Grace is definitely top dog in our household for many reasons, but this (literal) "P*ssing" contest has risen to a ridiculous level.
When I got home from work tonight, I let the dogs out in the yard, as usual. Grace chased Dora around the yard waiting for her to relieve herself so Grace could immediately relieve herself in the same spot. Poor Dora had not a moments peece.
I'm concerned that I'm having fun and gaining a lot of satisfaction in my snack choices and I may be spending more time choosing the snack than preparing the lesson.
When I went grocery shopping last week, I purchased all the necessary ingredients, including a package of Neufchatel cheese.
On Tuesday evening, I did my baking and the bread turned out to be delicious. I recommend you try this recipe out. Because of the cream-cheese layer, it's a little more special than your normal Pumpkin Bread, and it doesn't require any added spreads like butter.
But here's the SPOOKY part. This evening, I reached in to the refrigerator for something when I noticed the package of Neufchatel cheese I'd just purchased on Saturday. And since I have no recollection - recent, near recent, or otherwise - of any other purchases of Neufchatel or cream cheese of any kind, HOW OLD WAS THAT PACKAGE I'D USED??????
a. Corollary: The chances of said onion dropping in a pile of dog hair is directly proportional to the need for said (last) onion to the tastiness of the recipe.
2. The chances of noticing you forgot an ingredient after you've already started mixing the meatloaf with your hands is directly proportional to the goopieness of the mixture.
I'll let you know how it tasted later.
Such is the way I feel right now.
I'm tired of the dark, lonely days of winter. The iciness cuts into my bones, making it hard to stand against the frigid blasts of cruelty and selfishness, the sting of accusations against my cheeks. I know there's the sure hope of spring and summer, but they seem such a long way off and I'm cold today.
I don't know how to pray. Should I pray for a shortened winter? Should I pray for a warm coat and hat to get me through this emotional winter? At times, I feel tempted to take matters in to my own hands and just crank the thermostat of anger and revenge way up. But there's a cost to that, which I'm not willing to pay. I thank God for His wisdom in understanding this. But I can't make any guarantees that I won't slip on the slick sidewalks of temptation and fall flat on my face.
I guess this is where grace comes in to play; the God-granted ability to navigate the snowy obstacle courses without slipping, sliding and falling. Surely the hinds running through the high places encountered snow on those mountain tops. At least I'm on the flat grounds of Erie.
Come spring. Come Lord Jesus.
My barometer falls
While the pressure inside me builds.
My heart is ready to release its torrent of anxiety
And destroy whatever is in its path.
How does one stop the onslaught?
How does one hold back the wind and the rain?
Left unchecked, it will uproot me
Leaving me to wither and die
And become but tinder.
Rescue me, Lord.
Save me from the cyclone.
Shelter me from the wicked winds.
Keep me dry and rooted
In the security of Your arms.
-Anonymous
The morning after my first day, I called my mom sobbing, asking her to come get me. She told me things would get better and that I had to stick it out. The job didn't really get better, but I did stick it out and eventually, I no longer cried myself to sleep, made some friends and learned to deal with it. )In fact, that was my first up close and personal experience with Christians.) My dad later told me my mom said it was one of the hardest things she ever had to do.
Of late, I find myself asking God to come get me. Things here on earth are less than ideal. People are mean. Life can be so incredibly lonely. I want, I need the safety and comfort of my Father's House. But He tells me to wait. Things will get better, He promises; but in His time, not mine. And I think that even though He knows the outcome, it must hurt him to see His children suffer.
When he's telling a story that strikes him (but not always those to whom he's telling the story) as especially funny, his normal laugh raises a few octaves to a high-pitched giggle! Even funnier is when my brother, Bruce (almost as manly as his father) starts laughing at Daddy's laugh. Bruce's laugh progresses from a deep manly laugh to a higher pitched "whoo-whoo", to a silent struggle to breath. I've actually seen him start to turn blue! This, of course, leads everyone else in the family in to deep belly laughs.
In my family, we don't need to exercise. Laughing is an aerobic experience.
Today, I was reviewing a contract update listing some new or revised contracts for various product categories - Urological products, Nebulizers, Masks, and...Further Processed Chicken. Further Processed Chicken? Not just Processed Chicken?
I think I'm going on a "no chicken" diet - processed, further processed or otherwise.
I've enjoyed my blogging experience. It's given me a forum to share my stories and to express myself. Blogging has challenged my writing abilities. Prior to this, my writing talents had been confined to memos and policies where my vocabulary is limited to what the average hospital worker can understand.
The title of this blog was suggested to me back in high school, where my English teacher enjoyed my humor. She suggested I write a book and call it Barb's Best (she especially liked my puns). Well, 28 years post-high school and I'm not on the NY Times Best Seller List. But some people I like and admire have my blog linked to theirs. What's the NY Times know, anyhow?
Happy Birthday, Barb's Best! You've now entered the Terrible Two's.
Today, during worship service, the full impact of this fact hit me - all these kids are growing up and moving on and I'm left behind.
My Barblings are 13, 10 and 9; busy with their various activities, I don't see them as often as I used to. And when I do, I'm no longer the main attraction. I'm not needed for baby-sitting and the allure of an overnight stay at Miss Barb's has been replaced by slumber parties with friends.
This is not unusual, I know. Millions of parents experience this. But as a single, childless woman, I'm not prepared for the sufferings of "empty nest syndrome". Barren womb - yes; empty nest - who'd have thought it.
There are many other children coming through the ranks - Olympia, Joseph, Timothy, Lily, Anneke, and new ones joining them - Josiah, Malachi, Owen. They're wonderful kids, and I love all of them, but they can't replace the ones moving on.
And somehow, I feel like I'm getting hit with more than my share of empty nest suffering without the benefits of parenthood.
I know, I know...I don't have the responsibilities of parenthood, either. In no way do I mean to imply that I'm suffering any more than the next person. But I love the kids and take my small role in their lives very seriously. And I never expected this as a part of being single.
-Joe Holdsworth
I might add that it's also worth stealing one from an awake child, as well; provided he's not too sticky.
A co-worker invited me to attend the party with her. And after every demonstration of pie-related paraphernalia, Karen would say, "I have that." and "I bought that." etc, etc, etc. After about eight "I-have-that's", Karen turned to me and said "Of course I never bake pies."
A month after the party, Karen came in to work with a picture of a beautiful 2-crust apple pie that she had baked. She took a picture and had it developed (remember this was the pre-digital age) as proof to her friends that she had actually baked a pie (using all her pie utensils, of course).
Flash forward to March, 2007. At Elizabeth's Pampered Chef party, they demonstrated a utensil I did not have and had never seen before. It was a really cool adjustable measuring spoon. I had to have one and I figured Karen could use one as well, so I ordered two. When I received the order, I put Karen's spoon to the side, waiting for the chance to mail it to her at her Texas home. Before that could happen, though, Dora found it and chewed it to bits.
Because I really wanted Karen to have one, I reordered another. For various reasons, the order did not come in until last week. Elizabeth gave it to me at church on Sunday and I carried it in my purse until Thursday, when I realized it might get broken. So I put it on the dining room table with the intention of mailing it on Saturday. I even found a nice little box in which to mail it. However, when I came home from work last evening, I found spoon #2 in chewed up pieces on the living room floor.
I think I'm just going to send my own measuring spoon to Karen. I really think she'll like it and besides...I don't really use mine.
I know I've been loved - by my family, my friends and even, as much as they are able, my dogs. But obviously, these are not the love relationships to which I am referring.
I've known people who've been in: good relationships, bad relationships, good relationships turned bad, good relationships that turned bad that turned good, bad breakups, and all the other possible combinations. I don't know if relationships are worth the agony they can bestow. I have no personal experience, and so my mind and heart are overwhelmed with questions, the loudest of which is - is it better to have loved and lost than never to have been loved at all? I've been told by people (who I assume are trying to make me feel better) that this is God's protection. I think it's just sad and lonely.
If anybody has any wisdom to impart, I'm open.
Many of the aging signs mentioned in the aforementioned article have been concerns for me - neck-creep, frown lines, the lines from my nose to my mouth... to the extent that I have thought that if I had the disposable income and could stomach the idea of needles in my face, I might seriously consider Botox. In fact, I have read enough on the subject that I actually know that those lines from my nose to the corners of my mouth are called naso-labial folds.
However, despite their age-related cause, I actually like the prominent veins and tendons in my hands. I've found myself flexing my hands in such a way as to make them appear. It wasn't until a few days ago that I understood why I liked them so much. As I was hugging one of the Barblings, I realized my mother's hands were like this. This is how her hands looked when she hugged me, held my hand, stroked my head. I remember those tendons and veins popping out as she mixed meatloaf and stuffing (with her hands, of course), as she turned pages in the books she read, as she sewed buttons on my blouses.
I'm not much like my mother in her temperament - she was much calmer than I, better organized, a better listener, a better housekeeper. But if all I've gotten from her are her hands, I show them off proudly.
BTW - Dad Lane finished in a blazing 40:28 (and thought he should have done better) and then turned around and rode with Barbling #3 to the finish; then turned around again to find Barbling #2 and ride her to the finish. Mom Lane, the wisest of the group, was team photographer.
Finally, another member of Faith Reformed, Elder Swanson (by virtue of his office, not his age) also competed and blew us all off the road at 37:13.
Next year, I think we should have a Faith Reformed team. Anyone else care to sign up?
There's a feature that compares your library to that of other members, makes recommendations for books that you don't have (is that even possible for some of my blog audience???), allows you to write reviews and many other features.
Part of me suspects this is a "right/left-wing conspiracy" to collect information about me to be used during some future coup attempt and add me to an Enemy of the State list. But truly, when they look at my library, I'm sure they'll pass me buy. Just how threatening is a person reading "Leslie Linsley's Weekend Decorating" and "150 Ways to Play Solitare"?
Ecclesiastes says "there is an appointed time for everything...a time to give birth and a time to die.". Yet we have abortion and assisted suicide to choose times to die and elective c-sections to choose the most convenient time and method for birth.
Despite Ecclesiastes' statements about weeping and mourning, we seem to take it as a violation of our rights if we aren't laughing and dancing
There is "a time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted" - but we humans, in our arrogance, feel we're entitled to winter squash in summer and strawberries in December.
Like those in Babel, we're manipulating things in such a way as to think we have all the power. Even Christians are being subtly influenced by things like medicine and out of season produce where we no longer recognize our God who gave us such things, and could very easily take them away, if He so chooses.
So does this mean I sinned when I bought those pears sitting in my fridge? I don't think so. And I probably won't be passing up any fresh strawberries in December. But hopefully, I will appreciate my God who allowed such things, and my faith in Him and love for Him will not hinge on the availability of fresh spinach.
There is something truly energizing when I walk in the door and say "Did you bark at the mailman today?" or "Let me scratch those cute, floppy ears." I can actually feel the weight of the world lift from my shoulders when I carry on such conversations. And this is not just with the dogs, either. It happens when I'm speaking with your kids at Sunday School or "Gardner Parties", as well.
Just goes to prove that moderation in all things, including conversation, is best.
During the report, they featured a classic clip from the movie "Marathon Man" where he played a crazy Nazi dentist who was drilling Dustin Hoffman's teeth. Listening to the actors and the drill, I could actually smell the burning odor of freshly drilled teeth! Then I realized I was driving by Ricardo's Restaurant and they were having their outdoor BBQ Rib Sale.
But I would still have smelled the burning odor even if I hadn't been driving by Ricardo's. He was that great of an actor.
About two months ago, I started to experience right-sided chest pain which I attributed to poor eating habits, too much caffeine, and poor stress management.
I made a doctor's appointment and my doctor ordered the usual tests - cholesterol, blood count, etc. I expected to get a wake up call that would prompt me to make the necessary changes. I got a wake up call, but not the one I expected.
I am mildly anemic, which is no surprise due to a physical predisposition to anemia. My cholesterol, though...transfat-eschewing, vegetarian, triatheletes ASPIRE to have the cholesterol levels I have. My HDL (good cholesterol) is higher than my LDL (bad cholesterol). And I do nothing to deserve such healthy levels.
Apparently, God's grace extends beyond my (spiritual) heart to my (physical) heart...and the blood that feeds it!
So what does this mean to my health habits? To paraphrase Paul, "what shall I say then? Am I to continue eating chips and diet coke for breakfast, and ignore vegetables altogether so that grace may increase? May it never be!"
I believe the message here is that grace covers every corpusucle of my being. Yes, I need to eat better and exercise more (I don't think I could eat worse or exercise less!), but even eating the recommended five fruits and vegetables and exercising thirty minutes each day, it is still God who ulitimately makes me healthy...or not. I'm to trust and obey Him, whether I'm eating a ham & cheese omelet (with a side of bacon) or an egg white veggie omelet. And during those times when I don't, His grace covers even medical science.
Your thoughts????
My mother and my paternal grandmother both loved the water, as well; so perhaps the attraction is genetic. I only know that the waters speak to some innermost part of me. Light spring showers make me smile. The gentle lapping of waves on a beach lull me to sleep. Loud, blowing thunderstorms excite me like roller coasters - fear mixed with pleasure.
There are many instances where the voice of God is described as sounding like water - whether it be soft or loud, gentle or angry. Maybe that's why I get a thrill when I hear the waters - there is a message in there somewhere.
And now for your viewing and listening pleasure, check out Four Mile Creek.
I made it through January without buying a one, unless you count the TV Guide, which I don't (it's a guide not a magazine).
The first week of February I got sidetracked in the grocery store aisle by the latest edition of Better Homes and Gardens (not even one of my usual purchases). The cover featured three of my top favorite subjects - decorating, organizing, and eating. Plus, the cover photo was a very beautiful shade of pink. Then I was taken by a copy of Real Simple - which, by the way, is not real or simple. To live their version of the simple life, one must have a lot of money. Which requires a lot of working hours. Thereby necessitating the purchase of all the life-simplifying gadgets.
This past week, all the March issues of various periodicals were released and they all feature SPRING! RENEWAL! COLOR! LIGHT! They've caused me particular temptation because I've been especially feeling the effects of winter - the cold; the lack of light; the heavy, claustrophobic feelings from being bundled up in coat and boots. I broke down and bought a copy of Prevention and a a special edition of Prevention Eat Smart. I suspect I was prompted to purchase these because of the new hope that spring brings - flowers, greenery, renewal. Perhaps by practicing healthier habits I might feel a new energy and "aliveness".
So I haven't completely stuck to my resolution, BUT by my calculations, since January 1 I've forgone 4 issues of Women's Day, 4 issues of Family Circle, Women's World, Simple Scrapbooks, Cooking Light, Good Housekeeping, Do It Yourself, Family Handyman, and umpteen others. In addition to the money saved, that adds up to a lot of magazines that are not cluttering the floors of my home (because I hate to throw them out). And more importantly, that's a lot of information that is not cluttering my mind and making me feel less than adequate.
It began as most appointments do - in the waiting room filling out paperwork. Then we progressed to the scale (I politely looked away), then to the exam room where we waited (a short time) for the doctor. Nothing unusual, so far.
Admittedly, throughout, it was always in the back of my mind that this was not a typical appointment - this was with an oncologist for treatment of cancer. But the mechanics of the experience were that of a typical appointment.
It wasn't until we checked out that feelings of being overwhelmed took hold of me. At checkout, they scheduled her for her first chemo treatment (March 16) and then scheduled her for all the other appointments that accompany this - the Neulasta shot that is administered 24 hours after the chemo treatment (to fight infection), the MUGA scan (to check her heart pre-treatment), her 2nd, 3rd and 4th chemo treatment and Neulasta shots, follow up exam with the doctor, etc, etc. She came away with a sheet full of appointments.
I've known people who've had and been treated for cancer, but never anyone this close. And if I, being one person removed from the disease, am feeling overwhelmed by all the details I can't imagine what the patient - MY SISTER - feels.
Since her diagnosis 3 weeks ago, I've not felt anxious about the disease. But after yesterday's appointment I'm becoming concerned with all the details about the treatment - the number of appointments, how to accompany her to them all, how sick will she become. Then of course, one of my prime concerns, will I say something stupid and/or insensitive that will upset her.
After the foot of snow Erie received yesterday, today seemed like a good time to put this idea to the test. The first couple of tosses achieved the desired results...snowballs got lost, dogs inquisitively searched for them, etc. Then Dora actually caught one and it remained whole. She raced inside the house with her treasure and tried to bury it in the living room, at which point it fell apart all over the carpet.
I'd have taken pictures, but it melted too quickly.
For all my life she's wielded that (bossy) big-sister authority. Now she has a title to go along with it! I hope Workers' Comp judges aren't given gavels - she'll be insufferable!!
PS - Congratulations Judge Jeannie! I'm really happy for you!
Since Jan 1, she's been focusing on preparation for marriage - marriage in different contexts, it seems.
In the inaugural post of 2007 she quotes Doug Wilson: "[T]he time a person spends when he is single should be time spent in preparation for marriage. This is important even if he never gets married. This is because biblical preparation for marriage is nothing more than learning to follow Jesus Christ and to love one’s neighbor. In other words, preparation for Christian marriage is basically the same as preparation for Christian living. Christians are to prepare for marriage by learning self-denial, subduing their pride, and putting their neighbor first.”
Although I understand and believe Wilson's (and McCulley's) position, it's because of this that I've pretty much avoided Solo Femininity since January 1. I've avoided it because it hurts too much to read.
Anyone that even remotely knows me knows I want to be married. But I don't spend time preparing for marriage because I don't want to prepare for it and then never have it happen. I feel like I'm setting myself up for more disappointment and I don't want to be disappointed anymore; it's too painful.
However, taking Doug Wilson's point in to account, how can I legitimately avoid it?
The scripture reading at church yesterday was from Ephesians...the "wives be subject to your husbands, husbands love your wives" verses. I've gotten in the habit of tuning these verses out because they stir up too much emotional turmoil within me and yesterday was no different. But I tuned back in too soon and thus caught the end of the passage "for no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ also does the church, because we are members of His body".
The hardest part of singleness for me is the lack of intimacy in relationships; the lack of emotional closeness and affection. This makes life excruciatingly lonely. But here the Word is saying that I am a member of His body. One can't get any closer than that. So, why don't I feel this?
I think the answer lies in preparing for marriage, as Wilson states. I foresee a lot of agonizing in my future. Please pray for me as I try to face and work through the heartache.
This year, however, I've decided to make one resolution. One simple, but very difficult resolution. I've decided that for 2007 I will not purchase any magazines.
Since I had no resolutions in 2006 to keep my mind over-occuppied, I had some time to ponder my life. I realized that I'm addicted to magazines - news, celebrity, decorating, food, health - all magazines. I've come to understand that in addition to being expensive, they are clutter. They clutter not only my home; but more seriously, they clutter my mind, heart and spirit.
The information in them purports to offer the secrets to the perfect life, but they only leave me with great dissatisfaction and discontent.
As I can't make a trip through the grocery line without buying some publication or another, this is going to be a hard resolution to keep. But if I'm able to limit the inflow of articles, I believe I will find a bit of peace. I'm going to rely on a more reliable Publication to guide my path.
In today's world, for both belivers and even non-believers, tomorrow is another day. There's always hope of something better tomorrow, or at least in the near future.
Today I was contemplating hell. Hell must be the absolute knowledge that the agony of today will be no different tomorrow, or the next day or for all the days of eternity.
Kind of puts my miserable day in perspective and makes me feel great sorrow for those who don't understand. But how do you make people understand the hopelessness they face when they're great hope for the future is to win the lottery?
How often I've made that comment - jokingly, I thought. But today I found myself trying to "take back" a prayer.
I went in to work today, my day off, to complete a couple of overdue tasks. In the midst of it all, I started to feel overwhelmed - by My sin, the sins OTHERS have committed against ME, and the sin that SURROUNDS me continually.
At that moment I had some insight as to how God must feel with all the sin we commit against HIM, the pain of our rejection. I blurted out "God, let me feel how You feel so that I might not sin against You."
Realizing the implications if God should answer this prayer, I tried to "take it back". I don't have the ability to withstand such agony. Besides, I don't know if that would stop me, anyway. And such knowledge would lead to tidal waves of guilt, for which I'm not prepared.
But I wonder, are they the cause, or are do the chemical imbalances just bring to light the evil that is already lurking inside of me?
Today has been such a day for me and the ugliness that surfaced frightens me. Is this something that will go away once my body readjusts itself, or is this just one more battle I need to fight?
I'm battle-weary enough, as it is. I don't want to have to fight on one more front.
As I was reading in Psalms today, I came upon this verse in Psalm 18 - "For by You I can run upon a troop; and by my God I can leap over a wall". But what am I supposed to do when I don't want to leap over any walls? What am I supposed to do when all I want to do is rest in peace?
a) Mom and Dad hadn't had time to do grocery shopping
OR
b) there was more month than paycheck remaining.
Earlier this week, the dogs had Cornflakes and Swiss Cheese for dinner (I hadn't had time to get to the grocery store). They were just as excited as I used to be for the super-special treat!
Recently, a gentleman I know who had once been married used the term "we singles", including himself in with me and other unmarrieds. His comment got my Irish up. My German and Scotch, as well. How dare he! While he may be single now, he's not REALLY single He's not a never-married like me! Oops. Seems I view my never-married status as my own possession - almost a badge of distintion, perhaps??
But if I want to "draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that I may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need" (Heb 4:16), then I need to understand that "I do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with my weaknesses" (Heb 4:15). I need to give up my hold on my own personal grief. I can only draw so near with my hands full of the burdens of self-pity.
This happens all the time in all areas of my life. My eyes are bigger than my stomach, my wants are bigger than my checkbook, and my plans are bigger than my calendar.
Why do I do this to myself?
I was recently reading an article about Martha and Mary (In case you didn't already guess, I'm a "Martha"). There were references to "Tyranny of the Urgent". Finally there were some questions at the end of the article, one of which asked "When was the last time you found yourself frantically busy? Could you have avoided the rush?"
Even after having thoughtfully read the article, I still answered that I could have avoided the rush if I were more organized. Apparently the ideas of wisdom and discernment in daily activities escaped me. I still don't choose what Mary chose - "the good part, which shall not be taken away from her".
As I consider my constant quest for order and organization, I've often felt it was some defect in my character that I've been unable to achieve this goal. At other times, I've felt it was God's curse for some past sin that I haven't been able to remember (and therefore repent of). Now, however, I'm thinking this may be God's blessing.
Just like He confused language during the building of the Tower of Babel, He's kept me from attaining order to the degree I'd like to keep me from believing I can achieve things apart from Him.
Funny thing, though, is that I never considered myself a goal-oriented personality. I thought that if I were, I'd be some high-powered, wealthy executive. This is a dangerous stereotype, I guess. Just because I don't look like what I think a goal-oriented person is, doesn't mean I'm not one. And even if the goals look like they are "Christian", they can actually be distracting me, taking me away from the One I aim to please.
I know the definition and can parrot it off to anyone who wants to hear it. I've experienced grace first hand. But I don't understand it.
Rather than being thankful for the grace I'm given, I can't get past the guilt I suffer for having received it. Or the frustration I feel for being in the position of needing grace in the first place.
It seems to me that grace should make one free from feelings of guilt and frustration, but for me it only adds to my load.
However, at least I'm aware that I'm better off with grace than without it. But I'd still like to live a life free of guilt and frustration.
So why, even with all theses resources working at full capacity, am I still clueless? Why am I not able to accomplish more, understand more, be more? It’s as if I have a basement full of tools with no talent to repair or build anything. Though my plans are grand and my intentions are good, it seems all I do is have “shop accidents”.
God empties His jewel box over the earth. The trees drip with precious stones...Rubies, amber, garnets and opals. He blesses us with the beauty of these gems.
-Emily Bronte
“Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.”
-Stanley Horowitz
“The best is autumn. It is mature, reasonable and serious, it glows moderately and not frivolously…it cools down, clears up, makes you reasonable.”
-Valentin
“Autumn is a second spring, where every leaf is a flower.”
-Albert Camus
Barbling #3 was almost giddy with excitement. From the beginning of the Worship Service, Barbling #2 clutched her bulletin, with her finger on the spot where it announced the Profession of Faith - she was alert and prepared. Barbling #1 was pretty somber -partially because she wasn't feeling well, I found out later; but I'm sure the solemnity of the occasion struck her, as well.
I don't think the verse "Do this in remembrance of Me" ever had such an impact on me before. All the times I did so in remembrance of Him, their eyes were on me, watching my example. All at once I felt very frightened, thinking of all my missteps they've witnessed and the poor example I've been. But I was also proud and felt I had some part in them coming to this moment in their spiritual lives. I taught each one in Sunday School at some point. I've spent countless hours with them playing, chatting, praying, worshiping, and sometimes disciplining them. I know I'm not their parent, but I am their Miss Barb, and that counts for something, doesn't it?
Knowing the packed week I had planned, I decided to do absolutely nothing on Saturday. That was pretty much the only thing on my list that I accomplished.
On Sunday, the first day of Sunday school, I woke up with a horribly painful sore throat and so I called my substitute teacher (the gracious and kind Denise Fair) and proceeded to sleep the rest of Sunday away.
Monday, I was feeling slightly better, but my dog, Grace was feeling a bit peeked, so I took her in to the vet. She'd not been interested in her food for a few days, hung back on our walks, and was showing reluctance at taking the steps and getting up on the bed. The vet suspected arthritis, but because her symptoms were vague, she performed a battery of tests to rule out some other, more serious possibilities. Grace does have arthritis in her hips and is on medication. The bill was $329.00.
After that experience, I had to go in to work for a bit because a few staff members were off for surgery and/or illness and the department is still shorthanded due to a couple of open positions.
Tuesday, I stopped at the ATM for some cash before I went grocery shopping. I discovered the bank showed me at negative balance. This was due to the fact that on Monday, the vet input my Debit Card transaction as $392.00. The error was caught and immediately corrected and reentered, but the bank takes a few days to issue credits. The debits are pretty much instantaneous. This necessitated a trip in to the bank office to explain the issue and get it corrected.
Wednesday, I had a quiz in my Accounting class. The quiz wasn't all that difficult and I'd studied, but I breezed through it too quickly and misread a couple of questions so I only got a B- instead of the A I would have liked.
The rest of my vacation week was pretty much the same. BUT, lest you think this is a "Woe is Me" kind of post, think again!
Though not as I'd planned, it wasn't a loss; total, partial or anything in between. God just had other plans.
Grace only has arthritis and not something more serious. The bank quickly fixed the error, and even if they had not, I have sufficient reserve funds. I learned that I need to slow down while taking my quizzes. And finally, I got the rest I was so longing for. I approach my return to work tomorrow without dread, but with renewed energy, which was the purpose for my vacation, in the first place. God just had a different path to the same end. I'm just encouraged that I had the same goal as God, and that I wasn't discouraged by His change in my plans. Life is a lot easier when I'm on the same page as He is!
The tuition is almost worth it.
And yes, I checked...and there was even some Andrew Peterson.
Short commute to work
Great place to walk dogs
Trees
Dairy Queen within walking distance
Library within walking distance
Four Mile Creek across the street from my house
Listening to the creek during still, quiet summer months
Neighbors who help me chase after a runaway dog
Variety of birds in the trees
Within walking distance of the Gardners
Gotta love a place that has a Fourth of July Parade and Fireworks
Wednesday evening concerts in the Gazebo during the summer
Taking the dogs to Iroquois High School football games (where Grace performs her community service by eating the chewing gum off the parking lots and sidewalks)
Listening to the High School Band practice
The sight, sound and smell of fall leaves
The sweet smell of everyone's lilac bushes in bloom in early June
Neighbors who snowplow my sidewalk while I sleep in
There are plenty more reasons, but these are the ones that came to mind while I was walking the dogs this evening.
At one time, when I was alone with him (and unfortunately, had no witnesses), he tried to tell me something. I went through the series of questions...Pain? (he shook his head no), Suction (he shook his head no), Oral Swab (he shook his head no), An Itch (he shook his head no), Am I your favorite child? - HE NODDED YES! I always knew it!
Lest you think this was a hallucination of a heavily anesthetized man, I remind you that they don't call it "truth serum" for nothing.
Adiel = waddle (pregnant, it won't be long before she does waddle)
Brenda's = brandish (No shrinking violet, she! Fortunately, what she often 'brandishes' is loving exhoration)
Barblings = purpling (anyone that's had children crawl all over them as if they were a giant toy will understand the purple bruising that occurs)
Dora = Dork (enough said)
Leon = lean (good for a Pastor)
Livie (Barbling #3) = live (she’s definitely a live wire)
Malachi=water thrower(I just made that one up. What really was suggested was malice. As the recipient of his water bombs on THREE occasions, I wonder if some malice wasn't involved).
Atticus= attaches (he attaches his paws to the chest of the first one through the door)
-Thomas Jefferson, letter of February 1788
They were on my feet at the time.
At first, I thought he'd gotten to the yard unnoticed, but after a few brief yells "Aaatttiiicccuuusss" and some brief glances about the yard, I determined he was not there and went searching throughout the house. I remembered I'd been in the basement this morning and Atticus had followed me. I quickly ran to the basement door fearful he'd been shut in all day and possibly gotten himself in to some dangerous basement-type things. I flung open the door calling "Aaatttiiicccuuusss" but there was no dog to greet me.
I ran downstairs worried I might see his dead body, poisoned by some unknown cleaning agent. No Atticus.
I ran up the basement steps yelling "Aaatttiiicccuuusss" but there was no answer.
I ran up the steps to the second floor yelling "Aaatttiiicccuuusss", expecting to find him collapsed on my bedroom floor from heat exhaustion, when I heard my next door neighbor call in the front screen door, "Barb, are you missing a dog". There was Atticus, running towards Napier Park and Four Mile Creek. And I ran after him.
Thanks to WeatherChannel.com I can tell you that at 6:30 pm it was 91 degrees in Erie, PA with relative humidity at 52%. Therefore, it felt like it was 98 degrees (what a wonderful name for a deodorant). However, meteorologists fail to factor in to their calculations the effect of panty hose on the temperature. After today's experience ( I was still in my work clothes), I feel confident stockings add an additional 10 degrees to their formula.
As I hit that wall of heat, I was amazed at how quickly I'd gone from being fearful of finding his dying body to wanting to find his dying body and wring the last bits of smelly dog breath from him!
Two of my neighbors, whose individual ages are almost equal to the temperature in degrees (Fahrenheit, not Celsius) braved the Hades-like heat to help me find him. We all ran, then walked, the creeped up and down Napier Avenue (and parts of Iroquois Ave) calling "Aaatttiiicccuuusss". One gentleman even gave me a handful of canned dog food to try to attract the dog.
For forty five minutes I roamed Lawrence Park with a handful of mystery meat, my pores absorbing the odor. After awhile, my sweat started to smell like Alpo. At about the time I was ready to go back and get in my air conditioned car and search further, "Aaatttiiicccuuusss" came right up to me, exhausted, panting and slobbering (on me) heavily. I tried to feed him the Perspiration-Poached Alpo, but he spit it out on the street.
One Good Thing - Atticus goes home on Friday.
I like feeling small. At 5'11" , I'm usually the tallest woman in the room. In fact, I'm often the tallest one, period. When I weighed substantially more than I do now, I was the largest person in the room. Throughout elementary school, when we had to line up according to height, I was at the end of the line with only Joe Angelo behind me - eight years of the back of the line! So feeling small is a novelty for me.
Feeling small reminds me there is someone bigger than me (no matter what my size) and I'm in His care. Sometimes, during particularly intimate times of prayer, I can feel the physical presence of God surrounding me. And He is HUGE, able to squash me like a bug, if He so wanted. I feel very small at these times...tiny, even; but not weak or inconsequential. In fact, I feel the opposite...protected and cared for. Like a child in the protection of her Daddy's arms. Like one in a lover's embrace. Not a bothersome fly to be swatted.
My self-worth is founded in feeling small, "for when I am weak, then I am strong".
Let's see...my house is no cleaner than it was before, but it's relatively clean, and in fact my bed has been made about 70% of the time. But dust bunnies and dog hair still prevail. I've lost and gained the same 5-10 pounds, and eaten more fruits and vegetables than I had previously, but still way short of the 5-a-day recommendation (I think I average 1, and that's counting the ketchup for my fries and the sauce on my pizza). You can walk through my spare bedroom without slipping on papers and tripping on books, but that's because they're stuffed under the bed and work table (to be honest, this is an improvement). My desk is a mess, but there are no dirty dishes on it and crumbs in the keyboard are kept to a minimum. All totaled, things are normal in the Best household.
The only casualty in this revolution has been the guilt I would normally feel by not having accomplished as much as I thought I should. But as I mentioned in January, what's really important - what really counts are relationships.
I've played tennis with a friend (more like shagging balls for 30 minutes but we had fun), went to the Medieval Faire in the rain with another (and got a henna tattoo). I've gone to Gardner Parties where I've been getting to know a few people from church better than I would in just the brief conversations following Sunday worship service. At school, I made a few friends in my classes - in fact a 19 year old girl said she thought I was "cool"! I reestablished a relationship with a college friend with whom I'd lost contact. Another "casual" friend and I had a meaningful conversation that I found encouraging - I look forward to more. I've made a few new friends through this blog. Finally, and most importantly, God has been revealing more of Himself to me, deepening and cementing our relationship. This has been occurring through many instances - some standard means like Bible Study and worship service; some through trials; and a lot through the relationships mentioned prior.
Who says war has to be hell?
The tradition continues at our Gardner Parties. As being forewarned is forearmed, I came to our first party prepared with something to share. I knew they were a tough crowd and wouldn't give me a "bye", especially since I had prior knowledge of the custom!
Some of the "good things" I've shared have been very simple (I got a prime parking spot) or just pleasant (I met a former co-worker for lunch and reestablished the relationship).
Our dinners are only held every other Monday, but lately I've found myself thinking of a "good thing" on some of the other 13 days. It's a good habit to develop.
And so, here's Thursday's good thing...and since I'm not allowed to save it up until our next dinner and it's too nice a thing not to share, I figure I'll share it with you.
Today, I had a very nice conversation with a friend of mine. Although we've been friends for many years, this conversation had a depth that we've never attained before. I feel very blessed for being given that time and for the advice that was given to me.
Last night was our Gardner Party. I found myself anticipating this gathering the last few days. At our first couple of dinners, we've celebrated birthdays and an engagement. The food has ranged from Mexican, Italian, and American grilled, and always desert. The guests are a range of personalities and ages - 1 in his 50's; 1 in her 40's; I think the 30's have been missed but a couple of those in their 20's are closing in; 6 in their 20's, 1 still a teen (19 is still teenager); 3 in single digits; and even one in utero.
But during last night's dinner, I was struck that what I like best about our gatherings is the tradition we've already established. At each dinner, we share our "one good thing", Josh reads scripture, we all sing from the Psalter.Some might find this boring and stagnant, but I find this gives our assemblies structure and direction so they flow nicely. I find these gatherings comforting, like riding an innertube down a river. The current varies, the scenery can change, but everything is within the confines of the riverbanks. And I've enjoyed going along for the ride with my friends.
On Friday evening and all day Saturday, I just tried to be there for my friends and their children. I was strong and I planned on being so as long as they needed me to be. Saturday evening, Brenda asked me if I would pick up their daughters and take them to church on Sunday, as she wanted to go to the hospital and be there when Jim's doctor stopped in. I said no problem - I've taken the girls to church before. It was no big deal.
It proved to be a bigger deal than I ever expected and by Sunday morning, my strength failed me.
As I said, I've taken the girls to church before when their parents were out of town, or Jim was working and someone had the flu. But Sunday, I was very conscious of the drastic difference and I knew the girls were, as well. This was no temporary flu bug - this was dadcan'tbeherebecauseheisinthehospitalwithcancerandmomneedstobewithdadsoMissBarbisfillingin. It was a very emotional experience with so many different, unexpected thoughts and feelings slamming in to me.
I've sat in "our pew" by myself before and it never felt as empty as it did this past Sunday when there were four of us. This made me angry and very sad. This was not the way things were supposed to be, but because of sin in this fallen world, people get sick and families suffer. I hate that they have to go through this. I hate to see the pain and fear in their eyes.
All I wanted to do was cry (and I did). But I tried not to because I didn't want to upset the girls. When I couldn't hold back the tears any longer, I wanted to bolt to the ladies room. However, that would leave the girls even more alone and that could not and would not happen! So I tried to cry inconspicuously, and when the girls noticed, I just put my arms around them. I wanted to explain to them that I wasn't crying because I was frightened, but I was crying because they were frightened and sad, and I don't want them to suffer. But I didn't know how to explain it to them, and besides it would have been difficult in the middle of worship service (I hope they understand).
The issue now was the child to arm ratio was not balanced - three girls, two arms, one teary-eyed and emotional Miss Barb. How do parents do it! No matter what I did, someone was short-changed. I tried resting my arm on one's shoulder while my hand squeezed another's arm, but this seemed inadequate. I tried holding their hands - with two small hands in my one larger hand. This didn't seem to be enough, either. I tried a number of configurations, all of which seemed insufficient. All the while, I wished another parent (someone who knew what they were doing) would come forward and take over for me. And I selfishly wished someone would come hold ME. The most effective and optimum ratio for comforting is still one child, two arms.
A long intro to a short post...
I've attended two funerals this past week. The first was the mother of a former co-worker. She was 61 years old and died of cancer. The other was the 51 year old son of a dear friend. He was found in his home (he lived alone) dead of a suspected heart attack. Therefore, I've been thinking about death. In particular, my death. I'm deciding what kind of funeral I want (no viewing - I don't see the purpose; upbeat service and quirky - maybe everyone could wear orange). And now I'm deciding whether I want to be cremated or buried.
Having been raised as a Catholic, I've heard since birth (from the religious powers that were and not my family) that cremation is sinful, so I have this predisposition against it. But then I started thinking - why was/is it thought to be wrong? I was taught by the nuns in school that it was wrong because if one was cremated there was no body to be raised to heaven. Then I started to wonder - what about people who aren't cremated but die in a fire. Surely God must have some mechanism to handle such occurences.
And now the point of this post...
God must have a mechanism?
What on earth was I thinking! Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of my mind I view God as some cosmic CEO who employs engineers and project managers (and of course a few talented Purchasing Mangers) who develop all sorts of processes, procedures, and mechanisms to cover all possibilities. Or worse, I think of Him basing all His decisions on "sound thought" or "good sense" (as defined by ME).
WRONG!My God is not like a computer, processing input and producing output. My God is not an emotionless robot who functions from some chip. He's not Mr. Spock, doing things because they are "logical". And He's not a CEO, conerned with what the Board of Directors or shareholders might think.
If that were the case, then prayer would be fruitless - all His decisions would be based on reasoning and any request on my part would not factor in to His rulings. There would be no need for worship - how could a robot comprehend or appreciate such a thing? And grace and mercy could not exist - there's no place for it in today's business world.
Thank you, Lord that I'm in Your employ and not in the hands of Mr Roboto, CEO.
I've gone to garage sales and auctions where people's scrapbooks, photo albums, and even wedding dresses wind up in dumpsters. Even if there was family remaining, they obviously didn't find any meaning in these items. And that's not really wrong, is it? Those items are only things.
In my own life, people, places and things I hold dear are either dead or dying, succumbing to old age and decay. My employer of 21 years went bankrupt and closed. Two churches that I've attended in the past 25 years no longer exist. My high school and grade school no longer exist. And the hospital where I was born went bankrupt, closed, and has been razed to the ground. Even the house where I grew up and my father still lives is falling down around him. When he leaves or dies, it will most likely be leveled.
Besides, even if all these things and others were still around, there is no next generation following me. There are no children asking "what do these stones mean to you?". At 45 years old, no marriage prospects and therefore no child prospects, I ask - Why? What is the purpose in my life for stones that crumble and altars that rot?
You may have heard of good/bad hair days, good/bad makeup days, good/bad wardrobe days, etc. In the last ten days I experienced two new type of days. I'll begin with the good...I had a "Good Bra Day".
I bought a new bra the other day. I purchased it at a place called "Braserie Dearie", whose sole commodity is undergarments. I had a professional bra fitting and the bra I got fits perfectly. Since wearing it, I feel taller and more confident. I remember an episode of the TV series "Designing Women" where one of the characters, an eccentric older woman whose eccentricities were ascribed to a "circulatory problem", was having a great day where all her synapses were firing. She credited this to her new push-up bra, which was increasing her circulation. I felt that way today. It's been one of my most productive days in months!
Now, the bad...I had a "Bad Underwear Day" about a week ago. And not your normal creeping or twisting underwear problem. Allow me to explain.
I was getting dressed for work and only had one pair of clean underwear in the drawer. They were a pair with high cut legs, that I don't really like much and only wear when they're the only drawers in the drawer. I put them on and found they were more uncomfortable than usual; but they were the only clean ones I had so I figured I'd just have to suffer for the day. It wasn't until I was pulling up my pantyhose that I realized the source of the discomfort...the crotch was at my hip. I'd put them on not backwards, not inside out, but sideways? Truly this was one for the books. Or at least my blog!
So, am the only one or can anyone else relate?
When I got to the Gardner Party, Malachi wouldn't come. He just eyed me warily, and went on sucking his thumb.
CHORUS:
But it's all right now, I learned my lesson you bet. Don't sit next to Malachi unless you want your lap wet.
People came from Lawrence Park. Everyone was there. Olympia brought her "My Little Pony". There was whinnying in the air.
And over in the corner, Lilly laughed with Grandpa B. Josh & Adiel's little darling is a sight to see.
CHORUS
Elijah and Patty are engaged. Wedding plans are being made. Will the cake topper be Sponge Bob or a traditional floral cascade?
Tom and Elizabeth spoke of swordplay. Brad looked amazed. Sharp Oriental weapons make me want to run away.
CHORUS
If you get a chance to attend a Gardner Party, you'll experience lots of love and fun. But if Malachi picks up a glass I suggest you run.
One jazz style I'd never heard of before was something called "Avant Garde Jazz" or "Free Jazz". It came about during the 60's, when everyone was rebelling against the traditional. As described by professionals:
"The avant garde challenged the listener by allowing the musician to choose his own musical path rather than follow the traditional approaches to which jazz musicians had previously adhered. All aspects of the music were at the discretion of the improviser. The music often transcended recognizable pitches and musical shapes, allowing moans, shrieks, and cries to convey the energy and emotional discourse of the individual musician. (www.vervemusicgroup.com)
Sounds nice, huh? My own amateur description would be that each musician plays whatever is in his head at the time, disregarding any thoughts of harmony, chord progression, or beat. In other words, NOISE.
The sad thing is that those musicians one is able to pick out among the cacophony are quite skilled, but their talent is lost amidst the racket.
I'm to be conformed to the image of Christ, and when I'm in rebellion, my life is discordant, like free jazz. I'm out of harmony, and although I might be living a "pretty song", it gets lost with all the others who are playing over me.The independence and individualism prized and encouraged by our culture is disturbing to our spirits, like a constant blare of a horn or siren. It agitates and irritates, like fingernails on a chalkboard. There's no musicality to it.
In Corinthians, Paul says "For the body is not one member, but many." And an orchestra, band, quartet, etc is not one instrument, but many following a musical score. Even when they improvise, band members complement the soloist, not work against him.
The musical style might be different - classical, jazz, rock and even Country & Western, but there is a tonal quality to it(well maybe not as much to C&W).I've got a great composer, arranger and conductor in God. He's able to make beautiful music using me and my short, stubby spiritual fingers in His band of players as long as I read His score and follow His baton.
With this new fence, they are discovering corners of the yard they've never sniffed (and other unmentionable practices) before. And they aren't knocking over the table and chairs anymore. This used to be a big problem, especially when I was sitting in said chair.
Though it seems a contridiction in terms, this fence has allowed all of us freedom we didn't have before.
The weather didn't change, but my attitude did.
I'm sure there is some great spiritual wisdom in this, but I'm too busy enjoying the crisp days that I don't feel like thinking too hard.
Since her bout with gastritis, Dora has taken to eating healthier foods - especially whole grains, such as Frosted Mini Wheats.
As the day progressed, though, Dora was still vomiting canine gastric juices. By late afternoon, the gastric juices became bloody so off we went to the Northwest Pet Emergency Center.
Bread dough can be lethal to dogs because it can cause intestinal blockage. But another serious effect is that the bread dough will begin to ferment and cause alcohol poisoning.
After a couple of X-Rays and an exam by the veterinarian, she was diagnosed with severe gastritis. She was given an IV for dehydration, and a couple of injections of: Antibiotic, Anti-nausea drug, and canine Prilosec. When I was given the bill I suffered a gastritis attack as well, but was unable to afford any drugs for myself, so I suffered in silence.
Because raw dough containing leavening agents can cause great gastric distress for dogs (many times requiring expensive surgery), I phoned the Pet Emergency Center for advice. They told me to induce vomiting in the guilty dog. Vomiting is induced in dogs by feeding them Hydrogen Peroxide - 1 Tablespoon per 10 pounds of dog. That meant 1/4 cup for Dora and ~1/3 cup for Grace.
While I was pretty sure Dora was the guilty party, I couldn't take the chance. So I had to force feed about 2/3 cup of peroxide down two very uncooperative dogs, walk them around a bit to speed up the nausea and wait for the biscuit dough (and the dog food they'd eaten about 15 minutes before eating the dough) to reappear. It did...all bubbly and foamy from the peroxide...in my backyard, in the front yard, and (because of unwarranted optimism on my part that all was well) in my living room. Well, at least I had the incentive to scrub my carpets this evening!
It has been a mild winter, but still, I'm invigorated by the approach of spring!
MY HEART LEAPS UP
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man, So be it when I shall grow old Or let me die! The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
-William Wordsworth
My life is quite complex. I have many demands on my time, energy, mind, body, finances, etc. There really isn't one area of my life that isn't taxed to the max. I know that something has to give, but what?
This is where I get lost. If I choose to simplify things to ease my time, I have to pay financially or expend physical and mental energies deciding what activities to give up. If I choose to simplify my finances, I have to pay in time and energy. If I need to simplify my physical needs (i.e. eat more wholesome, nutritional foods, exercise more, etc) my time and mind are overwhelmed.
There is this knot of ideas running through my brain and in order to simplify my decision making, I must first unwind the knot - a complex task in itself.
I guess the first step would be to define simplicity; or at least the kind of simplicity I'm looking for.
For some, simplicity is defined as getting back to nature - home grown foods, fresh ground flour, etc. As attractive as this sounds, it is not practical for me at this time.
Others might define simplicity as hiring out various services such as housekeeping, laundry, or personal trainer. I find this option distasteful and not what I'm looking for.
I guess what I want is BALANCE. But my pendulum is swinging wildly, of late; as if caught in a wicked wind.
However, it's not "back to nature" that I need, but back to my Creator's steadying hand. He, and only He has the ability regulate my pendulum at the speed and pace that He ordains. No matter what all the self-improvement books at Barnes & Noble say.
I was so excited! Thursday evening, all day Friday, and most of Saturday I planned out all I was going to accomplish because I would now have a dryer. Not only would this affect my wardrobe, but my pillows would be fluffed, blankets washed, afghans freshened. I could wash curtains and tablecloths easily. I would be able to achieve the order and organization I crave because of my new dryer.
My whole life was going to change because of this dryer! I could host dinners because my house would be cleaner. I would have so much more time to accomplish things because I wasn't having to run to the Laundromat every Saturday. I would look better, cleaner, fresher because of machine dried clothes. And because I looked better, I'd achieve the attention and success that goes along with it.
Saturday came. The dryer was scheduled to arrive sometime between 8 am and 5 pm, but I didn't care. I woke up early with an uncommon amount of enthusiasm, ate breakfast, moved things out of the way from the door to the basement so the delivery men would have a clear path to that special spot I had for my sparkling new appliance. I didn't want them to trip and drop it or damage it (or themselves) in any way. I wanted nothing to delay the installation of the dryer. And then I waited. Patiently - surprisingly so. I occupied my time with thoughts of what I was going to dry/fluff first and how everything around me would improve!
The delivery men arrived about 3:00 pm and the installer went directly to my basement, looked at my gas line and said he wasn't able to install the dryer because I needed a special connection for my antiquated setup. He was not allowed to do such an installation and I needed to contact a plumber.
I was angry that no one at the appliance store had even mentioned such a thing, even though I'd told them my old dryer was 30 years old. I was disappointed,as well. But even more so, I was distraught.
Distraught??? Over a dryer??? Yes, you read right. Absurd as it might seem, I was very distressed over the delivery delay of an appliance that I have managed to live without for two years.
I understand how ludicrous this is, but it doesn't change the way I felt.
The issue here is how much emphasis I've placed on this machine; how I've looked for a home appliance for comfort and fulfillment. While it's not a life requirement, a dryer will help me immensely. But it is not "life-changing", as I was envisioning it to be. It's not a magic wand. As much as I'd like my life to change in some manner, to "get out of my rut", an appliance is not going to do it.
I'm glad I was able to identify these issues early, before I allowed myself to fall in to a pit of despair. But I pray that next time (and there will be a next time), from the very beginning, I won't look to something or someone, other than Jesus, for satisfaction.
Yesterday, I had opportunity to attend an Open House for the new Select Specialty Hospital, now located in the building that housed my former employer (of 21 years), Metro Health Center.
I had not been inside the building in almost 3 years and was looking forward to seeing what they'd done with the place.
Of course, I knew I'd also be a bit misty-eyed; after all, I have a lot of (good) memories of the "old homestead". I matured personally, professionally, and spiritually due to much of what I experienced there. I developed a lot of friendships, as well and am quite proud of the work we all accomplished.
But upon entering the building, it hit me immediately that this was no longer my home. It now belonged to all those people milling about taking visitors on tours of their building.
I felt sad. I felt angry. I felt like someone had taken something from me - my home. And since I don't really feel settled in with current employer (of < 2 years), I felt in limbo somewhere.
I'm sure there's some spiritual message in this, but I'm feeling too sad to figure it out, yet.
In a similar vein, last Saturday a group of people from my church sang at a local nursing home. Our singing sounded pretty good, but it was all the children roaming the halls with us that brought so many of the residents to their doors. They smiled and waved; the children smiled and waved back. One little boy climbed on to a few laps. And a couple of residents followed us a bit, pushing themselves along in their wheelchairs.
It's amazing to think that something so simple as a child's small wave and shy smile can continue to warm a heart even these few days later. Now, a cynic might say that for people stuck in nursing homes, any change in the normal routine is welcome; but there is nothing routine about a child's coo, giggle or smile or the impact they can have on anyone - from a lonely nursing home resident to a busy businesswoman. I'm blessed to have witnessed it on Saturday and on my co-worker's e-mail.
So, last night at Bible Study I asked for prayer in dealing with my upcoming week. Today, two of the four meetings I had expected at work were rescheduled. Two after work commitments I had were shorter than expected. God had answered my prayer.
But then, something totally unexpected happened and I've been dealt a blow. Now I wonder, would this unexpected have happened had I not prayed for relief from all the expected items OR would the expected been worse than the unexpected? Is this an example of the old adage "be careful what you wish for, it might happen"? If so, how then am I to pray?
Too many questions.
I hadn't been in touch with her for years, but coincidentally she'd been on my mind the past few weeks. I think the reason I was thinking about her so much was due to the Steelers' playoff run. She was the main reason I got interested in football.
In addition to English and Math, she taught Football; specifically, STEELER FOOTBALL. Every Monday morning, there was little Algebra, Grammar or Literature taught - we rehashed yesterday's game. Since the 70's was the Steelers' hey-day there was much to talk about.
Now, Miss Reznik was a very feminine woman, rarely in pants and her hair, makeup and nails just so; and Ursuline Academy was an all-girl school, so football would seem to be an anomoly. But Miss Reznik knew her game and taught us alot about various plays, penalties and strategy. I wonder what came first - my interest in football or my interest in what Miss Reznik was teaching because she was an inspiring teacher
Many times over the years, usually during football season (beginning with training camp and ending with the draft, as any devoted football fan would understand) Miss Reznik would come to mind and I would think about tracking her down. Now it's too late.
So I publish this post as an "apple for my teacher" although I think she'd enjoy the Lombardi Trophy just as much.
BTW - Miss Reznik loved LOTR and took our class on a field trip to see the animated version of the "Hobbit" when it was first released in theaters. And she gave me my pewter sculpture of "The Riddle Game" with Gollum and Bilbo among other LOTR-related items. She was really a contemporary Renaissance woman.
A Thought Went Up My Mind To-Day
A thought went up my mind to-day
That I have had before,
But did not finish,--some way back,
I could not fix the year,
Nor where it went, nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.
But somewhere in my soul, I know
I've met the thing before;
It just reminded me--'t was all--
And came my way no more.
-Emily Dickinson
I feel a need to document my thoughts and feelings lest I forget them and they leave me forever. This seemed like a logical place to keep them. As much as I like pen to paper, I have a tendency to misplace my notebooks. It's hard to misplace my computer!
As I progress through each week, I feel the ground under me slowly give way, steadily eroding. I'm in more than a rut or a gully; more like a crevice with ever rising walls around me.
Where is the way out? What manner of "excitement" can energize me to climb up and away from this pit?
