State of Fear

Why does the media feel the responsibility to provide daily reasons for mass hysteria? Everyone on the news is either "Devastated", "Outraged", or completely shocked to find out the nice man next door is a serial killer.

It seems to me that with the "shocking" and "horrifying" news about massive toy recalls, anchor men and women are slightly delighted underneath their masks of concern. What a tremendous opportunity to expose the incompetence of big business, question the wisdom of buying imported goods, and give parents yet another reason to lie awake worrying.

I'm neither shocked nor horrified that toys with lead paint have entered our market place. What does shock me is that parents are surprised that some of those toys have magnets in them. Have these parents never touched their children's toys? Of course they have magnets. That's what makes them cool and interesting. Don't all those toys with small parts and magnets also say, "Contains small parts. Not for children under 3 years of age"?

A little prudence can go a long way, but I think we're being fed so many lines about all the things we should fear that when something big comes along that we really SHOULD fear, we'll be too desensitized to react appropriately.

Nice To Know

I'm not much of a daredevil so I don't tend to get myself in sticky situations very often. Still, it's nice to know that if I did, chances are someone would rescue me.

For all the bad things people can say and have been saying about America, there are still a lot of wonderful aspects of living in this country. One is that we place a premium on the worth of a human life.

I watched a rescue yesterday, what I suspect was a training mission. For over two hours, this helicopter hovered beside the North Head Lighthouse. Its rotors flattened the water below and forced back the tide. From time to time a rescuer in orange would descend to the cliff where two men clung. Finally, the two stranded men were lifted to safety. Then the helicopter started circling over the waves, first in low tight circles, then in widening, higher ones.

Not that I would ever be tempted to climb the cliff at North Head (no comments, Lori F.!) but isn't it good to know that if I did, someone might see me and come for me? On the other hand, perhaps we Americans rely so much on our safety nets that we feel we can get by with anything.

Then again, isn't that human nature? It seems like the apostle Paul said something about people sinning more so they could get more grace. As if God is some giant rescue helicopter who will swoop in at the last minute and save us from our own stupidity again and again and again.

Oh wait. He will.

It's nice to know.

Stories that Change the World

Story is a powerful tool. I can't quote much of what Plato, Aristotle, or Caesar said, but I could recount fables by Aesop all day. The words of the prophets get a little muddled up in my mind, but Jesus' parables are there to stay.

Great stories can change the world. Here are a few that have done just that:

Uncle Tom's Cabin put a face on the cruelty of slavery. It did what years of debate and analysis could not do and ushered in the Civil War.

To Kill A Mockingbird, likewise, exposed the voicelessness of the downtrodden and became a story the civil rights movement could rally around.

The Good Samaritan tells, better than any theological textbook, what it means to be a Christian, a neighbor, a lover of mankind.

On a smaller scale, there are the books that shaped me personally-- stories like Tisha, Deadline, The Trouble With Jenny's Ears (seriously), The Great Divorce, and Anne of Green Gables. Little pieces of these stories lodged in my soul and found a place to grow there.

Some might add 1984, Animal Farm, or the Lord of the Rings Trilogy though many of these classics gave more commentary on the situation of the day rather than seeking to change it.

IYHO (In your humble opinion), what stories have changed the world? Did they change the world at large or just your own corner of it?

A Blessing or a Curse?

I don't plant zucchini. Never have. Never will.

It might be because of the canned zucchini Mom made us as kids (the kind in tomato sauce that makes your teeth squeak) or perhaps it's because of the mysterious qualities of the gourd.

Consider how zucchini grows. It hides under leaves until it's the size of a city bus. In a single day, a zucchini can grow to 27 times its original size. As a gardener, you never want to look at a sweet, succulent small green zucchini and say, "Oh, look how cute. I'll pick that one tomorrow." Tomorrow it will be bigger than your dog.

Then there's the way zucchini multiply. If you pick 3 and use 2, you will have 7 left over. I promise.

Also, zucchini has a way of sneaking around. It likes to curl up in paper grocery sacks with its friends and hide in obvious places like the front seat of your car, on your front porch, or on your kitchen counter. Neighbors ring your doorbell and run, leaving a whole flock of the green torpedoes behind. That way you can't refuse them the joy of sharing their garden produce with you.

Share with me all you like, but please hold the zucchini.

(I don't know if it's rubbing off or if it's an inborn trait, but my cucumbers are starting to show some of these same sneaky qualities as their cousins)

Self-discovery du Jour

I would make a terrible migrant worker.

1. I don't like working in direct sun (a remnant of a time when only mad dogs and Englishmen...)
2. I can only lean over for about 20 minutes at a time.
3. Wet plants make my arms itch.
4. I like to nibble as I harvest.
5. I like having my own house with my own stuff.

Witness

It's Twins!

Last night was a joyous occasion as 2 of our children decided to commit their lives to Jesus. We gathered around them on the banks of the river to witness their baptisms. It is so good to be surrounded by friends and family who raise up our arms as parents and who will do the same for our children. One of my favorite moments was when an 11-year old friend (who was baptised 1 week ago) said, "Now we can really be spiritual sisters."

We'd love to get pictures from one or all of the many cameras. Thanks for recording this special moment for us.

The Kiss of Oscar

Have you heard about Oscar the Cat, the nursing home tabby who's better able to predict death than any doctor? For the past two years, this feline has wandered from room to room in a Rhode Island nursing home, never staying long in one place... unless a patient is about to die. Then he curls up on her bed and waits. 25 times this cat has predicted a death and stayed around for it, making doctors wonder if he's sensing an increase in hormone levels or some kind of electronic energy.

What I wonder is how the nursing home residents feel about this cat. Can you imagine as Oscar makes his rounds? Would you happy to see him? Or terrified? Would you ever try to encourage him to stay around for a cat nap on your bed or would you wish for a quick hello and good-bye?

I read a proverb this week. "You can't swap jokes with the angel of death."

But maybe you can love on Oscar.

Questions from a five-year old daughter

Are you looking at those words 'cuz you don't know what you're doing? (regarding the recipe while I was making cookies)

How old was I when you met me? (um, you're my child... you were pretty young)

Was I already in your tummy when you and Daddy got married? (We'd been married 15 years before she was born!)

Remember when I was playing on my tire swing, the one in Africa? (This child never lived in Africa - how can she remember the tire swing?)

When are we going to the playground. (Ah, that one's easy. Let's go right now!)

Out of Season

Red delicious apples and naval oranges were the only fruit we could buy in the winter. No peaches, no apricots, no plums. Once in a while, someone would come back from Hawaii with a pineapple and we would ooh and ahh over the sweet, juicy flesh. To get a piece of fruit out of season was either a treat or an overpriced disappointment.

Now we're spoiled with all produce all the time. We use freighters and import agreements to ship in peaches from Chile, peaches that taste like they we picked as they formed on the branch, peaches so long off the tree by the time they reach our homes that there's not much use calling them peaches, or paying $4 a pound for them.

In some cases, though, the out of season tidbit is a gift, a mouthful of succulence made more sweet by its very rarity.

That's how I'm feeling about the July rain. We're on our second day of drizzle which, in February, would have pulled me down, but today offers a soothing touch. Its odd timing is what makes it good, a rain that cools the earth and quenches its thirst without threat of lingering on and on.

Reclining on the Freeway

The beige la-z-boy leaned back, its crushed velour stretching from head to foot rest in a yawn, as if taking a break while its owner went to the kitchen for a soda.

Cars, trucks and motorcycles whizzed by at 65 miles per hour. And the chair sat on the interstate's shoulder and watched, unperturbed by the noise, an observer on the highway of life.

"Slow down. Kick back," it called to me. "Take a seat and enjoy the view. You're moving so fast you can't focus."

"Can't stop now," I called in my rear view mirror. "I've got to keep up with the flow of traffic. Putting on the brakes now would be dangerous."

"Have it your way," the chair replied. "But I'm going to sit here just a little longer."

dinner and a movie... yawn!

I'll admit it... we've gotten in a rut. Whenever we have a date night, it seems like we end up either going to a movie or renting one to bring home.

Boring!

I'm trying to compile a list of other ideas for date night-- nothing too extravagent, just good fun. Here are some of my ideas. Do you have any others?

Play miniature golf
Roast marshmallows and make smores
Go bowling
Watch the sunrise or sunset together
Read a book aloud together
Take a class
Buy the ingredients to make an ice cream sundae, and create it together
Visit a museum
Movie night
Go house viewing
Do something new in the city
Take a hike
Volunteer at a soup kitchen
Ascend to the top of the highest building in town
Make a picnic in the park
Rent canoes and paddle around the nearest lake
Take a cooking class together
Drive to a nearby town you have never visited before
Take a scenic drive
Take a bike ride

Acclimation

Perhaps all those years in the tropical sun addled my brain. Or maybe they just reset my thermostat. Considering I grew up in a place where 70 was a "scorcher", I'm a little surprised the 101 temperatures this week haven't bothered me at all - I've been able to get my chores done, inside and out, take a 5-mile walk, even cook a meal or two.

I have discovered a new hot weather treat - blended chai tea (like a tea milkshake). Do you have any favorite ways to beat the heat?

of dust

Adam and Eve left their garden paradise, shoulders bent, heads down, longing to return to the land God had granted them.

The Joads packed up their last belongings and said good-bye to the useless red and gray dust of Oklahoma. Useless, but home.

Scarlet O'Hara returned to Tara when all had left her, staking her tomorrow on the place that would not forsake her.

My family has no ties to the land. As generations moved westward, then northward, each generation leaving the home of its fathers, we lost our bond to the dust under our feet.

This week I slept, my face separated from clods of hay and dust only by the thin canvas of my tent and the thinning air in my mattress. The land on which I slept has belonged to the same family for many decades. As I observed the four living generations, I caught a glimpse of what I've missed. When a family shares the land for so long, they put down roots. They know each other and they know their history. Stories of old are told and retold and the children learn what it means to belong.

I think it's a blessing, this belonging, a blessing no longer enjoyed by so many among us. It was an honor to be witness to a family who knows what it is to be a family, for better or worse, in sickness and celebration. Thank you for sharing your dust.

...and today...

8 hours of labor, magnesium therapy, about a hundred nurses, interns, NICU specialists, and doctors. It was a full day.

Some of my favorite memories of the day the twins were born are the people who came to visit-- Mom and Dad, of course, and Jeannie Stinson and Clark and Avis Hanna.

The nurses said I had a ways to go, but when I felt a certain pressure, they did another check and wheeled me off to delivery so fast that my parents, who had just gone down the hall for a drink from the vending machine, came back to find an empty room-- no bed, no pregnant woman, no Edwin-- just a pile of Edwin's clothes where he's dropped them when he changed into scrubs.

The first one was born about 15 minutes after I went into delivery. The second flipped around wrong way round. 4 minutes later, with lots of help, all 2 pounds, 15 1/2 ounces of her was born breech. 7 pounds of baby all together, in two perfect little packages. I'd never seen their dad look so happy.

Their eyes were so blue, so dark. It was all I could see of them since their mouths were covered with ventilators, their arms with tubes and wires, and their heads with hats. Two pair of dark blue eyes asking for me to hold them, but I couldn't... not yet. Holding would come later, after they were stable.

I remember a day about 4 years later when we were trying to cross a busy street. I scooped up one child in each arm and hurried them across. I reminded myself to remember the last time I could do that. Now, both girls stand eye to eye with me and I can't remember the last time I could pick them both up at once. The days fly by so swiftly.

12 Years Ago Today

Funny how a couple of months on bed rest addles your brain. Twelve years ago today, I was laying in a bed in the hospital, eating as much as I could keep down and dreaming of the lovely time I was going to have once my two angelic babies were born. A doctor (not mine) came in and announced, "We're doing a c-section in the morning!"

Tomorrow morning?! First of all, I'd already worked out with my doctor that I wanted these babies to come as naturally as possible and that didn't include any scalpels or operations on my part. Second... tomorrow? After all the excitement of flying back to the States, then getting transferred to a high-risk pregnancy hospital with a top-notch NICU, the weekly, then daily ultrasounds, the careful monitoring of both babies, the panic over their size discrepancy and some other warning signs, could tomorrow really be the day?

I didn't sleep that night. The last night without children and I couldn't sleep. Sure, I knew I needed the rest, but I was excited and scared and nervous and delighted. Besides, you can't actually stockpile sleep, can you?

I talked the unknown doctor out of the c-section, alerted the expectant grandparents, and waited for morning...

Hushhhhh

When is the last time you were quiet enough to hear the whisper of shifting sands?

When did you last stand outside in darkness deep enough to reveal the Milky Way?

When did you last startle a deer? Or stand face to face with a raccoon? Or look down on the outstretched wings of a bald eagle?

In contrast to Saturday in the city, Monday I planted my feet on the same bit of beach Lewis and Clark stood on 201 years ago. I looked out over the same ocean and marvelled, as men have for eons, over thousands of yellow reflected bits of sun skipping across rippling seas.

My cabin fever has been banished once again in the celebration of summer.

Heartbeat of a City

The city breathes its own air, in and out in unique rhythm. The suburbs, where I live, we suck in canned air from the big box stores where every aisle in every town in every state sells the same products at the same "low price."

But in the city, you never know what you'll find, what you'll hear, who you'll meet. Maybe it's the automaton in his white make-up and brocade tails who waits for a coin to drop in his cardboard box before he moves. His mother must be so proud.

Maybe it's the Swedes in the seat in front of me on the streetcar... or the Koreans behind. Or the musician named Hillbilly who beats out his own tune on an oversized yellow gourd.

Maybe it's the flagship store for a major department store or the joke shop overflowing with magic tricks and glow-in-the-dark you-name-its. Or the corner store that used to be run by Mom and Pop, but has changed management a time or two.

Life in the suburbs is quieter, greener, but I love a day in the city.

A rose by any other name...

One of Portland's crown jewels is its International Rose Test Gardens. Nestled in Washington Park on a hillside overlooking the city and (on a clear day) Mount Hood, the test gardens house 7000 rose plants of over 550 varieties.

Which tells you nothing about what it's like to visit the gardens on a sunny day in June. The fragrance of fresh roses assaults you even before you get out of the car. A hundred different scents hang, mingled in the air. You follow your nose down some steps and over a slight rise until your eyes are filled with a sea of yellows, pinks, reds, purples, greens.

The children rush from plant to plant and let their faces be engulfed by the face of an open rose, breathing in the flower's essence in a floral kiss. Adults move slower, reveling in the garden's charm, pausing to linger over delicate buds. Each shouts out opinions of which is best - tea roses, hybrids, long-stems, old fashioneds - there's a rose for everyone.

At last the beauty overwhelms and we turn our backs on the rows and rows of roses, knowing they will continue smiling for those who come after.

Rejection

Nobody likes to get rejected. I went through my school years trying to look and sound and act and smell just right so I'd be accepted. Not that I was just like everyone else... nobody else in my high school wore black and white saddle shoes...

But now I'm an adult and I'm sending my words out hoping they find someone who loves them.

And getting rejected.

I know rejection is part of the process. I know it takes rejection and perseverance to make it in the publishing world.

But it still stings.

3 rejections this week. 3 steps closer to the acceptance pile if I keep going.

Road Trip

I heard a program on NPR about road trips, about how we set out on them thinking we will have an epiphany, how a road trip is a metaphor for life... or at least we expect it to be one.

2200 miles from door to door. Washington, British Columbia, Yukon, Alaska. 7 days driving (2 1/2 in the shop) Mountain ranges, lakes and rivers, trees, rocks, moose, bison, mountain sheep and hot springs.

A grand adventure with a prize at the end...

my hometown.

Majesty

Pulling Out

The mechanic thinks he may have located the problem and we're all hitched up to the trailer ready to head north again. 1000 miles to go!

Please pray for uneventful travel from here on out. Spirits are high and the gas tank is full.

Blessings.

Oasis?

Fort St. John, British Columbia

We're 2 days behind schedule so far. There's something wrong with the van-- we don't know what. We've been up the road a piece but with the van unwilling to climb hills, it's not worth the risk to go on. Today is Thursday.

The wedding's next Saturday.

Oh God, please don't let it take that long to get there.

Would you all pray with me that the car gets fixed in the morning and that we can get back on the road. We'll already be late to Juneau, but we've got to get to the wedding.

For Better or for Worse

What could be better than a week on the road with parents and children? Or what could be worse?

What could be better than sharing a cozy camper? Of course, depending on how many of us snore, what could be worse?

What could be better than trying out our new hand-crank flashlights? Unless we go north and the sun never sets.

What could be better than witnessing the marriage of my baby brother (35)?

Nothing!

Reinvigoration

I love the trend of having a coffee shop in a book store. Powells has its cafe. Barnes and Noble has Starbucks. And Branches, our Christian book store, has Cafe Divine.

The writing life can be a lonely existence. Sitting in front of a computer screen, blocking out the world, writing down thoughts that may never be seen by anyone else... sometimes it seems a writer is alone in the universe.

One of the most invigorating things I know to do is to talk shop with another writer. When two creators rub thoughts together, inspiration can be rekindled. Iron on iron, sparks on wood shavings, water on seeds, ideas are born and formed and take on a life of their own.

Do you have a friend who brings out your best ideas? Do you have a place where inspiration is born? I have several of each, but Cafe Divine is a special favorite.

fledgling

Outdoor School is for sixth graders. During this week-long adventure, the kids get a chance to learn about what properties of water are optimal for salmon, how to test forest soils, how to build a campfire and pack a backpack. They participate in challenge course activities and learn about local wildlife.

We had an extra little person along this week and, I've got to say,
I think she
learned the most.


My little girl,
who is deathly afraid of flies,
adopted a pet bug
after hearing
The Bug Lady
give a talk.








My little girl,
who hates slimey things,
reeled in more trout than anyone.

My little girl,
who clings to my leg
when there are strangers around,
sat and visited with
over sixty strangers
over meals this week.











My little girl,
who gets nervous on a playground swing,
swung in the tops of the trees.

It
was
fun
watching
her
spread
her
little
wings
this
week.

See you next week

The kids and I are off to Outdoor School for a week. We'll be slogging through mud, learning about animal first aid and soil pH and how to pack a day pack. I hope your Mother's Day was as good as mine was. We had this picture taken at church this morning. We spent the afternoon hiking to the top of Beacon Rock and the evening cheering on the final five on Survivor. That's the news from around here.

See you next week.

The Blasphemy Challenge

Did you catch Nightline the other night? The one where Kurt Cameron debated The "Rational Response Squad" over the existence of God?

I've heard about this Rational Response Squad before. They are calling on people, but especially teens, to take the blasphemy challenge and denounce the existence of God via YouTube.

I watched the debate, or as much as they showed of it on Nightline, and I've got to say... I was embarrassed. To have God's existence reduced to circular arguments and ridiculous paintings, I felt, insulted the intelligence of those who came to hear a rational debate.

I don't doubt that God IS. And I think it's good to be able to point to evidence of his existence. But I don't believe in him because someone showed me a picture of a crociduck. I believe because of my own experiences with him. He leaves footprints and clues throughout my life that can only point to him.

Equalizers

Earthquake.

Tsunami.

Hurricane.

Monsoon.

Volcano.

And to the people of Kansas, tornado.

All destructive forces. All beyond our control.

I live in the shadow of a volcano, on the edge of a tectonic plate. I've lived in other earthquake zones and in a tornado alley.

The only place I've lived that isn't prone to any of these natural disasters is West Africa. They've go no major fault lines, no monsoons, no hurricanes or blizzards. Yet they live in a poverty so deep it seems impossible to dig them out.

I heard a bit of hope yesterday on, of all places, The Splendid Table. Nature writer Sharman Apt Russell shared the story of Ireland, a country that, 100+ years ago, epitomized famine with 1 million dead of hunger, 1 million dead of disease and another million fleeing the country for other lands. Now Ireland has the 2nd highest standard of living in the world.

We can't do anything about the disasters beyond our control, but perhaps we can learn some lessons from Ireland and find a way to free Africa of its hunger.

Side Trip

If any of you live in an area where Amtrak offers its Schools on Trains program-- use it! It's a great way to spend a day out with the kids (and grandparents) in a different city. We've taken Schools on Trains to Seattle 3 times and took it from Olympia to Portland once. Each time we see something different, but we always have fun!

This trip's highlights:

• Pike Place Market - it's always fun to wander the market, sampling and tasting our way among the stalls. We bought beef jerky, watched the fish throwers, and came home with sparkly stuffed dragons and snakes.
• Seattle Aquarium - this was our first time to visit this aquarium which specializes on the critters in Puget Sound. We had fun watching the otters and seals. Standing under the 400,000 gallon aquadome filled with salmon, wolf eels and rock fish was a unique experience.
  
• Amtrak - the train trip is always fun, watching the scenery go by, visiting with friends while the kids visit with their friends.
• Market Spice Tea Company - part of Pike Place market, this store is a treasure trove of spices and teas from around the world. It's always worth stopping by for a sample of their signature market spice tea.
• Uwajimaya - this was my first time to visit the monstrous Japanese supermarket and its food court. I could have used a few hours there, not just the 20 minutes we had.

Inch By Inch

The garden is planted. Sigh. All those seeds tucked nice and warm in their little garden beds wait for the right moment to wake up.

Inch by Inch
Row by Row
Oh to make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
and a piece of fertile ground.

Inch by inch
Row by Row
Someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
While the rain comes tumbling down.

The Garden Song by David Mallett, as sung by Pete Seeger

As I planted and dug and hoed, I found myself humming the song above (as I do every year when I plant or weed). Pete Seeger's music is planted in me nearly as deeply as "Jesus Loves Me."

We had a Pete Seeger record-- yes, I said a record-- that was probably played more than any other 33 in history. Even now, strains of "This Land is Your Land" and "Skip to My Lou" make me tear up with nostalgia.

But my favorite Pete Seeger song, then and now, says "Mother be Quick, I'm Gonna be Sick and Lay Me Down to Die."

What's your favorite song from childhood?

Systems Failure aka Spring Fever

Life has its own rhythm.

I wake up with the sun (late in the winter, early in the summer) and stay awake all day. I expect to experience a little down time after lunch as the blood rushes from my brain to my stomach.

I write in the mornings, teach in the day, clean in the afternoon and flop down in my recliner at 8 o'clock.

And my mind goes on vacation in the middle of April.

I think public school programmed me for spring fever. Even now, 20 years after graduation, I find myself looking forward to the break. But now that I'm the one in charge, I'm responsible for keeping up momentum until the end of the school year. But I just want to go outside and play.

It's not just school-- it's blogging and writing and planning and meeting. I'm done. My mind has checked out. I'm tempted to turn off the lights and come back in June when I'm awake, but the responsible side of me insists on taking care of the list each day.

Dentist appointment? check.
Math? check.
Feed the dog? check.
Feed the kids? check.

There are some things in life that just have to get done no matter how much I want a 3 month vacation in the tropics. So excuse me while I muddle through the next 4 weeks.

Serendipity

I took a walk this morning in a small town in Central Oregon. The town was still sleeping, but I shared the field with a couple coveys of quail. As I skirted the middle school baseball field, I saw a bird perched atop the cage behind home plate. From a distance, I could tell it was a large bird, the size of a vulture or perhaps an eagle. When I got close enough to make out its shape, it decided to give me a better look.

With wingspan as grand as a bald eagle's, the giant black and white osprey soared right past and landed on its nest at the peak of a light pole.

I've never kept a life list, but I might be tempted to start.

The More Things Change

Of the many hours of my childhood spent on the school bus, two memories keep returning to me this week.

First is the time we were bustled onto the bus early because a student with a gun was in the Principal's office threatening suicide. I can still feel my visceral reaction when I heard the kid's name, a friend whom I'd recently brushed off.

Second- and this dates me- I've been thinking about the words to a song, "Little Good News" by Anne Murray. It played on the radio as we rode home from school and I wondered about all the bad news she told about.

Wouldn't it be great, I thought, if all the bad news went away.

But the news Anne Murray sang about in 1983 is the same news we're hearing today - fighting the Middle East, the economy, arson, robbery, hostage situations, assassinations, problems in the Third World.

In light of the Virginia Tech Massacre I guess I'm disheartened, but not surprised. The world is fallen and it cannot redeem itself. My prayers are with the families of those killed, the family of the shooter, and with the many young people whose lives will be forever changed by this event.

I heard a song yesterday that recognizes hopelessness, yet ends on a note of hope. A modern companion to "Little Good News", it is "Will's Lullaby" by Josh Radin.

the rain in new orleans
forgot to end
but the mouths of the people are dry
and we watch and wait
and do nothing but sigh
and hope everything is gonna turn out right
but i don't know if it'll be alright

In the last verse of this song, Josh looks down on his sleeping son in his crib and realizes that hope lies not in the past, but in the future.

Still, misplaced hope and promises will surely leave us empty in the end, asking the same questions in another 20 years and another 20 years after that.

for lyrics to these two songs, visit Lyrics Depot and Josh Radin's site.

Little Seeds of Faith

I love it when a plan falls together. Especially when there's no human way to pull it off. But this weekend, God took bits and pieces of talent and dedication and mixed it together with a little Holy Spirit to form a wonderful weekend centered on the places our church is working around the world.

As I sampled finger foods from every continent, prepared with care by people whose hearts are planted in different cultures, I marvelled that such diversity could blend together. As I listened to Andrew (Uganda) tell how he and Ben (Brazil) had prayed for God to lead them somewhere in the world, I wondered at these young men's ability to embrace each other as members of one team, not as competitors out to secure as much funding for their own special projects as possible.

Sermons and talks, videos and songs, flags and food. It was all great.

But I think the best parts of the weekend happened behind the scenes.

One of our outstanding teenagers was invited to spend a summer in Uganda. A woman who was moving the next day expressed her appreciation for the reminder that she will be God's messenger no matter where she goes. My five-year old came home and strapped a baby doll on her back and asked a hundred times when we could go to Africa.

Little seeds were planted. Giant trees will grow.

Prayers Needed

Many of you who check this blog are pray-ers. Please join me in prayer for these two women:

Pat just had surgery to correct a problem, but the surgery was not successful. She's in ICU.

Jane had a lump removed from her breast, but the pathology came back showing that there is still cancer present. She'll be going in for another surgery soon.

I know that both of these women would agree with these words from Job:

"God gives. God takes.
God's name be ever blessed."

Mountain Top

My week at Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference was, first of all, a spiritual experience. Between the hike to the top of the mountain on Palm Sunday, the beautiful times of song and prayer, and my short hike down into a valley of redwoods, I found my spirit refreshed and my soul revived.

Beyond the warm sunshine and lovely flowers, I also had opportunity to sit at the feet of some of the most gifted teachers in the industry. More surprising than the skill of successful authors, though, was the level of craft and dedication among those trying to break in. If the people I met are any indication, Christian publishing will only improve.

Perhaps the greatest lesson I took away from Mount Hermon was the realization that I sat amongst 500 writers who write in different genres, with different styles and different voices. Yet all wrote for the same goal. When I write a novel with redemptive value, I can spread good news to people who read fiction. Another author may write non-fiction and touch someone else's life. Others may write poetry or biography or devotionals. But we all write to the glory of the same God.

Into the Pool

In October, I submitted the following essay in a writers' conference scholarship contest. Tomorrow morning, I'm off to the conference!

I believe the Mount Hermon Conference is perfect for me at this time in my writing because ...

… my toes ache.
`
I stand at the edge of a diving board, peering into the pool of publishing. The bottom looks so far away. I grip the edge of the board with my toes, as if they can keep me from falling. Once I jump, will I be able to stay afloat? Can I out swim the schools of piranhas circling below? If someone would just give me a shove, I would find out.

About two years ago, I started writing a novel. A story burned inside me that I had to put down on paper. By no means would I say it was an inspired book, since it was full of all the classic flaws—POV problems, too many adverbs, little dialog—but the process drove me to seek the help I needed, help I found in the form of a critique group. My fellow writers encouraged me and tore my writing apart. They helped shape my story into a full novel, ready to present at a conference.

But which conference? Money, always an issue, meant I could only choose one. I listened to the way my group leader spoke of Mount Hermon as if it were the Mecca of Christian writers and I pictured scaling the mountain’s summit. But not right away.

I looked at several options, but ended up settling on a regional conference which I could attend with my mom who was also in the throes of her first writing venture. I sat across from editors and agents who all said, “I like your writing style and your ideas, but this book just doesn’t fit our market.”

Undeterred, I returned home and cranked out another book manuscript, this time focusing on realistic people in an American setting. The next year, I attended the same regional conference and again received encouraging words about the quality of my writing, but didn’t find a publisher.

What I did hear from several people, in different words, was this: You are on the brink of being published (thus the pool analogy). You will have books published. But you need to get out, network, meet more people in the industry and make connections with the people who are looking for books like yours.

The best way to do that is to attend conferences. But until I am published, I have no writing income to support a conference habit. So, while I dreamed of attending Mount Hermon and other large gatherings of Christian authors, I imagined my dream could not be fulfilled for many years. Until I heard of Cec’s generous offer.

I am a writer, one who writes because I can’t not write. I’m eager to take the plunge into the writing and publishing industry. I would dearly love this chance to take swimming lessons from those who are already in the pool.

Just give me a little shove.

Benign

"Your last blog entry was benign."

I lay in bed at one o'clock this morning thinking about the word. It wasn't meant as an insult, but not as a compliment either. It was just a statement to say that my last few entries have been flatter than usual. That's by design. I've been in the middle of several forums of miscommunication lately and I've been too tired to fight in the blogging arena.

Do you think the Apostle Paul ever shrunk back from saying what he thought? He was a pretty feisty communicator, yet he still begged for prayers for boldness. Even Jesus, who never backed down from a fight, who never missed an opportunity to teach, sought alone time throughout his years of ministry.

I dance a little dance on the high wire of Blog Land. I write what I think, then go back and reflect. I respond to comments or I bite my tongue. I say something heavy, then counter with something light.

Benign.

Gentle. Self-limiting. Not dangerous.

Not exactly the word a writer likes to hear.

But I have two friends this month who would have loved to hear the word come from a doctor's mouth. Instead they heard the other word.

Malignant.

Two women I've known for years and years. Two friends who face the same fight over the coming months-- the race against breast cancer. Surgery, chemo-therapy, radiation, hair loss. And despite their fear or their weariness, they won't back down. Because these women have courage. They have courage and they have husbands and family who will stand beside them every step of the way.

All I can say right now is, let's pray to the God who hears our prayers. Let's pray for Pam and Jane.

Timely Arrival

My flowers arrived in the mail yesterday.

50 dormant plants all fit in a box the size of an Amazon book box. But with so much potential, I couldn't wait to get them in the ground.

So I rallied the troops. I had Dad and my husband out shoveling compost, tilling the ground and hauling dirt across town to my garden bed.

It's spring! It's time to plant!

Except it's also 30 degrees this morning... which means my little flower garden is going to have to wait a few more days for the temperature to catch up with the season.

Housekeeping

I just did a little updating on my Blogroll and I plan to add more and sort them.

A lot of really nice people seem to be moving out of the Blogger.com neighborhood. How's the weather over in WordPress land?

All the Way to the Top

I should have known that the thing to put my alma mater on the map would have to do with drug reference and defiance. That was the status quo when I was there. Between all the phony fire drills and prank bomb threats, it's amazing any of us got an education.

Kids in my class said stupid things all the time. They got suspended a lot, too. But, to my knowledge, none ever took the school to court for squashing their right to free speech. To read about how one student's "Bong Hits 4 Jesus" sign has taken the issue of a student's right to freedom of speech and expression before the highest court in the land, click here.

I wonder what it was really like that day as the Olympic torch was carried from person to person through the Southeast Alaskan streets. It sounds like Frederick's sign didn't cause that much stir among the students who lined the parade route, but it did make an impression on the principal. I wonder how far Frederick and his family would have pushed their case without the help of some big time lawyers.

Which brings me to another case. At a local high school a few weeks ago, a group of students was suspended for praying in school. At least that's the way it was reported on the local news. From what I've read since, though, it seems that their suspension was not a result of their prayer, but of their refusal to move the prayer out of the flow of traffic and into a classroom. The students are now back at school and have moved their prayer place to a sidewalk just off school grounds.

For the students, it sounds like the fight is over. They found a solution which allows them to continue praying without defying school authority. I wonder, though, if the Liberty Counsel will follow through on its threat to sue the school district. I wonder what other seemingly innocuous events are taking place around us that will eventually shape the law of the land.

Dirty Fingernails

Last week my nails were long and white, clean and buffed. This week, they're split, short, and dirty and they feel great.

After cooping myself up in the warm house all winter, it was great to get outside and dig in the dirt for the first time. I'm preparing the ground for a new European cutting garden. I've never done flowers before (except dandelions) and I'm looking forward to adding a little color to my life.

I've got a l-o-o-o-ng way to get to have my garden beds ready, but my vegetable seeds arrived weeks ago and the strawberry plants might come today, along with a house plant and some garlic starts.

Spring is in the air!

Where in the World?

I want to go somewhere... almost anywhere would do. Anywhere except the grocery store and the gas station, that is. Here are some places on my wish list. What's on yours?

New Zealand
Japan
Thailand
Rwanda
Togo
France
Moscow
Alaska
Scandanavia
China

confession is good for the goal

At what point did politicians start assuming that we're all a bunch of blithering idiots? Since when is it okay to make a confession just so you can do whatever you want?

I think it started, this week at least, with the news that Obama had paid off his outstanding parking tickets before announcing his candidacy. Perhaps we all chuckled a bit and thought, what a good idea to clear the slate before someone else finds those pesky parking tickets and brings them up. Better to start things off clean than to be outed and embarrassed on down the line. Because, of course, presidents can be made or broken by one mistake or one wrong word.

(Take, for example, Senator Joe Biden, who killed his candidacy the first day with these words: "I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy. I mean, that's a storybook, man.")

Parking tickets are one thing, but Newt Gingrich? That's a whole 'nother story. It's not the fact that he's had affairs. Lots of politicians (and for that matter, lots of ordinary folks) have. It's not even that he was having an affair while pursuing Bill Clinton's impeachment for having an affair and lying about it.

No, for me, the idiocy of Gingrich's plan lies in his assumption that the public has a short memory. If Obama can pay off his parking tickets and remain a political rock star, why can't Gingrich confess a few little things, clean the slate of past mistakes, and return to his old Man Of The Year status?

Does he think we can't discern the motives for his confession? Is there any way he would have confessed if he wasn't testing the waters for his chances for presidency? Are we ready for a year and a half of campaign promises and muddy waters?

Oh, but I'm sorry. I heard he wasn't running.

"I am not 'running' for president. I am seeking to create a movement to win the future by offering a series of solutions so compelling that if the American people say I have to be president, it will happen."

Good start.

A New Generation

My five-year old has given me some different perspectives on the world as she sees it. She's known how to operate a mouse since she was two and a touch pad shortly after that. She listens to The Wiggles on an MP3 player and knows how to work a microwave. She's never lived in a world without remotes and DVDs and cordless phones.

I was reading her a story this morning. "Pause the book," she said. "I have to go get something."

The other day we were driving somewhere and I pulled up to a stop sign.

"S-T-O-P. That spells STOP," she informed me. As I pulled away, she observed, "The sign didn't change. It still said STOP. If that kind of sign can't turn to go, you have to just stay stopped and then you'll always be stuck."

A Collective Gasp

This morning on a field trip, the docent gave an introductory speech to our home school co-op group.

"...and you know what's the coolest thing about our museum? Our floors are 600 million years old! Isn't that cool?"

The hair on the back of my head got sucked backwards as all the mothers and a few of the children gasped. At least they gasped quietly.

I don't know how old the earth is, but I do know who made it. I have the strong sense that by gasping when people say something we don't agree with, we're not going to get very far in conversation with them. I may know there is truth and non-truth, light and darkness, holiness and depravity, but if I stand so strong on the RIGHT that I can't get through a conversation without being either offended or condescending, I'll never get a chance to share why Jesus is the answer.

We Christians have a reputation as being know-it-alls and nobody wants to take advice from a know-it-all. I'm hoping to become more of a "know some of the important stuff-er" who is still in process of seeking, learning and maturing. And I'm looking for people who might want to learn and seek and grow with me.

Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

Irish Breakfast Tea.

Literary Fiction.

Periwinkle blue.

Chocolate and raspberry.

Inspirational music.

Warm fuzzy socks.

A good, firm back massage.

An afternoon with friends.

Fruit fresh off the tree.

Salt water air.

A well-turned phrase.

The scent of gardenia.

A hand-written letter.

These are a few of my favorite things.

good news, bad news

The good news is, I'm not a hypochondriac.

The bad news is, those two sore teeth are sore for a reason.

The good news is, it doesn't look like the decay on the back one has reached the root.

The bad news is, we won't know until we take the old filling off and get in there.

The good news is, the front tooth is not cracked above the gum line.

The bad news is, it is cracked and will need repair if I'm ever going to be able eat ice cream, drink a cold drink, or smile in the winter.

The good news is, I live in a country that offers me solutions other than "live with it" or "let's pull those suckers out."

The bad news is, by the time we pay for the two repairs, I might as well live in a third world country.

Prayers, Please

Today I ask for prayers for a friend whom I've never met, author of over 100 books and well-known in the Christian writing community as a giver. He is sponsoring me and 9 others to attend a writing conference in California next month. He has helped many other novice writers find their feet.

I got word yesterday that his house burned to the ground . His son-in-law was killed. Please lift this family up in prayer.

Readers of the new Millenium

I always thought you were supposed to put your most important, most eye-catching information at the beginning of an article. In print, that's true. People want to get hooked by the headline to read the first paragraph. Hopefully the first will lead to the second and so on. Come to find out, this rule does not apply if you're writing for an online readership, because online readers don't read, they skim. For them, the second paragraph is key because they assume the first paragraph is a rewording of the headline.

Did your eyes skip to this paragraph first? If so, the theory is correct. (see above)

I guess it's true for me. Most times when I read something online and try to tell someone about it, I find I don't have details to back up what I'm saying.

Me - "Did you hear about the bombing yesterday?"

Husband - "No what happened?"

Me - "Um, I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure there was a bombing. Or maybe it was a bomb threat. I'm not sure. But you can look it up."

I'm thinking a symptom of this method of reading is that we've got a lot of people who know a little about a whole lot of subjects rather than people who know a lot about a few subjects. I've got more to say about that, but by now you've quit reading anyway and have moved on to the next blog.

Blah, blah, blah.

God's House

My grandpa used to tell the story about Enoch, the man who never died. He used to say that Enoch walked with God every evening. One night they walked and walked and walked. They got so far from home, Enoch knew he couldn't make it back.

"That's okay," God said. "You can just come on to my house."

And he did.

I heard an idea tonight that tickled something inside my brain. It's probably not a new idea to many of you, but it was stated in way I'd never heard before.

We as a church tend to treat our congregation like our family home. We're the ones who know where everything goes. We hold the keys to the house. We turn the heaters on in the morning and the lights off at night. We're comfortable in our little home together, but visitors have a hard time feeling like part of the family because they're just... visitors.

What if we decided to face the truth that church is not at our house, it's at God's. It's a new concept to me. What does church look like if we're all strangers together, if no one is proprietor of the way things should be?

It could be a horrible mess.

Or it could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Ageless Wonders

I left Juneau in 1987 and, expect for a couple of short visits, I've not been back. I missed my 10 year reunion, skipped my 15th, and was absent for my 20th. But yesterday, a mini reunion came to me.

Yesterday, Julie Lynn got married. She was the youngest of the gang of us who used to hang around together, the daughter of my beloved physics teacher. And when Julie Lynn got married, our parents' friends gathered to witness the event. And since all of those friends were teachers, it was like a small school reunion, but with teachers instead of classmates.

So, counter clockwise around the table were my 9th grade English teacher, my 12th grade computer teacher, a history teacher, Dad (English teacher), school librarian, Jr. high chorus teacher, some husbands, wives and me. I've aged in the last 20 years... really aged.

Bu the incredible thing about all those teachers is they all look exactly like I remember them. How does that happen? How do 20 years go by without a new wrinkle or any more gray hair? Were they prematurely old because of all the headaches of teaching? Or did hanging around kids for so long act as a fountain of youth?

I think it might be the latter.

Imaginary Peer Pressure

I probably shouldn't have been in the game store in the first place since my husband and I gave up on "Hallmark holidays" years ago. I think Valentines Day fits in that category, doesn't it? Anyway, I'd just come from a nice activity where we'd made some really nice Valentines cards and I wanted to get a little gift to go with it.

So I ended up at the game store looking through stacks of used XBox games for a particular one we've been wanting-- not just any video game, mind you, but the 4th in a series of puzzle solving games we've played together on our "date nights" when we lived overseas. They didn't have the game I was looking for, but we were there, so I started looking for something else that would do. The kids and I finally settled on a second choice that was reasonably priced and that would be fun for him if not for me.

I paid for the game and waited for the clerk to get it for me. After several minutes he came back and said the game I'd purchased was missing. He refunded my money and made me sign a paper that I'd received a full refund.

I should have walked out then. But I didn't. I felt this imaginary pressure to purchase a game, any game. Not that my husband was expecting a gift or that he needed or even wanted a game. But I was there, I'd been thwarted twice, and I wasn't leaving without a game in hand.

I waffled back and forth for a while before selecting a game that was almost 5 times the amount I'd been planning to spend. I plunked down my card (less painful that way, you know) and walked out of the store.

And turned right around and walked back in.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "But I'm going to need to ask for a refund on this game. I came in looking for one thing and left with another." The clerk didn't know how to give a refund since I'd paid with my card, so I came home fuming, angry at all my imaginary friends who made me feel like I needed to buy something that I neither needed nor wanted. It doesn't matter to me at this point whether we keep the game or not. I just wish I could gather up my dignity and hide in the corner.

Am I the Only One?

Does anyone else find it strange that we're still being bombarded with information about who else might be the father an Anna Nicole Smith's now incredibly rich baby but we've hardly heard anything about North Korea standing down on its plans to develop nuclear weapons?

I don't follow every bit of news, but it seems to me like one of these stories has more impact on more people than the other.

Did you Hear the One?

This ol' blog's been kind of heavy lately. Time to lighten up. Thing is, I'm not too good at jokes.

Here, I'll prove it.

An angel is talking to God. The angel says, "Look, God. I know that you're all-seeing and all-knowing, but for the knock-knock joke to work, you HAVE to say 'Who's there?'"

or

Why did ancient Romans close down the Coliseum?
The lions were eating up the prophets.

Okay, I'll admit. Without Garrison Keillor and Reader's Digest, I got nothin.

How about you? Heard any good ones lately?

The years are fleeting

Anna Nicole Smith. I don't know anything about her except what the tabloids and commercials scream at me.

39. We may have been in the same grade at school. But the similarities end there. Every time I heard her name over the past couple of years, it was because she was tied up in some controversy or some lawsuit. She married an elderly billionaire, then took his family to court when she didn't get what she expected in the will. She sued the weight loss company she used to represent. She was giving birth to one child (paternity testing currently underway) as a grown child was dying.

Even in life, every time I heard about one of Anna Nicole's situations, I cringed for her. How could one person make life so complicated in such a short time?

Then I realized that it doesn't take long at all to make your mark on the world. In fact, those whose lives are short often make a bigger impact than the rest of us.

Consider Alexander the Great, who conquered huge areas and annexed them into the huge Roman Empire. Who died at 33.

Or Nero, who killed pretty much everyone who looked at him funny (including his mother) and who started the first persecution of Christians after the burning of Rome. And who died at the age of 30.

Or Jesus Christ, whose teachings changed lives, whose death changed history, whose resurrection changed everything. And who only spent 33 years on earth.

This is not an invitation song. It's just a moment to muse about how I've used my life. What is my legacy? Will my death bring shock and a chance to rehash painful yet interesting stories? Or will it be a chance for people to reflect on the strength God can give to the weak?

Time will tell.

He No Here to Worship

A new acquaintance met an Asian man at the back of the auditorium during church services. The man didn't speak a word of English and my friend's Cantonese was just as absent.

The man had a paper with him with the name and address of a Chinese church on it. Once my friend understood that the man had no car and that the church was a couple of miles away, he offered to drive.

Once there, this friend entered the front of the room where the Chinese church was meeting and asked for someone to help.

"I've got a man here who is looking for you. I don't know who he is or where he came from, but he had your address."

A couple of Asian men walked out with him to the hallway and talked with the lost man for maybe ten seconds before turning to my friend. This is what they told him:

"He no here to worship. He homeless." They shook their heads and turned the man away.

The story continues of how my friend got the man to someone who could understand his situation and help him, but the part of the story that stuck out to me and to the men who lived it is the words, "He no here to worship." The very people who could have helped him most turned him away before he even got in the door.

My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, don't show favoritism. Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man also comes in. If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, 'Here's a good seat for you,' but say to the poor man, 'You stand there' or 'Sit on the floor by my feet,' have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?

James 2:1-5

bumpkin

I'm a bumpkin - I admit it .

This fact was confirmed to me this weekend when I walked into a church building that seats 5,000 for a Beth Moore conference. I should have realized it would be a monstrous event when every person checking into our hotel was female. Or maybe when it took 20 minutes of circling the parking lot to figure out there were no free spaces - not one - even though we were an hour early. Still, climbing to my seat in the third balcony, I was dizzy at the height and breadth of it all.

I'm a bumpkin and I tend to distrust people and events that look too organized and dolled up.

5,000 women gathered to praise God and listen to a woman who has a following among evangelical Christians as smitten with her as others are with Oprah. Christian Rock and Roll, I thought. Anything this popular, this polished, cannot be sincere.

Did I mention that I wasn't supposed to be there? The event sold out MONTHS ago. MONTHS. By the time I even heard about it, there was no way to get a ticket. Then, with only a few days before the event, God blessed me with a ticket, a ride, and companions. Still, I wasn't sure.

A lot of blessings came with the weekend-- the chance to spend with friends and to get to know other ladies, the chance to worship with abandon, the chance to witness an interpreter for the deaf turn an already beautiful language to pure art, the chance to sit at the feet of a woman - a gifted teacher - who gives all the praise to God.

Perhaps the greatest thing I took from the weekend, though, was the realization that just because something is popular and crowded does not mean it's insincere. As I sat and looked out at the thousands, seated neatly in numbered rows, I imagined Pentecost in Jerusalem.

3,000 people turned their lives over to Jesus that day. Just because they were numerous did not mean they were half-hearted.

3,000 people in one day, with no microphones or comfy seats or advertising fliers. So many in one small place, so few in the vast world. Yet those 3,000 changed the world forever.

3,000 in Jerusalem. 5,000 in Seattle.

"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be my witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth." Acts 1:8 NAS

On or in?

I've always said you stand in line, ever since I walked the halls of Glacier Valley Elementary School with my class, on the way to gym or lunch or to get a drink.

Now, it seems, everyone is saying you stand on line. I chalked it up to regional differences-- must be an east coast thing. But lately, our local west coast news channel have been talking about people standing on line.

Is it just me, or is this a recent change? I looked it up. Sure enough, it's changing. Apparently we're so used to talked about being online on the Internet that the phrase is getting generalized to other parts of life.

Okay, I can deal with the change now that I know where it came from. But what I can't deal with are some of the other annoying phrases that work their way into our vocabulary.

Outrage for example. Any time I turn on the news, someone is outraged about something. No one's just angry or miffed any more. We've got road rage and now even wrap rage (uncontrollable anger that arises when you can't open a package).

Or take holiday tree. Come on! If you're going to have a tree, call it a Christmas tree. You're not fooling anyone by changing the semantics.

For more words and phrases that should be kicked out of usage, check Lake Superior University's list of Banished Words.

My personal favorite was the tendency to combine names of celebrity couples. Think Branjelina and Beniffer. As one commenter said, it's so lame and pathetic... it's lamathetic.

Do you have any unfavoritist words to add?

Peripheral Vision

There are a lot of people in my life who exist in my peripheral vision. I see them, but I don't really look at them. I greet them, but I don't really know them. I shake hands with them, but their lives don't actually touch my own.

One of the kids was sick yesterday, so I sat with her in the church lobby until services ended. There was quite a crowd back there... a couple of teenagers hanging out, the church secretary overseeing everything, an elder praying with a couple, and a woman crying, a pillow hugged against her. Over the intercom, I heard the call to prayer and the instructions, repeated every week.

"If you have a prayer need, feel free to ask someone to pray with you. Or if you know of someone in need, get up and move to be by that person."

I didn't know the lady. I've seen her, but just in that peripheral vision. I couldn't ignore her, not now that I faced her with nothing to distract me. So I sat by her and prayed for her. I don't know if she heard me through her pain. I wish I could have done more.

I'm so thankful that the God of the Universe heard, that the God of all comfort does not see us out the corner of his eye. He sees us clearly.

Behind the Scenes

For those of you who lost track... this is my 200th post to this blog. Since December of '05, I've averaged a posting every 2 days.

That's a lot of nothing to say. I feel like I've delivered what I set out to do... scribblings, random thoughts, opinions on all sorts of subjects. This blog is my exercise, my mind-stretcher, my doodle pad.

I don't obsess about the counter, but I do check it from time to time to see where my readers hang out. I've had hits from Togo and Thailand, India and Indiana, Juneau and Johannesburg. And tonight, for the first time, I had someone stop in from Israel.

Israel... wouldn't you love to go there? Or Greece or even Patagonia? At least my thoughts get to visit. Sigh.

One benefit of blogging that I didn't expect is that it can help people know me better. I even had a faithful reader (and friend) call the other day to check on me since I hadn't posted an entry in 4 days.

Thanks for caring and thanks for sharing this little side road with me.

Oxymoron-- No Offense

Diet ice cream.

Virtual Reality.

New Classic.

Act natural.

Friendly fire.

And now, the latest oxymoron in my collection...

Geoffrey.

The two reactions to the news of his engagement have been...

FINALLY!

and

WOW! HE WORKS FAST!



Congratulations, Geoffrey and Dana. May your life together be as fun and exciting and perfectly right as your courtship has been.

If anyone wants an invitation to the June 9th wedding, drop me a line and I'll pass on the word.

The Eleventh Commandment

Growing up, I actually thought it was one of the original ten (but I also thought Juneau was on an island until I was twelve, so I wasn't always tuned in to reality).

NO READING AT THE TABLE

Followed closely, of course, by

FOUR ON THE FLOOR

and

DON'T STICK YOUR TONGUE TO THE MONKEY BARS WHEN IT'S COLD OUT!

My kids are growing up thinking the most important commandments are

NO WHISTLING IN THE HOUSE,

THE DRIVER CONTROLS THE RADIO,

and

USE A TISSUE!

I wonder what other tapes will play in their heads when they're older. What was the eleventh commandment at your house?

When dreams come true, but you don't know what to do with them

I bought an MP3 player.

I want to listen to podcasts of sermons and npr.

Problem is, I have no idea how to easily get the podcasts I want to the player. I've downloaded about 6 different jukebox programs and I see lots of options on how to buy music, but I'm stuck on what to do with podcasts.

Anyone out there who has a non-iPod MP3 player, who listens to podcasts, and who has a clue how to help me out?

What's the best jukebox or podcast organizer program?

War Memorial

Adam Langford, missionary to Uganda, died in a car accident along with his friend and co-worker Moses Kimezi yesterday.

I didn't know Adam, though his sponsoring church was not far from here. But I can picture his life in Jinja, his work with The Source Cafe, an Internet cafe and coffee shop that serves as gathering place, fund raiser and development prototype. I can picture his last trip in a lorry across the pitted asphalt and red dirt roads of Mount Elgon.

For those of you who know Adam, Ben and Kym, my deepest sympathies and my most sincere prayers. To you in Fort Portal, Mbale, Mbarara, Jinja and Kampala and elsewhere in East Africa, to friends and family in Oklahoma and Portland, may God bring comfort, peace and eventual understanding.

In the war we wage, the battle that is not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers of this dark world, it seems there are so many casualties lately. Adam, Cyndi, Nancy, and Cathy, all left their comfortable American homes only to lose their lives on the African roads. But that's from our perspective. In fact, I wonder if they are casualties at all.

I read a book years ago about a missionary in South America who was kidnapped and later murdered. Rather than leaving a hole in the work in that place, his story spurred dozens of new recruits to volunteer to replace him. A loss on this side of the curtain between life and death may bring many surprises. I don't believe that God caused this accident, but I do know that he can use it for good ir ways that we can not yet imagine.

God bless you, Adam and Moses. May your sacrifice and suffering reap great rewards.

Solutions are wonderful. Cures are amazing. Answers are great. But in this broken world, I am beginning to believe we need more people who are willing to enter into the suffering of others whether they can help or not. I want to choose to suffering for the sake of others. I am not always sure how to do that or what it looks like, but most days I wake up and can’t think of anything else to do. Uganda has problems, I pray that God will solve them, but until He does I will also pray for the strength to suffer.
- Adam Langford, November 2006

*For more news about Adam and Moses and the needs of the church and teams in Uganda, click here.

An Old Fashioned Snow Day

I've got nothing deep to share today... just the warm, satisfied feeling of a well-spent day.

We awoke to gently falling snow, which wasn't a surprise. What did surprise us was that it kept falling and falling into the afternoon. Mid morning, I dug out my husband's ski shoes and went out cross-country skiing for the first time in over 20 years. I never was an expert, but the gently swishing of skis on fresh snow brought back sweet memories. I've never heard the neighborhood so silent. Cars had not yet beaten down the three inches of white fluff.

I came home to hot chocolate and chicken noodle soup with homemade noodles that I started simmering on the stove last night. Then it was out again with the whole family for some sledding, skiing, and snow angels. The little one (the perfectionist, you remember) announced that she already knew how to make a snow angel, but that she wouldn't because it might mess her clothes up. With a little encouragement, though, she knelt down and gave it her best shot - stiffly at first - but then with great pride in her perfect angels.

Back at home, we scraped up a layer of untouched snow and made a big pot of snow ice cream which went down with a smile. Then Daddy read to the older kids while the little one and I read together.

A hot bath, some flannel jammies, and a sigh of contentment.

What a lovely day.

I couldn't resist!

really SMALL world

Lori and I have been friends for - what? - 4 years? We were thrust together at a camp out where, for some reason, we were the only 2 families not from a certain church. They all knew each other, we both knew no one, so we paired up. Soon afterwards, we joined their home school co-op and our kids became fast friends, which is a fantastic excuse for us moms to get together.

When I was visiting her a couple of weeks ago, she pulled out her Christmas album which is filled with photos of all the people who send her photos in in their Christmas letters. I thumbed through, listening to stories about her good friend from Mississippi, her other friends from Idaho, her family on the East Coast. I turned a page and stared straight into a face from my past.

"Why, that's Nancy!" I said.

"You know Nancy? How do you know Nancy?"

Nancy, who first invited Lori to church, was from the family I stayed with every summer when I went to camp. Nancy, who left Anchorage to move to Egypt, looks exactly like she did when we were both 12. Nancy, who I haven't thought about for 20 years, brought a new friend into my life.

If Nancy hadn't extended a welcome to Lori, Lori never would have made connections in the Church of Christ. And without those connections, she wouldn't have been at the camp out where we met. And if she wasn't there, my life would be so much the poorer.

Small world?

I'll say!

Real as Life

I have a complex relationship with my personal trainer. I dread going to her classes since I know she'll gripe at me for not making it every day. I watch for her to turn her back so I can quit doing her eternal sets of heel jacks. I've even (gasp!) changed my name so I could rejoin her class after dropping out. I'm hoping she doesn't notice it's me and ask why I've gained 3 pounds since I joined.

The thing is, my trainer, Maya, is not actually a person. She's a computer animated trainer that lives in my X-Box.

I think it's a little weak-willed on my part to play mind games with someone who's not even real. But she's real to me. I put in a Billy Blank's Tae Bo tape this morning, but realized that if I didn't show up to Maya's class, she'd notice. So I popped out the tape, braced myself, and tuned in to Maya. She noticed I didn't work out yesterday, but she wasn't too disappointed this time.

Hearts Entwined

I don't often cry, but I did today.

Several times.

I cried for Ablavino whose oldest child, Ablavi, died yesterday after a long illness stole her twenties from her. For talkative, opinionated Ablavino whose voice has been silenced by a hard-hearted husband. For Ablavino who mourns alone as the rest of her family wails and cries out that Ablavino's faith in Jesus brought about this tragedy.

I cried for Brenda, who first saw Ablavi as a friend and later embraced her family as her own.

I cried for Murphy and Christine, for Marty and Louise, who search for ways to offer help and comfort, who live in a place where the questions are so difficult and the answers harder still.

I cried for Edemno and Delano and Suzanne and all the other mothers of Zebe who try so hard to keep their children safe but fail again and again.

I cried for Sandi and Jenna and myself as small pieces of our hearts wither with the loss of friends beyond our reach.

I cried for Ablavi and the choices she made, the choices made for her. I haven't been in her life in many years, but I have a hundred pictures of her in my mind... of her braiding Esi's hair, or pounding fufu, or fetching water from our faucet, or repeating a phrase to me for the fifteenth time until I truly understood.

I told her story to a girl today, a girl about the same age Ablavi was when we first met. This girl said, "The death of one is a story; the death of millions a statistic."

I thank God that Ablavi was not just a statistic. Her life touched mine. Her story is part of my story. Against all logic and reason, our stories are entwined.

prfection

I have a small, young perfectionist in my house. I've known it for a while, probably since she used to line her toys up along the edge of the bed. Or maybe it was when, as a toddler, she would cry when she spilled something on her shirt. Or perhaps it was when she started having tantrums because her pants were wrinkled.

Being a perfectionist can be a hard job. When making a mistake sends you over the edge, any new endeavor can be threatening. So I was surprised that my 4-year old perfectionist insisted on skating around the rink on her own after only 5 minutes of holding my hand. She went out there like a trooper and skated proudly around a couple more times.

Then she fell.

She wasn't hurt, but she was done.

"I'm no good at this, Mommy. I fell down. Take my saktes off me."

I wanted to hold her and love on her and tell her what a narrow life she will have if she never lets herself fail. But I gave her a quick kiss and said, " Let's go around again. I'll hold your hand if you want."

No body's perfect, honey. No matter how hard we try.

And that's where our spiritual awakening begins.

so long, farewell

Do you know many times I baked cookies in December? I can count at least a half dozen times. Each time I swore I wouldn't eat any... I was just doing it for the kids.

Right.

All the gingerbread and sugar and butter and lovely treats dipped in chocolate enticed me and I couldn't hurt their feelings by ignoring them.

But now, alas, they're gone. All except the M&Ms and the Kissables who will wait politely in their bags until we invite them out.

Sleep well, cookie cutters. I'll see you next December. Good night, beautiful angels, sugar sprinkles and twinkle lights. You all brought magic into our home for a short time. We'll think of you throughout the year, but keep you tucked away.

Right now, I don't miss you. But I know in a few months I will. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder. And right now, I'm longing for sunny days and my little garden.