I am so sick and tired of all the political talk and bashing and trashing. Can I get an amen? I get that some people do not like President Obama. I get that you think he is an illegal alien, Muslim, spendthrift that is destroying our country. I get that some of you do not like Mitt Romney because you think he is a polygamous, descendant of illegal aliens, hater of the downtrodden. But, please is there not something else we can talk about?
I do not watch the news nor read the newspaper (except on Sundays) for a reason. I mean, seriously, how much of what we read or hear is even true? By the time the spin doctors have operated on comments and actions, there is very little original left; sort of like Joan Rivers' face.
I have missed voting in very few elections since I became a registered voter, which was the very first day I was of age. I am most grateful for the freedom to vote for whomever I wish. I am most grateful to live in a country where we can verbally trash our elected officials, but just because we can does not mean we should.
I have friends who are rabid Republicans. I have friends who are rabid Democrats. I have friends who try to vote for the person, not the party. Sometimes that vote is cast for someone who they feel will do a great job, sometimes they vote for the least objectionable candidate. I do not know who is right. Maybe none of them are right and none of them are wrong. I do not know. But, I do know that this barrage of vitriolic talk is not productive....for anyone.
The media love to pick up some not-too-bright comment a candidate makes and blow it all out of proportion. I know the guy that made the comment about "legitimate rape not causing pregnancy" sounds like an imbecile, but I am fairly certain that not everything he says is so out of step with good sense. When it was on the news it made me consider how many stupid things I say, but, fortunately, they are not recorded and played and replayed. I remember one time in Humanities Class in high school when our teacher said that before Jesus was born (yeah, folks, public high school) Mary and Joseph had "not known each other." In all my church of Christ, Bible believing, arrogance, I piped up, "of course they knew each other - they were engaged!!" Duh! Ah, but then, I was struck by the Spirit with an understanding of what exactly the teacher meant. I was in Junior Humanities Class - considered the "advanced" class. Bet Mrs. Miller was wondering what in world I was doing in there. It was a stupid statement, spoken from misunderstanding, but it did not make me a bad person. It made me look stupid, really stupid, for a few minutes. It embarrassed me to no end (here I am 43 years later remembering it), but I was not ostracized because of it.
We just love watching replays of politicians falling down plane steps or hitting someone in the head with a golf ball. It makes us feel so superior to watch it and think to ourselves or say out loud, "what a doofus." What a hypocrite I am when I do that. Every time I watch people enjoy the discomfort or misstep of someone else, I think of a few of the many stupid things I have done. I mean, one day at Opryland, I let the goats out of their pen. I did not mean to. I remain convinced that as I opened the gate to pet the little darlings that the big one seized the opportunity. In some goat sign language he told the little ones to escape as he wedged his head so that I could not close the gate. They came running out, and they were not interested in just seeing the petting zoo beyond their little area; no sir, they wanted to see the entire park, and run for freedom they did. I stood screaming in a high screechy voice, "Kenny, Kenny" to Mr. Lincoln who was no help as he could barely respond because of his laughter. Let me add, that his offspring were no help either as they bent double in hysteria. You want to talk mortification? I was totally mortified. Could I have looked any more dumb? I do not think so, but it is not the first thing people think of when they see me.
I wonder why we always want to assign poor motives to people's actions as well. We are so quick to accuse and so slow to give the benefit of the doubt, especially the politicians of the "other" party. Of course, I am sure there are some of them who have wicked motives for actions, but I am equally certain that some of them get blamed for actions and words for which they have no responsibility. Once, Mr. Lincoln and our children were at the balloon glow at Percy Warner Park. It was quite the spectacle; dozens of hot air balloons being fired up. The glow of all the colors was spectacular. In the park, facilities are few and far between, so they had a row of port-a-potties in the field near the balloons. I found it necessary to visit one of those. There was a line in front of each one. I picked a line. The gentleman in front of me went in, and I patiently awaited his vacating the premises. Well, apparently, the door became stuck. Standing outside, I could hear his exclamations of dismay as he tried to open the door. He began to put a bit more force into his efforts resulting in the port-a-potty rocking to and fro. From the monologue I was hearing through the door, it seems that a bit of the contents in the facility splashed up on this gentleman. I will admit, that I perversely found some humor in the situation, but I was not laughing uproariously as he finally got the door open and disembarked. Well, apparently, for some completely unknown reason, this man thought that I was holding the door so that he could not get out. This man I had never met. He began to yell at me, in front of lots of people, including my hero, Mr. Lincoln, who by that time was laughing uproariously in the ludicrousness of him thinking I was holding the door so he could not get out. There was no convincing that man. I imagine there were others around who were convinced that I was holding the door. But, trust me, I was not.
So, please, people, give it a rest. We all look like stupid, mean-spirited, doofuses at some time or the other. I have to wonder if it really makes any difference who we elect any way. There can be talk about bipartisanship, but very few elected officials as well as voters really want that. We are all too busy wanting to be superior, and wanting our party to look good. Face it. Neither of them looks good. I'll definitely vote in the presidential election. I have made a pact with myself that I refuse to vote for anyone from whom I get a canned campaign phone call that starts out with a 2 second delay after I answer. And, heaven help them if they call while I am rocking a baby and that child is awakened. Not only will that person NOT get my vote, but I WILL vote for his/her opponent. Yep, I think that's how I'll decide who to vote for. I figure it is as good a way as any.
So for today, I wish you brilliance, poise, and understanding from your fellow man, and if that fails, I wish you
blessings
Friday, August 24, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Signposts
Recently, as I have been observing different people who cross my path, it occurred to me that we are all signposts. We may not mean to be. We may not want to be, but we are all pointing others in some direction. The knowledge that people are watching us, and are often using us as a guideline is very humbling, and comes with a great deal of responsibility.
I want to share a few signposts that I have encountered in the past few days. I have a friend who after jumping from a cliff into a lake burst a vertebrae; a very serious injury that required extensive surgery and rehab. She is young and active; an obvious daredevil. Her life and the lives of her husband and children, have been abruptly interrupted. As signposts, they could have sent those of us watching in the direction of "why did this terrible thing happen to me?" But, they have not. They have guided us to a place of blessing. They have shared, honestly, the pain, the fear, the trials, but through it all, they have shared the joys and lessons and blessings that have come from this time of stress. Their children will always remember this event in their lives. They will always remember the love that has been shown their family. They will always remember the sacrifice their grandmother has graciously and, yes, gratefully made to keep their lives running as smoothly as possible. Those children will always remember their parents' laughter through dismay, their strength in their weakness, and the beautiful embodiment of marriage vows, "in sickness and in health," being played out. Little has been said, but these signposts' directions are clear.
Prayer is a mighty vehicle. Not long ago, I was talking with a friend who has been concerned about a relative who she feels drinks too much alcohol too often. She has prayed and prayed that the Lord would guide her kin to a better place. Her prayer was answered. The answer did not fit any script that she would have written. Her relative was picked up for DUI. There are many different ways my friend could have viewed this. Of course, she is terribly concerned. Of course, she dreads thinking of the legal consequences of the arrest. Not once in our conversation did she moan and wail. She did say we need to be careful about what we pray for because God answers prayer. She sees this as a wake-up call. She will suffer anxiety and fear concerning the paying of those consequences. But, she will not rail against God. She will pray for safekeeping for the one she loves. She exhibits trust and faith. There is no confusion about which direction her signpost points.
This past week I had occasion to meet with a group of women. Most of them are girls to me. They are the ages of my children. I watch them, and I learn. We gathered to show our support for one who is facing a very difficult marriage situation. Her husband and the father of her small children has decided that he does not want to do this marriage thing right now. Maybe, he is thinking he does not want to do it ever again. He has hurt people. He has. His signpost is askew, and has taken to pointing in the wrong direction. I am confident that God will never stop pursuing him and tugging on his heartstrings. I am confident of that, but at the moment, this hurting young man has left a wake of pain in his path. The poise and love and dignity that I see displayed in this young wife and mother takes my breath away. As we talked with her and prayed for her, her every concern was for this husband who no longer wants to be and her precious children. She displayed not an ounce of bitterness, resentment, nor anger at him. She is not denying the pain and fear and uncertainty. She is choosing the route of mercy and grace and hope and forgiveness. The direction in which her signpost points is clear-cut.
So, for all you people out there who struggle to do the right thing. For every husband who comes home every night, for every dad who does a job he does not particularly like to provide for his family, for every mother who works at home and away from home, for every teacher who struggles to teach life lessons to students, for every policeman who shows empathy for suffering souls who cross their paths, for every person who bears up under stress and chooses a path of joy and service and a "life is NOT all about me" attitude, for every person who grants others the right to make their own decisions without micro-managing, for every person who chooses the best route when a not-too-bad one would work, for every person who accepts and embraces the differences in people and still gracefully stands up for his or her beliefs in love, for every person who lives within the parameters of a well-proven value system, for every person whose word is their bond and who can be counted on to do what they say when they say it, thank you. You are steady signposts. You may feel under appreciated, but people are watching and following. Do not waver. We are counting on you.
blessings,
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Happy New Year
The title of this post may seem a bit anachronistic, but for many, this is the time of the new year more real than January 1 as suggested by our calendar. A friends' post on FB, the back-to-school blessing at church, and increased traffic are just a few of the events that got me thinking about this start of a new year. I remember those starts as a student, as a teacher, as a parent sending my children off, and now as someone who works with teachers and students. There is something so marvelous about a fresh start.
I just love the smell of newly sharpened pencils. You know the ones that still have a whole eraser. A yellow number 2 pencil is an appropo metaphor for fresh starts. I remember organizing my new blue 3-ring binders with fresh notebook paper, making sure my name and phone number were written properly in case it got lost. In elementary school there was very little as exciting as opening a new box of crayons. Poor Mr. Lincoln, all he ever had was a box of 8. When we could afford it, I always had the box of 64 with "built in sharpener." I can conjure up that fragrance in my mind as I sit at my computer. Oh, and I could not wait to get a fresh, never-opened, bottle of Elmer's Glue. It was never the same after it had been used because there was always dried residue on the cap and stopping up the hole. Did you ever cover your palms with the glue, let it dry, then peel it off? I loved (love) doing that.
I remember tours of the school so we would know where the office, cafeteria, and most importantly, the bathrooms were. It is always good to know where the bathrooms are. I can name every teacher I had at Dalewood Elementary school. 1st grade, Mrs. McPherson (both my older brothers had her); 2nd Miss Williams (she was young and beautiful and, if my memory serves, loved literature); 3rd Mrs. Trowbridge (she was tough, and I sat behind Howard Humble who had warts on his fingers); 4th Mrs. Gerow (she pronounced my name "myrilyn"); 5th and 6th Mrs. Simpson (she was a trip). Other support staff at Dalewood included Mrs. Melin the librarian who lived up the street, Mrs. White the P.E. teacher who weighed about 800 pounds, and our chorus teacher whose name I cannot remember but who taught us songs from "Oklahoma." I am still known to burst out in song with "Oooooooooooooaklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain," or "chicks and ducks and geese better scurry, when I take you out in my surrey." Ah, great memories.
Sometimes, however, the first of a new year can be very daunting. I remember my first day of first grade. For some reason, my daddy was the one who took me. That is probably because my oldest brother was at a different school and Mom took him. I was sort of (understatement) a Daddy's girl, so maybe it was because I begged him to. I do not know, I just know he is who took me. I remember what I had on. It was a grey jumper with black kettles printed on the fabric, and a white blouse. I was a bit apprehensive as I watched Daddy leave. Little did I know that I was about to begin some of my best and longest-lasting friendships there in Mrs. McPherson's first grade class. It was the start of a new year; a new year that brought about many adventures like learning to read, and how to jump rope, and how to stand in line, and how to order lunches in the cafeteria...just lots of important stuff.
I only attended 3 schools in my pre-collegiate days. They were, as mentioned, Dalewood Elementary, Litton Junior High, and Isaac Litton Senior High. There were many people with whom I attended first through twelfth grades. Seventh grade is the only other year where I remember my first day. Oh, my word, talk about trauma. First of all, I wore a red and olive plaid skirt with an olive shirt both of which I made that summer while learning to sew from Mrs. Gilliam. I can still hear her voice, "we do not want our darts to have puckers." The skirt and blouse were okay, but, alas, I also had on bobby socks. No, I was not in 7th grade in the 50's, and so, bobby socks were not in vogue. My mother had informed me that "nice girls do not wear hose to school." The other girls in the 7th grade at Litton Junior High in 1964 were apparently all harlots except for Becky Leech and me. Sadly, the majority of the student body defined things differently than my mother, and so they mistakenly thought of Becky and me as dorks rather than seeing the failed morals of all those other girls in hose with pink nail polish on them to stop the runs. I was always envious of those nail-polished stockings. Then, to compound the drama of that first day I had Mr. Crockett, not Mrs. Cassidy which was not what I had been told. Seriously, only a dork in bobby socks would have had her mother move her from the handsome Mr. Crockett's room to the very tough, very school marmish Mrs. Cassidy's, but, yes, that is what I did.
There are other new year days I remember. The day my brother, Mike, started his senior year at Litton. Mike had been a bit "adventurous" in school, and sometimes found himself in hot water - translated suspended - but this, his senior year, was going to be different. My mother was explaining this to her best friend as they chatted over a morning cup of coffee in our kitchen. Mom, brimming over with enthusiasm over this new leaf Mike had turned over, describing to Maxine how nice he looked when he left for school, how optimistic she was that this was going to be his year. In the middle of the conversation, the phone rang. It was the school principal. Mike had just been suspended for smoking behind the band room. What's a mom to do?
I remember the new year that Marshall began the two year old class at Otter Creek. He had his little bag with his name on it, dressed in little khaki shorts with a red, navy and khaki knit shirt. His hair was brushed. His face was bright and shiny. "Miss" Jan was driving carpool that morning, taking Franklin and Marshall off for their first day with "Miss" Eva. As he waved goodbye to me, he fell down the front steps managing to get a scrape, a cut, and a gouge in that one fall. Happy new year, Marsh. I fear it set the tone for all of school for him.
The last new year day I remember was when MP went off to Georgia to college. She and I were talking about that today and it ranks only a half step below her life's absolute worst day so far. We took all her belongings, set them up in her dorm room. We rearranged, changed this, checked out that, dragging our heels, desperately not wanting to leave her. But, the time arrived that we had to say good-by, leave her in Athens, and drive home. Oh, it makes me sick to my stomach to think about. We left her, at her request, in a basically empty dorm a week before classes began. During the five hour drive home, there was not one moment when either Mr. Lincoln, or I, or both of us were not crying. Sadly, back at the dorm, I think MP was shedding tears well beyond those 5 hours. Georgia turned out to be great and wonderful for her, but that day of the new year was agonizing.
So happy new year to all you students, teachers, administrators, cafeteria workers, janitors, bus drivers, and parents. I wish you all a great new year filled with new adventures, new friends, new things to learn, and I wish you
blessings
I just love the smell of newly sharpened pencils. You know the ones that still have a whole eraser. A yellow number 2 pencil is an appropo metaphor for fresh starts. I remember organizing my new blue 3-ring binders with fresh notebook paper, making sure my name and phone number were written properly in case it got lost. In elementary school there was very little as exciting as opening a new box of crayons. Poor Mr. Lincoln, all he ever had was a box of 8. When we could afford it, I always had the box of 64 with "built in sharpener." I can conjure up that fragrance in my mind as I sit at my computer. Oh, and I could not wait to get a fresh, never-opened, bottle of Elmer's Glue. It was never the same after it had been used because there was always dried residue on the cap and stopping up the hole. Did you ever cover your palms with the glue, let it dry, then peel it off? I loved (love) doing that.
I remember tours of the school so we would know where the office, cafeteria, and most importantly, the bathrooms were. It is always good to know where the bathrooms are. I can name every teacher I had at Dalewood Elementary school. 1st grade, Mrs. McPherson (both my older brothers had her); 2nd Miss Williams (she was young and beautiful and, if my memory serves, loved literature); 3rd Mrs. Trowbridge (she was tough, and I sat behind Howard Humble who had warts on his fingers); 4th Mrs. Gerow (she pronounced my name "myrilyn"); 5th and 6th Mrs. Simpson (she was a trip). Other support staff at Dalewood included Mrs. Melin the librarian who lived up the street, Mrs. White the P.E. teacher who weighed about 800 pounds, and our chorus teacher whose name I cannot remember but who taught us songs from "Oklahoma." I am still known to burst out in song with "Oooooooooooooaklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain," or "chicks and ducks and geese better scurry, when I take you out in my surrey." Ah, great memories.
Sometimes, however, the first of a new year can be very daunting. I remember my first day of first grade. For some reason, my daddy was the one who took me. That is probably because my oldest brother was at a different school and Mom took him. I was sort of (understatement) a Daddy's girl, so maybe it was because I begged him to. I do not know, I just know he is who took me. I remember what I had on. It was a grey jumper with black kettles printed on the fabric, and a white blouse. I was a bit apprehensive as I watched Daddy leave. Little did I know that I was about to begin some of my best and longest-lasting friendships there in Mrs. McPherson's first grade class. It was the start of a new year; a new year that brought about many adventures like learning to read, and how to jump rope, and how to stand in line, and how to order lunches in the cafeteria...just lots of important stuff.
I only attended 3 schools in my pre-collegiate days. They were, as mentioned, Dalewood Elementary, Litton Junior High, and Isaac Litton Senior High. There were many people with whom I attended first through twelfth grades. Seventh grade is the only other year where I remember my first day. Oh, my word, talk about trauma. First of all, I wore a red and olive plaid skirt with an olive shirt both of which I made that summer while learning to sew from Mrs. Gilliam. I can still hear her voice, "we do not want our darts to have puckers." The skirt and blouse were okay, but, alas, I also had on bobby socks. No, I was not in 7th grade in the 50's, and so, bobby socks were not in vogue. My mother had informed me that "nice girls do not wear hose to school." The other girls in the 7th grade at Litton Junior High in 1964 were apparently all harlots except for Becky Leech and me. Sadly, the majority of the student body defined things differently than my mother, and so they mistakenly thought of Becky and me as dorks rather than seeing the failed morals of all those other girls in hose with pink nail polish on them to stop the runs. I was always envious of those nail-polished stockings. Then, to compound the drama of that first day I had Mr. Crockett, not Mrs. Cassidy which was not what I had been told. Seriously, only a dork in bobby socks would have had her mother move her from the handsome Mr. Crockett's room to the very tough, very school marmish Mrs. Cassidy's, but, yes, that is what I did.
There are other new year days I remember. The day my brother, Mike, started his senior year at Litton. Mike had been a bit "adventurous" in school, and sometimes found himself in hot water - translated suspended - but this, his senior year, was going to be different. My mother was explaining this to her best friend as they chatted over a morning cup of coffee in our kitchen. Mom, brimming over with enthusiasm over this new leaf Mike had turned over, describing to Maxine how nice he looked when he left for school, how optimistic she was that this was going to be his year. In the middle of the conversation, the phone rang. It was the school principal. Mike had just been suspended for smoking behind the band room. What's a mom to do?
I remember the new year that Marshall began the two year old class at Otter Creek. He had his little bag with his name on it, dressed in little khaki shorts with a red, navy and khaki knit shirt. His hair was brushed. His face was bright and shiny. "Miss" Jan was driving carpool that morning, taking Franklin and Marshall off for their first day with "Miss" Eva. As he waved goodbye to me, he fell down the front steps managing to get a scrape, a cut, and a gouge in that one fall. Happy new year, Marsh. I fear it set the tone for all of school for him.
The last new year day I remember was when MP went off to Georgia to college. She and I were talking about that today and it ranks only a half step below her life's absolute worst day so far. We took all her belongings, set them up in her dorm room. We rearranged, changed this, checked out that, dragging our heels, desperately not wanting to leave her. But, the time arrived that we had to say good-by, leave her in Athens, and drive home. Oh, it makes me sick to my stomach to think about. We left her, at her request, in a basically empty dorm a week before classes began. During the five hour drive home, there was not one moment when either Mr. Lincoln, or I, or both of us were not crying. Sadly, back at the dorm, I think MP was shedding tears well beyond those 5 hours. Georgia turned out to be great and wonderful for her, but that day of the new year was agonizing.
So happy new year to all you students, teachers, administrators, cafeteria workers, janitors, bus drivers, and parents. I wish you all a great new year filled with new adventures, new friends, new things to learn, and I wish you
blessings
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Changes in Attitude
When my children were young, sometimes they would grumble if I told them to do something they really did not want to do. Often, I would tell them that they had no choice in the doing, but they could choose if they would do it with a bad attitude or a good attitude. They probably did not like that much, but I do believe it. I will be interested in seeing if they say something similar to their own children. When you think about it, our attitudes are incredibly important in molding the way we look at life and at ourselves.
I have been churched this weekend. It was a mighty "churching." Saturday, I attended a brunch for the women's fellowship. I enjoy women's fellowship events, but I tend to gravitate toward people that I already know. Basically, I am extremely shy. It is so uncomfortable for me to talk to people I do not know. Of the six women seated at my table, I did not know two of them. One of them is very quiet, or at least she was yesterday, but when she spoke, her words were thoughtful and wise. She made the connection that she works with my daughter, and she is the photographer who took both my grandsons' newborn pictures. Certainly, I knew her by reputation, and have her handiwork framed in two rooms in my house. It was lovely to put a face to the name.
The other woman at my table, I had heard of, but did not really know. At her own admission, in the past she made some bad choices, and got her life off track. That is actually how I heard of her the first time. Several years ago, her cousin asked for prayers on her behalf. Someone else at our table, when the admission of bad choices was stated, said, "look at all the good choices you are making now." Sometimes, that is just not the response from people. Some people tend to hold others down by reminding them of their mistakes. I am so grateful to go to a church where the majority of people just do not do that. Heaven knows, we all need a little mercy all the time.
I was struck as this young woman spoke a bit of her mistakes. She was so careful to never blame anyone, not even herself. Yes, she took responsibility for her choices, but she is not walking around with a load of guilt blaming herself. Guilt is the most versatile tool in Satan's toolbox. Yes, we all need to admit when we are wrong, and we need to repent, but then be done with it. I might add that repenting does not mean saying we are sorry, and then continuing the behavior. That is just smoke and balderdash, and eventually comes to mean absolutely nothing to those to whom we apologize. It becomes evident with one hollow apology after the other that there is no truth there.
I appreciated the attitudes of love and kindness and compassion and gratitude expressed at that table. Not one person at that table lacked life experiences about which they could have complained and groused. Not one. But, each and every one knew the better choice was to face life with the best attitude possible.
Today was an amazing day. That "cute" Jason about whom I blogged last week, led our worship. It was outstanding. Of course, I really love Jason and his wife, and so I will always have a good attitude about his leadership. We have been in a series at church called, "Can I Get a Witness." It has been one good lesson after the other. Today was better than good. Again, the woman who gave her witness is a friend for whom I have great love and respect. She has had a lot of pain and sorrow, but she chooses an attitude of joy. She does not blame anyone for her trials. She realizes that some of what she has had to bear has been the result of another's choices, but she stresses there must be no blame directed at the other person. She wants no sides taken, no negative comments made. She also claims no credit for her ability to get through the fire and rise up refined. She knows that it is God in her. This woman has the most beautiful countenance. She has chosen an attitude of gratitude and peace, even as she still suffers.
Following our service, we were blessed with the witnessing of two baptisms. I thought how that might seem like such a ridiculous ritual to some. What possible purpose can be served by dunking people under water? What is it that brings tears to our eyes and happiness in our hearts? I think for me, it is just that wonder of looking around that room, and seeing so many people for whom that act of baptism is so important. I truly think we have gotten beyond the point in thinking that if you have not been dunked then you have not been saved. It is not about the dunking. It is about the attitude of accepting a beautiful gift, of telling the world, "I want to give my allegiance to Jesus. I want to be part of this thing called Church."
So, I have been churched this weekend. For some, that sounds like a terrible nightmare. For me, it is a lovely respite in the week. Yes, there is junk there. Yes, there are flaws. Yes, there are the misguided. Yes, there are the stubborn. Yes, there are the gossips. Yes, there is unforgiveness in the hearts of some. Yes, there are those who are bitter. Yes, there are those who hang on to the bad, and find it hard to see the good. But, I want to be there. It is my best chance to see the love and kindness and acceptance and joy and genuine concern the Father has for us all, and, yes, I do mean all mankind. It is the place I can go for an attitude adjustment.
So, for today, I wish you a change in attitude if you need it. I wish you an abundant life of joy and peace. I wish you Church, or church, however you want to think of it. And, I wish you
blessings
I have been churched this weekend. It was a mighty "churching." Saturday, I attended a brunch for the women's fellowship. I enjoy women's fellowship events, but I tend to gravitate toward people that I already know. Basically, I am extremely shy. It is so uncomfortable for me to talk to people I do not know. Of the six women seated at my table, I did not know two of them. One of them is very quiet, or at least she was yesterday, but when she spoke, her words were thoughtful and wise. She made the connection that she works with my daughter, and she is the photographer who took both my grandsons' newborn pictures. Certainly, I knew her by reputation, and have her handiwork framed in two rooms in my house. It was lovely to put a face to the name.
The other woman at my table, I had heard of, but did not really know. At her own admission, in the past she made some bad choices, and got her life off track. That is actually how I heard of her the first time. Several years ago, her cousin asked for prayers on her behalf. Someone else at our table, when the admission of bad choices was stated, said, "look at all the good choices you are making now." Sometimes, that is just not the response from people. Some people tend to hold others down by reminding them of their mistakes. I am so grateful to go to a church where the majority of people just do not do that. Heaven knows, we all need a little mercy all the time.
I was struck as this young woman spoke a bit of her mistakes. She was so careful to never blame anyone, not even herself. Yes, she took responsibility for her choices, but she is not walking around with a load of guilt blaming herself. Guilt is the most versatile tool in Satan's toolbox. Yes, we all need to admit when we are wrong, and we need to repent, but then be done with it. I might add that repenting does not mean saying we are sorry, and then continuing the behavior. That is just smoke and balderdash, and eventually comes to mean absolutely nothing to those to whom we apologize. It becomes evident with one hollow apology after the other that there is no truth there.
I appreciated the attitudes of love and kindness and compassion and gratitude expressed at that table. Not one person at that table lacked life experiences about which they could have complained and groused. Not one. But, each and every one knew the better choice was to face life with the best attitude possible.
Today was an amazing day. That "cute" Jason about whom I blogged last week, led our worship. It was outstanding. Of course, I really love Jason and his wife, and so I will always have a good attitude about his leadership. We have been in a series at church called, "Can I Get a Witness." It has been one good lesson after the other. Today was better than good. Again, the woman who gave her witness is a friend for whom I have great love and respect. She has had a lot of pain and sorrow, but she chooses an attitude of joy. She does not blame anyone for her trials. She realizes that some of what she has had to bear has been the result of another's choices, but she stresses there must be no blame directed at the other person. She wants no sides taken, no negative comments made. She also claims no credit for her ability to get through the fire and rise up refined. She knows that it is God in her. This woman has the most beautiful countenance. She has chosen an attitude of gratitude and peace, even as she still suffers.
Following our service, we were blessed with the witnessing of two baptisms. I thought how that might seem like such a ridiculous ritual to some. What possible purpose can be served by dunking people under water? What is it that brings tears to our eyes and happiness in our hearts? I think for me, it is just that wonder of looking around that room, and seeing so many people for whom that act of baptism is so important. I truly think we have gotten beyond the point in thinking that if you have not been dunked then you have not been saved. It is not about the dunking. It is about the attitude of accepting a beautiful gift, of telling the world, "I want to give my allegiance to Jesus. I want to be part of this thing called Church."
So, I have been churched this weekend. For some, that sounds like a terrible nightmare. For me, it is a lovely respite in the week. Yes, there is junk there. Yes, there are flaws. Yes, there are the misguided. Yes, there are the stubborn. Yes, there are the gossips. Yes, there is unforgiveness in the hearts of some. Yes, there are those who are bitter. Yes, there are those who hang on to the bad, and find it hard to see the good. But, I want to be there. It is my best chance to see the love and kindness and acceptance and joy and genuine concern the Father has for us all, and, yes, I do mean all mankind. It is the place I can go for an attitude adjustment.
So, for today, I wish you a change in attitude if you need it. I wish you an abundant life of joy and peace. I wish you Church, or church, however you want to think of it. And, I wish you
blessings
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