Learning to Love

Baby D was born Monday night, and my friends got to take him home Wednesday. He is tiny and wonderful and fits just perfectly...and could be a cause for worry if thoughts are allowed to flow that way. His birth parents were quite content without children and subsequently selected my friends from the adoption agency's list.

But now that he's here, there's that window...that horrible "what if" that makes me want to hold him tighter...and makes my arms feel limp simultaneously.

How do you love someone who may not stay in your life? How do you keep time with the Now, and not with the Next?

Back the Logic Truck Up...

You, uh, have committed a crime which has landed you in jail. Odds are that in committing that crime, you also violated one or more of the doctrines your faith holds dear. And now you're...what? Saying that the penal system is disallowing you to practice tenets of your faith by denying you religiously-approved meals?

Sure, let's do all we can to appease you, because, you know, you have rights...

35W

Temperatures in the upper 50's, rain and drizzle--it seemed appropriate for a visit to the bridge. I found that my morning stopover at a friend's in the northern suburbs could lead to the U of M campus on my way to a reunion with relatives in St. Paul yesterday. It's one of those things. You don't announce that you're going there; you just quietly study a map, drive, get lost, find a road you remember from the map, and take it. You find yourself at a road that's closed, and while waiting at a light, look over to your right. A bridge. The bridge? Bridge-builders don't use that sort of angle. That's got to be the one.

You wonder if you can stop somewhere to look from afar. You try to take the first right turn and note the sign saying the road is closed to thru traffic. Fine. You won't go through. You'll just go a little way in. But the road is blocked at the street, with enough space to park two cars, but not enough to get in at all. You try to merge back onto the now-busy street, but cars whiz along. Suddenly, you notice they're stopping and your light is turning green. So much for being inconspicuous in your idiotic, gawking attempt--you are the only car that triggered the light.

You whiz away, embarrassed, but still have the clarity to note a parking lot on your right. You turn in and follow the lot as it winds behind a building. A stone wall, with no buildings on the other side. Could it be the river over there? You park, conscious of all the windows behind you, and wondering if some helpful person will call the police about another trespasser who's being insensitive to Minnesota's tragedy.

A quick hop out of the car and snap of the flash. No bridge in sight, but then, it's fallen, hasn't it?

Your parking lot is connected to that of the next building, which is a little farther to your west--where you tried to go a few moments earlier. You follow it, find yourself atop a hill, and park. Crime scene tape is to your left. This is close enough; you'll get out and walk.

All of a sudden, you notice another car approaching yours. You're trespassing, and you are, essentially, a tourist. You should not be here. You get back in your car and fiddle with your phone--only a temporary stop, officer--I wasn't going anywhere...

Two men get out and position themselves under a tree near your car. No one else is around. They don't seem threatening...but you don't know them. You don't know anyone near here. Then a young lady exits, and you feel a bit better. More "tourists."

Suddenly, a man's face is at your window. With your multipurpose tool in your right pocket and your cell phone in your left, you open the door.

"Excuse me, but I am wondering--is it okay if we park here? I saw you pull up and thought you would know."

An earnest smile and a delightful Indian accent. You laugh, tell him you're probably illegal, but should be okay if you go quickly.

You walk down the hill, and they each introduce themselves and shake hands with you. Small talk and introductions until you see concrete at angles that look like broken legs on X-rays. A train car that looks like the last man standing at a demolition derby.

You stop as you notice a dark car facing you just opposite the crime scene tape. It seems alive, waiting. Finger to your lips, you realize this is as close as you need to get, anyway.

The Indian family doesn't catch on, and they continue their pace until they're touching the tape.

"Do not come any closer!" comes a sudden voice on a bullhorn. "Step back from the scene!" He sounds tense. You're torn between wanting to help these people with communication and cultural barriers, and wanting the law enforcement officer to know that if they do anything wrong, you're not with them... Thankfully, you're saved, because they step back a few feet and join you.

There's not much to see, but you're there. You picture the chaos from the news reports; you filter out the drizzle and insert the people. You wonder about the ones who missed supper that night...and every other night. You wonder about those who loved them.

And you also remember the stories of the good parts--the paralyzed man stuck in his van. Instead of fleeing, others were going vehicle to vehicle and telling others to get out and get off the bridge. This particular man yelled, "I can't! I can't walk!" Another man jerked open his door, slung the man over his shoulder, and carried him to safety. This is the Midwest. This is why I love my people.

The Indian family is ready to go; sweatshirt hood up, you accompany them through the rain.

So, um, hmm.

• I liked the first one because of its harmless action sequences, clear and bright lighting, and banter between alpha and beta males.
• I did not like the first one because of idiotic choices for characters--manhandling a document that they had previously intended to treat with the reverence of the Holy Grail, pausing to admire the Declaration of Independence in a public area with their pursuers rather close to their location, etc.
• Now comes Two. And I'll have to buy it, because this one was partially filmed in my home state. It looks like the no-longer-a-surprise rock reaching scene was filmed at Sylvan Lake, where I worked during part of one summer. (I counseled at a couple of youth camps during college, then had enough money left to either do laundry or buy gas to get home. I got a job at Sylvan Lake and stayed for the rest of the month.)
• So I'll have to buy both One and Two--because I did like One, despite my previously-mentioned disappointments with it. But looking at this trailer, isn't the format pretty much the same? Steal the Declaration; steal the president...

Hmm.

Putting the “Fun” in “Funeral”

I think, no matter what, there are always things to laugh at. Take the whisper of an elderly lady, commenting, “See that lady over there—the rather large one? She’ll be doing the singing.” Keep in mind that an elderly woman’s whisper isn’t necessarily a whisper at all, and the “rather large one” is rather nearby. Now, that’s funny. Or take the heavyset woman who sits on the pew next to you. You hear her labored breathing and frown about her health until you recognize that she sounds like a Shih Tzu…and that’s funny.

But better—and “delightful” more than “fun”—was leaving the funeral with both my 93-year-old friend and the six-day-old daughter of friends. I watched as her dad strapped Miss Mag in—a seatbelt, a base, a carseat, and a carseat strap. That was it. “Shouldn’t she have a helmet?” went through a layer of my brain cells.

I’m still amazed at the paradox—leaving an event that processed death, with a fresh example of life in my arms. Recognizing that the cycle continued—Mrs. J. in the front seat and Miss Mag in the back. Almost a century between them, and I was in their midst. It was a “raining in the sunshine” sort of moment—why am I witnessing this? And then it hits that I am a part of “this”—this “life” thing. Ever have those good “alive” moments—where you’re awake and aware and powerful and eager and open and able to conquer? This was one of them, and I am blessed.

Paying My Respects

An old friend died yesterday..."old" being 94. She was on my mind for the past week. Some people age for so long that you subconsciously think they'll continue to do that forever. Apparently, they don't.

I visited her at the nursing home last winter while she recuperated from a broken hip. I popped in twice at her assisted living place, promising each time to return for a game of Pente. The elusive "someday..."

And now, gone. If there's Pente in Heaven, I'll look forward to that...but I don't think there is.

"Why didn't I..." thunders through my head and echoes back in a different tone--"Why didn't I?" She was kind-hearted...but wearying and demanding. It was easier to step back than step in. Now there's a last visit to make.

I think that "paying my respects" takes on a different meaning now. I have another friend in her 90's--sweet and gracious. I don't think there's a better way to honor the dead than to honor the living.

If you'll excuse me, I've got a call to make.

addition

one good friend and his kid brother
plus
two under-inhibited dogs
plus
a handful of wailing coyotes
plus
one old truck
plus
76 meteors

equals

a darn good two and a half hours

divided by 61 degrees
with a few sneezes as the remainder.

The Wait of Sin

My pastor preached on revenge last week, and loving one's enemies this week (Matthew 5, the "But I tell you..." series). As a part of giving up the anger, we wrote "issues" on black pieces of paper and, during the prayer/response time, were free to nail them to six crosses spread throughout the sanctuary.

I went around cleaning up after the majority of the congregation had left. With a handful of black papers in my left hand, I knelt at the foot of a cross to scoop up more. And they were all over--all these black pieces of paper representing things we harbor, things we're bitter about... Was that what He saw--a black mass of sin--and He picked up each one that was dropped at His cross?

They were suddenly distasteful, these things in my arms.

Hours later, I'm blogging, and the title comes to me. The weight of sin...no, the wait of sin. What does that mean?

How long do I wait before I hand things to Jesus? How much of a toddler am I--"No, I do it!" Perhaps I spend too much time trying to be responsible for things I am not responsible for, that I'm overwhelmed before I begin to take responsibility for those things for which I really am responsible. Maybe that's my biggest flaw.

The wait of the sin of not trusting, not rejoicing, not believing that He is faithful in His love for me.

It's a new thought.

How does one not notice cheese? Was it a sneak attack?

Murder in a Small Town

Last night, the news carried word of a missing man, evidence of foul play, and the designation of a homicide. Tonight come the names of the suspects. A million dollar bail amount set for a kid whose sister I babysat.

The parents have such generous hearts. What does this do to them? To the kid's younger siblings? And to his child?

Not having details to fill in, my head switches back to one of my reservation students who, with a friend, killed the friend's uncle over the last can of beer in the fridge.

Too drunk? Too high? Were you thinking?

Officials are searching local lakes. I am not going kayaking.

My New Best Friend

I love Skype. Not a big fan of the extra downloads associated (so I won't experiment with any more), but I just spent almost a half hour talking with my friend who's moved to Beijing for the year. Wow. It's so hard to hang up because voices are lifelines, but the ease of it makes me look forward to the next time we randomly see that each other is on and can reconnect.

Wow. Technology = cool.

That's Disgusting

So--you've used your little flashlight, and it's had its most disgusting effect--but the guy keeps going. What're you going to do--wrestle him to the ground? Ewww...

A Little Heterophobia?

Just wondering when any of the voluntary parade attendees were required to march in a Hetero Pride parade...and what the backlash would have been for that.

The unfairness of my life, being blessed with a five-mile commute consisting mostly of a 65 mph two-lane road... I could have been this guy.

tongue? check.
wounds? check.
bootstraps? check.

running into sharp corners, half-open doors, pointy-side-up knives.
a blind person would have an excuse.
i have none.

playing alice in a fairyland
pushing away the knowledge
of fingers flipping pages
until they stopped
and the story ended
on a rather unsatisfactory note

silence

answers
accuses
mortifies

redeems

longing for
autumn
when the crunch of death is
commonplace

Bummerevelation

Icharus is the only one
swooping to your rescue

a humid night
lightning flashes
i find myself driving
the roads that we biked

dark road
a flash of movement
and a toad dies
under my wheel

music fades
crickets resound
even in your absence
there is no silence

I wish I could pass on
the faith and enthusiasm
those around me
have

I know I fail miserably
I know I misrepresent Him
and I tear myself
away

If I could do one thing
for you
it would be to live out
the love I've been given

It's greater
than I am
than I think
than I say

Nine days
to live it out

No More Boots

Naively optimistic, I asked my parents why people were putting my grandma's snow boots into the "to go" box as we moved her out of her apartment. There was a quiet shake of the head, followed by, "She won't need them."

Well, she won't if you don't think she will. Be optimistic! Let's go take her for walks!

But they were right. My grandma shrank, shriveled, and eventually just lay on her bed. Not long after that, she passed away.

Her car was parked outside my parents' house today. I didn't recognize it until I heard my aunt's voice. Since she had done so much in caring for my grandmother, her siblings had decided that she would receive that bit of property.

The car was my grandma's; the voice was my aunt's--but then she teased my mother, and those eyes were my grandmother's. Clarity of mind, wit, twinkle. I wanted to cling to her...and I wanted to flee.

"Confliction," or "A Semi-Open Letter to the Hitchhiker"

My dear Hitchhiker,

I love how you compromise on pizza and watch "Monk" with me.
I love how you get non-icky Chinese food and share it, thereby awakening new appreciations in me.
I love how you gave me all six fortune cookies.
I love your generosity in paying for our meals.
I love your willingness to visit new places and meet new people.
I love your talent, intellect, and patience.
I love your deep respect and reverence for 80's music.
I love your outstretched arm the moment I stumble.

Please forgive me if I seem distant for a while. A previous friendship became a scalding one, and I'm rather afraid to hop into bathtubs now. I know it's not the same, which is why I'm clinging to the doorknob and not screaming my way down the hallway. Hopefully, I will still be what you need in a friend. Please forgive me if I'm not.

Thought of the Day 06/30/07

Yes, yes, it probably is someone else's fault--so what are you going to do about it?

Thought of the Day 06/29/07

Is it fruitless to try to save the underdog if he bites?

I wish I had a rock to throw

WOW! EvanDelaneyMusic

Once a Marine

Always a Marine...and a boxer, and an ironworker, and a husband.

waiting on steps
in the dusk with a friend
reminiscing about friends
who are moving

"the first time
I was here
was when..."
he said

"the first time
I met ARG
was here, too"
i said

the minutes passed
the darkness grew
the years went on
through our words

and the one thing
neither of us said
"it was here
that you first held my hand"

Exploring the Vast Wilds of...the Dump

Turns out that there are interconnected ponds near our town's old dump. Who knew? (Didn't spend a lot of time there.) Dad and I checked them out Wednesday evening after he'd heard of people canoeing and fishing there. While one can conquer the span in a 25-minute paddle, it was an excellent retreat.

Again, the grassed-over dump was about fifty yards away. Grass on top does not mean icky things are sealed underneath, but if fish were jumping and the turtles I saw were only one-headed, life couldn't be too bad. One dragonfly stalked me; the attention was kind of nice.

Paddling down a channel with Dad, no civilization in sight, made it seem a bit Lewis & Clarkish...until we came to the end of the waterway and identified the bike trail and softball fields...

A good night. I even pulled out my leftover Subway and ate in my kayak...in the pond...next to the covered-up dump...though if any part of me had actually touched the water, I would have bathed myself in Purell. Visions of the disintegrating boat scene from "Dante's Peak" came to mind as I first paddled, but either plastic is stronger than metal...or...there's no volcanic activity near our dump.

Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?

A 78% means...no?

An Oddly Perfect Father's Day

The highlights:

At my parents' church this morning, I introduced myself to one of their elderly friends. I'd met his wife on numerous occasions and loved her for her openness and appreciative qualities, but this was the first I'd actually talked to him.

As she pushed his wheelchair toward the spot where the community bus would pick them up, I extended my hand. She introduced me and made the connection to my parents. He didn't talk at all, but grasped my hand. And he didn't let go.

The bus arrived, and the driver loaded on another elderly friend. Still, BE had me in his grip. His wife and I carried on a conversation, I included him through eye contact, but I was pretty much glued in that position, walking backwards as she wheeled him forward. While slightly awkward, it was delightful.

Hold my hand. If that's the highlight of your day, take as long as you like. I don't know who I remind you of or what I make you think of, but it really doesn't matter. Besides--this is the longest my hand has been held in quite some time!

The other highlight was bonding with a four-month-old at a church event this evening. I am amazed at God's provision--that on a day when, frankly, it would have been nice to have helped make someone a father, He provides an outlet for those counterpart maternal instincts. There is something so perfect about a contented baby's head against your chest.

So odd to be so deeply touched by both ends of the spectrum on the same day. So gracious of God to meet needs--maybe not in my way, but in His.

Pickled Goering?

Thanks, PX, for expanding my horizons!

Note to Self

Dirty Jobs is not good dinnertime entertainment.

In the times
when it's just
the two of us
what do I say?

My response
is just that--
a reaction to
the good that You bring.

But what if all
were carried away
and the only thing left
were You?

Would I still bring You praise--
would my heart still rejoice
if all that I knew
were You?

What is it inside
that makes people praise
from the bowels of
hell on earth?

What part of You
do I not yet know--
the Anchor, the Hope,
the Author of my day?

Star Trek Meets Monty Python

Oh, Dear God...

That's all my heart can breathe.

I just spent an hour with His Highness, going through pictures from the Honduran missions trip he and others just returned from. There were the "These are the ancient ruins" and "This is where we stayed" photos...and then there were the children.

His Highness's eye for aesthetics was gifted as usual, and children in ratty, dirty, outdated clothing were beautiful. His Highness's enthusiasm and value for the kids gave personality and life to two-dimensional images. But God--God worked in my heart.

Just before we sat down with the album, another friend stopped in and talked about her dissatisfaction with her own Christian service.

*I bring two little girls to Sunday School and Vacation Bible School, and I get puffed up about it. I want something more. I want to do something more.*

2 Samuel 24:24 (New King James Version)
24 Then the king said to Araunah,
“No, but I will surely buy it from you for a price; nor will I offer burnt
offerings to the LORD my God with that which costs me nothing.” So David bought
the threshing floor and the oxen for fifty shekels of silver.

Pages of faces... Bright, brown eyes. Chubby cheeks framing downturned lips. Hand-me-down leather jacket in the heat of a Honduran summer. Immaculate white shirt against the deep tan of a wiggling and grinning four-year-old.

Oh, dear God, what do I do? What is the future of these children?

My heart felt like a frog climbing out of my throat. Still does, but at least it's more socially acceptable to let the tears flow now that I'm alone. What do I do?

His Highness mentioned wanting to see if one or more of "his" kids needed sponsorship. That reminded me that I already have a child through World Vision--a little 2nd grader in Colombia. Yes, my monthly payment of $30 goes in...but what's my investment? A dollar a day? Not enough to buy a threshing floor.

Three goals (the setting and following-through of which is also a new venture for me):

• When my next World Vision statement asks if I'd like to sponsor another child, say yes. $2 a day.
• Invest in the life of "my" child(ren) by sending letters and pictures. Being a pen-pal with a 2nd grader from a different language isn't easy--more of a challenge than the financial aspect.
• Tell you. I've always been a cynic toward child sponsorship organizations, but something cracked a year and a half ago at a Women of Faith conference. I knew it was time, and I knew that World Vision was the group to trust. I haven't regretted it. My only frustration was looking through all the faces and choosing only one. That's still a struggle, but it's remedied the way so many things are--by passing it along. Think about it, pray on it, and if you're convicted, check out the link.

Extra credit: buy a goat. 75 bucks for food, fertilizer and fun!

Faith, Hope & Love

Odd; I just realized I've been wrestling with all of these recently.

Faith and hope are what came to mind as I read this article. Love is probably what made them possible. Perhaps that's why it's greatest?

Oh, God, my heart hurts.
Can You fix it?

Of course I can.

A Bit of Self-Righteous Posturing

Last weekend, I was in a skit about modern-day Pharisees. The sermon followed, with the pastor detailing the fine points about the ten commandments. (For example, "It's nice that you didn't kill someone...but if you were angry with that person, you've committed the same sin that led others to murder.")

That was a bit humbling. Alrightey, a lot of humbling was done. And it's still effective...so I'm not sure how to share the next part.

I'm sure you've read about the TB guy--the one who got on planes, knowing he had an extremely drug-resistant variety of the disease. Today's news ID's him and gives a bit more background. His father-in-law works for the CDC and gave him "fatherly" advice against traveling. So maybe the poor, ill man didn't realize how serious his disease was.

Then I read that he knew the US airports had restrictions against him, so he flew into Canada and drove across the border. He what? I know my students aren't being truthful with me when they make excuses about things I haven't yet asked about. TB Man altered his travel plans as an excuse.

All I can think is "Jerk! You sat on an international flight and exhaled into the recycled air system that how many other people were breathing in? And you knew you were sick?"

New twist on my thinking patterns: how do I deal with something like this? Is it "righteous indignation?" Or am I sitting in judgment?

And then the reminder comes: how much have I prayed about it? Am I mad at the idiot, or am I concerned for the people he exposed? Am I willing to pray for them, or would I rather fume? There lies my answer, and a lighter spirit.

I'll Show _You_ a Mosquito!

JERUSALEM — A man clad only in underwear and a T-shirt wrestled a wild leopard to the floor and pinned it for 20 minutes after the cat leapt through a window of his home and hopped into bed with his sleeping family.

Du Mosch's cat was in the bed with him at the time, along with his young daughter who had been frightened by a mosquito in her own room.

More Definitions

Providence is students clustering around your desk and engaging in face-to-face conversation, on a day when you really needed to not be invisible.

Tears are precipitation from your heart when you get a friend's message that she really cares.

Reward is the wind at your back, blowing you toward the beach after you've paddled against the waves.

Perfection is praying that God would show you Himself, then finding wild roses growing above highly artistic, dry tree roots in a cove. There is beauty. There is strength. They are not hidden. They are there.

Worry is hearing the call of nature above the wind, and realizing you've kayaked farther from the landing than you thought you had.

Panic is noting that the wind feels different against your left arm than your right...and, upon looking, remembering that you don't have dark arm hair...and that, regardless, your arm hair certainly did not have a spider growing from it when last you looked.

Lucidity and gratitude are what follow your frantic yelping and flailing as you recall that balance is, indeed, important on the high seas.

Definitions are an oddly cathartic way of blogging.

Playing Marco Polo by Myself

How do you define lonely?

Lonely is sitting at a table with 11 friends, and not being able to explain to them why you ditched your church and visited another one. (The sermon title "Life's Problems: Loneliness" was on the marquee.)

Lonely is telling five friends that your only reason for going to a specific movie is to be social...and then ending up in the one seat left--next to a friend's prepubescent brother.

Lonely is hearing a friend ask how you're doing...and then hearing the "multitasking pause" between your comment and their response.

"I am never less alone than when I am alone." --James Howell

All I want to do is put on my "hooker clothes," to use a concept from Pretty Woman. After Stuckey's crude advances toward Vivian, she lashes out at Edward. *If you were going to treat me like a hooker, why didn't you let me wear my own clothes? Then, I know how to deal with people like that." (Roughly translated.)

Hooker clothes. Isolate myself. Can't be disappointed in any but myself if there's no one else around. (A bit of the Jack Sparrow brogue is coming off my tongue as I write this. It's rather amusing in my head.)

The part of that loneliness sermon that's been running through my mind for a few days is the first point under "Remedies for Loneliness." Friends.

How. How does this work? People are people--human and fallible. How can we be counted on for cheer? And if I'm to be getting my joy from God, what is the importance of people? And if I'm not getting joy from God, then what's the matter with me?

Frustration is not finding a gracious way to say, "Did anyone notice I left my seat an hour into a three hour movie, and never came back?" Lonely is having no one to help you figure it out.

In a plea for identity
I return my Savior's probe to Him:
Who do You say I am?
The Quiet Voice
that comes quicker than my thoughts
rejoins,
Who do you say I am?

Odd

I have oodles of pictures stored on my laptop, and, as with things in the house, I'm learning to get rid of some. Time this evening was spent cropping, shrinking and deleting. It was good. How many slightly different poses of the same person does one need? PICK ONE! And keep it. Dash the rest.

A week ago, my father was standing outside as he awaited an upcoming meeting. I flitted about with my digicam, and his expressions were a mix of business (to go with his attire) and paternal patience.

Cropping those pictures this evening, I found myself thinking, "What would they want for an obituary pic? Better not shrink that one too much..."

When I finally realized my thoughts, I quickly closed the photo editing program.

What?

My dad's 65, a bit pudgy but trimming down in his retirement years, and has a few unidentifiable lesions on his arms. Hopefully, he's got a number of good years left in him. I'd like him to meet my husband and children (of course, I'd like to meet them, too).

When he goes kayaking alone, I tell him to be careful. He shrugs and smiles. We've had this conversation before. He doesn't want a hospital death, like he watched his mother endure. If he has a heart attack in his kayak, I'm sure he'll be happiest going that way.

Personally, I'd like the chance to say goodbye. However, I see merit in his mindset. To just be gone; to go while the going is good...

A Little Yak, a Little Sun, and a Little Plastic Bag for My DigiCam

They're not fantastic quality, but I am amazed that they turned out as they did. When you consider that I was bobbing along in the waves and the geese, in particular, were defying gravity...wow... My camera rocks, my parents are wonderful for purchasing it for me, and God has a fantastic eye for design! It was a glorious day.

A Little Dating Advice...Or Not...

I Was Born in a Small Town

Do y'ever just have those times of perfection? Contentedly happy. I think the last time I felt like this was the night Stan and I used each other as backrests.

There has _got_ to be a God thing here.

It's nice I'm taking a personal day tomorrow and may get to go kayaking. It was good to be part of a meeting with other adults tonight and feel that I was heard.

Afterward, I plopped myself down at the church's drumset and plugged my headphones into my computer. I youtubed up some Def Leppard and tried to combine what Stan had told me on Easter Sunday with what I was hearing in the music. And that was interesting. There are only so many times, however, that one can listen to "Hysteria," "Photograph" and "Animal" before wanting to turn the sticks toward one's computer.

I pulled up some of my music files and grooved with Jars of Clay, Caedmon's Call and the David Crowder Band. It was very good no one was around. I looked rather silly. My left heel actually fell asleep.

Sitting there, I realized how much like my random drives in the country that was. Music loud. Drumsticks instead of pens on the steering wheel. Physical exertion, no matter how slight. Time to breathe. Alone enough to feel the presence of God. Alone enough to realize I am accountable to Him. Alone enough to realize He does fulfill me.

I left, tired and...perhaps not "empty," but "open." Relaxed, except for the dark church hallways I navigated alone. (Even that wasn't so bad.) About to exit the building, I noticed HA spending some quality time in a cushy chair. We chatted, and Stan called back.

*I want sugar.*

*Wanna run to the store?*

*Sure. But you're gonna have to come pick me up.*

I did, and let him drive since my body is better designed for sitting on the cupholder tray. (My kayak takes up the majority of my passenger seat...and the rest of my car.) And it was nice. I am so blessed to have safe guy friends who at times provide the physical touch I crave. How funny that this came after I had spent time worshipping God.

Stan waited patiently as I extricated myself from the car, and we walked into the store.

*Go ahead,* I nudged him. *Find your stuff.*

*You're not getting anything? I thought you had stuff to get.*

*I thought you wanted to get stuff! That's why I asked if you wanted to go to the store!*

We still managed to wander and make fairly respectable purchases before loading ourselves into the car again, getting platonically cozy in a small space as only exes-turned-friends can, with God's miraculous restoration.

Pulling up at Stan's house, we saw that his sister Ley was there. She drug out a flashlight and we scouted for the worms she and Stan had seen mating the night before. There were nightcrawlers and grubs and a millipede or two--nothing exciting until we ventured to the side of the house and she yelped. The flashlight beam barely caught two nightcrawlers at a moment obviously intended for just themselves. They separated and disappeared faster than two high schoolers on a couch when one's parents come home.

Ley chased her boyfriend Chi with a slower-moving single worm. The chicken Rottweiler dared to sniff my hand...and leg... Ley and I joked about further worm-scouting a few hours into the future, particularly under Stan's window and including loud exclamations for each discovery.

And that was it. It was short. It was sweet. And it was God's almighty hand that transformed small-town moments into precious tidbits for my mind, heart and spirit.

So Stan, if you've been praying through my recent tribulations, thank you. God is good. All the time!

A Changing of the Guard

It feels as though I've been sitting in a little, mental hole for the past few days. I left a friend's birthday gathering because I didn't feel like competing for attention, and I didn't feel like giving it, either.

Friends would call, and I would ignore the buzzing phone. Didn't feel like responding chipperly, and couldn't explain why not. Really didn't care to listen.

For as small-town as things are around here, I find it ironic that perhaps I'm lacking continuity. Maybe that's why I'm so in love with Stan's big, Irish family. Odds are that if you really need someone, one of them can be found and will help with what's needed--even if just a hug and adoration from a 10-year-old. Even if you ask something and get a loud and negative response, you still know you belong.

The thing is, I'm not part of a family like that. My friends here have become my family, and I've been incredibly blessed through them. But with much blessing can come much loss. Stan and his brother Ed are moving. So is one of my B best friends. HA is moving to China. Ra is moving half the country away to be courted by the fiancee she met on E-harmony. D has her first grandson, who rightfully should take up most of her spare time. I miss my people, already.

Reminiscent of a little Job complex here--to be blessed with so much, then question God as to why the blessings are being removed. The thing is, Job didn't--even when sorely tempted--"curse God and die." I realized I've been mad at God during the past few days, but I still found myself worshipping Him at church yesterday morning and last night. He's still there; He's still here.

Driving my little 90-something-year-old friend to church yesterday morning, I listened as she out-of-the-blue told me about a man who had lost his wife and four children. He went on to write hymns, she said. At the corner of Orchard and 17th, she looked over at me. *Praise hymns!* How ironic that I should remember that as I sit here tonight, incredibly grateful for Puffs Plus.

Praise hymns. I don't know that I'm that far yet, but the Psalmist's words are running through my mind: "I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

Psalm 42
As the deer pants for streams of water,

so my soul pants for you, O God.

2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go and meet with God?

3 My tears have been my food

day and night,

while men say to me all day long,

"Where is your God?"

4 These things I remember

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go with the multitude,

leading the procession to the house of God,

with shouts of joy and thanksgiving

among the festive throng.

5 Why are you downcast, O my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and 6 my God.

My soul is downcast within me;

therefore I will remember you

from the land of the Jordan,

the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.

7 Deep calls to deep

in the roar of your waterfalls;

all your waves and breakers

have swept over me.

8 By day the LORD directs his love,

at night his song is with me—

a prayer to the God of my life.

9 I say to God my Rock,

"Why have you forgotten me?

Why must I go about mourning,

oppressed by the enemy?"

10 My bones suffer mortal agony

as my foes taunt me,

saying to me all day long,

"Where is your God?"

11 Why are you downcast, O my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and my God.

St. Augustine: "The church is a whore, but she's my mother."

Hmm and ouch to Tony Campolo's "Letters to a Young Evangelical" excerpt. And oddly, all those ouches were inspiring. Take, for instance, this one:

"There is little doubt that the tentacles of Western technology, and the social changes that come with it, sooner or later will reach out and affect every tribe and nation on earth. Given that expectation, I would prefer that preliterate societies first encounter the West via missionaries, who have the best interests and salvation of indigenous people at heart." --TC

The preceding paragraph strikes motivational fear into me. I have a blog friend who is connected to someone (who is connected to someone) who lives outside the U.S. People in that country base their assessment of Americans upon what they see on television news. And what makes the news in our country? Mmm-hmm. Send the missionaries. If God has called them, be sure to support them. Share our nation's best people rather than our worst reputation.

The next section is a good humility check and grace-extension reminder. Who am I to complain?

"Young people often tell me that they are wary of the institutional church because they believe it is filled with hypocrites. Well, it is. What these people fail to understand, however, is that it is because the church is filled with hypocrites that they'll be right at home in it. If they don't think their own lives are filled with hypocrisies, then they are blind to the truth." --TC

Isn't _Every_ Family Like This?

Crowing about Conservation

"...I think we are an industrious enough people that we can make it work with only one square per restroom visit, except, of course, on those pesky occasions where 2 to 3 could be required," [Sheryl Crow] wrote.

I...uh... What size roll does she have?

Highlighting Hygiene

There are actually funny parts in this one--like, laugh so hard you almost hit your head on the counter and almost give yourself a concussion. Almost.

'Tis the Season

Assignment: comment--how many minutes did you make it through?

Regatta

I took a drive yesterday to watch Dad take off on a canoe & kayak regatta. There was thunder and lightning the previous night, and Saturday was still rather overcast and gloomy. Winds whipped along at 20-30 mph, but the organizers decided to carry on anyway.

As I stood on a peninsula and waited to get Dad's taking-off picture, I recognized a former Sunday school teacher's husband paddling along in his canoe. In his floppy hat and vest, he paused and looked up at me. "Wheech way to Amereeca?" he smiled.

One man in a yak like Dad's lost his hat for a moment. Whipping his arm back to grab it, he also lost the correct placement for his center of gravity--and flipped. Dad tried to help but couldn't slow down enough to do anything in the current current. He pointed out a less-steep bank a little farther along, and suggested the guy float along until he reached a better place to land and empty his kayak.

As I left the takeoff point to visit B in her nearby town, I heard geese overhead. Looking upstream, I watched them touch down into the water.

The camraderie among the yakkers and canoers was encouraging. The start of the event fostered conversation among participants and bystanders; I could have asked anyone anything and become engaged in interesting conversation. Driving to a downstream bridge, I found myself following a van towing canoes. Behind that was an SUV with watercraft mounted on top. Not knowing exactly where I was going, I started following them. A few gravel roads later, we reached the river and stopped. It turned out that the SUV driver had started randomly following the van driver, as well. We chatted a bit with an elderly man who was already at the point and had watched a number of paddlers pass, then one of them told me how to get to the bridge I was looking for.

I found the bridge (as well as an interrupted fisherman--far left in paddler's picture) and had a perfect 10 minute wait in the wind until Dad glided along.

Last night, a thunderstorm. Today, more rain. Tomorrow, a little yakking for me?

Sex and Singles--An Assignment for My Five Readers

Assignment: Check out the thoughts of these other people, and feedback through your comments.

My favorite line: Many of the men are so afraid of being "too familiar" with a woman that we get treated as genderless objects.

I've recently been realizing that I have a friend who treated me fantastically as a woman. I was free to be girly and feminine around him and delighted in that.

Something has changed, and I'm not sure when/how/what. Did I say something? Do something? Did he think something? Did another think something and say something? Why did our quality of interaction change? I now feel more defensive than endearing. How do you remember who you are when people you're close to, treat you like you're not?

And how do you treat the opposite sex as a member of the opposite sex when it seems you're the recipient of undesired interest?

On the flip side, how do you maintain perspective so that a door held open doesn't equate a marriage proposal?

The _Woman_!

82-year-old shoots out intruder's tires.
Best line:

She had to balance
on her walker as she pulled out a snub-nosed .38-caliber handgun.

Six

Six of the thirty-three were teachers? Oh my...

A Little Something Else

How about this for an idea: How about we honor the grieving families, survivors and student body through our thoughts and prayers and otherwise respectfully keep quiet while allowing the FBI, state and local authorities to finish the investigation without throwing speculative spitballs at everyone from the campus police to the university president.

How to Pray

I got this from a friend yesterday, who is connected to someone who is connected to someone in Blacksburg.

Greetings from Blacksburg - I have been overwhelmed by yesterday's events as well as the great outpouring of compassion from people writing and calling from all over the country and the world. Many of you are wondering how to pray - here are a few specific requests at this time:

-Pray for the body of Christ, through the churches and campus ministries, to be united in expressing the hope we have in God.

-Pray for physical stamina and rest for all the leaders in our community, from campus administrators and pastors down to student leaders. We are tired, physically and emotionally! God is our strength.

- Pray for a freshman student, Lauren, who was involved with the international student ministry through one of our partnering organizations - she is currently missing and was believed to be in the classroom building where the shooting occurred.

-As the news has spread about the shooter's South Korean heritage, please pray for the large Korean population in Blacksburg . Because of their community-centered rather than individual-centered orientation, Koreans are culturally more likely to identify with the shooter and to feel shame and/or guilt One of my Korean student leaders expressed this morning, "I do not know him personally. But, as he is of Korean descent, I feel responsible for the situations to some degree. And, I am really sorry..."

Once again, I am most grateful for all your expressions of concern and support. I'm sorry that I cannot reply to many e-mails and calls during this time, but know that I'm receiving them and they mean a lot. I'll send more news later this week.

In Christ, our living hope...

A Little Too Ironic, I Really Do Think

Holocaust survivor dies in American school shooting

To survive such forces of evil, then to die at the hand of one he came to serve...

Wow. That's kind of the Easter message, isn't it?

Are You Serious?

First co-racial prom at one Georgia school...

My mother grew up in the days of the civil rights movement. She was picked on by her peers because her best friend was a little black girl. A generation and a half later, it's the kids themselves who are still calling for segregation in so many places? Way to go, parents. Fantastic legacy you've passed along.

And the Moral of the Story Is?

Update on Keeping

Sigh. No wonder I have a hard time putting my shoes away.

Current tally:

• Boots: 8


• Sandals: 14


• Dress: 8


• Casual/tennies: 5


• Slippers 4-5

Minus 1 pair each of sandals, casual, dress and boots for the give-away pile. Good job, Goalie.

On Keeping

I have this insane desire to keep everything I've touched. A wind-up Yoshi from a Burger King kids' meal. An envelope His Highness put an ice cube in (sealed in a plastic bag, of course) and left for me as a joke (long story). The packaging from my quad-spaced AA battery charger, in case something goes wrong and I need to take it back. Packaging from my eyeliner, so I can remember which brand and style I like...as long as I can distinguish the package of the product I like from the package of the product I didn't like... A black dress that doesn't fit me well, but that I could do something really creative with at some point, because it doesn't matter if I absolutely ruin it.

Waking up today, my eyes spotted a monthly prayer card on the floor across the room. It was nestled with four others from the same couple, missionaries to the people of Cambodia. At that moment, I had a profound revelation: those cards aren't meant to be kept. They're insightful and educate me on ways of life and ways to pray, but their purpose is to convey information, not clutter my habitat.

From my reservation days, I remember a team meeting in which we discussed some pointless approach to a student problem. "But what would be the purpose?" was my question when the higher-ups and more knowledgable ones had offered their advice.

Afterward, my coworker, "Junior," pulled me aside and laughed. "But what would be the purpose?" he mimicked me. "I was wondering the same thing!" he exclaimed. Forever after, that was our catchphrase.

So now Junior's face comes to mind as I glance about my surroundings. Promotional computer bag with little padding and a self-unfastening strap: what would be the purpose? A notebook from junior high, with 20 sheets of paper still inside: purpose? Antibacterial lotion bottle with less than a squeeze left inside... The list goes on, but not for long.

How to Make Money off Your Multiple Personalities

Easter Bomby...I Mean, Bunny...

Alternative Easter Egg Hunt Near White House to Use Fake Cluster Bombs Made By Kids

Brian Hennessey, a spokesman for the Vineeta Foundation, a group sponsor, said the event aims to be humorous and fun for kids. Organizers also want to bring attention that cluster bombs cause death and destruction, Hennessey said.

So...they're saying that death and destruction are humorous and...fun?

As my father commented, that's a pretty far leap.

I guess it's possible, for the Easter Bomby--Bunny.

What Big Eyes You Have, Grandmother!

All the better to see into the cooler with, my dear...

IdiFlippinOtic

Teachers Drop Holocaust, Crusades From History Lessons to Avoid Offending Children

We've changed adjectives, nouns, holidays and national pledges so as not to rub anyone the wrong way. Now we're changing history? Sorry; not changing, just omitting...

Little Shlomo's great-grandfather couldn't have been incinerated in a crematorium--that would offend poor little Hans.

It's history, and the majority of our people have messed up. I'm part Norwegian; the Vikings did their share of raping and pillaging. I'm also English--the sun never sets on the Union Jack? That all didn't come together tidily. Then there was that little thing called the American Revolution...

Minoring in Native American studies in college, I started to get a guilt complex just for being white. Look what my people have done to them! Someone kindly pointed out that A) the tribes warred with each other before the white men came along (and tried to decimate them), and B) you aren't the one who did it.

There are ethno-sensitive ways to teach, and I suggest these people try harder to find them. "Japs" and "Krauts" would probably not be on my vocab list for World War II. Throw in a little equal-opportunity cruelty, though, and mention the effects the atomic bombs (we dropped) had on the Japanese people. Talk about how people had designs from their clothing tattooed onto their skin by the blast. Those black letters spelling "Nike" on your little white shirt? Picture them burned onto your chest. Mention people jumping into the water to avoid the fires. Picture the person who, from a boat, reached into the water to pull someone to safety...and the person's skin slid off in his hand...

And then talk about why. Why did the US drop "the bomb?" We believed it would save more lives in the long run.

Why did German people do such atrocious things to Jewish people? Keep in mind that it wasn't all. Some tried to get rid of Hitler. Some people chose to protect their families and had to harm others to do so. Maybe try using the term "Nazis" rather than "Germans."

Why did so many Germans follow Hitler? Because they were looking for an economic and nationalistic savior, and Adolph availed himself to them.

The Crusades are harder to explain around. View A: Become followers of the Prince of Peace, or we will kill you. View B: I really want your land, and God said I could take it. Disillusioned post-WWI Germans following Hitler makes more sense than those.

Point: somebody has to point out the horse crap in the road before you can avoid stepping in it.

"Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it." --George Santayana

Disputing Darwin...

...by my very existence...

Congratulations to the Dolphin Guy!

I had my students read about him a few months ago, and now he's all grown up!

I Am the Egg Man

Enough women wouldn't let us use their eggs, you see, so we had to start using cow eggs infused with human DNA to test stem cells for human diseases. And then, when we killed the embryo, we were just killing a cow one, not a human one. Why are you people so disturbed?

The Boys...in Blue...

Why, Mickey, What Big Teeth You Have!

The mouse-burglar.

Please Don't Try to Protect Me...

"Feeding by hand is not species-appropriate but a gross violation of animal-protection laws," animal-rights activist Frank Albrecht was quoted as saying...
"The zoo must kill the bear."

The Same Thing I Found Annoying about "National Treasure..."

I'm a bit put off by museums that don't let you touch things. Oil paintings? They're leaping out, screaming, "Touch me! Feel my texture! Amber waves of grain? Sea billows rolling? My very consistency is part of my conveyance!"

I don't know how I could handle this. The Word of God? Millennia old? Can you imagine?

Fingers on the yellowy surface. Index finger tracing the lines penned so meticulously by a forefather--one of my spiritual ancestors.

Like the oil, the ink--when touched--becomes a part of you. And you...become a part...of the history...

Gore-y Movie

Not Exactly First Class

There aren't many pit stops available on a 4K mile trip over the Middle East. What do you do when a woman dies mid-flight? Perhaps the featured commenter of this article would rather have stopped off at Baghdad International.

Definitely Something Different

I have no idea why, but this DQ commercial makes me laugh...both times I've seen it.

Do you know why I like it?

AH, This One's for You!

If I get my kayak into one of these puddles while there's still ice and snow on it, I am TOO a "real" kayaker! White water? There you go!

Look at the clouds just along the horizon line and in the top left corner of my windshield. See the black specks? Geese. This was before I felt compelled to close my sunroof.

I'm _Chandler?_

Run, Little Turkeys--Run! "Caution" Flashes across the Sky...Like the Batman Sign

Last summer, my father told me about a culvert he'd kayaked through on his way to "the Other Side" of a local water system. KD and I checked it out but found more spiderwebs than water in the tubes. We did, however, find a fantastically huge turtle. KD tried to...catch it? I have no idea what she would have done with it. It's interesting enough to watch her haul her dog in over the side, midwater--can't imagine what she would have done with a snapper!

Today, I checked on the water KD had updated me on earlier in the week. Yup. High. Now there's hardly room for a kayak to get underneath the top of the culvert. (Every time I look at these melting waterways, I wonder about current speed and overhead clearance...and if it's possible to get decapitated while kayaking.)

I saw geese off to the west and tried to find their landing strip...as close as I could, without being a crow. Thousands of them were flapping on the water and cascading into and out of the sky. It was amazing.

In wonder, I kept driving. I saw some trucks parked near a rise and wondered what they were looking at. More goose-appreciators? I pulled over to the side and stopped.

I probably shouldn't have been surprised when I saw the man in camouflage. Shouldn't have been shocked at his methodical steps and attentive posture. Or the gun in his hand.

I still sat there and watched--rolled down my windows and slid back my sunroof. The sky held so many birds that the clouds looked like Holsteins. And then I heard the thud of the gunshot.

My head swiveled around...and up. Back to ground level--where was the hunter? Up to the sky. Where was the bird? I slid my sunroof back as quickly as its little motor would allow. The odds weren't good, but I could envision a bloody, flopping goose in my lap--and that wouldn't be good, either.

A mile south, I found myself back on the main highway. West was the next direction of pursuit. I debated checking out the ice coverage on the ponds to my southwest, but realized that nature was calling in ways other than through its beauty. A mile farther west, I turned north to take a less roundabout route. Hitting a washboard road, I realized it was very good to be on my way home.

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

Down came the rains...

Er, away melted the snow.

Love these pics. Paddling to work is a problem? Look at the guy's smile... However, if I were his wife, I'd want my turn in the boat.

Contented Sigh

It makes my heart smile.

But isn't it a bit ironic that the lead warning is attached to this merchandise in particular?

Viva la Carne!

Viva! is a dynamic organization campaigning on
behalf of animals killed for food.

Um...is that a bit...redundant? Why else would you kill animals?

Global Warning

If Al had been around during an ice age, who would he have blamed for the melting?

Extreme Capitalism

Our government sells air? Seriously!

Digital broadcast signals take up less spectrum, so once broadcasters make
the transition it will free up a big chunk of the airwaves and allow the
government to auction it off and dedicate some of it to public safety.

Thhhhhaat's All, Folks...

Finality.

There's something about the visual of this that's...well, rather final.

What's left?

This is the state to which the majority of us will go. I know this isn't the end spiritually, but what impact is left on earth?

I don't have children. Did she?

No one went looking for her?

Moving off the life lesson and on to the scientific...what happened to the rest of her?

Maybe that was a life lesson ponderation, after all. What happened to those 80-some years?

No, Uh, Comment...

Wonder if SHE Complained?

Officer, my pot's been stolen--again!

Oooh--a challenge...

21 days without complaining? Can I do it?

Can you?

Does this mean no blogging? ;)

Does it mean no driving? [Sigh.]

Or does it just mean looking at things differently...as I once used to?

Sexist Clocks

I (and the rest of my gender) must wait for May. But wouldn't this be awesome? Go to the demos. My favorites are the second one in the first column and the last three in the second column.

Flipping Politics

Vote to end the war, and we'll give you money for your state. Not just any money, but drought-relief funding.

Not doing so well, you say? A few years of drought? And you need this money? Well...that's just unfortunate, isn't it...

Pedophiles in Church

So, uh, yeah. What would Jesus's people do?

Thinking about this messed up soul, my heart opens. Picturing faces of my friend's little children--the ones I would, if necessary, kill for--my arms are crossed. And my soul still aches.

Where Do You Get _Your_ News From?

Save Ferris!

Eight days. With the exception of three trips to the clinic, I have been home for eight days straight. The couch has been my friend; my bed has been my companion. Today, I introduced myself to my recliner. It was glad to see me.

There was light on Wednesday (including a moment of euphoria when work was called off for the following day due to weather), though it passed quickly. I was conscious all day yesterday and played three games of Internet Scrabble with Stan and the Great and Tall One. Today, it sets in again.

On an interesting note: try showering with your hand in a bag, rubber band around your wrist. (This is to protect the gauze that's protecting your IV catheter. Don't have one? We're pretending. Track with me here!) Make sure it's your dominant hand that's all wrapped up. Be sure to keep it dry. Go try it. I'll wait.

I Thought the Swiss Were Neutral

But now they're invading Liechtenstein. Probably using those little knives...