS I'M CURRENTLY READING
Rebecca's Heart by Lisa Harris
The Taking by Dean Koontz
Detours by Bette Nordberg
How To Read the Bible for All Its Worth by Fee and Stuart

OTHER FAVORITES
Tisha
Mister God this is Anna
When Choice Becomes God
Anne of Green Gables
The Hiding Place

I TAG
Dad, Entropy, Sara, Lori, and Shelli. If you don't have a blog, post your list in my comment box. I want to add your favorites to my list of books I'm intending to read!

More Bad News for Pluto

Poor Pluto.
As if it wasn't bad enough to be stripped of his planethood.
Now he's been assigned a number, like a common criminal.
I can just see him clinking his tin cup on the bars and crying out for justice.
The warden glares at him. "#134340-- quiet down!"
The unjustly punished former planet hangs his head and mutters, "The name is Pluto."

**Don't worry. This is not an ongoing topic. It's just that the strength of my own reaction to Pluto's demotion surprised me. Maybe it's because I was always the shortest kid in my class. Maybe it's because my 5th grade teacher got a kick out of singing "Short People Got No Reason To Live" whenever I was around.

Flibber-o-loo

Big Idea's Veggie Tales has been picked up by a major network as a Saturday morning cartoon. NBC said they would buy new episodes in their original format, if Big Idea would remove the Bible verse segment at the end of each show.

Done.

Then, apparently, the executives at NBC actually watched an episode or two and found out that Veggie Tales is religious programming to the bones. They insisted that the whole show be changed. I've read a couple of blogs by outraged Christians insisting that this represents a double standard. The networks tell parents it is their responsibility to screen programs for language, violence and inappropriate content. But when programming has a Christian bent, NBC insists that it cannot condone such teaching.

God forbid we should teach about sharing, loving, and cooperating.

Veggie Tales will air on NBC in its adapted format. Phil Vischer, creator of Bob the Tomato and all his friends, had some interesting things to say about the changes and the way we witness in the world. One thing that struck me is that the same network that refuses to air the vegetables quoting Bible verses is planning to show Madonna in concert, hanging on a cross, mocking the crucifixion.

Is it just me, or is the world upside down?

"There's no such thing as luck!"

I've been promising the twins for most of their lives that we would go to the circus. For the past 3 years, I've assured them that this is the year! Of course, things came up and we haven't taken them to the circus yet, despite the fact that they've had Ringling Bros. tickets tucked away in their files for 11 years.

This is the year. I promised.

The problem with the tickets they have is that we had to go down to the box office to get assigned seats. I'd been putting it off and putting it off. I don't really do downtown driving by myself. But I didn't want to drag my husband down to the arena, so I decided to brave the traffic and the unknown parking situation and take the kids down myself.

104.1 the Fish, our local Christian radio station, announced they would be giving away circus tickets on Friday at noon. What better time to go since we had to go anyway? So we arrived exactly at noon and made our way through the maze of corridors, navigating past the tile layers and through the bowels of the building with the help of a construction foreman.

20 minutes late, I was sure the tickets would be gone. But when we reached the edge of a small crowd of people, they let us through to the front.

"Too many people showed up," the station representative said. "So we're having a drawing. We'll draw 3 winners every 10 minutes." I glanced at my watch. We could only stay for 2 drawings and then we'd have to go.

The 2nd name pulled from the box was Bethany's! She went forward and claimed her 4 tickets. A few minutes later, her sister was chosen to receive a free CD of her choice.

"Wow!" I said, "You guys are so lucky!"

"There's no such thing as luck," Bethany said. "It's a blessing!"

A blessing indeed. As are my children.

Moving Day

While I may not be the first on the block to own the latest gadget, I do like to mix things up a bit from time to time.

So today I moved my blog. It should still pull up in the same spot for you, but I'm trying out the beta version of blogger, tying it in with my email and Picasa accounts. I've been happy with Google's other beta programs, so I expect I'll like this one, too.

Tell me what you think of the changes.

Searching for Hidden Meaning

We like to look for hidden meanings, to search out the deeper nuances of scripture, even when they are not there.

I sat in a Bible class once where we read the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000. A woman near the front raised her hand to ask a question. "I notice it says here that the people sat on the green grass. Does this symbolize new life?"

I chuckled at the question, then sat in disbelief as the teacher and a couple of others proceeded to discuss the meaning of the word "green" for ten minutes. Couldn't it just mean the grass was green?

Last week I sat in another Bible class where we read through the story of Samson. When we reached the story of him killing a lion, a woman asked, "Is it symbolic that he killed a lion?" Someone else piped in to suggest that it referred to Jesus in Revelation as a lion. (I wanted to throw in that it could just as well refer to Satan as the roaming lion, but I refrained.)

Sometimes I think we look so hard for some hidden, secret meaning that we miss the point. Jesus was going to perform a miracle. The people had to sit somewhere. Isn't it better to sit on the grass than the dirt? But the point is that Jesus is Jehovah Jirah, the Lord who provides.

And Samson was strong. (Not to mention that the lion dying set up the story for Samson to defile his parents, anger the Philistines, and start dishing out God's wrath against them.)

So while it's interesting and often appropriate to search the scriptures for depth and truth, sometimes its might just mean what it says.

Order out of Chaos

Bits of ideas churn in my head, disconnected thoughts until I get them down on paper and form them into an outline.

Dozens of Post-it notes piled on a table seem like a mess until we start to arrange them into the plot of a story or the pages of a website.

Children run wild, the house is a mess. Books and papers litter the floor. But as we settle down to start a new school year, a schedule emerges, the dishes are done, the folded laundry stacks grow taller than the dirty clothes pile.

As much as I love vacation, I'm always ready for the normalcy the routine of the school year brings. I wonder if it's a function of being created in the image of the God who took a handful of chaos, mixed it up with a bunch of nothing and created the order of the universe.

Bread and Jam for Francis

Oatmeal.

Mushy, squishy oatmeal.

Slimey, gray, drippy oatmeal.

Tabitha loves it.

So much she wanted it for every meal for two and a half days. And in one of my finer moments as a mother, that's what she got.

Every meal.

Every snack.

Every dessert.

Just like Francis in Bread and Jam for Francis. And now, lo and behold, she'd ready to taste things like lasagna, pork and green beans.

And she still likes oatmeal.

Back to the Good Old Days

There was a book I loved about a nice old man who owned the corner ice cream shop. He would always weigh out nuts and candy for his customer and then add a few more in, just to be nice. He would always scoop a small scoop of ice cream inside the cone, then put a bigger scoop, with ruffly edges on top of the cone.

One day the old man got sick. His nephew, who knew all about new fangled business practices, came to take over. He would carefully weigh out nuts and candy, but would take a few away as he poured them in a bag. He would scoop a small scoop of ice cream inside the cone, then hand it to the waiting customer without adding the bigger scoop with the ruffly edges.

Business at the shop got worse and the young man couldn't understand it until his uncle explained about taking care of the customer. The nephew changed his business practices and sales picked up.

Unfortunately, business in America has not followed this trend. I'm so tired of going into the big box stores who never have what I'm looking for. I went to two huge national chain stores this week looking for help changing the tint of some paint I have. I didn't even find anyone who would try to help me.

So, I headed to the neighborhood hardware store, where I met Rob. As if he didn't have anything better to do, he listened to my question. He then took the time to match the color of paint I already have, then look up how to change it to the shade I want. He probably spent half an hour mixing pigments and testing to see if he'd reached the right shade. He even pulled out a hair dryer to dry the sample and show us what color it was.

Total cost: $1

Discovering a bit of small town America in the middle of strip-mall-land: Priceless

tanagrams

You know those puzzles where all the pieces fit together until you dump them out on the table and try to put them back in again?

That's what just happened to my living room.

3 lamps.

3 chairs.

A futon.

A piano.

A dog bed.

2 violins.

A harp.

And two trunks. All fit perfectly in place until I decided it was time to rearrange the furniture.

I needed help moving the piano, so once it was in its new spot and my husband left for work, I was stuck with that decision. Picture the tanagram with one piece glued down, whether it's in the right place or not. Now picture having to move the remaining pieces around it without going outside the lines.

Twenty tries later, I finally solved the puzzle. (Is it considered solved if you throw two pieces out in the process?)

"We stopped counting at 3000..."

Aleda Mae Hubbell
1918-2006

The funeral chapel was full yesterday as young and old paid their respects to Aleda Mae. Though she was housebound for the last 15 years of her life, she never lost touch with all of us.

Aleda Mae was probably best know for her crocheted kitchen towels. When Gene asked for a show of hands of how many mourners had received towels from Aleda Mae, every hand in the chapel went up. Her towels went out, with her prayers and love, all over North America, and into Africa, China, and Eastern Europe. The family stopped counting how many she made when she reached 3000.

I know for a fact that several dozen grace the prized kitchen collections of many Togolese women.

I loved Aleda Mae. She had a touch of mischief in her to let us all know she was human, otherwise we would have knighted her "angel" years ago. Birthday and anniversary cards, crocheted baby blankets, home-cooked meals around her table, and-- of course-- piles of kitchen towels, poured from her generous hands to me.

I hope to learn from her how not to die until I'm dead or, in other words, how to live and keep on living until I live forever.

I'll miss you Aleda Mae. Could you make some kitchen towels for me to go in my mansion over the hilltop? I think I'd like them in azure blue.

Market Day, le Jour du Marché, Asigbe

Around the world, in villages and cities, on every continent, people congregate at outdoor markets to sample, socialize, and stock up. Each market has its own flavor, its own specialty. Each offers a symphony of sounds, tastes and smells that combine into a colorful composition. Wherever you are, you can reconnect with the land and the people by spending a morning at the market.




Albertville, France
Honey made only from raspberry blossoms, cheese from cows who dine only on alpine clover in the Savoie region, old men in berets who carry on the traditions of many generations.

Tabligbo, Togo
Dried fish wrapped in cardboard, colorful fabrics, juicy fresh pineapple, voodoo dolls, pedal-powered machete sharpeners, shouts and echoes of "Yovo!"

Kampala, Uganda
Tourist trinkets-- carved animals, baskets, soapstone carvings.

Caracas, Venezuela
China town. A blend of Spanish and Chinese, but no English. Long green gourds, fresh fish slapped out on tables, chopsticks by the hundreds.

Seattle, Washington
Incense, flying fish, a wall covered with ABC gum. Face painters, antique books, market spice tea.

Albuquerque, New Mexico
Propane fires roaring across rotating wire drums filled with fresh green chilis, blackened chili skins flake to the ground leaving soft, smokey flavor-packed pods.

Nairobi, Kenya
Ramshackle kiosks, pineapple and bananas, chocolate Milo, tomato can lamps, vervet monkeys begging for scraps.

Bucharest, Romania
Pan flutes, tomatoes, porcelain tea pots. Red and white table runners, flies on butchered beef.

Maragarita Island
Rainbow painted parrots, woven grass hats, absent vendors, pouring rain.

Portland, Oregon
Headgear formed from kitchen utensils, soup stands to feed the homeless, elephant ears and pad thai, hand-turned pottery, buskers and bridges.

At an intergalactic bar in the Delta Quadrant

Bartender: Wow, you look like you've had a rough day. Can I get you something to drink?

Sphere: A rough week, actually. I'll have a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. Make it a double.

Bartender (mixing the drink): What happened, man?

Sphere: I got demoted. You'd think 76 years on the job would give me seniority, but NO!

Bartender: You can always get another gig, can't you?

Sphere: You don't even recognize me, do you? (Sphere starts to cry)

Bartender (hands over a cocktail napkin. Sphere wipes his face on it): Um, I know I've seen you before, but I can't place your name.

Sphere: It's PLUTO! Pluto. I used to be a planet, but now... now I'm just a dwarf.

Bartender: That stinks. Well, look at the bright side-- at least now you can be king of the dwarves!

Pluto (bursting into tears): Oh, the humility of it all! No, I can't even be king of the dwarves. Turns out they gave that position to 2003 UB313-- Xena. Whaa-a-a! If they melted off all her ice, she'd be way smaller than me.

Bartender (patting Pluto's shoulder): There, there. That's the same argument Texas has used for years, but Alaska is still the biggest state. I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to your new position.

Pluto: Solar system restructuring stinks. Get me another drink.

Abiding Darkness: Author Interview and Book Review

Abiding Darkness: The Black or White Chronicles, Book One

A Book Review

Summers were most reliable.

They always followed spring. They always got hot. And they always promised twelve weeks of pleasure to the three children at Cat Lake.

The summer of '45 lied.

This promising beginning to Abiding Darkness by John Aubrey Anderson hooked me into reading more. Another hook at the end of the first chapter propelled me into the second. But a few well-turned teasers were not enough to hold my interest.

Life in Mississippi in the 1940's was frought with racial tension. Anderson explores this struggle through the life-like voices of his characters. Add on top of that a group of demons intent on bringing about chaos through the destruction of Missy, the golden child of the town, and you've got a story with a lot of potential.

Unfortunately, I didn't see Anderson carry through on that potential. He didn't make me love Missy the way the people of Cat Lake did, so while I could never root for the demons, I also didn't find myself rooting for the little girl, either. I found his action scenes confusing, with too many points of view for me to engage myself in the struggles of any one character.

Anderson has a way with words. He does a great job of making his characters speak like real people, of giving each a distinct voice. I also like the fact that he is exploring supernatural forces in his writing. So, while I can't recommend Abiding Darkness, I will keep my eyes open for later works by this same author. I think he has the potential to write a thrilling yet satisfying read.

A FEW QUESTIONS WITH JOHN AUBREY ANDERSON
Author of Abiding Darkness

(provided by Glass Road PR)

Why did you choose to write in this particular time period?

It's almost as if the series started of its own accord. It chose the 1940s because it was such a special time…it picked the Mississippi Delta of the 1940s because it was a special place. The value system was different back then. People moved at a slower pace over shorter distances and information exchange was limited. The communities were smaller; the people were closer and more involved in each others lives. Also, the people of that day didn't have to be strange to be colorful.

Did you draw from personal experiences to write this novel?

Oh, yes. The adventures and exploits that made up my childhood would provoke the envy of Tom Sawyer, but sharing a small part of them would take more words than I used in the novel. Just think ideal…then add boys, dogs, and energy.

The characters seem very real. Where did you pick up the voices for these people?

I grew up with the people in Abiding Darkness. Granted, some of the characters are compilations of people I've known—half of one person and part of another. For the most part, all I had to do was just tweak them a little, maybe boost the octane in their blood a bit. As soon as I figured out who the characters were, the rest was easy…I let them use the voices they'd used all their lives.

Your book's depiction of demonic thought and activity is often frightening. How have your readers reacted to the book’s intensity?

I appreciate your comment about Abiding Darkness being frightening. When I started this project, I really wanted a fiction work that would steal its reader's sleep—and I got it. I frequently receive reports from people, men and women alike, who have found they can’t read the book at night. Some readers say they won’t read it when they're home alone, others tell me they can only read a page or two at a time, and a final handful talk about becoming so frightened they have to put it aside…all because they are scared of what might happen next. On the other side of that coin are the reports from people who've stayed up all night reading because they couldn't put the book down. The response has been more than gratifying.

Made Up Words

I love the way words feel as they tumble around in my mind. A well-written phrase brings more pleasure than a piece of chocolate-- honest. The transience of language intrigues me, the way words morph and grow to reflect a changing culture.

Here are a couple of words that might find their way into our dictionary some day.

truthiness: n. This word coined by Stephen Colbert refers to a person who feels the truth about something in his gut and isn't bothered by facts or logic to the contrary. If something feels truthy, it is truthy.

writerliness: n. Writerliness (term first used by Sol Stein) is the substance of writing that makes it a pleasure to read. Literary turns of phrase that captivate the reader are writerly.

smunch, squwitch, splot, kachink: Words that imitate sounds are great, like the sound an apple makes when you step on it (pahsquit) or the sound of a moth butting up against a window (whrthwick).

Do you have any favorite new words?

A Losing Battle

How many movies have made fun of the intrepid gardener taking on greedy critters-- moles, squirrels, deer, ants, squirrels, raccoons, mice, squirrels-- did I mention squirrels? How many times does the gardener win the battle. Hmm.

NEVER!

At my last house, raccoons and deer were the enemy. Especially the coons that would climb up onto our second story deck, pick each almost ripe tomato, take one bite and toss the rest, uneaten, to the ground.

Here, it's the squirrels. We have the most lovely walnut tree, limbs heavy with nuts, but not for long. Apparently our tree serves as a u-pick center for the entire metropolitan area. I kid you not, I was driving home the other day and had to stop 2 blocks away to let a squirrel cross the road, a round green nut from MY tree in its little mouth.

I resist the urge to run out and yell at them because of a theory I have. I believe that squirrels get a kick out of training people to do crazy things. I can just imagine them at Dad's house, whispering to each other.

Squirrel 1: "Stay back here by the bird bath. I've got to show you this trick."
Squirrel 2: "Over here? Do I need to hide or anything?"
Squirrel 1: "Nah. The more of us he sees, the better."

Squirrel 1 then proceeds to climb the bird feeder and help himself to two cheeks full of sunflower seeds. Dad jumps to the window, waving his arms and yelling. He flips the window handle to make more noise. Squirrel 1 cocks his head with a twinkle in his eye and scurries back to his friend's side.

Squirrel 2: "That was pretty good. How long did it take you to train him?"
Squirrel 1: "Not long, but you have to use intermittent reinforcement to get increasing reactions."

I'm afraid of what I might resort to if I started reacting. Doesn't the gardener in the movies usually end up in a straightjacket while the intruding rodent sits back in a lawn chair and sips lemonade?

fragrant offerings

Another angel, who had a golden censer, came and stood at the altar. He was given much incense to offer, with the prayers of all the saints, on the golden altar before the throne. The smoke of the incense, together with the prayers of the saints, went up before God from the angel's hand.
Revelation 8:3-4 (NIV)

We are a fragrant offering, the aroma of Christ to those who are saved and those who are perishing. Our prayers waft up to God on the wings of wisps of an angel's offering.

Fresh tomatoes on the vine.

Melting chocolate.

Rubbed lavender.

Fresh gardenias.

Simmering spices.

All the best fragrances were created by God, yet it is the aroma of a life of praise that smells the sweetest to the master and creator of all.

Tunnel Vision

If a project is complex enough to hold my interest, I tend to get tunnel vision. I set aside all other responsibilities until said project is accomplished. That's why I haven't written much this week. I haven't returned emails and I certainly haven't done any house cleaning.

Wall #1 of the 11-year olds' bedroom is complete. I asked for a couple of days off before starting the next wall, which will sport a space scene.

This is my first full-size wall mural. I've done stenciling before and, back in the day, I worked on set backdrops for school plays. It's not a masterpiece by any means, but it was fun to see a task come together in just a few days.

If only I could write a novel so quickly.

No Relation

Before I was capable of conscious thought, Jessie posthumously entered my life. She came in the form of photos, journals, fancy dishes, and Indian baskets. She came in the form of stories. She came in the light in Mom's eyes as she told visitors about acquiring Jessie's trunk from an Alaska State auction. I thought she was a distant relative, and was a bit disappointed to find that she was neither aunt nor grandmother, merely a fascinating lady with a fascinating story.

Jessie was born to a wealthy British family. She traveled with her father and mother in the early twentieth century to the Yukon territory and then into Alaska. Their trip came to a sudden and permanent halt on receipt of a telegram from England.

The world is at war. Funds inaccessible.

Mom has talked about writing down Jessie's story for years. For the past 2 years, she has been consumed by the task. A trip to Eagle, Internet research that has introduced her to new friends in Alaska, Arizona, and England, will soon reap their rewards.

Thanks to all of you who offered your input for the book cover. While I wish we could have featured the lady on the car's running board, unfortunately, it turns out that is not a picture of Jessie. So, taking that fact and so many opinions into account, I am pleased to present the (possibly) final cover for Mom's book. We hope to see it in print very soon.

electric blue and innocence

Electric Blue and Innocence-- they're not retro disco bands. They're the colors I am boldly splashing on walls. I've decided to take a short hiatus from writing this week in order to direct my creative energies elsewhere...

Store-bought Sludge

There's a filtration system in existance that I never noticed before I had kids. It's a sort of sifting that takes places in their bedrooms, in their drawers and toy boxes. And it works like this:

1)Everything they bring home goes into the giant tossed salad on their floor-- books, clothes, stuffed animals, Sunday school papers, crayons, Polly Pocket accessories-- everything.

2) I look in their room and say something like, "How can you live like this? It's disgusting. Clean it up." They counter with, "Do we have to really clean it or just the big stuff?" To which I normally reply, "Just do a quick cleaning so you can walk across the floor."* This begins the filtration process.

3) As toys, large and small, are tossed in baskets, bins and boxes, the biggest things stay on top while the small pieces find their way down through cracks to the bottom. Scraps of paper, pony tail holders, shoes and pen lids find their way under the bed. Barbie clothes climb, of their own free will, into the sock drawer.

4)Things begin to hide in plain site. Yesterday one of the twins spent hours looking for a paint set that was sitting on her shelf.

5) Clean up day-- We scrape the top layer of the toys aside and look at what is underneath. Most of what filters to the bottom of the box is either misplaced or unloved. In our cleaning adventure this week, we hauled 3 heaping laundry baskets of store-bought sludge to the garage for donation. 2 grocery bags full went out with the garbage this morning and one basket is full of treasures that need to go in storage (handmade baby dolls, baby blankets, outgrown favorite toys and clothes)

6) Stay tuned to see what we're going to do to jazz up the now clean room.

*Their last "quick cleaning took 7 hours and was back to its original cluttered state in less than a day, which prompted the thorough cleaning this week.

Imago Dei

One of the marks of the post-modern generation is that its members are searching for authenticity. They've had it with hypocrisy, with parents and teachers who tell them to act a certain way and then do the opposite. They've lost respect for authority because authority tends to say, "do what I say and don't ask questions."

The church has largely ignored the post-moderns because, after all, if they don't want to be told what to do, they certainly aren't looking for what God has to offer. Or, to be fair, perhaps we just don't know how to connect with them. Their loosy-goosy morality frightens us. When they ask questions, they aren't really looking for answers, so we shy away. The irony is that what God has to offer is exactly what they are looking for-- authentic life, real relationships, complete honesty.

On Sunday, we visited Imago Dei, a church less than a decade old which has successfully connected with this new generation. I don't know what "denomination" they belong to, but I suspect they would say that they're not into drawing lines, that life is complicated enough without erecting artificial border fences. I don't know what their stand is on all my favorite issues, but I do know that the words that came out of the preacher's mouth were pure gospel truth.

I'm also not saying I'm jumping ship at my church. I just think we have a lot to learn about connecting with people where they are and I'm interested in learning anything I can about bringing Christ to different cultures, whether next door or abroad.

Imago Dei and a few other churches in the area are deploying over a thousand Christians this weekend to reclaim run-down areas of town, restore them to their intended beauty, and name them sacred spaces, dedicated to God and his kingdom. I love this idea of claiming territory for God, and doing it alongside Christ followers, city workers, homeless bums, troubled teens, and landscape professionals.

How can Jesus not smile on that?

This is pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father, to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.
James 1:27 (NASB)

Boiled Frogs

Edwin says we're like frogs in a pot of boiling water in regard to gas prices. The prices go up, up, slowly up. When they drop a few cents, we sigh with relief and brace ourselves for the next big hit.

Well, brace yourself, 'cause the prices are going up again. Corrosion in the pipeline at Prudhoe Bay has shut down the Alaskan Pipeline, supplier of 8% of America's crude oil. If you're interested in the whole story, check out CNN, or just wait. You'll probably be bombarded with this story on local and national news throughout the day.

The pipeline was big news in a Alaska when I was a child. Men moved north for months to work on building the 800-mile long tube. It brought hope and riches to our great state. I remember standing by a cross-section of the pipe in the State Museum in Juneau (nowhere near the pipeline) and marveling at its size. I remember standing beside the long tube and thinking that it didn't seem quite as huge in person, just really long. And I remember looking at it from the air and noting what a tiny vessel it is against the vast Alaskan frontier.

The feats of man, incredible though they are, pale in comparison to God's wonders. The pipeline was built in my living memory and it's already corroding away. It will take some shoring up, some cleaning and scouring to get it back on track. Meanwhile, the caribou still graze alongside it. Denali still looms over it. Mosquitoes still butt against it.

And we sit in our nice warm bath of water, barely noticing the temperature change.

Another Vote

Thanks to all of you who left feedback about the book cover. We will be working up another cover design taking your comments into account and I'll share the new cover when it's ready.

I have the opportunity, as a Christian writer, to pass along free books to my blog readers. I've had several book reviews come across my desk that I have not posted because of some high-falutin' idea that to advertise books would somehow compromise the integrity of my blog. But this week, I read a description of a book that intrigues me so I asked for a free copy.

When I receive the book, what should I do with it? The choice is (sort of) yours. Cast your vote to let me know what you prefer.

A. I should post interviews to this blog and let you, the readers, have a chance to win a free book by commenting.

B. I should post book reviews on this blog and forget about letting you win the free copy.

C. I should start another blog just for posting interviews and book reviews.

D. I should forget the whole idea and just keep doing what I've been doing.

Life's a Journey. Enjoy the Ride

Camp Irondyke, Eastern Oregon

The thirsty ground baked to powdery dust in the scorching July sun. Twigs and branches crackled underfoot, ready to lap up any offering, whether fire or water. Smoke from nearby fires rose in giant grey plumes on the horizon. And God's people bathed in soothing streams of living water.

Fellowship with friends, old and new, and with family (also old and new) quenched a thirst I didn't know I had. In the middle of the week, we took some time off camp to visit Baker City and its Oregon Trail Interpretive Center. I could just picture the sunbonetted women trudging along beside the covered wagon, day after miserable day. They lived with fear of Indian attack, fear of Cholera and other deadly diseases, and hour after hour of crippling boredom.

I stood in the rut permanantly worn in the landscape by hundreds of thousands of wooden wheels, oxen hooves and tired feet. I imagine the sight of the Blue mountains up ahead broke many a spirit, but most pushed on... and on... and on.

Oregon Christian Writers, Canby Grove. Oregon

I stood in the midst of a crowd of writers (or should they be called a thesaurus of writers?), soaking in knowledge I thirsted to receive. While I appreciate all the advice on writing, publicity, agents, and marketability, what I longed for most, I received-- confirmation.

I wasn't looking for confirmation that my work is good or that I am somehow worthy to be a writer, though I did hear some of that. I wasn't looking for confirmation that I can help out with the family income by writing, though I would have liked to hear it.

What I did hear was, "Life's a journey, enjoy the ride." In other words, be faithful to what God called you to do and don't worry about whether you are successful in any worldly sense of the word. Use your talents and leave it to God whether he wants to use them for masses of people or for one specific soul. Let him grow you along the way and, always, give him the glory.

life upside down

We've had a lot of fun this summer... trips, camp-outs, sleepovers, cousins, friends, grandparents. It's been over a month since we've all been home together without anyone staying with us. And, while friends and relatives are certainly a blessing, I'm missing my own little family. I've lost touch with the kids and I've lost control of the house.

The next four days will be a challenge and a blessing. The kids will stay with a different family every day and my husband will have to figure out how to add transporting children to his already hectic schedule.

Meanwhile... I'll be at a writers' conference improving my skills and pitching my book. I'm excited about going, but the timing this year is awkward. I'd appreciate your prayers that I will be able to savor my time with Mom and in my classes and that I'll come home refreshed and energized.

The Little Book

Of all the good things I took away this week, I've got to say Silas Shotwell's teaching was at or near the top of my list. Good, sound Biblical teaching that was both interesting and practical. He taught out of the book of Phillipians, using Dr. Darby's Little Book as his outline. Below is the entire text of that book. A very few words, but enough to chew on for a life time.

Introduction

Be lighthearted and happy.

Page 1

Take care of your physical body.

Page 2

Don't fret.

Page 3

Don't magnify your problems.

Page 4

Don't say anything about anyone unless it's good.

Page 5

Control your thinking.

Off the edge of the World

Civilization is so over-rated. I'm in the middle of a week long family encampment in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon. We had to whack down some bushes to make a big enough spot to pitch our tent. Others who have attended camp for years have carved more complicated parking pads out of the woods.

So, while I've got a few minutes in town today, I'm headed back out to camp for another 3 days. Great Bible teaching, super fellowship, and all the pleasures of camping out.

See you all in a few days.

Let the Book Cover Judging Begin

"Don't judge a book by its cover," the old adage goes. But today, I'm asking you to do just that. Look at the 4 covers below, keeping in mind that each picture represents an entire book cover, front, spine, and back. (Imagine laying a book open on the table and looking at the whole cover). These covers are all possibilities for the same book. Which would you be most likely to pick up in the book store? Which one would you be most likely to buy? Please enter your votes and any thoughts on the different covers in the comments section.




 

Judging books by their covers

I know you're not supposed to do it, but I can't help myself. If I pick up a book and I don't like the cover, I'm not likely to read it.

I recently spent a couple of hours looking at book covers. I was scouring the Christian book store for novels that might have similar themes to my own. I noticed that you can actually judge books by their spines. Just by looking at the colors used on the book's backbone, I could tell if I was looking at a mystery, suspense, historical fiction or romance. The fonts give you even more clues, and if you read the back cover, you're likely to have a pretty good idea of what you're getting into.

Which is good since most of the books I looked at tonight cost between $14 and $28.

In the next few days, I'm going to ask you to judge a book by its cover.

Stay tuned.

Traveling Mercies

Prayer time ended yesterday with this thought: We have laid so many requests at your feet and have offered so little in return. All we can say is thank you. We didn't even pray for safety for our trip, leaving it in God's hands to teach and mold us through life's experiences.

Though Barb did call out "Traveling mercies!" as she left.

I was to pick up my two girls and two boys from two different families from their week at camp. I didn't plan on taking a passenger, but one of the boys' moms asked if she could ride along. I'm one of the only people in America without a cell phone. My passenger had a cell phone.

We headed down through I-5 traffic. Friday afternoon rush hour is a bear anyway, but an accident up ahead turned the freeway into a parking lot. A glance at the gas guage told me it was time to peel off the freeway and search for fuel. The surface streets were clear, but I didn't have a map of how to get where I was going. So I asked the gas station attendant, "How do I get to Hwy. 99?" He looked at me kind of funny and pointed to the road 5 feet out my window. "Your road is right there."

Back in the van, we took Hwy. 99 through several towns and out into the country. We pulled onto the gravel road that would take us the last 3 miles to the camp and slowed from 55 mph to 25 mph. Just as I was rounding the first curve, something snapped and we skidded toward the outer edge of the curve. As I tried keeping the car on the road, my passenger was thinking, "What a soft place to crash." For we were sliding toward a field of weeds, not a ditch or embankment or, worse, a cliff.

I thought we had a flat tire, so I got out and looked at each one. They all looked fine to me, so I got back in the car and tried to pull back into the middle of the road, but the tires couldn't get purchase. I was about to back up a ways to get a different angle when a black truck approached. The driver hopped out and kicked my tires for me, then backed up to get a look. He waved me out on the road to see what he saw. The front tires of the van were pointing in two different directions, like the van was pigeon-toed. "Looks like you broke an axle or a tie rod," he said. His wife hopped out of the car. "He should know," she said. "He's a mechanic."

I wanted to call my husband to ask him whether to get the car towed or leave it there to pick up later. "You'll never get service out here," the mechanic said. "Cell phones never work this far out." Just then, my passenger's phone rang!

I called Edwin and gave him the low down as my new mechanic friend felt around behind the tires. "Tell you what," he said, "you go on to camp and I'll see what I can do about fixing this for you." Another car pulled up, this one with a dad who was heading to the camp to pick up his girls. "Need a lift?" he asked. So I handed my keys to mechanic Bruce and his lovely wife Mary, forgetting to get any pertinent information from him like a last name or phone number, and went to camp.

The kids were glad to see me. We had fun at campfire. My friend arranged a ride for herself and the two boys. And I planned to camp out at camp for as long as it took. The other driver from my area was just loading sleeping bags in the back of her SUV when I got a call on the camp phone, my husband checking on me. I'd been okay up until then, but when I heard his voice, I got a little teary. Truthfully, I was nervous about driving home without a cell phone or another car following to make sure I made it. That is, if the van even got fixed and returned.

"Your car's here," someone shouted into the dark kitchen. I hung up the phone and went out to meet Bruce and Mary. "Here's your key," they said. "You'll need to get your tires aligned, but you're good to go."

"How much do I owe you?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Can I have your business card?"

"Nope. We don't want anything from you. We were headed out to dinner tonight and decided to leave a little early. Who knows? Maybe God needed us to be there for you. It's a blessing to be able to bless you. Have a great weekend." And they left.

Guardian angels or good samaritans? Either way, I'm thankful for God's traveling mercies.

on writing

It took me over three years to complete a first draft on my first novel manuscript. This week, I finished my second one. It took six months. Does that mean my next one will take three months and the one after that only six weeks?

I don't write much about my writing here, but finishing a manuscript (even if it is just the first draft) is a huge milestone to me. I now have three weeks to get ready for my writers' conference.

To Do

Finish first draft of Home Fires manuscript.

Check.

Write a synopsis of the story.

Check.

Order business cards.

Check.

Draft and polish a book proposal.

Polish first three chapters of manuscript.

Research agencies, publishers, and editors who will be at conference.

Start 2nd draft.

Keep ears open for ideas for project #3.

Dead Yovo Market

yovo: n. (yoh-voh) 1)white man 2) cunning dog

The dead yovo market in West Africa is the best place to buy western clothing. Clothing vendors buy shoes, pants, and other clothes by the pound to distribute to the public. I once bought a pair of Christopher & Banks slacks for $3. Apparently, the clothing in the dead yovo market comes from the merchandise that Goodwill and other clothing donation sites are unable to sell.

People call this area of the regular marketplace the "dead yovo market" because they can't imagine people getting rid of such nice clothes unless they are dead.

I just discovered a dead yovo market right here in our town. A friend took me there and I'm completely hooked. It's behind our regular Goodwill and it's called the Goodwill Outlet Store. It, like the dead yovo market, sells the things that didn't sell at Goodwill, by the pound. My friend calls shopping there "dumpster diving."

This type of shopping is neither for the faint of heart nor for those who have a specific need. For example, if you're looking for a fancy dress to wear to your nephew's wedding, you might want to go elsewhere. But if you're in the market for used clothes for yourself, your family, or someone you met at a potluck (or if you're a bargain hunter and enjoy the hunt more than the final product), then this kind of shopping is a blast.

All the clothes are dumped in huge bins and it's every man, woman or child for himself. Yesterday, we bought 50 pounds of clothes between us, for a total of $37. My portion of this take was only about 7 pounds, but I'm happy with my finds: a pair of REI shorts for Edwin, some shorts and jeans and pajamas for the twins, 3 dresses and a vest for the little one, a pair of hiking pants for me. The piece de resistance yesterday was a burgandy silk cocktail dress with black beaded fringe that Jessica is going to drool over.

Total cost: $4.32, to be paid to my friend in the form of fresh lettuce.

Oh, and the other day, I bought a pair of brand new Christopher & Banks jeans. They probably cost me a quarter.

Vive la France?

I am NOT a sports fan, but all three of the countries I've lived in were represented in the World Cup, the biggest sporting event on the planet. The U.S. and Togo were knocked out early, confirming my suspicions that some teams are in the competition only to make the top teams look good. But France, bless her, made it to the finals.

So, today, Edwin and I cheered and hooted and hollered for France.

Until the second overtime.

Then, the team captain, Zinedine Zidane, affectionately known as Zizou, head butted an opponent and was red-carded out of the match. A national icon, a legend of French sports, a man who reportedly played for many years with skill and integrity spent his last few minutes before retirement on the bench because he lost his temper. Sure, he may have been justified, but it's still a horrible way to go. (If you want to see the incident, click here to go to YouTube.)

France lost. She lost the game and the title. But the country still stands behind Zizou and holds him up as a hero.

It's good to have people to look up to, but things like what I saw today remind me that mere men are neither worthy nor capable of living up to their idol status.

Venus razors tell me that if I use their product it will release my inner goddess. You know what? I'd rather not, 'cuz if I let her out, there's no telling what horrid things she might feel justified doing. Maybe she'd want to head butt a guy when over a BILLION people are watching!

Story Telling

This morning at 10, I got to read a bedtime story to some little girls, some of whom were in their 60's, 70's and 80's.

I read them a story called Something From Nothing. It's the tale of a little boy whose grandfather makes him a blanket. The boy loves his blanket and uses it until it's all worn out. His mother wants to throw it away, but the boy insists on taking it to his grandfather for repairs. His grandfather cuts away the bad fabric and uses the remaining material to make a jacket. The story follows in a rhythm, with the boy wearing out his things and the grandfather making smaller and smaller gifts with the remaining fabric.

At last, there is nothing left. Nothing, that is, except a story.

Isn't that the way our life is? We were fed and clothed, we've received some pretty special gifts through the years. But all of that wears out, and in the end, all we have left is our story. I've been thinking about my kids' story. What legacy am I leaving them? What will they have that's worth telling?

I can't wait to hear.

Ken Lay "Released"

To say I was shocked to hear of the death of Kenneth Lay, Enron CEO and convicted felon, is a serious understatement. After several years in the U.S. criminal justice system and his recent conviction, Ken Lay still maintained his innocence in the collapse of the country's biggest energy company.

His sentencing hearing was scheduled for September 11, which struck me as a bad sign right off the bat. But not this bad a sign. Dead at the age of 64. Released from his obligations to court and country, but still, possibly, on the hook with a higher authority.

Mr. Lay was the son of a Baptist minister. He maintained his membership at a Methodist church. But who can say what his relationship was with God? Will he stand before God the judge or God the scapegoat?

No matter what those of us who work hard to do the right thing might say, our eternal destiny in not determined by what we do or don't do. It's not determined by how early or late we came to believe. It's not decided by the way we dress, the good deeds we've done or even the completeness of our understanding.

So, while we wait for the reactions to come out from people who think Ken Lay got what he deserved and others who wish he would have suffered longer for his crimes, let us pray for the day of our own "release" and beg the God of all mercy that justice not be served on us.

Independence

Fireworks, hot dogs, swimming pools and freedom of speech. It's easy to trivialize our liberties, but they are very, very precious.

On our drive through the Columbia Gorge this afternoon, we listened to a Broadway review called Capitol Steps. The entire show, while hilarious and well-rhymed, bashed the Bush administration, the republicans, the right-wing media and whoever else happened to be in power.

I've got to admit. I laughed. To be fair, I would have laughed if they were poking fun at the democrats, too. Inf act, the funniest song was the one of Al Gore singing "There's a Hole in the Middle of the Ozone."

And then I thought. What a privilege that we're allowed to say anything we want. Even with all the attention given to our loss of privacy, we are still incredibly privileged to have the right to speak out without fear of imprisonment or execution. We're even allowed to make fun of our president if we want.

The next news to come on the radio told of the missiles launched from North Korea. Now there's a country I don't know much about, except that their leader seems to be pretty cranky. I wonder if the North Koreans are allowed to say that.

My brother recently visited the People's Palace in Romania, built by order of Ceausescu. Talk about a cranky leader, but I don't think anyone complained out loud about him. Especially not on the radio.

Let's embrace our liberty, our right to speak out. And while we're at it, let's use that freedom to say something important.

Oh, and while we're talking about liberties, one freedom I'd love to see revoked is my neighbor's right to aim his fireworks at the top of my thirsty noble fir.

Home Alone

Although I consider myself something of a loner, I am never alone. In fact, yesterday afternoon was the first time I've been alone in this house, and we've lived here for seven months. Here's what I noticed about being alone.

1. Sesame Street did its job: The PBS show has raised questions among educators over what effect bites of colorful, animated information has on the attention span of children. I've spent so many years keeping my ears open to the cries and observations of little ones that I seem to have lost my ability to concentrate on any one task for more than twenty minutes at a time. I spent the afternoon bouncing from one little job to another and never finished anything.

2. Our house has a voice: I haven't had a real chance to listen to the house. It pops and crackles and creaks just like a good home should. I just usually can't hear it over all the other activity.

3. My suspicions were correct: "Not Me" does a lot of damage around here. "Not Me" leaves dirty dishes in the sink, drops cheerios under the table, and leaves popsicle sticks in the grass. "Not Me" apparently left with the kids since that little rascal didn't do any of those things yesterday.

4. I might not be a loner any more: Of all the things I noticed yesterday, one of the most striking was how sleepy I was in the silence. Being surrounded by noise and activity keeps me on my toes. Could it be that I do my best concentrating when surrounded by chaos? Surely not.

I miss my kids. A break is fun, but 24 hours is about enough.

Deliver Us From Evil

On CNN this morning, I watched a video clip about a new documentary called Deliver Us From Evil. What makes this film different is that the main subject, former Catholic Priest O'Grady, and admitted pedophile, speaks out for himself.

He blames, in turn, his parents, the church, and the parents of the kids he abused for giving him opportunities to continue in his sin.

His tendency to point his finger at others for his own heinous sins is not at all new. Wasn't that what Adam and Eve did when they committed the very first sin?

"She made me do it."

"But the snake said..."

Sin is ugly. But wouldn't it be better if we all admitted when we did something wrong, if we sought forgiveness instead of absolution, if we poured our energy into repentance instead of making excuses?

Disobedient Characters

I'm trying to get through the climax of a novel I'm writing and I'm getting fed up with my characters. They won't follow my lead.

Mike is supposed to be incensed about a betrayal, but he's more interested in eating donuts.

Mo should be running for her life, but she'd rather sit down and have another flashback.

Spencer is supposed to be slipping into a coma, but just refuses to get sick.

I meant for Zach to be a suspicious character with a shady past, but he's just too darn likeable.

And Allie, bless her heart, was supposed to be a main character, but she doesn't like the attention and she managed to hide in the background for most of the book. I've got to coax her out some how.

If only they would listen to me and stop taking on their own personalities, I might be able to finish this book.

Okay, guys, let's get back to work.

What do we know?

I'm reading a book right now, *A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. Each chapter goes something like this:

For hundreds of years, scientists believed this. Until about 1972, when they realized that the this they'd always believed was completely bogus and something else is really the truth. Or, at least, it might be. They're not quite sure.

The book (and history) follow this pattern when discussing outer space, sub-atomic particles, earth's atmosphere, earth's core, dinosaurs, and more. And I haven't even reached the chapters on life yet.

Isn't it amazing that after thousands (or billions) of years, we humans really don't fully understand anything?

Isn't it comforting to serve a God who does?

An Invitation to Visit Gary

When I think of the most giving, the most selfless and humble people I know, Gary Hooten is definitely near the top of the list. He's one of the first people we met when we moved back to the States... and he's a mechanic. After meeting him, I decided we need to make friends with a mechanic wherever we live. If I had to count the number of times we went over for dinner and Gary and Edwin ended up under the hood of our car fixing something while Shelli and I were inside gabbing or stamping or scrapbooking, I think I'd start to feel a little guilty.

Partly in thanks for all the free and deeply discounted work Gary's done on our car, and partly just because he's the kind of guy who never asks for anything for himself, I offered to design and post a web page for him. As of last night, the "Work in Progress" sign is officially down and Gary's site is up and running.

Do me a favor. Check it out. And drop him a line of congratulations and encouragement if you'd like.

Threads of Life

Even as I question the senselessness of Cyndi's death, I find occasion to rejoice in a moment of God's grace.

Louise Koonce, missionary in Togo and one of my dear teammates when I was there, is alive and well. Anyone who has driven in Africa knows that every time you get behind the wheel of a car, you take your life in your hands.

Louise was driving through Ahepe after a day in Lome, following one of the huge, old trucks that distributes cement from the cement plant in Tabligbo to points all over West Africa. These trucks tend to be poorly maintained and out of alignment. Often, when driving directly behind one, you can see the back tires and, skewed to the right or left, the front tires.

The truck Louise followed yesterday must have snapped an axle. Two rear wheels broke off at once and bounced directly toward her. She managed to avoid one, but the other hit her vehicle square on. She's all right, just banged up her wrist a little, but horribly shaken and the car will need repairs.

Louise asked us to rejoice with her, as I am asking you. Despite the pedestrians, bikers, and motorcycles along the road, no one was injured. She barely missed hitting a tree and the SUV, which easily could have rolled, stayed upright.

I want to ask "Why?" Why did God spare Louise and not Cyndi? (I'm so thankful he did). But the words that keep sounding in my head are those of Job 38.

"Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you and you will answer me." (Italics mine)

Even as I wrestle to understand, I am reminded that I am too puny, too narrow minded, to ever grasp what God is working out in his world. So, for today, I will stand with my nose against the tapestry of life. I can't see the whole thing-- I'm not even going to try. But I can see this little thread of my life named Louise, and I can rejoice that she and I are woven together.

Mary Poppin's Purse

I went to the movies last night with ten other ladies. We saw The Lake House, which got a thumbs up from everyone, and we enjoyed giggling together and elbowing each other.

But I must say, the most entertainment I got was watching Sara and her movie experience.

I should have known she was an expert when I suggested the movie and she blurted out, "We have to go on Tuesday for free popcorn!" To be honest, she did warn me that she goes to the movies more for the theater food than for the show.

But I was still surprised when we sat down with our popcorn and she pulled out a stack of bowls and distributed popcorn to the gang. Next out of the bag was a stack of kitchen towels so we could wipe our fingers without ruining our clothes. Then came the salt shaker.

By the time she pulled an extra pair of socks out, I was laughing at her-- I mean, near her. I was waiting for her to reach in and pull out a remote control and a leather recliner, but I never got to see what else was in the bag because the previews started. She did pass M & Ms and Red Vines down later in the show but I didn't see if they came out of the bag.

Rituals are important, comforting, sometimes fun. And now I know they have the potential to be very entertaining.

He doesn't need a telescope

We shivered in the midnight wind and stared into the sky. Thousands of stars lent their light to the night, enough that even without a moon, we could still see each other's faces.

The ranger pointed with his green laser into a dark patch of space.

"Right around there," he said, waving his light in a small circle, "is a cluster of over a million stars."

I squinted to see the million stars, but all I could see was the laser defraying into nothingness.

A million stars hidden in a dark corner of space, and beyond them, a billion more.

"He determines the number of stars and calls them each by name. Great is our Lord and mighty in power, his understanding has no limit." Psalm 147:4-5

Blessed be Your Name

I've had a song stuck in my head all week-- Blessed Be Your Name.

This is a song of praise to God, whatever the circumstances. It tells of taking the blessings God gives us and returning them to him as praise. It speaks of singing out blessing on him when we are in the midst of darkness and trouble.

When I started thinking about this song on Tuesday, everything was looking pretty good. It was easy to sing.

Then I got news of Cyndi's death.

Blessed be your name.

And a sister's restaurant burned down. She donated the food to raise money for building houses in Mexico.

Blessed be your name.

Another acquaintance got news of her father's death in the same week she found out she has a brain tumor.

Blessed be your name.

After 3 years of waiting, Roy and Patty picked up their baby girl in China this week.

Blessed be your name.

Marie and Yusef were added to God's family this week.

Blessed be your name.

Joys and heartaches. Sorrow and rest. You give and take away. But no matter what you do, blessed be your name.

The Past Revisited

Happy Father's Day, Papa John!

You're a fun camper. We'd camp with you any time!

Love,

Patty and the Gang

Update on Cyndi Chowning

Please continue to lift the Chowning family up in your prayers. They are making arrangements to bring Cyndi's body back to the States next week for her funeral in Denison, TX.

Richard has asked that donations be sent to

Homewood Church of Christ
265 West Oxmoor Rd.
Birmingham, AL 35209

in lieu of flowers. The money collected will be used to help complete a clinic and primary school in Benin. This project meant a lot to Cyndi.

If you would like to drop a line to Richard or his children, please contact me personally and I will pass on their addresses.

Call to Prayer

Cyndi Chowning, missionary in Benin, West Africa, was hit by a moto today. The impact threw her against her car. She died soon afterwards.

Cyndi and her husband Richard have given their lives to Africa. They spent several years working in Kenya, then moved to Abilene where Richard taught missions. While we were in Togo, they moved to Benin to work among the Aja people.

I'd like to ask that you join me in praying for Richard as he decides whether to bring Cyndi's body back to the US for a funeral. It's too soon for him to make any long-term decisions, but I think we need to pray for wisdom when the time comes, whether he will stay on or return to the States.

Pray for the Vaughns, Randy and Kelly and their children, who work in the same town as the Chownings. Pray for past teammates, the Baileys, Crowsons, and Hicks as they sift through memories of Cyndi, especially for Heather Hicks, the Chownings' daughter.

Pray for the Chownings' children, Aaron, Heather and Naomi, and for their grandchildren.

Pray for Aja Christians who have known and loved Cyndi. I'm sure that her death will make an impact there. Pray that it is a good one.

Cyndi is the third missionary wife I have known who was killed in a similar fashion. I find that wounds I thought were long-since healed are still a little tender. In that regard, I ask that you pray for those affected by Cathy's death in Kenya and by Nancy's death in Togo. Both of these ladies have spent many happy years now in the bosom of Abraham, but they are both still missed by those of us they left behind.

Lord God, I pray that you accept Cyndi into your arms. Hold her and heal all the wounds of earthly life with the living water of eternal life.

Maranatha.

No Spoilers, Please!

We may be the only people on the planet who don't have cable or satellite TV and who live in a country where network TV isn't covering the World Cup.

So, while we wait for a tape of today's Togo match, PLEASE don't tell me how it comes out!

a white, gooey, sticky ball of success

There are certain foods that are more about the memories they evoke than the actual taste of the food. Like those candy necklaces that remind me of scary movies as a kid (like Swiss Family Robinson and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang)and red koolaid that brings back memories of camp.

So it is with fufu, the favorite dish of Togo. It's not so much about the taste, since it's mostly tasteless. And it's definitely not about the texture, which most closely resembles the paste that came in gallon pots back in first grade. You either love it or you hate it.

And we love it.

When both my kids named fufu as their favorite food in their comments to my blog, I started thinking about making it. We can't get the right kind of yams here, so that wasn't worth pursuing. We've tried making it with potato flakes, but it just tastes too potato-y.

Dad went on a quest to several Asian markets and found a root called yuca, not to be confused with yucca. A taste test and a little research revealed that yuca is the same as manioc and cassava. I went to our neighborhood Asian market, but they didn't have any fresh produce. I showed the shop owner a picture of taro leaves on a can and tried to make him understand that I was looking for the tubers that went with that plant. He didn't even speak enough English to tell me he didn't speak English. I came home with a bag of frozen purple yams that were... purple.

I finally found the manioc, I had the time to spend on an African dinner, and tonight we had fufu with a chicken sauce like Dela makes. I even sliced up a fresh pineapple. Jessica was a little disappointed that I didn't make Dodzi's eggplant sauce, but she still swallowed down 2 balls of fufu.

It was a fun meal.

Now that I know how to make it, who wants to come eat fufu with us?

Bony Fingers

I know it's not what God had in mind when he said that Adam and Eve would have to work hard to scratch food out of the ground. And I know that my timing's not great considering my last entry was on doing everything without grumbling or complaining.

But, heavens to Betsy, grocery shopping is hard work.

It took me four hours today to buy enough groceries for the next two weeks. It took another two hours to put everything away. (Almost everything. I'm still not sure where to put the six pounds of raisins I bought in the bulk food section-- I don't have the right sized tupperware, but I also don't want to reach into a sticky bag to get out raisins for my cereal.)

I had my little rant about how hard I work. I stopped somewhere short of the family classic, "I work my finger to the bone and what do I get? Bony fingers!"

And now it's time to start dinner. Pizza night. Is it easier to make my own or to get in the car and go get some?

What a spoiled brat I am-- too tired to make pizza? How about being thankful that we have food, not only for tonight, but for tomorrow and next week and the week after that. That is incredible luxury.

In all the years we spent in Africa, I never once heard anyone say, "I'm too tired to make dinner tonight. I think I'll order out." I never heard anyone say, "Grocery shopping is hard work." They would have been blown away by how much we spend at the store. Today I spent 2/3 of the yearly wage in Togo just to get a cart full of food.

Hard work? Not comparatively speaking. But I'm still pooped.

blameless and pure

"Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the the universe as you hold out the word of life--" Philippians 2:12-16

Do everything without complaining or arguing? Ouch. Surely that doesn't mean what it says.

Everything?

What about telling my kids to pick their towels up for the 114,739th time this week? What about waiting in rush hour traffic? What about paying over $3 a gallon for gas? What about getting in the express lane behind someone who can't count? What about being too hot? Or too cold?

If I want to become blameless and pure (which I do) I've got to stop arguing and complaining. I want to be like one of my daughters who said tonight, "I don't know why God invented joy, but I'm sure glad he did."

I want to be the kind of person who finds joy in every day living, who experiences wonder in the mundane, who gives up whining, grumbling, complaining and arguing in favor of love, peace, and kindness.

What's in a number?

I don't keep very good track of the date. It's some time in the first week of June, I think.

I was surprised to hear on the news tonight that students at local schools are receiving threats related to tomorrow's date-- 6/6/6. A group of kids has issued its hit list and the kids who are named on the list are staying home from school.

Hollywood is cashing in on the date, releasing a remake of The Omen, a story about the son of the devil.

Do people think this is the first 6/6/6 in history? It's the twentieth since Revelation was written. Well, technically, it's only the 5th since the Gregorian calendar was tweaked at the council of Trent in 1563.

I was curious whether bad things tend to happen on 6/6/6. Turns out... not really. But then, people have been predicting bad stuff for a long time. Remember Y2K? Remember the cold war? When I was little, I asked to stay home from school the day I heard the world was supposed to end. Mom made me go. She said she'd heard the same rumor when she was a kid.

I'm not saying that bad things don't happen. Neither am I saying that the world will not some day come to an end. I just think we're incredibly bad at making predictions.

Behind 3 gates

14 years ago, our mission team laid out a very detailed plan of when and how church planting in Togo would work. We were wide-eyed, idealistic, and way off. God took our multi-chaptered plan, whipped out his red marker, and started making changes right away.

And we're so thankful he did.

2 languages and many team changes later, the Tabligbo team wishes a fond farewell to Hollandwo kata this weekend. It's been five years since we left, but I think I feel, along with a handful of others, the full range of emotions they're going through right now.

I think if I were driving down their road right now, I would have to turn my head and greet Papa Koffi and Ajo at their home across the street. I wouldn't have the heart to look at the 3 red gates, so many beautiful memories behind each one.

Behind the first gate, the school and office. How many hours of prayer took place in that little office? How many brochures, pamphlets, and books rolled off the printing press? How many sweaty hours of step aerobics on rickety benches? How did my six little kindergarten students get to be old enough for middle school so fast?

Behind the second gate, Jeff and Brenda's house. The mad hatter party, the "Dress like a team mentor" party, the time with Allen Avery and with Tom Moore. Zogbon for breakfast, gali for lunch and chicken enchiladas for dinner. It's like yesterday the 11 of us stayed there together and Scott had to sleep in the yard to keep his new puppy from crying. Our first worship with Tabligbites took place there, all of us sitting on planks in the front yard. So many dear memories of Komlan, who will never be the same again... not in this life.

The third gate hides another house of memories. It started out as cinderblock walls, but Frank had a plan. He and Jenna gave the house a kitchen and a bathroom and turned it into a home. I always picture Nicole there, her high voice squeaking out a joy in her heart that could not be squashed by a failing body. I'm glad she has a new body now, though I miss her sweet spirit terribly. So many talks with Sandi in that living room about whether David was THE guy or not. He was!

3 red gates, so much love. Jeff and Brenda could have done anything they wanted with their 20s and 30s. They gave them to God. They gave them to the Togolese people, to people like Ablavino, Koffi and Ajo, Edemno, la vieux, Afi, Komlan, Papa Antoine and so many more.

May God bless Jeff and Brenda and their precious children in their return to America. And may God bless the churches they have planted. May they grow and thrive and bear much fruit from now unto eternity.

U-R-S-P-R-A-C-H-E

In France, there is a council to preserve the purity of the language. It is against regulations for TV and radio networks to use English words where a French equivalent exisits. Language, though, is meant to be alive. Its beauty comes in its ability to adapt as times and cultures change.

Hebrew was a dead language, unchanged and unspoken for hundreds of years. With the rebirth of a Jewish homeland, the Hebrew language was revived and now, what was constant for so long, is adapting, changing, morphing.

Watching the 2006 Scripps National Spelling Bee tonight, I was struck by how many of the list words had roots in other languages. Actually, every word came from somewhere else-- Greek, Latin, French, German, Hawaiian, Persian, Turkish, Italian, Spanish-- English is rich with world influence. The very words we speak are, in a way, a special kind of melting pot.

The winning word in the spelling bee? Ursprache.

Meaning? A parent language, especially one reconstructed from the evidence of later languages.

Etymology? German for "Speech of Ur"

Ur is where the Tower of Babel once stood. Ursprache, then, was the language all men shared before God stopped their ziggurat project by confusing their languages. Ursprache is referred to as "the lost language of Paradise."

Perhaps we'll all speak ursprache again some day.