The story of the 10 lepers in Luke 17 was my assigned topic for storytelling at church Sunday. We all know the story. Ten lepers meet Jesus along the road and cry out to him. Jesus sends them to see the priests, and "as they went, they were cleansed." Only one returned to praise and give thanks. Luke makes it clear that the one was a Samaritan. There are many lessons to be learned from this story, but, appropriate to the season, our topic was gratitude.
Whenever it is my week to tell the story, I begin praying pretty soon after I receive the information. I just ask God to help me get the point across that the curriculum requires, but more importantly, to help the children walk away with what He wants them to glean from the text. It was made clear to me that this is not a lesson in proper etiquette. I was discussing it with Mr. Lincoln, and he said, "well, saying thank you is good manners." I agreed, but there is a huge difference in having good manners and truly having a grateful heart. I am acquainted with a woman who seems to feel that the extent of her requirement for good manners is to write thank you notes for any and every little thing. The problem is, she behaves poorly, and leaves those who spend time with her feeling as if they could never do anything to please her. I do not think I have ever heard her sincerely say that she was grateful for anything. That is so sad to me.
Jesus did not need that leper's gratitude. The leper needed his gratitude. I think that is the crux of the story. Yes, the other nine remained healed as far as we know, but I do not think their lives were lived as abundantly as possible because they lacked gratitude. How in the world can a person be suffering from a horrible debilitating, disfiguring, ostrasizing disease, be healed at a spoken word, and not fall at the feet of the healer? How indeed? But, I do the same thing all the time. Sometimes, I dwell on the things I think I do not have instead of on the overflowing abundance of the undeserved gifts I have been given. I want to think I am the grateful leper, and I am at times, but oftentimes I am the other nine who must have had some sense of entitlement, a feeling that they deserved to be healed. Jesus said to the grateful leper, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well." The other nine were just as healed as the tenth one. So, what did Jesus mean that his faith had made him well? I think the other nine were healed of their physical disease, but the darkness and dissatisfaction of ingratitude continued to dwell within them. They may have been healed of leprosy, but they were not well.
I believe this story was included in our canon because we all need to be aware of that for which we should be grateful...for our sakes. God does not need our gratitude, but He encourages us to be grateful so our own sakes. Gratitude brings us joy. That got me to thinking about the people I know who claim to not believe in God. There is a lot about that which is sad, but one of the saddest things is, who do they thank? If one does not believe in a loving, transcendent God, who does one thank for this exquisite autumn that we have had here in Middle Tennessee? Who does one thank for the clear blue skies, the golden leaves, or the cool breeze? Who does one thank for the peaceful sounds of rain falling on the roof? Who does one thank standing on the beach and watching the majesty of wave after wave rolling to shore? Who does one thank for the sounds of palm fronds clacking together in a tropical breeze? Who does one thank for the talents of musicians and writers and artists who enrich our lives? Who does one thank for family? Who does one thank for the promise of a new earth and a new heaven when all will be set right?
So, for today, I wish you hearts filled with gratitude, a joyful Thanksgiving celebration, and
blessings
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Church....What is It?
Webster defines church as: 1. a building for public worship, especially one for Christian worship, 2. public worship, religious service, 3. all Christians, 4. ecclesiastical government or its power as opposed to secular government, 5. the profession of the clergy, 6. a group of worshipers.
My Pocket Word Finder Thesaurus uses these synonyms for church: basilica, chapel, cathedral, house of god (yep, god in lowercase), mosque, sanctuary, synagogue, tabernacle, temple.
Colossians says, "And he is the head of the body, the church..." "....for the sake of his body, which is the church."
So, I ponder, what is church? Is it the building? Certainly, all my life it has been pounded into my head that the church is not a building. Church is people. So, Webster's 6th definition fits the boundaries of my upbringing. My thesaurus offers nothing of any value within those parameters. Colossians seems to be the final word, but what exactly does it mean?
I do not profess to have a lot of answers. I know that church, as organized religion, has caused harm and hurt feelings for many. I am fairly certain that a "perfect" building could be built, but there is no perfection in that church which is a group of worshipers. Church has its share of those seeking to be understood rather than to understand, who think if you do not reach their same conclusions about salvation then you are somehow lost, that "forsaking the assembly" is less about trying to white knuckle your way through life and more about some "lamb's book of life" where missing a service gives you yet another black mark. Church is where arguments can grow heated over baptism and instrumental music and kitchens in the building and corporate support for orphans and widows and which political causes are acceptable to promote and which are not. I know church is filled with "pie in the sky" views that if one lives right and does all the right things life with be easy and without trials. I know church is filled with angry, vitriolic voices, who truly believe that is the only way they can be heard. Frankly, I think those who consistently bang that drum eventually lose all credibility and influence. Who in their right mind wants to be part of such a broken organization? I do.
Last night, I witnessed Church at its best. Church as the body of Christ. Church working to help others. I saw the results of those who decorated tables beautifully, who organized a silent auction, who designed and printed programs, who put together a beautiful video, who paid money to sponsor tables, who bought at the auction, who donated to the auction, all for the sake of educating inner city pre-schoolers.
Because of the vision of a lovely man, Wayne Reed and a beautiful woman, Sandy Collins, there are children being given a step up before they enroll in school. There are parents being educated and trained for jobs. There are moms being helped to understand developmental stages of their children. There are people being loved and valued and cared for. Without Church, I am not sure it could have all happened.
I saw people I love. My precious friend, Ginger, who because there was a table between us and we couldn't hug, kissed me on the hand. I love her. She is my church. My friend Gordon, a man quick to laugh, and who does not seem to age. I have not seen him in a while, but I was grateful to give him a hug. Paula and Terry, whom I do not see as often as I would like were at our table....a table sponsored by a young couple who strive to serve and love each other and those around them. Chad and Laura are my church. My mom, with whom I had lunch earlier in the day but who had to come give me a kiss and a hug...she is my church. Mz. Bernie, she is my church. Jennifer who hovered over a silent auction item, and with whom I have anticipation of sharing a meal in the not too distant future, is my church. Doctor Tim is my church. Frank, who has lain on his face at the Father's feet in prayer on behalf of my family is my church. Sharon, who is genuinely thrilled for us, and who joins in our anticipation of grandchildren is my church. Lee, oh, my goodness the exceptionally talented Lee Camp is my church. Last night a room was filled with my church. Money was raised. Children will continue to be served. Lives will be enriched. Opportunities will be offered....because of church.
So, Church, what is it? It is different things to different people. Like all of life, we get out what we put into church. Our attitudes affect how we view church. What we put into church and how we view church flows and changes as our lives progress. The Wayne Reed Christian Childcare Center is church at its best. I praise God that He placed me in this time and place with His church.
So for today, I wish you a revisiting of church, I wish you opportunities in service, and I wish you
blessings
My Pocket Word Finder Thesaurus uses these synonyms for church: basilica, chapel, cathedral, house of god (yep, god in lowercase), mosque, sanctuary, synagogue, tabernacle, temple.
Colossians says, "And he is the head of the body, the church..." "....for the sake of his body, which is the church."
So, I ponder, what is church? Is it the building? Certainly, all my life it has been pounded into my head that the church is not a building. Church is people. So, Webster's 6th definition fits the boundaries of my upbringing. My thesaurus offers nothing of any value within those parameters. Colossians seems to be the final word, but what exactly does it mean?
I do not profess to have a lot of answers. I know that church, as organized religion, has caused harm and hurt feelings for many. I am fairly certain that a "perfect" building could be built, but there is no perfection in that church which is a group of worshipers. Church has its share of those seeking to be understood rather than to understand, who think if you do not reach their same conclusions about salvation then you are somehow lost, that "forsaking the assembly" is less about trying to white knuckle your way through life and more about some "lamb's book of life" where missing a service gives you yet another black mark. Church is where arguments can grow heated over baptism and instrumental music and kitchens in the building and corporate support for orphans and widows and which political causes are acceptable to promote and which are not. I know church is filled with "pie in the sky" views that if one lives right and does all the right things life with be easy and without trials. I know church is filled with angry, vitriolic voices, who truly believe that is the only way they can be heard. Frankly, I think those who consistently bang that drum eventually lose all credibility and influence. Who in their right mind wants to be part of such a broken organization? I do.
Last night, I witnessed Church at its best. Church as the body of Christ. Church working to help others. I saw the results of those who decorated tables beautifully, who organized a silent auction, who designed and printed programs, who put together a beautiful video, who paid money to sponsor tables, who bought at the auction, who donated to the auction, all for the sake of educating inner city pre-schoolers.
Because of the vision of a lovely man, Wayne Reed and a beautiful woman, Sandy Collins, there are children being given a step up before they enroll in school. There are parents being educated and trained for jobs. There are moms being helped to understand developmental stages of their children. There are people being loved and valued and cared for. Without Church, I am not sure it could have all happened.
I saw people I love. My precious friend, Ginger, who because there was a table between us and we couldn't hug, kissed me on the hand. I love her. She is my church. My friend Gordon, a man quick to laugh, and who does not seem to age. I have not seen him in a while, but I was grateful to give him a hug. Paula and Terry, whom I do not see as often as I would like were at our table....a table sponsored by a young couple who strive to serve and love each other and those around them. Chad and Laura are my church. My mom, with whom I had lunch earlier in the day but who had to come give me a kiss and a hug...she is my church. Mz. Bernie, she is my church. Jennifer who hovered over a silent auction item, and with whom I have anticipation of sharing a meal in the not too distant future, is my church. Doctor Tim is my church. Frank, who has lain on his face at the Father's feet in prayer on behalf of my family is my church. Sharon, who is genuinely thrilled for us, and who joins in our anticipation of grandchildren is my church. Lee, oh, my goodness the exceptionally talented Lee Camp is my church. Last night a room was filled with my church. Money was raised. Children will continue to be served. Lives will be enriched. Opportunities will be offered....because of church.
So, Church, what is it? It is different things to different people. Like all of life, we get out what we put into church. Our attitudes affect how we view church. What we put into church and how we view church flows and changes as our lives progress. The Wayne Reed Christian Childcare Center is church at its best. I praise God that He placed me in this time and place with His church.
So for today, I wish you a revisiting of church, I wish you opportunities in service, and I wish you
blessings
Monday, November 14, 2011
Self-righteous Pontificating
I have been doing some self-righteous pontificating. With a very minimal amount of information (I don't read the paper or watch the news), I jumped on the "crucify them" bandwagon concerning the Penn State mess. The young man who apparently actually witnessed an episode of sexual abuse received the greatest dose of my disdain. "How dare he not stop it when he saw it," I ranted to Mr. Lincoln, knowing full well that he would agree with me, but he did not. Certainly, he does not condone sexual abuse nor the mistreatment of children. But, he is bemused by those of us who have not been in a certain situation thinking we know full well what we would do. He explained to me that this young man, an age 26 graduate assistant at the time, upon viewing a powerful and influential man in the Penn State community abusing a young boy went to his dad for advice. His dad told him to report it to Coach Paterno, who in turn, reported it to school authorities. They both felt they had handed the situation over to those who would see to it that it was handled properly.
I have never, to my knowledge, witnesssed anyone sexually abusing a child. I have, however, seen parents, in my opinion, abusing their children in public by yelling or slapping or pretending to leave them behind. On occasion, I may have given them the stink-eye, but I have never actually said anything. Once, as I was driving across the Victory Memorial Bridge, I saw a young man and woman arguing and shoving each other. He was much bigger then she. Did I stop? No, I did not. I did drive until I saw a police officer several blocks away, and reported it to him. I had done my civic duty, or had I?
I remember being at a local elementary school to speak. It was St. Patrick's Day. This is a great school, but several years ago, they had the most verbally abusive teacher it has been my displeasure with which to work. This day, as the students were coming into the space where I was speaking, a couple boys were cutting up, as boys will do. She yelled at one of them, belittled him, made a spectacle of him in front of everyone else. I was steaming, but, did I say anything? No, I did not. I mean, come on, I could not insult a teacher at one of my favorite schools. I needed their business.
I know. Some of you (if anybody is reading this) are thinking that I have no business getting in the middle of someone else's argument or fight. I might get hurt. Or, maybe that the teacher was not really going to hurt that little 4th grade boy. He should not have been cutting up. That is the rationalization I use often to avoid involvement. Some of you may be thinking that it is not the same thing as the Penn State situation, but the principle is the same, I think, well, I think after Mr. Lincoln pointed it out to me.
Okay, well, maybe I would not have done as much in the situation as I think I would have. Maybe I am a whole lot more self-righteous than righteous. But, that Sandusky fellow, he certainly deserves my condemnation. I mean is there anything lower than someone who preys on innocent children? Well, no, there is nothing worse than a person who takes advantage of the weakness of others, be they children or the elderly or the handicapped. But, having said that, I truly do not believe that someone wakes up one day and decides they will be a child molester. Just like I do not believe that people decide to be alcoholics, or drug, sex, food, personal drama, shopping or any other kind of addict. It is a weakness in us, and we all have something that at times prevents us from being the person we are meant to be. It is just so very easy for me to excuse my addiction to sugar as not being all that bad. But, it comes from the same place as Mr. Sandusky's addiction.
Please do not hear me saying that he should not be held accountable. He should be. He needs serious counseling, and if it is determined that he cannot control his impulses, then he, in my opinion, needs to be kept as far away from children as is possible. Children deserve to be provided for and protected by the adults in their lives. But, Mr. Sandusky does not need to be the subject of my self-righteous pontificating. I need to be the subject of that.
I tell the children on my walking tours that they must stay behind me at all times. That just because a sign in Downtown Nashville says it is safe to walk does not mean that it is. They often are correcting each other and saying, "get behind her....she said you had to stay behind her...you're beside her, you better get behind her etc.." I always stop and tell those who are bossing their classmates around, "you take care of where you are, and if I feel like someone is violating my rules, I will let them know." That is a good lesson for me. I think the Bible talks about it in terms of specks and planks.
So, thanks to Mr. Lincoln, instead of crucifying the people involved in the Penn State debacle, and pontificating on how pitifully everyone involved acted, perhaps I will involve myself in a little less self-righteous justification and a little more honest self examination. Perhaps, no definitely, my time would be better spent in praying for everyone involved from Mr. Sandusky to the young boys he harmed, and everyone in between. I better throw myself in that pool of prayer, because, heaven knows I need it.
So for today, I pray that we all treat ourselves and those in our lives with love and care and understanding, and I pray for you
blessings
I have never, to my knowledge, witnesssed anyone sexually abusing a child. I have, however, seen parents, in my opinion, abusing their children in public by yelling or slapping or pretending to leave them behind. On occasion, I may have given them the stink-eye, but I have never actually said anything. Once, as I was driving across the Victory Memorial Bridge, I saw a young man and woman arguing and shoving each other. He was much bigger then she. Did I stop? No, I did not. I did drive until I saw a police officer several blocks away, and reported it to him. I had done my civic duty, or had I?
I remember being at a local elementary school to speak. It was St. Patrick's Day. This is a great school, but several years ago, they had the most verbally abusive teacher it has been my displeasure with which to work. This day, as the students were coming into the space where I was speaking, a couple boys were cutting up, as boys will do. She yelled at one of them, belittled him, made a spectacle of him in front of everyone else. I was steaming, but, did I say anything? No, I did not. I mean, come on, I could not insult a teacher at one of my favorite schools. I needed their business.
I know. Some of you (if anybody is reading this) are thinking that I have no business getting in the middle of someone else's argument or fight. I might get hurt. Or, maybe that the teacher was not really going to hurt that little 4th grade boy. He should not have been cutting up. That is the rationalization I use often to avoid involvement. Some of you may be thinking that it is not the same thing as the Penn State situation, but the principle is the same, I think, well, I think after Mr. Lincoln pointed it out to me.
Okay, well, maybe I would not have done as much in the situation as I think I would have. Maybe I am a whole lot more self-righteous than righteous. But, that Sandusky fellow, he certainly deserves my condemnation. I mean is there anything lower than someone who preys on innocent children? Well, no, there is nothing worse than a person who takes advantage of the weakness of others, be they children or the elderly or the handicapped. But, having said that, I truly do not believe that someone wakes up one day and decides they will be a child molester. Just like I do not believe that people decide to be alcoholics, or drug, sex, food, personal drama, shopping or any other kind of addict. It is a weakness in us, and we all have something that at times prevents us from being the person we are meant to be. It is just so very easy for me to excuse my addiction to sugar as not being all that bad. But, it comes from the same place as Mr. Sandusky's addiction.
Please do not hear me saying that he should not be held accountable. He should be. He needs serious counseling, and if it is determined that he cannot control his impulses, then he, in my opinion, needs to be kept as far away from children as is possible. Children deserve to be provided for and protected by the adults in their lives. But, Mr. Sandusky does not need to be the subject of my self-righteous pontificating. I need to be the subject of that.
I tell the children on my walking tours that they must stay behind me at all times. That just because a sign in Downtown Nashville says it is safe to walk does not mean that it is. They often are correcting each other and saying, "get behind her....she said you had to stay behind her...you're beside her, you better get behind her etc.." I always stop and tell those who are bossing their classmates around, "you take care of where you are, and if I feel like someone is violating my rules, I will let them know." That is a good lesson for me. I think the Bible talks about it in terms of specks and planks.
So, thanks to Mr. Lincoln, instead of crucifying the people involved in the Penn State debacle, and pontificating on how pitifully everyone involved acted, perhaps I will involve myself in a little less self-righteous justification and a little more honest self examination. Perhaps, no definitely, my time would be better spent in praying for everyone involved from Mr. Sandusky to the young boys he harmed, and everyone in between. I better throw myself in that pool of prayer, because, heaven knows I need it.
So for today, I pray that we all treat ourselves and those in our lives with love and care and understanding, and I pray for you
blessings
Friday, November 11, 2011
An Embarrassment of Riches
A few weeks after MP and Josh brought over cupcakes with pink and blue little signs that said "it's a boy," or "it's a girl," (their cute way of telling me they were expecting a baby, which of course they had to point them out to me because I am extraordinarily slow), I got a phone call from Marshall and Sheri. Right off the bat, they told me that I was on speaker phone. I do not like being on a speaker phone, but I said, "okay." Sheri said, "I have taken a test, actually, I took it twice, (at this point I'm thinking maybe she's going to graduate school? I told you that I am extraordinarily slow at times) and it was positive." Whaaaaaaaaaaaat???? Oh, my stars, I started to cry, I screamed into the phone, I was overwhelmed and overjoyed. 2 grandbabies!!! Almost twin cousins!!! Talk about an embarrassment of riches. How can one person be so blessed?
Marshall was so excited. I loved hearing the joy in his voice. Sheri had a bit more trepidation, but she was still happy. Over the weeks I have listened to the excitement in Sheri's voice increase with the passing of each day. They're going to have a baby!!!!
I cannot stand calling babies "it" even if we do not know their gender or what their official name will be. So, between now and when MP and Josh's baby is born, he or she is known as Mamie-Bob. They have decided not to find out the sex of the baby until it is born. Because Marshall and Sheri (especially Marshall) have a bit more difficulty in keeping a happy secret, in January, we will learn if their baby is a girl or a boy and what its name is likely to be. Sheri asked if I wanted her to call us (we will be in Florida) when they find out, or wait until they join us in Sanibel to tell us. I told her to just plan on calling us because she and I both know they will not be able to keep it to themselves. So, in the meantime, their baby has temporarily been christened Wee Baby Seamus.
I must admit that I have prayed and prayed that my children will have children. Mamie-Bob and Wee Baby Seamus are already greatly loved, and we long to meet them...not too early, please. We will gratefully wait until they are full term. Patience is a virtue.
Marshall will be the dad who is riding on the back of the grocery cart flying down the aisle while Wee Baby Seamus giggles in delight. MP will be infinitely patient. Sheri will make every effort to see that her children are well behaved. Josh will be a thoughtful dad, bringing his child little gifts meant specifically for him or her.
My prayer is that both babies arrive here healthy and whole. I pray that they intimately come to know God their Creator and God their Father. I pray they have the room to grow into the person they are meant to be, and not who the world says they should be. I pray they feel provided for and protected. I pray they get cuts and bruises and hurt feelings, for without those how can one ever grow in character. I pray when they get those cuts and bruises and hurt feelings they know they are loved, and it will all be set right, eventually. I pray they grow close as cousins. I pray they know a community of family and friends and church who cares for and is watching out for them. I pray they have servants' hearts. I pray they love to come to Mellie's house. I pray God equips me to be the best, most loving, most fun grandmother possible.
My children are having children. For what more can a parent ask? I believe that parenthood is life's grandest adventure filled with joy and sorrow and success and failure and frustration and peace (nothing like a baby sleeping on your chest). Going from thinking one has all the answers to the befuddlement of parenting is a guarantee for personal growth. I believe grandparenthood is all the fun without the responsibility. Perfection!
So for today, I wish you an embarrasment of riches and
blessings
Marshall was so excited. I loved hearing the joy in his voice. Sheri had a bit more trepidation, but she was still happy. Over the weeks I have listened to the excitement in Sheri's voice increase with the passing of each day. They're going to have a baby!!!!
I cannot stand calling babies "it" even if we do not know their gender or what their official name will be. So, between now and when MP and Josh's baby is born, he or she is known as Mamie-Bob. They have decided not to find out the sex of the baby until it is born. Because Marshall and Sheri (especially Marshall) have a bit more difficulty in keeping a happy secret, in January, we will learn if their baby is a girl or a boy and what its name is likely to be. Sheri asked if I wanted her to call us (we will be in Florida) when they find out, or wait until they join us in Sanibel to tell us. I told her to just plan on calling us because she and I both know they will not be able to keep it to themselves. So, in the meantime, their baby has temporarily been christened Wee Baby Seamus.
I must admit that I have prayed and prayed that my children will have children. Mamie-Bob and Wee Baby Seamus are already greatly loved, and we long to meet them...not too early, please. We will gratefully wait until they are full term. Patience is a virtue.
Marshall will be the dad who is riding on the back of the grocery cart flying down the aisle while Wee Baby Seamus giggles in delight. MP will be infinitely patient. Sheri will make every effort to see that her children are well behaved. Josh will be a thoughtful dad, bringing his child little gifts meant specifically for him or her.
My prayer is that both babies arrive here healthy and whole. I pray that they intimately come to know God their Creator and God their Father. I pray they have the room to grow into the person they are meant to be, and not who the world says they should be. I pray they feel provided for and protected. I pray they get cuts and bruises and hurt feelings, for without those how can one ever grow in character. I pray when they get those cuts and bruises and hurt feelings they know they are loved, and it will all be set right, eventually. I pray they grow close as cousins. I pray they know a community of family and friends and church who cares for and is watching out for them. I pray they have servants' hearts. I pray they love to come to Mellie's house. I pray God equips me to be the best, most loving, most fun grandmother possible.
My children are having children. For what more can a parent ask? I believe that parenthood is life's grandest adventure filled with joy and sorrow and success and failure and frustration and peace (nothing like a baby sleeping on your chest). Going from thinking one has all the answers to the befuddlement of parenting is a guarantee for personal growth. I believe grandparenthood is all the fun without the responsibility. Perfection!
So for today, I wish you an embarrasment of riches and
blessings
Thursday, November 10, 2011
MP
Next Tuesday marks MP's 31st birthday. On Marshall's second birthday, three weeks before she was born, the doctor said she could come any day. That was a pretty long three weeks. I had fretted over her during most of my pregnancy. I did not tell anyone at the time, but I was convinced she was a boy, and that "he" was not going to have arms and legs. "Limb reduction" was a side effect of medicine I took while pregnant, and, of course, in my irrational, dramatic, hormonal mind, that was the side effect I was certain my baby would suffer. Imagine my great joy when she was born with 2 arms, 2 legs, 10 fingers and 10 toes. A friend at church who had 4 boys before she had a girl, said to me, "I don't get you people who get variety on 2 tries." Me either, but I was grateful.
I thought myself the luckiest girl in the world. I had a precious son, and now a most adorable little girl. And, what a girl she was. She loved wearing dresses and hair bows and English sandals. The little doll slept all night at 2 weeks, and continued to do so...well, until she turned a year old, and then things changed. She did love her paci. I remember my dad saying to me one day when she was about two, "don't you think it's time she quit using that pacifier?" I told him anytime he wanted to take it away and come spend the night with her he could be my guest. After she turned 2, we made her keep it in her bed, and not walk around with it. When she was in "Miss" Faye's 3 year old class she would keep her paci in her cubby, and when she was feeling insecure or upset, she would go sit in her cubby with her paci for a minute or two, and than all would be well.
Her real name is Mary Pullias. She is named for her Nunny and Mr. Lincoln's grandfather. What a name to put on a little kid, but she made efforts to explain it to people, to inform them that, "no, I do not answer to Mary," to slowly help them pronounce it correctly until she finally began to just go by MP. Both names suit her. She has lots of nicknames. Her husband calls her Pullias. Her dad calls her Paloma. I'm not sure why. I often call her Mary PP or just P, but mostly, these days she is MP.
She never crawled. She just rolled all over the house until at age 9 months, she stood up and started walking. I tried to tell her to sit down she was too young to be walking, but to no avail. Growing up, she played softball ~ never swung at a bad pitch ~ didn't swing a lot. She swam. She began swimming on a swim team when she was 4. She wore her hair in dog ears with huge green ribbons. It was okay to hang onto the lane ropes when competing, as long as you did not pull yourself along or touch the bottom. No problem with her touching the bottom, she could not reach it. She would stop and rest, as I cheered her on from the side. She would shoot me an expression like, "really, Mom, stop yelling." That was just the beginning of her letting us know when we pleased and displeased her.
She has always been a very good student. School has just been her thing. She likes to learn. She likes the challenge of being tested. Anything less than an "A" and her normally easygoing disposition takes a bit of a turn. In nursing school, she made a "B" on a test. Her then fiance, sent her flowers and other gifts because she was so upset. He called me, somewhat befuddled. I told him not to worry, she would be okay. MP was notorious for having one "fit" a year. Just one. When she was 3 it happened at school with "Miss" Faye. I remember Faye calling me, literally in tears, because MP had come unglued at school that day. I told Faye to relax, that must have been her fit for the year. Frankly, I was not disappointed to have missed it. One cannot get too upset with a person who only wigs out once every 365 days. The other 364 days, she is very capable of working life and problems out in her head. I greatly admire that about her.
MP is so fun. She is willing to try most any adventure. A trait she and her brother both have. She is quick witted, and can be sharp tongued in a witty way. I love it when she and Marshall get into deep conversation about something, or when they make each other laugh. They are both very funny...well, at least to their mother. MP is like Mr. Lincoln in a lot of ways. She has his coloring, although, she still looks a lot like my side of the family. She thinks like him too. Josh, her husband, once told me, "she is the most logical person I know. Not the most logical female I know, but the most logical person." It is true. She does not beat around the bush. She calls hogwash hogwash when she hears it. There is nothing passive-aggressive about her. She does not let others determine how she feels about herself. She is efficient. She is creative. She is one of those rare people who has both her right brain and left brain working pretty much equally. Marsh is a lot that way too. She has a can-do spirit. She is not a drama queen. She does not wear her feelings on her sleeve. She is wise about so many things.
Mary Pullias a.k.a. MP has brought great joy and light into our lives. I feel most blessed to call her my daughter. Like all of us, she is not perfect. She keeps house like her mother, which does not fall into the perfection catagory. She can get very frustrated by what she perceives as others' stupidity. She is kind and compassionate, fun and funny, dependable and responsible. I enjoy every moment I spend with her whether it is just the two of us, or, better yet, the whole family together. I love her. It's as simple as that.
So for today, I wish you joy in your family, and I wish you
blessings
Friday, November 4, 2011
Abundant Life
A friend posted on facebook a picture of her parents and her sons. They are on the beach, all dressed in white shirts. The parents are beautiful. The boys are beautiful. The beach is beautiful. The sky is beautiful. But, the thing that struck me was the wedding band on her father's hand. The wedding band on that aging hand spoke of an abundant life.
I do not know my friend's parents at all. I know nothing about their financial situation. I do know they have an abundant life. From the picture, I know they have had a life together that has given them at least one absolutely adorable daughter with a laugh that warms one's soul. I know they have at least one very fine man as a son-in-law. I know they have at least two precious grandsons. I know they must be the kind of people with whom their grown children enjoy vacationing.
Looking at that picture made me want to weep for Kim Kardashian. Many people think she has the abundant life. She has, apparently, a lot of money. She has fame. She had her own reality show...maybe she still does. I watch a lot of junk on TV, but I do not watch The Kardashians. She has her own designer line of purses. She can jet all over the world at a whim. She may have an abundance, but she does not have an abundant life.
The people in that photo on the beach have an abundant life. They have a life of commitment....to each other and to their family. I have no idea what they have weathered in life, but I guarantee they are old enough to have had some bumps in the road. It seems they have traveled successfully together.
I wish the news media would just not report on the rich and famous and all their abundance. I want to hear about people whose wedding bands have developed a warm patina with the passage of time, and are worn on aged hands. The world needs to know about those abundant lives. The world needs to know what keeps people together. We already know way too much about what drives people apart. The world needs to know what people do to give their children and their grandchildren a sense of safety and happiness in their presence. The world needs to learn the difference between having an abundance of things and living the abundant life.
So for today, I wish you an abundant life granted by your loving Father, and I wish you
blessings
I do not know my friend's parents at all. I know nothing about their financial situation. I do know they have an abundant life. From the picture, I know they have had a life together that has given them at least one absolutely adorable daughter with a laugh that warms one's soul. I know they have at least one very fine man as a son-in-law. I know they have at least two precious grandsons. I know they must be the kind of people with whom their grown children enjoy vacationing.
Looking at that picture made me want to weep for Kim Kardashian. Many people think she has the abundant life. She has, apparently, a lot of money. She has fame. She had her own reality show...maybe she still does. I watch a lot of junk on TV, but I do not watch The Kardashians. She has her own designer line of purses. She can jet all over the world at a whim. She may have an abundance, but she does not have an abundant life.
The people in that photo on the beach have an abundant life. They have a life of commitment....to each other and to their family. I have no idea what they have weathered in life, but I guarantee they are old enough to have had some bumps in the road. It seems they have traveled successfully together.
I wish the news media would just not report on the rich and famous and all their abundance. I want to hear about people whose wedding bands have developed a warm patina with the passage of time, and are worn on aged hands. The world needs to know about those abundant lives. The world needs to know what keeps people together. We already know way too much about what drives people apart. The world needs to know what people do to give their children and their grandchildren a sense of safety and happiness in their presence. The world needs to learn the difference between having an abundance of things and living the abundant life.
So for today, I wish you an abundant life granted by your loving Father, and I wish you
blessings
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Hope
The lesson on Sunday had a lot to do with hope. Earlier in the week, I had a conversation with a nurse about hope. She has a hard job. She works in a pediatric intensive care unit. She watches children die..some slowly, and some much more quickly than expected. With compassion, she watches the parents of these children as they struggle with the difficulty, and sometimes impossibility of letting their children go. They take every measure possible to keep the children here. I cannot say to keep their children alive because a child who is heavily sedated with a feeding tube, and on a respirator, is really not living, but the thought of not having them physically present is paralyzing for the parents.
Any little change in their situation gives rise to hope. The nurse asked me if there was such thing as unrealistic hope. I do not remember exactly what I said in reply. Maybe that yes, there is such thing as unrealistic hope, but as a parent, I can understand hanging on to any and everything that offered me any hope that my child might live, no matter how unrealistic. In the sermon on Sunday, Josh quoted someone who had been in Auschwitz for 3 years. I hope I do not totally butcher it, but it went something like this: "without food, we can live for several weeks. Without hope, we cannot live a day." That is what I wish I had said to the nurse about hope. Until those parents have no choice but to face that their child is not going to live, all they have is hope. And, while I imagine health care professionals everywhere who work with dying patients feel as though they are accomplishing nothing, they are extending hope to those who love the one who is ill. I like seeing the synchronicity of life....conversations about hope followed by lessons on hope.
Mr. Lincoln called me from work two weeks ago. It was fairly early. He had not been gone from the house long. When I answered, he said, "Cliff's son stepped on a landmine in Afghanistan." I began to pepper him with questions, of course my first being, "is he dead?" Once he had composed himself a bit, he went on to explain that Andrew Wilson, the son of an associate at the law firm, had lost both legs in this landmine incident. He was alive, being transported to Germany to a hospital there. On the same day, another young man from Tennessee had a similar event, yet he died. I began to weep, something I do not do a lot of, but if one cannot weep over a young man losing his legs then, well, I do not know. Maybe that is why we continue in the fruitlessness of war, because we have lost the ability to weep over the deaths and maiming of our young people.
We immediately sent the word to the prayer warriors at church. Please pray for this young man and his family. Andrew is at Walter Reed now. Cliff went to see him. He reports that Andrew is in great spirits and doing amazingly well. How in this world? I believe it is hope, and God's answer to our prayers. There is regret and thankfulness for this hope. Regret that so many soldiers, marines, and residents of war-torn areas have lost limbs because of other people's instruments of destruction ~ landmines. Thankfulness that there are people who saw the needs of these victims to not lose their mobility and independence. They create and perfect prosthetics.
Andrew is hopeful. He is in a hospital with many others who are learning to use artificial limbs. He is observing those who are a little further down their road of recovery. He knows stories of people who run marathons on 2 prosthetic legs. He has hope, and as he heals and works hard at becoming whole, he will be an instrument of hope to those who come behind him. Please, God, give us hope that we will find better ways to settle our differences than sacrificing our young people. Hope gives us life as we struggle through that which we first think will kill us.
On Monday, Mr. Lincoln called me from work. It was early. We had just said our good-byes and have-a-nice-days. Why would he be calling me? I answered and he said, "something happened to Michael Salas in Thailand." I immediately began to pepper him with questions. Once he composed himself, he explained that Michael, a good friend, had collapsed in Thailand and was paralyzed from the waist down. Oh, my goodness. Michael Salas, who loves his family, who is a homebody, who was reluctantly in Thailand on business, and who is now having a serious medical event. He had 8 or 9 hours of surgery. He is there alone, except for a co-worker, in pain, in fear. His life has been seriously interrupted.
Yesterday, he was gaining movement and feeling in his left leg. Nothing yet in the right leg. The doctors in Thailand are hopeful, that once the surgical swelling subsides he will regain use of both legs. There it is again....that word hope. Hope for recovery. That hope is what enables Michael to bear his aloneness, his fear, his pain, his knowledge that his two weeks in Thailand will stretch into four weeks or more. He has hope that he will be home, back in his beloved Tennessee with his wife and girls for Thanksgiving. We, and the prayer warriors at church, pray alongside all those who know and love Michael and hope for his recovery.
Where would we be without hope? Well, we would be hopeless...in every way. Is there such a thing as unrealistic hope? Perhaps, all hope is that. "But, hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But, if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently." Romans 8:24, 25.
For today, I wish you to remember Andrew and Michael in your prayers, I wish you a day of hope, and I wish you
blessings
Any little change in their situation gives rise to hope. The nurse asked me if there was such thing as unrealistic hope. I do not remember exactly what I said in reply. Maybe that yes, there is such thing as unrealistic hope, but as a parent, I can understand hanging on to any and everything that offered me any hope that my child might live, no matter how unrealistic. In the sermon on Sunday, Josh quoted someone who had been in Auschwitz for 3 years. I hope I do not totally butcher it, but it went something like this: "without food, we can live for several weeks. Without hope, we cannot live a day." That is what I wish I had said to the nurse about hope. Until those parents have no choice but to face that their child is not going to live, all they have is hope. And, while I imagine health care professionals everywhere who work with dying patients feel as though they are accomplishing nothing, they are extending hope to those who love the one who is ill. I like seeing the synchronicity of life....conversations about hope followed by lessons on hope.
Mr. Lincoln called me from work two weeks ago. It was fairly early. He had not been gone from the house long. When I answered, he said, "Cliff's son stepped on a landmine in Afghanistan." I began to pepper him with questions, of course my first being, "is he dead?" Once he had composed himself a bit, he went on to explain that Andrew Wilson, the son of an associate at the law firm, had lost both legs in this landmine incident. He was alive, being transported to Germany to a hospital there. On the same day, another young man from Tennessee had a similar event, yet he died. I began to weep, something I do not do a lot of, but if one cannot weep over a young man losing his legs then, well, I do not know. Maybe that is why we continue in the fruitlessness of war, because we have lost the ability to weep over the deaths and maiming of our young people.
We immediately sent the word to the prayer warriors at church. Please pray for this young man and his family. Andrew is at Walter Reed now. Cliff went to see him. He reports that Andrew is in great spirits and doing amazingly well. How in this world? I believe it is hope, and God's answer to our prayers. There is regret and thankfulness for this hope. Regret that so many soldiers, marines, and residents of war-torn areas have lost limbs because of other people's instruments of destruction ~ landmines. Thankfulness that there are people who saw the needs of these victims to not lose their mobility and independence. They create and perfect prosthetics.
Andrew is hopeful. He is in a hospital with many others who are learning to use artificial limbs. He is observing those who are a little further down their road of recovery. He knows stories of people who run marathons on 2 prosthetic legs. He has hope, and as he heals and works hard at becoming whole, he will be an instrument of hope to those who come behind him. Please, God, give us hope that we will find better ways to settle our differences than sacrificing our young people. Hope gives us life as we struggle through that which we first think will kill us.
On Monday, Mr. Lincoln called me from work. It was early. We had just said our good-byes and have-a-nice-days. Why would he be calling me? I answered and he said, "something happened to Michael Salas in Thailand." I immediately began to pepper him with questions. Once he composed himself, he explained that Michael, a good friend, had collapsed in Thailand and was paralyzed from the waist down. Oh, my goodness. Michael Salas, who loves his family, who is a homebody, who was reluctantly in Thailand on business, and who is now having a serious medical event. He had 8 or 9 hours of surgery. He is there alone, except for a co-worker, in pain, in fear. His life has been seriously interrupted.
Yesterday, he was gaining movement and feeling in his left leg. Nothing yet in the right leg. The doctors in Thailand are hopeful, that once the surgical swelling subsides he will regain use of both legs. There it is again....that word hope. Hope for recovery. That hope is what enables Michael to bear his aloneness, his fear, his pain, his knowledge that his two weeks in Thailand will stretch into four weeks or more. He has hope that he will be home, back in his beloved Tennessee with his wife and girls for Thanksgiving. We, and the prayer warriors at church, pray alongside all those who know and love Michael and hope for his recovery.
Where would we be without hope? Well, we would be hopeless...in every way. Is there such a thing as unrealistic hope? Perhaps, all hope is that. "But, hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But, if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently." Romans 8:24, 25.
For today, I wish you to remember Andrew and Michael in your prayers, I wish you a day of hope, and I wish you
blessings
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