WWJB?

There's a new movie coming out by Morgan Spurlock, the guy who made Supersize Me. It's called What Would Jesus Buy? Just looking at the ads, I'm not sure I relate to the Reverend Billy with his white suit and platinum blond hair or to his Church of Stop Shopping Gospel Choir. But then, I'm not his target audience since I own neither flat screen TV nor ATV.

Just the question What Would Jesus Buy? brings up questions in my mind. Was Jesus concerned with global economics or the hearts of men? Would he be disappointed in the way we've turned a holiday in his memory into a commercial extravaganza? He overturned tables in the temple, upset that God's house had been turned into a den of thieves, yet he paid taxes and told others to do so, too.

I have another question for you, much less thought provoking, but we'll call it research for a current project.

If you had $8000 fall in your lap that you could blow any way you wanted to, what would you do with it? Don't be responsible here-- no paying down the mortgage or helping out the poor. You have to blow the whole wad on yourself.

How would you spend $8000?

Non-verbal Communication

My husband and I don't always get a chance to talk about news stories that interest us. Instead, we leave CNN blips open on our shared computer desktop. There's no telling what type of story will greet me when I wake up in the morning.

It was through this sort of non-verbal communication that I learned that Bai Yun and Gao Gao's baby will be named tomorrow.

It's also how I learned about the man who is suing God, the legless chihuahuas, and the dog who adopted a litter of squirrels.

Admittedly, not earth shattering news.

In return, I leave open pictures of derelict boats that need rescuing, free stuff from craigslist, and blogs of interest.

My brother got in the act this week with a gross story about a hairball. If you really want to see it, you'll have to look it up yourself. Yuck!

I have a grandmother who still clips articles from the newspaper and sets them aside to share when I visit every 5 years or so. Sharing news via Internet is just an instant twist on an old tale.

Giving Thanks Around the World

aciu akpe arigat asante chokrane cies danke dankewol dankie dhanyavad enkosi faleminderit gr graci gracias hvala kiitos mahalo marahaba merci milesker misaotra murakoze nanni paldies saha salamat shukriya si sobodi spas stuutiyi takk thanks toda xi xie

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Ain't Rejection Sweet?

I just got the nicest rejection. It made me feel so good. Someone from a major publishing house read my chapters and liked them. She can't use them, but she liked them and wished me the best finding another house for my work.

Ahh... sweet rejection.

Skipping Thanksgiving

My 5 year old has big plans. She's been counting down to Christmas since there were 52 days to go. She's down to 38 now. I'm not sure if that's right or not, but it's what she says.

She's been through the wish book and circled something on every page. She NEEDS a remote control parrot, not to mention a mermaid doll that converts to one with legs, a roller coaster kit, and anything with dragons.

"Did you know," she asked the other day, "that Christmas is Jesus' birthday?"

"I've heard that somewhere," I said.

"Why is he always a baby in the Christmas pictures? Why aren't there any grown-up pictures of Jesus on Christmas?"

"Good question."

It's not like she's seeing commercials on TV that tell her Christmas is coming. It's just in the air. I hate to break it to her that there's a whole 'nother holiday before Christmas. She must have picked up on the subtle vibe that holiday season starts in August when the stores put out the holiday displays.

I, for one, refuse to wrap any presents or sing any carols until Friday. House Rules. I want to spend the week being thankful, not greedy.

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Dragons and Dreams

Last night the kids and I attended a talk by Bryan Davis, author of the Dragons in Our Midst and Oracles of Fire series of books. He spoke on fantasy writing and detailed his own journey from computer geek to fiction writer. A couple of things he said stuck out to me.

1. He spent 7 years writing his first book 24 times before it was published.

2. He received over 200 rejections before he got an acceptance.

3. When his first dragon book was picked up by a publisher, the publisher came to him to ask for it.

Writers are a stubborn bunch. It takes pretty thick skin to put yourself out for criticism and rejection again and again and again. You've got to believe in your book: you've got to believe in yourself.

Or you've got to be driven by something that you can't control, a story that burns within you that you must release.

When I sit at my computer and agonize over the fifth draft of a book, it's not because I love failure... it's because I can't NOT write this story.

A Close Friend of a Close Friend

Jay was a special guy... a guy who loved life and people and fun. He took in strays and he had the gift of making every person who came through the door of Gary's Auto feel like she was his most important customer.

He died too young.

I wish I had a copy of the letter Jay had tucked away inside his address book to be read in case of his death. He told people not to grieve, but to have fun remembering him. Everyone should write such a letter.

Something about the things people shared at Jay's memorial today reminded me of Anna from Mr. God, This is Anna. Curious, loving, outspoken and a tease.

I wasn't close to Jay at all. I only knew him as a close friend of a close friend. But watching the faces of those who scattered his ashes in the bay, I was struck by how much influence one man can have if he shares his enthusiasm for living.

God bless you, Jay. And God bless those who loved you.

Magna Carta and the First Amendment

For those of you who would like to follow along in your history texts, we talked about the Magna Carta yesterday. For those of you who don't remember why this document was so important, here's a quick review and a current event that brings its importance to the forefront again.

The Magna Carta was put into effect in 1212 by a very reluctant King John (the bad guy of Robin Hood fame). It limited the power of king and offered rights to citizens, including the famous "no taxation without representation" law that was so important in our own revolution.

Fast forward 550 years.

Our founding fathers borrowed the ideas of the Magna Carta while drafting the Constitution and, especially, the Bill of Rights.

Pop quiz time.

Q: What rights are granted by the First Amendment?

A: Freedom of religion, speech and the press.

An e-acquaintance shared a struggle with me this week that hit on all three of these rights. She's marketing a book on homeschooling by offering a free seminar at her county library.

"FOUL!" cried the mayor of her town. "You can't host a homeschooling event at a public library because homeschooling takes monies from the public school system."

He cancelled the event.

A city mayor cancelled a homeschool event at a county library, reportedly because it stepped on the government's toes.

The event has since been "uncancelled" and the mayor has backed down from his alleged strong wording, but it gives me pause.

Freedom of speech, religion, and the press are messy things. But they were worth fighting for in 1212, in 1776, and they're still worth fighting for in 2007.

Reformed Dirt Eater

Something I've noticed about my new floor is that is doesn't eat dirt very well. In fact, I find myself sweeping twice a day and mopping almost every day, trying to keep the new looking new and fresh and clean.

I've heard it called the halo effect, that urge to paint the next wall, to polish the next floor in order to keep the old from looking shabby next to the new.

Isn't there a halo effect in life, too? When you're made new, dirt shows up more starkly against the pure background of forgiveness. What used to blend in is now revealed as ugly and stained.

I love it that my life can be swept clean every morning, that God's mercies never end.

dirt eater

This photo does does show the full character of our old kitchen floor - brown and orange linoleum in all its 1978 glory.

The one redeeming quality of this floor, which I didn't realize until too late, is that it ate dirt. I don't know if the dirt disappeared into cracks into the linoleum or was absorbed into the pits of its texture, but I rarely swept the floor when it was brown and I almost never mopped it.

Dirt disguises dirt. Deep down ground-in sin makes surface sin seem okay.

But redemption changes everything...

Chai

Before Starbucks offered it in a blended latte...

Before Oregon chai was ever conceived...

Before I'd been introduced to the subtle flavors of true Indian chai...

...chai was the gift of Kenya. A blend of whole milk fresh from the family cow, an extraordinary amount of sugar, the black tea leaves of the Great Rift Valley, and whatever ashes and smoke drifted down into the pot, Kenyan chai is more than just a drink.

It says "welcome" and "We don't have much, but we'll share what we've got." To drink a cup or twelve of chai says "thank you for welcoming me" and "I trust you."

Chai in the states is not quite the same. I don't have an enamel tea set, nor an open fire, nor a cow. But I do have dear friends to whom I love to say "welcome" and "let me share with you another piece of God's world."

I've had chai twice this week - once as receiver, once as giver. And both times were sweeter than the raw sugar that filled my cup.

Flannelgraph

Ahhh... flannel sheets.

They're so warm and cozy, just right for those nights when frost is forming on the ground and windshields outside.

Off with the cotton, on with the flannel and the wool blankets.

The problem is, my pj's are flannel, too. Which in essence turns me into a human flannelgraph, velcro-ing me in place for the night.

For some reason, this idea reminds me of Flat Stanely.

The Difference Between Men and Women

I had a flat yesterday. I stared at it for a minute and muttered "bummer" to myself, emptied the truck of the van so I could get at the spare... then had second thoughts.

I walked back toward the building I had just left and found two men.

"Who would like the opportunity to change a tire?" I asked.

Both jumped up right away and hustled to my rescue. One grabbed the jack, the other the lug wrench and off they went.

I suspect if I'd asked these men's wives (or any of my other female friends) for help, they would have helped by pulling out cell phones and rounding up a guy for the job.

Not that women can't change a tire. I believe I could. I just don't want to. It would be a hardship to me. The guys, though acted like it was no trouble at all.

Thanks, Jay and Alex. You're a blessing.

Lurking

I'll admit, I'm a lurker. I belong to couple of email groups that I rarely contribute to. I read people's blogs and don't leave comments.

Not too long ago, lurkers were mal-intentioned peeping Toms who hid in the bushes of suburbia. No longer. Now we can be ultra-busy soccer moms who want to gather information or have a good read without commiting to a project.

Are you a lurker? Which cyberspots do you frequent without commiting to them? What would it take to draw you out of the bushes?

Nice Surprise

I received a package in the mail today.

"Periodical Mail" read the label. I don't subscribe to any magazines that come in a box.

I opened the box to find 3 copies of a women's magazine... next month's issue.

An article I wrote and sent off months ago is right in the middle of the magazine. I didn't even know they were going to use it. It's my first article in a print publication.

It's a nice surprise.

p.s. I've also got an article out in Wineskins Magazine this month, so it's a big month for me.

California Burning

No puns, no clever observations, no turns of phrase today. Just a sincere concern for the million or so who have already been evacuated from their homes in Southern California and for those who may still lose their houses.

I have friends and family (as do many people) spread from Thousand Oaks to Malibu to San Bernadino to Torrance to Escondido to Chula Vista.

Suffering is so intangible. A similar disaster in a country without infrastructure might yield many times more injuries and deaths. In third world countries where insurance does not exist, fire destroys not only the past, but hope for the future. Even in the midst of devastation, America offers hope to its citizens.

Or does it?

I could launch in to a diatribe against the injustice that still hangs over New Orleans, the poverty linked with ethnicity, apples rotting on trees from lack of laborers.

But not today.

Today we pray for California.

What is it about Midnight?

11:29 p.m.

Hungry. Looking for something tasty.

Why is it that the things I don't eat in the day look so appetizing late at night?

Fruit Loops squeak out my name from the cupboard. An "old maid" cookie begs me to rescue it from its lonely existence.

All the good foods went to bed hours ago. Apples and carrots tucked themselves in at dinner time. But the cheese, that little rascal, keeps trying to crawl out of its chilly bed into my warm tummy.

Even the popsicles, the kind I buy because I don't like them, tease me. "So what if we don't taste good? We're made with SUGAR."

You know me. I don't like to disappoint.

Petrobrusians

Yesterday we learned about a guy named Peter Bruis. He lived in the 1100's in France. He had this crazy idea that people should have access to the Bible, that they should be able to read it for themselves instead of letting the higher clergy of the church tell them what it says.

Radical.

So radical that he was burned at the stake for heresy.

This morning we're going to watch a family perform a play of sorts where all the lines are memorized scripture.

We've come a long way. Let's not forget the price of our freedom.

The Middle Child

It's my job as the middle child to make sure everyone is happy. I hate conflict, fights, discontent. I'm more likely to pull myself out of a situation than to allow any negative energy to focus on me. I may not be good at my job, but it's my place in the family.

Yesterday, a friend asked me to send out one of those emails that turns into a prayer tree, a network of people across the country praying blessings on each other. My first response was to push delete. I don't like sending anything to friends that requires action on their part, especially something that may or may not have originated with friend #1.

So I went back to her and, indeed, she confirmed that the email was part of her nephew's class project. Now what to do? Should I stick to my "policy" and push delete? Or should I help a poor kid (and his poor aunt who was also roped in)?

I sent it out, as several of you know. I hope it was an encouragement to some of you. I know a couple of you just pushed delete. And couple of wrote back to me to say either "This is bogus" or "I don't do this kind of thing."

I stewed about this thing all last night. It's that middle child in me that wants everyone to be happy. That's why I sent the message out. It's also why I felt guilty about it and felt like I was bothering people.

I hate bothering people. But I also hate letting people down.

10-20-30

An acquaintance in the writing community, Mary DeMuth, is doing a blog experiment to see how far-reaching blogs can be. She tagged 12 people and asked them to tag others to see how far this can go. If you decide to answer her question, either leave it as a comment on this blog or answer it in your blog and link back to hers. (http://www.relevantblog.blogspot.com/)

The question is, what were you doing 10, 20 and 30 years ago? Here's my response:

10 years ago-

I lived in Togo. The hot season was just beginning. This is the week of the year when the heat rolls in with sweaty splendor. The bright-hot sun burned overhead, but only we Englishmen and the mad dogs knew it. Everyone else sat in the shade of palm-thatched paillottes.

20 years ago-

This one dates me. 20 years ago I was a sophomore in college in Arkansas, which was of secondary importance since I was also engaged and about to get married. I wore a trench in the sidewalk between my dorm and my (now) husband's. I would pace from his ground floor window to the bike rack by the front door and back again, waiting for him to emerge and walk me to class, to the library, to dinner... anywhere he wanted to take me.

30 years ago-

Let's see. I would have been in Mrs. Norm's 4th grade class where I learned to do the bamboo dance and got to be in the Chinese New Year parade. I'm sure the termination dust was well down Thunder Mountain, a sure sign that another Alaskan winter would soon begin. Was 1977 the year we had snow on Halloween?

How about you? I tag Sandi, Cheryl, Mom, and whoever else wants to participate.