Hot Wheels Vicki

I need to tell you about a friend of mine. I would have told you about her sooner, but I thought I had more time. Besides, she wanted to tell the stories herself in an autobiography she started and put aside.

Vicki King Thompson died peacefully in her sleep on Friday. The news of her death comes as a great shock to all of us who know her.

Vicki's body didn't form the same way most of ours did and she spent most of her hours in a wheel chair or in bed. Her short legs never learned to walk, but that didn't slow Vicki down a bit. You could tell that from her email moniker - Hot Wheels Vic. She was always in the middle of things, giving advice, greeting everyone, and - above all - asking for prayers for those she loved.

If you knew Vicki, I guarantee she's asked someone else to pray for you. She found great power in prayer and comfort in having other people pray with her. Hardly a Sunday went by without her asking for prayers for a niece, a cousin, a co-worker, a friend. And especially for her mom. I believe it was Vicki's greatest joy to see her mother give her life to Christ earlier this year.

The kids loved Vicki, from the little ones in her Sunday School classes to those she met in the lobby. She was just their size, sitting in her wheelchair, and she loved our kids like they were part of her family. One of my very favorite pictures is one of Vicki holding one of my twins just after the babies came home from the hospital. Vicki's arms were weak, but she could handle those 4 pounds, at least for a few seconds. Even recently, she reminded me, "Remember how I almost dropped your baby?" but I always knew it was special for her to get to hold her, one of the only babies small enough to rest in her arms.

I have a hundred stories to tell, and you probably do, too. I hope we can share them together at her memorial later this week.

Tonight, though, I can't help thinking about Vicki climbing all over heaven's playground, swinging high up in the air, scurrying across the monkey bars and dancing in the freedom of her new-found perfection. Save a spot on the swing set for me, Vicki. I can't wait to play with you.

That's Nuts!

I'm trying so hard to accept the fact that my beautiful walnut trees belong to the squirrels. If you sit outside, you can hear them munching away, stuffing themselves on MY (I mean "their") green walnuts.

But, come on guys! You don't need to be so greedy. I just saw a squirrel scamper by with 3 - THREE!- walnuts in a cluster sticking out of its mouth.

UNFAIR! I won't even get one.

My other stuff is the same way. Much as I try to let my possessions flow through my hands to whoever needs or wants them, somehow I keep pulling things back and crying "MINE!" I take a deep breath. I loosen my grip. I look for something else to share.

She Didn't Follow Her Script

We did vacation Bible school a week ago. I was the village scribe and my job was to help kids write and seal their own parchment scrolls with wax squeezed out through a glue gun. My shop's co-owner, Edna Ruth, helped the youngest market-goers stamp letters into ancient Roman fluorescent play dough.

Our script said we were not Christian. We didn't know anything about the rebel Jew Jesus or why he and his followers were stirring up trouble. We were to ask the kids questions, to learn more as the week progressed.

"Who is this Jesus? Why is Paul in prison? Shouldn't he just give up talking about Jesus so he can be set free?" That was our script.

This is the script Edna Ruth followed, the script of her life--

"Of course I have a god. I know THE God. And his son, Jesus. Have you heard of him? Let me tell you all about him! He's made the biggest difference to my life and I love him with all my heart."

Even play acting, she couldn't say anything other than what she knows to be the truth. And I love her for it.

Velvet Hammered!

Just one little velvet hammer milkshake from Coffee People at 9 o'clock at night. It tasted so sweet, so cool going down after a long, hot day. I chewed on the little black specks and hoped they didn't get stuck in my teeth. Got home at midnight and crashed.

For an hour.

Then I was wide awake. Wide, wide awake. I read 200 pages. I stared at the ceiling. Until 5 a.m. and even then, I slept fitfully.

I woke up feeling like I'd been clonked by that velvet hammer, only someone forgot the velvet part.

For all you coffee addicts out there, I can see why you feel like you need to cure your coffee hangover with more coffee. I can't imagine feeling this way every morning. No thanks. A caffeine addict, I am not.

Unless it comes in the form of chocolate.

Third Place Hang-outs

I told you I lost my third place hang-out, my morning version of Cheers, where I could go for a good cup of tea with a friend and where I was bound to run into someone I knew. Cafe Divine closed down months ago and has recently been converted to a church meeting place with a really good espresso bar. I finally realized that it won't be open as a coffee shop business again. It's time to find a new place to meet.

I put the word out on my home school community chat loop that I'm looking for a third place. Here are my requirements:

1. It must serve coffee AND tea, several varieties of each to satisfy a range of tastes.

2. It must have comfortable seating that invites you to stay a while.

3. It must have a peaceful atmosphere so we can carry on a conversation without having to shout above the music or the people next to us.

4. It shouldn't cost as much to have a drink as to eat a meal. Price points matter.

I got back about a dozen responses, but for my first sortie I chose a place on my own. Excellent, inexpensive coffee (with a 25-cent discount if you use your own cup), comfortable couches, a knowledgeable barista, and no music being piped in. And a book exchange shelf. Who wants to go?

Tunics and Togas and Peplos, Oh My!

It's that time of year again, when the straight rows of chairs in the sanctuary are stacked and stored to make room for an ancient marketplace, this year in Rome. With five of us to costume in ancient Roman dress, the living room is draped in toga fabric (aka old sheets bought for a song from the Goodwill Outlet store).

I am the local scribe, a task I found myself drawn to, the write job for me. (buh-dum-ching!) Bamboo styluses (or is that styli?), parchment, and sealing wax are the tools of my trade. There's been word around town about a prisoner, Paul, who can't shut up about some Jewish rebel named Jesus. Have you heard of him?

If you happen to be in the Roman marketplace next week, Tuesday-Thursday from 6:30-8:30 p.m., drop by my booth and I'll help you write a letter to a loved one or transcribe a poem for you. And maybe we can both learn a little about this rumor going around.

See you there?

Prayer and Praise

2 big events today.

1. My mom, who broke her back in a fall a couple of months ago, is having surgery to glue her back together this morning. I'm heading over to the hosptial soon to check on her. Pray for her?

2. My nephew, quite possibly one of the cutest boys on the planet, is turning 1 today. Happy Birthday Elijah Hugh!

Oregon Christian Writers

I'd like to interrupt this blog for a brief commercial. In two weeks, Oregon Christian Writers will host its summer coaching conference. Can I just say, if you're a writer (or hope to be one some day), this is a great conference for beginnings and professionals alike.

I'm polishing up the first 10 pages of my novel to send in for review by agents and editors. At the conference, I'll be able to take classes from Lisa Samson, one of my favorite authors in the Christian book marketplace. I'll meet up with old friends, make new ones, learn some new skills and polish old ones.

It's going to be a lot of fun! Why don't you join me?

The Power of Story

I finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns last night and was amazed at how Khaled Hosseini was able to do what 8 years of TV news coverage on the war in Afghanistan has failed to do--make me see the people of that country as real people. I find it ironic that a cast of fictional characters lends more humanity to the place than the faces of real people, but I suppose that's the power of story.

To find love and acceptance, to provide for their children, to survive whatever hardships come along... these are the needs of women around the world. I've been working on my own story about a woman in Africa who faces different struggles, but they are really the same. When I finished reading this book, I felt like pressing the delete button on my own story. I want to tell an important story in a way that begs to be read, to expose glimpses of hope that survive the worst persecutions. Some day, perhaps I can capture the human condition as beautifully as Hosseini does, but I doubt it. All I can do is tell the story I have in the best way I can. I don't know if it will move anyone to tears, but I pray it will put a face on the people of West Africa, people who are real to me but are just video clips on the news to so many others.

Hallmark Religion

We have a birthday celebration this weekend for 5 people who camp with us over 4th of July weekend each year (including 2 of my kids!), so I had to stock up on birthday cards. I got the card for the sweet sixteen and for the toddler boy, but needed one for the grown up lady. My eyes roamed to the "religious birthday" section and I picked up a sweet looking card to read it.

Front: On your birthday, may God bless you with the greatest blessing of all.

Inside: Birthday cake.

Really? It's probably supposed to be a joke that got mis-filed under religion, but in a way, that's kind of how people seem to treat their faith. It's fluffy and fun and all about instant gratification with no thought to consequences.

Oh, Hallmark, God has so much more to offer than birthday cake.

Buried in Berries

2 moms.

5 girls.

1.5 hours.

20 rows of bushes.

18 buckets, 8 empty, 10 full.

42 pounds of raspberries.

1 wonderful morning.

Unreasonable Goals

In my enthusiasm to finish my current project, I set myself a high goal. High but reachable, I thought. 2000 words a day times 42 days and I'd have a finished first draft. Thing is, I forgot to schedule in weekends. I don't know about you, but I find it hard to squeeze creativity out of myself day after day after day without giving the creative sap of my brain time to flow again.

So, I'll be a few days behind. It was imaginary deadline as it was. First draft by the end of June, final by the end of August. I think I can... I think I can.

I wonder, am I so used to setting the bar low that setting it a little higher stretches those muscles I didn't know I had?

I've been thinking about goal setting lately as I prepare to homeschool high schoolers for the first time. Do we need to set higher goals for them, give them something to reach for? Probably. Can we still make learning fun and interesting? I sure hope so.

I hope that as I push myself, expect more from myself, it will help me understand how to set goals for my kids and how to teach them to set goals for themselves. I also hope it will give me more grace as I come to understand that setting high goals and missing by a little is better than setting out to accomplish nothing and succeeding.

Pure Freedom

Reaping What I've Sown

The garden is up and this week we're enjoying early fruits of the labor we put in on those cold March days. Spinach, four varieties of lettuce, kale, cabbage, and radishes grace the table at every meal and leave the house by the bagful with each visitor who drops by. I start every morning surveying the tomato, squash and pea plants, looking for blossoms and young, succulent fruit. Papa's winter pruning has paid off this week with a lovely harvest of bing cherries. We watch the plums plump on their branches and count the days until July.

For longer term reaping and sowing, I still plug away on writing projects, honing my skills and hoping someday they will turn into either a paying gig or a way I can minister to people beyond my small circle of friends.

And for the future, I invest time in my children, knowing that the lessons they learn now will reap benefits for them and for their families for generations to come.

Ambition

The seven-year old made an announcement today.

"I know what I want to be when I grow up."

"What's that?"

"I want to be a homeless person."

Tip du Jour

I've had some blackened burnt-on crud in one of my saucepans all weekend. Soaked it, boiled it, scrubbed it. Lathered, rinsed, repeated. Tried baking soda with water, baking soda with vinegar, baking soda in boiling water.

Still black and burnt.

A few minutes ago, I filled the pot with water, tossed in a dryer sheet and brought it to a boil. Voila! It's clean! Wiped the remaining junk out with the dryer sheet and washed the pot with soap and water. Finally, a household tip that really works!

P.S. When I went to label this post I found I have never written about cleaning, housework, tips, or anything else resembling cleanliness. No big surprise there!

$1 well-spent

Seven years ago, I bought a little television at a garage sale for a dollar. Its screen is about 4 x 4 inches, black and white, and in all the time I've owned it, I've never been able to stop the picture from flipping. But I didn't care. It's not about the picture, but the sound. Television news has kept me company in the kitchen as I've prepared nightly dinners.

Today, the tv sits silent. It cannot receive a digital signal and I thought it would be silly to spend the time, money and space to hook up a converter box and antenna to a little $1 machine. Next stop, recycler. But I consider that a dollar well-spent.

Out of Thin Air

Some days, I feel I can reach above my head and pull a story, fully-formed, out of thin air. Other days, I slog through the mud and mire of writer's block, hunting the elusive word. When I capture it, I will slay it and mount it on my trophy wall of paragraphs.

I love the way words, like clay, can be molded in the writer artist's mind. I used to try building towering works of majestic splendor. Now I'll settle for, "that's practical... and kinda purty, too."

Don't watch, now. I probably look a little silly trying to catch the words that flit about me like a swarm of cotton candy butterflies. But when I catch one or two, they will dance about in my story, sprinkling bits of magic over everything.

Community

"So, what were you doing this week?" The lady next to me on the airplane asked the polite question.

"Some girlfriends and I had a weekend together," I said, but the words didn't really convey what our time together was about. Yes, I'd spent time with 5 ladies from my mission team, but it wasn't just a few days with some girlfriends. It was much more than that.

We're so much more than friends with a common experience. We've experienced trials together, joys and sorrows, triumphs and tears, and always, always, commitment to a common cause that is bigger than the sum of its parts.

We're church, we're family, we're team, we're friends and colleagues, we're sisters. The word of the weekend was "community," that elusive quality of sacrificing your personal goals for the sake of a bigger group, a greater goal. We found that community with each other in Africa and now we search for it across America. We've had a taste of what Christ's church can and should be and we hunger for more. I believe true community can happen. 

Do you?

Where in the World?

I plan to write a little about my trip after I have a day or two to decompress, but here's a little taste. Can you guess where I've been?

Don't peek at the comments if you want to figure it out for yourself. Someone just might give it away!