Rain has decided to roll in for a good soak at the moment. A long-awaited thunder announces her visit. It's as if the Precipitation Tour Bus has parked outside and unloaded for a concert of good-will cheer. Finally. I'm sure our cracked back yard appreciates the musical attention, the rat-a-tat-tat, the sensory seep. I'm enjoying it although it's not causing me to gain that elusive sleep which has hit these last two weeks. (Why can't I double space sometimes in this blog?) So, anyway, I had some caffeinated drink at two friend get-togethers today and now it's making me pay up. I'm happy, though, because I hung out with two of my favorite friends at lunch today who make me laugh and exchange compliments and who tell all that's going on in the marital, spiritual, physical realm. They're both fashionable and authentic, and kind and edgy == they want to do things the right way, with joy and spirit. One sings and lights up her church's worship, yet she's shy in a way, just a delightful person, likes conservative talk radio. The other one is edgy, entirely depressed with the Bush re-election, funny, somewhat masculine, yet caring and kind and needy of relationships. I would like to hang out with them more and not get sidetracked by random other people which happens more and more lately. Even this morning, I went out to coffee with a friend who wore me out. One of my friendship rules is that the relationship must be reciprocal; I can't be just an Ear; I've tried to be an Ear; my Ear acts as if it's the only body part at times; yet, it never works out. The Mouth and Mind become too pissed off. And, then the Feet tell the Ear that it's taking it somewhere else ... and fast ... So, this morning, as in other recent days, my friend went on and on and on and on and on about a relational issue. I care; I want to show compassion to him, yet, my other parts want to leave as quickly as possible. I'm not sure why I'm relating this except to tell myself: relationships are a choice. Select the good ones and invest time in those who can give and take. Let them be like the rain, showing up to nourish; let me be like the rain too, a vital part of their growth. It was a gift to meet these nourishing types of friends for lunch today; I'm grateful; my Ear, Mouth, Mind, and Feet are all talking again.:)

I've been reading the latest "Time" magazine, and my brain is filled with angry buzz, the angry buzz of the creationists vs. the intelligent design-ers vs. the evolutionists. The angry buzz of the reporters with their assertions and introductory asinine clauses like "Emboldened by a sympathetic White House, Christian business owners are increasingly meshing prayer with profits..." The angry buzz of Steven Pinker, Psychology professor at Harvard, who says that "In practice, religion has given us stonings, inquisitions and 9/11." The angry buzz of Albert Mohler, President Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, who says "You cannot coherently affirm the Christian-truth claim [what about the Judaaic claim] and the dominant model of evolutionary theory at the same time."

And, I haven't even read the article about the Iraqui war called "An Enemy Ever More Brutal" which shows an American tank overturned and burned in which 14 Americans were killed.

I'm a bit sick over it at all. And so, I have joined in the anger, adopted it now, because I'm angry that we pit one against the other constantly for story or for victory or for oil or for philosophical, theological, political, scientific advantage.

(Don't read Time magazine this week, or perhaps you'll feel the same way.)

But yet our depravity and our dimness about things in general call me back to the things of this puzzling world where everyone is striking out in confusion. And, I want to entreat Divinity, nothing less (and nothing more can be imagined). And I want to say to this Intelligent Soft&Sadist Being:

If you created us, oh God, if it took seven days, if all the animals mutated at once (along with our eyeballs). If you cared for us, and sent the Incarnate to redeem our violence; if you watch over us, like a sleepless Shepherd, please calm the flock, send the good, make us warriors of understanding and peace. Amen.

"One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries."
A.A. Milne

My table as seen below and unseen counter and guest room are in the throes of productive wonderful discovery messy bondage. It's fun to piece together Cody's curriculum and school year. It's fun to imagine the possibilities. And, imagination will be one of our key words this year ...........>

"Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."
Albert Einstein

Cassie insisted on being part of the curriculum decision today. Her paw points me to an amazing science kit that only costs $65.00. Her fine tastes have not accepted the fact that I've decided to borrow instead of buy most of our school material. If she keeps insisting, I'll have to put her into the utility room and shut the door. :)

I want my house's door to be swinging with kids coming in, going out, feeling safe. My neighbor's middle schooler camped out at my laptop today at the kitchen counter, Millsbury-ing a likeness of me, showing me things as I cleaned, ordered pizza, left for a ministry meeting. I like it that she's practically part of our family. She wasn't here when I returned, but she may be back tomorrow when her family is busy, when her teenage sister is cra-zy, when she's had a bad school day in the fall. Today, I went to coffee with an older friend-mother who makes me feel safe too. I lamented to her that I may not be doing friendships well in general. Seems like there's tons of people in my radar, and am I focusing on deep friendships as well? She understood exactly what I was talking about and commented that she's just glad we can be ourselves around each other and commisserate about the same things. I can unload. I can camp at her kitchen counter and just be a blob if I wanted to be. I have before. She's one of the few people who I can call and they will drop everything to be with me for a cup of coffee if I need it. I wasn't taught to ask for help, but she makes it allowable. Thank you, sweet God, for open hearts and doors.

Ring toss champions of the Ozarks means outhouse sprinting at midnight!

The thing to notice is in the lap of the person in blue. Baked goods at the Church Women's stand! I bought homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast, so the little lady on the left wouldn't have to cook again. So were my dreams, yet no one was hungry in the a.m. but me. Those rolls shore were tasty!

I tried to turn this picture upright, but couldn't, but then decided that this is Cody's perception of the world perhaps, a little sideways, a little off-kilter.
Here's Cody at the top of his game: he won lots of old, unwanted glasses at the Dime Toss stand. The glasses are now washed and ready for loving usage in my cupboard. Cody also won the hat he's wearing at the Ball Toss where smallish 4-H boys let him stand way too close.

A river boy jumps from the top of the bridge and dives with his shadow to the watery depths ... only to come out smiling up at us. I showed him the photo when he walked back up: "Yep, I'm flyin' alright!"

at the river

We went to the river, to a huge steel bridge on the North Fork. Lots of river boys from around the surrounding hills go there. Notice their fun? See the guy on the bottom center? He's just jumped in to splash the unsuspecting canoeists. Who needs anything but air and water for mischief?

We went to a community picnic down home. Farm-capped men sat on lawn chairs barely hearing the bad-speaker bluegrass. But, the men happily jawed at each other, telling jumbled jokes (my dad related) which couldn't be heard, but needed to be responded to by a grin and a "Well, yeah ....." My daughter and cousins ran around winning 2 liters of soda by ringing them with canned lid rubber rings; my son won three crazy hats and a million old ugly glasses which are now unfortunately in my cupboard at the dime toss. My sister and I were propositioned by at least one hillbilly a piece. And, at the end, right before home, all of us girls acted completely silly and took pictures of random people while we posed by them. I haven't laughed so hard since my Europe group all got on the bed in the hotel room and the bus driver cuddled with a 69 year old prudish lady for the camera. But now, life is back to normal, and my daughter and I have fought for the last three days. She wants more freedom, to go out almost every night until 11:30, and I say no. She wants, and I say no. I hope that in the morning she will be more understanding of my boundaries. I hope in the morning that I will be more understanding of her desires to have all confusing things figured out and filed.

Do you remember that one specific time when someone said something that made life much more complicated? In my youth, I had always heard that homeless people were lazy, because in America, we have lots of choices that we can make in order for us to buy homes, have traditional families, always have a job ... the big bootstrap was wrapped tightly around my brain. College history taught this to me as well. How many times did I hear about the achievers like Ben Franklin, Wilma Rudolph, Lewis & Clark, the Rockefellers, the Presidents, the Inventors, the Poets, the Astronauts? If these people made a mark then so can'st you, was preached cheerfully to me. As an idealist by nature, I loved it. And, for the most part, it's a good, inspirational message to the youth. However, now I realize that it promotes a certain disdain for those on the underbelly of society who have not risen, but sunk. (Btw, there's a book by Theodore Dalrymple which I want to read on this topic called "Life At the Bottom." Anyone recommend it?) So, my moment of complexity arrived when a college friend and I saw a begging man. It was a first for me, and I automatically muttered something about him needing to just get a job. The typical non-compassionate response. My wealthy 71 year old uncle still retorts with this. Fortunately, my friend couldn't let that pass and gave me a compassionate perspective; he listed all of the possibilities that might be preventing this man from being like me or other successful others; he listed all the reasons why Christ would not reject him for being on the bottom of the social rung. Basically, I was stopped and stunned by my ignorance on the matter. In the same way, I am reading mind-opening material in Jim Wallis' book in which he espouses a political stance which incorporates an "integral link between personal ethics and social justice." This means to me that a person should be able to be conservative on issues like marriage, child rearing, entertainment values, pro-life, etc, but still have a viable political option which takes care of the other things that we're given stewardship for as Christians: poverty issues, environmental, peacemaking, race equality, a non-special interest group (or corporate) agenda, fair and quality education. The latter issues in particular are why I couldn't vote for Bush. He didn't convince me that he would take care of these, and with tax cuts for the wealthy, and with war without UN approval, and the disapproval of multiple national church leaders .... Yet, the Democrates "had nothing to offer the American people as an alternative..." says Wallis. This is why I couldn't vote for Kerry. Wallis talks about an option which allows the full Christian agenda to be addressed, not just particle pieces. It's a blended agenda which comes from people with "strong moral conviction and [longings] for a political commitment that reflects them." Well, well, I agree, but the road is still muddy right now. Life becomes more complex, and, daresay, more full of compassionate implications and responsibilities. Hmmmm... I'm reading on with open, yet critical mind...... We'll see.

A friend of mine has recently heard the word "autistic" applied to her three year old son. We met for coffee this morning, and her life, jampacked with molecular microbiology study, needs no other pressures. I felt heavy for her, like the last thing that she would want in life is to have a child who struggles so. We discussed this sadly, with her eyes brimming.

However, a couple of hours later, Cody and I were on the city trail. I ran, and he biked. He'd pedal furiously ahead and then turn around, and yell, "C'mon, Mom!" A lone woman walker looked back at me, smiling, and said, "What is he, your personal trainer?!" I'd pick up my pace and when I passed him, I'd raise my hands, swinging them up in victory like an Armstrong. That just made him "embarrassed" but determined and he'd pedal furiously on. It was great fun; we were laughing a lot. When we got to the lake, we sat at a bench and stared up at the clouds, smiling big, when Cody perceived, "A chicken showing off its butt!"

We laughed quite a lot in the heat-busting cool that's swept graciously into our area.

Later, I thought, even with "diagnosis", even with not being able to fit into square schooling pegs, even with somewhat aggressive behavior, Cody is still a fun, wonderful kid. I just need to make sure that my friend knows that regardless of what the professionals say; we're still gifted. Our kids are still gifted. The clouds formulate our hope, as we, different or alike, gaze up at them and understand their language.

Thank you, God, for clouds and gifts.

My husband said that I looked cute in my torquoise shirt and shoes and matching earrings and shortish jean shorts. He reached over and kissed me a lot today. In the marital day-to-day, I've noticed an alternating flow of tension (over housework), relaxation (with reading material, or television, or movies), tension (over children), and relaxation again (now, while he is watching a movie, working on files for tomorrow, and I am writing, reading, waiting on the teenager).

The times of tension kill me. I'm not good at being accepting of his stress. Don't I know by now that he needs to have it, needs to let it burn and sputter out, that he has a right to it? Often, I want to interfere as the peacemaker -- as the peacemaker to my own sense of quiet comfort.

Earlier today, I took my long bike ride and stopped and sat by a lake. There I prayed specifically about my wifehood because at times it seems a bit fuzzy and full of gazes elsewhere. I have a husband who still grabs me and thinks of me as beautiful; no one is better for me than him. So, again, I send this relationship upwards so that it can float down recognized for the beautiful dream it is. Please make it yours, Father.

Here's an interesting quote about it too ...........>

"Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes, in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world, or even with a little more care in this very imperfect one) both partners might be found more suitable mates. But the real soul-mate is the one you are actually married to." J.R.R. Tolkien.

Conventional wisdom suggests that the antidote to religious fundamentalism is more secularism. But that is a very big mistake. The best response to bad religion is better religion, not secularism. ...
Southern slave masters gave their captives the Bilbe to keep their eyes trained on heaven, instead of their plight on earth. But in the Bible those same slaves found Moses and Jesus, who became the foundations for their liberation struggle. We must always acknowledge that our religious traditions can be both a cause for oppression and an inspiration for liberation. Religious arguments have fostered terrible sectarian division, hatred, and violence, but faith has also helped to set people free. We must be honest about both. In the very same traditions that have been used to sanction injustice are found the seeds of justice, peace, and freedom. Those of us from religious communities must be the first to be critical ofour own traditions when they are used to foster more conflict and violence while, at the same time, holding out the prophetic possibilities in every one of our religious faiths....
Faith often leads us to assert the vital religious commitments that fundamentalists often leave out, namely compassion, social justice, peacemaking, humility, tolerance, and even democracy as a religious commitment. Jim Wallis, God's Politics, pg 67.

Another quote for the day about teenagers ...

"Our culture's reduction of adolescence to issues surrounding sexual maturation and social life has done a terrible disservice to our young peole. And insofar as young people, their parents, educators, and churches have brought into this reduced definition, we have made the task of growing into maturity much more difficult than it needs to be. A friend of ours (a recent college graduate) taught a class in 'teen issues' at a summer camp for affluent high school students last summer. At the end of the class, she asked for their evaluation. One courageous boy complained: 'This was meant to be a class in 'teen issues,' but all we talked about was sex! I am struggling with a lot of other issues -- intellectual, political, economic, religious, vocational -- that I'm going to have to make decisions about in the next few years. Aren't they teen issues? I was hoping to get some help with those!'"

From Critique, a Publication of Ransom Fellowship: Who Invented Adolescence? by Mardi Keyes

Reminds me (and I've been thinking about this all morning) of some of what Wallis says about moving faith from that which is privatize (at times focusing on the area of sexual purity) to public (that which lights into other areas besides just our own self-occupation). Private faith is good, yet it's not all there is to faith; it should naturally move outward into other concerns of life. Still pondering on this idea and application.....

Anyway, I love the above quote. My daughter hates our church's youth group because it seems like all they talk about is purity issues. I remember my brain too, when young, not finding much stimulus, or encouragement, in church. Then, I went off to college where I was a bit unprepared, naive, weak to the challenge. Everything, both secular and religious, seemed to be mostly concerned with what I did with my body (or what others did to it). The secular sexualization became mirrored in religious admonishment. I remember feeling lots of shame about something that was good, in due time, something that I hadn't even experienced yet. And, when I did, I was almost suicidal with guilt. Admonishment, correction, guidance is important in these ares, yes, but faith shouldn't be reduced to simply how-to avoid sexual shame. One focuses, then, on the sin. And, as Paul says, then we do it.

Well, just thinking this morning about some of these things.
Have a super day!

I love the late nights, all alone, a quiet humming in the house, my books everywhere, the t.v. turned off. Soon, however, I'll need to get some sleep before parental duties begin tomorrow.

I was up early, going to coffee with a friend who completely forgot about our appointment. I sat uncomfortably at the restaurant waiting for her, staring at my black liquid, overhearing snippets of conversation, clicks on computer keys, rips from the bean grinder. I pulled out the book that I had brought to show her, and, one hour later, I finished it, with thoughts of happiness for my own private date. I began to think about scheduling this type of thing on a regular basis. Being alone takes getting used to, however, I feel the need to practice it more. Often lately, I've reached out for others, needing response, needing affirmation, needing, needing. And, God ... He hasn't been as important if I honestly take a look at relational time focus.

My forced reading of the morning talked about longings and how they pull constantly. The author talked about the role of Jesus, and how He wants to rescue us from our unhealthy patterns of desire, which lead to disappointment, a feeling of being empty, a reliance on others to take care of us. I can be susceptible to these patterns for sure.

Just recently, in fact, I asked a new friend for some distance. After becoming quickly acquainted on the Europe trip, sharing many levels of wonderful conversation, we tried to transplant it here. However, I felt uncomfortable for many valid reasons, namely conscience and obligation, and told him that we needed to go about our own lives more: he with his girlfriend and me with my husband, allowing them to be our rightful and primary listeners. (My husband knows about all of this.)

It was hard, though. No one knows more than Jesus himself how much I enjoy good conversation with smart, decent people. However, the need mixed with longing made me wary and ready for adjustment.

My (Jewish) friend was only a block away at another coffeehouse by himself this morning. Yet, I stayed and read about what Jesus thought was best for me. I enjoyed my time, my date, the warmth I felt inside of secret knowledge, admitted by appropriate and intimate means, by grace.

Sure, I still wonder at times, "What's the big deal about faith?" Others seem to be okay without it. Yet, I know inside that I've been touched and inflamed by the intangible Tangible. It'd be hard to forget about, tough to eradicate -- He's strong-willed, you know, a creator of what drifts toward himself.

Well, I'm quite tired now, ready for sleep. It has been a good week.

Good night.

This appears to be a quote month. All else inside of me is being expressed in other ways than here for now; I'm so glad people have written to give voice to what is delightful in their expression. I just sort-of semi started (w/o clear intention on finishing) Lewis' Reflections on the Psalms.

I love how he talks about the poetic Parallelism in this book, and how he says:

"It is (according to one's point of view) either a wonderful piece of luck or a wise provision of God's that poetry which was to be turned into all languages should have as its chief formal characteristic one that does not disappear (as metre does) in translation."

And then, best of all, a few lines down, he says ....

"We may, if we like, see in this an exclusively practical and didatic purpose; by giving to truths which are infinitely worth remembering this rhythmic and incantatory expression, He made them almost impossible to forget. I like to suspect more. It seems to me appropriate, almost inevitable, that when that great Imagination which in the beginning, for Its own delight and for the delight of men and angels and (in their proper mode) of beasts, had invented and formed the whole world of Nature, submitted to express Itself in human speech, that speech should sometimes be poetry. For poetry too is a little incarnation, giving body to what had been before invisible and inaudible."

Nice!

May these poetic words of soothing bring peace to our world, despite the bombs, despite the wounds.

Thank you, Great Express-er.

"How do we live a faith whose social manifestation is compassion and whose public expression is justice?"

God is Personal, but never private. And the Bible reveals a very public God. But in an age of private spiritualities, the voice of a public God can scarcely be heard. Private religion avoids the public consequences of faith. In particular, affluent countries and churches breed private disciples, perhaps because the applications of faith to public life could become quickly challenging and troubling.

....Dare we search for the politics of God? It's much easier to just use God to justify our politics.

....What were their [prophets, Jesus] subjects [of politics]? Quite secular topics really -- land, labor, capital, wages, debt, taxes, equity, fairness, courts, prisons, immigrants, other races and peoples, economic divisions, social justice, war and peace -- the stuff of politics.

....And whom were the prophets often speaking for? Most often, the dispossessed, widows and orphans (poor single moms), the hungry, the homeless, the helpless, the least, last, and lost.

An incident in my church left an indelible impression about the private versus public meaning of faith and permanently altered my own life's direction....One day in my home church, I was arguing withone of the leaders about racism and the things I was learning in inner-city Detroit. I will never forget what he said to me, "Christianity has nothing to do with racism; that is a political issue, and our faith is pesonal."

I came to the heartfelt conclusion that : God is personal, but never private. .... Denying the public God is a denial of bibilical faith itself, a rejection of the prohphets, the apostles, and Jesus himself. Exclusively private faith degenerates into a narrow religion, excessively preoccupied with individual and sexual morality while almost oblivious to the bibilical demands for public justice. In the end, private faith becomes a merely cultural religion providing the assurance of righteousness for people just like us.

Whether conservative or liberal Christians, or members of ofther faith groups, or just spiritual seekers, we are all guilty of succumbing to a diminished religiosity that is characterized by privatized belief systems, devoid of the prophetic and social witness of Jesus and the prophets -- ultimately, nothing more than 'small-s' spirituality that is really only ad hoc wish fulfillment or a collection of little self-help techniques we use to take the edge off our materialistic rat-race lives.

What is needed is nothig less than a renovation of our souls and the soul of our politics.

When religion is relegated merely to the private sphere, it becomes vulnerable to the charge of being 'soft' and therefore irrelevant to public life.

Bringing the personal God into the public arena is at the heart of the prophet's message and will transform both our religion and our politics.

I stand convicted, guilty of abdicating responsibility in the political life due to resignation and focus on my own comfort. I've had the inner desires to make a difference; this has beat strongly inside me at times. I've always known the throb of mercy and compassion, yet I've constantly been frustrated within the strident political voices which seem more to be about power and greed than true social or Christian concern for others. I admit I've used these voices as an excuse, a barrier to doing much of anything for those who always appear in my mind needing help, grace, a light from Christ. And, so a book was given to me which helps my feelings of being torn about my responsibilities and what one can do in the prevailing societal climate. It's called "God's Politics: Why the Right Gets it Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It" by Jim Wallis. Wow, quite amazing so far. Perhaps I will get out of the privatized version of faith that makes it all about me (or those in my comfortable faith and social life).

The teacher waved me down as I pulled away from the two week summer enrichment program at a nearby private school.
"How can I help him best?" she asked immediately. "Yesterday, he didn't listen, bounced off the walls, and then I figured out from your note on the medical form that he has Asperger's."
I disclosed anxiously, furtively, and last minute yesterday prior to dropping him off. I saw the paragraph which stated that unruly kids would be sent home and money would be forfeited, so I scrawled a few words about "autism spectrum disorder" and left him behind. It wasn't to pull the hood over anyone's eyes.
Often, I just want to see if he will pass through undetected, like Asperger's is a mislabel, like Cody is growing out of it. Like we can all breathe easier that life will be less challenging.
She named it, though, and had 'another Asperger's before' in prior teaching.
Again, I'll be reaching soon for the books that help me understand my own reactions and disappointments, his own frustrations and thwarted desires, the strain in our marriage due to working through these issues (another strain would be revealed w/o this, though).
I want to strain these "problems" and perceive their elemental blessings. I hear the cliche that everyone states: "It's all how you look at things that determine whether they're curses or blessings." It's hard to believe that they have real, pressing 24 hour issues on their plates. Yet, I know there's good to be found, we do find it occassionally, I don't want it to pass by unharvested. He's an awesome kid who just happens to have this sickness.
God be with us and others who fight in the fog. The search continues for clarity.

Hooray for the red, white, blue. It's the fourth of July, and I'm grateful to be home safely in America. We returned earlier from the mother-in-law's farm where she jumped up to heat up food, pour me water, retrieve a cucumber, throw a book about vinegar remedies under my nose, find matches for our family firework's display. She runs me ragged, makes me feel old; however, it was exceedingly nice to be taken care of by a mother. I am blessed.

So, home. I'm finally making rightful adjustments from the Europe trip. However it took the following to emotionally set me right again:

1) sleep
2) intense prayerful journaling
3) unload of unhappiness on a couple of friends
4) resolution of hope with a couple of friends
5) reparation talks with my husband
6) blueberry pie baking
7) church friend hugging and hand squeezing
8) an outstanding sermon
9) an intent of personal and marital counseling

It's just that the Europe trip set off something larger inside of me that left me unsettled in intense longing for more adventure, less responsibility, more variety, less of the same. I'm ashamed to admit this because I work very hard at focusing on my good, my space. Yet some things trip me hard, and I lament where I am and who I've become. I become wrapped in longing and restlessness once more.

However, the trip in itself was wonderful and dreamy. I have wanted to go to Europe for over 20 years (French minor, English major, come on now) and because of circumstances, put the desire on a shelf, minimizing it. I wondered how finally I would find Europe, given maturity, distance, realism. Well, I found it to be amazing and wonderful, a sensory bonanza. From boating down the Seine and seeing the sunset over Notre Dame to floating down the Rhine through the wine valley, our group ooohed and ahhh-ed during perfect lovely excursions like these through our two week journey.

For example, Lake Lucerne in Switzerland was incredible, beyond description. I walked by the lake, finding some rare alone time, and just soaked in the beauty of the water, mountains, flowers, clear air. When I sat on a bench to think, a hatted old German/Swiss man toddled up to sit by me; we tried to speak but couldn't, so we sat there together, amazed, full, having travelled. Momentary life companions.

Paris: bakeries, baguettes, les chiens. The Eiffel Tower sparkles initially at sunset to the cheer of the people who worship it. I worshipped it for a while, amazed at how it punctures space, stands tall, proud, beautiful, welcoming to the climber, the lover. The Arc de Triumphe at night, wow. Looking below at the Champs Elysees's lights, I wanted a proposal to be whispered in my ear. It was all exceeding romantic and lovely and breathtaking, even though a monument to war. When we walked through the cobbled courtyard at Versailles, I marvelled at how I walked in the steps of those vain ambitious courtiers whose grumblings forecasted the later events at the Bastille (which we walked below on another jaunt). It amazed me to see buildings still standing from long ago centuries. It struck me how modern my own world is. I felt like life would continue still, despite terrorism threats, despite rumors of the second coming. I guess I felt a surge of humanistic pride of certainty in our life forms. A bit illusionary, I know. Yet Europeans probably live more fully with this than we do. Helps to explain a difference in worldview.

Amsterdam with its bikes and canals surprised me. We stayed in Harlem, and one morning, another woman and I walked 10 minutes (pass sex and cannabis shops) to stare up at Corrie ten Boom's home. I was filled with awe and imagined Corrie organizing girl groups in that same neighborhood or being captured by the German soldiers who finally crashed in to destroy her family. I was there, a part of it, walking on the same bricks. I touched as much as I could for transference. Amazing.

Those were some of the 'place' highlights of the trip; I mention nothing now of the relational highlights made on the trip which were also jewels, yet filled my restless nature with longing afterwards. I had to journal lots (and still must) to know what constitutes my center, my core. These journals helped me cry out and be found once more and comforted. How could I ever stray from his blessedness? I would tear myself up to find him again if I ever dared to forfeit Christ as my stay. I'm too unreliable for anything more, I know this more now. To the breast I go, repining restlessness. I can only be rooted in the identity of his divinity.

So, Europe was both amazing and troubling. My perspective has changed. Life has become both pluripotent and static. I'm still needing more clarification to not be vague. I'm limbo-living a bit at the moment.

But, it's good to be back and to be alive. I'm grateful for all of it.

Take care,
Fieldfleur

I love it when the tree shadows play tag with the sunlight through my windows, on my counters, kitchen table, carpet. My house becomes illumined with life and movement and goodness. The pets find it to swat, nap, jump aboard interactively. One of the granted pleasures from above.

Tomorrow, we go up toward the sun on the big plane. We'll cross the ocean with its untold depths, with its Titanic wreckage, with its huge whales, with its swarms of tiny microbe life, and land in England. Right now, I can't even imagine the whole, long journey, and the ability to say, "Tomorrow I'll be in a different part of the world." I am an admitted simpleton!

Two weeks might (still nervous about the flight) pass, and I'll be admitted back into my kitchen of dappled light and trapsing kitten and meal responsibility. Okay, forget I mentioned that last one. Kind-of ruined the mood.:) I'm sure I'll be happy to see it all, yet I'm so happy to leave it behind for a while. Admitted escapist too!

So, au revoir!, for a while. I'm sure I'll have stories for later!

I held off publishing my last piece until tonight -- too raw, I thought. I wasn't in a good place. And, this morning, I woke up disturbed and fretful, but my husband insisted that we go on a healthy bike ride along the river; we packed a lunch; I packed my videocamera. It was hot and buggy, but we sat on a memorial bench away from the house and talked. It was good. It was recorded.

I did pray and did release myself to him-above who then helped release me to resignation of where I am, and acceptance, and a new run at the comfort of "things will work out." They will. Why do I become so gripped with fear that they won't?

Tonight, we watched the movie "Luther" ~~ it affected me much more than last night's sermon that lost to my skirt. Here truth diverged more plainly: wow, such the movement that was born from this man's defiance and integrity. Funny that the old monk married the runaway nun. Romance in everything ....!

I'm reading "Wuthering Heights" now. Heathcliffe is a-mutterin; Catherine is a-schemin; the wind is a howlin'. Lots of wayward movement in this book which matched my mood when I began it this morning! It's quite a dark little book.

Must sleep now!

It's late, and I should be in bed. It's simply that I don't want to face tomorrow. Today, I had an excuse of being born forty-one years, but tomorrow, I will still need to face the pantry and figure out what's there for everyone to eat. Even at 11 p.m., right now, my daughter fries something in a skillet for her supper; she decries the absence of good food made up for her. I decry her demands. My husband took care of himself, I had popcorn and cake, did anyone take care of Cody? I doubt it; if I don't do it, then he forgets to eat too, just grabs at pretzels. Perhaps I've caused his Asperger Syndrome to flare due to nutrition. I'm sure lots of people would nod at me if they knew that I'm not doing what I should do there. I'm not altogether bad, only half good at this duty. I need to become my mother who just did her service to others without complaint. Sigh. Mundanity is hard. Familyhood isn't woods walking.

Okay. The day hasn't been that bad at all. I received a command to open presents early today, which I did, and now own an item I've wanted for years. We went out to eat lunch at a restaurant, which fills me up and then I don't think of another meal, like the restaurant meal should be enough to hold us all throughout the entire day. It's enough for me, but not for others. Why not?

Church was alright, but I didn't feel any conviction, nothing, except that I was happy for my pretty skirt. I felt like I needed to consult with a minister to make certain I am living faith fully. Yet, pretty new skirt idolatry for now would definitely overrule the appointment. C'mon I'm not Luther at this point in time, just a female in 2005. Surely God understands that at times.

During the service, I was happy to be with my daughter; we laugh and enjoy each other's company so much. What will it be like without her in several years? I shudder to think of that. She's now a sulky teen, yes, but she has always been my light of side joy.

Cody had issues in the children's church and came out with high anxiety about not having friends and looking eight for his age. It's a common perseveration. I worry inwardly for him almost constantly.

And, so the day, the birthday, ends. Tomorrow, I must begin with God holding me still and brushing my hair and hushing these family and self and right-living concerns and letting me know that if there are 41 more years to come, He will be with me. G'd night all.

It seems to be in vogue within the modern Christianity discussion circle to choose a role within biblical stories. It may be an old practice (divino lecturio? -- okay, go ahead and laugh at my elementary Latin!) which helps us imagistically enter into the setting of the day when Christ, for instance, walks the earth. I've tried it and found it to be an excellent way to actively read the Scriptures.
A story which keeps coming up in my reading and attention is the one about Jesus' ministry and the crowds who attended to hear, listen, possibly believe, refute. It's interesting that with this story many of us moderns attest to being more like the Pharisee than the crowd that flocks. I keep reading that claim over and over again in various books. Perhaps it makes us feel more relevant, empathetic, true to our skepticism which we claim with pride. I can claim some of these feelings for sure.
However, as I read again about Jesus' ministry in Mark this morning, I think, "Why couldn't I've been part of the flock that was willing, fed, taught, ministered to?" I know that this is probably basic for some of you, and you'd think that I would have this concept tucked deep into my faith at this point in time. But, if I have, it quickly becomes dispersed from my heart into a head reaction in which I objectively put off the thought of me being led like a sheep into total hope and belief like some of these old time foks were. It seems scary and presumptious almost to claim, "Yes, Jesus would have spoken to even me, and I would have followed instead of opposed."
But, it's okay to agree to this image, because of the other side of identification. I can identify with those who need a healing touch, who have been desperately put out of sorts, who have sought for something more meaningful in their lives. Yes, a flesh and blood now representation would be amazing and curious, but, having seen, having heard, why wouldn't I have said, "Yes, I will eat your bread!" as I do attempt to now.
Hmmm.... to imagistically enter into the flock time and time again perhaps will make me less resistant even now as I subconsciously strive to be pharisaaical and separate.
Thanks, Lord, for standing before us.

The Orville within

My head is full of 18th century English manners and customs as I'm reading "Evelina" by Fanney Burney again. I love this book. Although Lord Orville is the phantom of masculine godheadedness, he beckons to all of us female folk, calling us to be his dance partner for the evening, rescuing us from ill-mannered barbarity, choosing us for our pure rustic beauty despite our station in life. I think I've had a detrimental phantom Lord Orville in my head for most of my existence (which I had to kill eventually to exchange for reality:), but, how wonderful those illusory thoughts were to a romantic young farmgirl skipping around the manure piles in the barn lot saying/feeling/imagining, "Oh Lord Orville! you do exist and how wonderful to see you again at this magnificent hall, although I'm too painfully shy and stunningly beautiful to respond to your eloquent high-brededness. Yes, you may grasp my hand in order to kiss it! etc etc"

Oh boy. I'm glad those days are over. I can see Lord Orville for what he's worth: a model of behavior that suits a silly ideal of aristocracy (fanciful and intriguing, though, for certain!). Surely I knew this when I was young? I did always like the fairy tale as opposed to the horror story, though. It seemed more acceptable to believe, yet the extraction from it is well ... another blog posting! :)

On less romantic topics: I went to a downtown festival tonight and had my heart broken. A young man who once came into my university office for a job was wandering around completely stoned, disheveled, alone, in bad shape. I last saw him working at Wal-Mart; he had been married with a kid, I think, during that time. Whatever he once possessed, it appeared to be lost. God, please be with him and help him find a good way out.

That's life in my lane.

“Who cares?!!!” read the blank wall clock with the numbers in a heap pile at the bottom by where the six should be.

Below, the men and I sit at the counter, perched on auto company endorsed bar stools, not caring about the time either. In some amount of time, we’ll be playing our instruments in the back garage for a while. But, at an indefinite moment, we are enjoying the bantering and life/wife assessments going on.

“Yep, did ya notice that it’s the city-wide yard sale out there?”

“No wonder my wife wanted to come to town. She loves finding a bargain and saying, ‘See these beautiful lime shoes I got for just .25?’” My dad makes his wife-voice high and nasal sounding to make his buddies laugh.

“My wife hit ‘em early this morning too. No tellin’ what’s waitin’ for me at home!” said a man who lost his hand in a tractor baler.

“My wife never has gone to one; she’s more the type to pay $50 for a pair of shoes and sell ‘em for .50!” says K. who is the quintessential time care-less store clerk. He’s always smiling and fills our coffee cups whenever enough gaps in the moments transpire.

I then say something, and they relate it to me living in the city (really a medium sized university town). One old man who's here to listen to the music, whenever it decides to begin, relates that comment to his life: “I remember between 1978-1984 we bought a house in Cabool [a small town of about 1,200]. I almost went insane. Nothing but sidewalks and concrete!” Thus, the conversation went to the joys of country living for a while and the perils of the city, or, er, town.

When some time passes, Dad and I walk back to the rear garage where J. sits waiting for us. Although his garage is shut on Saturdays (primarily because he doesn’t want his playing to be interrupted; I’ve seen him ignore customers before when he was deep in a tune), J explains that he doesn’t sit much in the front of the store because “once the air condition blows on you, you always want it to blow on you. I’ve even got a good one in that truck of mine that I’ve never turned on.”

So, we sit back in the hot garage (does have a good wind crosscurrent, J defends) and open our cases. G., the tall guitarist, comes in with a tank top on and banters immediately. We’ve heard he’s been up all night with a lady. No matter, it’s time to play, which we do.

Old men appear at different times to be our audience. Dad and I sing, play, pick, grin for probably three hours. K. fills our coffee cups. J says that he likes each song we play. G’s lady friend surprises him with a visit, and he appears embarrassed. We’d tease him, but maybe he’d sulk and get mad. It’s just funny enough that she showed. I’m in blissful TVLand, or Mitford, or Pleasantville.

It begins again to seep into me there: a desire to stay. We could form a real group. I could take care of my parents as they age. I could become my frugal mother who loves simple lovely things. I could vegetable garden and can. I could live on a farm away from sidewalks. I could learn how to fiddle since we don’t have one. I could have batches of kittens. My husband could be happy giving up the corporate life and trading it in for overalls. Or, okay, a franchise of some sort. My son could be better in a smaller school. My girl could meet some good country boy.

Ah, how long will it last now that I’m home? I’ll play with the vision for a while and then let it go where it’s supposed to. Who cares about the timing of it anyway? What will be, will be. For now, I think I'll practice some bluegrass.

Rick Steves

I had three pieces of my pie tonight. Maybe the swirled chocolate in the creme de menthe and creme de cacoa is making my brain swirl restlessly, around my pillow. Or, perhaps Rick Steves is to blame. We swirled his "Best of Travels in Europe" dvd in our player right before bed, and, now I have a strange longing which doesn't quite find its destination in our two week future Europe trip (in two weeks); rather, it finds its destination in the past, yet it's fruitless to go back there to despair under a mulberry tree, black locust, walnut-pocked ground where daydreams rule.
Yet sometimes those flashes make one want to cry.
C'est la vie.
I am excited for the trip, though. My daughter and I are going on a school trip to England, France, Switzerland, Germany, and the Netherlands. Although I'm not in my romantic twenties any more, immersed in continual fine British literature thoughts, I will immensely enjoy the opportunity to see ancient land (the same as ours, yet chronicled more definitively). I will actually walk into a concentration camp in Germany and climb the Eiffel tower and the Swiss Alps. It amazes me to even entertain these itinerary thoughts. The poor farm girl finally becomes worldly outside of her own head.
Speaking of, we'll travel to Southern Missouri on Wednesday to hang out on the farm. We have lots to do to prepare for both trips....
Am in a state of bon voyage. Am not trying to escape my giant (as Thoreau calls it). Am just wondering how in the world can I get any sleep in the meantime?! Send some zzzzzzzzzzzzzsss... I will need them!
Bien nuit, s'il vous plait!

Confession

Like Jimmy Swaggart, our pastor came clean last night during service. He confessed bluntly and specifically about his "challenge spikes" both in ministry and family. He spoke of an insidious desire which drove him to an accumulation of a newly constructed big luxurious home, a BMW, a Corvette, a theater room, and whatever else satisified him on a short term basis. He looked out at us and said, "Your pastor is a materialist, and I'm not proud of it, and it has caused your trust in me to decrease." Many of his prior sermons dealt with the allure of status and symbols as a Christ substitute. Many of his future sermons will probably deal with the growth of our church and being faithful stewards of our financial resources. He felt like a hypocrite. He came clean. He's selling the house and he's sold the cars. He was stopped by those around him who saw his leadership and character being compromised. Stopped by God who wants more of him than serving the mortgage.

Honesty about process is welcome in my church, thank God, and my pastor certainly models it. When I hear a co-attender talk about her struggle with pot, I'm so happy that openness is acceptable. We can pray for her, support her, use her example to model our own struggles to live as Christ would want us to. I'm grateful to be in such an environment of grace and reality.

As we sang loudly last night, as the guitars rocked joyously, I felt led again to abandon my tightholds on how I should be before God. Praise means acceptable entrance. I'm accepted, and I accept the forward motion toward the door.

Thank you, God, for my church. Please bless and protect her within and without.

Good

If they were Marilyn Manson, they wore excellent camouflouge. Some had eyeliner on even, while some were wonderfully healthy looking without. Some had rouge, some had none. An old 'au naturel' friend from church showed up and smiled widely at me. A woman with a wonderful smile led the meeting, while a "fundy" looking woman with a knack for funny kickers administrated by her side. Two women were in a small group that I led once at my church a couple of years ago. Several ladies provided ethnic diversity.
Then, the One Woman of the earlier posts showed up late. An open seat was next to me, and she sat down and said hello. Five minutes later, her kids hurried over to her and whispered, "Cody's here," like what they meant to say was "They're making us take the mark of the beast."
I was happy that I ended our last conversation with "okay, okay, okay" instead of "What! Your Perfect Kids started it! Good luck finding someone perfect enough for them to play with! Etc! Etc!" However, it was alright to sit next to her, although I felt no compulsion to invite any more relationship which is okay. I was so glad my friend Nisha recently assured me that awkward relational homeschooling things like this happen.
Cody had an awesome time; I'm so proud of him. He wanted to practice how to be a friend for an hour before we left home. He decided to try to be himself instead of some pumped up cussin' gamer dude who lives on the streets of Barcelona (although he did tell someone that his name was Jake). He loved it and can't wait to start the new co-op school. He made a new friend too!
I signed up to teach creative writing. Yeah! Teaching again.
Oswald Chambers in his meditation today gave me an appropo stern reminder about my worries about such things as homeschooling moms and connections: "'...do not worry about your life ....' Don't take the pressure of your provision upon yourself. It is not only wrong to worry, it is unbelief; worrying means we do not believe that God can look after the practical details of our lives, and it isn't ever anything but those details that worry us."
Okay, I guess I can stop worrying now and just invite the experience to happen. Thank you, God, for blessings and surprises.

Kiltering

I've been puzzled about what to do. Yes, I'm trying a new smaller homeschooling group on Monday. Yes, my heart beats faster, and I'm doing rapid-eye-analysis trying to figure out the pitfalls and pitchforks around every bend of it. Nothing seems so evil as a corporate group of homeschooling mothers right now. Marilyn Manson, hello.
I think I'll tell them right up front instead of hoping/hoping that Cody is accepted "as-is" w/o explanation.
"We took Cody out of school because given his mild autism diagnosis, he was struggling with overwhelming sensory and social stimuli, not to mention physical health issues."
Way too scientific?
"Yes, it was stressing him and our family out tremendously." (Should I really reach out for sympathy like that?)
"We are continuing to work on these issues, and, even within these groups, I will need to coach and listen in order to help him understand appropriate social behavior."
Ooooh that word "appropriate" will make them fear for their children like the last lady did. He's not inappropriate like that, just a goofball who may say things in weird ways. He desperately wants to be cool and liked, therefore, he tries too hard and is off kilter.
Then, it would be aired. Perhaps I should have done that with the other woman; the one that recoiled, yet I truly think her views of "normal" were determined into hard rock code.
That reminds me of what Lianne Holliday Willey wrote in her book, "Pretending to be Normal":
"Yet no matter the hardships, I do not wish for a cure to Asperger's Syndrome. What I wish for, is a cure for the common ill that pervades too many lives; the ill that makes people compare themselves to a normal that is measured in terms of perfect and absolute standards, most of which are impossible for anyone to reach."
I like that re-look at normalcy.
Well, I will girder myself for Monday, re-read a bit more of Willey's tactics for disclosure, and pray that there will be some inclusive Marilyns at hand.
:)

Keeping the oil

Okay. Last post was a bit bleak. My first encounter with a homeschooling mother's rigidity. I talked with my wonderful Iowa homeschooling friend mom who said that was, unfortunately, somewhat normal. She explained how to navigate, how to count your losses, how to understand the mama-bear approach that these women often have. I felt better, yet still confused about who to connect with. Should I go with the secular group and, perhaps, experience more tolerance for Cody? Or, should I seek out people with grace in the Christian group? I even know some people, why not connect more with them? Yes, an old shyness inhibits me too, although I've pushed way past that in the last 20 years. We shall see as time goes on.

Morning reading .... I love the book of Matthew. The story of the virgins with oil lamps is one of my favorite. I want to be one who preserves what she has in order to be included in the bridegroom's feast. It has been one of those parables that float in my mind much. The sheep and the goats (I was hungry and you fed me, ....) also is so full of wisdom and challenge. The reading about the arrival of the son of man brought about those apocalyptic visions which were so common in childhood, thanks to my pentecostal grandmother; I can read them now without fear, but with intense longing that I will be caught up in his glory, unsurprised, prepared, unswayed by falsity. It's a beautiful, mystical vision that the sky will open, wear out, and I will be swept up into .... ah, yes, fulfillment of desire, saturation, completion.

Crazy sounding, yes, but written down for belief. I believe.

Standards

The inevitable has happened. The sweet Christian homeschooling mother that prayed to meet me has just rejected us. She called to say that it wasn't going to work out with our kids. That Cody had hit her daughter (Cody said that she had hit him first), that other things came out, that the mix wasn't going to work. She said that she knew we were working "on issues" but she just didn't want to risk it, blah, blah, blah. I just listened and said, "okay, okay, okay". How can you argue against someone who's so immediately certain about things?
I can't tell Cody at the moment; he's ultra sensitive to the rejection side of things. I don't feel like a couple of hours of intense counseling right now.
I'm so mad and sad once again. Mad at Christian-mothers with formulas and no grace. She was so matter-of-fact about her standard and rejection. I'm just sad at mine and Cody's plight of being ostracized from the group that we belong to.
However, I know that, although she is representative, she's not the only kind out there. So, I shall just trust once again that we'll find our way somehow.
More reports to come.

Wisdom

The truest and most horrible claim made for modern transport is that it "annihilates space." It does. It annihilates one of the most glorious gifts we have been given. It is a vile inflation which lowers the value of distance, so that a modern boy travels a hundred miles with less sense of liberation and pilgrimage and adventure than his grandfather got from traveling ten. Of course if a man hates space and wants it to be annihilated, that is another matter. Why not creep into his coffin at once? There is little enough space there. From Surprised by Joy,Lewis.

In just a little while, I must go get my upper left wisdom tooth pulled. So, I've escaped into the book again and hooked into the above which made me smile, because I've always thought the same thing. I used to rant against cars when I was a young girl. They hit my dogs (1), and (2) they passed the most delightful things without notice! I was a woodswalker from an early age, and I knew what was on the ground. I explored the dens of glade and woods, the bottom of dried up ponds, dried up creeks (and roaring creeks after rain), rocky slopes, wild blackberry bush areas, etc. When in a car, I would look out and want to stop at 1) those rocks that I could jump on 2) those cedar trees to crawl under and find a secret sweet-smelling place 3) those blackeyed Susans and Queen Anne Laces and euchinea to gaze at and, 4) almost everywhere else that promised exploration and loveliness. I'm so glad that Lewis expressed this thought; it'll definitely help me when the dentist plunges in with his metal, unforgiving yanking scraping unnatural hardware. :)

Billy Joe

Some young drummer is ricocheting in the neighborhood like the juvenile he is. It's 9:35 a.m., and I need more beauty sleep.
Last night, I made good a birthday promise and drove my teenager and boyfriend to the Green Day concert in St. Louis. The boyfriend inclusion created earlier waffling. Last time, we had talked, I was in my robe screaming at him because of a mother's worst nightmare infraction. Four months later, he gets in the back of my van, and, truly, it was alright. Although smelly (why are teen boys so smelly?!), he was polite, amusing, and intelligent. And, it became apparent that I was still in the running.
The radio did it -- we were singing, we were scanning, suddenly a compilation of Music Man instrumental showtunes came on, and my daughter and I gasped in delight and sang them with great comraderie and glee. She's still mine, I thought happily, despite the 16year old grunts and hideaway and BF-frenzy-focus. He was left out. Oh how we mothers grapple as we try to hold on. Score! :)

While they were rockin', I drove across the bridge to my sister's house who lives a mere 10 minutes away. She and I sat out talking before her teen daughters came home. She had a fight and a makeup with one; the other medaled at a regional's track meet which we celebrated. It was a lovely little visit; I love being the welcomed aunt.

The drive home on the interstate took two.5 hours. How come there's so many people out at 2:30 a.m.? Where are they all going? We dropped Stinkie off, and at home, my daughter expressed her gratitude to me. Parenting, what a warm&fuzzy schizophrenic life!

a beautiful rug

"Sometimes I can almost think that I was sent back to the false gods [of Norse mythology] there to acquire some capacity for worship againt the day when the true God should recall me to Himself. Not that I might not have learned this sooner and more safely, in ways I shall now never know, without apostasy, but that Divine punishments are also mercies, and particular good is worked out of particular evil, and the penal blindness made sanative." Surprised by Joy, CS Lewis.

I'm reading Lewis again, and I'm becoming stirred and thrilled as I recall the elasticity of his perspective as demonstrated in the above quote. I love how he regards imagination as an avenue to the Joy, the truth of the longing. Imagination is okay, not dangerous, as it can lead to the longing for good, and, ultimately, for God.

I took a CS Lewis class in college and experienced his leniency unlike any legalistic barnburning sermon ever heard (I had heard a-plenty too). His Narnian chronicles made me dance in the cowlot (see earlier posting) because it presented graciousness and gentleness and acceptance in the character of Aslan who was an allegorical God. I reacted with my first real act of worship to his Possibility that was depicted in a way that caused me to accept the goodness of His Reality. Ah, that was a gift.

Since this earlier college time, I've put Lewis away for a bit (of course having read thousands of quotes of his in almost every religious book that one picks up; the authors appear to want to make their statements credible by affirming it with "a Lewis"). It's almost like I know that I will want to stir and stew and spring up when I read some of the thoughts that he pulls together without fear of being a heretic, without fear of letting his mind wander, and knit, and weave together a most unusual beautiful rug. He's work in that way. But, I've missed it too, I'm realizing as I dig in to this book.

Thank you, Lord, for making diversity and beauty and imagination. I want to learn more about You.

Friendfret

I woke up sad this morning over lost friends. There was a dream involved in which I knew what was going on with someone whom, in reality, I've lost touch with. The dream made me think about the train of others that are chugging on without me: some are by their choice, some by my negligence, some by situation. I can get bogged down in sadness over such things. I tend to care a lot, but I tend to become overwhelmed with too many pots in the fire, with too many at one time. And, of course, I have other irritating idiosyncracies which don't help. And, they also provide their own and have time issues, etc. Sigh. A natural thing, I guess, to not do friendship well all the time.
I'm just not liking the shifting, although I know it's typical, isn't it?, of friends moving in and out. I think I would love to have the stability of people who stick and accept no matter what. Of course, I have a few of those, but will they stay? Will I stay with them?
Alright, this is a morning fret. I just have to trust, as the good Spirit orchestrates, that I will be taken care of in this area, and that I will learn how to take care of.
Thank you, Father, for the higher relationship wisdom that you emanate. Truly needed and appreciated.

and Away!

Thanks for putting up with my attempts at poetry yesterday. Ah, it's one of those things that need dutiful construction time to make it ping! and be entire-expressive. I love those snippet words, images, that convey, however.

C and I've been jumping on the trampoline this morning, laughing, falling. The dog has been there too with a four-foot touchdown, looking awkard, looking like he's smiling at the craziness of the moving ground. My aging back has flared with muscle aches, yet there I go up, up, up. I want to go down, down, down into fanciful positions; however, I learned my skeletal lessons the hard way not too long ago. That suspension is the joy, though. As Bo jumps on the bales, so we join him in the between worlds.

We also like to read our school books on it in the morning. We hear the neighbors behind our wooden fence; they are calling their cat "Willllllleeeeey"; they are commenting on this and that. We could spy if I didn't want spying to happen to me. We can almost see what they look like when we arise in the sky. Perhaps we can call out an introduction one day. "Hellllloooooo!"

I'm happy today for Ulchenna and Joyce of the "Amazing Race". Cody and I were up late cheering. Such a sweet couple! It has been a fun show to watch. Now, with American Idol almost over, we're almost free for the summer from the grip of reality. Now, onto fantasy as we climb higher and higher into the clouds on our trampoline.........::::::::!!

A scene

paraplegic
blind
maimed
mute
all sorts
healed in the foothills.

We often see you as a robotic medicine machine
among four thousand.

Objective doctor of odorous sin.

Yet to be in the crowd and stare
back at you, after you carress my
withered foot for me to
test my leaps,
you glisten with tears:

Jewels to offer in
response to my
release from pain:

Subjective sweetness of surrender to
my care.

You obviously felt resultant
health and joy from each touch you gave.

And even reading now in cold text(Matt. 15)
about the fortunate in Tyre and Sidon,
I realize that I dully believe
that you must still walk again,

searching
for our pain,

glistening for our joy when we
surrender to your
meandering and potent
compassionate measures of grace.

Allow me the life fully described
by a healing of my faith.

A Lutheran bucket

Our Father in heaven,
Reveal who you are.
Set the world right;
Do what's best -- as above, so below.
Keep us alive with three square meals.
Keep us forgiven with you and fogiving others.
Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil.
You're in charge!
You can do anything you want!
You're ablaze in beauty!
Yes. Yes. Yes.

Last Sunday, we said the Lord's prayer, KJV style, at the Lutheran church we visited. The prayer felt important, well-clothed like a grandmother in a dress and accessories and matching purse&shoes and rustly panty hose. I wanted to lean into it and smell it, happy with being back in a familiar lap. From the balcony, a men's choir broke out with quaint authority. Trumpets sounded like a promise of forgotten triumph. A robed man walked down the aisle with the cross which we were instructed to follow with our eyes.
My eyes became embarrassingly full of liturgical nostalgia. None of the Lutherans standing around me appeared emotional, though, so I blinked the tears away, quickly aware of how much I would love to be emotional and wail out in longing for the well-preserved Christ of the day.
However, of course, I strove for the more acceptable presentation of detachment.
Forty-five minutes later, after many hasty grabs at the program to see where to read, what stanza to sing, what verse to remain quiet, what Church to bless as chosen, who's allowed to receive communion, when to stand and sit, why the doctrine is upheld, I became very irritated. The first 15 minute pull was gone, drowned in a schedule which we followed most mechanically. The pastor was barely audible due to children all around me (which I enjoyed in some ways ~~ they became the Life embodied, yet wouldn't they receive more by being in a setting which allowed them to play and discover and learn stories on their level?).
When the time came to go home, I felt a strong inclination to get a full bucket of KFC as a traditional antidote to a traditional service in which we endured to the end. We made it! Now, let's eat!
So, when I saw the Lord's prayer written in "The Message" this morning, I smiled in remembrance of my Lutheran hour, and wondered if such a lovely interpretation would ever be allowed to float out into the air to co-mingle with the trumpeting. I'd love for them to entertain variety.
However, most likely, if I memorized this version, I'd have to blink it back too. I can just imagine the stares that I would receive for being different, and for upsetting the generational flow.
Yet I know for some people, this works, and I don't wish to deny that. For the Bible says, "It's easy to see a smudge on your neighbor's face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own.....Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor" (Matthew 7 -- the Message).
May we all worship God according to our ordained way, regardless of the variety. May I be allowed to remember the Lutheran experience in the way that corresponds to the needs of my spirit and soul.
Thank you, Lord, for authentic variety. You make experience 'good'.

Point A

And, so it happened. The sun agreed, and children swarmed in play on the big, city park playground. The lilacs announced the toddler area as Cody and I scoped out the activity for bigger children and friendly homeschooling parents. I sat on a rock, wondering about a small group clustered over near a tree. One woman seemed to be pacing, staring off, abrupt; two others were perhaps doing a craft. I was a bit too shy to approach. Suddenly, a blond woman asked the people next to me if they were with the homeschooler's group. My cue.

We're both newbies, trying to find a place. She and family have just moved here. She has a 7 year old son and a 6 year old girl. We talked churches, relatives, curriculum, child behaviors, and more. We exchanged numbers and discovered we live a mere two miles from each other.

Nothing surprises me anymore with God in the mix. He obviously enjoys coordinating our movements, home locations, and definitely our friendships. I've experienced this time and time again. She had been praying to meet a friend. We exchanged numbers and have plans to check out other homeschooling groups together and to get together soon for a play date.

Synchronicity with the wave of his hand, and we're off like a prearranged event!
Thank you, master-planner!

Marthaistically, I submit

I'm taking a breather before beginning =>

artichoke heart squares
raspberry gelatin delight pie
oatmeal and carmel chew bars
angel hair pasta salad (darn! I forgot the angel hair pasta -- it'll have to become Gemelli salad because everyone has a spare box of cheap pasta in their cupboards!)

homeschooling
crazy dressup prop finding
carnival music scouring
program detail notching
prayerful readiness to the final evening of the "Abba's Child" study.

The last evening of our Wednesday evening women's ministry group is finally upon us. I was like that WB Yeats' creature slouching toward Bethlehem this whole semester, barely making it, shaking in my boots in front of the 60-90 women, wondering how to handle depression, crisis, and doubt gracefully in front of others. Fortunately, my small group study "Abba's Child" dealt with being authentic and realistic and fingerholding when necessary. Thank you, Brennan Manning, and, primarily, thank you, Savior of women who have a list of Martha duties, because when Mary rises, doesn't she want to spread her joy of relationship with You to others? You are our Savior in many ways.

Well, may God takeover these duties and transform them into acts of worship and servitude. Please bless our gathering this evening as we focus on your glory.

Off to the refrigerator!

Daniel Boone was a man, free to hunt

It's one of those homeschooling days ...
Cody had another insomniac night and woke up upset at himself, us, the world. I was able to get him to do one History quiz, and then I thought it might be good day to watch the old black and white Daniel Boone movie as a follow up to a Davy Crocket book that we had read (somewhere logic in all that) as part of a focus on the West.
The movie was .... interesting => the old voices, faces, ideas. One awesome thing in it was when the wagon train had to cross the river; it showed women, with dresses flowing backwards, hanging on to the harness straps of the swimming horses against the heavy current.
Then, we tried to play before reading a nonfiction book called "Kids of the Wild West", but the outside play was full of Cody's anger, frustration, big sweeps of hopeless emotion about himself.
We don't have as many days like this, and the last few weeks of homeschooling have been great, but today, he was tired and cranky.
And, now, I've picked up the mood.
Our reading went out the window. Now what besides my venting?
Perhaps some art?
Perhaps an outing for some ice cream?
Perhaps a prayer....

Been tagged

I've been tagged by "Stranger" a friendblogger whose wonderful site is on my side bar! Anyway, she thinks that I will enjoy completing the sentences below in my spare time. She thinks that I could be more active in the blogosphere. She thinks that white bras are always bad with white shirts. Methinks she thinks too much. :) Okay, LT, here goes! (It's just that I don't know who I will tag next, so if anyone who happens to read this wishes to be tagged, save me and lemme know!) The directions are to pick three below and complete the sentence.

The Questions: If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...

If I could be a farmer, I'd be much nicer to my husband I'm sure, and I would drive an old pickup truck like it was an Italian racecar, and I would proudly wear t-shirts from garage sales which I could stain-without-worry like my little, cute momma does.

If I could be a bonnie pirate, I would sing merrily and evil-ly and whittle my wooden leg and endure toothaches with a cuss and a smile, and drink lots of whiskey without any regard to what my church women friends thought. Can I begin tomorrow?

If I could be a librarian, I would be secretly curious about the titles certain men checked out, particularly if they were intriguing in any way. I think that I would like to think about what might be in their heads. I think being a librarian would be bad for my marriage. :)

That's it. Not such a bad initiation into cyber fun& games. Please give me your permission to be tagged!