Lately, I have been observing navel gazers. 'Lest I sound extraordinarily judgmental and blind-to-myself, let me say that I can be a champion navel gazer at times. I suspect we all can, but admit it, most of us know someone who rarely, if ever, suspends their navel gazing long enough to look up and see the world around them.
Some may be asking, "what in the world is a navel gazer?" A navel gazer is someone who just cannot seem to quit staring at their own belly button...figuratively. If someone is a literal navel gazer, perhaps a bit of therapy would be in order. Actually, a literal navel gazer would at times be preferable to a figurative one.
Recently, I had a conversation which got my thoughts running in this direction. A friend mentioned a mutual acquaintance. Before I go any further, let me say that this friend is known for neither talking about nor criticizing people. In fact, she is the opposite of that, and almost always finds the good in others. In our conversation, she mentioned how this acquaintance was the most critical person she had ever met. She talked of how sweet the acquaintance's husband was, but that she felt the acquaintance did not have a sweet bone in her body. I said, "it's because she's a navel gazer." It is downright impossible to be sweet to others when you are looking at your own belly button.
Once in a conversation, I heard my daughter make a very profound statement. Someone queried as to whether a particular person was so extraordinarily rude and hateful on purpose. MP replied that it could not be on purpose because the person does not realize there are other people around. That is pretty much the illness of a navel gazer. They see everything that is said or done in terms of how it relates to them.
You know the ones...the ones who act embarrassed by something someone else does or says...as if those actions or words reflect on them. You know who I am talking about...those people who sit in a room of people who have feelings similar to their own...maybe they are all shy, maybe they are all grieving, maybe they are all joyful...whatever, and the navel gazers are so certain that they are the only ones who feel that way. Navel gazers see their concerns and emotions as far more unique than they are. Truth be told, we are all pretty much confused about most of life. If navel gazers would just look around them, they would know that.
Navel gazing manifests itself in a couple different ways. Some navel gazers just beat up on themselves. Nobody could have screwed up as badly as they. No one is as weird as they are. Nobody's life is as pitiful as theirs. Then there are the ones who find themselves to be superior to all those around them. Nobody is as smart as they are. No one does as much as they do. Everybody else is on this earth to annoy them. Sadly, the results are often the same from both genres. Navel gazers do not inconvenience themselves for others. Their comfort and needs are the most important. They are most fascinated by their own belly buttons.
Today at lunch I saw some serious navel gazing. Mr. Lincoln, who is as far from being a navel gazer as anyone I know, and I went out after church. The restaurant was packed and the line was long. When we walked in there were only about 2 tables that were empty. We waited in line to order. A couple walked in several minutes after we did. There were probably a dozen people in line between us. The wife proceeded to find tables to hold...rearranging them to meet her party's needs....while other people were waiting with their food to find a place to eat. Seriously? Bless her heart (a Southern way of saying 'I'd really like to box her ears'), she was oblivious to the people around her.
As if that was not enough, because there were no available tables, they were letting people who were placing to-go orders get out of the line and order at the "call-in" cash register. This is what Mr. Lincoln and I opted for. While waiting for our order so we could come home and eat, we watched a lady jump the line, order food to-go and promptly carry it to her children who were holding a table! Wake up, quit looking at your own belly button, see the lessons you are teaching your children (wrong on so many levels), and have some consideration for the people around you. Please! And, it is Christmastime - the season of goodwill and love. Sadly, both women looked as though they had just come from church.
Yes, I gaze at my navel at times. I can be so guilty of saying "I hear you," when in fact I do not. I can ignore what is going on around me. I can not allow myself to be inconvenienced, or worse, I can do what is asked, and make dadgum sure you know that you have bothered me. I hate it when I do that. I wish I could succinctly word the lessons at church today, but I am neither wise nor articulate enough to do so. I do know, however, that navel gazing prevents our living the abundant life we are meant to live.
For today, I wish you to neither be nor know navel gazers, and I wish you
blessings
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Triumphant
Tuesday night, I attended the memorial service for a 5 day, no, a 9 month and 5 day old baby girl named Elsie. Because of a comment my friend, Lee Camp, made in a class several weeks ago, as I sat at that service, I was struck by all the evidences of gracious hospitality extended to her.
When Elsie's parents learned that they were expecting another baby (she has a big brother, Andrew) I am sure they were thrilled. I am certain that Elsie's mom took extra care of herself in order to care for her growing baby. About halfway through the pregnancy, they learned that Elsie had a chromosomal abnormality called Trisomy 18. All evidence says that Trisomy 18 is not compatible with life. The fact that Elsie's life outside the womb would be very brief did not dissuade her mother from continuing to take care of herself to take care of her baby. Elsie was delivered by C-section on November 20, 2012. She died in her father's arms in the wee hours of the morning on November 25, 2012.
That is not the end of Elsie's story. She was a blessed child. She could not have been shown any greater love as evidenced by the wonderful slide show at her memorial. I am fairly certain that she did not spend many moments outside the arms of someone who deeply loves her...her parents, her brother, her grandparents, her uncle and aunts.
I will not offer empty platitudes or meaningless words of explanation or "comfort." There are none. Elsie's life was brief, but oh, so important. Her parents are grieving, but they are not destroyed. They will not merely survive this. They will triumph over this loss. They will cherish and hold in their hearts, forever, the time they had with Elsie. She will always be an important part of their family.
God walks with this family. They accepted His invitation to join them on their life's journey. I imagine they have a few questions for Him, but they will choose, in faith, to trust.
So for today, I wish you triumph over life's pains, I wish you wisdom in choosing your traveling companions, and I wish you
blessings
When Elsie's parents learned that they were expecting another baby (she has a big brother, Andrew) I am sure they were thrilled. I am certain that Elsie's mom took extra care of herself in order to care for her growing baby. About halfway through the pregnancy, they learned that Elsie had a chromosomal abnormality called Trisomy 18. All evidence says that Trisomy 18 is not compatible with life. The fact that Elsie's life outside the womb would be very brief did not dissuade her mother from continuing to take care of herself to take care of her baby. Elsie was delivered by C-section on November 20, 2012. She died in her father's arms in the wee hours of the morning on November 25, 2012.
That is not the end of Elsie's story. She was a blessed child. She could not have been shown any greater love as evidenced by the wonderful slide show at her memorial. I am fairly certain that she did not spend many moments outside the arms of someone who deeply loves her...her parents, her brother, her grandparents, her uncle and aunts.
I will not offer empty platitudes or meaningless words of explanation or "comfort." There are none. Elsie's life was brief, but oh, so important. Her parents are grieving, but they are not destroyed. They will not merely survive this. They will triumph over this loss. They will cherish and hold in their hearts, forever, the time they had with Elsie. She will always be an important part of their family.
God walks with this family. They accepted His invitation to join them on their life's journey. I imagine they have a few questions for Him, but they will choose, in faith, to trust.
So for today, I wish you triumph over life's pains, I wish you wisdom in choosing your traveling companions, and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Traditions
Honoring good traditions is like wrapping up in an old quilt; familiar and comfortable. This is the time of year for traditions. I am grateful for old traditions and newly begun ones.
On Thanksgiving, driving to our annual Thanksgiving service at church, Mr. Lincoln and I talked about how this was the 61st Thanksgiving for each of us. He said that he did not specifically remember any of them. I remember some generalities and some specifics. Growing up the rule of thumb was "there is always room for someone who has no place to go." We were raised in a very small house, but even if she had to set up borrowed card tables in the bedrooms, my mother always made room and always made people feel welcomed.
Specifically, I remember the Thanksgiving that Daddy had just gotten home from the hospital after surgery. He had to stay in bed, but he was under the same roof with us all. I remember Thanksgiving days at the Clinic Bowl. Most often Isaac Litton and MBA were playing. I remember a Thanksgiving day where I was in a live television commercial wearing a plum colored dress, praying. I remember the Thanksgiving after my brother fired Mr. Lincoln. It was a bit awkward. My first Thanksgiving with Mr. Lincoln's family is one of those stories we should forget but love to repeat. The dining room table and a card table were set up in the den. There were only two seats at the card table. As we gathered together to hold hands and pray over the meal, Mr. Lincoln's mother announced that the two daughters-in-law were to sit at the card table because she wanted the family to all sit together. What? There was the Thanksgiving that Mom called and said that her turkey had been in the oven for 18 hours (maybe a slight exaggeration ) and it wasn't done - "do you think my oven isn't working?" Uh, yeah! So, Mr. Lincoln and I drove across town, packed up dishes and tablecloths and flowers and chairs and silver and uncooked food, brought it to our house, and that began the tradition of Thanksgiving in our home. We had 29 wonderful family and friends this year. I leave you with this question: did you know that gravy dropped on the floor will hit the ceiling? It will.
This year, Mr. Lincoln and I started a new tradition with Simeon and Max. We gave each boy a Christmas ornament, money that corresponds with age, and a note explaining that the only string attached to the money is they are to spend it on someone who cannot reciprocate. We realize they are not a year old yet, and have no idea what any of this is about, but they will. Simeon has decided to spend his money for a toy for Toys for Tots, and Max's parents will save his until he can understand and choose, himself, how the money will be spent. I love how each family approaches the tradition differently.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, it is tradition to go to Mom's to help decorate her tree. She has someone else haul it down from the attic, put it up, and put the lights on. It was a new someone this year. Many branches of the tree were left lying on the attic floor. The tree suffered greatly in appearance from the lack of its branches. Picture the bottom of a tree that is about 15 feet tall; full and lush. Now, picture that large tree chopped off about 10 feet from the bottom. Now, picture a tiny sapling stuck on top. Yep, that's what it looked like. My sister rescued the missing branches, and strategically placed them. The tree has been saved. We put on the ten million (not an exaggeration) ornaments, strands of beads, artificial roses, and glass icicles (moderation at Christmas is not in my mother's vocabulary), placed the angel on top, turned out all the lights (it's tradition), had a drum roll, and Cole plugged in the lights. I cannot remember the last time I heard MP laugh as hard as she did when those lights came on, for while the fullness of the tree looked ever so much better with its restored branches, there was a good-sized and very noticeable section of tree that was dark. So, as we sang the Twelve Days of Christmas (it's tradition) Doree and Mac worked to rearrange lights. All is well, and Nunny's tree is perfectly Nunny. After a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers, I came home, watched a ridiculous Lifetime Christmas movie and went to bed. Ah, love a good tradition.
Today, Mr. Lincoln is in New York at a football game. I will spend this day in grateful introversion pulling out my own Christmas decorations and setting them about as I prepare for another tradition, the Isaac Litton Class of '70 Girls' Annual Christmas Party, next week. I will listen to Christmas music, kill brain cells watching two or three Hallmark Christmas movies, ponder over each decoration as I take it out, and thoroughly enjoy my day of solitude. I am wearing my dad's Ryman Auditorium Christmas sweatshirt. It's tradition. Tomorrow, Mr. Lincoln and I will go together to pick out our tree. It will not take long, but we always go together. Next year, perhaps, two little boys will go with us? We will have our annual Christmas Eve gathering with my family; this year at my niece's home. We will have Christmas breakfast at our house. As families grow, traditions must change. My parents were always so understanding of that, and I want to be as well. Perhaps, this will be the last Christmas breakfast on Christmas morning. Maybe we will have Christmas breakfast for dinner on Christmas night, or the next day. It does not matter when or where. It only matters with whom.
As I share these few traditions, less joyful threads are woven in my tapestry. I think of the young wife and mother who was served divorce papers this past week. I think of three relatively young widowers who face their first holidays without their wives. I think of friends who have lost parents this year. I think of the young couple whose newborn child is not expected to live. As I celebrate my traditions, I remember these and others whose joy is tempered with great pain. I know that I will have painful holidays in the future, touched by loss. Those are the times that I will most appreciate the familiar warmth and comfort of much-loved traditions.
For today, I wish you peace and comfort as you contiune old and begin new traditions, a remembrance of those whose hearts ache during this time, and I wish you
blessings
On Thanksgiving, driving to our annual Thanksgiving service at church, Mr. Lincoln and I talked about how this was the 61st Thanksgiving for each of us. He said that he did not specifically remember any of them. I remember some generalities and some specifics. Growing up the rule of thumb was "there is always room for someone who has no place to go." We were raised in a very small house, but even if she had to set up borrowed card tables in the bedrooms, my mother always made room and always made people feel welcomed.
Specifically, I remember the Thanksgiving that Daddy had just gotten home from the hospital after surgery. He had to stay in bed, but he was under the same roof with us all. I remember Thanksgiving days at the Clinic Bowl. Most often Isaac Litton and MBA were playing. I remember a Thanksgiving day where I was in a live television commercial wearing a plum colored dress, praying. I remember the Thanksgiving after my brother fired Mr. Lincoln. It was a bit awkward. My first Thanksgiving with Mr. Lincoln's family is one of those stories we should forget but love to repeat. The dining room table and a card table were set up in the den. There were only two seats at the card table. As we gathered together to hold hands and pray over the meal, Mr. Lincoln's mother announced that the two daughters-in-law were to sit at the card table because she wanted the family to all sit together. What? There was the Thanksgiving that Mom called and said that her turkey had been in the oven for 18 hours (maybe a slight exaggeration ) and it wasn't done - "do you think my oven isn't working?" Uh, yeah! So, Mr. Lincoln and I drove across town, packed up dishes and tablecloths and flowers and chairs and silver and uncooked food, brought it to our house, and that began the tradition of Thanksgiving in our home. We had 29 wonderful family and friends this year. I leave you with this question: did you know that gravy dropped on the floor will hit the ceiling? It will.
This year, Mr. Lincoln and I started a new tradition with Simeon and Max. We gave each boy a Christmas ornament, money that corresponds with age, and a note explaining that the only string attached to the money is they are to spend it on someone who cannot reciprocate. We realize they are not a year old yet, and have no idea what any of this is about, but they will. Simeon has decided to spend his money for a toy for Toys for Tots, and Max's parents will save his until he can understand and choose, himself, how the money will be spent. I love how each family approaches the tradition differently.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, it is tradition to go to Mom's to help decorate her tree. She has someone else haul it down from the attic, put it up, and put the lights on. It was a new someone this year. Many branches of the tree were left lying on the attic floor. The tree suffered greatly in appearance from the lack of its branches. Picture the bottom of a tree that is about 15 feet tall; full and lush. Now, picture that large tree chopped off about 10 feet from the bottom. Now, picture a tiny sapling stuck on top. Yep, that's what it looked like. My sister rescued the missing branches, and strategically placed them. The tree has been saved. We put on the ten million (not an exaggeration) ornaments, strands of beads, artificial roses, and glass icicles (moderation at Christmas is not in my mother's vocabulary), placed the angel on top, turned out all the lights (it's tradition), had a drum roll, and Cole plugged in the lights. I cannot remember the last time I heard MP laugh as hard as she did when those lights came on, for while the fullness of the tree looked ever so much better with its restored branches, there was a good-sized and very noticeable section of tree that was dark. So, as we sang the Twelve Days of Christmas (it's tradition) Doree and Mac worked to rearrange lights. All is well, and Nunny's tree is perfectly Nunny. After a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers, I came home, watched a ridiculous Lifetime Christmas movie and went to bed. Ah, love a good tradition.
Today, Mr. Lincoln is in New York at a football game. I will spend this day in grateful introversion pulling out my own Christmas decorations and setting them about as I prepare for another tradition, the Isaac Litton Class of '70 Girls' Annual Christmas Party, next week. I will listen to Christmas music, kill brain cells watching two or three Hallmark Christmas movies, ponder over each decoration as I take it out, and thoroughly enjoy my day of solitude. I am wearing my dad's Ryman Auditorium Christmas sweatshirt. It's tradition. Tomorrow, Mr. Lincoln and I will go together to pick out our tree. It will not take long, but we always go together. Next year, perhaps, two little boys will go with us? We will have our annual Christmas Eve gathering with my family; this year at my niece's home. We will have Christmas breakfast at our house. As families grow, traditions must change. My parents were always so understanding of that, and I want to be as well. Perhaps, this will be the last Christmas breakfast on Christmas morning. Maybe we will have Christmas breakfast for dinner on Christmas night, or the next day. It does not matter when or where. It only matters with whom.
As I share these few traditions, less joyful threads are woven in my tapestry. I think of the young wife and mother who was served divorce papers this past week. I think of three relatively young widowers who face their first holidays without their wives. I think of friends who have lost parents this year. I think of the young couple whose newborn child is not expected to live. As I celebrate my traditions, I remember these and others whose joy is tempered with great pain. I know that I will have painful holidays in the future, touched by loss. Those are the times that I will most appreciate the familiar warmth and comfort of much-loved traditions.
For today, I wish you peace and comfort as you contiune old and begin new traditions, a remembrance of those whose hearts ache during this time, and I wish you
blessings
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Ripples
I attended a funeral today. I had never met the man who died. He was the brother of a friend. Many people were there. It was standing room only. Some of those people I knew; most I did not.
The service began with the ancient hymn, Be Thou My Vision. Knowing that it is a very old hymn, I looked up the history. I learned that the words were written as a poem in the 6th century and the melody was written in Ireland in the 8th. I wondered how many people over the centuries have been both inspired and comforted by that hymn. The chapel where I sat was fairly modern, but during that sacred song, I was transported to some aged cathedral surrounded by all the saints whose lives have been touched by that melody and those words. The poet who penned the words and the musician who set out the notes had no idea how in the 21st century the ripples of their lives would be felt and appreciated by a lone woman sitting at the funeral service of man she never met.
Awaiting the start of the service, I sat engrossed in my own disjointed thoughts. A couple sat beside me. They knew the people in front of them. They spoke of the deceased and his family. After a few moments, the wife touched my arm and asked me how I was doing. I told her, "fine." I found her question to be amazingly kind. She asked how I knew the man who had died. I explained that I did not know him, but that I go to church with his sister, a woman I greatly admire. This lovely woman explained that her son and his family also go to our church. She gave me their names. I exclaimed how I love her son and his wife and children. I also explained that I grew up in the church with her husband. I should have recognized him. She asked my name; whispered it to him. He remembered my family. I remember his well. It also dawned on me that a year or so ago, I was praying fervently for this woman, the mother of a friend, a woman I had not met until this day. I asked how she was doing. "Really well," she replied. I felt little ripples from that church family of my childhood and ripples going out from my present church family.
This man who had died, that I never met, was an amazing person. He was a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a friend. He will be remembered by those who knew him as a servant who cooked for many, and often wrote notes of encouragement to those who both grieved and rejoiced. Today, the unanswered questions as to why, in this modern world, there were no adequate medicines to heal him haunt his family. There are unanswered questions as to why God did not see fit to intervene. But, I sat in that chapel, at the funeral of a man I never met, and felt the ripples of his life lapping against me. I left that place feeling as though I knew him, and inspired, by his life, to live a better one myself.
So, for today, I wish you gentle, healing ripples from the lives of those around you and gentle, healing ripples sent from you for those who cross your path, and I wish you
blessings
The service began with the ancient hymn, Be Thou My Vision. Knowing that it is a very old hymn, I looked up the history. I learned that the words were written as a poem in the 6th century and the melody was written in Ireland in the 8th. I wondered how many people over the centuries have been both inspired and comforted by that hymn. The chapel where I sat was fairly modern, but during that sacred song, I was transported to some aged cathedral surrounded by all the saints whose lives have been touched by that melody and those words. The poet who penned the words and the musician who set out the notes had no idea how in the 21st century the ripples of their lives would be felt and appreciated by a lone woman sitting at the funeral service of man she never met.
Awaiting the start of the service, I sat engrossed in my own disjointed thoughts. A couple sat beside me. They knew the people in front of them. They spoke of the deceased and his family. After a few moments, the wife touched my arm and asked me how I was doing. I told her, "fine." I found her question to be amazingly kind. She asked how I knew the man who had died. I explained that I did not know him, but that I go to church with his sister, a woman I greatly admire. This lovely woman explained that her son and his family also go to our church. She gave me their names. I exclaimed how I love her son and his wife and children. I also explained that I grew up in the church with her husband. I should have recognized him. She asked my name; whispered it to him. He remembered my family. I remember his well. It also dawned on me that a year or so ago, I was praying fervently for this woman, the mother of a friend, a woman I had not met until this day. I asked how she was doing. "Really well," she replied. I felt little ripples from that church family of my childhood and ripples going out from my present church family.
This man who had died, that I never met, was an amazing person. He was a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a friend. He will be remembered by those who knew him as a servant who cooked for many, and often wrote notes of encouragement to those who both grieved and rejoiced. Today, the unanswered questions as to why, in this modern world, there were no adequate medicines to heal him haunt his family. There are unanswered questions as to why God did not see fit to intervene. But, I sat in that chapel, at the funeral of a man I never met, and felt the ripples of his life lapping against me. I left that place feeling as though I knew him, and inspired, by his life, to live a better one myself.
So, for today, I wish you gentle, healing ripples from the lives of those around you and gentle, healing ripples sent from you for those who cross your path, and I wish you
blessings
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Privileged
I posted on FB today, in a subtle response to ALL the political vitriol. I made the statement that all I really know about the current election is that I voted yesterday. I voted with a choice and with no threats. I consider it a privilege and not a right. Someone questioned me about why I do not consider it my right as a U.S. citizen. My response was because I did not earn it. Probably, it is just a matter of semantics. I find life ever so much more enjoyable when I view the gifts around me as privileges and not rights. As odd as it may sound, privileges seem, to me, to come with responsibility while rights come with entitlement. Again, probably just a matter of semantics.
The reason I voted yesterday is because I am going to be in Florida on election day. I will get up, get in my car, pick up my mother and sister, and drive down the east coast of Florida for a week of rest and relaxation. I am not scrambling to get permission from the government to cross state lines. I consider it a privilege to be able to go wherever and whenever I have the time and money without having to let the government know about it. I will not be passing checkpoints as I travel. People in other places are not so fortunate. That is why I voted yesterday. Someone close to me informed me that they would not be voting, and when I made a puzzled look (possibly translated critical look) they informed me that it was their privilege to not vote. Touche.
I voted yesterday in one of my favorite places ever - a library. I love the notion of a free lending-library. Seriously, what a privilege to go to a place and select books to read, return them, and get more. The free library is not always free to me because I often am derelict in returning books on time, so I pay overdue fines. That to me makes the difference in privilege and right. I have no right to be able to go check out books for free. With that privilege comes responsibility - take care of the books, return them on time or pay a fine. If it were my right, I would be incensed that someone would expect me to return the book ever.
After I voted, Mr. Lincoln and I went to see the movie Argo. That movie drove home even more strongly what a privilege it is to live here. There are no burned out cars on the side of the road, no bodies hanging from construction cranes. Please, do not hear me saying I think this is a perfect place to live. Certainly, we have lots of problems...big problems. It would be impossible to name them all, and what some would consider problems, others would consider solutions. History tells me that we have had better times in this country, and we have had much worse times. It will be interesting to see who is elected. It will be interesting to see if whomever is elected actually accomplishes anything of great importance. We will see. But, in the meantime, I will make every effort to live in gratitude for all the privileges I enjoy. I will also strive to not let this election dictate the level of peace in my mind.
So, for today, I wish you appreciation for the privileges life affords you, and I wish you
blessings
The reason I voted yesterday is because I am going to be in Florida on election day. I will get up, get in my car, pick up my mother and sister, and drive down the east coast of Florida for a week of rest and relaxation. I am not scrambling to get permission from the government to cross state lines. I consider it a privilege to be able to go wherever and whenever I have the time and money without having to let the government know about it. I will not be passing checkpoints as I travel. People in other places are not so fortunate. That is why I voted yesterday. Someone close to me informed me that they would not be voting, and when I made a puzzled look (possibly translated critical look) they informed me that it was their privilege to not vote. Touche.
I voted yesterday in one of my favorite places ever - a library. I love the notion of a free lending-library. Seriously, what a privilege to go to a place and select books to read, return them, and get more. The free library is not always free to me because I often am derelict in returning books on time, so I pay overdue fines. That to me makes the difference in privilege and right. I have no right to be able to go check out books for free. With that privilege comes responsibility - take care of the books, return them on time or pay a fine. If it were my right, I would be incensed that someone would expect me to return the book ever.
After I voted, Mr. Lincoln and I went to see the movie Argo. That movie drove home even more strongly what a privilege it is to live here. There are no burned out cars on the side of the road, no bodies hanging from construction cranes. Please, do not hear me saying I think this is a perfect place to live. Certainly, we have lots of problems...big problems. It would be impossible to name them all, and what some would consider problems, others would consider solutions. History tells me that we have had better times in this country, and we have had much worse times. It will be interesting to see who is elected. It will be interesting to see if whomever is elected actually accomplishes anything of great importance. We will see. But, in the meantime, I will make every effort to live in gratitude for all the privileges I enjoy. I will also strive to not let this election dictate the level of peace in my mind.
So, for today, I wish you appreciation for the privileges life affords you, and I wish you
blessings
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
With God's Help
His wife of 37 years is gone. He has suffered with ALS for over 20 years. She was his caretaker. She was his voice. She was the laughter and humor in his days. She died because of a mistake someone else made. She was healthy and whole trying to get relief from neck pain in order to continue his care and all the other activities in her life. When asked if he is angry, he replies, "I'm not angry. Why would I be angry? I am a blessed man." Some would call him foolish. I call him a mighty warrior. He may be physically frail, but he is spiritually and emotionally robust. In his deep grief, with God's help, he triumphs.
They are adorable. They are, to me, a young couple. Their child is as a character in a quaint children's book. They laugh, they smile, they love. While they were out to dinner, their house burned. They lost almost everything. She is an artist with art shows coming up, and a good deal of her art destroyed. When asked what she wanted the firemen to try to rescue, she replied her laptop and her daughter's Pooh Bear. When laments are expressed over the loss of their beautiful, charming home, she replies, "home is where my husband and daughter hang their hats." Some may find their response odd, but I am inspired by them. They, with God's help, are moving forward. They are not simply surviving, they are thriving.
Her husband has left her. He has left her with three children. She is deeply wounded. When given the opportunity to share his faults, she will not. Despite his misguided ways and his poor decisions, she loves him. Truly, after her children, her greatest concern is for him. She is learning to open up and sincerely share her life with those she trusts. She does not go about polluting the air with bitter vitriolic talk. She leaves the drama behind and puts one step in front of the other, caring for her children, doing her job, and praying for her husband. Some would encourage her to "make him pay." I find myself awestruck by her dignity, her lack of retribution, and her refusal to blame. With God's help, she will overcome.
These are people I know and love. I feel privileged to have them in my life. They counter those who seem to create one crisis after the other. They give me hope for those who cannot seem to shut their mouths for the good of others. They remind me that bashing and trash talking are not necessary. They contrast sharply those who refuse to set themselves aside for the greater good. They let me know that those quick to anger are not to be emulated. They do not hold grudges. They are not angry. How do they manage? The only explanation I can find is their genuine reliance on God, and their wholehearted participation in community. I watch and learn. I am grateful for their influence. My life is enriched for knowing them. Through them I get a glimpse of Kingdom life.
So for today, I wish you community, good examples, and I wish you
blessings
They are adorable. They are, to me, a young couple. Their child is as a character in a quaint children's book. They laugh, they smile, they love. While they were out to dinner, their house burned. They lost almost everything. She is an artist with art shows coming up, and a good deal of her art destroyed. When asked what she wanted the firemen to try to rescue, she replied her laptop and her daughter's Pooh Bear. When laments are expressed over the loss of their beautiful, charming home, she replies, "home is where my husband and daughter hang their hats." Some may find their response odd, but I am inspired by them. They, with God's help, are moving forward. They are not simply surviving, they are thriving.
Her husband has left her. He has left her with three children. She is deeply wounded. When given the opportunity to share his faults, she will not. Despite his misguided ways and his poor decisions, she loves him. Truly, after her children, her greatest concern is for him. She is learning to open up and sincerely share her life with those she trusts. She does not go about polluting the air with bitter vitriolic talk. She leaves the drama behind and puts one step in front of the other, caring for her children, doing her job, and praying for her husband. Some would encourage her to "make him pay." I find myself awestruck by her dignity, her lack of retribution, and her refusal to blame. With God's help, she will overcome.
These are people I know and love. I feel privileged to have them in my life. They counter those who seem to create one crisis after the other. They give me hope for those who cannot seem to shut their mouths for the good of others. They remind me that bashing and trash talking are not necessary. They contrast sharply those who refuse to set themselves aside for the greater good. They let me know that those quick to anger are not to be emulated. They do not hold grudges. They are not angry. How do they manage? The only explanation I can find is their genuine reliance on God, and their wholehearted participation in community. I watch and learn. I am grateful for their influence. My life is enriched for knowing them. Through them I get a glimpse of Kingdom life.
So for today, I wish you community, good examples, and I wish you
blessings
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Crossing the Causeway
Mr. Lincoln and I are blessed to be able to go to Sanibel Island every January. We love it there. We drive. It is a long trip. Georgia is a very long state. I get very restless as we drive. There is not a lot that is particularly beautiful in south Georgia; just a lot of kudzu and scruffy pine trees. The entire trip, I anxiously await the moment when we cross the causeway and once again, I feel at home.
My friend, Diana, crossed the causeway yesterday. Once again, she is home. I have always wondered if we leave the presence of God for the earthly part of our journey only to return home again at the end of this leg of the trip. Sort of like driving through south Georgia to get to the island. Diana is the first person that I ever heard claim boldly and loudly, "this world is not my home." She knew she was not going to stay in south Georgia.
Those of us still traveling are going to miss her big laugh, her self-deprecation, her very presence as we continue on our journey. We mourn that she finished this part of the journey before us. We want her to still be traveling with us, keeping us entertained. The truth is, she will continue to travel with us. We will laugh and be comforted as we share Diana stories. Sometimes, when we least expect it, a memory will cross our minds; we will see her smiling in our mind's eye. We will be grateful to have had her as a traveling companion for a time.
Diana has crossed the causeway. She can now say, "this world is my home."
blessings
My friend, Diana, crossed the causeway yesterday. Once again, she is home. I have always wondered if we leave the presence of God for the earthly part of our journey only to return home again at the end of this leg of the trip. Sort of like driving through south Georgia to get to the island. Diana is the first person that I ever heard claim boldly and loudly, "this world is not my home." She knew she was not going to stay in south Georgia.
Those of us still traveling are going to miss her big laugh, her self-deprecation, her very presence as we continue on our journey. We mourn that she finished this part of the journey before us. We want her to still be traveling with us, keeping us entertained. The truth is, she will continue to travel with us. We will laugh and be comforted as we share Diana stories. Sometimes, when we least expect it, a memory will cross our minds; we will see her smiling in our mind's eye. We will be grateful to have had her as a traveling companion for a time.
Diana has crossed the causeway. She can now say, "this world is my home."
blessings
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