Will things ever slow down? I took the dog running at the lake. Little groups of geese were landing silently, totally opposite of the other night when every single one of them must have been honking at once. I suppposed they were arguing over water-space. Most of the lake was ice and all several hundred geese were in the unfrozen center. Hey, move over. I can't... there's only 1 square foot for each of us. That's my fish! Well, you took my algae. Leave some for my kids, for Pete's sake. Shut up, I'm bigger than you.....Hey, y'all, stop arguing!
But today I learned what a goose sounds like when it is crying. I went down by the water and the brush. Usually the geese are well into the water before we get anywhere near, but we must have startled one, or else it was weak or injured already. All of a sudden the dog was in the water and had a goose in her mouth! I yanked the leash and shouted no, pulling and yelling. She switched grips and then had it by the wing and it was fluttering --trying to get away. NO!! NO!! Bad dog! Yank. Pulllllll.
Luckily I yanked when she shifted grips again and the goose got away, but it was hurt. The dog came out of the water spitting feathers. The goose sat in the water yeeping and dazed. After a bit it flew off about 20 feet and 2 other geese came up to inspect it. I was relieved that it could fly. But it was so pitiful. You could see a chunk missing out of the sillouette of its neck. I hoped it was feathers, but I could not tell. I don't know what kind of things I said to the dog. I was too sad to express anger at the dog. She was just doing what dogs do. I wondered if I should call the park police or animal control to come put the goose out of its misery, or whether it was not hurt that badly and it would recover on its own. All I know is that it cried and I could still hear it when I got to the other side of the water. Was it going to die? What do the other geese think about it? The two geese stayed nearby but stayed a couple feet away from it. This is normal in the wild, but I grew up in civilization with tame animals and it was hard to watch in person, no matter how many maulings I've seen on nature programs.
As we ran the rest of our lap, I thought of Jesus saying that a sparrow does not fall to the ground without the knowledge of God the Father. Here is part of the context. He said: Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Friday, December 23, 2005
chosen
I got my application in 12 hours late... scribbled and tossed on Mr. J's desk. I went to work the next day expecting that, if they wanted to interview me, they would call me up to the offices.
No call. I went about my business. It is quiet in there pre-Christmas, a lovely reprieve from the crazed malls. [[[I have not set foot inside a single mall to "get ready for Christmas". It is Christmas Eve EVE and I'm not "ready". But my heart is always celebrating Christmas. I'm laughing at all the arguments on the radio about political correctness and the grinchy side of liberalism stealing Christmas from those who wish to keep it for themselves (and be permitted to say Merry Christmas out loud in public.) I say Merry Christmas to customers if I see them carrying out decorations or wearing Santa hats, or if they say it to me, first.)
I went through my stage of grief over the fact that the world stole Christmas. And at the same time, I pined away wishing I had enough money to "do" Christmas the way my parents did it, heaping lots of nice wrapped gifts under the tree for all 4 of us kids and the dog (who could pick out her own toys.... we thought she was a genius dog, but think about it: dogs can smell a hard rubber jingly ball through the paper.)
I went through the depressed stage, the martyr stage, doing Christmas for my kids and husband because I loved them, but having an emptiness in my heart about what a game it was.
In the film Out of Africa, Barkley told Karin that Dennis "likes to give gifts...but not at Christmas." I think that's how I am. I resented at times that I had to play the game at this specific time and my part done on time. The pressure was tremendous.
I could never quite get into the church's version completely. I do love the music, the hymns, and the reading of the true story of how Jesus came to us.
I now laugh at all of it. Not the story of Christ. But our frenzy over buying gifts for one another and decorating and making cookies and eating lots of chocolate (guilty). We so miss the joy of knowing God Himself when we focus on the decorations we have inflicted onto this event.]]]
Anyway this post is not about Christmas. It is about being picked as a superhero, whatever that is, at work. Mr. J came by yesterday, 2 days past the day I turned in my application. I said (hoping) "Did you get my application? It's too late, right?" He said, no, it's not too late; we're still taking applications. Almost indecipherable earth tremors rippling in my tummy.
Mr. J is from Jolly Old England and I love to hear him speak the Queen's English. But it's a little noisy in the entrance and he is soft spoken, so I am barely hearing him. I tell him I'm not sure I really want to do this, because it's still pretty vague in my mind what my resposibilities would be. He tells me more about it.
Part of it is that I get to call the store manager to account if she doesn't do what she said she will do. You mean I get to boss her around? I'm smiling. Yes, and me, too, he says. We will make goals and we want you and the other superheros to follow up and see that we are doing what we planned to do.
I make jokes about getting lazy people fired. (But I'm not really joking.) He talks about how the store has so many areas to grow in. I tell him the store is young and that hopefully we will weed out the bad workers and bring in better ones.
He also tells me that he spoke to the 2nd in command. Annie will not be in the entrance for 2 months. Are you OK with that? And, he tells me, she said yes. I joke while telling the truth: this place falls apart when I'm not here. He says, you are the first person people meet. I am, I say. I know. And I am very good at this job, but at the same time, I am dispensable. When I need to take a break, and no one can cover for me, my managers always say: just go. The store functions without me. Kind of a mixed message I say. And he says he thinks there should always be someone in the entrance and I agree with him. But another note is taken in my mind: Ms. 2nd in command KNOWS how valuable I am in this place. I wonder if they'd be willing to prove it by paying me more than the warm body salary I get now.)
We are interrupted by several customers so that our conversation is in pieces, but finally he puts the ball in my court. I say, you want me to decide right now? Yes. I mumble about not liking to make decisions and think out loud. Oh, OK, if I hate it, I can put up with it for 2 months. I won't die. So yes, I'll do it.
Now what have I gotten myself into? As I'm closing, the duty manager says "Superhero" to me. Someone knows already. ....what does this mean? I have periodic fits of panic and I have to talk to my scared self and tell her that she can do this. She can reread her life coaching book and listen to her CD's and lean heavily on her coach, if need be, to use coaching questions to motivate and encourage the big cheeses and the little cheeses all over the store. It's just that I want to be focused on painting and getting my project finished and what painting I will do after that...that is, my job OUTSIDE the store! I have another commission waiting to be written and illustrated after this one. I don't want stress on this job, this is my relaxing job. So I tell myself, ok, learn to do this without stress.
I am pretty sure God has his fingers in this.
No call. I went about my business. It is quiet in there pre-Christmas, a lovely reprieve from the crazed malls. [[[I have not set foot inside a single mall to "get ready for Christmas". It is Christmas Eve EVE and I'm not "ready". But my heart is always celebrating Christmas. I'm laughing at all the arguments on the radio about political correctness and the grinchy side of liberalism stealing Christmas from those who wish to keep it for themselves (and be permitted to say Merry Christmas out loud in public.) I say Merry Christmas to customers if I see them carrying out decorations or wearing Santa hats, or if they say it to me, first.)
I went through my stage of grief over the fact that the world stole Christmas. And at the same time, I pined away wishing I had enough money to "do" Christmas the way my parents did it, heaping lots of nice wrapped gifts under the tree for all 4 of us kids and the dog (who could pick out her own toys.... we thought she was a genius dog, but think about it: dogs can smell a hard rubber jingly ball through the paper.)
I went through the depressed stage, the martyr stage, doing Christmas for my kids and husband because I loved them, but having an emptiness in my heart about what a game it was.
In the film Out of Africa, Barkley told Karin that Dennis "likes to give gifts...but not at Christmas." I think that's how I am. I resented at times that I had to play the game at this specific time and my part done on time. The pressure was tremendous.
I could never quite get into the church's version completely. I do love the music, the hymns, and the reading of the true story of how Jesus came to us.
I now laugh at all of it. Not the story of Christ. But our frenzy over buying gifts for one another and decorating and making cookies and eating lots of chocolate (guilty). We so miss the joy of knowing God Himself when we focus on the decorations we have inflicted onto this event.]]]
Anyway this post is not about Christmas. It is about being picked as a superhero, whatever that is, at work. Mr. J came by yesterday, 2 days past the day I turned in my application. I said (hoping) "Did you get my application? It's too late, right?" He said, no, it's not too late; we're still taking applications. Almost indecipherable earth tremors rippling in my tummy.
Mr. J is from Jolly Old England and I love to hear him speak the Queen's English. But it's a little noisy in the entrance and he is soft spoken, so I am barely hearing him. I tell him I'm not sure I really want to do this, because it's still pretty vague in my mind what my resposibilities would be. He tells me more about it.
Part of it is that I get to call the store manager to account if she doesn't do what she said she will do. You mean I get to boss her around? I'm smiling. Yes, and me, too, he says. We will make goals and we want you and the other superheros to follow up and see that we are doing what we planned to do.
I make jokes about getting lazy people fired. (But I'm not really joking.) He talks about how the store has so many areas to grow in. I tell him the store is young and that hopefully we will weed out the bad workers and bring in better ones.
He also tells me that he spoke to the 2nd in command. Annie will not be in the entrance for 2 months. Are you OK with that? And, he tells me, she said yes. I joke while telling the truth: this place falls apart when I'm not here. He says, you are the first person people meet. I am, I say. I know. And I am very good at this job, but at the same time, I am dispensable. When I need to take a break, and no one can cover for me, my managers always say: just go. The store functions without me. Kind of a mixed message I say. And he says he thinks there should always be someone in the entrance and I agree with him. But another note is taken in my mind: Ms. 2nd in command KNOWS how valuable I am in this place. I wonder if they'd be willing to prove it by paying me more than the warm body salary I get now.)
We are interrupted by several customers so that our conversation is in pieces, but finally he puts the ball in my court. I say, you want me to decide right now? Yes. I mumble about not liking to make decisions and think out loud. Oh, OK, if I hate it, I can put up with it for 2 months. I won't die. So yes, I'll do it.
Now what have I gotten myself into? As I'm closing, the duty manager says "Superhero" to me. Someone knows already. ....what does this mean? I have periodic fits of panic and I have to talk to my scared self and tell her that she can do this. She can reread her life coaching book and listen to her CD's and lean heavily on her coach, if need be, to use coaching questions to motivate and encourage the big cheeses and the little cheeses all over the store. It's just that I want to be focused on painting and getting my project finished and what painting I will do after that...that is, my job OUTSIDE the store! I have another commission waiting to be written and illustrated after this one. I don't want stress on this job, this is my relaxing job. So I tell myself, ok, learn to do this without stress.
I am pretty sure God has his fingers in this.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
fear
I should be dressing to the shoes. I am dressed and I have shoes on but I'm not dressed to present myself at work. I drove over and applied, late, for the superhero position last minute. Now then I have done a pro/con list. On the pro side are growth and networking opportunities. The store may benefit from gifts I have that have not been used before. The cons include no additional compensation, possible high learning curve in areas I may not want to learn about and lots of additional stress, when I like my job in that I'm used to it and it is easy and low stress (leaving energy for my "real" job...working at home on art and writing and coaching). My heart's desire at the moment is NOT to be chosen. I think that they may call me at any minute and say "we want to interview you" and I am not ready to jump in the car and go over. However I am working today, so I shall be ready to go while at work.
Monday, December 19, 2005
too much to tell
My life is so full, I do not have the slightest idea how to tell it all. What is interesting to other people about my life, if anything? I picture reading about someone else's life and getting bored with all the rabbit trails and details....
And yet I just read an article about a bipolar person person's manic experience and reading her description felt very much like my own freewriting. Not being manic, but the writing style...present tense, just stating whatever was on her mind, going from one thought to another distractedly, only with her, she acted out her thoughts and followed them and got lost and had to be rescued. She works on the editorial staff of the magazine. I know somone who is bipolar and I want to give it to him and express my sympathy and see how I can be a helpful non-judgmental friend to him as he lives with his disease. It had two nice paintings with the article as well. I put it into my work notebook with his name on it.
Last night Betty called. She and her husband supported me and my husband for years with their money and their love and prayers. She is a caring person and still calls me occassionally. She always apologizes that she has not kept in touch better. I always say you don't need to apologize. She asks all about how I am. I ask all about her. She asks if I need money.
She is not writing a Christmas letter because the year is too depressing. She is going around in a wheelchair with a broken hip.
Her husband's knee needs surgery but he is waiting for her to get on her feet so that she can take care of him when he is recuperating. Oh my. It's hard to be old.
The devastating thing is that their son's marriage is falling apart. And he is in ministry. The wife went off with his best friend. I listened, I sympathized. I feel awful with her. I verbalized how very sad this is. And I gave her my coach's web address for her son, because he, too, has been a youth minister and I told her how much coaching has helped me and she said I can hear it in your voice, you are a different person. I said I am, I am a different person. (I am not, but you know this is a way of speaking.) I am so deeply contented I am about to burst. I have everything I could ever want. I have wonderful children. I have a house. I am moving into my new career, getting paid to do what I love to do and what I'm good at and I also have the freedom of being single (now that I've adjusted to it!
There are papers askew on my desk. There are uncut coupons in a paper bag with handles. The pile is getting thicker. More by the printer on the dresser, more printed images on my temporary "art table". I have set my timer a couple of times today to work on clearing and filing this stuff but it's not finished.
I need to make a few phone calls and apply for superhero temporary job at my workplace. Maybe "I can do anything for 2 months", as flylady says: I can do anything for 15 minutes. I was reading the job description and I can see me doing this and using all the coaching skills I have acquired so far (one teleclass's worth) and getting creative over there. It would mean I would be going around the store learning new stuff and meeting new people and getting out of my place of expertise. I must do this. The deadline to apply is today. I was reading the job desciption. With each section, yes, I could do that....until I got to the part that said you will wear the superhero costume the whole 2 months while they had clip art of batman and wonderwoman on the bulliten board. I said out loud no thank you and went home. So I guess I was tired...visualizing myself going around the store in wonderwoman costume. I'm pretty sure the costume is not going to be wonderwoman but something specific to our store.
Then I read 2 newspaper articles this morning. Two elders in my church are in a book club. A while back they had told me that the paper had come and taken pictures of them and interviewed them. I was weeding out the recycling and there was a picture of a stack of books with the same titles that my friends had been reading.
How I would love to be able to just go to that group and sit in the corner and listen to men discuss books.
My girlfriend has invited me to her Victorian book club -- women. I would probably love that too, but this men's book club intrigues me. I could observe how men think and how they interract and how they process their reading and how they verbalize it all. I could do like I used to do before I had children and take my sketchbook and draw them while they talked.
Anyway I am not invited and it would put a big kabosh on the spirit of the group to know that there is a woman they know sitting there listening.
The other article is about my new acquaintance, the artist/professor. He has a show in the town next door. COOL. I am on my way over! I have gone to visit his class at the University to see if I could audit or even take it for credit. He had told me on the phone I can be first in line for the January class. I had thought I am not sure this is what I want, but he is very enthusiastic about art. His T.A. told me he's brilliant and that you have to let him know what it is you want to learn.
I was not sure I could picture myself going forward with David Dewey's techniques in a classroom with a bunch of kids who are not even art majors and popular music in the background. Some of his work is in the permanent collection in the National Gallery of Art. Impressive. And I have the opportunity to audit his class. I feel like I should take advantage of this and see where it leads. How can I not learn some important things from a master?
So why am I here blogging? So much happening. Yesterday my DD's bought and assembled a fake Christmas tree and decorated it. It looks great and I didn't have to do any of it. One of the advantages of having adult children. Now I just need a few pine scented candles to burn. I invited them to watch the Griswold's Family Christmas movie. We also had a little time discussing Family Meeting issues. They both have colds and don't want to talk about it. (Not because they have colds, but it makes it harder to face tough issues when you are sick.) One says I don't want anything for Christmas.
Sunday school was good. I thanked them for praying about my cute little storybook house that I am not buying it but that lots of good things happened through the process of deciding, and that I believe the Holy Spirit indeed led me to drive by the house that day. For the sake of time, I left out details about good things that happened through that process of deciding whether to buy the house.
Later the teacher used my expample to talk about something out of the chapter they were discussing.... Then he said to me after class is it ok that I shared that about your example? Of course. I was puzzled that he even felt the need to ask. Why would that not be ok? I just shared it very openly (and joyfully). And the lawyer in the class was laughing at me when I shared. I want to ask him why. You think I'm a little kid, don't you? I am childlike, I know this.
Anyway I'm scanning the articles to my coach.
Onward.
And yet I just read an article about a bipolar person person's manic experience and reading her description felt very much like my own freewriting. Not being manic, but the writing style...present tense, just stating whatever was on her mind, going from one thought to another distractedly, only with her, she acted out her thoughts and followed them and got lost and had to be rescued. She works on the editorial staff of the magazine. I know somone who is bipolar and I want to give it to him and express my sympathy and see how I can be a helpful non-judgmental friend to him as he lives with his disease. It had two nice paintings with the article as well. I put it into my work notebook with his name on it.
Last night Betty called. She and her husband supported me and my husband for years with their money and their love and prayers. She is a caring person and still calls me occassionally. She always apologizes that she has not kept in touch better. I always say you don't need to apologize. She asks all about how I am. I ask all about her. She asks if I need money.
She is not writing a Christmas letter because the year is too depressing. She is going around in a wheelchair with a broken hip.
Her husband's knee needs surgery but he is waiting for her to get on her feet so that she can take care of him when he is recuperating. Oh my. It's hard to be old.
The devastating thing is that their son's marriage is falling apart. And he is in ministry. The wife went off with his best friend. I listened, I sympathized. I feel awful with her. I verbalized how very sad this is. And I gave her my coach's web address for her son, because he, too, has been a youth minister and I told her how much coaching has helped me and she said I can hear it in your voice, you are a different person. I said I am, I am a different person. (I am not, but you know this is a way of speaking.) I am so deeply contented I am about to burst. I have everything I could ever want. I have wonderful children. I have a house. I am moving into my new career, getting paid to do what I love to do and what I'm good at and I also have the freedom of being single (now that I've adjusted to it!
There are papers askew on my desk. There are uncut coupons in a paper bag with handles. The pile is getting thicker. More by the printer on the dresser, more printed images on my temporary "art table". I have set my timer a couple of times today to work on clearing and filing this stuff but it's not finished.
I need to make a few phone calls and apply for superhero temporary job at my workplace. Maybe "I can do anything for 2 months", as flylady says: I can do anything for 15 minutes. I was reading the job description and I can see me doing this and using all the coaching skills I have acquired so far (one teleclass's worth) and getting creative over there. It would mean I would be going around the store learning new stuff and meeting new people and getting out of my place of expertise. I must do this. The deadline to apply is today. I was reading the job desciption. With each section, yes, I could do that....until I got to the part that said you will wear the superhero costume the whole 2 months while they had clip art of batman and wonderwoman on the bulliten board. I said out loud no thank you and went home. So I guess I was tired...visualizing myself going around the store in wonderwoman costume. I'm pretty sure the costume is not going to be wonderwoman but something specific to our store.
Then I read 2 newspaper articles this morning. Two elders in my church are in a book club. A while back they had told me that the paper had come and taken pictures of them and interviewed them. I was weeding out the recycling and there was a picture of a stack of books with the same titles that my friends had been reading.
How I would love to be able to just go to that group and sit in the corner and listen to men discuss books.
My girlfriend has invited me to her Victorian book club -- women. I would probably love that too, but this men's book club intrigues me. I could observe how men think and how they interract and how they process their reading and how they verbalize it all. I could do like I used to do before I had children and take my sketchbook and draw them while they talked.
Anyway I am not invited and it would put a big kabosh on the spirit of the group to know that there is a woman they know sitting there listening.
The other article is about my new acquaintance, the artist/professor. He has a show in the town next door. COOL. I am on my way over! I have gone to visit his class at the University to see if I could audit or even take it for credit. He had told me on the phone I can be first in line for the January class. I had thought I am not sure this is what I want, but he is very enthusiastic about art. His T.A. told me he's brilliant and that you have to let him know what it is you want to learn.
I was not sure I could picture myself going forward with David Dewey's techniques in a classroom with a bunch of kids who are not even art majors and popular music in the background. Some of his work is in the permanent collection in the National Gallery of Art. Impressive. And I have the opportunity to audit his class. I feel like I should take advantage of this and see where it leads. How can I not learn some important things from a master?
So why am I here blogging? So much happening. Yesterday my DD's bought and assembled a fake Christmas tree and decorated it. It looks great and I didn't have to do any of it. One of the advantages of having adult children. Now I just need a few pine scented candles to burn. I invited them to watch the Griswold's Family Christmas movie. We also had a little time discussing Family Meeting issues. They both have colds and don't want to talk about it. (Not because they have colds, but it makes it harder to face tough issues when you are sick.) One says I don't want anything for Christmas.
Sunday school was good. I thanked them for praying about my cute little storybook house that I am not buying it but that lots of good things happened through the process of deciding, and that I believe the Holy Spirit indeed led me to drive by the house that day. For the sake of time, I left out details about good things that happened through that process of deciding whether to buy the house.
Later the teacher used my expample to talk about something out of the chapter they were discussing.... Then he said to me after class is it ok that I shared that about your example? Of course. I was puzzled that he even felt the need to ask. Why would that not be ok? I just shared it very openly (and joyfully). And the lawyer in the class was laughing at me when I shared. I want to ask him why. You think I'm a little kid, don't you? I am childlike, I know this.
Anyway I'm scanning the articles to my coach.
Onward.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Something to Say
Sitting in my bed with my coffee. Ah, after 2 days of instant, the real thing tastes especially good. I am reading in John again. Peace I leave with you. Not as the world gives. There is peace that the world gives, mostly through surface comforts and a sense of well-being that comes from feeling safe. Henry Brandt used to say that alcohol gives peace. or when your work is done and you have some money saved up and everyone in your family is healthy, peace.
Boxes. I don't remember exactly when I first heard the phrase 'thinking outside the box'. But I liked it. Yes, outside the box is where the truth is. Boxes can be very sneaky. You can be in one and not know it. I have broken out of a lot of boxes and I think that is where some of my own sense of well-being comes from. There was a book about finding your niche that had something to do with being outside the box. In our culture we must go to college after high school and pack a bunch of knowledge into our brains and then get a job and use all that knowledge. The time in school is strictly separated from the time working. Was that book where that phrase came from? Who wrote it? What was the name? I think the name was about the box. My memory is not so hot. He suggested there might be other ways to go about it. Working and education being more mixed up. My oldest did a work study program to help pay for college, alternating semesters of school with semesters working in her field of study. She learned by working as she was learning in the classroom. It worked very well.
So, boxes. I was a young Christian and I hated legalism. But I became legalistic myself. It's insidious. [spreading or acting inconspicuously with harmful effect] "Christians do this, and they don't do that. Christians think this way. Really dedicated Christians priority is that, not this." Etc. I inflicted these values on my children. No one is perfect. There were a lot of good values that came from me to my kids. But as they became adults, if they don't know how to think outside the box, they will only have those values because of tradition, not because Jesus Christ is real to them personally.
One of my boxes was thinking that I was not the best Christian I could be unless I was always making talking about Jesus to non-Christians my number one priority. And as a mom, I was not really the best mom unless I was also teaching my kids to have the same priority. But I did not take every opportunity to tell other people about Christ, nor did I try to turn conversations to Christ every time I was with someone. Just writing about this makes me feel waves of guilt lapping at my feet. Go away Guilt Trip!
But here's the thing. Maybe I believed in Jesus because I grew up in America and learned in Sunday School that "Jesus died for our sins." So one of my boxes would be my upbringing. My mom took me to church where they taught me about the son of God. Then there was Weekday Religious Education. At my grade school, a trailer used to come in once a week and most of us went out and had a Sunday school lesson for an hour. I sat in the back and did not pay attention. It was EXTREMELY boring. I got in trouble for not paying attention a couple times. After that I paid attention outwardly but my mind was anywhere and everywhere else except on that religious lesson.
Then I went to a ranch in Colorado at age 15 where they told me about Jesus, only this time the context was FUN and the kids there were COOL and the singing was outrageously enthusiastic and we sounded GOOD! The speakers at the evening Round-ups were mesmerizing and the counselors in the cabins gave real answers. This was NOT Sunday school.
[[Aside: I had a grumpy old lady Sunday school teacher whom I could not stand in about 6th grade. I had a hamster. I had a little purse that was shaped like an oval bucket and it had flaps that folded down to close the top. Once I put my hamster, Pooty, in my purse and took him to Sunday school. While the teacher was trying to teach I was showing my friends what I had in my purse. The teacher noticed and came and asked what was in there. When I showed her, she jumped. (Think cartoon lady up on a chair screaming about a little mouse on the floor.) She got really ticked at me. It delighted me inside that I scared that mean old lady. What an evil child. It still makes me laugh.]]
I think it was the founder of Young Life who said it is a sin to bore a child in the name of Christ. So I was not bored at Young Life camp in Colorado. We got to ride horses, climb mountains, play Wells Fargo (cowboys and Indians: each person had a "scalp" -- a bandaid on the forehead. The goal was to take as many of the other team's scalps as possible.) Four or five girls ganged up on me and I fought with everything I had. I think I may have hurt one or two of them, but they got my scalp. It was such an emotional experience, my first and only real fight, using elbows and thrashing around for all I was worth. I went back to my cabin and cried.)
The camp was divided into teams and each team had a queen and I got to be queen of the "Stogies". they put me in my bathing suit and made me ride a horse and rolled up a brown blanket so that it looked like a big Stogie and made me carry it. Our team ended up winning the week's competitions and that made me queen of the camp. I had to go up front (thankfully not in my bathing suit!) I was shy. This was very, very embarrassing. I did not know what to do. Although I felt honored to be queen, wow, PLEASE let me go back to my seat and dissappear!!!!
We got to take open jeep rides along steep mountain roads, and they would back the jeep up to the cliff and make us all scream with terror. They took us down a silver mine in the dark each of us holding onto the person in front of us. When we were all deep down in the mine they started screaming about bears and made us all panic.
We got to eat great food cooked by Goldbrick, we got to swim at the pool, buy Bibles in modern English that we could actually understand. We met kids from all over the country, got crushes on cute boys from the South with thick Southern accents that charmed the heck out of us. OK, me, I got the crush on the Southern boy, just me.
Anyway, this context .... not to mention the 3 days Tex spent driving us from the midwest to Colorado in an un-air-conditioned van in mid summer....the noise he put up with, the roudiness, the impertinence of teenagers.........he had a special gift.....then he drove us 3 days home as well. (At least we had "gotten holy" during the week.) .... this context of love and fun and caring was the right context in which faith could be born inside me.
FUN. The people who worked at the ranch loved us and gave a darn whether we heard the truth about Jesus or not. And it worked. I heard that Jesus death paid for everything I had ever done wrong. I heard that it was not about "do this and do that and God will approve" (like my parents, maybe). It was more like God loves me and cares about me and is reaching out to me and all I have to do is say yes. So I did. Yes, I believe Jesus, a real person in history, came and lived a sinless life, died to pay for my wrong-doing, rose again from death (impossible) and went up to heaven to live forever, where he is, incidentally, making ready for me to join him. Wow. Yes, who wouldn't want this?
So boxes. This wonderful thing, this birth of Annie into God's family led to me wanting to pass this on to other people. This is not bad, but over the years, especially after I had children........
Oh, there is too much to go into. Legalism crept in. Do this to be a good Christian, don't do that. I didn't use bad words, didn't smoke, didn't drink except for a glass of wine with dinner at my father's house. I didn't lie, didn't steal, I was faithful to my mate. But I think the box that I didn't fit into was the one about make it your priority to verbalize your faith in Christ to everyone you know. Try to convince them to become Christians. Study the best ways to do this. Meet people with the express purpose of telling them about Jesus. The goal is not bad: to share with others the best thing that has ever happened to me. What became bad in my life was the use of formulas, rote things to say, cliches. I began to feel like I was trying to trick people into believing in Jesus.
Jumping to the present. God draws people to himself inside of people where we cannot see. Do you want truth? Do you want integrity? Here I am. Come to me. People who believe in him work on the outside, telling others about God and living a life of integrity in front of them so that they will be drawn to the person. Now I am geting acquainted with the artist and writer and coach God made me. How good He is.
The thought I had while I was sitting in bed reading John: Jesus said "I have told you now before it happens, so that when it does happen you will believe."
The thought was about the boxes. There are boxes and we all are in them. Boxes made out of cultural beliefs, our parents' values, then our friends' values. But Jesus Christ is not a box. The nice little story about a baby in a manger is not all there is to Jesus. He is real and He is God. I have seen his glory and I am sure of this. I have seen his light and only because He chose to give me a glimpse of it.
Jesus also told Martha such things when she complained to him after Lazarus died ("if you had been here, Lazarus wouldn't have died", like, "why in the world didn't you come when we called you?" Mary said the same thing.) When Jesus got around to approaching the cave where Lazarus was entombed, he told them to take the stone door away, doors made of stone designed to be permanent. Martha protested that it would smell. Perhaps she wanted to retain Lazarus' dignity in his death. These are real people with real brains that work just like ours. Martha -- the practical one. Jesus said to her "Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?"
We want to see the proof first, and then, we think, we will believe. Well, these people had been watching Jesus prove he was the son of God for a few years. He had been going around validating his words by his actions. Miracles to be specific. They had their proof. They were his closest friends and had seen a lot of miracles. Martha believed that Jesus was God's son. Jesus said to her "Your brother will rise again." Martha said, Yeah, I know when the last day comes, he will. Is she thinking: is this what he means or is he going to raise him up now? She had already told him "I know that even now God will do whatever you ask."
Jesus did what he so often did, and focused her attention on himself in the present. Who He was, not whether Lazarus was going to be saved right then or not. The bigger issue. He said I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies: and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this? Yes, she did and she told him so. You are the Christ, she said, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.
As I am sitting here writing this post, which has gone places I never expected, I have become overwhelmed with emotion several times. I have shed a few tears. Now that I've looked up the verse I wanted to talk about, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" I read on to check the details and Mary has arrived along with the mourners who were hanging around "weeping with she who weeps".
John writes: When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled, and he asked them where they had laid Lazarus. They said come see. and Jesus started crying. The Jews decided this meant that Jesus loved Lazarus a lot. Jesus was a man like us, too, in that he got emotional. And, yes, I think Jesus loved Lazarus a lot. He hung out with him and the 2 sisters in Bethany. They were supportive friends. They had been there for him.
Except some of the Jews said "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind have kept this man from dying?" Again, real people with brains that actually work. Logic: he does miracles, why didn't he do one for Lazurus so that he didn't die? Something is wrong with this picture.
John says: Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. Crying again? Is his face contorted? Is he moaning? How do they know he is deeply moved? Doesn't say, but there was apparently some sort of evidence.
When I came to write today, the only thing I knew I wanted to say was: Jesus Christ is not a BOX. We who follow him, believe in him, are given to getting into boxes, most of the time without knowing it. We are "vicitms" some may call it of our cultures and our families. But Jesus is real and He is God in the flesh. If you will, His work involved going around crushing the boxes of the Jewish leaders and teachers, their traditions for tradition's sake, their dead laws and holidays and rituals.
I can't write any more. Now I'm crying again and I have obligations to meet.
I did not intend to be so preachy, but I do not apologize. God is great.
Boxes. I don't remember exactly when I first heard the phrase 'thinking outside the box'. But I liked it. Yes, outside the box is where the truth is. Boxes can be very sneaky. You can be in one and not know it. I have broken out of a lot of boxes and I think that is where some of my own sense of well-being comes from. There was a book about finding your niche that had something to do with being outside the box. In our culture we must go to college after high school and pack a bunch of knowledge into our brains and then get a job and use all that knowledge. The time in school is strictly separated from the time working. Was that book where that phrase came from? Who wrote it? What was the name? I think the name was about the box. My memory is not so hot. He suggested there might be other ways to go about it. Working and education being more mixed up. My oldest did a work study program to help pay for college, alternating semesters of school with semesters working in her field of study. She learned by working as she was learning in the classroom. It worked very well.
So, boxes. I was a young Christian and I hated legalism. But I became legalistic myself. It's insidious. [spreading or acting inconspicuously with harmful effect] "Christians do this, and they don't do that. Christians think this way. Really dedicated Christians priority is that, not this." Etc. I inflicted these values on my children. No one is perfect. There were a lot of good values that came from me to my kids. But as they became adults, if they don't know how to think outside the box, they will only have those values because of tradition, not because Jesus Christ is real to them personally.
One of my boxes was thinking that I was not the best Christian I could be unless I was always making talking about Jesus to non-Christians my number one priority. And as a mom, I was not really the best mom unless I was also teaching my kids to have the same priority. But I did not take every opportunity to tell other people about Christ, nor did I try to turn conversations to Christ every time I was with someone. Just writing about this makes me feel waves of guilt lapping at my feet. Go away Guilt Trip!
But here's the thing. Maybe I believed in Jesus because I grew up in America and learned in Sunday School that "Jesus died for our sins." So one of my boxes would be my upbringing. My mom took me to church where they taught me about the son of God. Then there was Weekday Religious Education. At my grade school, a trailer used to come in once a week and most of us went out and had a Sunday school lesson for an hour. I sat in the back and did not pay attention. It was EXTREMELY boring. I got in trouble for not paying attention a couple times. After that I paid attention outwardly but my mind was anywhere and everywhere else except on that religious lesson.
Then I went to a ranch in Colorado at age 15 where they told me about Jesus, only this time the context was FUN and the kids there were COOL and the singing was outrageously enthusiastic and we sounded GOOD! The speakers at the evening Round-ups were mesmerizing and the counselors in the cabins gave real answers. This was NOT Sunday school.
[[Aside: I had a grumpy old lady Sunday school teacher whom I could not stand in about 6th grade. I had a hamster. I had a little purse that was shaped like an oval bucket and it had flaps that folded down to close the top. Once I put my hamster, Pooty, in my purse and took him to Sunday school. While the teacher was trying to teach I was showing my friends what I had in my purse. The teacher noticed and came and asked what was in there. When I showed her, she jumped. (Think cartoon lady up on a chair screaming about a little mouse on the floor.) She got really ticked at me. It delighted me inside that I scared that mean old lady. What an evil child. It still makes me laugh.]]
I think it was the founder of Young Life who said it is a sin to bore a child in the name of Christ. So I was not bored at Young Life camp in Colorado. We got to ride horses, climb mountains, play Wells Fargo (cowboys and Indians: each person had a "scalp" -- a bandaid on the forehead. The goal was to take as many of the other team's scalps as possible.) Four or five girls ganged up on me and I fought with everything I had. I think I may have hurt one or two of them, but they got my scalp. It was such an emotional experience, my first and only real fight, using elbows and thrashing around for all I was worth. I went back to my cabin and cried.)
The camp was divided into teams and each team had a queen and I got to be queen of the "Stogies". they put me in my bathing suit and made me ride a horse and rolled up a brown blanket so that it looked like a big Stogie and made me carry it. Our team ended up winning the week's competitions and that made me queen of the camp. I had to go up front (thankfully not in my bathing suit!) I was shy. This was very, very embarrassing. I did not know what to do. Although I felt honored to be queen, wow, PLEASE let me go back to my seat and dissappear!!!!
We got to take open jeep rides along steep mountain roads, and they would back the jeep up to the cliff and make us all scream with terror. They took us down a silver mine in the dark each of us holding onto the person in front of us. When we were all deep down in the mine they started screaming about bears and made us all panic.
We got to eat great food cooked by Goldbrick, we got to swim at the pool, buy Bibles in modern English that we could actually understand. We met kids from all over the country, got crushes on cute boys from the South with thick Southern accents that charmed the heck out of us. OK, me, I got the crush on the Southern boy, just me.
Anyway, this context .... not to mention the 3 days Tex spent driving us from the midwest to Colorado in an un-air-conditioned van in mid summer....the noise he put up with, the roudiness, the impertinence of teenagers.........he had a special gift.....then he drove us 3 days home as well. (At least we had "gotten holy" during the week.) .... this context of love and fun and caring was the right context in which faith could be born inside me.
FUN. The people who worked at the ranch loved us and gave a darn whether we heard the truth about Jesus or not. And it worked. I heard that Jesus death paid for everything I had ever done wrong. I heard that it was not about "do this and do that and God will approve" (like my parents, maybe). It was more like God loves me and cares about me and is reaching out to me and all I have to do is say yes. So I did. Yes, I believe Jesus, a real person in history, came and lived a sinless life, died to pay for my wrong-doing, rose again from death (impossible) and went up to heaven to live forever, where he is, incidentally, making ready for me to join him. Wow. Yes, who wouldn't want this?
So boxes. This wonderful thing, this birth of Annie into God's family led to me wanting to pass this on to other people. This is not bad, but over the years, especially after I had children........
Oh, there is too much to go into. Legalism crept in. Do this to be a good Christian, don't do that. I didn't use bad words, didn't smoke, didn't drink except for a glass of wine with dinner at my father's house. I didn't lie, didn't steal, I was faithful to my mate. But I think the box that I didn't fit into was the one about make it your priority to verbalize your faith in Christ to everyone you know. Try to convince them to become Christians. Study the best ways to do this. Meet people with the express purpose of telling them about Jesus. The goal is not bad: to share with others the best thing that has ever happened to me. What became bad in my life was the use of formulas, rote things to say, cliches. I began to feel like I was trying to trick people into believing in Jesus.
Jumping to the present. God draws people to himself inside of people where we cannot see. Do you want truth? Do you want integrity? Here I am. Come to me. People who believe in him work on the outside, telling others about God and living a life of integrity in front of them so that they will be drawn to the person. Now I am geting acquainted with the artist and writer and coach God made me. How good He is.
The thought I had while I was sitting in bed reading John: Jesus said "I have told you now before it happens, so that when it does happen you will believe."
The thought was about the boxes. There are boxes and we all are in them. Boxes made out of cultural beliefs, our parents' values, then our friends' values. But Jesus Christ is not a box. The nice little story about a baby in a manger is not all there is to Jesus. He is real and He is God. I have seen his glory and I am sure of this. I have seen his light and only because He chose to give me a glimpse of it.
Jesus also told Martha such things when she complained to him after Lazarus died ("if you had been here, Lazarus wouldn't have died", like, "why in the world didn't you come when we called you?" Mary said the same thing.) When Jesus got around to approaching the cave where Lazarus was entombed, he told them to take the stone door away, doors made of stone designed to be permanent. Martha protested that it would smell. Perhaps she wanted to retain Lazarus' dignity in his death. These are real people with real brains that work just like ours. Martha -- the practical one. Jesus said to her "Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?"
We want to see the proof first, and then, we think, we will believe. Well, these people had been watching Jesus prove he was the son of God for a few years. He had been going around validating his words by his actions. Miracles to be specific. They had their proof. They were his closest friends and had seen a lot of miracles. Martha believed that Jesus was God's son. Jesus said to her "Your brother will rise again." Martha said, Yeah, I know when the last day comes, he will. Is she thinking: is this what he means or is he going to raise him up now? She had already told him "I know that even now God will do whatever you ask."
Jesus did what he so often did, and focused her attention on himself in the present. Who He was, not whether Lazarus was going to be saved right then or not. The bigger issue. He said I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies: and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this? Yes, she did and she told him so. You are the Christ, she said, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.
As I am sitting here writing this post, which has gone places I never expected, I have become overwhelmed with emotion several times. I have shed a few tears. Now that I've looked up the verse I wanted to talk about, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" I read on to check the details and Mary has arrived along with the mourners who were hanging around "weeping with she who weeps".
John writes: When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled, and he asked them where they had laid Lazarus. They said come see. and Jesus started crying. The Jews decided this meant that Jesus loved Lazarus a lot. Jesus was a man like us, too, in that he got emotional. And, yes, I think Jesus loved Lazarus a lot. He hung out with him and the 2 sisters in Bethany. They were supportive friends. They had been there for him.
Except some of the Jews said "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind have kept this man from dying?" Again, real people with brains that actually work. Logic: he does miracles, why didn't he do one for Lazurus so that he didn't die? Something is wrong with this picture.
John says: Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. Crying again? Is his face contorted? Is he moaning? How do they know he is deeply moved? Doesn't say, but there was apparently some sort of evidence.
When I came to write today, the only thing I knew I wanted to say was: Jesus Christ is not a BOX. We who follow him, believe in him, are given to getting into boxes, most of the time without knowing it. We are "vicitms" some may call it of our cultures and our families. But Jesus is real and He is God in the flesh. If you will, His work involved going around crushing the boxes of the Jewish leaders and teachers, their traditions for tradition's sake, their dead laws and holidays and rituals.
I can't write any more. Now I'm crying again and I have obligations to meet.
I did not intend to be so preachy, but I do not apologize. God is great.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Getting the rust out of my fingers
I have a commission. I love saying that: it makes me feel significant.
When I sent out my newsletter about writing, art and coaching, a friend asked me to illustrate poetry he had written for his children. I said yes. He wants to give it to them for Christmas. There are 25 poems.
I am trying to do watercolors for as many as I can. I will not be able to paint for all of them. Some will have to be simple drawings. The poet and I agreed that I can send watercolors next year as they get finished. He has a book with acetate pockets and he can slide the new ones in when I finish them.
The process is exhilarating. I love working with the paint and the high quality paper. I have tons to learn, but after a few weeks of working on this, I can see that my later work is getting better than my earlier work and I feel more confident. I like some of my pictures and I can see how to fix some of the ones I'm not satisfied with.
I am using photos from the web mostly. Thank you, google. Then I draw my idea. Some are fun. Some are a serious rendering of an animal, for example. I have to force myself to speed-draw to get going. I learned this in a life drawing class. We had to draw an entire person (naked) in 15 minutes. The next time it was 10 minutes. Then 5. We went all the way down to about 30 seconds. It was a very helpful exercise, which forced us to resist the temptation to get all bogged down in the details right off the bat. Instead we had to get the essence of the pose down. Maybe I did learn something in art school.
After the layout come the colors. This is something I learned from David Dewey's class. "You don't want to go looking for your colors while your paper is drying." --or something like that. You have to waste lots of paint (mix up plenty of color before you lay any down on the paper. I am not good at this. I want to mix my first color and start putting it onto the page.
I have decided to use watercolor colored pencils on some of the pieces, because it is easier and faster and suits some of the brightly colored pictures very well. Like flying froggie. But the reindeer is done in natural, more subtle shades.
When I get done, I'd like to put some of them on my blog, but I'll have to work it out with my poet friend, since his poetry is copyrighted.
I made my daughters look at everything I've done so far. They like the realistic ones best. I do too.
I know this: when I first started I liked the work, but I was frustrated over spending so much time on one picture and not being satisfied with it. I felt panicky about being able to meet the deadline.
But now, I am making progress, the finished products are better, and I am just enjoying working with my hands.
When I sent out my newsletter about writing, art and coaching, a friend asked me to illustrate poetry he had written for his children. I said yes. He wants to give it to them for Christmas. There are 25 poems.
I am trying to do watercolors for as many as I can. I will not be able to paint for all of them. Some will have to be simple drawings. The poet and I agreed that I can send watercolors next year as they get finished. He has a book with acetate pockets and he can slide the new ones in when I finish them.
The process is exhilarating. I love working with the paint and the high quality paper. I have tons to learn, but after a few weeks of working on this, I can see that my later work is getting better than my earlier work and I feel more confident. I like some of my pictures and I can see how to fix some of the ones I'm not satisfied with.
I am using photos from the web mostly. Thank you, google. Then I draw my idea. Some are fun. Some are a serious rendering of an animal, for example. I have to force myself to speed-draw to get going. I learned this in a life drawing class. We had to draw an entire person (naked) in 15 minutes. The next time it was 10 minutes. Then 5. We went all the way down to about 30 seconds. It was a very helpful exercise, which forced us to resist the temptation to get all bogged down in the details right off the bat. Instead we had to get the essence of the pose down. Maybe I did learn something in art school.
After the layout come the colors. This is something I learned from David Dewey's class. "You don't want to go looking for your colors while your paper is drying." --or something like that. You have to waste lots of paint (mix up plenty of color before you lay any down on the paper. I am not good at this. I want to mix my first color and start putting it onto the page.
I have decided to use watercolor colored pencils on some of the pieces, because it is easier and faster and suits some of the brightly colored pictures very well. Like flying froggie. But the reindeer is done in natural, more subtle shades.
When I get done, I'd like to put some of them on my blog, but I'll have to work it out with my poet friend, since his poetry is copyrighted.
I made my daughters look at everything I've done so far. They like the realistic ones best. I do too.
I know this: when I first started I liked the work, but I was frustrated over spending so much time on one picture and not being satisfied with it. I felt panicky about being able to meet the deadline.
But now, I am making progress, the finished products are better, and I am just enjoying working with my hands.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
walking away
OK, it's been several days and the ones upons ones of readers are checking daily dying to know if I'm am buying the cute little storybook house. No. My realtor and our handyman added up real numbers. More cold water was thrown on the idea and this time it had ice in it.
I already knew that a whole lot of money would be necessary to move... way more money than I would have thought to add the bathroom and kitchen to the garage loft, and even more to make changes in the rental house. I whimperd a bit, but gave up and went home, thanking them for their patience, and happy that it was resolved.
I still think the Holy Spirit blew me by the house, just not so that I should buy it. The pro/con list brought out the good things about staying put. The pro/con list made me realize I do want to move in some ways.
When I started hyperventilating, I asked my coach to calm me down, because I was distracted from my job, making illustrations for my friend's poetry...which has a deadline.
It made me verbalize issues to my co-inhabitants, (my daughters) the issue being RENT. They are getting to be adults who "should" be out on their own soon, and now I have actually told them how much I need to get from the space downstairs and if they want to live in it, they can come up with the money. Otherwise, move upstairs. The thing I need to verbalize next is when they must start paying. Probably the new year would be a good place to start.
While I'm trying to learn to be a better mother and require adult behavior from my adult children, at the same time I see my managers at work struggling with letting my coworkers get away with cheating and laziness and I can't help but see the similarity. I had a chat with my manager who is probably half my age, and told him that by not firing the girl who sleeps on the job and gets into f-word shouting matches and has to be restrained from fist fighting, he's hurting the store, the customers and the girl herself long-term. He is nice. Yes, I would much rather work for a nice manager than a mean one, but leaving her on the payroll teaches her she can get away with bad behavior and still get paid. She's gone and her coworkers are glad. Though I had grown to dislike her, I sincerely hope she will wake up and grow from this experience, even if it's 10 years down the road when it dawns on her: "Hey, there was a reason I got fired. I was a whiney self-centered little twit."
I already knew that a whole lot of money would be necessary to move... way more money than I would have thought to add the bathroom and kitchen to the garage loft, and even more to make changes in the rental house. I whimperd a bit, but gave up and went home, thanking them for their patience, and happy that it was resolved.
I still think the Holy Spirit blew me by the house, just not so that I should buy it. The pro/con list brought out the good things about staying put. The pro/con list made me realize I do want to move in some ways.
When I started hyperventilating, I asked my coach to calm me down, because I was distracted from my job, making illustrations for my friend's poetry...which has a deadline.
It made me verbalize issues to my co-inhabitants, (my daughters) the issue being RENT. They are getting to be adults who "should" be out on their own soon, and now I have actually told them how much I need to get from the space downstairs and if they want to live in it, they can come up with the money. Otherwise, move upstairs. The thing I need to verbalize next is when they must start paying. Probably the new year would be a good place to start.
While I'm trying to learn to be a better mother and require adult behavior from my adult children, at the same time I see my managers at work struggling with letting my coworkers get away with cheating and laziness and I can't help but see the similarity. I had a chat with my manager who is probably half my age, and told him that by not firing the girl who sleeps on the job and gets into f-word shouting matches and has to be restrained from fist fighting, he's hurting the store, the customers and the girl herself long-term. He is nice. Yes, I would much rather work for a nice manager than a mean one, but leaving her on the payroll teaches her she can get away with bad behavior and still get paid. She's gone and her coworkers are glad. Though I had grown to dislike her, I sincerely hope she will wake up and grow from this experience, even if it's 10 years down the road when it dawns on her: "Hey, there was a reason I got fired. I was a whiney self-centered little twit."
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