Very few things in life are as valuable as peace of mind. That has been illuminated for me as I watch myself and others longing for and often failing to capture a peaceful heart.
Really, how can one be peaceful in this world? So much is on Facebook about the government shut down, the president, and congress. People are riled. Jobs are being lost. Insurances changed. Premiums rising. Taxes assessed. It is enough to make a person feel churned up inside. Some actually believe the photoshopped picture of Mt. Rushmore being covered by a tarp. I will say my favorite FB post was the one that said: "the Washington Redskins are changing their name. Because of the hatred, violence and rancor caused by the name, they will from now on be known simply as the Redskins." LOVE THAT! Just a little levity in the midst of a lot of anxiety.
Peace is hard to find when loved ones feel terrorized. Just this week I have talked to someone waiting for news from medical tests that will either leave her with some time to coast, or cause her to have to make some really tough decisions. Another friend, waiting in the hospital for a heart transplant, learned this week that he has a cancerous nodule on his thyroid which removed him from the transplant list. Another friend anxious over a pregnancy; another whose adult son is very ill. I talked with someone whose marriage is in a shambles..."we just don't get along." I know others who are burdened with financial strain. One told me of her mother in the nursing home who is just not right in her head making her very difficult. We hear stories of war torn countries, hurricanes bearing down on innocent people, child abuse, and murder. One friend told me of an acquaintance who is dying of a brain tumor, and her nine year old son is being physically and violently bullied at school. Peace? Where can peace be found in the midst of this turmoil?
For me, a believer in Jesus, certainly I am told that peace can be found in Him. I believe that, but sometimes it is so very elusive. He is not elusive, but my ability to tap into His peace is.
Oftentimes, peace is an "inside job." Finding what brings peace to our spirits is probably about as varied as there are people. Exercise, meditation, yoga, prayer, Candy Crush (nah), Bible study, Hallmark movies, just lying on the sofa and being quiet, self-talk, spending time with friends, not spending time with friends, not watching the news or reading the paper, watching the news and reading the paper. Whatever it is, we each need a source of peace. Finding peace in our circumstances does not mean that we are unaware of our circumstances. It just means we have made a choice.
I found some peace in my heart today spending it in companionable conversation on a beautiful day during a short road trip with Nancy. We talked and laughed and commiserated and encouraged each other. I feel peaceful this afternoon. Nothing that was robbing me of my peace has been removed from my life. But with some time away, I am able to see it a bit better. I find peace when Mr. Lincoln gives me a good long hug. It is home. Peace for me is a stroll through Radnor (not with 2 babies and no stroller, that's just stupid) or Cheekwood. Peace for me is my house to myself for a few hours. I find peace making up my mind to see my surroundings as I wish them to be and not as they are...what potholes in the driveway? If I cannot fix it, for whatever reason, I choose not to let it rob me of my peace....most of the time. Sometimes I just cave in a become a screaming maniac...in my head...rarely do I really scream where others can hear me. I am searching for peace...always searching for peace.
So for today, I wish you peace and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Reflections on the Day
5:30 am is really early for a one-year-old....and a sixty-one-year-old.
A 2 1/2 hour nap is not nearly as satisfying as a 4 hour nap....especially if one has been up since 5:30am
Paper comes out the same way it goes in....'nuf said.
A one-year-old can be on his knees pushing a plastic baby wipes holder across the floor, fall over and bloody his nose and mouth. Go figure!!
There is a certain kind of sippy cup that I hate, yes, hate. The pressure builds up, and sprays my glasses with milk. Really, I hate that thing.
Handing a one-year-old a Baggie of shredded cheese to eat on his own is not smart.
A Baggie will seriously impede the suction of a Hoover Linx vacuum.
Reading Spot Goes to the Library does not necessarily promote library etiquette. Sorry about that, folks.
The glass in a picture frame will break just as thoroughly when dropped by a one-year-old as when dropped by an adult.
A 4x6 piece of glass can disintegrate into a lot of little pieces.
Glasses that sit under a kid's nose do nothing to help said child's vision.
Trebuchet!! The battle cry of little boys both of whom can seriously launch a pumpkin. Sorry about that Johnny Howell market workers.
Max has never seen a Better Homes and Gardens magazine that he does not enjoy tearing up.
Trying to put a diaper on a one-year-old who does not want his diaper changed is like wrestling a tiger.
With determination and a bit of a downhill slope, Simeon can push Max in the wagon across the whole front yard.
A 24 roll package of toilet paper serves many purposes....a step up for Simeon to get in his car seat and a soft place to land when Max takes a dive out of his.
For today, I wish you fond reflections on your day, and I wish you
Blessings
A 2 1/2 hour nap is not nearly as satisfying as a 4 hour nap....especially if one has been up since 5:30am
Paper comes out the same way it goes in....'nuf said.
A one-year-old can be on his knees pushing a plastic baby wipes holder across the floor, fall over and bloody his nose and mouth. Go figure!!
There is a certain kind of sippy cup that I hate, yes, hate. The pressure builds up, and sprays my glasses with milk. Really, I hate that thing.
Handing a one-year-old a Baggie of shredded cheese to eat on his own is not smart.
A Baggie will seriously impede the suction of a Hoover Linx vacuum.
Reading Spot Goes to the Library does not necessarily promote library etiquette. Sorry about that, folks.
The glass in a picture frame will break just as thoroughly when dropped by a one-year-old as when dropped by an adult.
A 4x6 piece of glass can disintegrate into a lot of little pieces.
Glasses that sit under a kid's nose do nothing to help said child's vision.
Trebuchet!! The battle cry of little boys both of whom can seriously launch a pumpkin. Sorry about that Johnny Howell market workers.
Max has never seen a Better Homes and Gardens magazine that he does not enjoy tearing up.
Trying to put a diaper on a one-year-old who does not want his diaper changed is like wrestling a tiger.
With determination and a bit of a downhill slope, Simeon can push Max in the wagon across the whole front yard.
A 24 roll package of toilet paper serves many purposes....a step up for Simeon to get in his car seat and a soft place to land when Max takes a dive out of his.
For today, I wish you fond reflections on your day, and I wish you
Blessings
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Danger! Danger! A Grandmother's Warning
This world is fraught with danger, and I am not talking about weapons of mass destruction...well, yes, I am, but not the kind that have been in the news. Keeping one-year-old boys has newly opened my eyes to the perils of this life. As a grandmother, dangers loom much larger than they did as a parent.
The kitchen sink is clogged. A cup of soda down the drain followed by vinegar (I just really love the results of that combination) with a chaser of boiling water was what was needed. Oh, wait. If I boil water on the stove, one of the boys might somehow figure out how to open the gate, or worse, they could be in cahoots and somehow help each other get over and what if I don't hear them and they get underfoot and I spill scalding water on them? Never mind, the sink will have to remain clogged.
Who knew a kid's rocking chair could be such a hazard? A couple weeks ago, while Fizzie sat right beside him, Max flipped the chair over, hit the floor found himself trapped underneath, and let out a cry that would have waken the dead. Telling him to "shake it off" was not going to be helpful. The same chair yesterday, whacked Simeon in the head as he rocked. Yep, the dead were roused yet again.
And, then there are the toys. Who makes these things with buttons that could fall off, or hair that somehow could get tangled in their teeth and pull them out. How can such a tiny mouth hold an entire plastic Easter egg? Don't the makers of bubbles know that little eyes can be burned by bubble soap? Maybe, I will make some with baby shampoo, but, no wait, what exactly is Polyquaternium-10? That can't be good for a baby. Forget the bubbles.
Why is the drawer in the table upon which the TV sits such a fascination? Well, they are boys, and that is where the remotes are, but there are batteries in the remotes, and what if they think they are candy and eat them,and what if they remain in cahoots after attempts to breach kitchen security by crashing the gate and decide to rock the TV table turning it and the TV over on them? Maybe I will block the TV with the rocking chairs, but they could climb on those like they do on the table by the sofa and then there will be real trouble. I will just sit here and not take my eye off them.
Simeon and I took a walk this morning I am certain he was eyeing the drainage pipes going under the driveways. We had a talk about never, never, ever crawling through those, and he will never, never, ever hear the tales of his Mellie and her siblings and friends doing such crazy things growing up. Sometimes hiding in the drainage pipes under the Kornmeyer's drive was the only way to get away. But, never, never, ever are Simeon and Max to know such a thing.
Shelves are tethered, tables and a birdcage stand are moved to a locked room before the boys arrive. I did not think of the birdcage stand until Simmie pulled it over on himself yesterday. He did not cry so, oh, dear why isn't he crying? Wonder if he has a concussion. Well, no, he got right up, he seems fine, who would have thought he would even find it something worthy of notice, how did he not break the glass boboches on the little chandelier hanging on the birdcage stand, and who hangs a chandelier on a birdcage stand anyway, and how did he manage to break every one of the turquoise candles in the chandelier, oh, well, he seems fine, better move that thing into a locked room. What? Now he has knocked himself in the head with the little plate stand in the hallway!! Okay, into a locked room it goes too.
So, life is full of peril, especially if you happen to be the grandmother to two one-year-old boys. Did you know there is a website entitled the "Hidden Dangers of Yogurt?" I will not even mention all the possibilities for harm the wooden back scratcher carries. Yep, that locked room is really filling up.
For today, I wish you the company of one-year-olds, safety, and I wish you
Blessings
The kitchen sink is clogged. A cup of soda down the drain followed by vinegar (I just really love the results of that combination) with a chaser of boiling water was what was needed. Oh, wait. If I boil water on the stove, one of the boys might somehow figure out how to open the gate, or worse, they could be in cahoots and somehow help each other get over and what if I don't hear them and they get underfoot and I spill scalding water on them? Never mind, the sink will have to remain clogged.
Who knew a kid's rocking chair could be such a hazard? A couple weeks ago, while Fizzie sat right beside him, Max flipped the chair over, hit the floor found himself trapped underneath, and let out a cry that would have waken the dead. Telling him to "shake it off" was not going to be helpful. The same chair yesterday, whacked Simeon in the head as he rocked. Yep, the dead were roused yet again.
And, then there are the toys. Who makes these things with buttons that could fall off, or hair that somehow could get tangled in their teeth and pull them out. How can such a tiny mouth hold an entire plastic Easter egg? Don't the makers of bubbles know that little eyes can be burned by bubble soap? Maybe, I will make some with baby shampoo, but, no wait, what exactly is Polyquaternium-10? That can't be good for a baby. Forget the bubbles.
Why is the drawer in the table upon which the TV sits such a fascination? Well, they are boys, and that is where the remotes are, but there are batteries in the remotes, and what if they think they are candy and eat them,and what if they remain in cahoots after attempts to breach kitchen security by crashing the gate and decide to rock the TV table turning it and the TV over on them? Maybe I will block the TV with the rocking chairs, but they could climb on those like they do on the table by the sofa and then there will be real trouble. I will just sit here and not take my eye off them.
Simeon and I took a walk this morning I am certain he was eyeing the drainage pipes going under the driveways. We had a talk about never, never, ever crawling through those, and he will never, never, ever hear the tales of his Mellie and her siblings and friends doing such crazy things growing up. Sometimes hiding in the drainage pipes under the Kornmeyer's drive was the only way to get away. But, never, never, ever are Simeon and Max to know such a thing.
Shelves are tethered, tables and a birdcage stand are moved to a locked room before the boys arrive. I did not think of the birdcage stand until Simmie pulled it over on himself yesterday. He did not cry so, oh, dear why isn't he crying? Wonder if he has a concussion. Well, no, he got right up, he seems fine, who would have thought he would even find it something worthy of notice, how did he not break the glass boboches on the little chandelier hanging on the birdcage stand, and who hangs a chandelier on a birdcage stand anyway, and how did he manage to break every one of the turquoise candles in the chandelier, oh, well, he seems fine, better move that thing into a locked room. What? Now he has knocked himself in the head with the little plate stand in the hallway!! Okay, into a locked room it goes too.
So, life is full of peril, especially if you happen to be the grandmother to two one-year-old boys. Did you know there is a website entitled the "Hidden Dangers of Yogurt?" I will not even mention all the possibilities for harm the wooden back scratcher carries. Yep, that locked room is really filling up.
For today, I wish you the company of one-year-olds, safety, and I wish you
Blessings
Saturday, September 7, 2013
"Christians are bipolar," he said...
He sat on the steps of the church eating Ramen noodles. I asked him how he was doing. "Having to eat out of the dumpster today," he said.
I admit, I wondered who had thrown Ramen noodles in a dumpster, but could not think of a graceful, non-incredulous-sounding way of asking. He quickly satisfied my curiosity by explaining that a fellow homeless gentleman shared the noodles with him.
"I am really sorry," I replied. "I have $2.00, and you are welcome to it, but I realize it won't get you much. I wish I had more."
He said he had been back in Nashville for two weeks. Someone had stolen his backpack and the clothes in it. I am thinking, seriously? Not, seriously are you lying to me, but seriously, who steals from a homeless person? How very privileged of me. I suspect it was taken by someone who is hopeless and desperate as well.
He seemed embarrassed that the jeans he had on were dirty, but he had no others.
"You know ma'am lots of Christians are bi-polar. You know what I mean by that?"
"I'm not sure. Help me understand what you mean."
"We'll, they go to church, and they look good and are all right acting there, but you get them out on the street and they don't do a thing to help."
"Hmmmmmm, I am afraid that I do know what you mean." I see a bipolar Christian in the mirror every morning.
I asked him if he was aware of resources available to him. He had not heard of the ones I suggested. He did not know of Father Strobel, and said that he is not Catholic. I assured him that he did not have to be. He shared that he does not have an ID. I had no idea if that was a problem or not. I tried to reach a minister at church, but he was not available. I knew I would be able to get help at church, I just did not have time at the moment to work it out as I was about to begin a tour.
"What is your name?"
"Earnest."
"My name is Marilyn. It is a pleasure to know you."
"I's nice to meet you."
"Well, Earnest, give me some time, and I will work on finding you some clothes. Where can I find you, say tomorrow morning?" I do not have time for this, I have to be at church tomorrow morning. Really? Church is going to keep you from meeting Earnest in the morning? Really?
"I will be down on 2nd Avenue tonight, and then I usually come sit on the church steps every morning."
"What time?"
"Sleeping on the concrete, I am usually up here by 4:00."
4:00 a.m.? Not going to happen, Earnest.
The people I was waiting for arrived. "It was a privilege meeting you, Earnest."
"No, ma'am, it was my privilege."
We parted ways, probably with each of us thinking there was no way we would meet in the morning....me thinking that he was a "typical" homeless person who just cannot be depended on to be where they say they will be, and him thinking that I was a "typical bipolar Christian."
Neither of us was taking into account God's grace in making sure that His children meet their divine appointments.
For today, I wish you a church that responds, I wish you trust in a God who will see that you meet the most important divine appointments, and I wish you
blessings
I admit, I wondered who had thrown Ramen noodles in a dumpster, but could not think of a graceful, non-incredulous-sounding way of asking. He quickly satisfied my curiosity by explaining that a fellow homeless gentleman shared the noodles with him.
"I am really sorry," I replied. "I have $2.00, and you are welcome to it, but I realize it won't get you much. I wish I had more."
He said he had been back in Nashville for two weeks. Someone had stolen his backpack and the clothes in it. I am thinking, seriously? Not, seriously are you lying to me, but seriously, who steals from a homeless person? How very privileged of me. I suspect it was taken by someone who is hopeless and desperate as well.
He seemed embarrassed that the jeans he had on were dirty, but he had no others.
"You know ma'am lots of Christians are bi-polar. You know what I mean by that?"
"I'm not sure. Help me understand what you mean."
"We'll, they go to church, and they look good and are all right acting there, but you get them out on the street and they don't do a thing to help."
"Hmmmmmm, I am afraid that I do know what you mean." I see a bipolar Christian in the mirror every morning.
I asked him if he was aware of resources available to him. He had not heard of the ones I suggested. He did not know of Father Strobel, and said that he is not Catholic. I assured him that he did not have to be. He shared that he does not have an ID. I had no idea if that was a problem or not. I tried to reach a minister at church, but he was not available. I knew I would be able to get help at church, I just did not have time at the moment to work it out as I was about to begin a tour.
"What is your name?"
"Earnest."
"My name is Marilyn. It is a pleasure to know you."
"I's nice to meet you."
"Well, Earnest, give me some time, and I will work on finding you some clothes. Where can I find you, say tomorrow morning?" I do not have time for this, I have to be at church tomorrow morning. Really? Church is going to keep you from meeting Earnest in the morning? Really?
"I will be down on 2nd Avenue tonight, and then I usually come sit on the church steps every morning."
"What time?"
"Sleeping on the concrete, I am usually up here by 4:00."
4:00 a.m.? Not going to happen, Earnest.
The people I was waiting for arrived. "It was a privilege meeting you, Earnest."
"No, ma'am, it was my privilege."
We parted ways, probably with each of us thinking there was no way we would meet in the morning....me thinking that he was a "typical" homeless person who just cannot be depended on to be where they say they will be, and him thinking that I was a "typical bipolar Christian."
Neither of us was taking into account God's grace in making sure that His children meet their divine appointments.
For today, I wish you a church that responds, I wish you trust in a God who will see that you meet the most important divine appointments, and I wish you
blessings
Sunday, August 18, 2013
A "No Panties" Kind of Week....Girls' Trip
I really debated the title of this blog. Some may contend that, perhaps, the don't-use-that-title argument should have won. Maybe, maybe not. If it offends you, I sincerely apologize, but I also know that if you are offended, you just do not get "traveling with the girls." The phrase "no panties" was coined by my mother several years ago when she said at the end of a trip to Sarasota with my sister and me (her 80th birthday present), "why, I don't think I have had panties on all week" (please say that out loud in a charming southern accent, and all offended feelings will be healed). It does not mean that she was going "commando" a la Cosmo Cramer, it means that swimsuit and pajamas were all that were worn for the week. Talk about perfection.
Ernest Hemingway is quoted as having said, "Never go on trips with anyone you do not love." Amen and amen, Ernest. I recently traveled with people I love. Not only are they people I love, they are people with whom I love to travel. So, here's our trip "by the numbers."
10 - the number of days we were together
1 - the number of times we ate dinner out, and that was at Chik-fil-a in McDonough, Georgia on our way home when we were too exhausted to consider anything fancier.
0 - the number of cross words spoken
0 - the number of times M got "pissed off"
8 - the number of days we just sat on the beach and enjoyed being
3 (I think) - the number of Key Lime pie servings in a coconut shell
6 (maybe) - trips to Publix - once to buy food for the week and 5 to buy lunch on the way to the beach
1 - the number of rocket launches we witnessed (now, that was amazing!!)
7 - the number of tries it took to figure out how to turn the water on
lost count - the number of wrong turns taken trying to find the post office
4 - the number of trips to TJ Maxx
5 - tanks of gas for the trip down and back
3 - umbrellas lined up - the picture is of our "compound"
dozens - the number of side scurrying crabs that came out in the evening
1 ton - the amount of sand I vacuumed from Mr. Lincoln's car
2 tons - the amount of sand left in Mr. Lincoln's car after I vacuumed
3 - the number of suitcases we took
8? - the number of extra little bags of varying sizes filled with various items that we took
1516 - the number of miles we drove
2 - the number of trips to Pickin' and Grinin' thrift store...2nd trip to buy that beverage cart for Martha
4 - the number of white serving dishes I bought at the thrift store
272 - the number of white dishes I now have
5 - the number of books I read on my phone - love that Kindle on my phone
?? - the number of journal pages Martha wrote
9 - the number of nights Melissa cooked herself a healthy dinner and offered to share
9 - the number of nights Martha and I declined Melissa's healthy dinner
Don't want to talk about it - the number of Diet Cokes I drank
2 pounds - the amount of dark chocolate with almond Hershey's Bliss we (I) ate
Approximately 180 man hours - spent looking at Pinterest
Cannot be counted - the laughs, the prayers for each other's families, the memories of this and previous trips, the times we will think how fortunate we are to have each other, the times we remember how right Ernest Hemingway was.
So, for today, I wish you a "no panties" kind of week with people you love in a peaceful setting, and I wish you
blessings
Once Upon a Time....I Had a Social Life
Even before I knew what a social life was, I had one. I went square dancing with my parents and their friends, drive-in movies in my pj's with Becky Leech, sleepovers, elementary school carnivals, and, because I had an older brother, high school football games with my folks.
I had quite the social life in high school; Friday nights were for ball games, sometimes with a date, but more often with a group. Saturday nights were youth group activities, or games of Pit or Spoons and Toll House Cookies at the Murphy's. There was prom and Sadie Hawkins Dances, and Homecoming and the Lionettes Christmas Dance. I loved it all.
Later in college, much to my mother's dismay, oftentimes my social life consisted of watching Hawaii Five-0 with my dad. College dating consisted of 2 or 3 dates with whatever guy was looking for a wife and figured I might do. Usually it only took 2 or 3 dates for him to figure out that, perhaps, I wouldn't do. There was the time that I dated a guy known at my house as "Harry the Bastard," but really he was a pretty nice guy, just not terribly interested in me. Then along came Mr. Lincoln who offered to take me dancing, oh, wait, "you have a cast from your thigh to your ankle, maybe dancing isn't such a great idea." Well, duh. But movies, and dinners and dates to church turned, more rapidly than might be advisable, into conversations of marriage and forever.
Early in our marriage, we had a social life. Dinner out with friends, church, movies, the horse races, UK football and basketball games, all manner of wonderful, exciting social activities. As our family grew, so did our social life. We had friends who were the parents of our children's friends, football games, dinners in our homes, trips to Lexington, Gatlinburg and Captiva, evenings spent with dinner out and dancing, concerts, tacky parties, and 30 Something events, Halloween Masquerade parties, Christmas at Belle Meade Mansion. It was all fun stuff.
Last night as I sat on my sofa with a freshly bathed Simeon in my lap giggling and giggling as he zipped and unzipped a compartment on my purse, the thought occurred to me, "now this is a social life I can really enjoy!" There is no movie more entertaining than the live action that we enjoyed yesterday of Max walking around on his knees jabbering in his little boy language. There is nothing that even remotely compares to the big grins those boys toss our way...Simeon's with his large "Chiclet" teeth, and Max with that most familiar genetic space between his two front teeth. There is no movie, no dinner, no dancing, no ball game, no party, no anything that compares to the contentment and joy of a Saturday afternoon and evening spent watching Mr. Lincoln and Max touch fingertips in the vein of Michelangelo's Creation of Adam, or to look out the living room window and see Simeon walking up the driveway with one hand in Fizzie's and the other holding a "big stick." "You want me to read the Gingerbread Man again...okay, how ever many times you want."
So, I embrace this new social order, if you will. It is the best, and whenever I feel like the world is passing me by and I'm missing all the great movies and I haven't danced a step in quite some time and the leftover half of my lunch hamburger is what I have for dinner, I will be most grateful that most of my movies are happening live, and my dancing is now with a little guy in my arms as we move to the beat of "Five Little Monkeys," and my leftover hamburger is nectar from the gods because I am sharing it with Simeon or Max. Ah, I love this grandparent social life. It is the best. Robert Browning was on to something when he said, "Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be..."
So for today, I wish you the social life for which you long, I wish you joy in the moment, and I wish you,
blessings
I had quite the social life in high school; Friday nights were for ball games, sometimes with a date, but more often with a group. Saturday nights were youth group activities, or games of Pit or Spoons and Toll House Cookies at the Murphy's. There was prom and Sadie Hawkins Dances, and Homecoming and the Lionettes Christmas Dance. I loved it all.
Later in college, much to my mother's dismay, oftentimes my social life consisted of watching Hawaii Five-0 with my dad. College dating consisted of 2 or 3 dates with whatever guy was looking for a wife and figured I might do. Usually it only took 2 or 3 dates for him to figure out that, perhaps, I wouldn't do. There was the time that I dated a guy known at my house as "Harry the Bastard," but really he was a pretty nice guy, just not terribly interested in me. Then along came Mr. Lincoln who offered to take me dancing, oh, wait, "you have a cast from your thigh to your ankle, maybe dancing isn't such a great idea." Well, duh. But movies, and dinners and dates to church turned, more rapidly than might be advisable, into conversations of marriage and forever.
Early in our marriage, we had a social life. Dinner out with friends, church, movies, the horse races, UK football and basketball games, all manner of wonderful, exciting social activities. As our family grew, so did our social life. We had friends who were the parents of our children's friends, football games, dinners in our homes, trips to Lexington, Gatlinburg and Captiva, evenings spent with dinner out and dancing, concerts, tacky parties, and 30 Something events, Halloween Masquerade parties, Christmas at Belle Meade Mansion. It was all fun stuff.
Last night as I sat on my sofa with a freshly bathed Simeon in my lap giggling and giggling as he zipped and unzipped a compartment on my purse, the thought occurred to me, "now this is a social life I can really enjoy!" There is no movie more entertaining than the live action that we enjoyed yesterday of Max walking around on his knees jabbering in his little boy language. There is nothing that even remotely compares to the big grins those boys toss our way...Simeon's with his large "Chiclet" teeth, and Max with that most familiar genetic space between his two front teeth. There is no movie, no dinner, no dancing, no ball game, no party, no anything that compares to the contentment and joy of a Saturday afternoon and evening spent watching Mr. Lincoln and Max touch fingertips in the vein of Michelangelo's Creation of Adam, or to look out the living room window and see Simeon walking up the driveway with one hand in Fizzie's and the other holding a "big stick." "You want me to read the Gingerbread Man again...okay, how ever many times you want."
So, I embrace this new social order, if you will. It is the best, and whenever I feel like the world is passing me by and I'm missing all the great movies and I haven't danced a step in quite some time and the leftover half of my lunch hamburger is what I have for dinner, I will be most grateful that most of my movies are happening live, and my dancing is now with a little guy in my arms as we move to the beat of "Five Little Monkeys," and my leftover hamburger is nectar from the gods because I am sharing it with Simeon or Max. Ah, I love this grandparent social life. It is the best. Robert Browning was on to something when he said, "Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be..."
So for today, I wish you the social life for which you long, I wish you joy in the moment, and I wish you,
blessings
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Upon Second Glance
It has been re-brought to my attention in the past few days, that in life often a second glance is needed.
A few days ago, a friend, really an acquaintance whom I admire because I know the company she keeps and "her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also...," shared a post on FB. It was a picture of a man holding a sign that said "if I get a million likes, my son will go to church." On first glance I thought, "I like church. This is probably some friendly bet the dad and son have where the son said 'yeah, I'll go to church if you can get a million likes on FB,' sort of in the vein of 'I'll go to church when pigs fly.'" So I hit the "like" button?
Then, I read some of the comments following the post. I was struck all over again (I can be a really slow learner) how hurtful church has been for some. While many of the comments were accompanied by the "f" word multiple times and, what seemed to me, extreme vitriolic statements, I have to know that those feelings were born of some form of abuse and/or perversion by people connected to church. Rarely, if ever, does a person feel that strongly about something without reason. So, upon second glance, I hit "unlike."
I get that father's desire for his son to go to church. For me, it is a community of people with similar beliefs who help me grow in my theology, who set wonderful examples of service, who encourage me in my efforts to follow a Christ-like path, who are flawed and annoying and stubborn and imperfect (wait...an apt description of myself) and redeemed. So, I get that dad. Upon second glance, I am learning to understand a bit better those who are offended by that post.
Recently, a young woman shared her story with a group. On one level, it is a story hard to hear. It is a story of severe family dysfunction followed by a series of self-destructive choices. She is completely transparent concerning her life then and her life now. Her story was told most eloquently, woven with threads of humility and gratitude. She blames no one. She is an amazing woman. In her talk, she did not share her accomplishments brought about by hard work and determination. I happen to learn of those through others who know and love her. I was moved to tears as she shared her story. I heard a wise man say afterwards that we can read all the philosophers and theologians we want, no one can tell the story like this young woman.
Later, someone came to her and told her that she had done a nice job (huge understatement), but that her dress was too short (not in my opinion). What? Oh, my goodness I was furious when I heard this. It seemed such a cruel comment. I cannot judge in what spirit it was delivered. The young woman had bought the dress the day before so that she would be nicely and appropriately dressed. I really wanted to slap someone.
However, upon second glance, I found myself sorrowful for the person who walked away from that time of testimony with "your dress is too short." They completely missed the beauty. Let me say here that I am capable of doing exactly the same thing. I can totally discount great lessons because I do not particularly care for the messenger or I have a headache or countless other reasons. Often, I am able to see how my bias causes me to misjudge. Probably, just as often I do not see. Perhaps, a second glance is always needed.
I hope that upon second glance in this young woman's heart the "your dress is too short" will be drowned out by the comments that praised her honesty, her courage, her tenacity, and her humility. I do not know why it is, but often we humans cling to the negative others toss our way rather than the positive. I guess Julia Roberts was right in "Pretty Woman" when she said "the bad stuff is easier to believe."
I hope that upon second glance the person who made the comment will realize how unkind it was. I hope, upon second glance, they discover the essence of love and joy and gratitude present in that testimony rather than being blinded by a skirt that might have been (it was not) too short.
I hope that upon second glance those who have been wounded by church will see the flaws in the people but not in the plan. Church done well is a wonderful thing. I hope they won't stay away from lack of a second glance.
I hope that those who love church and find it a blessed place of refuge will, upon second glance, be honest about the failures that have caused damage to others.
So for today, I wish you second glances, deeper understanding, and I wish you
blessings
A few days ago, a friend, really an acquaintance whom I admire because I know the company she keeps and "her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also...," shared a post on FB. It was a picture of a man holding a sign that said "if I get a million likes, my son will go to church." On first glance I thought, "I like church. This is probably some friendly bet the dad and son have where the son said 'yeah, I'll go to church if you can get a million likes on FB,' sort of in the vein of 'I'll go to church when pigs fly.'" So I hit the "like" button?
Then, I read some of the comments following the post. I was struck all over again (I can be a really slow learner) how hurtful church has been for some. While many of the comments were accompanied by the "f" word multiple times and, what seemed to me, extreme vitriolic statements, I have to know that those feelings were born of some form of abuse and/or perversion by people connected to church. Rarely, if ever, does a person feel that strongly about something without reason. So, upon second glance, I hit "unlike."
I get that father's desire for his son to go to church. For me, it is a community of people with similar beliefs who help me grow in my theology, who set wonderful examples of service, who encourage me in my efforts to follow a Christ-like path, who are flawed and annoying and stubborn and imperfect (wait...an apt description of myself) and redeemed. So, I get that dad. Upon second glance, I am learning to understand a bit better those who are offended by that post.
Recently, a young woman shared her story with a group. On one level, it is a story hard to hear. It is a story of severe family dysfunction followed by a series of self-destructive choices. She is completely transparent concerning her life then and her life now. Her story was told most eloquently, woven with threads of humility and gratitude. She blames no one. She is an amazing woman. In her talk, she did not share her accomplishments brought about by hard work and determination. I happen to learn of those through others who know and love her. I was moved to tears as she shared her story. I heard a wise man say afterwards that we can read all the philosophers and theologians we want, no one can tell the story like this young woman.
Later, someone came to her and told her that she had done a nice job (huge understatement), but that her dress was too short (not in my opinion). What? Oh, my goodness I was furious when I heard this. It seemed such a cruel comment. I cannot judge in what spirit it was delivered. The young woman had bought the dress the day before so that she would be nicely and appropriately dressed. I really wanted to slap someone.
However, upon second glance, I found myself sorrowful for the person who walked away from that time of testimony with "your dress is too short." They completely missed the beauty. Let me say here that I am capable of doing exactly the same thing. I can totally discount great lessons because I do not particularly care for the messenger or I have a headache or countless other reasons. Often, I am able to see how my bias causes me to misjudge. Probably, just as often I do not see. Perhaps, a second glance is always needed.
I hope that upon second glance in this young woman's heart the "your dress is too short" will be drowned out by the comments that praised her honesty, her courage, her tenacity, and her humility. I do not know why it is, but often we humans cling to the negative others toss our way rather than the positive. I guess Julia Roberts was right in "Pretty Woman" when she said "the bad stuff is easier to believe."
I hope that upon second glance the person who made the comment will realize how unkind it was. I hope, upon second glance, they discover the essence of love and joy and gratitude present in that testimony rather than being blinded by a skirt that might have been (it was not) too short.
I hope that upon second glance those who have been wounded by church will see the flaws in the people but not in the plan. Church done well is a wonderful thing. I hope they won't stay away from lack of a second glance.
I hope that those who love church and find it a blessed place of refuge will, upon second glance, be honest about the failures that have caused damage to others.
So for today, I wish you second glances, deeper understanding, and I wish you
blessings
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