A Eustace Scrubb Kind of Day

Yesterday was a Eustace Scrubb kind of day.

Do you remember Eustace? He's the selfish brat of a hero who was sucked into Narnia with his cousins, hopeless saps all.

Eustace made a full time job of complaining until the Dawn Treader made land on Deathwater Island. It is a desolate place in the Eastern Ocean, beaten by fierce winds and prone to drenching storms, home to a magical pool that turns anything, including greedy sailors, into solid gold. It is also home to an impressive dragon's treasure lair, as Eustace discovered.

When Eustace found the treasure, he vowed to keep it himself. He reveled in the richness of it until he curled up amongst the heaps of gold and jewels and fell asleep. When he awoke, he found that a bracelet he had easily slipped about his arm the day before had tightened so that it cut into his skin. His skin, he found, had turned tough and scaled. His selfish pride had transformed him into a dragon.

Eustace went through some major attitude changes in his time as a dragon. He wanted nothing more than to be turned back into a boy, but he hadn't the power to do it himself. Finally, he submitted himself to Aslan's mighty claws and allowed the lion to flay him open and peel back his tough exterior, revealing through the painful process his own tender pink skin.

My issue isn't greed. It isn't brattyness or snottiness--at least I hope it's not. My issue is security. A few months ago, I didn't even know it, but I've come to realize that I am looking for security in all the wrong places. I don't need much, just a roof over my head, a stable family, enough money to pay the bills with a little left over for an occasional movie or pair of socks. I wrapped myself in the tough skin of safety until God started flaying me open.

First Mom's health, then my husband's job. Or was it the other way around? I can't recall. I feel the all-at-onceness of it.

Jesus dug his claws into my thickened skin. I cried for him to stop, but I know he has to finish the job or I will never be who he intends me to be. He peels back the layers of self-reliance and leaves me vulnerable and--I'm sorry to say--prone to weeping.

I wish I could say he'd finished his work, but I'm afraid there's a lot more of me to tear away. I clench my teeth and close my eyes and submit to whatever he needs to do. I cry out, "I can't take any more!" but he knows how much I can stand. He knows that I, like Eustace, will become the person he wants me to be if I will only let him skin me.

For the English Connoisseur

I wish I'd written this, but alas, the Poke beat me to it. In honor of my dad on his birthday, give this poem a try.


After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he’d prefer six months of hard labour to reading six lines aloud. My guess is that Dad would feel the same way about any poem written in French. Happy birthday, Dad!

Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Fe0ffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

English Pronunciation by G. Nolst Trenité

Great Women

Joan of Arc
Susan B. Anthony
Harriett Beecher Stowe
Jane Austen
Shirley Temple Black
Clara Barton
Pearl S. Buck
Catherine the Great
Cleopatra
Madame Curie
Amelia Earhart
Indira Gandhi
Helen Keller
Juliette Low
Mary
Catherine de Medici
Mother Theresa
Florence Nightingale
Rosa Parks
Pocahontas
Queen Victoria
Eleanor Roosevelt
Sarah
Margaret Thatcher
Harriet Tubman
Betty Wyatt

Happy Birthday, Mom! In my list of great women of history, you're the tops!

Christmas Treasure

Edwin and I both got treasure for Christmas this year. His came in the literal form, a bag of coins packed in a copper box, a nod to his interest in old coins and silver.

Mine came in a more obscure, but more valuable, fashion--as a hand-written book.

Reflections from a Mother's Heart:Your Life Story in Your Own Words was written by my mother over the past several months. She wants to get it all in the computer so I won't have trouble deciphering the handwriting, but to me, the effort she took to put her words on paper in her own hand are part of the value. I remember how, as a child, she'd tell us how valuable anything signed by her father was. He was left-handed, but was forbidden to write with his left hand. In fact, his teachers would tie his hand behind his back to train him to write with his right. It didn't work. All it did was force him to stop writing altogether. He used the typewriter to get his sermons on paper, to write letters to his children and grandchildren. So anything signed by Grandpa Hugh was declared as rare and of great value.

Mom's handwriting is that way to me. She used to have beautiful handwriting, consistent, legible, and similar to my own. (She holds her pen in a funny way, with 2 fingers on top--a trait she passed on to me and that I passed on to my daughters.) Parkinson's disease has stolen the easy flow of her penmanship and replaced it with a somewhat jerky style that gets more and more squooshed as the day goes on. My new book contains dozens of entries, each in Mom's writing, and all of them legible.

The real treasure is the collection of stories, told in Mom's own words. It's a collection for the whole family, but she gave it to me because, of all her kids, Mom passed on her love of a good story to me. She included the funny, the difficult, the sad, the bizarre. She left some pages blank, with the promise that we will fill them in together. I plan to collect on that promise.

Today is a sad day to me. I'm overwhelmed with the realization that Mom has been holding on for Christmas. Now that Christmas is over, I'm afraid she'll loosen her grip on the fight. I feel the tremendous burden of a mantle being passed on to me that I do not deserve, do not desire, and can never live up to. Who would ever choose to be the oldest woman in her family at the age of 43? Who will teach me to be the mother of the brides, the gracious mother-in-law, a grandmother who can gracefully blend fun and discipline? Who will give me the knowing hug when I am at my wit's end? When I feel like life's a shambles, who will say, "I've always been proud of you," or "You amaze me"
 or "This, too, shall pass?"

Thank you, Mom, for the lifetime of memories. And today, thank you for the book that holds them. I'll treasure it always.

Farewell, Friend

After a long decline, we decided it was time to say goodbye to our faithful hound, Missy. She wasn't getting around like she should and was in constant pain. She was the perfect dog for our family--low to the ground, given to taking long naps, rarely barked, and loved us all with unrelenting devotion.

She came to us as a "used" dog, found on craigslist. She integrated seamlessly into our family, never giving any indication that she missed her old home. I suspect she was thrilled to be in a family that stayed home during the day and that she never had time to miss her old home. I also suspect that she was named "Missy" because she missed people when she was alone. The only time she would make noise those first years was when she was left alone in the back yard. She'd roam the fence line, whining to anyone who would listen that she needed company. Later, she took to barking once or twice to tell us she was happy we were home. After she went deaf, she would use her voice to tell us she needed to come in.

Missy had such a great temperament. She'd let the kids dress her in silly hats. She tolerated the chihuahuas we used to watch. She never gave anyone anything but love.

I'll miss the old girl. I already do.

10 things you should never, ever write

While I'm less of a stickler on certain points of grammar than I used to be, there remain a number of words and phrases that make me cringe. Beyond its and it's, there, they're, and their, and to, two, and too, there are a number of ways to mutilate the English language. Let's visit some of my (least) favorites.

1. You should never, ever have to emphasize the word never. It's the exact same thing as saying exact same. Redundantly repetitive.


2. You should literally never use the word literally for emphasis. Most times people use literally, what they mean is metaphorically, but it doesn't have the same ring.

3. I'm writing this blog at 3:30 a.m. in the morning. As opposed to 3:30 a.m. in the afternoon? For one, 3:30 a.m. is a terrible time to be writing a blog and often causes morning-after regrets. For another, if it's a.m., you can trust your reader to know it's morning.

4. Sit down or stand up for this one. Extra words that don't communicate anything should be abolished. Like up in stand up and  down in sit down. How else are you going to stand or sit? Same with fall down, raise your hand up, and lay down.


5. The way I see it, fiction writers should cut back on see and saw. A good writer can tell us what a character sees without using the word see. Also, don't say someone heard a sound. What else can you hear?

6. Breaking news! The media should buy a thesaurus and use it to find more interesting ways to say someone is outraged, devastated, or shocked.


7. While a well-placed adjective can be helpful, overuse makes writing trite, contrived, forced, banal, hokey, and cliché.

8. Unfortunately, the same goes for adverbs. In most cases, a strong verb communicates more than a weak verb with an adverb, the editor said snidely.

9. It seems like the word seems also weakens a sentence. It seemed like the monster was about to eat her isn't nearly as scary as The monster was about to eat her. I feel like the word feel has the same problem.

10. If you know your grammar, feel free to have fun tweaking it. Break the rules a little to say things in new and interesting ways. But if you don't know the rules, learn them before you go breaking them. Believe it or not, people can tell the difference.

How is your mom?

I never know what to say when someone asks me, "How's your mom?" So many questions are hidden in that simple one. Which one are they asking? Is the question, "How is she feeling today?", "How are her spirits?", "Are there any signs the cancer has progressed?", "Is the anti-nausea medicine working?" or, perhaps hardest of all, "How are you?" One thing I know, they are looking for more than a cursory, "Fine."

Day to day, I can answer, "She's hanging in there," or "She's had a good/okay/difficult day."

Week to week and month to month, it's harder to answer. First of all, she's not a complainer, so I look for clues of how she's feeling based on how long she sleeps, how much she eats, how engaged she is in the conversation and activity around her. Up to now, her demeanor has seemed to have more to do with how well the meds are working than how hard the cancer is working on her, but I see that changing.

It's hard to write about here, knowing Mom will be the first to open this blog and will be either embarrassed or mortified or amused by whatever I choose to say. Physically, you can tell the cancer is doing its work. She's eating less, sleeping more, puking more. She still moves about under her own power, with the help of her walker and her treadmill, which serves now as a grab bar instead of an exercise machine. She still enjoys our visits, but when the whole family descends on her, it feels more like she is the stationary sun around which all the activity revolves. (This feeling is magnified by the fact that her dream chair, where she spends most of her time, is planted at the end of the kitchen island, so anyone entering or leaving the kitchen brushes past her.)

Emotionally and spiritually, Mom is predictably holding up better than the rest of us. I know she has her fears, but she keeps them to herself, choosing the face of serenity for those of us she feels sorry for.

Dad has taken naturally to the regimen of daily chores, though I know he aches to be out in the bustling public. I like to give him the chance to get out as often as I can, but he seems more and more content to be at Mom's side and less drawn by whatever he's missing outside the walls of their house. He vacillates between being the ever-capable caregiver and a weeping mess, but says he is okay with both.

As for me, I'd say I'm "fine"...except when I'm not. I handle the heavy things with the closest thing to grace I can muster, but when something simple goes wrong (like the girls missing their school registration or me being forced to sit through a chaotic Girl Scout meeting), I lose it. I cry over the stupid things like people looking at me funny or a good piece of chocolate. If anyone has a suggestion for a real tear jerker movie, maybe I could clean some latent emotion out of my system. I have a nagging malaise that is seemingly unrelated to what I eat or how much I sleep, that has, unfortunately, done nothing to curb my appetite.

I feel like I should sit with Mom and pray with her, read the Bible and talk with her about it, ask her probing questions about what she's experiencing and what she wants to tell me before it's too late. We can go there once in a while, but it's too heavy and serious for all the time. Times alone with Mom are often spent watching I Love Lucy or sorting edge pieces out for the latest jigsaw puzzle. We've been "doing" cancer for half a year now, and hospice for more than 3 months. Much as I love to dwell on the eternal, I'm too exhausted to do it all the time. The time is coming, sooner than I want it to, that we'll be faced with the serious side of things all the time. I'm praying that, even then, we will find a little humor every day.

Change of Scenery

I'm trying out a new look on my website, pattyslack.com. Stop on by to read about the type of people God is willing to work with!

On the Hunt

Take a picture of someone from your team...

1.Talking to a piece of fruit

2. Planking

3. Reenacting a scene from Star Wars and/or The Sound of Music

4. Working behind the counter at a fast food restaurant

5. Doing the can can in front of a movie theater

6. ringing a bell outside a store

7. dancing in the crosswalk

8. in a nativity scene

9. drinking a starbucks drink

10. making "tongue lips" while reading a book

New family activity this year--digital scavenger hunt. Both teams discovered that almost every item you need can be found at Walmart.

Almost.

Tell me about your favorite family activities.

25 Cups of Tea

I've often thought that there are few things more soothing than the first sip of tea. One of the only ways to make it better is to share it with a friend. Here are some, not all, of my favorite cups of tea. If I forgot to put you on the list, add your name in the comments. Or if we haven't shared tea together, let's do.

1. Lipton with Brenda in the dorm, water heated in the hot pot. She taught me to take my tea with milk and sugar.
2. PG Tips with Sara over long conversations on the phone.
3. Earl Gray with Kirsten, sharing memories and making new ones.
4. Yellow Zinger with Dad, heated 14 times in the microwave.
5. Market Spice with Mom, the cinnamon oil strong enough to eat through tupperware, warm enough to warm me from the inside out on cold Alaskan mornings.
6. Sweet iced tea with Jenna, cool refreshment for a hot Togo day.
7. African chai with ginger with Walt and Kay at Afrika Bite.
8. Kenyan chai with Gena, Beth and Monte, David Bushine and his wife.
9. Empress high tea with Georgia, my other Momma, and my beautiful daughters.
10. Herbal tea with Angel (Jurgen will take peach with sugar)
11. Blueberry sage, ceylon, or chai with Barb. She heats the cup before she fills it with tea.
12. Chai tea latte at Starbucks with David over long conversations.
13. The same at Heritage Coffee with Geoffrey and Dana
14. And again at the new coffee place with Kevin and Janet
15. And once more on my own, a quiet morning at River Maiden Coffee.
16. Morning tea with my daughters.
17. Strong black tea with Shelli.
18. English Breakfast Tea at church with more people than I can name.
19. Rooibos with Laurie K. We should do it again some time.
20. Tall Autumn Harvest around a table at Barnes & Noble with Randy, John, Camille, Larry and the rest.
21. Anything decaf with Lori D.
22. Morning tea and Bible study with a croissant at Andre's with Marie-Claire.
23. Tisane with Mme.Weille in France.
24. Tea and crumpets with Edwin on our one morning in England.
25. Bubble tea with Lori F. She didn't love it, but it was fun to watch!

An Open Letter to Two Women in the Grocery Store

Dear Woman in the Cereal Aisle,

For the record, I didn't sneeze on purpose. I didn't sneeze on your food or on you or even in your direction. I sneezed into my sleeve just like I was taught. I'm not even sick, just something tickled my nose and I needed to sneeze.

I'm sure it startled you and I'm sorry. I'm sure you heard me apologize, but you didn't care.

Did you think I couldn't hear your rude complaint or see the sneer on your face? Do you think you live inside a bubble where you can see out but we can't see in? Did you know I could feel your angry eyes boring into me as we passed in the baking goods aisle, the soup aisle, the juice aisle? You must not have known that your hatred--for that's what it felt like--ruined my shopping trip. Or maybe you did and you didn't care.

I pray people you meet today grant you more grace than you granted me.

-Sneezer

Dear Woman Behind Me in the Checkout Line,

For the record, I'm not always a basket case. You just caught me at a bad moment.

You could have been annoyed that my order was confusing. You could have huffed and sighed and tapped your foot when the checker clogged up both conveyor belts with my order, making you wait even longer. You could have done what someone else had already done just minutes before and announced to the world what was wrong with me.

But you didn't. You waited your turn. You walked around me to the second conveyor belt. You bagged my groceries for me. And then you did something that made my day.

You smiled and thanked me for letting you help me. I should be thanking you...and I do.

-Sniffler

Akin to Anne

Driving under the maples in Harmony Ridge, I feel the spirit of Anne Shirley rise up through me. The light, grayed by thick November clouds, filters golden through the trees. Under the canopy, it's as if you live in a rose colored world, a world where nothing can harm you.

Anne would have named these trees. She would have called this the Amber Way of Enchantment, or something even more fanciful and silly. She would have walked the long way home, just to dance in the falling leaves. The hem of her dress would be soaked with mud from last night's rain storm, but she wouldn't care, at least until Marilla reminded her she should.

A blanket of leaves covers the ground, each leaf a little different, each one more beautiful than the last. The beauty to me lies in the temporary nature of the garish display. If the ridge was emblazoned all the time, I'd scarcely notice. But since it shows off for only a few days before undressing down to bare brown and gray, I allow it a moment of overindulgence.

Breath of Air

This is the time of year when I resign my self to the long, dark, cold, wet days to come. So when a surprise "sunstorm" came along, it was a good chance to get out and breathe deeply, move my legs a little, and enjoy some of the spectacular colors. Some of the trees are so brilliant, colors you'd never think would occur in nature. But God's palette is varied and his brushstrokes are accurate. Some of the trees were so brilliant, in fact, that their glowing red shocked my camera into overexposure.

Mom's been doing well lately. Medications have been regulated well so she's not experiencing much pain or nausea any more. This translates into her having better days, more energy, and a mind that's constantly on the move. For a while, we were doing everything for her, but she's able now to check in on the laundry, the dishes, or organizing her bookshelf. I still spend time over there most days, but am relieved that she feels well enough to visit.

The twins are less than a month away from completing their first quarter at the community college. They've done well, but the whole family has learned a lot about scheduling, keeping up with assignments, and the importance of researching which professors get good and bad reviews. The youngest has been in school 2 days a week for a couple of months. She's funny and delightful and has brought home lice 2 times in the past month. We're dealing with it, but please don't share hats with my daughter unless you want to go through this lovely interlude too.

The hubby has been working from home but is starting to look for steadier work.

If you get a chance, watch for a sun break and go outside to breathe deeply. It did me good. I bet it will you too.

Help Wanted

     

HELP WANTED: older man,

low self-esteem. Speech

impediment a must. 

Experience as a prince 

and/or shepherd desirable.

Murderers welcome.

If we learn anything from reading through the Bible, from studying history, from experiencing how things work out in our own lives and the lives of people around us, it's that things are not always as they seem. And we're not the first ones to notice it. Thousands of years ago, people knew the same thing--that God cannot be explained.

"My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord. (Isaiah 55:8)

No kidding.

Over and over, we read of the people he chose to do great things. He often chose the weak, the ugly, the unwanted, the unlikely, to accomplish his purposes. For one thing, he doesn't look for experience and qualifications, but for the potential of the heart. For another, no matter what raw materials he starts out with, God is able to mold, shape, and transform anybody into anything.

Join me on my other blog, pattyslack.com, over the next few weeks. We'll be delving into the lives of people who, though totally unsuited for the tasks God had in store for them, were actually the perfect person for the job.

Today's Vocab Word - Murmuration

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

Congratulations!

And the winner is...
Mariya!
(Who also wins the prize for checking in from the furthest away, this year from Sweden!)
If you send me your address by email or on Facebook, I'll send you something special.

Plan B

And the winner is...

I don't know. A random visitor dropped in from the East Coast to look at one of my older posts. I'm sure she (don't ask me why I assume it's a woman) didn't even see that there's a contest going on.

So, no winner.

On to Plan B.

In honor of my 40,000th visitor, if you visit this blog during the next 24 hours, leave your name and the counter number of your visit. Tomorrow evening, I'll draw one of your numbers and send one of you a fabulous prize. Don't ask me what, probably something cheap and bizarre.

You have until 5:12 Pacific time on November 3, 2011 to leave your comment.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled blog in progress...

Tradition?

Forked again.

Last year, we woke up one Sunday to find hundreds of forks planted in neat rows throughout our front yard. Scattered amongst the forks was a small flock of flamingos.

We thought it was a mistake. Someone must have decorated the wrong house. Or maybe so-and-so did it...

So-and-so was out of town this year when we awoke to a yard full of Christmas decorations, so it couldn't have been him...

The tiny flamingo amid the sticks tells us it was the same culprit as last year. Who do we know that has enough money to "invest" so much money in a prank? Or is energetic enough to come out in the cold in the middle of the night? Or did they get the wrong house again?

Head scratching and a little grin...

**Today's the day, I think, that my count will blog hit count will hit 40,000. The counter is hiding at the bottom of the bloglist, just above the list of family blogs in the left column. If you are # 40,000, leave me a comment!

Jeanne Stinson 1921-2011

If I ever had a doubt that Africa has a way of worming itself into your heart, my doubts would have disappeared with the introduction of Jeanne Stinson into my life.

We met Jeanne in the late 80's, when our interest turned to short-term missions, first in South Africa, then in Kenya, and finally to long-term mission plans for West Africa. We'd studied the "dew breakers" of missions in Africa--the Merritts, Lawyers, Sherriffs, and Hobbys who walked before the rest of us, shaking the heavy dew of darkness off a continent that was ready to receive the light. We admired their sacrifice, leaving home and family to travel for weeks by ship to reach the distant land. Some of them stayed in Africa for years before their first furlough. Some never returned.

Jeanne's father was one who lost his life in Africa, his blood spilt out on the red soil in a senseless hunting accident. But like so many things that seemed to go so wrong, God was able to use it in ways so right. Jeanne, only 5 at the time her father died, had the language and faces of the Chitonga people firmly planted in her heart. Throughout the years of being raised at Abilene Christian College, Harding College, and the years she spent in the schools in Portland, the heart of Africa still beat strongly in her spirit.

How many times did Jeanne sing "Jesus Loves Me" to us in Chitonga? More times than I can count. As I held her hand and sang the words to her in English only days before her death, I wished I could make the foreign sounds of a foreign land that was home to her despite the fact that she left it 85 years ago.

Jeanne passed from this life to the next 2 weeks ago today. She joined her husband Don, an old boat captain who "crossed the bar" 3 years ago, her mother Zelma, father Ray, baby brother, and so many others. I imagine, though, that she was most excited to stand face to face with Pencil and so many of the other brothers and sisters of Southern Rhodesia who can approach the throne of grace with confidence because Jeanne and her family carried hope and life to them.

Jeanne made the world a brighter place for me and for so many others. She kept a bucket list to the very end, though in recent weeks that list had very few items left on it. One item on the To Do list was to clean out the back bedroom. We all knew that wouldn't get done. The only other item on the list was to finish teaching the gospel to a woman she was studying with.

What will be on your list when you're 90?

Quick Review

No deep thoughts tonight, but it's been a while since I've posted. Here's a glimpse of my past 10 days. Perhaps they'll help you understand why I haven't written.

Saturday-got news that our dear friend Jeanne Stinson had passed away. Not unexpected, but I'll miss her dearly. More on Jeanne later.

Sunday-the kids all headed to the pumpkin patch, a rare chance for me and hubby to be home alone. It lasted all of 30 minutes, though, as kid #1 saw something moving on kid #3's head. Lice! I ran to pick up the infested kiddo, stopped at couple of stores for all the supplies we needed, and headed home to begin the onslaught. Poison, combing, checking everyone's heads.

Monday-Laundry, laundry, laundry. Everything that had possibly been touched got vacuumed, washed, disinfected, or stuffed in plastic bags. Hubby's birthday. We shared carrot cake then dropped him at the airport to go visit his family for a few days.

Tuesday-More laundry, checking everyone's heads (again!), Mom's place and homeschool

Wednesday-roasting pumpkins, chilies and tomatoes. An afternoon jog in October had me sweaty and thirsty. Must enjoy the warmth while we have it. Last minute tweaks to the weekend's talks. Forgot to go to the pharmacy. Tried to visit a friend in surgery but he was still under the knife. Forgot what time the kids get off school. Glad my head was screwed on.

Thursday-hectic day running kids around, wrapping up some things at work, packing, picking up hubby from airport, finishing packing, then on a plane to Alaska. Peace at last.

Friday-Spent the day caring for 4 little ones with my sister-in-law. If I had 4 under the age of 3, I'd never go anywhere. She stuck us in the car, though, to go feed the ducks. Visited my brother at his school, which was where I spent the first 7 years of my education-good memories. Fabulous Thai food for dinner.

Saturday-Spoke at a ladies' day at the Juneau Church of Christ. I talked about listening to the truth God tells us about ourselves, not the lies we hear from culture, other people, and ourselves. I think it went well. Good to see a lot of friendly familiar faces.

Sunday-worship with the Juneau family. Nephew was sick with bronchitis. Once he was down for a nap, my brother and I hit the East Glacier Trail (best trail in the world, IMHO). I could hike it a million times.

Monday- Sore calves. Watched 3 kiddos while nephew went to the dr. with his Mommy. Spent a quick half hour at the friends of the library store (great store-found some treasures), then tea with the preacher's wife, halibut for dinner, and coffee with long-time friends.

Tuesday-climbed the McDonalds play place with nephews before getting on the plane. Many hugs and much love to Dana, Geoffrey and the boys. Sweet nephew cried when I left. I'm pretending that the fact it was nap time had nothing to do with it. Came home to a louse free house. Hurray!

Wednesday-Back home. Learned about Greek ships in the morning. Finished a puzzle at Mom and Dad's in the afternoon. Good visit with another long time family friend. A couple hours of work, an hour of TV, and I'm off to bed.

Warm Fuzzies

On June 26 I posted a blog on what to do for a loved one with cancer. Little did I know how soon I would be called on to put my actions where my words were. I try to spend at least a part of every day with my mom, hoping my mere presence is enough.

I have been touched by the many ways people have reached out to her with love and encouragement. Here are some recent outpourings of love.

A friend flew over from Idaho on a Saturday, cooked a beautiful dinner for Mom and Dad, and flew home on Sunday.

Mom gets 3 or 4 cards in the mail every day. She loves to read them, often several times, and treasures the love and prayers behind the words.

Several people have provided meals. Some of them cook enough for Mom and Dad, for my whole family, and for my brothers.

More than one friend has come from Alaska to offer hugs and supports. A group came for an evening to sing gospel songs.

A dear friend knitted a shawl, each stitch a word of prayer, the shawl and warm embrace.

A couple from church offered the use of their beach house to our entire family.

A life group pitched in to pay for gas, snacks, and a cleaning lady.

At least two different women have dusted the living room.

A steady stream of visitors comes to pray with her, play games with her, or just to chat.

I'm sure more people have done more things, but these are the ones on my mind right now. Many, many thanks for the warm fuzzies.

Jessie for Kindle

5 years ago last week, Mom's book was available in print. This week, it's for sale on Kindle.

For only $3.99, you can read this riches to rags story of one of the strong women who shaped the Last Frontier.

A tireless researcher, Mom worked hard to get this story right. Her years in Alaska, her fascination with Jessie's story, and the love she developed for the people of Eagle all come through in this book.

If you haven't had a chance to read it, get your Kindle Edition or your print edition. Or, if you'd like an autographed copy, let me know and I'll pass the word on to Mom.

Shameless Plug

It's been 9 years since I was cookie mom. The baby then is the girl scout now and her troop is doing a fundraiser.

Nuts ($5-6/can)

Candy ($4-8/can)

Magazines (various discounts)

If you'd like to help support her troop, leave me a comment or drop me a line and we can send you a secure link for ordering.

Thanks!

Good Night, Summer

Wasn't it yesterday that we were digging in the dirt, preparing our small patch of ground for planting?

How did the summer slip away? The harvest this year could have been bountiful if I'd been here to enjoy it.

Peas and beans, cucumbers and cilantro all got away from me, grown and gone to seed before I could pick them all. Grapes fell victim to our resident thieves, a renegade band of squirrels who take no prisoners and spread destruction wherever they go.

In protest to the late onset of summer, our raspberries are only now putting out fruit, at the same time as our pumpkin crop of 2 whole pumpkins has turned bright orange.

The potatoes are dug, the tomatoes sliced and eaten. A few red specks of cherry tomato dot the garden now, but they'll soon be gone too, burst between eager teeth.

Good night, summer. Sleep well and waken the earth again soon.

Her Heart's Desire

Mom's been enrolled with hospice for nearly a week now. While the learning curve is steep and the whole reason for hospice frankly stinks, we've heard one thing loud and clear--

Whatever Mom wants, she gets.

Ice cream for dinner? You got it.

Sunday night gospel singing? How many people can we cram in the living room?

Canasta? Massage? New paint in the kitchen? Done, done and done.

We've done our best, with the help of the amazing nurse Cathey, to quell the nausea and squash the pain. The past couple of days have been good ones. Mom was even able to get out for church and lunch today.

As I look at all the small and silly ways we're trying to spoil Mom, I know she's already received everything her heart truly desires.

A husband who adores her.

Children who follow the Lord.

Friends who walk with her in faith.

The promise of tear-free, pain-free, trouble-free eternity.

A God who has never forsaken her.

So many songs tonight spoke of heaven, so much hope for a bright and wonderful future.

Psalm 37:4 says, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart."

She has.

And he did.

Once Upon a Spider's Web

Two elephants went out to play

on a spider's web one day.

They had such enormous fun

they called for another elephant to come.

Elephants are not supposed to play on spider's webs. No matter how much fun they have, they ruin the perfect geometry and they get their toes all sticky.

I'm learning a lot about the delicate beauty of life these days, and also about how what looks like destruction is nothing of the sort.

I captured this picture yesterday on the first foggy morning of autumn. The dew did a number on the spider's web, but it is still beautiful, maybe even more so than before.

Strength made perfect in weakness.

God's glory being revealed through our flaws.

Sometimes our imperfections make us closer to the best we were always intended to become.

Evangelist

His arms are covered with tattoos, and probably the rest of his body too, judging from the body art that peeks out from under his black t-shirt. He sports a ring in his nose, the kind that pierces through the lower septum and sticks out both nostrils. He's already lost all sense of professionalism, and no wonder. After all, his shop will close in 2 days and he'll be jobless anyway.

I set my books on the counter, nothing I'm too excited about, but worth purchasing at 80% off--a book on animism in Africa, a retelling of old testament stories, an exercise journal (already relegated the the second tier behind the books I actually use), and a memoir about a religious woman who tries not to believe in God.

The title caught my attention: Breaking Up With God. It speaks to me of what so many have done, turned their backs on their creator and refused to take his calls. I want to understand what drives people to seek a different life. I want to know how to tell them God still loves them even when they don't feel it.

The cashier slides one book after another across the bar code reader. I don't even notice him reading the titles I've selected. I don't expect him to care.

"Are you into this kind of literature?"

His voice startles me. I didn't think he was paying any attention to me.

"Which one?" I strain to see which title caught his eye.

It's the one about leaving God, of course.

"I don't know. I haven't read it yet." A Homer Simpson Doh! hits the inside of my skull. What a dumb thing to say.

The cashier is animated now. He's looking around for something, A pen, a scrap of paper.

"Here are some other books you might like to read." His eyes are bright, his voice eager. He slides the paper across to me. "Read them."

I don't know what to say. You've got it all wrong. That's not who I am.


The titles he's selected are non-fiction, instruction manuals for how to abandon God. I don't want them, but I stuff them in my wallet.

I stammer for an answer. What makes you so happy to teach people how to live apart from God? What happened in your life to make you so evangelistic? I don't say anything. He's already turned his attention to the next customer.

An opportunity lost, a moment in time when I could have spoken a word of truth, a word of grace, and instead I stand dumbfounded and let the broken preach to me.

A Teen Boy's Mite

I love to see a biblical truth come to life.

Last weekend I was out at Faith Quest, an amazing youth weekend that our church helps sponsor each Labor Day to give our kids a strong kick start to the year.

Somehow I drew the least important, least spiritual job of the whole retreat.

Canteen. That's right. In the midst of spiritual renewal and refocus, I sell mildly addictive stimulants (this Mountain Dew) and sugary snacks.

On Sunday each year, the Faith Quest directors choose a project for the kids to help with. In the past, they've given to buy boats for fishermen in Africa, to do outreach to unchurched teens, to support future Faith Quests.

This year, the money went to Ryan Woods, a young church planter who has had a dramatic and miraculous journey through spinal cancer over the past 4 months.

Just before the collection, one of the teens came by the canteen (closed) and begged to buy a Mountain Dew.

"Sorry," I said. "Come back later. Or better yet, give your money to the collection."

"I will NOT give money at the collection," he said.

Really? Maybe he just needed more encouragement. My "boss lady" pitched in. "You should really give at the collection."

"I'm NOT giving," the young man said.

"Just 75 cents?"

"No. I'm not giving."

We closed the door on him and shrugged our shoulders over the fact that he would be so outspoken about not wanting to sacrifice a Mountain Dew for the sake of a good cause (of course, he didn't know what the cause was yet).

Ryan and Jessica had a chance to tell the story of their journey. A year ago, Ryan was the keynote speaker, telling the kids to stand firm as warriors. This year he sits, weaker and more tired but happy to be alive, and tells the kid that the battle is harder than he ever imagined, how this year he's learned that hope doesn't come only in healing, but in trusting God to know what's best, even when it hurts.

I didn't mean to look, but it warmed my heart to see a certain young man, the same one who had refused to give 75 cents, stuff a handful of bills in the collection bucket.

"What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, "Son, go and work today in the vineyard."

"I will not," he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.

"Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, "I will, sir," but he did not go.

"Which of the two did what his father wanted?"

"The first," they answered.

A Little Nudge

After 11 years of homeschooling, we are one week from dipping our toes in the waters of school. Well, actually, the older kids will be plunging in head first on the 26th when they start classes at our local community college. For them, it's sink or swim.

As they go off to classes each day, we realize that our younger one, a social bug, needs to be surrounded by more than just Mom. So...she will be attended an parent partner program through our local school district 2 days a week. We did our research, we did our praying, and (for my part) lots and lots of crying, and made the best decision we could based on this child at this stage of our lives.

So why do I still feel so panicked? Surely at some point I have to trust that my child can survive and thrive outside our home. After all, that's been the goal all along. It's funny, the last time I felt this much anxiety over the kids' education was when the youngun' was a babe in arms and the older 2 were starting 1st grade. They were crying every day over the fact that they had to learn to add. I was unsure I could stand to spend 18 years across the table from my kids.

Where did all those days go? First of all, we shoved the table out of the way and snuggled up together on the couch, or the chair, or the floor. We made the outdoors our school and drew from as many field trips as we could. We had hard days, sure, but we had a ball and learned a lot along the way.

Fly, little birdies,but be sure to come back to the nest to roost. I'm not ready to shove you all the way out yet.

An Unwelcome Interruption

I've often counted cancer as one of my least favorite words. Now I have a new one.

Metastasis.

Mom's cancer has found a new home in her sternum. We're praying that three weeks of radiation will knock it out, for a while at least.

For now, we're learning to enjoy our moments together. My youngest has already been over to put a puzzle together with her grandma. So many have sent hugs and cards and love.

If you want more details, check my dad's blog "millstones" in the right hand column.

If you want to help, prayers are certainly appreciated, as are hand-written cards and chocolate. (You can contact me if you need her address.)

Too Many to Love

More than 10 million people live side-by-side in the Rio/Niteroi Bay area, sometimes peacefully, sometimes not.

10 million. I can't even imagine it.

In a world where numbers like 700 billion and 10 trillion are thrown around, 10 million seems like such a small number. But not when you're talking about people, each one an individual with his own problems, concerns, joys.

How can you love so many?

The Roberts live at street level a few streets off Icarai Beach. The city is at the doorstep, often on their doorstep and inside their house. A steady flow of visitors comes in and out and, even when no one is visiting in the house, they shout comments and conversation over the walls from street to courtyard.

They chastise Pedro, reminding him that his parents want to see him back in church. They offer an area rug that they can't use in their new place to a neighbor. She insists on wiping down their new closets in return. They chat with the fruit seller, looking at pictures of his baby girl, then carry on their conversation with the bread seller, the street sweeper, the taxi driver.

How can you love 10 million people? You do it the way these missionaries are doing it--one person at a time.

All You Can Eat... and more

Brazil seems to be the mecca of all you can eat dining and last night we experienced the pinnacle.

At Verdanna Grill, there's an extensive salad, seafood and sushi bar. But that's not what people come here for.

They come for the MEAT.

All you have to do is sit at your table and wait for the food to come to you. Waiters walk around with huge skewers of meat, offering their fare at each table.

See something you like? With the nod of your head, it's yours.

To the best of my memory, we ate:

• filet mignon
• filet with cheese
• sausages
• beef hump
• pork
• capybara
• quail
• chicken
• turkey
• bacon
• pork belly and skin
• rib eye
• shrimp
• chicken hearts

It was extraordinary amount of food with an extraordinary family. I couldn't help thinking how much my dad and Ben's dad would have loved the meal. Wish they were here!

The bay is only a twenty minute walk through the park, past the shopping district and to the sand. The temperature drops from 82 to 75 as the sun sinks behind a nearby ridge. The city comes alive at sunset when individuals and family take to the streets. You are never truly alone here. The sounds and sights and smells of the people wrap around you like a protective blanket. Across the bay, the Jesus statue spreads his giant white arms over the ten million people. He knows them all by name and loves them, each one more than the next.

The Roberts are at home here, happy to be a part of the neighborhood they are ministering to, opening their home to foreign visitors and next door neighbors, being God in the flesh to those around them.

Let the Good Times Roll

You can keep your whiskers on kittens and cream colored ponies. Here are a few of my favorite things, all rolled up in an evening of fun.

1. learning about new cultures

2. trying new foods

3. learning new skills

4. hanging out with friends

5. good conversation

Thanks to Joan, a friend from Hong Kong, for opening her home and doing all the prep work to teach a small group of us how to roll our own sushi. All I need is the sushi mat and I'm ready to branch out on my own.

Next party--how to make pad Thai.

Up On the Rooftop

The trails around here seem so far away compared to where I grew up, but I must remind myself that an hour and a half in the car is worth the payoff.

If I'd stayed home today, I would have had a great view of the inside of the dishwasher, the washing machine, and the toilets.

This view from the eastern side of Mount Saint Helens doesn't even compare. Add to that the company of my loving husband, my in-a-good-mood daughter and a passel of teenagers and I'd say it was a perfect day to enjoy the great and vast outdoors.

God is good. All the time.

Prayers, Please

Mary Poppins had all kinds of advice, but the bit that sticks in my head this morning is that there's a word you can say when you have nothing to say.

It's Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Hmm.

I don't feel any different.

Maybe I should go with Maria's advice in the Sound of Music and sing about my favorite things.

Or maybe I should do what the apostle Paul and so many others have done through the centuries and ask the saints to lift up prayers of intercession.

Mom has uterine cancer. She's having surgery this morning to remove a bunch of stuff she never thought she'd live without and the one thing she'd rather not live with. I'll head down to the hospital soon to sit with Dad, and probably a crowd of church ladies, while Mom's in surgery.

Prayers, please?

Congrats?

It's that time of year again, when bulwer lytton announces the worst opening lines in fiction. Thankfully, these sentences are created specially for the contest and will never grace the opening paragraph of a real book. Here are a few of my favorites. For more, visit the contest website.

The Grand Winner

Cheryl’s mind turned like the vanes of a wind-powered turbine, chopping her sparrow-like thoughts into bloody pieces that fell onto a growing pile of forgotten memories.

Sue Fondrie

Oshkosh, WI

My Personal Favorite

Detective Kodiak plucked a single hair from the bearskin rug and at once understood the grisly nature of the crime: it had been a ferocious act, a real honey, the sort of thing that could polarize a community, so he padded quietly out the back to avoid a cub reporter waiting in the den.

Joe Wyatt

Amarillo, TX

Adventure

From the limbs of ancient live oaks moccasins hung like fat black sausages -- which are sometimes called boudin noir, black pudding or blood pudding, though why anyone would refer to a sausage as pudding is hard to understand and it is even more difficult to divine why a person would knowingly eat something made from dried blood in the first place -- but be that as it may, our tale is of voodoo and foul murder, not disgusting food.

Jack Barry

Shelby, NC

Historical Fiction

Napoleon’s ship tossed and turned as the emperor, listening while his generals squabbled as they always did, splashed the tepid waters in his bathtub.

John Doble

New York City

Runner-Up

The executioner sneered as the young queen ascended the stairs to the guillotine; in the old days, he thought, at least there was some buildup, a little time on the rack or some disemboweling, but nowadays everyone wants instant gratification.

Andrea Rossi

Wilmington, NC

Sci Fi

Morgan ‘Bamboo’ Barnes, Star Pilot of the Galaxia (flagship of the Solar Brigade), accepted an hors d’oeuvre from the triangular-shaped platter offered to him from the Princess Qwillia—lavender-skinned she was and busty, with two of her four eyes what Barnes called ‘bedroom eyes’—and marveled at how on her planet, Chlamydia-5, these snacks were called ‘Hi-Dee-Hoes’ but on Earth they were simply called Ritz Crackers with Velveeta.

Greg Homer

Placerville, CA

What Would You Say?

If you were given the chance to go back to your hometown and teach at your home church for a weekend, what would you say?

Would you thank the people for investing in your life and spirit?

Would you berate them for the mistakes they made?

Would you share a truth that you've "discovered" along the way?

Really, what would you say?

Border to Border

It's been a big week for the older kids.

Sunday, they turned 16. We celebrated with high tea in Victoria, BC.

Monday, we crossed back into the USA in time to hear the fireworks, if not see them.

Tuesday, we traveled south 200 miles. Each of them took a turn at driving. Highway 101 is not for the faint of heart.

Wednesday, they got acquainted with their new laptop computers, a birthday gift that is cooler to them than any car.

Thursday, they said good-bye (from bed) to their NM grandma. One of the girls cranked out most of a quilt top that day. Packing began.

Friday, they squeezed in a birthday party with one of their friends.

Saturday, we dropped them off for their mission trip to Mexico. They'll be helping build a house for a poor family. They should be crossing the border by now.

Canada to Mexico in a week. What a way to turn 16!

How Can I Help?

Another friend stricken with cancer. I've honestly lost count. The first response for so many of us is, "What can I do to help?"

Which might just be the exact wrong thing to say. When you're sick, do you really want to be making TO DO lists?

Here's a list of other suggestions of things that might be better to say (and do). What do you think? What do you do to help friends with serious illnesses?

1. Instead of asking what you can do, look for what is needed. Garbage overflowing in the bathroom? Take it out. Dust rhinos frolicking in the corners? Clean them up.

2. Fix a meal. I try to take something that is freezable so even if they don't need food tonight, there's something in the freezer for when they're having a bad night.

3. Offer to take the kids for a while.

4. Water the plants, mow the lawn, bring a live plant. Life breeds hope.

5. Be sensitive about family time. Stay for a short visit rather than lingering.

6. Don't focus only on the illness. Feel free to talk about good news.

7. Think of something you can offer that no one else can. When I was on bedrest during my first pregnancy, a friend who was a massage therapist came once a week to give me a massage. What a blessing!

8. Be sure to include the person in the bed in the conversation. It always feels so awkward when a crowd is gathered around the hospital bed, laughing and talking, and ignoring the person who should be the center of attention.

9. Saying you're praying for someone is fine. Actually doing it is much better.

10. You can never go wrong with a heartfelt, hand-written note or card.

Summer Snow

I had plans to spend my first afternoon of summer outside, but I was foiled by a freak summer "snowstorm."

In Africa, the kapok trees would shed their fluff every January. We'd go outside and let it fall on us, pretending it was 90 degrees and snowing.

Oh, joy. Even here in the states, we get to experience hot weather storms. It was 82 degrees today and the cotton from our neighbor's poplar trees hit us like a slow motion blizzard. My plans to paint a dresser were cut short. It may take a week for the accumulation to melt away.

Unless you have any suggestions for shoveling air?

Heard Any Good News Lately?

National news is full of grim economic forecasts, natural disasters, and way-too-detailed accounts of what idiots men in power can be. International news is worse--nations toppling, people dying, corruption and economic collapse.

Where's the good news?

There was good news in in my town this week when Jones, a boy we've been praying for since his llymph nodes started swelling, turned out not to have cancer but a severe food allergy.

Good news at my house is that neither I nor the hubby are working this weekend. We're going to spend a whole day together as a family.

My nephew's chicken pox were not chicken pox after all so he got to go on the plane to see his grandma. (Good news for his mommy who needed the trip!)

There's a full group of potential church planters heading to Kairos Discovery Lab next month. That means more new churches for more new people.

The older kids are heading to summer camp and the younger is going camping with her Memaw and Papa which means a whole quiet day for me and the hubby!

A group of special ladies is going to help paint a bedroom this week! Yay!

The best good news I've heard this week, though, is in Romans 8. Here's just a taste from The Message.

The resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a child-like "What's next, Papa?" God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are: Father and children.

How's that for good news? The whole chapter is brimming with encouragement and excitement. Read it! You won't be disappointed.

What's the good news around your place?

Things That Make Me Happy, Part 2

BUBBLE TEA!!

For those who have never had it, bubble tea is an Asian tea experience. You can choose your flavor, though I always get the original milk tea. What makes it fun, though, is the bubbles.

The bubbles in bubbles tea are actually blueberry-sized balls of tapioca. Chewy, a little sticky, they sit in the bottom of your cup and surprise every time one comes up the straw and into your mouth. Caveat: if you're making bubble tea at home, as I am today, regular straws won't do the trick. You need a straw thick enough to suck up a marble.

Even more fun than drinking bubble tea is giving it to a friend. I love the look of surprise and either delight or disgust that washes across a face with the first tapioca experience.

Haven't tried bubble tea yet? Come on by. I'll brew you some.

photo credit: http://whatscookingamerica.net

http://whatscookingamerica.net/BubbleTea.htm

Things That Make Me Happy, Part 1

Sometimes you just need a laugh. On a recent road trip, here's something we found that was always good for a giggle.

THE COW GAME

The rules of the game are simple.

1. Any cows you pass on your side of the car are "yours."

2. If you pass a cemetery on your side of the car, you lose your cows. All of them.

What makes you laugh?

Anniversary

The hubby came home with flowers and chocolate and sparkling cider tonight.

"Who's that for?" one the kids wanted to know.

"For everybody. It's a special anniversary."

He proceeded to remind us all of the day, 10 years ago, that we spent in "Heidi's village" in Switzerland. We bought fondue, we walked the pebbled path in the shadow of a mountain chateau. And we told our twins they were going to be big sisters.

What a delightful 10 years it's been getting to know our youngest. She's a joy to all of us. I can't imagine life without her. I love her so much. I love her daddy, too, and am so thankful for his reminder to celebrate special memories.

Extra Credit

Build the Starship Enterprise out of useless office supplies or anything that might be sitting in your junk drawer. Here's an x-wing fighter for inspiration from instructables.com

Be sure to send me pics of what you make so I can share with the whole class.

Perks

One of the perks of my job with Kairos is that I get to spend time with people who care passionately about sharing Jesus with lost people. Another, one I discovered yesterday, is that I get to talk to some incredible people who are newly experiencing the thrill of being found.

I spent half an hour on the phone with Donna yesterday listening to her story and it's a doozy. If you didn't believe in God's providence before you met Donna, you would after you talked to her.

I can't bring myself to repeat Donna's story just yet. I want to hold it as a sacred memory for a minute before I release it. I'll share it with you soon.

But for today, be encouraged. God is at work in his work. He is actively seeking people, drawing their hearts to him, redeeming them from the most horrific life situations into shiny new life.

It's awesome.

Time Warp

In Amarillo, TX about 3 weeks ago, I was thrilled to find the public radio station for a few minutes of Car Talk. The caller was from not too far from home and had a long but interesting question.

This morning, I turned on Car Talk just as the same caller was asking the same question.

Reruns?

No. Pledge drive. I felt like I was in a warp of time and space. What I thought was live 3 weeks ago was being played today. Or was it the other way around. Is what I heard today really the live show and the other was a rerun (or prerun)?

Shades of Gray

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral,
begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy.
Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it.
Through violence you may murder the liar,
but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth.
Through violence you may murder the hater,
but you do not murder hate.
In fact, violence merely increases hate.
So it goes.
Returning violence for violence multiplies violence,
adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness:
only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.
— Martin Luther King Jr. Strength to Love, 1963

I see the world in shades of gray, though often from fear of committing to the wrong side rather than from conviction that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. I am not the sort to dance in the streets, chanting "USA! USA!" about anything. After living overseas, I cringe at what it must look like to a watching world. War is not a pep rally and being on the winning team does not automatically make you the best. Though I know in my head that the death of Usama Bin Laden is a triumph for the oppressed, I can't keep my heart from feeling that the violent death of anyone can only breed more violence.

So many opinions being so freely expressed today--the world is a safer place, the death of any man without Jesus is a tragedy, remember that it was government, not church, that hunted and assassinated Bin Laden--at least we are free to express these opinions.

What price for freedom is too high? Do we, like the rebels of Libya, promise to fight until the last drop of our children's blood has been spilled? Or do we sit like potatoes on our couches and spout opinions we have no intention of defending?

King David had no trouble at all rejoicing over the downfall, disgrace, torture and death of his enemies. David, the man after God's own heart. I've always struggled with that aspect of David's personality--his lust for revenge. I don't have it in me.

I find today that I can only pray that God have mercy on the souls of Bin Laden, his family, and those who killed him.

Hesed. Over and over in the book of Luke we see Jesus practicing a form of grace that is so complete, it can't be properly translated into English. As I understand it, hesed happens when we receive everything from someone from whom we expect nothing. Jesus offers me this kind of grace. How can I not extend it to others?

It's not all sorted out in my mind yet. Perhaps it never will be. I cannot live in black and white. My place is somewhere in between, in the grays.

First Reaction

I don't spend many nights laying awake worrying, but the other night a combination of a glitch in the precious metals market and the book I'm reading about the atrocious things people did to their neighbors during the Nazi regime during WWII saw me turning off the light with a pit of worry in my stomach.

I snuggled up to my honey and whispered, "I'm scared."

His reaction? (Giving him credit for answering at all since he was asleep.)

"Hungry people do desperate things."

Thanks, Babe. I feel better now.

2 weeks

13 states

10 beds

4 colleges

3 fast food restaurants

2 sit down restaurant

3 cafeterias

5 traveling companions

15 days

109 driving hours

6410 miles

1 catalytic converter

a million memories

Good Friends, Good Times

A friend dropped by the other day to bring me something--Snapple Amazing Race Papaya Mango Tea. She knows me well. My favorite show, my favorite fruit, and good conversation. Can't beat it.

Another friend and I are loading in our car tomorrow, throwing some kids in the back seat and some luggage up top, and taking off on our own amazing race. All the way to Tennessee and back in the next 2 weeks.

Wish us luck and--if you think of it--say a prayer for us.

More from the road.

Living Language

If you had the news on for even a second last night, you heard the big news that the Oxford English Dictionary has added words to its tome once again.

The words that made the cut (and the news) are symptoms of our times--LOL, OMG, and couch surfer.

Earlier this week, I heard a radio article on how high schools are trying to keep kids from using these texting abbreviations in their English papers. Turns out kids rule, at least according to Oxford. Of course, a dictionary's purpose is not to determine the value of language, but merely to record it.

Some of the new words in the dictionary this year surprised me. I thought these words would have been in there a long time : headline (as a verb), rototill, and rubberize.

Other words delighted me. It would be so much more awkward to say, "Look at that girl with a pouch of fatty skin sticking out above her pants that are either too tight or too low... or both," than to say, "Check out the muffin top." I'm also happy to see la-la land on the list.

My favorite new word this week, is just new to me, not to the dictionary.

Theodicy.

I'd define it for you, but I bet you can tell what it means just by looking at it. More on that later.