Although difficult to admit, I anxiously pulled my Quest (for skeptics) Bible out of my red canvas bag today during my usual coffee shop hour. I even found it necessary to challenge myself to bring it to the public place where there were eyes evaluating whether I was a cool reader or a thumper reader. But, I knew that I needed to continue my morning reading which I hadn’t made time for a couple of days. I knew that to miss it would be to invite further distraction. So, I read my allotted chapter in Corinthians, and, although not much soaked in admittedly, there we were: the Intent and me at the table, communing, barring regard from anyone, sipping hot relaxants. Fortunately, no police struck me from behind to drag me into prison (as in China and other oppressed countries) for choosing such an inciting book. Paul was allowed. And, we hung out tentatively together. All was good; awkwardness is allowed for the sake of its attempt. Grace is granting. Its taken me forever to learn this.
Then, I spent the rest of the time writing an outline regarding ethics and their origin. I need a mental project for this winter as the gloom told me yesterday. Altogether, it was a delightful hour, even though the sky compresses again with her color scheme this morning. There will be lots more delightful hours in the mornings/seasons to come, I’m sure of it.

So gray out today. Thankfully, there are bright trees to signal you out of a stupor. There are moments of huge son smiles after doing well in many social situations of the day. Yet, I don’t mean to be bleak, but the grayness of the winter approaches; it has a way of closing over which I’m beginning to sense and dread.
Tonight at a church event, a planned celebratory one, I felt quite isolated, lost in the fog somewhere. Fortunately, there were people who knew and greeted me, sat beside me on a city bus tour (to reflect on our community mission), and with whom I could sit by afterwards at a service. If it weren’t for them, invisibility would be most palpable. I felt a few hands which were warm and real.
The grayness of the day has permeated, for certain. I hope that the yellow flashing leaves hold out for at least a little while longer. I hope that people still continue to see my outline in the dusk.

Off to sleep to restore ………

Since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God.
2 Corinthians 7:1

Conviction creaks. Conviction speaks. When I read this verse this morning, I knew exactly what it is that contaminates my body and spirit. Something I long for, something that concretely grips, snags, calls my name, and causes me to walk on the edge without focusing on the fuller life Christ offers. We all have something.

Being aware of the crutch means learning to contentedly keep myself company. And, learning to keep even closer pace with God, who can help me pass doors from which wonderful scents pour forth, inviting me in, for just a little while which can stretch into a much longer, drier, laborious road than God intended.

It will be difficult. The verse is posted where it needs to be. Father, help me become unencumbered so that you flower within my spirit and carry me into areas which provide clean water.

We're both laughing at the passing mule, it seems. Bo and I. Here's the famous Bo who jumps bales with abandonment for the sake of the jumping itself. He's a white lab who showed up as a puppy at my parent's farm about four years ago. Recently, a grumpy neighbor man asked, "Where'd you find that dog; I got one just like him."
No one spoke. Bo has become beloved. As you can see just by looking at him, he owns us.

I just finished running with the full moon and the “ghastly-ha” blown up pumpkins and Scooby Dooby Dos in the yards. At first, I was afraid to go out, by myself in the dark, an old fear of wayward others, but then I haven’t been running for three days, and when you start and continue, your body becomes desperate after awhile for motion.
So I ran at a fast clip, panting, fleeing from the shadows; however, it was quite beautiful out there. The moon, friendly; the smells of meals, sickening (while running), but domestic in a comforting way. Although I long for acreage, space, the old farm, I wonder if I’ll miss the ability to share the squares (of lots) (of homes that fit into said spots) of town life. The sidewalk shares itself in quite the neighborly fashion to me, allowing me to safely meander from my home, promising me a known return.
Regardless, I was glad to be under the full moon’s soft glow, breathing in rhythm, feeling my feet move, move, move deeper into a nocturnal type of song.

It wears well: my dinner jacket of the week: a black, cotton, lined, white stitch embellished fitted blazer. I bought it at 85% off, for $12.32, at Dillards. During this spiritual retreat, which has become also mixed with a daughter retreat, I’ve worn it to four nights in a row of lovely food, conversation and giggles with my teenager. Now the jacket has become a ceremonious affectation signifying time together.

Our dynamic is interesting, much more Loralei and Rory, now that the boys are gone. I knew we still had it buried inside of us to enjoy each other’s company again, to laugh, be our some times crazy selves, to not want to be separated in one and three-fourths years. We’ve both been hurt by each other’s responses to one another’s issues and have carried these offenses like injured whimpering puppies in a basket.

Thankfully, we’ve had this week for healing. Last night, we recorded some of our movements together on the camcorder, just plain old silliness, singing of some country songs, filming our neighbor walking down the sidewalk with his dog (we’ve, ahem, always loved to laugh at people together). Then, we went to church, and an urban renewal (okay, black group) of singers led us relevant attendees into some hand-waving, foot-stomping, slap-clapping worship. I felt Pentecostal memories attack my brain (yes, that’s right, it’s hard for me to enter into that without cerebral interference due to some past issues). But, the joy sent out was real, fun, and my girl and I did it together. Then one of our pastors asked us to ‘share our story’ to the person next to us, and I was able to tell her about how God moved me back to him, signaling my tangled up time needed to come to an end.

So far, the week has been a blessing. It's interesting when you become so intentional about one thing (personal spiritual refreshment) and God helps to fill in the holes in another area, which highly impacts the state of the other, interlinked intimately. So thankful for his supreme guidance in things.

May we all allow Him to breathe through us.

It's All About You
Beth posted this over at Inscapes (see side bar for link), and she's threatened to leave used cigarette butts underneath my window if I don't post it for you to play also (right, Beth?:).
Leave your name and...

1. I'll respond with something random about you.

2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.

3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.

4. I'll try to say something that only makes sense to you and me.

5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.

6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.

7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.

8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST

Every Monday morning, we used to run and be those two women you see outside together, blabbing away, smiling, seeking understanding to a pace. This morning, we were again since my homeschooling boy is away. At one point, in this glorious morning of cool sunshine, I just wanted to cry for the joy of it, and for the stuff she's going through that I was unaware of it. Strange mixture of happiness and sympathy! Women friendships are so important in this tunnel life of ours. I've missed them so much in this last 1/2 year of being busy and/or keeping an arm's distance away. I must remember my feeling of this morning and make time space heart available.

Thank you for listening to my grumblings of church yesterday. I think my main question in this day and time about it is: How do we not become one of those material churches (cultures) that Mother Teresa saw as a self-obsessed hinderance to helping those widows and orphans in need? Can our children learn this outward action through inner spiritual commitments to the way of Christ while in a big plastic wow Christian world? Can the adults? I've been in the Christian glass bubble before and found it to primarily lean toward focus on personal material comfort. How do we stretch ourselves further in order to avoid trappings and distractions and shelves? (One can have that also in a pared down church. It's just more obvious in the more affluent churches.)

Is there really a trickle down effect? The church pulls people in with gizmos and then they become inspired to act outward? Or, will the church continue to pull people back to focus on their own defined culture, worldview, activities? I'm feeling this tug now, and it seems as if I'm being asked to not think critically about what's being projected as God's will. That scares me. I must always be able to weigh my own convictions without restraint.

Therefore, we're watching and waiting and praying and seeing if we should continue to move along in this direction. Regardless for now ..........

" Zippity do dah! Zippity day! My oh my, it's a wonderful day!"

May God grant you peace discernment happiness joy settlement on your path today!

My church is a seeker oriented church. We use drama, rock music, video clips, and other “relevant” tools in order to speak to the unchurched. After being out of church for a painful ten years, I entered and found a different, engaging way of doing church besides Pentecostal guilt trips or liturgical exclusiveness. I agreed to a spiritual journey guided by God and many wonderful people (mainly women) within my nondenominational (Willow Creek associated) church. I’ve loved it, felt at home and community, and served in a leadership capacity many times.

Now, however, seven years later, I’m in a critical stage. I sit and sift through my pastor’s pleas for backing for a couple of new projects.

I’m not doing ecstatic cartwheels for the new children’s wing which will have enough intended zip factor to make the kids drag their parents to church (the repeated stated hope). I don’t necessarily believe that ball pits, video gaming, jungle gyms should be used as kid manipulation talking points (Toys R Us is powerfully annoying enough to adults). I feel somehow that the focus of God is being drained instead of being sought in Itself as the gainful goal.

Then, we’ll eventually be hosting video venues in various locations other than our church. Our pastor’s talks, our wonderful band’s music, and video clips or drama presentations will be replicated where there is space for people in outlying communities to see. Each site will have a pastoral representative for a local touch. Again, I have an aversion to replication of message and personality, of a draining of local churches toward a church that has the zing and the toys to deliver. The argument is that the ‘unchurched’ will feel safe going to these, and not those already at First Baptist Church on the corner, but I’m not so sure. The personal again is taken away, we look toward one more flashing screen, our accountability is unsecured. A sense of ritual as worship seems to be erased.

The way our pastor delivers the hope for these changes is quite salesmanly. We heard tonight that those who don’t go along with the changes are equated to “laggards”, a derogatory name on a chart showing a category of people who don’t respond well to change. Our pastor gave us a visual demonstration to help us understand the need for a change (which they are calling “A Revolution”) by standing behind a table with a rock, a hammer, and a automatic nail drill. He said that better tools are more effective. Hammering with a rock would be going backwards, for instance. The nail drill was the tool of the day, the tool to make a difference. I understand up to a point, yet it was an ironic funny mix of metaphors, though, to me. Isn’t the rock the solid ground upon which to stand? The constant? The most natural, nondependent upon other things to be. My husband said also that homes that were built the old-fashioned way were the ones that usually stood up better to the test of time.

Sigh. I love the contemporary and relevant in some ways. I love that our band sang a Cheryl Crow song one day which was connected well to the message. I love the smartness and the applicability of my church. But, I despise not being able to join in the throng, my friends, and support this venture wholeheartedly. But, I can’t seem to without being false to my thoughts about the way to worship God and reach out to others.

So, right now, I feel like one of the old Muppet men on the balcony, being contrary. "Aiiiy, yaiii, aiiiy, poo-ey to one and to all!" (I loved those two, though, didn't you?)

We’ll see how it plays out; I don’t feel like going to the Lutheran side quite yet!

For a while at least, there was sibling love in the corn maze today under the serene blue of the sky. Little do I know how quickly this will fade away (hopefully not the love) but the nearness of these two and the size of these two and my ability to arrange an outing for these two. In two years, she will be on her own, out they say, and he will be an only child. So, for today and this picture, I hope they know what it feels like to belong to one another, although not by choice, by the circumstance of the day within the rustling of the moment's corn under such a contented sky.

Like one of those described unbidden events (like when a fly buzzes into your eye), I received an e-mail from my sister’s high school friend who desires my purchase of a nutritional supplement. After 20 years of not hearing from her, her first paragraph tells me that she started her cycle today, and it was great, and she no longer has irritable bowel syndrome due to this supplement. My immediate complaint to my sister gave me further description of what may be next if I gave her my phone number: a 3-way phone conversation with her, me and another consultant whose husband used to go every hour and now doesn't. Help, help, help.

Is this right?

Do I need to know the minutae about someone else’s husband's bowel movements?

Or, about her menstruation patterns on the day and hour? I can handle the talk of it, you know, in female magazines, informing me of something medical that my mother didn’t tell me about. Or, maybe when " the cycle " is referred to rhythmically, in syntactical singsong, in Heather McHugh poetical jargon, as a force of nature to be spun around by, up, like trampoline trapsing. Or, you know, perhaps, it’s talked about in connection with social injustice in Africa to women who no longer have the nutrient power to ovulate and menstruate. Or, perhaps in a re-reading of Anne Frank to make one appreciate the mystery, the friendship, the feminine favor, as also in The Red Tent, by Anita Diamante, which is a force to hold us women together, uniting us in our bonds, searing our existence into elemental meaning.

However, I do not need a phone conversation with this old sister’s friend after twenty years about her cycle which started today and was made great because of pills she wants me to purchase. It's just so ... unliterary!

Help, help, help. I need your sympathy and concern.

Next week my son will be practicing his shot like his mother did, his uncle did, his aunt did, and his grandmother still does. Despite the drought in the Ozarks, the walnut trees have a fair production. I can hear the walnuts now, hitting the inside of the five gallon, clunking, thumping as the level rises. I can smell that tart, earthy, bark-spun aroma of hands that have picked, tossed, shot a truck bed-full of walnuts. I can remember the thrill of the earnings -- $60 split three ways for Christmas gifts or for a new jacket.
Yes, Cody leaves for a week to be a walnut farmer, and my husband is going to his new job in Little Rock. My daughter and I will have amazing quiet and time together to hopefully knit a better former pre-teen relationship.
And, when she’s away at school, I’ve been dreaming of what to do without a constant boy’s presence. My first thought was to go out with friends, get caught up, meet at the trail for walks and runs. But I woke up with a certainty of what needs to happen instead. The lump in my throat is becoming larger as I think about what needs to happen. My mind is forming concrete plans of what needs to happen. It scares me because what if I come away from it still without answers, with ambiguity like I’m living in a movie that ends still in an existential vacuum, without a clear affirmation from anything besides nothingness? A fear, not truly grounded in experience, yet, always a possibility.
So, I throw out a line of trust to God, that next week when I withdraw from other-dependence that I can retreat and focus and understand what has been clogging my soul for the last year or so. I want to be true to Him and true to myself.
Please help me prepare for a thorough cleansing; help me to seek my identity through Yours, even if that doesn’t look like everyone else’s which it probably won't. Amen.

Two apple streusal bread, two apple pies, six hours, eight bags of apples to go. Back aches, but my whole house smells like heaven.

Holy Spirit,
giving life to all life,
moving all creatures,
root of all things,
washing them clean,
wiping out their mistakes,
healing their wounds,
you are our true life,
luminous, wonderful,
awakening the heart
from its ancient sleep.

Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)

I've just awaken this early morning and in the pit of my stomach, I feel unclean, full of mistakes, full of relational insecurities, full of missteps. I want to ask everyone I know for affirmation, yet I know that this won't do: my dependence upon words will last for a moment and then I will be alone again with this feeling in my stomach that's empty.
However, when I recall, when I let the balm that Hildegard writes on above apply its properties, only then can I get enough and feel the hope of strength and care. I so much need the Holy Spirit's care of confirmation that I can move on in outward promise and security. I bow my head and submit.

We jump outlined against the white pine, outlined against our wood fence, outlined against the black bouncy tarp with a blue ring. My hyper boy and I fling ourselves into the air as we fly away from impending enemies of dismembered lego men, arms, legs, trunks; of rolling murder balls of marbles; of flat-ish fatal footballs, basketballs, soccerballs, a volleyball. I submit to the penalties of being touched: 10 jumping jacks for these two balls, five for the rest; two for lego pieces; and three for marbles. Cody editorializes my memory lapse constantly and constantly shouts out my number of jumping jacks to do. My jumping jacks have never felt more light, more airborne. We're off again flying, avoiding the bouncing brigade, laughing, motionfull, close to the squirrel on the nearby power line who flits and floats and pounces down upon a wobbling shifting twig, tail waving us on, as we pounce, jump, and fling ourselves upward into the air of lovely drifting clouds.

And when I slide off, and touch my feet down to earth, I have my doubts. Someone told me just last night that her adhd son is doing well because of their structure; he will be able to succeed upon this ground because his habit will be practical, predictable, patterned. I trudge up my deck steps to the door to call my son back to duty, yet duty is hard for me as well, so will I be able truly to exact anything which can help him upon the solid back of necessity? Is motion only appropriate if it is forward?

No, I can spring again. We're good. Robert Frost and his birch knows it. Uvavnuk knows it when he writes:

The great sea has set me in motion,
set me adrift,
moving me like a weed in a river.

The sky and the strong wind
have moved the spirit inside me
till I am carried away
trembling with joy.

So, thank you once again, Poets, and all who know about such things. I affirm jumping, leaping, bouncing, rolling, upward toe-touching, soaring, bounding and springing just for the sake of a fuller understanding.

Now, we'll get to math.

Every Tuesday and Friday while Cody is at school for an hour, I go to my coffee shop where I get a Cheers patent greeting: an empty bottomless drinking device (mug) and a hello Norm! Many days, I go alone to grade papers or prepare for class or to read the National Geographic (the ultimate luxury). However, some friends are available enough to meet me. Yesterday, an old artistic/intellectual friend drove over, and we exchanged books with one another. He received “Socrates Café” by Christopher Phillips, one of my favorites because Socrates is one of those enmeshed heroes of mine for some odd reason (the love of the question); and, “Pilgrim on Tinker Creek” because Annie Dillard rocks with words and philosophical-spiritual musings and awareness of the natural world. Most friends I’ve loaned Pilgrim to, however, cannot finish it, but it’s one of my favorites.

And, I received typical-this-friend books: The Enlightened Heart: An anthology of Sacred Poetry, edited by Stephen Mitchell; The Enlightened Mind: An anthology of Sacred Prose, edited by Stephen Mitchell, and Mitchell's “The Gospel According to Jesus, A new translation and guide to His essential teachings for believers and unbelievers.” As you can tell, he thinks Stephen Mitchell rocks. Anyway, so I’m steeped in “The Enlightened Heart” this morning, and it’s lovely; the Tao-ist, the Buddhist, the Judaic, the Christian, despite their belief differences, resonate in similar longings expressed through metaphor or direct observation which tells of something higher. I’m not doing a theology study as I read this, just listening to the beautiful language that these authors/translators use. Enjoyable like a long bath. Hmmm….. om….. :)

I think my husband has been practicing his spiritual disciplines more lately. I’m feeling their influence even though mine has been lacking lately. It’s weird; we haven’t talked about it, but I’m feeling closer to him lately in a directed sort-of way. I’ll catch him praying over his Bible, or he’ll ask me to hold him accountable in an area which holds allure and temptation for any normal male. And, inside of me, I want to let go of my things that block or plug up my love for him. My distractions. I’m good at keeping at an arm’s length. And, then he’ll do things for me that make me unexplainably tear up. Sweet things. Like send me expressions via e-mail. Or, ask me to stop in the parking lot by the grocery store, by his employer, so he can walk over and kiss me. Or, offer me a gift of money and time for something luxurious for myself. And, he’s stepped up responsibility in the way of parenting my/our teen daughter. Anyway, something is different and good. He’s always been good, but now it seems like he’s tapping into that higher Good, which is influencing me! Oh my, I may have to give up even more so that I can make this good love more complete!

Yesterday Cody had a meltdown in my class at the co-op school. He tore up papers, threw a couple of chairs down, shredded paper, and muttered, "I'm evil. I'm evil." He was frustrated because he was socially left out at an earlier class which transferred into mine. So, he then he felt like the rejection needed to be made complete by being as outrageous as possible, with the other boys staring at him like he was a total freak. That's my boy!
I felt all day and this morning like I had walked into a parenting sinkhole. Sad. Worried. Then, I checked on my Asperger at Home yahoogroup which had the following post; I sent it to my husband who cried like I did when I read it. I think it's worth sharing and keeping:

The Insider's View of Life With a Special Needs Child
Someone I love relies on me in ways you will never understand. Someone I love endures pain and challenges that break my heart and renew my spirit at the same time. Someone I love is unable to advocate for themselves for things that most of us take for granted. Someone I love will never have the opportunities that every child should have. Someone I love will need conditional love and support after I am gone-this frightens me to the core. Someone I loveencounters pity, stereotyping responses and prejudice at every turn, because they look, actand/or learn differently from others. Someone I love has needs that require me to allow "outsiders" to have power and input in areas that should be mine alone to meet. Someone I love will continue to look to me for everything in life long after other children are able to assume a place as part of the world. Someone I love has needs that require more time and energy than I haveto give. Someone I love has needs that mean I am not able to meet basic needs of my own. Someone I love has needs that have become the driving force behind major decisions my family makes. Someone I love has changed me in ways I will never beable to describe. Someone I love has taught me about love and about the really importantthings in life...
Copyright 2000 by Communication Skill Builders, a Harcourt Health SciencesCompany. Lori A. Hickman is the author.

Rita whirls forth across the Gulf tonight, and I am safe in the Midwest tonight (although a couple of nights ago a tornado could have spawned, could have thrown us into the straits of displaced others, could have stretched our faith into crepe paper thinness). I just hope it turns at the last minute and travels backwards to a miraculous gracious sea. Father Creationist.
I haven’t blogged for a while. I’ve been busy, internetting around on E-bay where I’m selling some items so that I may purchase myself something small, something selfish, something nano: an iPod. I’ve been imagining myself blissfully tuning out those sound irritants that take my attention away from what I’m reading in a public place. Imagining biking to my Helen bench with music in my ears, syncing my pedal, pulsating my peace. I’ve never wanted to thwart naturalistic sounds until this year. Now I want the music, some Chopin, some Green Day, some Jennifer Knapp, some musical friends, some Allison. Hmmmm…. am I growing old or growing backwards?
I’ve also been e-mailing frequently instead of writing here. I think my correspondence is a distraction that I may not be facing at the moment. We’ll see when the time comes.
I went to my women’s ministry meeting tonight reluctantly, yet, as usual, it was wonderful. My class laughed and shared and ate chocolate and planned on going to an artistic theater together. We talked about discipleship, unconditional love, prayer, stone massages, bargain books. I like one woman in particular who was in the pilot/aviation field before moving back to Missouri. We talked and laughed a while after class. Nice.
It’s quite predictable how, especially as it relates to church, reluctance turns into relief that one went afterall and heard what God had to say. I’m quite glad for his patient persistence in my case.

Rita whirls forth across the Gulf tonight, and I am safe in the Midwest tonight (although a couple of nights ago a tornado could have spawned, could have thrown us into the straits of displaced others, could have stretched our faith into crepe paper thinness). I just hope it turns at the last minute and travels backwards to a miraculous gracious sea. Father Creationist.
I haven’t blogged for a while. I’ve been busy, internetting around on E-bay where I’m selling some items so that I may purchase myself something small, something selfish, something nano: an iPod. I’ve been imagining myself blissfully tuning out those sound irritants that take my attention away from what I’m reading in a public place. Imagining biking to my Helen bench with music in my ears, syncing my pedal, pulsating my peace. I’ve never wanted to thwart naturalistic sounds until this year. Now I want the music, some Chopin, some Green Day, some Jennifer Knapp, some musical friends, some Allison. Hmmmm…. am I growing old or growing backwards?
I’ve also been e-mailing frequently instead of writing here. I think my correspondence is a distraction that I may not be facing at the moment. We’ll see when the time comes.
I went to my women’s ministry meeting tonight reluctantly, yet, as usual, it was wonderful. My class laughed and shared and ate chocolate and planned on going to an artistic theater together. We talked about discipleship, unconditional love, prayer, stone massages, bargain books. I like one woman in particular who was in the pilot/aviation field before moving back to Missouri. We talked and laughed a while after class. Nice.
It’s quite predictable how, especially as it relates to church, reluctance turns into relief that one went afterall and heard what God had to say. I’m quite glad for his patient persistence in my case.

"...an insight came to me: that I'd been focusing almost entirely on being a "writer," on how my work would reflect upon me, whether it would be seen as the product of a professional or the vainglorious rubbish of an amateur. I realized that this self-consciousness was crippling, that the real question was not how others perceived my writing, but my relationship with the writing process itself and the characters I'd created."--Robert Charles Wilson

My Monday spirit-friend gave me this quote, and I love the part about the 'relationship' to one's process and creation. I can do relationships much better than chiseling out in the cold with nothing to hold onto. It's an interesting angle to think about, which might actually offer a difference. Always needed.

Thank God they discovered coffee has antioxidants marching around the mug in search of fiendish germs to finish off. As I swigged mine down today at two various coffee shops, I decided that I should answer any pleas for research bodies. Since I live in a university town, often we’ll get calls from young voices asking, “Would you like to earn a quick $35 cash? Come and answer our research questions! It’ll only take 30 minutes of your time.” The last one I did was regarding my feelings toward all things yogurt.
The young African graduate researcher in an agricultural department smiled and asked me, “How do you feel about the consistency of yogurt?” And, then she smiled at me as if it was a joke and I was auditioning for Jerry Seinfeld’s sitcom audience.
As a smiler from my maternal side, I, of course, reciprocated the smile. And, I pondered deeply for a split second before saying, “I feel good about it.” She wrote my response down, and we’d smile at each other all over again.
“Would you purchase yogurt with calcium supplements in it?”
“Sure.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Existential angst. Ha, ha, I mean, I feel pretty good about it.”
She would write that down. Then, I had to rank yogurts using these handmade cards that had numbers on them. I had to express my feelings about such meticulous yogurt ordering. I had to smile afterwards up until the point where, smiling, she handed me the cash. With most of my feelings thus depleted, I immediately went and bought a Polish pottery plate for a collection that I’m supposed to have because all women collect something homemakingish, which I’ve been very relaxed and eclectic and lazy about apparently.
Anyway, these memories flooded me during my coffee bouts this morning and afternoon. Cody has been at appointments, and I’ve been drinking it up.
How do I feel about that?
Bottoms up to healthy excess. I sit by the phone and wait to earn another plate.

It was one of those days where you whirl around remembering and forgetting things, being here and being there, speeding up and waiting. But, for me, it was promising like an upcoming pumpkin pie season. A scent of something substantial, a slice of goodness for a satisfying taste. For me, it was, not surprisingly, through a conversation with a friend who always seems to know what I mean when I say things poorly. Who nods and understands and relates highly to the unknowable, unthinkable, unwordable, irrational, subjective. We had about one hour this morning, within a ten-year friendship stint, to come together over a table, express, nod, relate, and then leave. I always notice the leaving as much as the other part. But, it’s okay – my friend is steady. It’s taken me a long time to realize and accept the truth of this. I notice, however, upon the leaving that something is taken out of me; I feel emptier but not in a sense of loss. I can’t explain it well, yet I feel it so incredibly much, so please just nod and understand if you’ve experienced the same. Maybe one day I will have words for it.

Relationships in general have been on my mind a lot lately. I walk a balancing line between being too needy and too independent. I despise being the former, so often I hold back and am the latter. I can’t figure it out. God must guide me in this continually as I am drawn to something I find mystifying.

The other wonderful activity today was teaching a Creative Writing class with 20 4-7th graders. At one point, they made ear-splitting barnyard sounds as I dared them to use sensory repertoires to experience the world. We laughed together, their fresh faces, minds. Awesome kids! I become enwrapped in possibility when I teach. I can’t wait for next week. So enjoyable.

That’s been my little moments in time. Thankful for His good gifts.

The lobby was full of kids, and Cody and I took our wall, feeling pressed. Fortunately, he pulled out his warted thumb and said, "Wanna thumb-wrestle?" And, so we did, employing all the crazy moves that he's created to break the mold of "Southern" old-fashioned wrestling as he calls it (since his mom is from the south part of Missouri and still does some things too plainly).
Finally, the choir teacher came and called, "Okay, kiiiiiiidddddddsssssss. You need to follow me into the gym where we'll start choir." Cody and I gave each other quick glances, and then he was gone, folded into the chattery mix, beginning something new again without hesitation.
I love this boy. He's brave, despite other awashing anxieties. He mixes in and sees how it goes.
When I picked him up, he ran in squealing and ducking; a girl he liked last year is in choir, and, all of a sudden, he was knocked out of any operation of normalcy. We laughed and talked about it (later I had to cajole him to focus on science, focus on pollination, focus on adaptation, focus, focus).
I love this kid. He's a wonderful, whooshing force, a whirlwind sent message to me of energy, and essessence, and joy. Thank you, God, for your awesome gifts.

It's late, and I should be sleeping, however, my mind is caught on a mill wheel in which water makes its circular rounds again and again....

For these last five days or so, I've been engrossed in two things only: 1) Hurricane Katrina; and 2) "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Fact and fiction: horror and mystery; reality and escape. I know that psychologists say that focus on disaster is unhealthy, but I can't help it. I'm the type that can handle brutal war movies also. I want to know what certain circumstances are like, how people are coping, what reality is like. Some people would say that it's due to morbidity, but I would rather attach it to attributes of mercy (sounds better, right?). But, I do want to know what others' experiences are so that I can understand and feel it better. Knowledge, to me comes also through feeling and not only through thinking. Of course, feeling requires action as a subsequent step, and, besides contributing money, goods, and prayer, I'm at a loss as to what to do besides making myself aware. Awareness is good but should lead to activity.

The other fascination has been the book "The Shadow of the Wind" By Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Alright. I did not want to get caught up in this fiction written by a Spanish author (expect the realm of the subjective to engage with the objective in a seamless way); I mean the book is dubbed a 'romance' a 'suspenseful mystery' ... 'Gothic'. One character himself, Fermin, is highly satirical about religion/faith in a way that I, unfortunately, find humorous (a la Canterbury tales). However, the spell has swept me in; the mystery that the book unravels is too well constructed, so I've been muting the CNN commercials and diving into my chapters melding this weird existence of base reality into mysterious fantasy (although it's grim too). And, through the middle of this, my husband and I were in Little Rock where he interviewed for a job. The Hilton Hotel, with its giant headboard, on University Avenue, has a role in this cerebral, merciful stew as well. So does the Clinton museum bookstore. So does a few margueritas. Okay, no more ingredients needed.:)

Fortunately, all mysteries will be solved soon as I'm nearing the last 90 pages of the book. As a family person, I can't slip away so entirely like I did today. We're back home and things need to be washed and scrubbed and the kids need outlets (unfortunately, they don't consider books as such). However, if ever you need or want to admire excellent plot construction, you must read this book and lose yourself for a while in it. It's wonderfully annoying (if you're a sensitive Christian reader, though, you may find yourself offended in many ways). I think it's worth the plunge.

Dear Father, please help those who sleep on cots tonight wake up to reunion, comfort, and hope.

Boy Reasons with Creator.

"Please, God, we're only human ... we can drown. You made us this way. Please help the children in New Orleans not drown. Please. Please. They need you right now. You can do it. You're stronger than us. Please, please."

This was Cody's earnest prayer last night as we asked God to be with those suffering in the South. Although happy with his concern, I know that events like this bring up the flip side: why weren't you there? Why didn't you help that boy not to drown?

Life has natural laws, I know; yet, often as Christians we claim that our belief goes against those and God will break through and save the day. Often He lets happen what will happen. Disappointment, lack of faith, resentment, anger creeps into our concept of the Father who abandons. Our concept demands too much of Him. We forget that the spiritual relationship is not always a physical return of comfort, care, or life. Sigh.

Father, help stir the hearts and hands of those who will bring tangible relief to others. Please help them find as many people as possible. Thank you for creating all of us with the capability of humanitarianism. Thank you that while we live, you offer a higher solace even during grimness. Amen.

My supply source for countless, countless therapeutic pie baking.
There are four other trees at my mother-in-law's that are just as promising. Isn't it ironic that there are people without such bounty in their natural surroundings? Should we praise the Lord for what other people don't have?
I praise him for nature's design, yet if these shriveled up, I must praise him still for something more than what the apple can portray.
Yet I thank him for such symbols. I thank him for the future aroma of his everlasting goodness to all who believe.

I just exited my kitchen where I've been since 5:30 p.m. today. The apples panicked and announced their pending rot if I didn't focus on peel/slice, peel/slice for four apple pies. My mother-in-law has been picking her German fingers off for me (she had wildly producing trees), and, so it was baking time. However, she and the apples drove me less than the need for therapy. I'm tired. Teenager parenting issues have been exceedingly challenging lately. So, I rolled the dough, sprinkled with flour, formed a crust, peeled and sliced the apples, combined the sugar and cinnamon, carefully arranged apples into the pie plate, and wrapped the pies in plastic for the freezer. These are for later; I haven't had one warm slice for my effort. And so, for all the past energy and love I've poured forth for my daughter, I pray that the pie analogy will hold. Perhaps later, after this horribly-received boundary setting, she will remember my care and time, and perhaps we can know we love each other and feel each other's warmth and good intent. Please God watch over her and protect her with your higher love.

It was an exceptional first day; Cody eagerly attended to all of our subjects, especially identifying the African animals in Botswana at Pete's Pond. He kept saying, "I do like homeschool." :) I kept thinking this is much better than the drifty summer where I was in one room and he in another when we were home. Today, we were on project, in togetherness. Even jumping on the trampoline together in a weird sort of game where we can't let the placed-on objects touch us (penalty of jumping jacks) was full of laughs and fun (even for me). Then, we ended the day with swimming lessons. I swam laps in the same lane as Cody and his instructor. It was pure pleasure to swim back to him and give him the thumbs up and see his huge smile before I dipped under and went back to the other end. Tomorrow, he goes to the local public school for music and p.e.; he knows the kids there, so it should be a little reunion. We'll see how it goes. So far, though, so good!

http://www7.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/wildcamafrica/wildcam.html Do all mothers, while waiting on their 16 year old daughters to return home, watch the 24 hour webcast wildcam to observe the wildlife that gathers at Pete's Pond in Botswana's Mashatu Game Reserve? Well, they should! Check it out! Quite amazing! Yes, I'm also busy reading the latest National Geographic and their feature on Africa. Love these glimpses for understanding into another world. Now, if I could just understand mine, and my teenager's world more .......... :)

I'm reading a new book called "hurt: inside the world of today's teenagers" by Chap Clark. I'm reading it because I'm 'hurt: inside the world of today's teen's parent'. (A mild attempt at humor) Yesterday, I had a setback which made me examine all of my parenting practices and made me reach for this book tonight at my church's bookstore. So far, it's explaining the phenomenon of why today's teen is different, how today's teen has been abandoned by the self-focused, self-surviving adult and placed into their own world of rules and norms. Talks about their attempt at survival. So far so good. So far, nothing new, though. Hoping for the 'what to do now' chapters to be specific.

My faith floats higher when I hear it told. Just this morning, Ralph Stanley's aged lonely-on-the-mountain voice sang to me, "Lift Him up, that's all, lift him up in his works. If you'll tell the name of Jesus everywhere, if you'll keep his name a'ringin everywhere that you go, He will draw men unto him. When Jesus met the woman at Jacob's well, he certainly had a sweet message to tell ... He will draw all men unto him." Why do we need seminaries when we have dulcimers, mandolins, banjos, old messages being told to families still in lyrical heart forms? It works for me -- despite any higher education, these songs pierce me more than anything, and I can say the name of Jesus in the old-fashioned flavorful way which means "Ah, I'm no longer your enemy but your child." So, lift Him up, that's all, lift him up in his works ... if you keep his name a'ringin' everywhere that you go, he will draw all men unto him. So beautiful, true.

This case was made for sleepin' and that's just what I'll do. One of these days this case is going to close right over you ........> ........>........>........>

Reprieve and reward

A rosehip wreath on white,
A sonata curling up my ears,
Even a candle is lit,
My moment grants a gift.

Tomorrow begins my mothering anew;
I love them yes, their teenage spews,
Their hyper homebased needs;
Their growth will necessitate their food;
Their food calls forth my fingers,
My fingers motion for a different mood
Than now,

Where a quartet in F slides up my ears
And the candle rose-scents the room,
And the wreath connotates reward
For a commitment, tomorrow, thankfully,
to be attentively, and lovingly, renewed.

8/14/05.

It's only right to have a companion on sleepless nights, and here's mine, from the Mid-Missouri Mandolin Company, a locally created, nationally sold brand. I've found that I can play unashamedly with online bluegrass radio. My dad visits on Tuesday, so I must get the fingers pressing again.
I'll most likely never sleep now....
"Everybody I meeeeeet, seemed to be a rank stranger ..." sings Ralph and Gail and me.

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