Peripheral Musings

office ode

2007-08-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

"I am faster than 80% of all snakes" ~ Dwight Schrute

Sweet Ending to the Sweetie Saga...

2007-08-15T22:25:00.000-07:00

Sweetie the hamster escapee has been found!

Alive and well, and apparently seeking shelter in the ample shade of our refrigerator. When she popped out at me in the early morning as I was gathering breakfast supplies, she can count herself lucky not to have been screamed at or accidentally maimed with an accidentally dropped egg carton.

Drafting both of my children into the hamster wrangling team, we manged to capture her and reunite her with the finite interior edges of her cage. My children are elated and repeatedly retold the story of their triumphant capture to their friends over the last week. It's soon to be the thing of family legend. At least in 3-and 6-year old imaginations.

... we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming ...

What if...

2007-08-12T22:40:00.000-07:00

What if there is a God? ONE God, not many. Not the cosmos, not the "spirit of oneness", not the awareness ofn amorphic, noncommittal "higher power, but the ONE GOD: The Alpha and the Omega - Almighty God. The creator of the heaven and the earth. The LORD.

What if Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life?

What if Jesus is the only way, like He said He is? Our ONLY way to eternity - to heaven - what if He is telling the truth?

What if we CANNOT be fully whole without accepting His gift? What if our life ends here without Him?

What if we cannot ever know, embody, express, understand, or share the fullness of love or life without Him?

What if we are living our life under a veil that can only be lifted by the grace and love of Jesus? What if we can't see through it until we turn on the light that can only be found through Jesus?

What if it is as easy as a prayer. A hope. Our arms reaching toward heaven in faith that Jesus will take our hands and lead us to Him?

What do we have to lose by embracing the mere possibility of these "WHAT-IF's"? What do we have to lose if we don't embrace Christ and these "what-if's" are real? Only our soul, our eternity, the purpose of our life here on earth.

What if today is the last day we have to contemplate the what-if's in our life?

WHAT IF?

Seeking "Sweetie"

2007-08-11T21:54:00.000-07:00

Our family has adopted a handful of dwarf hamsters. And voila! We have pets. The idea was to introduce our children to pet ownership in a manageable, responsible, fun, and meaningful way - with animals small enough not to be too daunting and to allow interaction with our kids in a tangible way (we have tropical fish, but unless you have serious mental issues or your fish are somehow in the midst of some loopy Darwinian evolutionary process, you can't really PET fish).

We initially adopted one for each member of our family: Scamper (my son's), Selena (my daughters'), Salty (mine - quite appropriately named), and Sushi (my husband's). 4 little teeny hamsters. And they are ADORABLE and endearing: they crawl all over you and nestle in your neck, making tiny sounds that resemble lightly clicking bunny rabbits, and tickling you with their curious whiskers.

Unfortunately, our hamster journey has not been without its pitfalls. We've had these little critters now for a little under a month. After the first 10 days, we had to return the little white hamster that was my daughter's (Selena) to the pet store because it was an incessant biter and a fairly Selena was replaced by "Sweetie". Sadly, my daughter's replacement hamster (named "Sweetie" ) came up missing this morning, evidently the victim of my children leaving the cage open for a few minutes yesterday while I was out of the room taking out the trash. There are so many lessons to be learned there, among them:

a.) do not leave children alone for even one second with LIVE creatures

b.) taking out the trash is not always a good thing

c.) the fact it is cute and furry does not lessen the somwhat creeped out feeling of knowing it is loose in your house and may turn up at any moment - ideally not as you sit down on it

So, today found our family on a full scale hamster hunt in our house, seeking this minute little furball that is squatting somewhere in our house, even as I type. We have yet to locate any sign of Sweetie the Hamster. My daughter, ever the brilliant innovator, put up "missing" signs in our kitchen, on our front door, and in the living room. With a reward offered of $42.00. She is so tenacious and smart, this little one.

And it's not a bad idea, assuming that hamsters can read.

But if you can locate our miniature missing rodent, that $42.00 is yours. Any takers?

blue hue boo boo

2007-08-05T22:51:00.000-07:00

I painted my toenails blue last night.

If you've never had the experience of having azure blue toenails before, I must say it is over-rated.

I did not realize how much effort would be involved in actually getting blue nail laquer OFF of freshly painted toenails. After spending 10 minutes trying to un-blue the big toe on my left foot, I relented, repainted, and will have to wait out this "blue period". There is not enough acetone in the world to tackle this stuff, and I am not brave enough to bring out a blowtorch, which is about the level of power I think I'd need. I'll have to patiently wait for time to take its welcome toll and chip this edgey sapphire paint from my little piggies.

Whomever conceived of the whole blue toenail phenomenon concept must see merits I am decidedly missing.

In the meantime, I am rediscovering the beauty and utility of socks.

A Heart-Filled Holiday

2007-08-02T20:18:00.000-07:00

So.

I've been on holiday for a bit.

...One of those holidays that was not so much a holiday as a time out. But it has been a necessary evil: a break from all things blogging, though I have missed both this exercise (and the benefits and soul stretching that accompany it) but also the people I've managed to bump into and intersect lives with because of the blogosphere.

I was delighted to see that some of you actually checked in here, looking for me or searching and lamenting in my general direction, whilst I was absent. Your posts and presence caused my heart yearn to come back and be a part of this sphere once more.

So, off we go: Lachen is back. And content as a clam about it.

*** note to Brandon: please resist the temptation to launch into a silent existential dilemma in your mind right now about whether or not clams - or any shellfish - are actually content. It's just a phrase. Deal. ***

If you'll forgive the sophomoric outline format, I offer a 10-point update on the notable happenings in the life and ponderings of Lachen since I last left you in rainy February:

1.) It's amazing to me how quickly time can pass.

2.) I have learned to slow down, almost as a reaction to my first observation, to actively savor the moments of my life as they happen, not in retrospect.

3.) Year one of kindergarten is behind us at Casa Lachen. And my daughter has been an incredibly strong and resilient human being through this year. I daresay she weathered it far better than her Mama, who is still struggling with the realization that her baby child is going to be entering first grade in a little less than a month. I never believed myself capable of the degree of sappy emotional longings as I have encountered in myself over the course of the last 12 months as school becomes a constant in our lives. I have also begun to rebel against it, like a caged bird will often bite those who come near enough to his beak. It's my own little passive-aggressive way of battling the forces of this world, however worthy and beneficial they may be, that seek to separate my child from me before I'm ready. I doubt I'll EVER be fully ready for my children to grow up, even as I delight in their discoveries and triumphs, nurse their wounds, and hold their hands through struggles they encounter along the way.

4.) We are now officially DIAPER FREE! After a rather frustrating combination of amusement and exasperation, sprinkled with prayerful resignation, LITTLE MAN (our son has been renamed in the blogosphere!) has taken it upon himself to learn to use the potty with consistency. We are celebrating Day 48 of this phenomenon and are taking both kids to Disneyland at the end of the summer to officially mark the momentous occasion.

5.) I had two heart surgeries.

I know.

Both procedures were unexpected and not related to heart disease, cholesterol, or any of the usual suspects that permeate when it comes to the stereotypical scenarios that pepper the brain when it comes to the words "heart surgery". They were, in fact, two failed attempts to close a congenital hole that was discovered between my ventricles, causing two strokes in the last year. Oh, yes, I forgot about that part: I had 2 strokes, too. Both not catastrophic and both relatively recoverable, although I bear scars (which I find personally humorous, not daunting, so all is well). I have bounced back from all of this remarkably and with the miraculous spirit of the LORD JESUS CHRIST at the helm of the healing process. And - the big one - even though my incredibly capable and caring doctors were unable to close this hole with all the medical might and mastery they could throw at it over the course of 2 separate surgical interventions, GOD stepped in. By 6 weeks post-op (the second time around), my body had somehow managed to grow scar tissue in an unpredictable manner, which ended up sealing the hole on one side!

To state that this is a miracle is a gross understatement of the TRUTH. This is a BIG, FAT MIRACLE. According to my cardiologists, this type of spontaneous closure has never happened before in the documented medical history of this particular type of hole. The doctor-types in charge of my care were utterly and delightfully astounded.

We are rejoicing. Copper was extremely anxious throughout this ordeal, as it is often harder to be the one in the benign state of observation rather than the active state of participation, when events like this unfold. It was hard on him, and he is thrilled to be on the other side of these last few months.

I, on the other hand, have been cloaked in a transforming sense of contentment, peace, and joy from start to finish. Though this was a scary, I just did not have a spirit of fear or of being daunted and overwhelmed. None of that occurred to me, actually. I just felt completely assured and filled with PEACE. If that sounds like a trite, uncompelling sentiment that is often heard from Christians, I do apologize for my lack of creativity. But I assure you that when faith is placed in God, and we TRULY let go, He will be our strength and will direct our paths.I have learned to live the verse that promises us that "When we are weak, He is strong".

Amen to that.

And the bonus in all of this is that, from now on, all my moments of unfortunate clumsiness, spelling errors, or general brain malaise will have a built-in scapegoat. :) That's always fun.

6.) I was in line at midnight on July 21 to pick up the 7th and last installment of the Harry Potter series. And within 6 hours, had utterly devoured it and was pretty satisfied. With the novel and with myself for powering through it nonstop. I've now manged to read it again twice since then, and it gets richer for me with every read. I am an unabashed fan of the whole Harry Potter shabang. Though my mother is convinced that the books are from the devil, and my husband chuckled at me as I left to purchase my 752 pages of literary candy in a yellow dust jacket with the face of a child on Christmas morning, I am triumphant. I enjoy the books, the movies, and the field trips of imagery my mind embarks on as I read. I ponder, wonder, appreciate, think, imagine, and create within myself as I embrace JK Rowling's painstakingly created wizard world. I admit to my own sense of delight as I approached our local bookstore at 11:30 pm and saw hoardes of people - young and old alike - gathered in raptured anticipation. Not to glimpse a movie star or attend a rock concert, but to buy a BOOK. And READ... and read, and read.

It made my heart smile. Which is a good thing.

7.) I am still drinking Dr. Pepper regularly.

I don't even know if this was a necessary update, as it is a constant in the world of Lachen. My children, God bless them, even gave me a Dr. Pepper T-shirt for Mother's Day, which delighted me. Some Moms just get flowers.

8.) Jesus rocks.

Another unnecessary update. Just gives me an opportunity to shout it out again.

9.) I am semi-seriously thinking about starting a 3rd legitimate political party, to fit somewhere in the middle between the two choices that dominate America at the moment. I find myself an alien in my own country when it comes to the political and social currents running in either direction.

10.) I took the break from the blog, in part, to give myself some much craved REST.

I am a sprinter at heart. Though I lament to admit it. I have always been better at running unyeildingly fast and hard for short distances than plodding smoothly along at a slower pace that allows for a longer race. I find myself wishing I was more of a long-distance person because I have indelible respect for those who are and whose lives bear the unmistakable signs of that capacity. But as time creates wisdom in my life, I find myself embracing what I am by default and endeavoring to sharpen and change it as I can. I am a sprinter - when I have reached the end of a particularly difficult leg in life, I need to stop, rest, and find the still place of quiet before I begin again. Resting like this nourishes me and it integral to my life. It's one of the reasons that there is never a time in my life that I do not have a vacation planned - even if it is a year in advance. It gives me a goal, a destination, something to sprint towards.

Because I know that at the end of my race, there will be a time when I can rest.

The months prior to my blog break had demanded of me so heavily that I needed to carve out a place of rest for myself before merging back onto life's freeway, refueled and ready to roll.

Guess Who's Back?

2007-07-28T18:51:00.000-07:00

Hint: It's not Voldemort. :)

I'll be posting again mighty soon!

Love and blessings to all...

been thinking lately...

2007-02-26T23:01:00.000-08:00

I do not want to govern a nation.

I have limited interest in making money or creating some kind of dynasty.

I do not wish to be a movie star or person of great importance in the grand scheme of things.

Rather, I want to serve the collective people of our world. In whatever manifestation the Lord would set before me.

It is with these heady thoughts in mind I have been invested in a bit of pseudo-hibernation. I am listening. And that does tend to inevitably involve being a bit more quiet and attentive, so please forgive me as I go forward in my stocking feet for awhile. God is rather busy within my soul of late.

more evidence of the male gene at our house

2007-02-07T12:08:00.000-08:00

My soon-to-be three year old son just approached me with a mischevious grin across his face and his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his little toddler jeans. With some work, he yanked out a rather large plush mouse toy from somewhere down inside his slacks, where he had apparently stuffed it.

With gleeful delight, he exclaimed, "Hey Mom!! I have a present in my pants!"

Classic.

can't hear without listening

2007-02-06T00:00:00.000-08:00

"The beginning of living the call you were born to is listening well enough to hear it."

AMEN! (and thanks, Jenn, for the inspiration...)

deep thoughts

2007-02-05T23:09:00.000-08:00

Today's dose of Peripheral Musings (AKA, "stuff I think about whilst stuck in traffic"):

I wonder exactly how many of my phone calls to various service providers are actually "monitored for quality service". I know exactly how many calls SHOULD have been monitored for quality assurance and weren't. Way to drop THAT ball, guys.

Exactly how normal tis it to start bawling over the Pedigree dog food commercials (you know, the ones that feature those shelter doggies in cages with their little sad eyes and the caption, "we just want to go home")? OK, I LOSE it over those every single time and want to go to the shelter and adopt all of those dogs. Right now. And I am not even a dog person. My emotions are being ambushed by corporate America.

Maybe I should just turn off the TV altogether, I swear.

And while we're on the subject of *normal*, did it strike anyone else as a more than a little fish-out-of-water bizarre that the Artist Formerly Known as Prince (and what the heck is that title about, anyway?) performed at Superbowl halftime? Were we trying to balance out the testosterone rush, or what? At our house, the mute button was employed until the players retook the field. Nice little quiet 15-minute break, that.

You know, if everyone in these cars would just GO, there would be no more of this infernal traffic.

I am already missing my childrens' childhoods, even as I am living them along with them.

How in the world is that tiny little dog not flying out of the window of that car? His whole body is out the window. He looks like a Pomeranian-shaped kite.

When does daydreaming cross the line into counter-productive. I can't get thoughts of Makena Beach out of my mind right now. I miss my Maui. I miss my home. T-minus 84 days till we get to go back to the island.

Forty-seven. 47 consecutive questions in a row from my 5-year old so far on this drive. F.O.R.T.Y. S.E.V.E.N.

Does anyone really ever know the Muffin Man?

The most recent evidence of my bonafide "DORK" status is found in my giddy excited anticipation of July 13th's fifth Harry Potter film release in the theatres. Please tell me I am not the only 30-something, otherwise fairly sane individual who has already purchased advanced tickets. The fact that my mother-in-law also purchased hers, has pre-ordered the next (and - gasp! - last) novel, and that there were actually people at the last movie showing who had painted ragged "Z"'s on their foreheads is slightly compforting, though. At least I am not the King of the Dorks. Just a card carrying member. That satisfies.

I love singing hymns, praise music, and a healthy dose of Veggie Tales silly songs in the car with my little ones as loudly as we can (and by request!). My heart takes a picture and wants to suspend time. And never grow up.

sheep in wolves clothing?

2007-01-28T01:24:00.000-08:00

For someone who claims I do not want to think about the 2008 Presidential election in 2008 yet (and it's true, I really don't. If only I could effectively avoid it altogether...), I have been doing an awful lot of thinking about the 2008 Presidential election.

Sigh.

Obama. Obama. Clinton. Obama.

Pass the milk of magnesia, please.

But between those two worthy candidates of the more liberal persuasion, I am, frankly, more concerned about Obama. At least with Mrs. Clinton, there is a transparency there. Not deliberately, admittedly, but her agenda is growingly transparent because we have gotten to know her during her husband's tenure in office and as a New York senator. We understand her. We know where her mind and heart are on issues and we have come to realize that, above all, she desires power.

But Obama is, for me, more of a wild card. If you ask me (and you did, didn't you?), he has a superior chance of winning the vote of the Democratic party when that time comes. So who IS this guy? Frankly, if I choose to believe the viewpoint of him as a radical Muslim masquerading as a moderate Christian as expressed by growing numbers of learned individuals, he poses a very real threat. If I do not, then the only threat he poses is a mild, political one - where it conflicts with my opinions of how the general American system should function. Because, after all, it is not politics but faith in God that effects lasting changes on generations of people. Politics is an ineffective servant and a hollow, charismatic master at best. In seeking to understand Obama, I endeavor to get to "know" him with my eyes wide open. I encourage EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US to do the same.

Know who you are voting for before you vote. Don't cast a single vote from an under-educated position. Please join me in my commitment to research the candidates until I can complete my ballot with the security that only an educated confidence can bring.

Toward that end, two books are on order and are headed for my home this week. The first, "the Audacity of Hope" was penned by Obama himself (I got it secondhand from my friend), and promises to be an interesting read. The second, "Now They Call Me Infidel", written by Nonie Darwish, exposes the agenda of radical Islam. She claims it is at diligent work within our geographical, political, spiritual, and familial borders - at work under the guise of compassionate moderatism. She warns against the violent, totalitarian threat this poses, which is being largely ignored, to our collective peril. I plan to be a rapt audience, open to what God would have me glean from these books to translate into my expanded understanding of the people whom I will likely be asked to make a decision about, come 2008.

Shoot. Apparently, I *DO* buy bikinis in January. Well, at least I try them on in the dressing room and think about what I will buy, when the world thaws out.

On Global Warming

2007-01-22T00:04:00.000-08:00

Ten Truths I Hold To Be Self-Evident About Global Warming:

1.) God created the heavens and the earth.

2.) God is sovereign over all of His creation. Our God reigns.

3.) God clearly calls us to be stewards of His creation.

4.) We are doing a spectacularly poor job of fulfilling our obligations as stewards, as we regularly fail to obey Lord and care for His creation and His people.

5.) We cannot intelligently expect to continue polluting our fragile, intricately woven, and life-sustaining environment indefinitely without expecting to eventually harm it irrevocably.

6.) Since the creation of this planet, there has never been one nanosecond when the climate, tectonic plates, land, sea, air, ocean levels, temperatures, weather, conditions, and life on this planet were static and unchanging. There has never been one moment when we stood still at some elusive point of pristine inertia.

7.) No amount of compost piles you have in your backyard or the act of driving your electric vehicle around town is going to hinder the next tsunami, earthquake, flood, or tornado.

8.) It's still noble and honorable to do whatever we can, to the best of our abilities, to answer God's call to steward this gift He has given us: this planet. And the lives we live upon it.

9.) When I was in elementary school, we were taught about the impending reality of the next Ice Age. Which was imminently going to cause global climate changes that would bring about catastrophic events that culminate in the destruction of all life on the planet.

Now as I sit here in my mid-30's, we are being taught that the polar ice caps are melting. Which is imminently going to create global temperature changes that will bring about catastrophic events that culminate in the destruction of all life on the planet.

That we are newly noticing the sometimes dramatic degrees to which our climate and earth changes should not cause us to embrace a global panic like a bunch of lemmings. After all, who created this earth? Who maintains control over all of creation, and promises us that He knows each hair on every one of our heads and intends to care for us, not to harm us? Do we really believe by faith these powerful promises of our Lord, or are we more compelled by the tangible drama we notice around us? Where is our FAITH?

10.) I reject the burgeoning sensationalism and delusions of human capability we are at risk of falling prey to when we adopt an "inconvenient truth" crafted by human beings when it conflicts with the real truth of the Bible. We're just so confident that we have perfectly defined this "global warming" problem and have all the answers to it, aren't we? I'll openly tell you: that kind of rabidly narcissistic meandering always sends up red flags for me. Certainly, there is common ground between the commonly digested human perspective on this and the Godly one. But in the end, God is in control. This is HIS Creation. Our sin prevents us from admitting our own powerlessness over His creation, and so we grapple with alternative ways to address it without actually having to admit our own powerlessness. We want to exert control, don't we? And that is where we fail. We are not in charge of this planet - God is.

The extent of our control is found in our total, humble submission to His will.

Blog Party Pitch

2007-01-21T22:09:00.000-08:00

You may have noticed my new little linky thingy over there on the left side of my sidebar under the Sesame Street US Terror Alert (which always makes me grin), about a BLOG PARTY and wondered what that was about?

Well, the gals over at "5 Minutes For Mom" are hosting a bit of a blogging get together this March. EVERYONE with a blog is invited, regardless of age, gender, religious preference, blog type or title. It is a time to meet new people, engage with other bloggers, listen, learn, and have fun. Oh - and they also seem to have stockpiled a LARGE list of prizes over there too! Just click on the link to take a gander and plan to take part.

NO RSVP or black tie formal wear is required. Join the fun!

ClinBama? A tale of frostbitten bikini wearers

2007-01-21T14:20:00.000-08:00

So, anyone want to take a vote for exactly how long it takes before Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama join forces, combining their Election 2008 hopes into one uber-ticket: HillBar? Or Clinbama?

Rolls rather trippingly off the tongue, doesn't it?

In the last 48 hours, I have heard quite a bit of actual news, and even more of the requisite ponderances /opinions / commentary that passes for actual news these days, about Senator Hillary Clinton's strident entry into the 2008 Presidential Election Race. She's "in, and she's in to win!", evidently. I find myself responding to the news with a familiar, unnerving sensation that hit me this week as I visited a Target store for the first time since Christmas. The store was stripped bare of every vestige of winter whatsoever, and was decked out with a rows and rows of the latest and greatest bikinis, summer clothes, suntan enhancers, and beach umbrellas.

Bikinis.

In January.

Clearly, considering I went into Target for another fireplace log to heat my house against the 24 degree weather, what the store is trying to sell me does not meet my needs. To the contrary, they are missing the mark big time.

So, too, are these political messages in JANUARY, 2007, aimed to draw our attention to an election that will happen in NOVEMBER, 2008. Good grief - give it a rest already, all of you! You may not have noticed, but we're kinda busy right now with actual immediate obligations to humanity that we are trying to attend to: The war, the children dying of hunger, thirst, preventable disease and poverty, the AIDS pandemic, and horribly pointless genocide (such as in Darfur) all over the world. Those in our own neighborhoods who cannot afford to feed, clothe, and care for their own families. The archaic tax system in this nation that punishes, not supports, Americans and discourages hard work, savings, and charity. The toxins we continue to pour into our air, water, and soil - polluting the very elements that support life. The precious children who are killed before they draw breath in the barbaric, inexcusable practice of abortion-by-convenience. The children who are forced into slavery and sexual exploitation all over the Indo-Asian continent and beyond. The random guys from such groups as Al Qaeda, PLO, Hamas, Abu Sayaff, Hezbollah, Al Aqsa Martyr's Brigade who keep running around the globe, blowing people up.

All of it more worthy of our attention right now than your political aspirations. There are mountains of problems that face us imminently as people, as Americans, and inhabitants of one connected planet? Clearly, the reality is that it is bitterly COLD outside. But on the TV, what do we see? Bikinis.

The act of voting for an individual to represent us as our President is no longer a guarantee of lasting solutions to any of problems that face us all. Thus, I find myself quite unimpressed with this Election 2008 hoopla. And even less so with would-be Presidential candidates that capitalize on the poor state of things as a means to bolster support for their proposed brand of solutions - their bikinis, if you will - their way of doing things, which they assure us, will serve to rescue us all! Personally, I refuse to vote for any individual who revels in laying blame for the current problems on anyone but themselves, but is reticent to actually jump in and DO SOMETHING. Or who bristles at all proposed solutions pursued by those with the wrong initial (D) or (R) behind their name on the Congressional roster.

For me, all this politics talk is premature by a long shot, and accomplishes little more than to leave a bitter tang in my mouth. Seriously, folks, it is minus 78 degrees outside and they are thrusting the approximate 4 inches of brightly hued fabric tied together with dental floss that apparently passes for swimwear at us, and expecting a rapt audience? Um guys, the timing is off. I am just not ready to think about a certain-to-be-heated Presidential election which is over 18 months away, frankly. I realize that there is a relentless business to politics whose grind drones on regardless of the sentiments of the constituency it would aim to "represent" and "serve", which are, at best, WEARY. But I cannot be expected to tune in with any degree of concentrated effort, to this politics machine, from now until November 2008, when all of this comes to a climax and actually matters.

It's disconcerting to be starting this whole circus this early, if you ask me. No matter what Hillary or Barack or any of the rest of the field of candidates do or say right now, I just can't be bothered to think about the strategy, politicking, sound-byting, jockeying, or positioning until the actual election is a littler nearer - at least within the same calendar year, OK?

So, a quick note to ClinBama and all other 2008 Presidential hopefuls: Keep this simple concept in mind, guys: Bikinis sell a lot better in August than in January.

Croc is rescued from bush, details at 11:00

2007-01-19T22:17:00.000-08:00

Just a quick postscript: my beleagured left shoe has been rescused from the prickly shrub over at Tom's Gas. No worse from it's night spent outside in sub-freezing temperatures within the bowels of the evil bramble, it has now been happily reunited with its mate.

I arrived home from my shoe-excavating adventure in time to watch the new episode of "The Office", to bask in the ridiculously inept blunderings of Dwight Schrute and Co. And to continue to marvel at how the producers of this show have managed to infiltrate our lives for the last decade - because they have CLEARLY based the character of Jim upon the antics of my sarcastic, prankster, warm-hearted, goofball husband. It's eerie.

the goofball within gets paroled

2007-01-17T23:27:00.000-08:00

Main Entry: goof·ball
Pronunciation: 'gü-f&bah, -ll
Function: noun
Etymology: perhaps alteration of "goof"
Definition : blunderer, klutz, jester, card, buffoon

When you find yourself making people laugh when you're not trying to make people laugh - what is the word for that?

Accidential comedian?

Sardonically talented?

or just...

I've-been-cooped-up-in-my-house-too-long utter goofball?

It's a big grey area I am evidently inhabiting with ample panache over the last 24 hours.

Put it this way: at one point this morning, there was so much black ice on the ground that lost my balance while filling up my car at the gas station. I did manage to grab something to help reduce the impact of my fall, though. That would be my windshield wiper, which promptly snapped off. While walking to the window to pay for my gas (because the automatic machines always break down when it is 28 degrees outside) I met up with the slippery ice again had an impromtu game of "bowling for people", managing to knock down three perfectly innocent bystanders. Rushing to try to help them get back up, I managed to get my foot stuck in a rather prickly frozen bramble. I was only freed from the demon bush when one very nice guy (one of my icy slip-n-slide victims, no less) yanked me as hard as he could, leaving my left shoe behind. All of this effort was met with the scattered laughter and some applause of everyone at the gas station.

My shoe is still buried deep within the evil bramble bush at the gas station. My pride is out there with it. If it gets warmer tomorrow, I plan to go back and retrieve both.

cash guzzler

2007-01-14T23:11:00.000-08:00

There are a number of healthy reasons I will never own a Lexus automobile. If you happen to own a Lexus, I tread carefully in hopes that you do not harbor an unusually intimate connection to your car and will now dislike me indefinitely for maligning it. If it soothes you, by all means feel free to snicker at my ordinary, clearly substandard method of transportation as you whiz by me down the freeway.

The first, and potentially most obvious reason: Any given new Lexus has a price tag on it which trumps the mortgage on my first house. And I did not buy my first house in 1948, either. This car apparently has gold plated engine parts. Or an trunk full of cash, which is one of the only explanations my frugal-to-a-fault mind could logically accept for the radically exorbitant cost of this vehicle.

The next reason centers around my beloved police Sergeant husband, who tells me that Lexus' (or is it Lexii?) are among the most commonly stolen cars here in our-neck-of-the-woods, California. Though the Highway Loss Data Institute reports that the most commonly stolen auto in the whole US last year was the Cadillac Escalade, locally, it's any given Lexus on any given day. That information does not thrill me ~ who wants that pressure of that kind of stress, you know? It's like driving with a giant red and white target branded to your hood.

And rounding out the list is that the manufacturers of this particular brand of automobile do not seem to be concerned with how to design and build a car that has anything to do with my life. Case in point: the catalyst for this rather grouchy-toned post. This lovely frostbitten January evening, as I innocently channel surfed, I came across a Lexus commercial extolling the virtues of the newest luxury feature offered in its' newest 2007 model sedan: automatic parallel parking. Yup, that's right: this car will actually parallel park itself with no driving skills required from the human being at the steering wheel. All for the bargain price of around $80,000.

I'll tell you what. For $80,000, not only should this car park itself, it should wash itself, be able to fill itself with gas, and then go out and get a job in order to be able to pay for itself. Because that's the only way it would ever find itself on my driveway.

...for the whole 4 days it would apparently be allowed to park there before some hoodlum stole it.

giving thanks \ thanks giving

2007-01-14T14:36:00.000-08:00

Thank you SO much, my dear friends (and you random anonymous readers from Taiwan and Ireland who, according to my blog stats tracker, visit this blog eerily often) for your prayers for me and my family.

As this week comes to a close, I find myself juggling intense joy with brokenness. Joy for myself and my family. Joy for my love of and relationship with the Lord that so sustains and nourishes me when the path I thought I was walking in life takes a sharp detour. Joy that translates into courage: if this surgery is meant for me again, by faith I will navigate it on borrowed strength. This is off-the-chart joy, even for me. I am ELATED that the Lord stepped in to become my strength in the face of a rather daunting series of events. I am joyful that the well I drink from is never empty and that my faith does not depend on me.

But brokeness and fresh bewilderment are also jockeying for position in my soul. Sadness for those loved and cherished ones in my life who do not know the Lord. Who do not know what it is to rest. Who have never tasted of this rich and lasting peace and grace I know. Who do not know what it feels like to reach out in darkness and to feel the grip of the Lord so powerfully yank them into the light. Who seek solace in humanity's hollow answers that pretend to address powerful questions which can never be satisfied by our own limited understanding of the universe and the God who created it. Whose diluted version of "truth" is entirely a fabrication of their own psyche and does not exist beyond themselves. Who do not realize that the very ground they stand upon is quicksand, so deceptively enticing, but - in the end - so dangerously, devoid of substantive truth.

I hurt inside for my inability to share enough with others the real truth, the lasting nourishment, the peace I know. I ache for my own failure and for the barrage of barren belief that exists out there, masquerading as truth. Pretending to be peace. A corrupt, cheap mirage of "faith".

It is a familiar brokenness, I believe, shared by most who love Jesus. I believe with all my heart that we are meant to be transparent - to shine light for a purpose beyond our own. And I yearn to honor that - to fulfill that - to BE that. So why do I instead find myself in tears of inertia, crying for all those I love whose peace and wisdom is as finite and fragile as their own heartbeats? Whose reality exists only unto itself?It is for all those precious people with whom I share this planet that I find myself so keening tonight. I stridently seek to share this gift I have been given with everyone whose heart is open to receive it. To share the source of this peace that passes all understanding. To demonstrate love in it's purest agape form. To point my life's arrow squarely in the direction of Jesus.

I praise God for keeping His promises - again - for never leaving me and for allowing me to dwell in a deeper sense of peace and grace than I could have imagined in this time of scary medical struggle. I pray that everyone could know this hallowed place of grace. I am sure dang thankful I am here. And grateful for every person who continues to keep me and my family in your prayers as we face an unclear path which will involve at least one additional heart surgery. Even my random Irish and Taiwanese blog stalkers...

THANK YOU!

Woudn't take nothing for my journey

2007-01-11T17:30:00.000-08:00

I am here! I've just been taking a little well-derved rest.

This approximate two-week absence from my blog is, in this instance, rather meaningful. You see, this most current leg of my life's journey has involved some rather stormy seas.

We found out just before Thanksgiving that I would be facing heart surgery in January to repair a congenital heart defect that was causing blood clots. A bit out of left field and not the manner in which we hoped to begin 2007, certainly. But face it we did. We knelt in prayer quite a bit in the time leading up to this week, asking for strength, courage, bravery, and peace. We drew near to the comfort of the Lord and of family and friends. I tasted grace in the face of fear. A new level of my faith was born.

And this Tuesday morning, between 10:22 and 12:56, I was laying upon an operating table at the hospital, surrounded by seven men in aqua and white scrubs and plastic face masks. I was having surgery on my heart.

Unfortunately, I experienced a complication, and despite all their medical expertise and efforts, the doctors were unable to repair the hole that lies between the ventricles of my heart and is cauing me to have strokes. So while I recover here in the toasty comfort of my own bed, I am met with the reality that I will almost definitely need to have this surgery all over again within the next 90 days.

And so we are again in prayer.

But as interesting and painful as this particular portion of the road has been, I wouldn't take nothing for my journey (thanks Maya) because I only see the path behind me and perhaps the step just ahead. The Lord alone is the author and FINISHER of my faith, my life, my steps, my path. He alone knows where He will lead me. I won't waste my moments complaining about the darkness that surrounds me at midnight, because I have faith that the sun will rise again soon.

I covet your prayers for peace and grace as we face this leg of our journey, and may God bless every one who happens upon this blog page.

Birthday Blessings...

2006-12-25T20:10:00.000-08:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESUS

Thank you for bringing JOY to the world.

Thank you for anchoring our souls to the authentic HOPE that only you can offer.

Thank you for being the first and only remaining authentic Christmas GIFT.

Thank you for LOVING us beyond earthly measure.

We love you, Lord! Happy Birthday!!

And, as an aside: my little daughter would like to know how old you are?

All I could subsantively offer is that we definitely would not have enough candles to put on our cake.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

never send a man to do a woman's job...

2006-12-19T15:15:00.001-08:00

Thsi post is alternatively titled: The Present Procrastination Polka.

OK: A.) I am not sexist.

B.) I am not a feminist. At least in the modern American, uber-ridiculous, anti-Biblical implementation of the concept.

I can't, in fact, think of many "ists'" that describe me. Perfectionist, possibly. But certainly none that would include me amidst the raging bandwagon that likes to elevate women at the expense of men for the sheer thrill of the exercise.

That being said, there are tangible differences between the genders. Many, many multitudes of them.

As this Christmas morning and all its' celebratory present-opening-package-tearing-into glee races towards us with insistent abandon, my darling husband is tracking down last minute gifts. Which are the only kinds of gifts Copper buys, actually. For him, all gifts are purchased at the 'last minute'. It is as though he can't be bothered to engage in any present-purchasing nonsense whatsoever until he has the occassion for said gift clearly in his line of sight.

He does this same Present Procrastination Polka with birthdays, weddings, Christmas, anniversaries, Valentines Day... All holidays or dates of special remembrance which traditionally involve some kind of an acknowledgement in the form of a gift or card, Copper can be counted on to be shopping right up until the deadline (and sometimes after it). This morning found us heading off together to pick up the "last minute items" on his Christmas list (read: 'everything on his list').

Copper and I share the task of Christmas gifts annually, with me doing, say, 90% of the shopping, and Copper picking up the final 10%. I try to divide the burden so it is not overwhelming, as the prospect of shopping fails to thrill my beloved husband, even when the proprosed gifts are intended for people he loves above all others. This year, his Christmas list consists of four people. Two women and two men; his mother, his father, his brother, and me. As he is related to each one of us, he's gathered ample ideas of what might comprise an appropriate gift to each of us. He also is aware that two of the recipients on his list are women, without a shred of masculinity.

I must explain a basic tenant of gift-giving a la Copper. You see, in Copper's ideal world, the entire process of finding, procuring, wrapping, giving, unwrapping, and receiving of a gift should all take place within the same 24 hour period. It is extremely rare (as in, Hailey's Comets happen more often) that Copper will have a gift chosen and purchased more than a day or two ahead of the anticipated time of giving. It is not that he does not care - in fact, it it the opposite. The prospect of contemplating what to buy for any given person he loves, stressing out about not being able to give them something personal and meaningful, planning what to buy for whom, actually taking the time out to drive all around doing the shopping, and wrapping each present deeply daunts and exhausts my sweet Copper than for almost anyone I know. He puts his heart into each gift and really wants to give to each person that one, perfect, ideal present that will make their eyes light up like they were seven years old. He seeks so much to give to others in a way that equals sheer JOY that his expectations make the whole process quite overwhelming before it begins.

So, as a means of self-preservation, he skips every step of the process except the buying and the wrapping. And even the wrapping part is becoming optional. Thank goodness for gift bags.

Keeping all of that in mind, as I arrived to collect him from work this morning to embark on our shopping odyssey together, I did not know what to expect. A frustrated, resigned man? A jovial and happy Santa-like husband? It was more of the latter: Copper greeted me with an exhilerated look of deep satisfaction on his face. I smiled and relaxed. But then he uttered words that caused the prickling sensation of worry to creep up my spine,

"Honey, Home Depot opens at 9:00. Let's just go there - we can buy everything we need for everyone on my list in one store."

Now, I may be well-known for being extremely practical, but I'm dang sure neither I or Copper's Mom have ever included on our Christmas wish list such banner items as circular saws. Or a toilet seat, nifty-thrifty-handy-dandy socket wrench, duct tape, or even that snazzy extension ladder (which was kind of cool, but it was an EXTENSION LADDER). When shopping for someone whose DNA does not contain a "Y" chromosome, it should be a fairly well-understood piece of common knowledge that the "Home Depot" is not an appropriate place to be browsing the aisles, hoping for inspiration. Ever.

Giving a power tool as a gift to 99.9% of all mother-wife-women types is akin to sending a burly guy into a day spa for a "day of pampering". The vast majority of men would run screaming from that spa seeking significant beer and sports on TV, in order to effectively recover from all the Frou-Frou McGoo stuff that happens in there. The stuff that women typically love, by the way.

I desperately and deeply love my husband, but I think maybe I will need to take greater responsibility for all of the Christmas shopping next year. Either that, or we're splitting our whole doggone list down the middle by gender. I will shop for the girls. And he can shop for the boys. All of whom can probably expect to receive a laser level and some industrial grout sealer. Or maybe even a power tool.

Or an extension ladder.

The Dr. is out

2006-12-17T23:34:00.000-08:00

Today is the first day in over 2 years that I have not had a taste of Dr. Pepper.

And I survived!

It seems flippant, even simple, really. But it marks a meaningful milestone for me. I am amazed at how easily we slip into patterns of living that are not necessarily the healthiest. Dr. Pepper, while the world's most perfect beverage, has become a dependency for me.

So, today I tried an experiement = no Dr. Pepper. And you know what? Though I had a raging headache all day long, I'm still standing.

Please excuse my little happy dance ~ I am tickled with myself.

Christmas songs. Kind of.

2006-12-10T00:40:00.003-08:00

According to my sweet 5-year old daughter, it's "Police Navidad."

The first stanza of "Angels We Have Heard On High" finishes with "sweetly singing, board the planes."

And her version of lyrics of the "Twelve Days After Christmas" includes the very rare species of bird, "... two turtleducks..."

Vacation before the vacation

2006-12-09T23:29:00.000-08:00

OK, I have been utterly slacking. I admit it.

But there is a legitimate reason behind the almost 2-week absence from my usual blogging activities...

We are ON VACATION!

As a family anchored by a policeman, vacations that involve actually going away to another location must happen at rather odd times of the year. Police officers don't tend to be able to take time off during or near the actual traditional holidays. Christmas? New Years? If those holidays fall on the day your shift is scheduled to work, you work. If you have worked on Christmas, Thanksgiving, and New Years for eleven years in a row, that does not buy you a "Get Out Of Jail Free" card. If those holidays fall during your shift again this year, you are working them again this year. So, while everyone else on the circling planet is drinking eggnog around a beautifully lit tree, celebrating Christmas Eve service, or ringing in the New Year with streamers and champagne (Dr. Pepper if you are me, but I digress), my beloved Copper and hundreds of thousands of his fellow cops are standing guard, patrolling our streets, and working to keep us safe.

While earnestly wishing with all their hearts that they could be home with their families at such blessed, special moments in time as Christmas, celebrating the birth of Jesus with their own children.

With that reality in mind, we have become adept at improvisation. This year, we are celebrating both early and late, since Copper will be working a wretched shift that will take him away from our home and family on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Years' Eve AND New Years' Day. So, we carved out our own Christmas family vacation and have been at the beach since December 3, to return December 16. This is where our real Christmas will happen. Yes, it is early. And yes, it is kind of weird to be romping around the sunny shores of Maui while celebrating a blessed holiday that falls in the dead of winter and usually involes images of snow. But, here we are. Improvisation has it's upside. And we are loving being together and finding new reasons to be grateful each day.

There you have it - the catalyst for my being a wee bit distracted. Happily, delightfully distracted.

It is necessary, this distraction, as 2007 promises leap-of-faith events for our family which are already causing us to need to draw upon reserves from seldom tapped reservoirs to weather with grace and God-given wholeness. So we are especially appreciative of this "vacation before the vacation" that we are afforded right now. A time to top off those deep wells in our souls, stock up on prayer and laughter, and add a a few rows to the ongoing family quilt we are ten years into making, and enjoy our children rather than live with our children. Time to teach and to learn. Time to talk and to listen. We just need time, unabridged, with each other. Time.

I wish all of my life - each one of my days - happened the way these days have: deliberately and with utmost purpose, living without regret and sucking the marrow from each moment.

But then, the fact that it doesn't indicates how far from the will of God I'm currently travelling in my non-vacationers "real" life, now doesn't it?

Animal School

2006-11-27T13:13:00.000-08:00

This is such a timeless, beautiful reminder of the TRUTH of who our children are!

Spoken like a true bumblebee...

Decidely not A.D.D.

2006-11-27T01:24:00.000-08:00

My Mom is convinced I have A.D.D.

To be fair, my Mom is convinced approximately 100% of the general population of planet earth has A.D.D.

A.D.D, as I understand it, means "Attention Deficit Disorder". Deficit? An Attention Deficit? As in, a marked LACK of available attention to administer? There is no way that this definition applies to me.

If anything, I believe I suffer from an "Attention Obesity": an OVER-abundance of available attention, to be spent in spades. In the course of my everyday life, I pay attention to a bevvy of things, people, tasks, and happenings simultaneously. Though it does not define me, multi-tasking tends to play a substantial role in my daily life. (see also: Mother, Woman, Human Being in the 21st Century)

The uncanny ability to allow myself to be distracted by all manner of things as I romp through my days while not going completely insane (teetering is not "completely") would indicate to me an excess of available attention, not a deficit. Thus, I have decided that my beloved mother, God bless her, is quite wrong about her A.D.D. diagnosis in my case. I do not have A.D.D. I have O.A.A.A.D.: Over-Abundance of Available Attention Disorder. It's a new disorder. It'll catch on. Pay attention to the following list of potential symptoms, as taken from my own life of late. Take notes - chances are, you may have this too!

Here are some early warning signs of the apparent O.A.A.A.D. pandemic:

1.) You prefer to have the TV or music on throughout the day to keep you company.

2.) You have been known to talk on the phone and use the computer while tying a child's shoe and cooking dinner simultaneously.

3.) While watching the television news, the following thoughts pelt your brain in rapidfire succession: why is sports news? and why is a poker tournament suddenly a sport? There is no sweating in poker, barring a gladular disorder or faulty casino air conditioner, that certainly seems to be the litmus test of a sport, doesn't it? And what is up with the anchorwoman's hairdo? The white stripe thing in the front ~ the Cruella-DeVille-struck-by-lightening thing? That's all kinds of unattractive. Sheesh... and such pleasant headlines too. Why not just say, "The world is a mess. More evidence of this continuing trend at 11:00." That about covers it every day, all day. I don't like the news. I always forget how much I don't like the news until I watch it. Why do I watch it, then? What channel is that Top Chef show on? Where is the clicker?"

4.) You routinely enter various rooms in your house and stand immobile inside the doorframe for a moment, thunderstruck, trying to recall the reason you went into the room in the first place.

5.) In the course of finishing an ordinary task or project, you are prone to distraction by other tasks or projects. It is in this way that the simple task of completing the laundry manages to evolve to include seventeen semi-related tasks: folding laundry (which leads to...) organizing the unkempt closet where laundry was to be put away (which leads to) sewing buttons onto several items you found while in the process of organizing said closet (which leads to) sharpening the semi-dull scissors in the sewing box (which leads to) sharpening the knives in the kitchen drawers (which leads to) re-organizing the spice cupboard (which leads to) making a new shopping list (which leads to (going to the grocery store (which leads to) stopping at the gas station (which leads to) getting the car washed...all in the ostensible course of doing a simple load laundry.

6.) Even with sugar cookie and hazelnut scented candles burning throughout your house, your olfactory sense can simultaneously detect the precise moment the pork roast is perfectly finished, that the fire in the fireplace needing to be stoked, and that somewhere ~ lurking on the floor above you ~ your 2-year old son needs a diaper change. STAT.

If any of this sounds remotely familiar, I invite you to join me in the ranks of the proud OAAAD sufferers worldwide. With our combined amply abundant attention to spare, together we can change the world! Or, at least pay more attention to it. Come on and join me. We'll make T-shirts and drink Dr. Pepper.

not for the faint of heart

2006-11-24T22:14:00.000-08:00

This is Copper's leg.

This is Copper's leg on poison oak.

Any Questions?

I feel so badly for my sweet husband today.
It's been a burny, itchy, weepy, rashy, miserable leg pain kind of Thanksgiving for Copper.
Poison Oak is the devil. Or at least a close relative.

more missing warning labels

2006-11-20T00:04:00.000-08:00

Did you know that popcorn + two children under 5 = unbelievable fallout of the relentless stinky, nuclear-waste-flatulence type? At the dinner table, no less.

Yup, me neither. Where was THAT warning label?

For the love of all things holy, there was a mighty unpleasant dining exprience at our house tonight. Courtesy of two tiny heineys and some rather fantastically tragic popcorn-induced gastronomic events.

Whoa nelly. Orville Redenbacher owes me a big explanation. And an air freshener.

the sin dance

2006-11-19T23:52:00.000-08:00

The more Christian people I talk with and listen to, the more I open myself to the realization that modern-day structured church has the potential to hinder, more than foster or encourage, transparent accountability among us. It breaks me to contemplate how much in need of shepherding we bunch of sheep currently are.

Notwithstanding the virulent attack on Jesus-freaks from the secular world ~ which has a field day whenever one of us stumbles, and throws a party when one of us falls altogether ~ we aren't sucessfully emphasizing the importance of the grace of Jesus in the equation of salvation, not the glorious flawlessness with which we lead our lives. Definitely, we honor God by striving to follow His lead, teachings, wisdom, and submit our wills to His in all ways. But by the very nature of ourselves and at the crux of the promises we base our lives upon,

WE
ARE
GOING
TO
FAIL.

We are going to sin. We are guaranteed a lifetime of "missing the mark."

Why? Well, shucks. Because I am such a Biblical genius, I'll venture a guess: possibly because with each continuing example of our own inability to achieve for ourselves the elusive and utterly retarded goal of human perfection, we reveal our utter and total need for Jesus.

We are, in basic terms, fairly well deluded when we pursue God with one side of our heart while cultivating the illusion of our own self-made perfection on the other.

I say we should not live in fear of sin. We should not revel in the celebration of others sins as though we have never stepped on the same exact landmines. We do such a lovely job of seperating ourselves from one another by ranking our sin on a sliding scale, don't we? Choosing to pursue homosexuality in defiance of the Word of God is no different from choosing to pursue lying to the extent where it defines one's character. While one becomes a liar, the other becomes sexually depraved. Both equally sin. Both equally miss the mark. Both equally fall under the blanket of "needing grace" in order to be restored in the eyes of the Lord. There is evidence that one brand of sin - the sexual natured sin - is called out as especially treacherous and deplorable by God. But if we use that excuse to somehow excuse ourselves from the various insundry manners in which we manage to screw up, we fail to deal in truth.

And we begin slapping band-aids on cancer patients, attempting to solve a systemic infection by its individual manifestations on our body as they erupt, one sin at a time. No wonder it seems we are running around so often, putting out fires.

Individual sins are not the point. The deeper issue of sin is the point. We should count on it, look for it, expect it, celebrate our miraculous salvation from it.

Because isn't the whole point that we will never make it on our own? That we need Jesus, period? And that accepting Christ is not a paved path to human perfection, but salvation from the cost of our IMperfections?

Certainly the fall of some of our more visable leadership is an example of how we tend to build a Hollywood facade of what "Christianity" should be in order to avoid that dreaded pitfall of being called hypocrites or utter failures. Of having the world laugh and point at our every mistake, bad decision, or choice based on human moral depravity. Though we MUST aim to be transparent, to deny ourselves in the process of picking up our crosses and following Him, should part of that equation be the denial of the reality of our flaws? You know, the very same flaws that cause us to fall on our knees and NEED JESUS IN THE FIRST PLACE? The Lord we share can and will love us and use us, despite our flaws and failings. He promises to. Because Jesus did not come to save perfect people from the perils of perfection. He came to save the broken and lost, to restore a fallen creation to the lustre of His divine intention. By grace. Not by anything the broken, wretched, lost creatures managed to eeek out.

If we can all begin from the starting point of being collectively lost, can we not savor, be grateful for, and be utterly transformed by the process of being found together? Instead of feeling as though we are already miraculously supposed to know the way and lead others by our own volition? What a miserably warped version of the gospel that is!

If the church allows us to duck accountability with one another, what, exactly are we doing on Sunday mornings (and sometimes Wednesday and Saturdays, too?) Are we dressing up, singing songs, and putting on appearances? That sounds lovely. If you add some guys in tuxedos playing instruments, a few singers or dancers, and more elaborate sets (although that last one is somewhat negotiable with the interiors of some churches these days) it sounds awfully much like a night at the theatre. Don't we owe one another more? Don't we owe Jesus more?

I vote yes.

I am decidedly not a cheering fan of the whole "emerging" movement, or the philosophies of the Campolo's, Falwell's, Robertson's, Crouches, or Spong's of our world. Grand movements and brilliant philosophies as a rule, usually fail to impress me. I find deeply scary stuff resonating from the liberal/anti-traditional/fringe side of the pew, and I equally cringe each time I hear a pastor cry out for the rejection of a certain brand of sinners in the perpetuation of the grand lie that "our way is the only way". It is JESUS' way that is the only way. No one has a trademark on that perfection exepct Jesus. Thus, I am a fan of Jesus. Unaltered, unaided, and unapologetic. Because it is on His wings alone I fly, and by His grace alone I live.

When we imagine ourselves to be better than we are as Christians, we devalue the gift of the Cross, don't we? And thus, we begin building that beautiful flimsy facade about ourselves that looks ever so lovely. As long as no one really cares to look beyond the surface and we don't bother to invite them to.

I stand in awe of the church body our family is now blessed to be a part of, allowing transparency and raw, unhoned real people to be welcomed, loved, challenged, and sharpened like pieces of milled iron. But I am learning that, as long as I remain concerned with how other people view me and what other people think of me, yeilding to the temptation of hiding behind a more flawless version of myself is always a risk. So as I dig deep and suck out the marrow of my church community and especially an amazing, newly developing relationship with a sister in Christ with whom I can be utterly authentic, I simultaneously guard myself against the risk of living life as though I've got it together, rather than the truth: that I love and am loved by the One whose version of "together" doesn't require me to.

And I pray for those who are struggling with a false doctrine and laboring under the delusion that being a Christian means that you must be - or appear to be - perfect at all costs.

What an endless race after a rather cruelly dangling carrot.

"The danger is to put the emphasis on the effect instead of on the cause - ‘It is my obedience that puts me right with God, my consecration.’ Never! I am put right with God because prior to all, Christ died...When I turn to God and by belief accept what God reveals I can accept, instantly the stupendous Atonement of Jesus Christ rushes me into a right relationship with God, and by the supernatural miracle of God’s grace I stand justified, not because I am sorry for my sin, not because I have repented, but because of what Jesus has done. The spirit of God brings it with a breaking, all-over light, and I know, though I do not know how, that I am saved." ~ Oswald Chambers

"God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ by grace you have been saved, and raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, that in the ages to come He might show the exceeding riches of His grace in His kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them." Ephesians 2:4-10

All I want for Christmas...

2006-11-18T23:34:00.000-08:00

psssssst!!!

Wanna know my secret (or not-so-secret) Christmas wish for 2006:

a new baby

That's not much to ask, is it? Certainly that is reasonable, right?

And honestly, I don't even care if my present arrives this year ~ I just want to know that it will arrive at some point in the future. That soon, I'll know the snuggles and coos of another little baby again. Kind of like a delayed present. LAYAWAY, that's it. Baby layaway.

Think I'll get lucky and Santa will deliver an extra special bundle of joy under my Christmas tree this year? Maybe I am confusing Santa with the stork, and mixing metaphoric symbolic characters? In any case, only time will tell if 2007 brings me the most precious Christmas present ever envisioned or if I get a pair of purple super-snuggly socks again. Which, while delightfully cozy and much appreciated, do tend to come in quite a distant second to the utmost desire of my heart: another little muffinhead to join our family and complete the circle.

Santa may want to tip my husband off.

Mourning missed moments

2006-11-17T22:10:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I regard parenting as a journey of surviving our children's agonizingly lingering break from a cocoon. If we are of the impatient sort, we are anxious for their emergence. If we are of the sentimental and deeply emotional type, we languish over every fluttery step. Of forgiveness and healing your bruised heart as you reach the end of each day and realize that the path behind you is littered with missed moments, opportunities to love, to impart, to listen, to care, to hold, to hug, to laugh, to play, to explore. To simply BE with your children.

As a mother, I struggle consistently with going too fast, pursuing my own agenda, to-do list, and seemingly neverending daily tasks. I struggle as I look into the faces of my children and realize how much older they are today than they were last night when I tucked them into bed. I yearn to add hours to the day in order to listen to them more, to hug them and spend time with them until I feel the delightful sensation of being saturated How much I have missed of their lives while I spent my time doing other things. Worthy things, certainly. Neccesary to survival on this planet, certainly. But distractions from the life we are here to celebrate and cultivate, definitely.

I am filled with a unique tang of bitter regret and sweet gratitude at the end of each day. I find myself deeply missing my children even as I savor their presence. Time is the enemy of each parent. Because it takes our children farther and farther from the intimacy that was born the moment when they were formed in our wombs.

Even as I am in a constant state of grace and indescribably grateful for my little ones, loving my muffinheads means, for me, also mourning the passing of each day that takes them closer towards gaining their wings and flying from the nest altogether. And if I am this much of a mess when my kids are 5 and 2, imagine my state when I face furst dates, driving tests, high school graduations, weddings.

It's actually quite terrifying.

I think I need some Dr. Pepper.

food cravings, part deux

2006-11-14T22:21:00.000-08:00

The good news:

The peanut butter twix obsession was short-lived.

The bad news:

It has been replaced with this:

Peanut Butter and Chocolate Ice Cream from Baskin Robbins. Sigh.

It's fantasically good. But truly, it's only the peanut butter part that is good. I go digging into the chocolate ice cream for that ribbon of peanut butter ice cream, find every last morsel and discard the chocolate ice cream. I've never been a fan of chocolate, exactly. I see it more as elaborate packaging I have to unwrap to get to the good stuff within. I know - I have issues. Probably the only owner of two X chromosomes who does not adore chocolate for its own sake. But the peanut butter part... that is divine.

Even if it does leave a stark aftertaste: a delightfully glorious blend of regret and guilt.

Why can't I ever crave celery? Radishes? A basic fruit of some kind?... Water?

If anyone asks, you know absolutely nothing about the extra 60 pounds I recently gained, and the tragic diabetic coma I will soon be recovering from.

Late Night Craving...

2006-11-11T01:09:00.000-08:00

I should really stop staying up so late creatively avoiding doing the dishes. Super late nights tend to equal sweet or salty food cravings for me. At this point, I am craving this particular treat ~ which is, by the elaborate evil endeavors of the Keebler elves (It's a long story. They hate me.) not available locally ~so badly I am about at the point of considering ordering some online from this habit-forming website that must be to people like me what late-night informercials are to insomniac obsessive collectors of various ceramic tchotchkes, gawdy jewelry, or supercalafragilistic Ginsu knives.

Must.
Get.
More.
Sleep.

Because at a bit past 1:00 a.m. this morning, if I don't get to bed soon, I am in imminent danger of dropping $19.20 plus shipping on a 24-count box of these. I'm almost positive that would be a bad thing.

...Veterans...

2006-11-10T23:13:00.000-08:00

May God bless you, Papa Ike and Uncle Frank, and the millions of those who have served and continue to serve alongside you. For your invauable honorable service to our nation, family, and world, I do not have adeuqate worlds or gestures of gratitude.
As I stand in awe of those who stand in the gap for me, protecting and serving both our nation and the freedom, continuity, and protection of humanity, I cannot resist being moved to honor the truest veteran. The first one to give His life for mine. The first to go into battle for my soul, for my life, for my salvation.

I salute and honor and am deeply, deeply grateful for all American veterans from all military branches. But I stand in awe at the first veteran, whose death on the cross whose poignant symbol continues to mark the graves of those who have passed from this world to the next, paved our admission life everlasting.

Twas the Night After Elections

2006-11-08T21:48:00.000-08:00

Twas the night after elections,
And all through my house
we ate our family dinner together,
and I snuggled with my spouse.

But low - I've taken phone calls
from friends and family all day long,
with talk of hell and handbaskets
and the whole heated dance and song.

With tales of Senators, far and wide
whose ethics are lukewarm at best.
Of powerful agendas and hatred of the right,
that continues to put our nation to the test.

The War in Iraq has caused emotions to boil
and sent people to polls in throngs
to rise up and send their virulent message
that this lamentable travesty to bring freedom to Iraq is simply horribly wrong.

Costing lives of our soliders by the thousands now,
I share the grief and the heartfelt prayers for peace.
But if we fail our obligation to stand for righteousness and justice in this world,
How will the Islamo-facsist and other cultural genocide ever cease?

Indeed, there is ample reason to be concerned -
as the same people so intent to save the earth
simultaneously champion our glorious legal right to
scrape our children from our wombs before their birth.

Steeling ourselves for a much heftier tax burden
certainly seems quite in order,
as my state ballot this time included 27 different tax increase initiatives -
none of them remotely concerned with protecting our border.

Quality education of our children is a universally shared goal,
but when the same public schools who are forbidden from dispersing aspirin to my child
can now legally arrange for her to leave campus for an abortion without notifying us - her parents -
it seems the system has gone more than a little wild.

Abolishing the offending concept of "illegal alien",
Allowing a border freeflow,
Granting entitlement at the expense of those darned rich people,
Creating increasingly socialized programs as we go.

Seems clearly to be among the goals of the ideology who
yesterday put on the far better show,
and as of now (sayeth the 24 hour news), hold both houses of Congress
- so into a jolly 2-year stalemate we go.

But hey- maybe the whole world will like us more now,
when you stand for nothing - you're an easier-tolerated friend.
And, of course, the economy might also start looking up, too,
because money does tend to be our goal in the end.

Our obese political animal must be tamed
as it's roars have become twangy and old
Indeed, I hesitate to invest much of myself in it now,
even though I admit grinning that at least we kept AH-nold.

Once upon a time, we shared ethics, morals, faith, and goals
But how far we have now sadly roamed,
with tales of even Christian pastors calling themselves "recovered evangelicals"
we've definitely wandered very far from home.

As people put their faith into the mechanisms of man,
be they politics, church, or other
we are forgetting to embody the Golden Rule
and are readily abandoning our love for one another.

It's hard not to be tossed by the gale force winds
as the forces of national change ebb and flow
in the political chess game that seems endless at best,
and is more convoluded than we'll ever really know.

And though hearts are duly troubled by the tremors in Washington
for those who believe it is never as bad as it may seem.
Because God is not limited to the size of our problems,
and His authority alone rules supreme.

Questions

2006-11-04T15:02:00.000-08:00

The latest installment of "Questions From My Children":

1.) Why on earth did God make flies, anyway?

2.) Is earth just an elevator to heaven and people can get off wherever they want to along the way? (whoa!)

3.) If I do something bad and no one sees me, is it still bad?

4.) What makes parents the boss of kids?

5.) Were Jesus' parents the boss of Him even though he was God? (again, whoa)

6.) And, possibly my favorite, "Mom, go over there. I am going to push my brother and I don't want you to see." Not a question entirely, but pretty darn funny.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

2006-11-04T14:48:00.000-08:00

I love this photo and its message.

For those who don't understand the reference or have better things to do than keep up with the current state of the US political pie eating contest, Mr. John Kerry managed to insult, degrade, and malign the United States Armed Forces - again. On Monday, the junior senator from Massachusetts warned students in California that those who failed to become educated and smart risked being stuck in Iraq. The implication was clear: U.S. soldiers in Iraq are there only because they are uneducated and stupid. Kerry’s original remarks were bad enough, but then he compounded the problem by claiming that his remarks were due to a “botched joke." Botch this, Senator.

My family is over there protecting and serving. Far from illiterate or uneducated, they bring their advanced collegiate degrees with them as they stand in the gap for all of us. Including those who have such deafening political aspirations that they do not bat an eyelash as they openly denigrate those soliders whose lives are the currency of their national freedoms.

So, a group of our supposedly uneducated, degenerate, dropout soliders decided to set Mr. Kerry straight with this poster they made up and distributed to the world via "Drudge".

Hoo-Rah, boys. Spank away.

migraine moment

2006-10-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

This lovely Friday morning in October - the last Friday of October, actually - found this friendly neighborhood blogger in the lovely E.R. for a migraine. For those unfamiliar with migraines, a migraine is not a mere headache. A migraine can best be equated to being trapped in the center of an F4 tornado. Your head threatens to explode with every minute shard of light, sound, or movement that manages to penetrate the pitch dark deprevation chamber you must retreat into. And this time, mine was accompanied by nausea so virulent it felt like I was a passenger on a ferry ride across violently turbulent, stormy seas. Pleasant, eh?

Aside from the randomness of the overall migraine phenomenon, this morning's doctor visit may have been my own doggone fault. I am prone to migraines. All said, I have averaged one migraine per month since I was 15. It seems to be at least somewhat genetic, as my mother and sister also have a well-established relationship to migraine. This particular migraine of mine began on Sunday night. Why I waited until Friday morning to seek treatment is a bit indefensible. The explanation involves a complex web of my own ridiculously high tolerance for pain, equally ridiculously high failure to admit when I am actually ill or hurt, and a smattering of false guilt over burdening my darling husband with caring for our children while I traipse off to the land of tongue depressors, antisepctic-scented rooms, and pastel scrubs.

When my doctor, after administering no less then 312 injections to my gluteal area, asked me if there was anything else I needed, I replied, "what is your return policy on craniums? I'd like a new one, please. You can have this one back - it's faulty." He laughed, bless him. He has been on brittle ice with me, as there should be a limitation on needles inserted into one person's body on any given day, but that laugh saved him. And made me feel better.

Even if I wasn't entirely kidding about the new cranium quip.

So for the remainder of today, please lessen your expectations on the products my mind is capable of creating. Right now, I am focused on the simple things. Today, being able to sit up straight and form semi-cohesive sentences without falling over from the narcotic effect of the multitude of drugs that are coursing through me is a huge leap for Lachen-kind.

By Their Fruits You Will Know Them

2006-10-25T09:17:00.000-07:00

Author: Brigitte Gabriel, Lebanese Christian
Source: http://www.standwithus.com

Remarks of Brigitte Gabriel
Delivered at the Duke University Counter Terrorism Speak out
October 14, 2004

"I'm proud and honored to stand here today as a Lebanese speaking for Israel, the only democracy in the Middle East. As someone who was raised in an Arabic country I want to give you a glimpse into the heart ofthe Arabic world.

I was raised in Lebanon where I was taught that the Jews were evil, Israel was the devil, and the only time we will have peace in the Middle East is when we kill all the Jews and drive them into the sea.

When the Moslems and Palestinians declared Jihad on the Christians in1975, they started massacring the Christians city after city. I ended up living in a bomb shelter underground from age 10 to 17 without electricity, eating grass to live and crawling under sniper bullets to a spring to get water.

It was Israel who came to help the Christians in Lebanon. My mother was wounded by a Moslem shell and was taken into an Israeli hospital for treatment. When we entered the emergency room, I was shocked at what I saw. There were hundreds of people wounded, Moslems, Palestinians, Christian Lebanese and Israeli soldiers lying on the floor. The doctors treated everyone according to their injuries. They treated my mother before they treated the Israeli soldier lying next to her. They didn't see religion, they didn't see political affiliation, they saw people in need, and they helped.

For the first time in my life, I experienced a human quality that I know my culture would not have shown to their enemy. I experienced the values of the Israelis who were able to love their enemy in their most trying moments. I spent 22 days at that hospital; those days changed my life and the way I believe information, the way I listen to the radio or to television. I realized I was sold a fabricated lie by my government about the Jews and Israel that was so far from reality. I knew for fact that if I was a Jew standing in an Arab hospital, I would be lynched and thrown over to the grounds as shouts of joy of Allahu Akbar (God is great) would echo through the hospital and the surrounding streets.

I became friends with the families of the Israeli wounded soldiers; one in particular Rina, her only child was wounded in his eyes.

One day I was visiting with her, and the Israeli army band came to play national songs to lift the spirits of the wounded soldiers. As they surrounded his bed playing a song about Jerusalem, Rina and I started crying. I felt out of place and started waking out of the room, and this mother holds my hand and pulls me back in without even looking at me. She holds me crying and says: "it is not your fault". We just stood there crying and holding each other's hands.

What a contrast between her, a mother looking at her deformed 19-year- old only child, and still able to love me, the enemy, and between a Moslem mother who sends her son to blow himself up to smithereens just to kill a few Jews or Christians.

The difference between the Arabic world and Israel is a difference in values and character. It's barbarism versus civilization. It's democracy versus dictatorship. It's goodness versus evil.

Once upon a time, there was a special place in the lowest depths of hell for anyone who would intentionally murder a child. Now, the intentional murder of Israeli children is legitimized as Palestinian "armed struggle." However, once such behavior is legitimized against Israel, it is legitimized everywhere in the world, constrained by nothing more than the subjective belief of people who would wrap themselves in dynamite and nails for the purpose of killing children in the name of God.

Because the Palestinians have been encouraged to believe that murdering innocent Israeli civilians is a legitimate tactic for advancing their cause, the whole world now suffers from a plague of terrorism, from Nairobi to New York, from Moscow to Madrid, from Bali to Beslan.

They blame suicide bombing on "desperation of occupation." Let me tell you the truth. The first major terror bombing committed by Arabs against the Jewish state occurred ten weeks before Israel even became independent. On Sunday morning, February 22, 1948, in anticipation of Israel 's independence, a triple truck bomb was detonated by Arab terrorists on Ben Yehuda Street in what was then the Jewish section of Jerusalem. Fifty-four people were killed, and hundreds were wounded. Thus, it is obvious that Arab terrorism is caused not by the "desperation" or "occupation," but by the VERY THOUGHT of a Jewish state.

So many times in history in the last 100 years, citizens have stood by and done nothing, allowing evil to prevail. As America stood up against and defeated communism, now it is time to stand up against the terror of religious bigotry and intolerance. It's time to all stand up and support and defend the state of Israel, which is the front line of the war against terrorism.

Thank you."

Online Dating his Afghanistan...

2006-10-24T13:15:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry, but this is doggone funny!

My sense of humor is getting a little warped these days, I think.

Man Of The Year

2006-10-19T22:09:00.000-07:00

On our date night tonight, we screened "Man Of The Year". While it is neither a cinematic masterpiece and it's plotline is full of moth-sized holes, the underlying concept and ideology invigorated me. An apolitical political comedy. The first and last 20 minutes made the dragging midsection forgivable. And it made me ponder running for President someday, myself.

Hey, stop it.

I seem to recall a certain Jesse Ventura, Sonny Bono, Clint Eastwood, and the Terminator in political office. Stranger things have happened.

clothing conspiracy

2006-10-18T00:35:00.001-07:00

I am not sure what size clothing I wear.

Not because I have never bothered to look, or because I don't care, or because I have a secret-shopper-concierge-dude named Basil who shops for me and sweetly clips off all my tags before I ever see what size I am wearing.

Nope. It's because almost everything I have in my closet seems to have a different size on it's tag.

I know that there is only one me. I know that I do not dramatically balloon or shrink overnight. I know that my body is basically the same size and shape today that it was yesterday, give or take a rainbow sprinkled donut or a Pilates session.

I am the same size pretty much all the time. I have been, save for the latter trimester of two pregnancies during which I seemed to exchange figures with the Pilsbury Doughboy, have been the same size since I was nineteen. And since nothing in my closet pre-dates my college days, one would assume that all my clothes would be the same size. Or thereabouts.

My clothes, however, are nowhere near this homogeneous. On any given day, my same-size-since-I-was-19 body seems to manage to fit into items with sizes ranging from 6 to 12. How can it be that some of my sweaters, shirts, pants, and dresses are labelled "LARGE" while others are tagged "SMALL", but they all seem to equally fit onto my non-metamorphic body? May I please ask what the heck this musical-chair-fashion-sizing is all about? Is it just some agenda to keep women guessing about their own bodies? Or some elaborate conspiracy to mess with our sense of confidence? You don't see this same kind of mystery sizing with shoe size, or with men's pants, or with children's clothing. It seems only to affect the garments made for the frames of women from age 18 on up.

Good grief. Can we not come up with a simple universal sizing formula for women's clothing? I do not need to be flattered by thinking I am a size 6 if I am really a size 10, or be unduly worried that I have apparently ballooned because I can barely squeeze into a size 12 pair of pants at a store, only to breathe easier when the next pair I try on, that are size 8, fit me with room to spare.

Honestly, how hard is it to just universalize this whole sizing brouhaha? We put men on the moon, we can breathe underwater, and my 2.5 year old son can navigate my laptop with ease. And yet we cannot figure this one out?

On My Mind...

2006-10-18T00:08:00.000-07:00

Baby

BABY

infant

little one

MUNCHKIN

baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby

peanut

bambino

BABY

and, you?

2006-10-17T22:27:00.000-07:00

There are so many things that nourish my soul.

Today, it was the happy news of the birth of a friend's baby and my own snuggling babies under the cozy winter blanket. Yesterday, it was the scent of my beloved hazlenut coffee candle, burning lazily in the overcast autumn morning.

It is well with my soul right now and I wanted to pass it on. What is making YOUR soul content today?

Peace That Surpasses All Understanding

2006-10-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

Because our family supports and is intimately involved with some rather cool Christian people who work to share the Gospel and live lives brimming with Christ's love all over the world, I am sometimes privvy to some incredible information about the ways God is working in the world that is not broadcast anywhere else. Certainly the news media seems incrementally less concerned with happening in the Kingdom of God than who has made the latest political blunder or what the stock market is doing at the moment. Toward that end, I received the following email forward. The email was initially sent from the former administrator of a local Christian School, T.R. (abbreviations used for privacy reasons) to dear friends of ours who run the Bridges of Hope in South Africa. Who then, in effort to honor the desire of the Amish to share their story with others, sent it to us.

You see, T.R. has very close, long time friends who are members of the very same Amish community whose little girls were maimed and murdered in their little Amish schoolhouse by a troubled and tortured man who then took his own life. She has been in regular contact with her friends, Racheal and Emanuel S., who wanted her to let people know how everyone in their Amish community is doing in light of these tragic events.

The information relayed in this email has gripped my soul and caused me to listen to God as though I have never heard Him before. Initially, I sobbed uncontrollably when I received and read this. And then I found myself in humbled prayer for several days, unable to put into words how profoundly my heart is being sandblasted by the faith of these children and their parents in the wake of a tragedy that would likely cause my human frailty to come to the surface, not - I am ashamed deeply to say - my faith.

I read about the reaction of the parents whose OWN SMALL CHILDREN were murdered in their classroom. And I realize my faith is nothing compared to theirs. Our Lord, our Jesus, our truth is the same. But their commitment to God above all else shines light into the dark places in my own life and reveals the weakness, the humanity of my own walk with God. It reveals the stark truth: that I truly have so far to go in this journey if my immediate sense was relief that this murdering guy is dead, but first reaction of the families whose little girls were gunned down is to GO TO THE MURDERER'S FAMILY, and offer their forgiveness, make them meals, and ask what they can do for that family.

Where I was despondent, they were faithful. Where I was angry and despondent and marred by profound sadness, they were loving, compassionate, and discovered profound joy.

The stories of the Amish families in this email humbles and changes me in ways I am not convinced can be expressed with words. This blog entry is my attempt at penning that potential impossibility.

Here is T.R.'s email:

Dear Friends,

I talked with Rachel. She said incredible things are happening and Jesus is being lifted up and the community is coming together like you just can't imagine. ALL are so thankful he killed the girls quickly before he did what he was planning. She knows the teacher quite well, and said she did exactly the right things to get the police there so quickly.

Michael W. Smith came for their memorial service last night - sang a song he composed with each of the girls named in the song, also "It is Well With My Soul," and one other. Blue Shield has donated 1/2 million $ to the families. Three of the girls are critically hurt, and another one died today. Tomorrow 3 will be buried, (two of them sisters) and Friday the rest.

The 2 families of two of the slain girls went to visit the family of the shooter, told them they forgave the family and even the man and offered to help his family any way they could.

She said one of the worst things is the press as they do not like publicity. But she said they understand, plus the press is being unusually sensitive to the Amish. The Amish will do OK, she said, for they have each other - it is the other family - she is worried about.

Rachel said, "Oh T.R. - we are in the last times! Evil is so much more out in the open. Those little girls are safe with Jesus. We have so little time to let everyone know about Jesus. This event is bringing people together like nothing else could and HE is being lifted up like never before in our community and actually in our world because of this horrible thing! Tell everyone who asks you that we are doing OK. It is tragic and we are grieving, but we know the end of the story and that brings incredible hope."

To encourage you further, I want to pass along the phone call I received a few minutes ago from Emanuel S. - Rachel's husband - in Lancaster PA. He asked me to pass this information on.

He was out delivering furniture this morning and said Rachel has left town for a couple of days with her sister and he just had to tell someone because he was rejoicing, about what he heard while delivering furniture this AM.

He said you won't read this in the press so he wanted us to have first hand knowledge to be encouraged with "how absolutely amazing God is." He met with the family who had two girls shot - one is in the hospital the other is now with Jesus. The funerals are today for those who died. The 13 year old is home from the hospital this morning and will have to go back tomorrow, but has been released temporarily in order to attend her sister's funeral.

She told this story to her Daddy. She said she remembers everything just as it happened.

When the shooter came into the school, he was very, very calm. No loud shouting, etc. He organized the children and teacher letting some go and keeping the 12 girls. He then tied them up. The little ones didn't understand what was going on so the older ones helped the little ones follow the man's directions. She said all was absolutely calm.

When they were finally all tied and he had barricaded the door, the 13 year old asked the man if it was OK for them to pray. He said "It is OK." She then said to him - "Don't you think you should pray?" He replied - "No I don't know God but you can pray." So THE GIRLS FELL TO THEIR KNEES and began to pray. All the while no threats were made, and all was very calm - just them praying out loud, their backs to him, on their knees.

All of a sudden, the gunman looked outside and saw the building surrounded and said "Oh well, I guess I have to shoot you now."

The 13 year old asked why he had to do that, and he said, "Now I have no choice."

She said, "I asked him to shoot me first - because I thought that might give the little ones more time and maybe help could get in. He shot me 4 times, then shot the others as we were down on their knees praying as he shot them."

When she told this story all the fathers of the slain and injured children were together and one of the Dads told Emanuel "We all relaxed and felt so relieved when we heard what she said - that our children were not terrorized." One friend, not Amish, who was with them as they were gathered, said "I am thinking - how can I teach my 5 children to fall on their knees and pray when the hard things come?"

The families are doing well, Emanuel says. Life is no different - the schools in the area were open the following day and the kids walked to school, etc., as if nothing had happened. It is all in God's hands they believe. Each school had a time of prayer and discussion, then got to the studies.

The groups of people in the area are just shaking their heads and saying what kind of God is this that can help these people? Emanuel said - "Isn't that amazing, T.R.?"

The Governor of Pennsylvania has closed ALL roads within ten miles, there is a no-fly zone to 10,000 feet, and he is allowing NO press in. When the press does occasionally run into an Amish person, they refuse to talk - saying only - "God is in control." The Governor has said that this is a private time and anyone who bothers the Amish will be prosecuted.

Emanuel said there is grieving, but such hope and such trust. The Amish people are surrounding the families, and the family of the shooter as well.

Emanuel is thrilled and awestruck at how God is using this tragedy to speak of His hope, power and sustaining comfort. Said - "only God could have used this to proclaim Himself like he has and I wanted to let you know so you can tell your friends what really happened as the press is only guessing with much of what they write."

Love you all and hope you are encouraged by this,
T.R.

Does that have you crying, too?

My heart is a mixture of shameful knots and incredibly renewed peace. Like Adam and Eve in the garden, I am newly aware of the nakedness of my own faith. I so clearly see the stark difference between my faith that is so often easily tossed by, colored by, or even dependent upon the events I face in my life, and the faith of these TINY CHILDREN who were praying for the man that was shooting them as he was shooting them. And their parents and community who have stood in solidarity to embrace the family of the man who murdered their babies, who are more concerned for the welfare of others than their own grieving , and who can express pure, unadulterated joy that their sweet children are safe at home with Jesus. The Joy Of The Lord is their strength.

And their joy has overridden this tragedy. God wins.

As I've digested and prayed through the email in the past week, I've come to one of those places in my life when I get a glimpse at the real truth that I am still pitifully journeying toward. For me, the veil is lifted and I have been able to gaze upon truth. I am one who loves that God has given us words and music, that we might weave them into lyrical choruses that reflect our thoughts. But since receiving this email, I admit to moments when even I ~ typically verbose to a fault ~ have simply sat in resounding silence. Pondering God. Pondering the faith of children and the beauty of simply loving others no matter what and honoring the truth of God above all else. Pondering the roadblocks in my own life that prevent me from living and loving as my Lord teaches me to.

The wisdom and peace I have only scratched the surface of in my relationship with Christ clearly directs the entire lives of others. These Amish children and their parents are teaching me volumes about Biblical wisdom and the pease that surpasses all understanding. I am learning more about the Lord I love by being in the presence of those who know Jesus and live Him in dilutiones without compromise or dillution. Who live the truth. Who love in the face of the mass murder of their babies. And in the face of the unyeilding faith of dying lifaithfulrls and their unflinching, faitful families, I realize how far I have to go.

May God continue to bless and deeply reward the Pennsylvania Amish for their faithfulness and example to those of us who stand in bewildered awe and newly transforming hearts as we witness the faith of the littlest among them.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

if only I could actually send this letter

2006-10-06T21:04:00.000-07:00

To My Beloved Clients,

I, as your Realtor, would like to take this opportunity to clarify a few things. Eight, actually.

1.) When I have clearly communicated to you, written into the contract, and when my voicemail specifically states my office hours as 9:00 a.m. ~ 5:30 p.m, please respect that. Please do not inject your business concerns into my after-hours family time. Please do not call me at my home at 6:20 in the morning on a Sunday or 10:30 at night on a Wednesday to discuss the best way to manage your dog Squeakers during open houses, the placement of photos within your virtual tour, or to decide (from the photos you sent me on my cell phone) which of three shades of sage green you should paint your Master bathroom. To everything there is a time and place. And Squeakers needs to just give it a rest. I work seven days per week, do not get holidays or weekends off, and save for that two week period per year when I physically leave the area, do not have vacation days. So please do not interrupt my family time unless it is an absolute emergency.

2.) No, leaving your $300.00 juicer on the counter of your kitchen and calling me at 9:32 p.m. at night to ask that I drive 25 minutes to your home to set it outside for your son to come and pick up in the morning because you are at a Day Spa does NOT constitute an emergency.

3.) There are, in fact, actual professional cleaning crews that will come to your house, for a fee, and do all of the cleaning tasks you so often demand that I perform for you. And, as I've told you before, I do not have any idea how to remove pet urine from your carpets. That falls outside the limits of my occupational expertise.

4.) I cannot convince anyone to pay more for your house because you like it better than all the other houses in the universe. That reasoning fails to hold much realistic weight. Especially considering that most people don't particularly see the value in having a bathroom with no door whatsoever, three windows whose glass is taped to the panes lest it fall out, a family of king snakes living in the cellar, or a loose floorboard just inside the front door with a reverberating squeak so loud that many an unsuspecting Open House visitor has to fight the urge to stop, drop and army crawl to safety.

5.) Gardener = professional who is paid to maintain and cultivate the landscaping at a certain property. Realtor = professional who is paid to transact the process of marketing and selling a certain piece of Real Property. Can you see how these two occupations are vastly different, with duties that should not be expected to overlap?

6.) Continuing to pay your electrical, water, and gas bills during the escrow process is not optional. Particularly in the fall and winter months. It is darn near impossible to market the virtues of a house whose lights do not come on, whose dry toilets actually echo and smell a bit like your flatulent bulldog, and whose unregulated temperature hovers at a nice cozy 51 degrees.

7.) Please do not ask me to suggest ways to help you "get around" the I.R.S. when reporting the income from the sale of your investment property. I enjoy my freedom and don't particularly like orange jumpsuits, thank you very much.

8.) Please do not expect me to reduce my fee because you wish your property was worth more on today's market. I do not control the general or specific economic situation in the Real Estate world. I am here to help you navigate it ethically and wisely and to provide a professional service. You would not ask a doctor, grocery manager, automotive repairperson, or garbage collector to do the same job for you for less money. Likewise, please do not expect that of me. On average over the last 10 years, by adding my collective hours of work involved in marketing, selling, and closing any given property, after I deduct my expenses, I earn approximately $12.00 an hour to achieve an average profit for my clients of $320,000. Stop whining.

If we can both commit to an understanding and willingness to agree on these eight little clarification items, I am sure we will enjoy our working relationship during this process of buying or selling a home. Thank you for your attention to this matter and I look forward to working with you. Sincerely,

Your utterly exhausted, underappreciated, and taken-for-granted Real Estate Broker

Happy Anniversary to Me!

2006-10-05T11:08:00.000-07:00

I love you, Copper.

And as we celebrate our first ten married years today, I can't help but marvel at how fast the time went by, how graceful and loving our God is, and how blessed we are to have one another.

Here's to a good 60 more years...

Soccer woes

2006-09-30T17:36:00.000-07:00

I am learning firsthand that the single biggest negative factor in children's sports is the off-the-hook PARENTS.

Goodness.

They are 5-years old, people. For these tiny children, soccer is a big game of chase the ball down the field and take turns kicking at it in bewteen hugging your teammates and giggling. It's fun, not competition. Let it go.

If only we all took our words at face value when we tell our children, "the most important thing is to HAVE FUN."

In Loving Memory Of

2006-09-28T21:49:00.001-07:00

Jacob Matthew Oder

My dear cousin, Chad and his wife lost their beloved son, Jacob, this morning.

He was three years old.

Jacob suddenly and unexpectedly passed away in his parents' embrace early this morning of an tragic and unexpected complication to a surgery he had 10 days ago.

My cousin and his wife released their son from their own arms into Jesus' after he was declared brain dead, only mere hours after he had eaten dinner with his family at their table. As parents, there is no way to be prepared for the sudden loss of our child. And yet it has touched my family tonight.

May the Lord bless and keep my cousin and his wife as they emerge from the valley of the shadow of death. And as they face their first night as a family of four, where they had been five. As they wrap their hearts around the hurt and the Jacob-shaped void that will forever be a part of their lives.

And for Lilly and Elijah, who now have become twins, my heart weeps openly for your pain and for the loss of your triplet brother. May you come to know the presence of the Lord deeper in your heart and lives all the more richly because of the deposit your family has made in heaven today.

God bless you Jacob. May God hold the Oder family under His wing as darkness falls tonight.

And may we all be reminded to never live our lives as though our next breath is guaranteed.

Cars and casualties

2006-09-25T14:47:00.000-07:00

I've always been one of those people for whom the act of driving sheer joy. Give me a car with a radio or CD player, the open road, and a destination, and I am fulfilled. I *love* to drive. I love to be on the road and going somewhere. I find joy in being in the drivers' seat of a car with music blaring and my heart pumping. Going, moving, driving ~ it all makes me happy ~ having a car represents a great degree of freedom for me.

Granted, I don't particularly care what kind of car I drive. Not one for brands in general, I just can't be bothered with the distinguishing features of a Ford vs. Chevy. And the BMW, Jaguars', Hummers, or Mercedes of the world are a bit wasted on me. The concept of luxury just doesn't factor in to my thinking in regards to vehicles. My criteria: Does it run? (and, now that I am a mother): Is it safe for children? OK ~ then let's go! This laissez faire attitude may explain why I currently own a Kia, and also why my automobiles tend to come to rather fantastical, and sometimes fiery, ends.

This love affair with the road and ~ by extension ~ the cars in which to drive upon the road, began early. My adventures in automobiles has quite a legacy to it. You see, I tend to literally drive cars into the ground (no fault of myself, naturally). And I think I may be one of a rare few people on the planet who has actually been driving their car when it a.) fell apart and b.) burst into flames. It has been a fun ride so far.

My first car was a rather forgettable Honda something-or-other. It lasted just long enough to graduate high school and then literally fell apart in abruptly cartoonish fashion: while driving to the market, a portion of my bumper fell off on one block with a "clang!". Shortly thereafter, my taillight plastic fell off somewhere on the next block and was summarily (if accidentally) run over by the car behind me. I managed to litter the entire route to the market with various metal, plastic, and wire parts that fell off my car in rapid succession. By the time I coasted into the parking lot of the supermarket, my little Honda no longer resembled a vehicle, exactly ~ it looked more like a mangled heap of metallic light blue metal scraps. I called my Mom for a ride home, and we had the remains of the former car towed to the salvage yard.

This was my second car:
Yes, it was a YUGO. It did represent a definite step up from my Honda p.o.c., in that it was operational. Usually. However, as a rule of thumb, Yugoslavia is not known for its outstanding quality imported automobiles. This little thing resembled an animal cracker box on wheels, and managed to both rattle and shake at any speed greater than 40 m.p.h. My friends called it the "Blue Bomber", which was sadly, fitting. It had all the acceleration power of a bicycle with two flat tires. When I drove uphill, it was not uncommon for me to be passed by street sweepers, big rigs, and the occasional marathon runner. And indeed, when driving this automotive masterpiece, one would not have been surprised to see Fred Flintstones' Feet sticking out from underneath the bottom, spurring it along at a dizzying, Nascar-worthy top odometer speed of 65 m.p.h.

This car bit the dust in my junior year of college, when it literally caught fire on the freeway while I was driving a friend home. Thankfully, it was raining, which helped extinguish the flames, and neither one of us was hurt. In fact, after we safely exited the smoldering car, we stood on the shoulder of the road, staring at this ridiculous scene and laughing so hard, tears were rolling down both our faces. Apparently I missed the rather important warning label, "engine may burst into flames spontaneously for no reason whatsoever."

But I'm not bitter. This Yugo was a good little car ~ definitely worth the $800 I paid for it. Nope, I'm not kidding: the Yugo set me back Eight. Hundred. Dollars. I spent more than that for the gas I put into it over my almost 2-year period of ownership. And, as it happens, about four times as much to REPAIR the $800.00 money pit.

And the Yugo, along with it's replacement car, an old beater Mercury Lynx, managed to take me where I wanted to go ~ right up until the moment they each decidedly died. In my early years of college, my to my roommates dismay, I used to pack up my Fred Flintstone car and drive down to the U.S./ Mexico border, cross it, and just drive till I found a great beach. There, I'd check into a beach hotel (it was cheaper in Mexico than in the U.S.) and would spend the weekend surfing, reading, and just being. Yes, I was a young blonde American woman, alone in Mexico. That is the start of many a tragic epic. But I was both naive and careful, checking in with friends along the way and south of the border as well. I never once encountered a problem or unsavory situation. What I found instead was a few weekends of utter peace. I found my many collegiate Mexican forays incredibly nourishing, relaxing, and inspiring.

My friends called it dangerous.

And they were probably right.

But then again, considering that my cars had a tendency to blow up or disintegrate while I am driving them, the drive was almost certainly more dangerous than the destination.

Sharing Sam's Sentiments

2006-09-22T08:02:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of my girlfriend, Jen, who has an uncanny knack to both sharpen and encourage me with all kinds of news articles and other information I routinely miss while my head is buried in a book or fixated on mesmerizing TV programming (I'm not apologetic ~ "The Office" is classic entertaiment), I offer a full reprint of this fascinating and relevant (especially to our discussion on this blog over the past few months) article which appeared in the Los Angeles Times this week. It inspires and encourages me that people are beginning to see the truth across political aisles and in spite of political affiliations. The day American politics begins to altruistically serve the people instead of people bowing before political agendas will be one to celebrate! I have hope I'll see it.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Head-in-the-Sand Liberals: Western civilization really is at risk from Muslim extremists.
~ By Sam Harris
SAM HARRIS is the author of "The End of Faith: Religion, Terror and the Future of Reason." His next book, "Letter to a Christian Nation," will be published this week by Knopf.

September 18, 2006

"TWO YEARS AGO I published a book highly critical of religion, "The End of Faith." In it, I argued that the world's major religions are genuinely incompatible, inevitably cause conflict and now prevent the emergence of a viable, global civilization. In response, I have received many thousands of letters and e-mails from priests, journalists, scientists, politicians, soldiers, rabbis, actors, aid workers, students — from people young and old who occupy every point on the spectrum of belief and nonbelief.

This has offered me a special opportunity to see how people of all creeds and political persuasions react when religion is criticized. I am here to report that liberals and conservatives respond very differently to the notion that religion can be a direct cause of human conflict.

This difference does not bode well for the future of liberalism.

Perhaps I should establish my liberal bone fides at the outset. I'd like to see taxes raised on the wealthy, drugs decriminalized and homosexuals free to marry. I also think that the Bush administration deserves most of the criticism it has received in the last six years — especially with respect to its waging of the war in Iraq, its scuttling of science and its fiscal irresponsibility.

But my correspondence with liberals has convinced me that liberalism has grown dangerously out of touch with the realities of our world — specifically with what devout Muslims actually believe about the West, about paradise and about the ultimate ascendance of their faith.

On questions of national security, I am now as wary of my fellow liberals as I am of the religious demagogues on the Christian right.This may seem like frank acquiescence to the charge that "liberals are soft on terrorism." It is, and they are.

A cult of death is forming in the Muslim world — for reasons that are perfectly explicable in terms of the Islamic doctrines of martyrdom and jihad. The truth is that we are not fighting a "war on terror." We are fighting a pestilential theology and a longing for paradise.

This is not to say that we are at war with all Muslims. But we are absolutely at war with those who believe that death in defense of the faith is the highest possible good, that cartoonists should be killed for caricaturing the prophet and that any Muslim who loses his faith should be butchered for apostasy.

Unfortunately, such religious extremism is not as fringe a phenomenon as we might hope. Numerous studies have found that the most radicalized Muslims tend to have better-than-average educations and economic opportunities.

Given the degree to which religious ideas are still sheltered from criticism in every society, it is actually possible for a person to have the economic and intellectual resources to build a nuclear bomb — and to believe that he will get 72 virgins in paradise. And yet, despite abundant evidence to the contrary, liberals continue to imagine that Muslim terrorism springs from economic despair, lack of education and American militarism.

At its most extreme, liberal denial has found expression in a growing subculture of conspiracy theorists who believe that the atrocities of 9/11 were orchestrated by our own government. A nationwide poll conducted by the Scripps Survey Research Center at Ohio University found that more than a third of Americans suspect that the federal government "assisted in the 9/11 terrorist attacks or took no action to stop them so the United States could go to war in the Middle East;" 16% believe that the twin towers collapsed not because fully-fueled passenger jets smashed into them but because agents of the Bush administration had secretly rigged them to explode.

Such an astonishing eruption of masochistic unreason could well mark the decline of liberalism, if not the decline of Western civilization. There are books, films and conferences organized around this phantasmagoria, and they offer an unusually clear view of the debilitating dogma that lurks at the heart of liberalism: Western power is utterly malevolent, while the powerless people of the Earth can be counted on to embrace reason and tolerance, if only given sufficient economic opportunities.

I don't know how many more engineers and architects need to blow themselves up, fly planes into buildings or saw the heads off of journalists before this fantasy will dissipate. The truth is that there is every reason to believe that a terrifying number of the world's Muslims now view all political and moral questions in terms of their affiliation with Islam. This leads them to rally to the cause of other Muslims no matter how sociopathic their behavior. This benighted religious solidarity may be the greatest problem facing civilization and yet it is regularly misconstrued, ignored or obfuscated by liberals.

Given the mendacity and shocking incompetence of the Bush administration — especially its mishandling of the war in Iraq — liberals can find much to lament in the conservative approach to fighting the war on terror. Unfortunately, liberals hate the current administration with such fury that they regularly fail to acknowledge just how dangerous and depraved our enemies in the Muslim world are.

Recent condemnations of the Bush administration's use of the phrase "Islamic fascism" are a case in point. There is no question that the phrase is imprecise — Islamists are not technically fascists, and the term ignores a variety of schisms that exist even among Islamists — but it is by no means an example of wartime propaganda, as has been repeatedly alleged by liberals.

In their analyses of U.S. and Israeli foreign policy, liberals can be relied on to overlook the most basic moral distinctions. For instance, they ignore the fact that Muslims intentionally murder noncombatants, while we and the Israelis (as a rule) seek to avoid doing so. Muslims routinely use human shields, and this accounts for much of the collateral damage we and the Israelis cause; the political discourse throughout much of the Muslim world, especially with respect to Jews, is explicitly and unabashedly genocidal.

Given these distinctions, there is no question that the Israelis now hold the moral high ground in their conflict with Hamas and Hezbollah. And yet liberals in the United States and Europe often speak as though the truth were otherwise.

We are entering an age of unchecked nuclear proliferation and, it seems likely, nuclear terrorism. There is, therefore, no future in which aspiring martyrs will make good neighbors for us. Unless liberals realize that there are tens of millions of people in the Muslim world who are far scarier than Dick Cheney, they will be unable to protect civilization from its genuine enemies.

Increasingly, Americans will come to believe that the only people hard-headed enough to fight the religious lunatics of the Muslim world are the religious lunatics of the West. Indeed, it is telling that the people who speak with the greatest moral clarity about the current wars in the Middle East are members of the Christian right, whose infatuation with biblical prophecy is nearly as troubling as the ideology of our enemies. Religious dogmatism is now playing both sides of the board in a very dangerous game.

While liberals should be the ones pointing the way beyond this Iron Age madness, they are rendering themselves increasingly irrelevant. Being generally reasonable and tolerant of diversity, liberals should be especially sensitive to the dangers of religious literalism. But they aren't.

The same failure of liberalism is evident in Western Europe, where the dogma of multiculturalism has left a secular Europe very slow to address the looming problem of religious extremism among its immigrants. The people who speak most sensibly about the threat that Islam poses to Europe are actually fascists.

To say that this does not bode well for liberalism is an understatement: It does not bode well for the future of civilization.

*~*~*~*~*~*

sticker shock

2006-09-19T04:46:00.000-07:00

I saw the following bumper stickers on 3 different cars over the last few days. I think I would have felt better if it was only ONE car - then I could have written this off as one possibly not-sober individual with an outgoing personality. Rather, these were noted on three seperate cars. I actually had to write them down to make sure I got them correctly:

"Show Me the Plane That Hit The Pentagon. You Can't Do It!"

"I Wish You Had Not Voted For Bush - GOD."

"Katrina didn't exist. Bush flooded the levees. Know the truth. (then some tiny-printed website I could not make out)"

I ask you: who ARE these people that their lives rise and fall on the vilification of ONE MAN (hey guys, he's out of office soon enough and then your misplaced anger will have to be misdirected onto a new target. Start looking around for one now ~ there is always someone available to blame for all that ills us if we look around with that intention)?

And how did I miss the apparently thriving cottage industry of far~fetched~conspiracy~theory bumper~sticker~makers out there until now?

grouch buster

2006-09-18T23:58:00.000-07:00

Am I the only one who has noticed the stark absence of JOY from the everyday faces around us lately?

You haven't noticed? Really?

There's ample evidence of this grouchy trend: the waiters at various restaurants, the checker at the supermarket, the lawn man, the lady who walks her dog past your house at 6:18 every evening, the news anchors, drivers and passengers of cars around you, the kid who throws your neighbor's newspaper onto your wet lawn every morning. Lotsa people looking like they are under lotsa stress. There is just a hardness and an edge to the expressions of our fellow humans, isn't there?

Conduct this basic, simple experiment today. I promise, you'll notice this trend. Just take a look around while you are driving. Doing errands, dropping the kids ar school, driving to the church, beach, store, infernal post office ~ whatever. Now, don't do it so obviously that you will either a.) get into an accident or b.) risk being on the receiving end of an obscene gesture (or worse!) for overtly staring at someone next to you in a dark Cadillac who may or may not be a member of the mob.

Just gently and discreetly check out the mugs of your fellow drivers on the road. They may be chatting on their cell phones, trying to tame unruly children, or smoking (!), but they are all tending to look pretty darned grim these days.

OK, there are lots of potential reasons for the grouchy faces I've been noticing around me. High gas prices. Maybe that's it. We're at war. That's could be the reason for the grouchy/pained/wan expression epidemic I've been noticing. Possibly. But you know what? Even before airplanes slammed into buildings and then more airplanes delivered bombs over remote mountain caves, even before gas began to cost $17.00 a gallon ~ people were walking around with unhappiness etched deeply into their faces like scars from battle. It is as if a pall of sadness descended on people lately - and I continue to note it around me. And it seems to be worsening.

As for me, I am ebullient by nature. Put me in a car as the driver, and I am utterly content. Add music and I am downright giddy. I find myself just constantly reminded of God and the fact that I am breathing in and out, and am just thrilled to contemplate that miracle most days. Yes, I have troubles, too. No, my life is not perfect. But perfection is not required to experience or share joy, is it? So I tend to CHOOSE joy, choose to find grace and purpose and fun and silliness and hope in the everyday life I lead here in my everyday corner of the everyday world. Even though I am burdened, even when I am bothered, even when...

My response to the current epidemic of palpable grouch has been to smile widely at those people around me. It's my personal effort to spread a little sunshine around and let others know that someone, in that moment, cares about them enough to try to penetrate the cloud cover over their spirit. It's not always effective. Sometimes it is distinctly ineffective. I have had people offer me various fingers or other fascinating gestures in response to my smiles of joy. I have had people frown at me or roll up their car windows or lock their doors in response to me. I have had people look the other way, ignore me, or actually look scared (to their credit, I guess an intently smiley woman can weird you out after awhile), or look at me through their windows as though I was from Venus. No guys, I am not an alien. It's called a smile. Alien. Smile. Very, very different entities.

Never mind.

So today, I venture out onto the streets with another hopeful plan. A plan to influence those around me towards a more joyful place by inducing them to laugh... at me. It is a generally well known thought by those who spend any degree of time with me that music moves me to sing along. Alright, a caveat: GOOD music that I relate to an actually appreciate causes me to sing along. Today, it was the CARS soundtrack Copper bought on Friday for the kids, and especially Dash, who has been utterly taken with Lightening McQueen since we first locked eyes on that movie (it's coming out on DVD November 7th! See? more evidence of the rather useless trivia I have banging around inside my cranium at any given time). The tune "Life Is A Highway" is a delight, an played repeatedly in my car this afternoon (Dash requested it, and I was all too happy to oblige!) Singing it at top volume while also be-bopping my head around and playing air drums on my steering wheel must make me look like quite ridiculous from the average bystander's perspective. Or it could look alarming, as though I have a seizure disorder that also involves singing loudly.

But in any case, my jubilant all-body contact singing seemed to have an unexpected side effect today. It caused spontaneous grins to burst to the surface all around me. Which then fueled my joy even more, and increased my vocals and instrumentals, thereby perpetuating more pleasant (or bewildered, but bewilderment that wore a SMILE) responses around me.

So I venture out with a renewed desire to sing in the car: it delights me and seems to bring joy to the surface for others around me. At least I am doing my part to cure this epidemic of GROUCH before it infects me first.

It is a pre-emptive strike. Well, my own version of it anyway.

phoney baloney

2006-09-13T00:09:00.000-07:00

Something happens here in this house when the phone rings. It is best envisioned somewhere between oblivion, determined denial, and utter contempt. We are, as a family, not phone people. Which is odd, since we both spend a lamentably large portion of time during any given day ON.THE.PHONE.

You see, I am a Realtor. This really means I am a psycho~therapist who sells houses to or for typically overwrought, stressed out people who may or may not genuinely need professional help (which may or may not be a result of trying to navigate this difficult and rather obscenely expensive enclave of California). Granted, the current Real Estate market and the consuming process of transacting business within it is enough to cause a mental breakdown. But must you feel compelled to call to share the intracacies of your Real Estate-induced mental breakdown with your Realtor in excess of eleven times a day? And at my HOME, no less, which is a number I give out only for emergencies. An emotional seller calling me at 9:02 p.m. to ask me to choose between two colors of sage green paint for the walls in her master bathroom (an actual call I received this week, complete with photos sent through my cell phone of both color choices) does NOT constitute an emergency. I mean it. I have learned the value of screening every single call. Because otherwise, it would be me who needs the therapy. A lot of it.

And Copper, my beloved soul mate, is a Police Sergeant. Which, according to our son, Dash, means he spends his working days "catching the bad guys". But it also means that every manner of judge, D.A., officer, dispatcher, supervisor, and administrator calls him at all hours. If I make the diasterous mistake of picking up the phone and speaking with these callers, I am bombarded with a barrage of numbers which are supposed to make potent sense to me: "This is OFC 16734, OIC on the 514 incident at 0937 on Road 14 involving the PC549 and a 5150 subject. Please have Copper call me at my phone: 555-0913."

Sure, got it. Right.

That message, when translated through my brain, ends up as something like this: "Hey Copper, one of the officers called - his last two numbers were 43 or 34. He wants to talk to you about buying a vowel." I just plain give up and don't answer anything that could be from the Police Department under any circumstances, lest I be repsonsible for the destruction of mankind with my inability to decipher and properly relay police speak code.

So Lachen stays away from the phone in general. Couple this with actual WORK going on at my house in addition to the business of parenting, teaching, and loving (often involving rolling around on the ground playing an elaborate game of Jay Jay the Jet Plane) two delightful children, and the phone becomes a fairly perpetually annoying little interruption device. Not a luxury. More like that barky little neighbor's dog that just goes off in the corner about 8 times an hour for no reason whatsoever. That's enough to make bats fly out of your nose some days.

Today was one of those days - can anyone tell? (insert wan smile here)

So I have developed a minor brain storm: get rid of the phone in our house! As in, altogether. Copper and I each have cell phones which are generally stapled to our body most of our waking hours, so why do we need the home phone as well? Because we never answer it anyway, it has become a message repository, not a communication device. And if each of us has an individual cell phone, I will never be forced to impressively blunder an important phone message for my husband from a uniformed officer or court personnel again. I think this NO PHONE concept is not so much desperation as inspiration. Even though I doubt Copper will go for my genius plan, I am getting excited about the possibility.

Because I would like to dream of a home without the constancy of the ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing...

telephone.

Someone else thinks so too...

2006-09-12T23:32:00.000-07:00

...permit me to link to a little news clip from the Chicago Sun Times. Islamic Fascism sure may not be a polite term, but it is dead on accurate if we are paying attention globally, hoenstly, and Biblically, not just politically. (yes, I know... dead horses and something about beating them with a stick... I know, I know...)

Our September eleventh

2006-09-11T09:48:00.000-07:00

grace or gunpoint

2006-09-06T22:52:00.000-07:00

Are we all actually paying attention to the startling growth and vile practices of Fascist, Violently Forced-Upon-Us Islam? Or are we just content to go about our lives with our behinds up in the air and our heads buried in sand up to our necks? Because the rampant "convert or be killed" tactics employed by these people would seem enough to cause alarms to ring throughout the world. Instead, though, it seems there is a collective YAWN resonating from the masses. What on earth is going on? Who gave these people a pass to torture others and force them to convert to THEIR brand of THEIR religion or die? When did we become so content to turn a blind eye to the truth while creating alternative convenient scapegoats (America, anyone?)out of thin air?

Goodnesssakes. Isn't it about time we all collectively, as a family, neighborhood, state, region, nation, WORLD ~ stand against this clear and present danger to our lives, our children's, our freedom, and Biblical truth?

F.I.B. s not just a series of initials - it is the pressing threat that must be faced. And it is the pressing need that must be met. Beause at the core of the F.I.B.'s heart is a lost, vacant soul in need of truth. And love. And whose vacancy can only be overcome through the power, the grace, and the mercy of the cross. I hereby encourage us to PRAY, to BELIEVE, and to LOVE each of these lost souls who seek conversions to Islam at gunpoint. If we fail at sharing the love of Christ with the world, we have not only failed ourselves and those who will remain lost due to our apathy, we will have failed He from whom all blessings flow. Let us replace gunpoint conversions with Gods abiding grace, while we still can...

Because THIS was what I needed to hear...

2006-09-05T21:40:00.000-07:00

This really happened. Can you believe it?

Some people behave like unmitigated idiots. This warped idea of a "prank" is absolutely horrifying. I will be driving to the cleaners in the morning to pick up that trusty purple chenille turtleneck sweater. I might suddenly need it again.

Carpe Laundrum

2006-09-04T00:06:00.000-07:00

Come With Me on a Magical Journey...

Sorta.

Laundry is a passion of mine. For those of you who just read that sentence and snorted (you know who you are), I forgive you. For those who just read that sentence and thought all measure of mean-spirited sentiments in my general direction about needing to get a life, perhaps?, I forgive you too. For those of you who read that sentence and felt your mind drift to a wonderful place where freshly tumbled, vanilla fabric softened clothes swirl around you in a ballet of cozy warmth, you get it. You know. It is so simple, really: dirty, smelly things go in ~~ wait 90 minutes ~~ and lovely, soft, snuggly things come out. It is the antedote to delayed gratification in my world.

We are the few. The proud. The LAUNDERERS.

Actually, you'd never know my love of doing laundry for how seldom the pile ever goes completely away in this house. That is a poor measurement of my enjoyment of this task, in fact, because as much as I do laundry ~ there is always more laundry being made dirty simultaneously. As soon as I empty the basket, it begins filling again. And our baskets tend to fill disporportionately by individual measure here at Casa Lachen. I am the LEAST messy and least laundry producing member of this household. By a LOT. My son, Dash, comes in a distant second, followed closely by his sister, Miss Sauce. Bringing up the rear in unapologetic fashion, is my beloved husband, Copper. Now, I don't mind doing the 712 thousand pounds of laundry that process through my machines annually, but there is one little laundry quirk Copper has which, after nearly 10 years of marrige, continues to baffle and amuse me.

I find this laundry habit of Coppers' fairly giggly: because he fills up the basket in our closet at least twice a week (my clothes are in there too, but I soil 1 thing for every 14 of his), I have to bring that basket to the laundry room twice a week, dump he dirty clothes out into the laundry room baskets, and then bring it back to our closet. Somtimes, our closet laundry basket it stays in the laundry room with me while I fold a load of laundry and then bring it back to our bedroom with me. Sometimes, it stays in there longer because I got distracted while folding said laundry by any number of dawning experiments involving my children, duct tape, toothpaste, and the neighbor's cat which I feel compelled to put the kibosh on immediately.

INEVITABLY, during this time when the laundry basket is temporarily removed from our closet, Copper will throw his dirty clothes onto the ground in our closet where the laundry basket usually sits. As though it is still there when it really is not.

Now, he knows the laundry basket IS NOT THERE.

But he knows it is SUPPOSED to be there.

That is, apparently, enough reason to toss dirty clothes onto that vacant space where the laundry basket is usually, but isn't right now.

He knows where it is, this missing laundry basket. He knows that wifey dragged it to the laundry room because it was full. Mostly of stuff HE put there. He also knows where the laundry room is. Really, he does. The laundry room is located exactly twenty-seven paces away from the closet in our bedroom. Twenty-seven little steps. I measured.

Yet his clothes get blithely tossed into a pile on the floor of our closet where the laundry basket is SUPPOSED to be.
Because that makes sense to my beloved man. My beloved, strange, sweet husband. Who grins like the cat that ate the canary every time I mention this little idiosyncracy of his. He knows. And because he reads my blog semi-regularly (but never comments - ahem!), he extra-specially-super-duper knows.

But just in case, I offered this special map for him tonight, hoping to illustrate how simple a journey this is: this business of walking from our closet (where the laundry basket is NOT) to the laundry room (where the laundry basket IS). I plan to put this little visual aid in the place where the laundry basket USUALLY sits in our closet, hoping for the Mapquest effect. We'll see. I am kind of thinking he may not even see it lying there on the carpet before he throws his dirty shirt on top of it. I love this man. He makes my whole life fun.

MAPQUEST for LACHEN'S LAUNDRY

Starting Location: Lachen's Bedroom Closet

Ending Location: Lachen's Laundry Room

Directions: Go due west for six paces. Cross bathroom floor. Turn right. Walk three paces to bedroom door. Go through bedroom door and turn left. Walk eighteen paces to the laundry room. Enter door and deposit laundry. In a BASKET of some sort.

Our closet laundry Basket: HERE.

Our closet laundry Basket: NOT HERE.

Step One ~ Walking out of our closet

Step Six ~ Walking across our bathroom floor. See how easy this is?

Step somewhere around 20 ~ in the hallway on my way to the laundry room. Does anyone else notice I seem to be walking exclusively on my right foot?

Et Voila! 27 steps from closet to laundry central: we made it!

CARPE LAUNDRUM:

"Seize the Laundry..."

...and put it in a basket.

kindergarten, fox news style

2006-09-03T23:36:00.000-07:00

Tuesday morning at 8:25 (well, as it's us, 8:27) a.m. will find us, well the 5-year old one of us, returning to kindergarten.

Though we experienced both a brilliant and disheartening start to kindergarten, we've committed to give it the old college try and at least weather the full month of September before making any rash decisions about the future of the Family Lachen and Public School Kindergarten. Miss Sauce simultaneously manages to both love and hate it, which harmonizes very well with my own sentiments. We are simply not sure if it is the ideal or appropriate place for our strong~willed, sweet, gifted, vastly intelligent, almost painfully sensitive, ADHD child. The two time-outs she received in class on her second day of instruction (which were appropriate to her behavior and supported by both Copper and I), and the resulting ongoing emotional obsession and anxiety over the last two days about being in trouble at school are leading us to wonder. Again. And again.

More bulletins can be expected here in blogger land as events warrant here in Decision 2006: Kindergartengate. Maybe I should start a rolling scroll at the bottom of my blog page like the news channels do. Here's a little preview of what that might look like on any given day, if the first two are a solid example (you have to imagine this information whirring by you in a blue band at the bottom of your screen, tantalizingly slow...):

8:27 a.m. ~ Miss Sauce arrives for another day of kindergarten *** 10:19 ~ Miss Sauce is still in kindergarten. Reading group, to be precise. The behavioral Treaty of Temperament is still being upheld. *** 11:44 p.m. ~ Miss Sauce is still in kindergarten, but received a dreaded Time~Out. The UN may get involved in peacekeeping efforts. France is considering sending 3 1/2 troops. *** 12:00 ~ Lunchtime. Too many carbs and not enough water may cause restlessness and overexuberance. Warning! This may lead to yet another Time Out. *** 12:48 p.m. ~ Second Time~Out received. The classroom is now on ORANGE ALERT ~ the second highest alert level. Expect Mrs. Thompson to address the nation of Lachen shortly.

Yeah, maybe not.

Pre--D Day

2006-08-29T23:58:00.000-07:00

Well, today is pre-D day. Kindergarten orientation day is upon us. This is the day before kindergarten begins, where all the brand new kindergarten students and their parents meet with Miss Sauce's teacher in their new classroom. We spend an hour there together, familiarizing ourselves with this new reality, and - ideally - coming away with a heightened level of reassurance.

In my case, it is akin to tearing a bandage off of a wound slowly as opposed to all at once. It sounds good in theory, but in actuality, just delays and prolongs the pain. It is the dipping of the toes before tomorrows' big splash into the pool. I prefer just jumping in. But this is not about me.

As tomorrow dawns in 4 minutes, I find myself in prayer, determined to demonstrate to set myself aside to focus wholly on HER. And to satisfy myself in the moment-to-moment commitment to love my child, her teacher, the school personnel, other parents and children, and let the joy of the Lord surprise me.

But, interestingly, Miss Sauce's career in public education may be short-lived after all due to other considerations beyond my longsuffering my heart. Just today (gotta love the kismet timing), our Governor signed into law several bills (with more of the same type on the way) that give far reaching powers to a radical agenda to lawfully inflict themselves onto our children via the public education sphere. Basically, it usurps our rights as parents to educate our children according to OUR belief structure, not an unwelcome, foreign, or improper one.

Well, that is just peachy.

I find myself just simply aghast at the obvious and transparent double standard at work in our public schools. How DARE you brazenly insert your agenda into my child's education, against our will and our collective family religious beliefs and ethics, by mandating adherence to your point of view under penalty of law??!Moral, religious, anti-religious, or ethical agendizing has no place in public school system. It is far better left to families and churches to impart such instruction. Keep your rabid paws off my children's minds and hearts.

Note to the-powers-that-be in Sacramento who believe yourselves so worthy of pushing your brand of ethical and moral instruction onto my children against those held by my family: Are we a land of diversity or not? Why does your moral stand on any religious/moral/ethical/controversial topic have the legal power to trump my own in a PUBLIC EDUCATION SYSTEM when it comes to my child? Shouldn't your attention be primarily upon crafting laws to protect and serve the families who comprise your constituency, not to propagate agendas onto our children at the behest of the few, the proud, the loud, the angry, the self-righteous? And yet you now seek to instill long-reaching punishments for our staunch divergence from your newly established moral/legal standard upon all of us who resist the lemming tendency and refuse to be 'conformed to this world'? Interestingly, the very 'Tolerance' that forms the familiar rallying cry fueling the mechanism by which these troubling laws have been passed, does not extend to those whose religious beliefs or morals prevent us from just merrily going with the program.

Just when I was developing a semblance of peace about kindergarten and the public school journey we will take the first steps of tomorrow, this new happening adds a lamentable and deeply frustrating twist. And once again, the storm clouds start to gather.

observation, not advocation

2006-08-28T12:02:00.000-07:00

So, how many alternating red and white circles must Iran's maniacally-menacing dictator (I'm sorry: "President") brazenly paint on his nation before the target becomes too big to ignore, and the rest of the free world officially tires of this missle-testing, war mongering nonsense and seeks to put a definitive end to it?

Mourning the moment when

2006-08-27T02:22:00.000-07:00

My baby girl has reached the tender age of five and will begin kindergarten at our small neighborhood school this upcoming Thursday morning. Predictably, I have been in pre-emptive mourning about this tragic day for weeks. Nay, months. Even years? My tender heart and the content of my character results in me being ill-equipped to embrace this leg of the journey of my sweet little girl's life. Because as this new kindergarten era dawns, the first chapter of her life decidely closes.

And that hurts. My heart weeps for the bittersweet reality: that her first day of kindergarten is also her last day of carefree, school-free, unscheduled, brilliant, sunshiney, preschool childhood days. Where others may see a "first" happening this week, my heart sees a "last".

And I am inconsolably sad. The brave smile, comforting words, and joyfulness I plan to display out of sheer love for my beloved Miss Sauce on this fateful upcoming Thursday morning will be hollow at best. Because the ache in my soul began the day I first knew my child was growing in my belly. And it will remain long after the bell rings to mark the end of her first day in kindergarten. It will remain until the moment I draw my last breath on this earth. I am her mother. She is my precious child. I love her to the moon. And back again.

But standing with her at this juncture in her life causes me such a deeply painful ache. I pine inside for the moments that have already become a "last" in my little girl's life. And I pray to be allowed the continued priviledge of sharing a lifetime's more. Hopefully one day I will rejoice for her *firsts* without the inevitable lamenting of the *lasts*.

Karen Kingbury's book, "Rejoice" includes this eloquent and heartfelt poem, written to her son on the eve of his wedding:

"Long ago you came to me,
a miracle of firsts.

First smiles and teeth and baby steps,
a sunbeam on the burst.

But one day you will move away and leave to me your past,
And I will be left thinking of a lifetime of your lasts.

The last time that you ran to me, still small enough to hold,
Last time when you said you'd marry me when you grew old…

Precious, simple moments and bright flashes from the past,
Would I have held you longer if I'd known they were the lasts?

I watched you grow and never noticed seasons as they passed.
I wish I could've frozen time, to hold on to your lasts.

For come tomorrow morning life will never be the same…Would I have held on longer… if I had known they were your lasts?"

Lord, please help me find joy, peace, calm, and bravery amidst the pain, longing, uncertainty, and loss clattering around inside my heart. Please help me find shelter in your promises and lead my daughter into the next chapter of her life with strength I borrow from you.

Please help me do this. Amen.

PRAISE GOD!

2006-08-27T01:40:00.000-07:00

Steve Centanni and Olaf Wiig have been released by their kidnappers! Thank you Lord!

Sweater Trek

2006-08-26T16:55:00.000-07:00

Stardate: September 26 point 7.

Dr. Spock stole the sweater and says he lent it to Scotty. Who knows what they are doing with it, because they both have large craniums and the whole "stretchy" factor only goes so far. Mental notes: check Mr. Spock's closet anyway. And all the laundry chutes on level 5.

*~*~*

Yes, it's true. My blessed, purple, chenille turtleneck-shaped security blanket is no longer gracing my body 24 hours a day. I removed it unceremoniously last night and, miraculously, managed to make it through the night without being attacked by zealous Cobras and Pythons. Funny how that happened, since being attacked by poisonous reptiles is otherwise quite a commonplace occurence in my everyday reality.

And Copper. God bless him, he managed to keep his giggly teasing to a minumum, thereby avoiding being attacked by said sweater, as punishment for utter lack of reverance during his wife's continued state of freaskedoutedness over that dumb movie, Whatever-The-Heck-That-Was On A Plane.

Movies tend leave a lasting imprint on me, and I am never quite sure which ones are going to sneak in and make up semi-permanent camp in my psyche. One wonders why I continue to voluntarily go to scary movies at all anymore.

For months after seeing the flick, "Signs" (smashing entertainment, for those who have yet to experience it. It's my all time favorite Shaymalan film), all Copper would have to do is creep up behind me as I walked, lean in close to the back of my neck and make those creepy alien clicking language noises to cause my adrenalin to spike and my insides to pool at my toes, as I ran for cover (usually up the stairs in the DARK, as Copper routinely chooses dimly lit, quite moments like these to scare the daylights out of me).

We have learned two things from those moments:. One, that there is no way can I be held responsible for my actions under those circumstances. And, two: under diress, I seem to have quite good aim (albeit accidentally) with my right hand.

Here's to healing from snake bites...

North Carolina Heat

2006-08-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

WOW. This guy has got it going on!

...wonder if he'd consider moving to California and making a run in this forsaken state.

sweater watch 2006

2006-08-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

Stardate: August 23, 2006.

Day 2: I wore the turtleneck to sleep again last night. Copper actually laughed at me. Or near me, as he said.

But it was really at me.

Tonight I'm taking baby steps. The sweater will be off, but located near enough to the bed where I can grab it in an emergency. What, exactly, constitutes a snake-thoughts-related emergency is to be determined solely at my discretion. And any more giggling Copper does at my expense may result in the sweater being ever-so-gently lobbed in his general direction.

Doggone that movie...

Rumours of Another World

2006-08-22T08:25:00.000-07:00

This book is currently captivating me. Check it out - it fascinates, challenges, and illuminates. Reading it has caused my senses to recognize new glimpses behind the veil from me perch well within the borderlands. What a neat, neat read.

icky~yuck~yuck~ptooey

2006-08-21T11:55:00.000-07:00

Chalk this up as yet another reason I love these turtleneck sweaters.

Forever the victim of bulk shopping culture, I made a run on these lovely chenille, impossibly soft sweaters last Christmas. When they finally went on final clearance sale (because I can't stomach buying something that is NOT on sale if at all humanly possible), I bought one for each female family member and a few for myself, too (howdidthathappen?).

I knew it would get cold in the theater today, and since my body has been struggling to be able to stay warm lately, I decided to wear one of my exactly-the-same-except-for-the-color sweaters on my date night to the movies (well, date" late afternoon" is a more accurate term: we went to the early show with the rest of the geriatrics, in order to be able to pay the el cheapo "twilight price" of $5.50) with my beloved husband. I wore the purple turtleneck sweater, actually, since it matters.

And thank goodness that the material is stretchy, because the turtle part of the turtleneck was up over my face up to my eyes for about two hours. Just long enough to make it through the wretched catastrophe of a movie, "Snakes on a Plane".

OK, I should have known better.

SNAKES. ON. A. PLANE. ~ It's not like I wasn't amply warned.

It's not Shyamalan or Spielberg or Bruckhemier or even Ed Wood. It's formulaic scary thriller movie meets pointlessly sickenning, gratutitously gruesome yuck fest.

Yeah, I didn't care for it too terribly much.

This lovely little psycho serpent film did not make for fantabulous date night entertainment for Lachen and Copper. Although Copper did manage to work himself into a giggly fit watching me squirm, squeal, and try to carve myself into the cushions of my seat or into his seat with him, out of sheer discomfort and desire to avoid etching graphic scenes of angry venomous snakes attacking people in my mind forever. Ooooh, this movie was an amplified experiment in icky~yuck~yuck~ptooey for our friendly neighborhood blogger.

And though I have no one to blame but myself for this voluntary venture into this cinematic catastrophe, images of snakes are haunting me now. It has been now 9.25 hours since the movie ended and I have been yet unable to take this turtleneck off. I dont know why. Possibly, I am even planning to sleep with it on tonight. To ward off psycho snakes~on~airplane dreams. But I think I just might need more than chenille sweater therapy after two hours of the raunchy reptilian torture test today.

I love this turtleneck sweater. Love it.

The valley of the falls

2006-08-20T02:23:00.000-07:00

Fallible: amiss, awry, bad, blamable, blemished, botched, broken, cracked, damaged, defective, deficient, distorted, erroneous, fallacious, faulty, flawed, frail, human, impaired, imperfect, imprecise, inaccurate, inadequate, incomplete, inexact, injured, insufficient, invalid, lame, maimed, malfunctioning, marred, mortal, sick, unfit, unreliable, unsound, warped, weak.

Fibromyalgia: medical events resulting in the acute recognition, through humbling daily phenomena, the depths of your own body's fallibility

Lachen: Rejoicing in God's nearness through this unusual journey, as my body seems to be going on strike at rather inopportune moments again.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I have deliberately not updated the blogosphere on my medical situation for awhile because I am hesitant to focus attention on it, frankly, as though talking about it openly somehow makes it more real. And since I am emerging from a period of time delightfully bereft of intolerable levels of pain, medical catalysts, injuries, or doctor visits, it has been an appropriate time to give myself a break from this topic. However, as I sense that temporary but blissful state of grace ebbing and have begun to encounter pain again as I undertake simple, everyday tasks, I again confront this condition head on. Even as I fight this with all my might and want so badly to be healed from it - to find the way out of the pain that accompanies such little things as getting up from a seated position or grasping a cup, I also have this strange sense of peace about the Firbromyalgia, Reynaud's Disease, and Migraine Disorder combination that grips the edges of my body and occasionally shakes me.

I desire to live in harmony with this disease, denying nothing, but also in relentless pursuit of God's total and utter ability to take this cup from me if it is His will. Evidently, it is not His plan for me to be healed from this... yet.

*~*

So, while I pursue healing, I also find peace in these present places of unhealth. Because I am not alone in this Valley, and this leg of the journey, however unpleasant it is for me physically at this very moment, is not without a purpose beyond my understanding or appreciation.

*~*

That is enough to get me through to the other side of this particular mountain. Where I've heard there are some greener pastures. And maybe even a glorious palm tree studded beach.

eight men out of the ordinary

2006-08-17T21:05:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been in the presence of God so tangibly that the earth seemed to stand still?

I have been. About a dozen times, most notably (and predictably) at the births of each of my children and the day I stood, sunburnt, before the man God appointed for me and made a promise to love, honor, and obey (yes, we each said 'obey'. People audibly gasped and one lady about fell off her chair. It's California...) one another for the rest of our time on this earth.

But last night, there was no great cause. No child emerged from my womb, no marriage vows were exchanged, no gargantuan historical moments of human experience came to pass.

Just seven people, huddled together on the darkened alter of our church after worship team practice, praying. Praying as we have done each Wednesday night at about 9:00 p.m. for the last few years. Praying in joy, pain, petition, and thanks. Praying. Just opening our hearts and pouring them out to the God of the universe.

Last night, as one of our women singers began to pray, each word she spoke seemed to have emerged from a lyrical comingling of Romans, Matthew, Philippians, and the Psalms. I heard echoes of the apostle Paul in her utterances and suddenly understood with new clarity the difference between your garden variety prayer, and the God-given spiritual gift of intercession. Whoa.

Now, I cannot tell you what this woman said. I don't recall her words, and I know that she is not a particularly eloquent or verbose in everyday conversation. She is not a preacher or a public speaker. She is just a simple, complex, relatable, amazing woman of God. But as this woman spoke last evening, I felt the earth tremble, the trees bending to hear her, and there was just a deafening silence, and the Lord's presence just absolutely descended on us all, as we sat cross-legged together on that stage. I wept, not because I am a girl or because I am easily moved to emotions (both true statements), but because God was undeniably with us. And in that moment, our prayer became conversation with our father, not a contrivance of religion. It became not a mechanism, but a miracle.

Thus occured a miraculous moment in an ordinary Wednesday night, as the breath of heaven swept in amidst seven little human beings, sitting cross legged on the stage of a church with our eyes closed and our hearts open. Ordinary prayer on a typical night with the usual suspects came to an abrupt end when, at 5 minutes past nine last night, our group of seven praying souls gained an eighth. God was in the house.

"For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them." ~ Matthew 18:20.

Amen.

Dogged

2006-08-15T21:05:00.000-07:00

A&E channel has been running a Dog The Bounty Hunter Marathon tonight.

My behind has managed to etch a semi-permanent indention in my chenille rocking chair cushions over the last three hours. The episode where Duane finally married Beth, but that very same day, his daughter tragically died, moved me to tears.

I need therapy.

Glorious Goonies...

2006-08-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

OK. Fess up.

Who else absolutely loves this movie and, when it first came out in our tender pre-pubescent years (make that 26 years ago. TWENTY-SIX YEARS) - wanted to go live on the Oregon coast just to get a chance to have so much fun in the pouring rain, hunting pirate treasure?

F.I.B.'s + P.I.T.B = J.D.F.T.T.

2006-08-14T10:13:00.000-07:00

OK, so the F.I.B. terrorists strike again. Well, they don't strike. They plan to strike, get ready to strike, but manage to fumble and get ratted out, and the Brit's nail their collective behinds before any more innocent human beings perish on exploding airplanes. Sadly, these are the days we live in, where the clear and present threat of liquid bombs in the hands of F.I.B.'s. is not something of a Hollywood Bruckheimer film, but our collective, international reality.

Busy, busy, busy little F.I.B. terrorists.

An F.I.B., you ask? What the heck is an F.I.B., Lachen?

Well, F.I.B., you see, stands for Fascist Islamic Bastard. Now before you react in anger or shock with one of the following requisite and expected 3 protest utterances to my using this phrase, I will offer these pre-emptive rebuttals:

1.) Protest One: But Lachen, "bastard" is a vulgar curse word and totally unbecoming a woman who says she wants to live a life in harmony with Christ's example!

"Bastard" means, at its heart, a child born illegitimately, out of the family structure, and without the inheritance guaranteed therein. (I do not mean this as a slight towards ANY of the single parents I know and love and their blessed children I adore - this is a philosophical discourse). In seeking to somehow accurately define the morally and bankrupt souls who run around the planet trying to blow themselves up nearest to as many of us as possible in order to effect a more deadly mass murder, it is dead on accurate. These people are only unto themselves. They have no God, no religion, no family, no faith, no morals that are collectively held by anyone except themselves. They do not speak for Islam or for a country or ethnicity. They act only as illegitimate barbarians, borrowing tenets from Islam and methods from Hitler in continuing efforts to cover their own barren souls with something that sounds bigger than they know they are.

They are illegitimate. They exist outside the structure and boundaries we acknowledge as collectively, historically, and morally suitable to qualify for inclusion under the banner of "humanity".

They are, in all sense of the word, "bastards."

And you're right - I aim not to use curse words in general. I have failed miraculously at times and repented for each utterance. I don't believe vulgarity reflects terribly well on the intelligence of the one from whose mouth pours those filthy words, and I certainly do not find it reflective of Jesus Christ for me to go around calling people He created, bad names. But my use of "bastard" is akin to calling a dog, a dog. A fish, a fish. A blonde thirty-three year old woman, a blonde thirty-three year old woman. It is simply an accurate manner of classifying these terrorist guys, not a means of degradation or vulgarity. It is not disparity, it is definition.

2.) Protest Two: Oh no, Lachen! You're stereotyping all Muslims and the religion of Islam by this one group of terrorist wackos. You're displaying ignorance.

First of all, if I can't call them wackos, neither can you. And please don't call me ignorant - ignorance is what causes people to board planes with liquid bombs, not what causes the rest of us to engage in conversation about that stark reality.

Secondly, the deeply held beliefs about the religion and practice of Islam I hold and have shared with you all, which are drawn from my understanding of and daily immersion in Biblical truth and love of God, are not applicable here. I believe it is a big fat lie. Salvation is only through Jesus and Jesus + ANYTHING ELSE is a big fat lie.

But aside from that, this whole "blowing up of planes" trend in the Terrorist Weekly Playbook has only to do with Islam in that these Evian-suicide-bomber-dudes claim Islam as their rallying cry, Allah as their author, and Mohammed as their leader. Well, Mohammed and Osama, that is. Lovely little combination, that: ancient, historical figure and religious prophet meets modern day genocidal maniac. Try making sense of that explosive juxtaposition. The mental and spiritual exercise may lead you to some interesting forays.

FascistIslamic is one word in my definition. There is Islam, and then there is the radical barbary of terrorism that FascistIslam represents.

If these bomb-happy guys were a bunch of lunatic Christians or overzealous Jews or lost Atheists, the initials by which I refer to them would change, corresponding to the religion they are hijacking as their "cause". It would become "F.C.B.'s" or "F.J.B.'s" or "F.A.B.'s". Because this is not about Islam or any religion at all, since these people exist outside of any acknowledged or accepted family of religious beliefs and practices I am aware of on this planet. Certainly, no legitimately established religion, church, mosque, temple, teachings, or tradition advocates the senseless unmitigated murder of as many people as possible in the name of God, other than the rare but rabidly violent radical bizzaro sectarian fringes from which these terrorists hail.

3.) Protest Three: But Lachen, isn't that a dismissive way of looking at these guys? Isn't the term "F.I.B." rather flippant and not loving? Isn't there another way to address this issue?

Sure. You're right: it is a bit flippant, and there are lots of other ways of approaching this. But it is not dismissive. And it gets me to the heart of the matter immediately.

Using the term F.I.B. is my way of realizing that when people are lost, without family, faith, or foundation, they really do feel cast away in the world - like bastard orphans. When they do not know Christ, know hope, know truth - I can understand how they might feel tempted to buy themselves out of this life with a terrorist act of quasi-religious "martyrdom". I can see the scales in their impressionable, passionate, zealous, poisoned minds balancing the reality of an ordinary, stifled, life based in legalism and the attempt to achieve the sacred amidst the profane here on earth vs. the larger-than-life promises of a bevy of 1000 virgins waiting for them in paradise after they have "martyred" themselves and taken out a few hundred others with them. I can see that, with nothing live for, these individuals are choosing something to die for.

I see all of that. Not only with my eyes, but with my heart.

And I am reminded that, if we really want to know the solution to this rampant death-mongering we've got going in the world lately, we need to be saturated in and offering in spades - the hope that only comes from one source: Jesus. Because it is THE ONLY THING that will heal the hearts of the wicked and lost and encourage those of us who find ourselves in the crosshairs of the violent expression of that lost wicknedness, and are becoming a bit paralyzed by our fear and forgetting to love.

When I write about the F.I.B's, I am starkly reminded of my own humanity - my own basest instinct to seek for these guys the VERY WORST possible retribution for their plans to destroy human beings. I would wish for them to perish from the face of the earth: for God's wrath to be poured out on them or for them to be sucked up into some F.I.B. vortex or something. Obliteration. Righteous retribution. Salvation from their evil.

But wait a minute. That's what my human heart, Lachen's omnipresent sin nature, says. That's not what God says.

Yes, ultimately, God is coming back to get us. He promises that He will not leave us here indefinitely to suffer, struggle, and die. He assures us of our inheritance, and He assures us of His enduring love and a plan for our lives. A PLAN. Authored by the LORD! Isn't that especially comforting right now, when the world seems to be writing it's own playbook in complete absence of a workable, long term plan? GOD HAS A PLAN. He has not forgotten that we are here, loving others as He taught us, and trying to be lighthouses to the life-altering, miraculous fact that there IS a way out of this mess.

It's called Jesus. And it is available to ANYONE. Even F.I.B.'s. But they'll never know that if the Lachen plan of suck-them-into-a-vortex-of-righteous-obliteration is put into effect. This is yet another reason why I am glad I don't run the world. Because acting on my human instincts would so often be a grievous affront to my Lord and would get us all into a heap of trouble.

The truth is: the F.I.B.'s are a pain in the behind (P.I.T.B.), but Jesus loves them too. Moreover, He died for them too (J.D.F.T.T. - see the pieces in the title-of-this-post puzzle fall into place?) so that they may also inherit the Kingdom of God. These same people that want to kill us are who HE DIED FOR, too. These guys running around with hate-filled hearts and agendas of righteous murder are HIS CREATION, too. Are HIS CHILDREN, too. Are not throwaways. Are not orphans. Are not worthless. They may be pains in the behind, they may be fascist bastards, but they are God's children too. They just don't know it yet.

Maybe we are too angry. I certainly am. Maybe we are too busy. Guilty again. Maybe we have lost our faith or lost the taste of sharing Christ with people who most need what He offers, but are the least likely candidates to open our hearts to, by our estimations. Maybe we just don't care anymore. Maybe we'd rather give them death than give them the key to everlasting life.

Maybe we've forgotten the Great Commission. Or maybe it is just back burnered. Maybe we have forgotten how to love. Or maybe that is reserved for people who don't seek to kill us. Certainly that is not how Jesus loved - even to the end, seeking God's pardon for those who nailed his own hands to the cross. Maybe we have forgotten how to share this bread of life we have with others.

No matter how fascist,
no matter that they are bastards,
no matter how evil,
no matter how the seek for our destruction,
no matter how foreign,
no matter...

what.

So that they too can find shelter under the wing of the Lord and be transformed: that they, too may be taught that they can exchange their bastard state for that of a beloved child, their fascist sins for the redemption of the Cross, and where they once were lost, now can be found.

Because, you see, even though F.I.B.'s are a P.I.T.B., J.D.F.T.T.

Newsflash: groping gardener gets the ax

2006-08-14T09:22:00.000-07:00

Just thought you'd want to know how that lovely little situation was "resolved" this morning by my mom. May his hands stick to weeding lawns, not grasping tushies.

Note to my Mom's gardener

2006-08-10T11:23:00.000-07:00

Regardless of your nationality, our language barrier, or whatever other factors precipitated your unbelievable action ~ when I ask you to please not use the gas blower because my son is napping, it does not mean, "please take this opportunity to put your hand on my rear end and squeeze."

Gardener, meet the business end of Lachen's Anger.

Man, that was an incredibly disconcerting experience. I came away from what should have been a benign, everyday conversation feeling violated, livid, sad, and a little bit bewildered. I even pondered for a brief second whether or not I had anything to do with his aggregious trespass by inviting it? Right. I mean, I know my pajama pants, T-shirt, sleepy hair and unbrushed teeth were irresistably alluring, but c'mon...

Ugh. What a way to begin the day.

Chanel or $12.00 crackers?

2006-08-08T23:01:00.000-07:00

Airplane travel has never been one of my, let's say, top 10 favorite things to do on the earth. It's a means to an end, really. And since the end usually justifies the means in our case because it almost always involves someplace warm, with lots of white sand beaches, a few fish, and dynamite sunsets over turquoise seas, we cope with the air travel part of the equation.

But the whole 'traveling process' does not thrill me, I gotta be honest. It begins with the "thinking about what to pack" part, then progresses to the actual packing part (in our case, this progress is painfully slow since we almost always pack less than 12 hours before our plane actually departs. It's not always our fault, since everything we chose in the "thinking about packing" part of this whole ordeal is usually in the laundry when it comes time to fold it neatly and pack it away into a suitcase). Then comes the packing the luggage into the car, checking the house for the inevitable one thing you are going to forget no matter how many times you check the house, getting everyone safely buckled into the car only to have to undo at least one child's seat, get them out, unlock the house, and accompany them to the bathroom. Again. Then, it's driving to the airport, finding the only available parking space which is happily located in the furthest parking lot from civilization imaginable, schlepping all your marvelously packed suitcases, laptops, and carry ons (which, if you're me, usually contain a comfy pillow, supply of tart candies, and at least one Dr. Pepper) to the airport. Along with your children, who seem to be determined to work against you in this endeavor, and their 47 toys, diapers, bottles, necessities, and trifles. The then whole dance of porter services, another bathroom break or two, waiting in line to get to the check in counter only to be told your checked luggage is 4 ounces overweight requiring a $50.00 additional fee for overweight baggage, payable-immediately-and-they-do-take-cash.

Mentally berating yourself for having packed that extra pair of socks (now worth $50) that threw your bags over into the "FAT" category, you make it to the airport line for X-ray check in. This is the line that moves at the speed of light. Yeah, "light" cargo strapped to the backs of little snails. During which time someone in your party has to use the bathroom again. And someone else decides to show their disdain for the waiting process by running for the hills in the opposite direction you are going while trying to pull off their diaper and fling it at innocent passengers. Finally, you find yourself at the front of the X-ray line, where everything you are carrying, holding, wearing over your clothes, is draped over your shoulders, in your pockets, on your ears, holding up your pants, being worn on your feet, or you have given birth to is summarily required to be stripped off and scanned. And your perfectly packed laptop, purse, diaper/carry on bag is opened, perused, and then scrunched into little sterile containers for the trip through the X-ray machine and then wiped down with bomb detecting discs.

Once you and your two and five year old children are determined not to be a threat to national security and allowed to proceed forward, you reassemble yourself and repack, under a copious time constraint, the various items you had once packed so nicely earlier at a leisurely pace, and find yourself... at another X-ray check point.

After repeating the above scenarios several times, you reach your gate and find yourself in one of two predicaments. Either you've arrived too early and will need to find a way to pacify the restless natives while trying to stave off the threat of your prickling legs refusing to function altogether, but do not have enough time or energy to wander back through the airport maze to the last place you noticed there might be a morsel of food available for purchase along with a magazine or two and maybe even a roll of Mentos. OR... you are running to the gate carrying kids on each hip while your poor longsuffering husband is burdened with every scrap of luggage you brought, down the longest hallway ever designed for airports, with no help from those flat escalator helpy walky thingys in the middle of nowhere that seem so popular with every airport but the one you happen to be in. Everyone around you seems to be operating at warp speed except for you and all those traveling with you. Worse, your gate happens to be the one next to the airport Chili's. The delicious food smells waft tantalizingly in your nostrils as your family of roadrunners sprints down the jetway to the airplane trailing items from gaping bags left open by airport security that you had hoped would actually make it to your destination with you.

Finally, you're on the plane, mauevering frontally through an aisle apparently designed for traveling sideways. After pole vaulting your carry on's into the 6 centimeters of space left in the overhead compartment, you settle yourself and the kids into seats designed to allow every angle of your body to unpleasantly invade the personal space of each adjacent passenger. And buckle up for a long flight in cramped quarters.

During which, we were dismayed to learn last month, it is now becoming standard airline policy to NOT offer a meal. As in, AT ALL. On our 5 hour and 15 minute American Airlines flight which spanned over midmorning and lunch time, no food was served whatsoever. Midway through the flight, drinks and a "snack pack" was offered to us at a cost of $12.00. The snack pack contained miniature packages of Ritz crackers and Oreos and some peanuts. I think it broke down to $1.00 per cookie or a quarter per peanut. Lovely. I simply would not pay $12.00 for that meager "snack pack" on principle. $12.00 typically buys a decent dinner at any given budget restaurant - no way was I shelling out twelve bucks for a few nuts and nibbles.

And considering that airfare costs are rising everyday in seemingly direct ratio with the burdening hassle and inconvenience factors, it is disheartening to realize the services we once took for granted (like food and water on long flight) are now starkly absent. Or they've been replaced by a craptastic snacky packy thingy for an extra fee of $12.00. What is the new plan here? To hold the small amount of food on board for ransom to the highest bidders?

But to add insult to injury was the airline magazine in the on-board seat pocket, which included a long article highlighting the delightful new trend that was being noticed by the airlines: dressing up for air travel. The article detailed the increasing numbers of travelers that are apparently wearing formal, dressy attire, complete with heels and glitzy jewelry, in order to mark the occasion of sitting on their behinds for any number of hours.

I'm sorry, but when the airlines fawn over the fact that people are wearing cashmere and Chanel as they occupy their seats while simultaneously denying passengers food and drink for 5+ hours at a stretch, there appears to be a strong disconnect between the airline industry and, say, REALITY.

welcome Elisabet

2006-08-03T13:29:00.000-07:00

Miss Sauce has a deeply tender heart for children. She reaches out to children at the park who are playing alone, notices and seeks to comfort each crying baby we encounter, is impacted to her core when children are hurting around her, and - lately - cannot be in the room when the TV is turned onto the news, because she asks, "are the bombs and smoke hurting children, Mama?" with teary eyes and a wise little face.

Gulp.

Over the past few months, she has increasingly shared her ardent vocal distress that there are children who do not have enough to eat, a place to sleep, medicine, clean water, school, or sometimes - anyone in the whole wide world to love them. Last night, she hit a fever pitch. She became overwhelmed at dinner and began sobbing over her burrito. She decided that she wanted to send all our food to the "hungry children with swollen bellies." All of it. Right now.

She announced that we have too much and they had too little, "Those children are hungry, Mama!" She bounded up from the dinner table and tried to pack a box with everything from bananas to cans of split pea soup. When she was done, she demanded packing tape and stamps. She was going to send our food where it could nourish tiny little bodies that are so, so hungry. Never mind that she had no idea where that was - she was mailing this package. Anywhere. Everywhere. Just to help the children she loves without having ever met them. Because that is her heart's desire. And she had utter faith that if she gave her Mommy the box of food, surely I would know how to get it into the children who need it so much?

Well, actually, I do.

My heart and mind was flooded with her compassion. Although Copper and I had talked about the possibility of sponsoring a child some time ago, we thought the kids were too young to truly appreciate the phenomenon and reality and hope and need and committment. Quite evidently, we were wrong. Miss Sauce is there now. She understands the need and she wants to respond with her whole heart. Isn't it our job to help her hone that raw desire into a practical application with real power to change the world for, at least, two tiny children who share it?

So, today, our family has a new member. Miss Sauce has a new friend. Today, we adopted Elisabet. Through sponsorship at Christian Children's fund, we have added to our family a child from Indonesia. And my beloved daughter now can see the world through the eyes of another little girl. And love her with her whole heart (which today, consists of putting the entire contents of her piggy bank into an envelope to mail to Elisabet and making art projects to share with her - so far, she has produced 17 large hearts cut out of art paper, and a big cross made of pipe cleaners and sparkly stickers).

Today, my heart is singing. And my child has, again, taught her Mommy how to live.

adventures of a selective wimp

2006-08-02T23:56:00.000-07:00

In my 33-years on this planet, I have been afraid of very little that can commonly cause squeamishness in my peers. Particularly my fellow FEMALE peers.

Mice? No worries.

Rats? They're just bigger mice.

Bats? Love them. Genuinely. I find bats fascinating, meek, sweet little critters.

I think we've already soundly established my abiding comfort level with possums. This extends to raccoons and the whole rest of the general "varmint" category (squirrels, gophers, rabbits, beavers, the occasional badger...)

Snails and slugs? Please.

Snakes? Well, the really poisonous ones don't live in California. And the one type of poisonous snake we have here has a loud rattle on the end of his tail. That's fairly easily avoidable.

Frogs, lizards, geckos and other assorted amphibians? I've been peed on by more than one grouchy froggie. And it is well known that when we visit Maui, I have known to keep our windows open all night to allow geckos to freely move in and out at will.

But there are two living things on this earth that will send me packing to the hills: sspiders and bees.

When we moved into this newly constructed house, we discovered that our dream home was built near established nesting grounds of a wonderful little deadly spider known as the Black Widow. That first hot summer, the unhappily displaced spiders swarmed around the perimeter of our house, effectively convincing me of two things. One, that spiders are totally capable of revenge. And two, that Motel Six looks increasingly outstanding when you are facing the lethal spider gauntlet of 2002. The official black widow death count for that horrifying summer of fear stands at 237.

Two hundred.

And thirty seven.

Spiders.

I don't care who you are, that's a lot of spiders. And even I didn't already have a well established fear of spiders (which, who are we kidding? spiders have just plain freaked me out since I learned what they were), that many deadly little crawly things running around my yard definitely sent me into shivering retreat.

And bees. Bees sting you. It's what they do, I'm convinced. They sneak up on you, think you're a flower to pollinate, get irked when you're not, and then sting you. Bees are mean. I sure do have respect for their place in the circle of life. As long as I am in the rectangle part while they are busy doing whatever they are doing over there in the circle. I have only been stung by a bee once - when I was five. I accidentally stepped on him and he let me know that was not going to fly. It was then that my allergy to bee stings was discovered. Thus, bees were added to my short list of things I do not play well with.

So we have established that I am not a gigantic wimp. Rather, I am a selective wimp. That is certainly respectable.

All this is to plead that the fact that when I encountered a black widow spider AND his buzzing bee entourage in my backyard this afternoon, which sent me running into the house at lightening speed while emitting a high-pitched squeal, that should been viewed with the appropriate level of respect. Because if I came across a cougar with snails, mice, and snakes on his back, that would have been fine. Weird, but fine. But a whompas black widow spider AND several big black buzzy bees basically constitute my personal critter apocalypse.

My children thought it was highly hilarious, chasing me and laughing. Disrespectful little boogers. But I happen to know that Miss Sauce has an avid fear of snakes, volcanoes, and the act of toilet flushing ~ which sends her into a complete panic. And my little one, Dash, is currently afraid of a vast array of things ranging from the opening credits of Peter Pan to the sound of the neighbor's truck warming up in the driveway. So neener, neener, neener.

Laugh at me, will ya?

Sheesh. Next time we go outside, I am betting my 2 and 5~year old children will have to comfort me. After they're done giggling, that is.

forgive us our sins

2006-08-01T23:14:00.000-07:00

OK. Yeah, Mel? You might not want to be drunk again. Ever.

Because when you make a mistake out loud like that, the veritable feeding frenzy begins. And you'd be advised to learn the skill of dodging stones that are being hurled at you from all directions.

The story-of-the-week is that Mel Gibson spewed an ugly outburst concerning, among other things, Jewish people, while he was drunk. This afternoon, both FOX and CNN actually broke into the news coverage of the Israel-Hezbollah war and the situation with Fidel Castro at regular intervals to let us in on the latest VIP's opinion on Mr. Mel's apparently internationally newsworthy drunken-induced lapse of moral character.

Um, guys? He's a guy who got drunk and said some really stupid stuff.

Yes, he's an actor and producer and he is famous and that matters more because we make it matter more. I get it. Sure.

But you'd think he was the leader of the free world for all this hoopla being paid to this one man. He is AN ACTOR, people: one human being on the face of this wide planet who uttered a nonsensical, illogical rant while he was under the influence of alcohol that contained racist elements that slandered Jews. It was a terrible thing to say, absolutely. But he was drunk when he said it. Though his drunkenness and drunk DRIVING arrest lowers my general respect for him, I hardly think that the words issued by someone when they are under the influence can be said to represent the content of their character. Ridiculously drunk people are not generally known to be a.) astute, b.) kind, or c.) conservative with their words and action, but I digress. Drinking tends to lead to appalling errors of judgement. It does not excuse him, and it does not relieve him of the responsibility for his actions, but it does provide a backdrop upon which to view this transgression.

And keep in mind we have ALL said some awfully dumb things, even hateful or name calling stuff. Stop denying it. I have, absolutely. You have, too.

Maybe our words did not come against a certain population of people in the form of drunken racist rants, but each one of us, if we look in our hearts with an eye towards truth, is no better than Mel. Including me. Remember when I called Cindy Sheehan a daft old bat? (you don't? well, I did. Quite a few times, actually.) And I meant every word of it - I wasn't even drunk when I spoke, like Mel was. I said those things on purpose and without regret. Well, for awhile. I regretted it later, quite suddenly and markedly. Even though she IS out to lunch, there are kinder ways of expressing that sad truth than denigrating her in the same manner she denigrates others. I said hurtful, mean, stupid things about people without knowing them. I am just as guilty as Mel Gibson.

Individual sins are only specific manifestations of the real issue of sin. So I stake my claim on the sin of this man as my own. I am NO BETTER THAN MEL. And neither are the vast majority of us who have been gleefully and with malice casting an awful lot of stones in his direction this week. We are such hypocrites, the lot of us.

I am far less impressed with our individual failures as human beings than I am with the humility and courage this man has displayed in seeking to take for the wounds his ugly words have caused to others. I am humbled by his earnest desire to be reconciled and his passionate quest for forgiveness. I was moved by his broken heart today, as he openly spoke in apology, asking for audience with those his words. This fellow Christian brother is clearly despondent and aware of the ramifications of his hateful words, and seeks to reconcile himself and make amends for the hurt he caused. Especially amidst the Jewish community of the world. Especially right now. I am filled with hope and even joy at this example of the brokenness of human beings - how we can fail so miserably sometimes, but how we can also humble ourselves, realize our transgressions, and seek forgiveness.

Anyone who does not have it in their heart to forgive Mel is invited to offer me an explanation, please. I do not understand those who deny compassion to someone in the face his heartfelt repentance.

of red strings and man bikinis

2006-07-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

If the guy who followed me around the local beach for two hours on Saturday had not been wearing an ill-fitted black patent leather Speedo and was not also copiously drunk-out-of-his-George Hamilton-tanned-mind, his rantings about Kaballah being the only true way to spiritual enlightenment may have fallen on slightly less deaf ears.

Note to guy: Love your perseverance, man. But lose the Speedo, drink less Jack, rethink the whole scary "stalker" approach to your oceanside conversion attempts (lest your next intended target be inspired to break out the mace and aim it in the general direction of your red string bracelet), and let's regroup. Under slightly less unnerving circumstances, I may have been able to actually engage with and hear you. Instead, I spent the majority of my time taking mental notes of exit strategies and attempting to see if there was a weapon hidden in that Speedo anywhere without actually making eye contact with said Speedo (since looking directly at a man~bikini, much like the sun, must be avoided entirely lest it cause blindness). The dude kind of scared the bewhoozies out of me.

Same beach, more clothes, less wine, far less of the scary hovering~following~cornering~stalking thing, and you've got a much more productive dynamic for an ensuing discussion of man's existential dilemma and God's role in healing humanity's "universal fracture from spirit".

At least I think that's what he said.

Graffiti Guilting/ Random Acts Checkpoint

2006-07-29T13:45:00.000-07:00

Ok, all you 842 people who have visited my blog over the last week and didn't leave a comment, you are starting to give me a complex. I am thus inspired to actively solicit graffiti from my visitors to this post. The COMMENTS section has been utterly slacking and I am feeling lonely. So this post exists simply to invite each of you who treads here over the next ltitle while to just offer me a friendly greeting. A jaunty wave in the blosphere to lift me from my forlorn state of lack-of-comment-ness.

So, won't you please post a "hello, Malcom was here" (esque) acknowledgement of your visit? It doesn't even have to be spelled correctly, though brownie points and stickers may be handed out. ESPECIALLY if you also include your latest attempts and happenings in the blog challenge I issued for July: To Commit Random Acts of Beauty and Kindness. Please share your amazing stories grace-filled actions here for the world (well, my teensy corner of it) to be able to celebrate with you.

this one time, at band camp...

2006-07-28T21:53:00.000-07:00

...my little 5 year old daughter became exposed to a lovely little dangerous virus.

And it's not band camp, it is a two week summer day camp. A divine place of summer frolicking, music, dancing, games, sports, and lots of time in the sparkling swimming pool. She has been looking forward to this for eons and it finally arrived, greeted with jumping-up-down-in-giggly-unrestrained-glee fanfare, at our house this Monday morning.

And by Friday afternoon, we are HIB exposed. When I arrived to pick up Miss Sauce (the child formerly know as La La is now "Miss Sauce". No, you didn't miss a voting session concerning her new blog nickname. I made an executive decision and am feeling a bit drunk with power) at the pool today, I am handed a lengthy letter from the camp director. The first line in particulay is comfortingly non-alarming, especially since we know the child who came down ill. She was the one playing hand in hand with my daughter all week long:

"Your child may have been exposed to Hemophilius Influenza or HIB disease while at camp. A member of her OWLS class has become ill with HIB and may have exposed your child. Children who have not been immunized have a higher chance of contracting this disease.

What are the symptoms of Hib disease?
Symptoms may include fever, lethargy, vomiting, and a stiff neck. Other symptoms depend upon the part of the body affected.

How soon after infection do symptoms appear?
Symptoms often appear less than 10 days after exposure, usually within 2 to 4 days.

When and for how long is a person able to spread Hib disease?
The contagious period varies and, unless treated, may persist for as long as the organism is present in the nose and throat, even after symptoms have disappeared.

How is Hib disease diagnosed?
Hib disease is diagnosed by isolating the bacteria from blood, spinal fluid, or other tissue.

What is the treatment for Hib disease?
Antibiotics such as ampicillin or chloramphenicol are generally used to treat serious infections. Rifampin is used to treat people who may be carrying the germ."

Does anyone know if COSTCO sells large, sterile, child-sized plastic bubbles?

Oh yeah, and also SPF 450 sunblock? That would be super helpful about now. (I know. I am complaining about the heat. Again. But maybe that's because I am becoming convinced that the sun has, perhaps, gotten lost and ventured a ltitle too close to our general neck of the woods. When the digits of the temperatures outside eclipse my tping speed w.p.m., we are in BIG trouble).

Sheesh.

Amplify The Light

2006-07-26T14:38:00.000-07:00

I have hesitated to post about the current war between Israel and Lebanon, which has permeated much of my prayer and thoughtful moments this past few weeks, as I imagine it has for many. The human beings are dying on streets much like ours, in towns and houses and seaside villages like our own, with children just like ours, and hopes to live in peace just like we do. Those are children, men, women, entire communities losing their lives for a war they do not support, understand, or want. People are dying and being pumelled with rockets even as I write this. It makes my stomach want to turn inside out and just SCREAM with beastial ferocity.

My heart is mournful for this wanton death, for war, destruction, and the overzealoius pursuit of conquering egos and ideologies at play in these two nations whose borders contain innocent people caught in the crossfire.

I have not hesitated because I have no opinion, no thought, nothing to add, no prayer, no meaningful gesture of hope. I have hesitated because I am weary. I have hesitated because I am not sure I am willing to engage in a discussion of this present war from my decidely un-bullet-riddled vantage. I have hesitated because I want to offer something of value to those in harms' way - something of peace and love and God, who has not abandoned either Lebanon or Israel, even as they singe one another and cause such deep pain to their nations, to their people, to their future.

I have hesitated because I believe that we should speak only as it improves the silence. And because I believe that we should be circumspect in choosing to voice our positions about a war when that war is wracking up casualities hourly. Since I have no brilliant, magical solution to this current crisis, I have felt myself slipping into uneasy and conflicted silence. I find myself wanting to loudly exclaim my love for the Lebanese and Israeli people. I wish I could just lift out the heart of Lebanon and Israel and carry it to a safe, peaceful land, one where the precious children of those nations not live in fear of the reality of war in their own backyards. I want to love BOTH sides of this conflict. I reject becoming mired in the "well, Israel over-reacted", or, "Lebanon gave Hezbollah legitimacy" discourse. Though I am sure those are worthy discussions, they don't get to the heart of it, and accomplish little more than to solidfy the Us Vs. Them mentality that permeates much of the historical Middle Esatern conflict since the days Jesus walked the sands of Galilee.

On the left: Isreali children inscribing bombs to be dropped in Lebanon **** On the right: Hezbollah trainees in Labanon, some as young as 8

Instead, I've been reading and I've been calling, emailing, writing, and praying.

Reading: writings from the countries and regions in conflict - from people who are neck-deep in this particular war and those with God-inspired commentary to offer. Whoa. Talk about a revolution in thought. I want to know these people, to understand their hearts, their souls, their anguish, their need, their hope. I want to make their struggle, MY struggle. I do not want to delude myself into thinking that because we do not have bomb fragments imbedded in our homes and the peace of my family is not under seige at this very moment, that this is somehow not my war - not my concern. What is happening in Israel and Lebanon calls out to all human beings who seek after the Lord Jesus Christ to love one another. To respond in that love.

Calling, writing, and emailing: the State Department (48 minute hold time), my Congresswoman, the White House, the Red Cross, World Vision, among others - asking how I can help the people of this war. My heart is convicted and I am done being quiet. But I seek to end the silence not with words, but with actions. We can all do something. A raging waterfall begins with one tiny dewdrop of water that is joined by others. That powerful force has been known to carve rivers over solid granite. Certainly we can colletively find a way to compassionately carve rivers in the granite in Israel and Lebanon right now.

Praying: to the Lord my God who is not the only solution, but the salvation.

May God bless and keep the beloved people of both Israel and of Lebanon. May the only way to peace be CLEARLY and undeiably a God-given miracle and acknowledged as such. May His name be glorified and His will be sowed as the lasting solution to this crisis. May Christians get off our collective butts and HELP the people upon whom war is being made. May we deomstrate love, compassion, and mercy. May we focus not on the punch and punitiveness of our words, but the power of love, compassion, and meekness. May we use our spiritual gifts to their utmost and change the shape of the planet. I am convinced God is here, in the midst of this awful fighting, working to set out candles in the darkness.

Let's amplify the light.

Please join me in prayer that whose wills are not submitted to Him and who have declared open war upon one another, with the price paid by the blood and suffering of innocents, be vanquished. And that peace that passes all understanding is embraced by all people, regardless of our geographical or cultural lines. May we seek to end this war by the power of God, manifest in the hearts of his people. MAY WE BE INSPIRED TO DO SOMETHING TO TANGIBLY HELP OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN ISRAEL AND LEBANON.

Let's amplify the light.

Prayer for peace inscribed on the Isreal-Lebanon border

blazing hot

2006-07-25T14:27:00.000-07:00

Does anyone know how hot the temperature has to be outside before the human body is actually in danger of melting?

No, no reason.

heat induced frivolity

2006-07-24T22:12:00.000-07:00

It's hot outside. Again. I have been wasting ample indoors time inside rambling through all kinds of blogospheric desserts. Usually, I am not game for the "what kind of condiment are you?" internet surveys. But the heat is apparently frying my brain, because I liked this one. It managed to hit the gist of my basic personality in each of its sections. Which is kind of disconcertning in a fun sort of way.

I especially liked this part, "You're not the life of the party, but you do show up for the party." Yup. And usually end up on the cleaning crew afterwards.

Your Five Factor Personality Profile

Extroversion:
You have medium extroversion.You're not the life of the party, but you do show up for the party.Sometimes you are full of energy and open to new social experiences.But you also need to hibernate and enjoy your "down time."
Conscientiousness:
You have high conscientiousness.Intelligent and reliable, you tend to succeed in life.Most things in your life are organized and planned well.But you borderline on being a total perfectionist.
Agreeableness:
You have medium agreeableness.You're generally a friendly and trusting person.But you also have a healthy dose of cynicism.You get along well with others, as long as they play fair.
Neuroticism:
You have low neuroticism.You are very emotionally stable and mentally together.Only the greatest setbacks upset you, and you bounce back quickly.Overall, you are typically calm and relaxed - making others feel secure.
Openness to experience:
Your openness to new experiences is medium.You are generally broad minded when it come to new things.But if something crosses a moral line, there's no way you'll approve of it.You are suspicious of anything too wacky, though you do still consider creativity a virtue.

The Five Factor Personality Test

pipe down, mr. evil weatherman

2006-07-23T22:47:00.000-07:00

Pssssst... Al Gore is secretly an evil weatherman. Pass it on.

I am kidding, of course. He is not evil. Especially now that he has forgone the facial hair.

But given that he's earned his place amidst the more hysterical frontmen of the global warming alarm and makes scary movies about the earth becoming perilously hotter by the nanosecond, I am hereby blaming the ghastly and record~setting 112 degree weather we were blessed with this weekend squarely on our Mr. Gore.

Yes, I understand that it is ridiculous to lay blame for a naturally occuring cyclical weather pattern on someone who is not plausibly culpable. But it is also ridiculous to be coping with 85 degrees of muggy humidity at midnight when one is not located on a subtropical island, or to have to peel your clothes from you simply to get up from a chair, or to awaken at 5:30 a.m. in order to water your plants at the only time of day when you don't risk a heat stroke. Given that I could fry an egg on my sunglasses as I left church this morning, it feels good to have a ready-made scapegoat for all this blazing hot suffering, doesn't it? And since the unrelenting sun started chanting Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na while cranking up the heat to the highest decibels on record, I have found myself just the slightest bit grouchy. Blame tends to compliment grouchy, especially when served with an extra large side order of perspiration. So come, let's embrace the scapegoating. Since old Al's been yacking about global warming publicly, the thermometer has skyrocketed around here. Coincidence?? Or shades of 'Field of Dreams': "If Al says it is getting hotter.... it will get hotter"?

If the latter is the case, I have a suggestion for our former Vice President: you might wanna quit making doomsday movies about the worsening wicked hot climate, dude. Because the weather seems to be listening. Or - even better - why not use your apparent powers for good and not evil? Make a film about the sudden rampant proliferation of world peace and see what happens.

As for me, I am sticking to my story (however tongue-in-cheek) that this unrepentant blast of hot air that seems to have stranded itself over us lately is

big.
fat.
his.
fault.

All 112 smoking degrees of it.

Doggone that Al Gore.

lonely open house book club

2006-07-22T22:41:00.000-07:00

One of my occupational hazards as a Real Estate broker, especially in the current Buyer's market, is that Open Houses have disintegrated into ghost towns. Despite my best marketing efforts, there are some properties that just struggle to attract even a single prospective buyer on any given Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

Today was such a day.

There were lots of reasons - the 106 degree temperature (yikes!) among them - for the utter lack of turnout at the little townhouse in the Eucaplytus trees. Instead of despairing, my beloved clients (who, in this case, also happen to be longtime friends) set out a great assortement of reading material for me to enjoy while I waited for elusive visitors to make an appearance.

My clients know me well. They know I read voraciously, at an extremely fast pace, and that I love books with my own brand of ridiculous giddy passion. These clients have left new books for me to read each time I have held an Open House at their home. The first few weeks, I was not able to take advantage of their generously offered reading material. The last two Open Houses, though, have been so vacant and lonely that I have been able to read two complete volumes during my 2-3 hour stays.

At the last open house, the book I chose was "Let's Roll". I am not sure that it was the best idea to engage in such an emotionally saturated book while conducting an Open House at which potential buyers may appear at any moment. I was reduced to tears more than once during my reading, and had to put the book down and walk outside to get myself together a few times. The book paints the poignant and passionate life story of Flight 93 passenger Todd Beamer as told by his wife Lisa, who lost her husband and the father to her two boys on September 11, 2001 when she was 4 months pregnant with their third child, when the airplane he was riding on was hijacked and crashed into a Pennsylvania field. It was a remarkable read. Compelling and moving, it had me glued to its pages and I finished it in less than 90 minutes, including the breaks I took from the texts to wipe my eyes and clear my thoughts. Our Lord created in me an almost painfully tender heart, and reading about such a personal tradgedy by a grace-filled woman of God just broke me. And not once, but many times, I had to set the book down and walk outside to get myself together. It was a struggle for me to get through in that respect, but worth the effort entirely. I am better for reading that book.

But today's book utterly changed me. As in: the person I was when I arrived at the door of my clients' home is not the same as the person I was when I left my client's home. This book powerfully contributed to moving some mountains within me. And I am now standing on the other side in disbelief and joy that this overdue, yet personally epic journey took only one day.

Today, the Open House prospects were so gloomy that I was able to start and finish a book I have wanted to read for about a year, "Grace Based Parenting". I say "wanted to read" because I have meant to read it, been told it is a great book, and planned to read it, but for some reason - just hadn't until today. I believe that the delay in reading this book was 100% in the hands of God, who has been preparing my heart to receive the message of the text. Though I expected to receive this book warmly, I found myself unwilling to stop reading even to go to the bathroom! I actually sat in one place for 2 hours, without moving, and read it from cover to cover. I powered through the text as one who was stranded on a desert island for a week with no food or water and was just thrown a Freebirds burrito and a chilled Dr. Pepper. I devoured this book in big thirsty gulps. It fed my heart in places I did not realize I was hungry. The 2 hours I took to finish reading the book (including 4 seperate crying breaks. You'll just have to read the book to understand why it so genuinely pulls at my heartstrings: there is a story in it about a little boy at a restaurant buffet that reduced me to open weeping. And praying.) is not unusual for me-who-reads-at-lightening-speed. But what is unusual - what is amazing, actually, is that I am not satiated, not satisfied, not done with the book at all. While I took the messages to heart and invested myself wholly in understanding and embracing the concepts the author imparted, it was not just a cerebral exercise for me. It transformed my heart. Even though I read it word for word, understood it and loved it, I can't to read it over and over. In my life, it is rare that a book find deep resonance within me and compel me to read it repeatedly, immediately.

This book moved me. Reached out and shook me and ministered to me. The message of this book registered at about a 8.9 on the Richter scale in the heart of Lachen. That kind of earthquake will alter your reality fairly effectively. At the very least, even if your heart is not in the most raw, tender, and God appointed willing place that mine is to receive this information right now, the TRUTH of the teaching will rattle most of us enough to at least knock a few picures off the walls.

I got home this evening, and after everyone was settled into their beds, I paced inside my own mind. Finally I prayed and then got online to try to locate a cheap (sorry, honey - INEXPENSIVE) used copy of the book. I just want to drink from it again, be challenged as I find myself both identifying with and repulsed by some of the core elements of ineffective pseudo~Christian parenting the author attacks. I find myself yearning not to inflict my humanity onto my children but to impart Godliness INTO my children. Best to do that by teaching and emulating and offering and living GRACE, which I altogether fail to do far too often.

It is one thing to say something with your lips that is meant to come from your heart. And quite another to live something with your life that gives breath to your being and is the genesis of who you are in the Lord.

It's transforming to have a book echo back to you your own self-condemnation in some areas while championing your hearts' cry in others, and all the while intricately carving the message of redemptive grace deeper into the core of your being. Where it belongs anyway and without which... well, who are we kidding?

Reading this book and the reflective, contemplative prayer and study that followed this evening has led me closest to a peaceful resting place about LaLa's school path for next year, our friendships with other couples and families, and the persistent grapples with church and work we face (conceptually and specifically) than I have been in the whole of my life. Nothing like a failed, lonely open house to bring about an unexpected earthquake of the soul.

I can't help but meet tomorrow with a palate of thankfulness and a winged spirit. I am always most content when my insides are being sandblasted by their Creator ~ when I am aware that within me is work in progress. I am is thrilled beyond measure to be deemed worthy of God's efforts.

ode to Mulder and Scully

2006-07-18T01:11:00.000-07:00

Tonight, for no compelling reason whatsoever, I miss the days when the X-Files was the bees knees. We were newlyweds as the show dawned. Each Thursday night meant big bowls of buttery salted popcorn, iced tumblers of Dr. Pepper and Diet Coke, and thrillingly bizarre new voyages into finding the elusive truth that IS OUT THERE.

Hawaiian lessons

2006-07-17T14:00:00.000-07:00

Our Hawaiian vacation has produced some life lessons in my heart. Some profound, some just... found:

1.) I am small. I am really, really, teensy small. Not only in existential terms, but in actual terms. There is such big-ness to the universe. Close contact with 30-foot wingspan Manta Rays while sitting on the ocean floor, 60 feet under the surface of the water, under pitch black skies in a vast Hawaiian sea found me newly appreciating my very teensy presence in a very, very big world.

2.) When you commit to listen to people, the byproduct of that investment is that you do actually HEAR what they say. And the message they deliver does seep in to your subconscious, whether or not it is a valuable, positive, or meaningful one. Listening should have warning labels attached.

3.) Nourishing love does require some degree of action on our parts, if love is a verb we are invested in cultivating.

4.) The failure of mankind comes down to an utter failure to communicate truth through administration of love and pursuit of peace. It is a failure of ego and lack of submission. It is an endemic failure of massive proportions. But it can be stopped, wounds healed, and battle won. There is a way. One way.

5.) The people of Lebanon are my heart's prayer right now.

6.) That these islands are formed of the hottest, explosive, destructive, incredible lava formation process imaginable and then become these beautiful fonts of extraordinary abundant life is a testament to God's creative process. Fire destroys, refines, and burns - but paves the way for restorative life once its process is complete. When we are the ones under the sharpening fire, we seem to focus on the pain of the process, not the purpose for it. We rebel at refinement because it hurts. But in doing so, we miss the glory that comes after.

7.) "Burrito" does not have the same meaning at different places on the planet. In concept or execution.

8.) I become much more healthy and whole as I cease looking at the reflections of myself in the eyes of others. Rather, when I look past the reflective surface altogether and into the souls of the PEOPLE surrounding me, I find a much more fulfillment and am usually blessed by the exercise of interacting with, sharing with, and coming to cherish others I share the planet with. I already know who I am. It's not up for debate. My value is not dependent upon the opinions or whims of others, no matter how beloved they may be to my soul. People should not be valued for their reflections of who we are, but be loved for who they are. And for who God made them to be.

9.) I think one of the potential reasons vacations are so restorative is because they begin and end with such a humble experience: a long, cramped, smelly, uncomfortable, cattle car airplane ride, from which the end is cause for rejoicing.

10.) We are home. Hawaii is where God intends our family to be, in His time. This is our promised land.

Organic Faith

2006-07-16T00:14:00.000-07:00

This book and the general trending of thought it represents is a blessing to me. Praise God I am not alone. Scuba diving with the manta rays last night in the depths of the endless Hawaiian sea brought me closer to the Lord than anything has other than being in the presence of my children. Of late, church has been, for me, a bit of seeking the organic relationship, experience, and revelation in the fast food lanes of religion. I seek to suck out the marrow. Not chew on the bone.

I am still listening and utterly ensconced in Romans. God is working. Even in the midst of the darkness, shining. My faith in Jesus Christ and is His power and purpose is, satisfyingly unwavered, even strengthened. I feel, amidst tears and rough waters, grateful to be drawing close to Him, even though there are others I love who waste no time in voicing opinions of my unconventional approach of late.

Blast it. Jesus was unconventional. He came to set us free. Well, then - let's be free.

In pursuit of that freedom...

coping without a compass

2006-07-15T16:12:00.000-07:00

I'm grouchy.

We are sitting in our room on the glorious Hawaiian island of... well, Hawaii. And I am a grouchy. Grouchy because I am feeling suffocated, buried, incapable of meeting the demands of life, and overwhelmed. Grouchy because my heart hurts. I am sadly marinating in my own secular failures to the point where the outward poisons of the world have seeped into my soul and threaten to strangle it.

Which is really just me finally paying attention to the stress level of my life that I am Olympian-good at managing most of my days.

But not today.

And really, who are we kidding? "Managing" is just another word for coping. I cope. I cope very, very, very well. I could be the poster child for COPING. But coping does not heal or solve anything. Coping is like treading water - it delays the inevitable payment to the piper for another day. Another day when we think we might, somehow, be more capable. When we might be able to finally stop running and have gathered enough strength to finally stand up against the tides that crash over us and thrash around us, intent to drown us altogether. Coping is a stay-of-execution which is unavoidable. Mine, in some meaningful ways, caught up with me today.

Today, on vacation with my blessed husband in this glorious place, I cannot hide from the truth. It finds me even here, as business people and work related "needs" jockey for my attention and aggressively pursue their agenda and demands for my time. I am, again, made aware of and overtly burdened by the unyielding stress that presses in on me from all sides. I find myself angry at my weakness as a human being. Angry at my lack of protection and investment into what I love most. Angry that I have allowed the needs, concerns, problems, and demands of other human beings to eat away at my own life, family, health, and identity until I

just.
can't.
breathe.

I feel quite suddenly lost in a tangly dark forest. The birds have eaten the breadcrumbs marking my way back. The glittering eyes and bared fangs of the worldly wolves in the leafy darkness are closing in. I am praying for a Godly airlift, though I know His timing may not be my own. I may be meant to stay a bit longer - to slay a few longstanding dragons on the way back home. To earn some battlescars in hopes that I will not venture this far into the forest alone again.

The American Birthday & Challenge Check~In

2006-07-05T22:59:00.000-07:00

Happy 230th birthday America! May God continue to bless the people and promise of this nation and guide our footsteps forward in His shadow.

And happy 30th birthday to my dear sister who was born on our bicentennial 4th of July ~ thirty short years ago. And whose three~year~and~counting military deployment (her husband is a Navy helicopter pilot in such exotic places as Fallujah and Kuwait) abroad is gratefully coming to a rapid end! She and her husband are coming home! And, God willing, will be gracing the shores of Texas by September 1!

Soooo..... how are you all coming with your RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS? I am giggly joyful to share my own so far:

We live in an ocean-adjacent agricutural valley where winery vineyards, strawberries, and other edible delights that thrive in our Meditteranean climate, are grown. Often throughout the day, farm workers can be seen toiling in the fields, bent over plants, dressed from head to toe in fabric and hats, to protect them from the sun. It has always seemed to me a thankless, difficult labor, and I have often driven by the endless fields on my way to the church, market, or office, and thought:

This is such a warm day.
Those people are dressed so warmly to protect themselves and working outside ALL day.
I imagine they are working for low wages.
I bet they are super thirsty.

So, on Saturday, I did something small about it.

At 11:30 a.m., 5 assorted pizzas and 10 2-liter bottles of soda from the local pizza place were delivered anonymously to the vineyard I so frequently drive past, to be given to their field laboring crew that day. I even paid in cash, so no one could ever know who the pizza pixie was.

There is a little light that shines from within me when I drive by that vineyard now. This is SO much fun!

Anyone else wish to share their stories of shining the light of random kindness into the world? The challenge continues...

creepy at costco

2006-07-01T23:14:00.000-07:00

Costco is now selling caskets.

Located near the exit, this is their apparent but rather eerie take on the concept of an "impulse item".

I am sufficiently disturbed.