tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38949006712026198512024-03-12T20:53:33.038-05:00The Kandt KhroniclesGJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.comBlogger947125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-5633079136329538982017-06-01T10:09:00.000-05:002017-06-01T10:09:32.477-05:00Saddling the Moose<div class="MsoNormal">
About a year and a half ago, my youngest was diagnosed with
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s not your garden variety OCD: no hand-washing,
door-checking, thing-counting. In fact, because a year of therapy has had
little effect on her symptoms, she just went in for some more extensive testing
to confirm that the diagnosis is accurate. But all the mental health
professionals she’s worked with seem to feel that’s a good name for what she’s
experiencing, and it rings true to her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been a very interesting eighteen months learning how my
daughter’s brain works. Essentially, the best we’ve figured out is, she is
unable to make small decisions. Big decisions are not so much of a problem –
where to go to college, what to major in . . . she’s confident on that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8QZG9MH5Wb0/WTAs99oPzcI/AAAAAAAACU8/wairGrhAR_Elj5V4cd9k8QYb1HSPCStcACLcB/s1600/moose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8QZG9MH5Wb0/WTAs99oPzcI/AAAAAAAACU8/wairGrhAR_Elj5V4cd9k8QYb1HSPCStcACLcB/s1600/moose.jpg" /></a>But what to wear this morning . . . what to eat for
breakfast . . . whether to eat breakfast . . . how much to eat for breakfast .
. . how long to watch TV . . . whether to check the notifications on her phone
. . . whether to answer that text . . . when to answer that text . . . how long
to exercise . . . it’s 9am and I’m home all day today and there are fifty
things I <i>could</i> do and ultimately need
to do sometime (shower, school, walk dog, pray, sleep, laundry, clean,
exercise, etc. etc.) so which of those fifty do I choose to do right at this
moment . . . those decisions stymie her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the past, she dealt with this by setting up systems for
herself. And frankly, she probably learned that behavior from me because that’s
how I approach my daily tasks. But the systems became more and more complicated,
and more and more rigid, and ultimately more and more illogical to the point where
she is afraid to go that direction again for fear of enslaving herself once
more with her own self-built structures.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now, her go-to solution is to do what certain people tell
her to do. But that, obviously, has its drawbacks. For one thing, anything I
tell her to do now becomes a compulsion itself. I told her once to finish her
biology worksheets, and in the next 36 hours (before I realized it), she completed two months’
worth of biology. The poor thing feels like she’s living out the “Ella
Enchanted” story sometimes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the heart of this, it seems now, is the need for her to
figure out how to narrow down choices and choose. It doesn’t sound difficult,
does it? Do what you need to do first; then do what you want to do. But how do
you know what you really need to do versus what you just <i>think </i>you need to do, or what someone else is trying to convince
you that you need to do? And how do you know what you <i>want</i> to do?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That one made me do a double-take. She has relied on systems
for her decision-making for so long that she <i>does not even know what she wants.</i> And when she does know what she
wants, she can’t determine if she should feel free to do what she wants or if
she should do the things she feels like she <i>should</i>
do – because she’s not always sure if that is actually something she should do
or just something she <i>thinks</i> she
should do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see why our heads are spinning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve always said that our biggest faults are usually the
flip sides of our greatest strengths. I think that principle applies here. She
has been able to accomplish tremendous things in the past that we now realize were the result of this “disorder”.
There’s an amazing strength of will underlying all this that I’d love to see
her harness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In one therapy session, her counselor gave her a bunch of small
figurines and asked her to create a picture that represented her OCD. She put
herself on one side of a bridge with a giant moose standing in the middle of
the bridge, preventing her from crossing. I told her that my hope for her is
not just that she get the moose out of the way, but that she saddle that moose
and make it carry her across.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We just need someone to show her how to become master of the
moose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-350921019360147692016-11-22T12:46:00.001-06:002016-11-22T12:46:53.037-06:00Battle Fatigue From the StartTrump was elected two weeks ago. I've been pretty quiet since then. The loud cacophony of voices filling the last two weeks rendered my tired voice pretty useless, I felt. I'm weary of the whole thing. In fact, I'm probably going to take a December fast from social media. (The fact that I'm not sure I can even do that shows me that I desperately need to do it.)<br />
<br />
But before I go, I'll say a few words -- to those who voted with me. Whether you voted with enthusiasm or, like I did, with heartache.<br />
<br />
The temptation may be to breathe a sigh of relief. "Now the nation is safe from those dastardly liberals wanting to impose their socialist, atheistic agenda on us. We're good. The battle's over."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BMT5ZXvhsFY/WDSObfHHZoI/AAAAAAAACUU/zYXk5VYs5xoT44_1fIIM2BSugj4IuHwIACLcB/s1600/sad%2Bstatue%2Bof%2Bliberty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BMT5ZXvhsFY/WDSObfHHZoI/AAAAAAAACUU/zYXk5VYs5xoT44_1fIIM2BSugj4IuHwIACLcB/s320/sad%2Bstatue%2Bof%2Bliberty.jpg" width="320" /></a>Not a chance, cupcake. The battle is just starting.<br />
<br />
We should take no pride in this victory. We put a man in office who has a very good chance of shaming his position and shaming the country.<br />
<br />
"But . . but Hillary . . . but . . . " Oh, hush. She's out of the picture. Now we have to deal with the abominable mess that we created when we decided to play games with the political process during the Republican primaries. He's there, he's got potential for MANY problems, and we're the ones who have to stop them.<br />
<br />
First, acknowledge the fear that marginalized groups feel in this country. Yes, it feels to us like it's over-the-top (like the black boy my pastor encountered the day before the election who had been told that if Trump were elected, all the black men would get put in jail -- ??!?!!?). But honestly, it's no more over-the-top than the rhetoric we would have heard about the country turning into Cuba if Clinton had won.<br />
<br />
The man has said and done some atrocious things. Don't defend or belittle them. Don't give them cause to think he represents us in that. Acknowledge the atrocity of it, and stand firm that freedom still reigns in this country because the <u>people</u> make it so, no matter who is the president. The people angry enough to put him in office will be angry enough to get him out if that's what it takes. Nobody needs to fear for their civil liberties on our watch.<br />
<br />
Second, don't get all joyful about Obamacare being repealed and such. Obamacare happened because Republicans ignored the healthcare crisis for so long that the people were willing to try something radical, just so something -- SOMETHING -- was getting done. (Kind of like the exasperation that swept Trump into the White House, really.)<br />
<br />
Repealing Obamacare will not solve anything. We've got to come up with something better. And it really has to be BETTER -- not just different. Don't get on the anything-but-Obamacare bandwagon. Make this a debate that actually leads to something good for our country.<br />
<br />
Third, don't act like the man is a Christian and is going to protect our religious freedom. Maybe he is; maybe he isn't. God knows his heart; we only see his behavior. I see nothing in his behavior yet to give evidence of his submission to God -- much the opposite. That said, I don't think we can safely expect him to keep any promises he made during his campaign. We have to stay on our toes.<br />
<br />
Yeah, yeah . . . he's seemed a bit more subdued and presidential the last two weeks. He also took to Twitter to make some idiotic, rash comments about the <u>Hamilton</u> cast's manners. Whether or not you agreed with him, the man just needed to shut up. He has bigger fish to fry. (Seriously, somebody just take his Twitter account away!! And take some of his billions and buy him some thicker skin.)<br />
<br />
The rancor and division in this country are getting to me. I wish it wasn't. I wish I could have faith and move on. But I'm tired.<br />
<br />
You know what I want? I want both sides to sit down and be quiet for a while. I want both sides to admit that those who disagree with them are not necessarily evil incarnate. I want people to start looking for what we can agree on and working toward that. Compromise. Peace.<br />
<br />
I also want to weigh what I did when I got married. I have no optimism for either prospect. Just pass me the caramel popcorn and turn off my Facebook account.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-47756800264723192332016-10-30T14:41:00.000-05:002016-10-30T14:41:39.316-05:00Effectively Shutting Me UpAbout a week ago, I was at a church meeting and a speaker made a political joke. I started to feel myself tensing up . . . but everyone just chuckled good-heartedly. Then he made a comment about the fact that among his friends at the church, he is the resident Democrat and kind of gets playfully teased about that. (Honestly, that surprised me a bit -- I'd gotten the impression that Republicans were the minority at my church, but maybe I was mistaken.)<br />
<br />
I thought about that for quite a while. I was trying to remember the last time I heard politics discussed light-heartedly. The last time I was in a group of people who I knew disagreed with me politically and felt comfortable making my views known. The last time I <u>didn't</u> feel that people who disagreed with me politically were judging my character because of my political beliefs.<br />
<br />
It's been a long time.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j7PJqW0exEs/WBZFSrSx3eI/AAAAAAAACUE/E2mUi_evux8S03bm2LvcReHbD8xNaZVwQCLcB/s1600/political%2Bdivision.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j7PJqW0exEs/WBZFSrSx3eI/AAAAAAAACUE/E2mUi_evux8S03bm2LvcReHbD8xNaZVwQCLcB/s1600/political%2Bdivision.jpg" /></a>It was at least before the Obama administration . . . before San Antonio and Iowa, in our family's <br />
story. It was probably sometime in New Jersey, because I went to church with many liberal friends there, and while I don't remember many political discussions with them, I also don't remember being afraid to say what I thought or any of us judging the other for what we thought.<br />
<br />
When did this animosity start? And why?<br />
<br />
Well, looking at my personal experience, I suspect a big part of it is that, by chance, I haven't had a lot of liberal friends that I see face-to-face since I left New Jersey. They're all on Facebook. So any political discussion that involves disagreement is happening in online statuses and comments.<br />
<br />
More than that, I think I can pinpoint the chronological beginning of this tension, at least my personal experience of it: Obamacare.<br />
<br />
I remember so well the hurtful reactions I got from FB friends when I questioned the wisdom of Obamacare online. They didn't question my opinions; they questioned my character. Not all of them, but many of them. I was told that I obviously hated poor people, that I was a spoiled rich girl . . . and those were some of the milder remarks. It hurt -- seriously. Don't these people know me better than that? Is this really what they think of me? Behind all of their smiles and surface-level compliments? They REALLY believe I disagree with this because I'm hateful . . . because I'm selfish . . . because I'm stupid . . . because I'm racist . . . really???<br />
<br />
These same friends (these are the really passionate ones) over time are increasingly posting a lot of negative things about conservatives in general: things that, again, slam <i>the character </i>of anyone who could possibly disagree with them . . . which includes me. They are also the first to jump on anything remotely political that I personally post and argue against me, and they get personal.<br />
<br />
Again -- not all of them, but many of them. And I have ugly conservative friends who do the same thing to their political opponents, for the record.<br />
<br />
Most of my friends (liberal AND conservative) simply don't bring such topics up anymore. I suspect they probably feel like me: they're afraid to have their character brought into question publicly for what they say. It's like a don't-ask-don't-tell environment. My daughter told me the other day that she just doesn't want to know ANYONE's political leanings -- it affects what she thinks of them and what they think of her. The result of all this is that the reasonable people stay silent, and the only political discussion that happens is the ugly, hateful, divisive stuff.<br />
<br />
That's so sad. How did we get this way?<br />
<br />
I blame Facebook. If we're going to have passionate discussions about important issues that we have strong disagreement about, those should probably happen face-to-face. Where you can hear the tone of their voice and react to the pain in their eyes. Where you are kind of forced to take the time to at least make small talk about other things, things that you have in common, things that show some interest in and concern about the other person.<br />
<br />
This election has been emotional for me. I take my vote seriously, and I'm quite distressed at my choice here and what it's going to mean for my children's future. I really would have liked to have talked about this decision in this blog; in the past, I've used this as a place to hash things out and get feedback from a variety of respondents.<br />
<br />
But I've been afraid to. The very fact that I didn't see the choice as obvious would be seen as a sign of my stupidity and ungodliness (yes, really) to many friends on BOTH sides of the aisle. I don't have it in me right now to defend myself against that. So, I just shut up.<br />
<br />
The ugliness in our country right now has led me to pray mightily for my children -- among other things, I pray that they will not only know right from wrong, but will have the courage to stand up for right when the national mood is against them. It occurs to me that I'm not modeling that courage right now.<br />
<br />
So, for those of you who don't know, I'm a conservative. And here's a <a href="http://kandtkhronicles.blogspot.com/2011/01/being-conservative.html" target="_blank">link to an old post</a> I wrote explaining why. And for the record, I don't know what I'm going to do when I get in the voting booth this week.<br />
<br />
I have only a few days to decide. And maybe I'll find the courage to blog about it. I just hope the people who claim to be my friends will believe in me enough not to question my integrity based on my vote. Getting kind of tired of that . . . getting ready to hit the unfriend button.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-71888523168422049882016-10-21T06:42:00.003-05:002016-10-21T06:42:43.067-05:00What I Won't Take For GrantedThankfulness is a spiritual discipline, and it's one I have a hard time cultivating in times like these when my sleep issues are at their worst. What's more, I've found that the term "thankful" has become too trite to be useful for me. Particularly in Christian circles, it seems (and for everyone once the month of November hits), we talk so much about being thankful that it almost becomes nothing more that a rote recitation.<br />
<br />
I am reminding myself lately that there are things in my life that I must not take for granted -- things I have right now that I have not always had and will not always have, and I MUST make a point of appreciating their presence while I have them. Here are a few:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vs8zaVEh9wU/WAn-Mx-mgdI/AAAAAAAACTw/4KhzJmH0SmoV921D_ijCQfNCNDtK9apEwCLcB/s1600/grateful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vs8zaVEh9wU/WAn-Mx-mgdI/AAAAAAAACTw/4KhzJmH0SmoV921D_ijCQfNCNDtK9apEwCLcB/s320/grateful.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<u>Hot Showers</u>: Hubby and I are still entertaining the idea of living out of the country during retirement. And we learned during our week in Panama a few years ago that very few homes there have hot water for showers. Let me tell you, people: cold showers are such a miserable experience for me that I might rather just let myself stink. The vast majority of the time I take a shower anymore, I let myself feel the wonderful hot water on my body and take a minute to stand there and just flat out enjoy the feeling. A time may come when I will long for this, so I don't want to take it for granted now.<br />
<br />
<u>Breathing</u>: When I get a cold, nine times out of ten, it settles in my chest, and I end up coughing for weeks -- many miserable, exhausting weeks. I avoid sick people like the plague because a cold just isn't a minor deal for me. I have caught myself many times, while lying in bed in the morning getting ready to get up, taking big, deep breaths and just loving the feeling of air flowing through my lungs smoothly. I know that at any time, I could be exposed to germs that will temporarily disrupt that. I make a point now to appreciate the times when I can breathe.<br />
<br />
<u>Being Able to See Enough to Read</u>: My mother had macular degeneration. My eye doctor reminded me the other day that I should probably take some eye health supplements to head off the possibility of having similar problems. Macular degeneration manifests itself in blurry vision right at the center of where you focus, which means it makes it difficult and eventually impossible to read. I am a serious reader. Reading is integral to my life right now: I read books, magazines, student papers, scripts, online articles, emails, my own plethora of to-do lists . . . not being able to read would alter my life profoundly. I like my life. I want to be able to read. And since there's a chance I won't be able to someday, I treasure every day that I can now.<br />
<br />
<u>Being Able to Think Straight</u>; My father had Alzeimer's disease. Since there seems to be a genetic component to that, I have always known that there was a possibility of my developing the disease as well. The older I get and the more my father's siblings become similarly debilitated, the more I think about that possible future for me. Someday, I may not be able to remember things or understand what people say to me or keep my own thoughts straight. I want to appreciate the ability to think while I have it.<br />
<br />
<u>My Daughters' Presence</u>: This is a biggie. I have a twenty-year-old and a sixteen-year-old. The oldest could very well have chosen to go away to college but didn't. The youngest may very well make that choice in a couple years. I have never enjoyed my daughters more than I enjoy them right now: they are intelligent, caring, thoughtful, FUN young ladies, and wonder of wonders, they seem to enjoy spending time with hubby and me. I know I am blessed. I know someday they will have families and careers, and Mom and Dad will move down the priority list . . . which will be as it should be. So I welcome every moment I can have with them now and treasure up these times in my heart.<br />
<br />
<br />
Someday, these blessings may be gone. And because I serve a loving and gracious God, I know when that time comes, there will be other blessings to appreciate. But I refuse to get to that day and realize I didn't appreciate what I had while I had it. No matter how crazy my days get . . . no matter how grouchy I am from sleep deprivation . . . no matter how discouraged I am about the direction of our nation . . . I must never, ever take God's gifts for granted.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-31448867860968462772016-10-04T09:26:00.000-05:002016-10-04T09:26:58.533-05:00Needing Deep WaterIn looking for a passage to use in class next week as an example of good writing, I pulled out my Susan Wise Bauer book <i>The Well-Educated Mind</i> and flipped around a bit. And I found this beauty. She's been discussing the various channels where you might gather information about, say, a recent bombing on the West Bank. Then she says:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><i>"But
in order to be <u>enlightened</u> about the
suicide bomber on the West Bank, you must <u>read
seriously</u>: history, theology, politics, propaganda, editorials. The ideas
that impel suicide bombers cannot be gleaned from websites or interactive
media. The causes of such desperate actions cannot be made clear to you through
a picture and a moving headline while you eat your toast. These things must be
expressed with precise and evocative words, assembled into complex, difficult
sentences. To be enlightened – to be wise – you must wrestle with these
sentences. Technology can do a great deal to make information gathering easier,
but it can do little to simplify the gathering of wisdom. Information washed
over us like a sea, and recedes without leaving its traces behind. Wrestling
with truth, as the story of Jacob warns us, is a time-consuming process that
marks us forever." </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span>
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E7fQfEBfkZ4/V_O6lhrLLcI/AAAAAAAACTg/n2qEEasycQgjlB8u3YYRhAI2hLpPhlhpACLcB/s1600/legs%2Bunderwater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E7fQfEBfkZ4/V_O6lhrLLcI/AAAAAAAACTg/n2qEEasycQgjlB8u3YYRhAI2hLpPhlhpACLcB/s320/legs%2Bunderwater.jpg" width="320" /></a>Oh, so true. Wisdom takes time . . . requires wrestling . . . needs depth to swim in. I'm all too aware of how shallow my life gets too often.<br />
<br />
This shallowness has been a theme popping up a lot lately. Amy, the BSF teaching leader, noted last week that, when you forget your identity, life becomes all about completing tasks rather than fulfilling your purpose.<br />
<br />
Ouch.<br />
<br />
My life lately has been about completing tasks. I've always been a big fan of to-do lists, but they have been my lifeline for a few weeks now. The more busy I am, the more dependent I am on those lists. For a while there, I had a handful of them lying around, cross-referenced with each other. It was the only way I could possibly relax -- otherwise, I was afraid I would forget something important and I'd be thinking about it constantly.<br />
<br />
Completing tasks. Gathering information. Shallowness.<br />
<br />
I've been feeling a lack in my life. And I'm realizing now that it may be a lack of <i>depth</i>. Busy-ness forces me to skim the surface of so many things just to get by. I heat up a frozen lasagna for the family dinner because taking the time and effort to actually pull out genuine ingredients and assemble them into a home-cooked dish seems like a waste of energy. I quickly throw together a checklist for my daughter's school week because actually sitting down and discussing what she's learning with her feels like a luxury I can't afford right now. I slap a quick grade on my students' papers because figuring out the whys and hows of the errors they are making takes too much time at the moment.<br />
<br />
But the quick fixes are shallow. I miss the purpose. I forget my identity. I lose the chance for wisdom.<br />
<br />
I need depth. My legs are cramping for room to stretch, stretch, stretch, and still not touch the bottom of the pool. I want to stop dog-paddling in desperation and swim with big, wide strokes, feeling the bigness of the water around me and realize I'm still being held up.<br />
<br />
I keep thinking now that the play is done . . . now while I have a week off of school . . . once I get caught up on my sleep . . . I can get the multitude of little things done and then have margin again to dive deep. But maybe that's not going to happen. Maybe I need to force myself into the deep waters anyway, despite the complicated, cross-referenced to-do list lying on the kitchen table. Because maybe the workout my limbs get in the deep waters is what strengthens them to get through the shallow waters, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-34573083180071675902016-09-26T08:26:00.001-05:002016-09-26T08:26:28.245-05:00What I LearnedI just finished a six-week stint directing a play at Crystal Sea Drama Company. This is a youth theater company, so it's supposed to be an educational experience for the young people involved. However, I find that it's just as much an educational experience for me.<br />
<br />
What I Learned Directing This Play:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ucjedmTw-Dg/V-kg6ynEu6I/AAAAAAAACTQ/zA4oBk5UcA4SrtD5nbIyRqVLVwNLwxvEQCLcB/s1600/TOCS%2Bcast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ucjedmTw-Dg/V-kg6ynEu6I/AAAAAAAACTQ/zA4oBk5UcA4SrtD5nbIyRqVLVwNLwxvEQCLcB/s320/TOCS%2Bcast.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
1. <i>How limited my theater knowledge and experience is</i>. I've done lots of drama . . . not as much actual theater. I can put people on a stage with a script and get a good performance out of them. Everything else that theater involves, I'm pretty clueless about.<br />
<br />
My costumer asked me what period the costumes should be. Period? I dunno. It's the Clue game characters . . . they're in a castle . . .<br />
<br />
My set designer asked what kind of castle. I dunno. German? Siekfurst is a German name . . . sure, it's German. I don't have a clue what a German castle looks like. What kind of kitchen table in the kitchen? I have no idea -- what can you give me?<br />
<br />
He also asked if I wanted to keep the round proscenium platforms or take them out. I don't know -- what do you want to do? I'm not used to dictating what my stage looks like; I'm used to being given a stage and having to work with what I have.<br />
<br />
My stage manager asked to use my script with the cues written in it. Cues? Umm . . . how exactly would you like those cues written? (She ended up writing cues in her own script.)<br />
<br />
I think I should take the tech class at CSDC.<br />
<br />
2. <i>How little attention I pay to detail.</i> Did I like the earrings Fillie was wearing in Act 2? Was she wearing earrings in Act 2?<br />
<br />
Do I want the rafters painted to match the trim? Uh . . . rafters? Oh, those. Sure. Maybe. I can't even picture that in my head.<br />
<br />
I work with people here who are the type who would notice that this suitcase is a completely different style than all the other suitcases and cringe at that through the whole show -- where I'm happy that we found a purple suitcase at all. I'm grateful to have people who pay attention to those things because I know there are audience members that pay attention to those things, and I just don't see any of it.<br />
<br />
3. <i>How little control I have over anything.</i> Actually, this was not news to me -- I'm reminded of this every time I direct a play. I'm convinced this is why God has me doing this.<br />
<br />
I have NO control over who auditions for my play. (And I didn't have enough people audition, but God brought us the people we needed.)<br />
<br />
I have NO control over how hard my actors and crew work. (But my people worked very hard for me this time around -- even got their lines memorized in a week and two days.)<br />
<br />
I have NO control over the health of my actors and crew, or their well-being and safety outside of my rehearsal time with them -- and sometimes not much DURING my rehearsal time with them. (And this was my first play where those things really became issues.)<br />
<br />
I have NO control, once the symbolic curtain rises on opening night, over what ends up happening on that stage. There's a point where it's all out of my hands.<br />
<br />
4. <i>I love these kids.</i> I can't tell you what a great group of actors and techies I had for this play. I enjoyed them thoroughly. They put on a great show. They reminded me why I do this . . . and made me want to do it again.<br />
<br />
Sometime. After I get the house cleaned and get caught up on my sleep.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-38983428852115567242016-07-29T09:16:00.000-05:002016-07-29T09:16:38.440-05:00War? What War?Yeah, maybe there's something wrong with me.<br />
<br />
When Obama officially became the Democratic presidential candidate in 2008, I remember thinking that, although I didn't want him to be president because I disagreed with him on so many things, it was a pretty cool thing that a black man was on a major party ticket. And on the day of his inauguration, I got a bit choked up at the meaning of the historical moment. A black president!<br />
<br />
Last night was historical, too. Historical in a way that directly affected me more, since I'm a woman. But I wasn't fazed. Maybe if Hillary is inaugurated, I'll get emotional about it at that point, but I kind of doubt it. And I don't think it's a factor of disagreeing with her politics. Because again, I disagreed just as much with Obama's. I just can't get excited about a female presidential candidate. Seriously -- it means nothing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T7uvNopaFxM/V5ti9xiSQJI/AAAAAAAACS4/ui7X_9qL_BsNrL2xXl1S6cav3OUTMpXJwCLcB/s1600/woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T7uvNopaFxM/V5ti9xiSQJI/AAAAAAAACS4/ui7X_9qL_BsNrL2xXl1S6cav3OUTMpXJwCLcB/s1600/woman.jpg" /></a></div>
I don't quite understand myself. "Women's rights" just isn't an issue that resonates with me. I don't at all feel like a victim in any kind of war on women.<br />
<br />
It's not that I don't think women should get paid equally. It's not that I don't have a problem with cultures that treat women as property. I get that there are all sorts of injustices happening to women around the globe, and something should be done about them.<br />
<br />
But . . . I don't know. I can't get myself riled up or excited about it.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because I don't think it ever once occurred to me in my life that I couldn't be president if I wanted to just because I'm a woman. I don't think there has ever been <u>anything</u> that I wanted to do that I haven't been able to do because I'm a woman (other than, you know, lift heavy objects . . . and that's not really because I'm a woman: that's because I'm a wimpy woman).<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because my mother was never a big women's rights person. I don't remember her ever discussing it at all. She was a very contented homemaker and probably never felt held back by her gender either. But I'm also quite sure she was one of the ones encouraging me there was nothing I couldn't do in my life. As if gender just wasn't an issue -- not that it was an issue we now had victory over.<br /><br />Maybe it's because, while I have experienced (not personally) blatant racism in my life, I have not experienced or even witnessed blatant misogyny. But I have certainly heard females cry "misogyny" when I thought the charge was quite unwarranted. (Of course, I've heard unwarranted cries of racism as well, I guess. I think it's sometimes easier to believe there's injustice in the way you've been treated than to believe that you yourself were somehow at fault or inadequate.)<br />
<br />
I don't know. I don't get myself. I felt no swell of pride or relief or joy at the idea of a woman heading a major party ticket last night. I heard no glass ceiling shatter. I never saw a ceiling. I don't think I was looking up there -- I was busy looking elsewhere, I guess. Maybe someone will say I'm not ambitious enough. I think I just figure that God builds my house; he designs the layout, determines the number of bedrooms, and sets the heights of my ceilings. And He builds our houses to individual specs, based on the work He has for each of us. My ceiling is where it needs to be to do the work He has for me to do.<br />
<br />
Too simplistic? Too lethargic? Maybe. But there's something to be said for contentment.<br />
<br />
So while I'm wondering about myself today, I have to say that I'm not that bothered by my reaction -- or lack of reaction. I'm mostly concerned what I might be communicating to my daughters. Should I be worried that my lethargy on the matter is a negative quality that they will pick up from me and that will be a detriment to them for the rest of their lives? Am I hurting them in some way by not instilling them with a pride in their gender and in how far their gender has come in our society and a determination to move their gender further?<br />
<br />
I don't think so. I think they have a pretty healthy view of gender. It matters where it matters, and it doesn't where it doesn't.<br />
<br />
And in politics, we don't think it matters.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-18362578043160065392016-07-08T10:58:00.000-05:002016-07-08T10:58:36.635-05:00On Hope and Wisdom and FathersMy father was a deeply intellectual and profoundly faithful Christian man. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease when I was twelve . . . retired from teaching when I was fifteen . . . was in a nursing home when I was twenty-one.<br />
<br />
Which means that by the time I was old enough to recognize the wisdom I wanted to glean from him, it was no longer there for the gleaning.<br />
<br />
This has been a regret of mine. I have several times over the years mourned the lost lessons I could have learned from my father. This week is one of those times. Today, I wish I could ask my father this question:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yoVh7QBn5gk/V3_McS7OCmI/AAAAAAAACSc/OImepzjYV448UxT6r-19kznZoYMvLZkMwCLcB/s1600/broken%2Bnation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yoVh7QBn5gk/V3_McS7OCmI/AAAAAAAACSc/OImepzjYV448UxT6r-19kznZoYMvLZkMwCLcB/s1600/broken%2Bnation.jpg" /></a></div>
<i>How do you maintain hope?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My father had very high expectations and strict morals. I remember him telling me, with disgust, about the students in his college years who attended school dances -- such things were quite inappropriate, in his mind. I can only imagine the horror he felt at the moral decay he saw happening as a professor on his college campus during the 60s.<br />
<br />
He was a naval officer in the Pacific in World War II. I can only imagine the frustration he felt at the anti-war protests of the 60s and 70s.<br />
<br />
And I specifically remember his spitting out the label "crook" when referring to Richard Nixon.<br />
<br />
Between the sexual revolution, government corruption, civil rights violence, and Vietnam, it had to feel to him like the country was imploding. Going to hell in a handbasket.<br />
<br />
Just like it feels to me now.<br />
<br />
<i>How do you maintain hope, Dad?</i><br />
<br />
Intellectually, I can know God is in control. I can know that the country has been through worse and survived. I can know that God's plan and purpose are bigger than our country.<br />
<br />
But I'm tired of feeling sad and hopeless.<br />
<br />
Did Dad feel like God was judging the nation, like I feel? Did he cry out to God for mercy for a people who never deserved the grace He has shown them, like I do? Did he sit and think that there must be something to be done . . . something he could do . . . some answer to the crises . . . and feel lost when no answer came to him but <i>pray, love, pray, speak truth, pray, pray, pray</i> . . .<br />
<br />
. . . like I do?<br />
<br />
We need wise fathers today. Wise mothers. God grant us mercy, and grant us wise fathers and mothers. And grants us ears to hear them.<br />
<br />
<br />GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-74424747363760679292016-06-21T08:42:00.002-05:002016-06-21T08:42:47.117-05:00Je Suis Elijah Under the Broom BushMy pastor preached on 1 Kings 19 last Sunday -- the story of Elijah running away to Horeb after his big victory over the prophets of Baal (in chapter 18). This story has been a meaningful one in my life: God used it in the past to teach me about my depression.<br />
<br />
You see, Elijah is depressed here.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "<i>He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die."</i> That's depression. And one of the first things to note here is that it came after a mountaintop moment . . . which is not uncommon. <b>We should brace ourselves for a possible crash after a spiritual high,</b> especially if we know we are naturally susceptible to such crashes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
But what's the first thing God does for him? <b>He let him sleep.</b> He let him sleep a lot. He slept, then he woke up to eat, then he slept again. I've learned that for me, a lot of my depression is connected to sleep deprivation. I'm TIRED. I need rest. Just getting a good nap usually helps my outlook significantly.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oJtetu6YcD8/V2lDBPX4ELI/AAAAAAAACSE/QXbPfQR8xIoWsUuvKgnY9R58xnNXaXKDgCLcB/s1600/Elijah%2Bbroom%2Bbush.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oJtetu6YcD8/V2lDBPX4ELI/AAAAAAAACSE/QXbPfQR8xIoWsUuvKgnY9R58xnNXaXKDgCLcB/s1600/Elijah%2Bbroom%2Bbush.jpg" /></a>And what's the other thing God does for him right away? <i>"All at once, an angel touched him and said, 'Get up and eat.'"</i> <b>He gave him food.</b> The man had been running for his life and presumably had not stopped to get any nourishment. In fact, the angel fed him twice: sleep, eat, sleep, eat. Taking care of my body -- so important for my emotional health. Depression is a physiological thing to a great degree; it is profoundly influenced by maladies in my physical self. A change in diet often improves my emotional state.<br />
<br />
Now, note what Elijah says in verse 10 when God asks him what's up:<br />
<br />
<i>"I have been very zealous for the LORD God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me, too."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Poor Elijah. It's all about him, isn't it? Now, in a sense this response is understandable in his situation, but if you keep reading, you notice that he makes this exact same speech again in verse 14. The man seems to be rehearsing this lament; he's got it down, memorized to the word, ready to spout to anyone who asks. <b>Meditating on your laments will not pull you out of the doldrums</b>.<br />
<br />
So God does one of those awesome things that He did with Old Testament prophets that we often wish He would do with us: He came to Elijah, directly.<br />
<br />
<i>"Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My pastor said on Sunday that the phrase "gentle whisper" is sometimes translated "the sound of silence." Often, I realize that my depression is exacerbated because I am paying so much attention to the storm and noise. God speaks in the sound of silence. <b>I need to ignore the noise and listen to God in the silence.</b><br />
<br />
So, what does God do next for Elijah? He gives him a job -- three people to go anoint in His name to take over important roles. In other words, <b>stop moping around and do something productive, something for someone else</b>.<br />
<br />
Then He filled Elijah in on something he actually probably knew but just conveniently ignored in his self-pitying rambling: "<i>Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel -- all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him."</i><br />
<br />
Elijah wasn't "the only one left" like he claimed. There were seven thousand more Israelites staying faithful to God . . . Elijah just wasn't paying attention to them. He went off into the wilderness, even leaving his servant behind, and pouted alone. <b>Isolation increases depression.</b> We were made to need each other.<br />
<br />
One of the things about the Bible is that it doesn't idealize its heroes. Peter denies Christ, Moses kills a man, David commits adultery . . . we see the spiritual giants in their worst moments as well as their best. God needed us to see, first of all, that these were real people with real problems and failures, just like us. And He also needed us to see models for how to deal with these problems. When I'm under my broom bush, praying to die (which, praise Jesus, happens far less these days), I need to stop obsessing over my misery . . . get a good night's sleep . . . cut the sugar from my diet for a while . . . make a plan to get something productive done . . . and get out of the house and with some friends.<br />
<br />
Don't tell me the stories of the Bible are not practical for our times.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-5023917241218467822016-06-15T10:31:00.000-05:002016-06-15T10:37:43.956-05:00Jesus and Girly TeaThere is a pile of little girly things on my living room floor right now. As in little things that are very girly.<br />
<br />
We're babysitting a little girl this week, so my daughters got out their old toys. Mini Barbies . . . mini princesses, of every type . . . mini tea sets . . . mini vanities . . . mini carriages and horses . . . and there's probably a unicorn in there somewhere.<br />
<br />
Oh, the memories.<br />
<br />
I miss the little girly days. I mean, I miss my daughters being little girls, but it's more than that. I miss when I was able to get lost in their world for a moment and life was all tea parties and horse rides and ball gowns and hairdos.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LHpOesbZY7I/V2Fzi4wUWxI/AAAAAAAACRs/rdt6VwuxDoQRYyp5q-WkW4YQXGvNSZx4ACLcB/s1600/IMG_20160615_095155_888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LHpOesbZY7I/V2Fzi4wUWxI/AAAAAAAACRs/rdt6VwuxDoQRYyp5q-WkW4YQXGvNSZx4ACLcB/s320/IMG_20160615_095155_888.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Cheesy as they are, I kind of miss the old kiddie shows when the good guys were all beautiful and nice and got good things in the end and the bad guys were all ugly and obvious and got their come-uppance . . . or saw the light and switched sides.<br />
<br />
Bad guys are not always ugly and obvious. Good guys do not always win, at least in this life.<br />
<br />
Our world is so broken. Humanity is so broken.<br />
<br />
It makes me tired.<br />
<br />
I might have, at one time, said that it makes me depressed. But I have learned over years of dealing with my own particular brand of neurosis that many of my emotional problems are a result of mislabeling. I have physiological feelings in my body that mimic what we feel when we're sad, and if I label them as "sadness", then I start to think about things to be sad about and get genuinely sad.<br />
<br />
I am sad about the state of humanity, but that's not what I feel at the moment. I feel tired. I know the end of the story for our world, and there is hope for the good guys, so my sadness is tempered. But I also know there's a long, difficult road still ahead before we get there, so my tiredness is magnified.<br />
<br />
I'm tired of fighting ignorance. I'm tired of fighting selfishness. I'm tired of fighting self-righteousness. I'm tired of fighting inaccurate depictions from others of what the stinking fight is even about.<br />
<br />
My sleep deprivation is also a cause of the fatigue, but it only exacerbates my soul fatigue. I'm ready for rest . . . even eternal rest.<br />
<br />
I know there are some who find it morbid and disturbing to wish for heaven and the end of the world. But when you have confidence in the justice and grace of the One who holds the end in His hands, it starts to sound very inviting. I want the brokenness healed, and I know there's only one way this will happen.<br />
<br />
Even so, come, Lord Jesus. I'm ready for a tea party with You . . . in a beautiful ball gown . . . as Your Beloved.<br />
<br />GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-8806689663887250592016-06-07T08:47:00.001-05:002016-06-07T08:47:37.087-05:00Story and Being Human: Imago DeiIn a quiet moment last night with my hubby and youngest, I sat looking at our bookshelves upstairs. We have bookshelves in many places in our house, but these particular shelves have my daughters' old books. Some that they read on their own after they became independent readers, but many that hubby and I read to them at bedtime over many, many years of their childhood.<br />
<br />
Oh, the books. Oh, the memories!<br />
<br />
Narnia and the Pevensies. Laura and Mary in their Little Houses with Ma and Pa. All the American Girls. Junie B. Jones (the B. stands for Beatrice, but she just likes B and that's all). Anne of Green Gables, the whole series. The Magic Tree House. The Babysitter's Club. All sorts of Dear America history books. Charlotte's Web. Stuart Little. The Mandie series they got from their older cousin.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iOc0YmjNqv4/V1bPGA1qJXI/AAAAAAAACRU/wPsua1tvzbIX_n4vG_g-xkCSq1afslkVACLcB/s1600/bookshelf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iOc0YmjNqv4/V1bPGA1qJXI/AAAAAAAACRU/wPsua1tvzbIX_n4vG_g-xkCSq1afslkVACLcB/s1600/bookshelf.jpg" /></a></div>
Oh, I wanted to go back. For a moment, I wanted to be sitting on a bed with one of their heads lying on my chest reading about Aslan singing the world of Narnia into being. I'll be sharing that book with my 6th graders this fall, but no -- it's not the same standing at the front of a classroom as it is snuggling at the head of a bed.<br />
<br />
One of the greatest blessings of homeschooling was all the reading I got to do with my daughters. They did read on their own, but I also read literature aloud to them, stuff that was a step above their independent reading level to move them forward. I remember reading <u>Julius Caesar</u> with my eldest when she studied the Roman Empire in fifth grade or so, skipping a few unimportant scenes, stopping to explain stuff as we went, but reveling in the language and reciting my favorite speech of Antony's with <i>mucho </i>gusto. To this day, she claims that Shakespeare is one of her favorite writers.<br />
<br />
An article I just read yesterday reiterated what I have heard and known for many years: one of the best things we can do to help our children write better is spend years reading high quality literature aloud to them. Let them hear the rhythm of mature language so they can replicate it naturally.<br />
<br />
But reading high quality literature to them is also one of the best things we can do just to help them live better -- to help them become truly Human. The root of the word "educate" means "to draw out." We often think of schooling as a matter of pouring information into someone's head, but no -- it's a matter of drawing out of them what is there so that they can use it well. Which means something has to be in there to be drawn out.<br />
<br />
Now, I believe there is a core of "knowing" that God has already instilled in us. It's a part of our being made in God's image. What is lacking is a "language" to couch our knowing in. Does that make sense? There are a lot of things I know, in a sense, but until I draw it out, until I can explain it in words, it is of no use to me. Most of those are spiritual things; thus, they are the most critical things to be educated in.<br />
<br />
And this is where stories come in. Stories are a vehicle of knowing. Ideas and concepts can be communicated through story sometimes far more effectively than through exposition. Those inner things we know from God but cannot yet use can become accessible to us through narrative.<br />
<br />
When I read about Laura's relationship with her Pa, it rings true in my soul, because somewhere in my soul, I already know about the security of a father's love, whether I have a father or not.<br />
<br />
When I read about Anne breaking her slate over Gilbert's head, it rings true in my soul, because somewhere in my soul, I already know the extent of humanity's foolish pride, whether I'm conscious of my own or not.<br />
<br />
When I read of Aslan's death on the Stone Table, it rings true in my soul, because somewhere in my soul, I already know the nobility of and need for sacrifice, whether I recognize my personal need for it or not.<br />
<br />
Man has always told stories -- around the campfire, in books, on screens, on stages, in poetry, in song, always and everywhere. Jesus himself told stories to communicate the truths he has to tell us. When I teach my students about the story elements and the plot chart and such, I emphasize to them that this isn't stuff that people made up. We write stories that way because that's how God created story to be. That's how He made our story run. When we tell a good story well, we're imitating God. Imago dei.<br />
<br />
Read to your kids people. Read to yourselves now. Read. Read. Read.<br />
<br />GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-19918659077029439142016-05-31T08:48:00.000-05:002016-05-31T08:48:23.628-05:00Visiting the Family FarmI spent my Memorial Day weekend at the Family Farm. (And on the LO-O-ONG drive to and from the Family Farm.) My dad's family had a reunion this weekend. So did my husband's mom's family, but just he and the girls made it to that one -- I stayed at the Family Farm for a memorial service for my aunt who died suddenly Friday morning. (This required some complicated arrangements for me over the weekend, but that's another story.)<br />
<br />
Anyway . . . the Family Farm. In Gem, Kansas, just outside of Colby. Western Kansas. Farm country. My sisters, being older than I, spent a lot more time at the Family Farm with Grandpa (who died when I was a baby), Grandma, aunts, uncles and cousins. I went to a couple reunions there when I was young and occasionally visited the aunt and uncle who moved in when the grandparents moved out.<br />
<br />
But I'm a city girl through and through. The Family Farm was kind of an abstraction to me. A nice place to visit, but I didn't necessarily feel a personal connection to it, as much as I appreciated the idea of it.<br />
<br />
At this visit, however, I was an adult . . . and the weekend was all about remembering my aunt and dad and grandma and hearing others remember other family members who have left us that I never knew . . . and it was much more meaningful for me than past visits.<br />
<br />
Things That Stood Out to Me This Weekend About the Family Farm:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WJwybAtC4Vk/V02UjJVgCHI/AAAAAAAACQ8/_CETdmIGzaUA7vIodq7hAqj5x-OmRlKOQCLcB/s1600/IMG_20160529_114008_900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WJwybAtC4Vk/V02UjJVgCHI/AAAAAAAACQ8/_CETdmIGzaUA7vIodq7hAqj5x-OmRlKOQCLcB/s320/IMG_20160529_114008_900.jpg" width="180" /></a>- My grandparents apparently first acquired this property and started living there in 1921, two years before my dad was born. I'm not sure why that fact was so remarkable to me, but wow. A lot of history there.<br />
<br />
- There's a gas pump by their driveway. I never noticed this. Apparently, that was a "duh" thing for everyone else there. Of course they have their own gas pump. Gotta fill up the tractors and so forth. Geez, so much I don't know about farm life.<br />
<br />
- My aunt had a big shadow box on the wall (see the picture to the right) with things that, out of the corner of my eye, looked like dried flowers or weeds. Nope. Turns out, those were crocheted items made from . . . the hair of my deceased female relatives. No lie. It seems this was a common thing back then. Women would save the hair from their hairbrushes and use them like thread to crochet decorative items, like these little flowers and such. Several had labels attached with the name of the woman whose hair was used for that item, but all but one label were faded now. Kind of cool and kind of creepy at the same time.<br />
<br />
But it reminded me of how differently the Greatest Generation lived. My parents lived through the Depression. They used everything until it completely wore out. I remember my mother rinsing out plastic bags and hanging them out to dry so she could use them over and over again. That was a bit extreme, but the wastefulness of my generation is extreme, too.<br />
<br />
- As I said, I never knew my Grandpa. I only know him from pictures. But in most of the pictures I've seen of him, the bottom half of his face is very, very tan -- so brown that he almost looks like the old comics who did blackface. His forehead, on the other hand, was white. A farmer's tan, from wearing hats out in the fields all day. That's the image of my Grandpa in my mind.<br />
<br />
And I was struck this weekend, while looking at old pictures of my dad and his siblings when they were young, how often the boys had the same white foreheads. Early twentieth century farm families . . . the boys worked on the farm all day, too. We have lazy, privileged kids these days. I'M a lazy, privileged kid.<br />
<br />
- The farmhouse seemed so small. I realize that this was because for most of my visits there, I was so small. But I couldn't quite imagine how a family of nine had lived here. (And in fact, my mother told me that when she met my dad's family, the farmhouse wasn't even built yet. They were all living in the basement.)<br />
<br />
- The farmhouse seemed so sweet. I don't think I thought much of it when I was young, other than it seemed old and it had features I was completely unfamiliar with, like the big heating vent on the floor you had to be sure not to step on with bare feet in the winter. But this weekend, it felt cozy and homey and sweet. I kept thinking, I could live here. And I know I've never thought that before.<br />
<br />
- The air is so fresh and clean. We had perfectly gorgeous weather for the reunion, and the windows in the house were open so a breeze could blow through every room. Lovely. Refreshing. I want to live like that.<br />
<br />
- The world is so huge. The sky is enormous! Until you've stood on a dusty road in western Kansas and scanned the horizon in every direction, you simply can't conceive of how big our world is. I remember traveling with my dad in forested and mountainous areas and hearing him complain that you couldn't see anything because all the trees were in the way. I always thought that was the most bizarre statement; I get it now.<br />
<br />
One of these days, my aunt and uncle are not going to be able to live on the Family Farm any longer. I kept hearing this weekend that one of their sons would be moving in then. I'm glad. All of a sudden, it is very important to me that the Family Farm stay in the family.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-91048080232516163102016-05-16T10:04:00.000-05:002016-05-16T10:04:35.383-05:00The Value of Theater EducationGoodness, it's been a while since I posted. But with good reason. The last two or three weeks have been dominated by Crystal Sea Drama Company's production of <u>Seussical</u>, which my daughter was in and with which I assisted the director. As my involvement in CSDC increases, this may become the new pattern for my blog: two or three weeks of silence toward the end of every show.<br />
<br />
It has been a crazy couple weeks. But wonderful, also. And watching all these students -- about sixty overall between the cast and all the tech crew -- reminds me of why theater is such a valuable thing for kids to be involved with.<br />
<br />
- <b>They learn to be comfortable with public speaking.</b> And to be good at it: good volume, comfortable pacing, expressive delivery. I think public speaking still ranks high on the lists of people's greatest fears -- it may even be number one. But almost everyone will have some occasion to speak to a group sometime in their lives (best man toasts? praying at church?), and you may as well feel comfortable at it.<br />
<br />
- <b>They interact in an intimate way with art and literature.</b> There's much to be said about exposing your kids to art: taking them to museums and shows and concerts. But there's much MORE to be said for their being actually involved in the creation of art. To let them see the whole thing from the inside out. To engage in the act of creation, one of the ways we are made in the image of God.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qQULYYWHQx0/VzngjFGkfPI/AAAAAAAACQk/IXy0XyTp7TIwoNf2rNI_ItQQw9iKCh_NQCLcB/s1600/Seussical%2Bselfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qQULYYWHQx0/VzngjFGkfPI/AAAAAAAACQk/IXy0XyTp7TIwoNf2rNI_ItQQw9iKCh_NQCLcB/s320/Seussical%2Bselfie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I think every kid in the country reads a Shakespeare play at some point in their education, but how much more impactful would that be if they were actually performing it? It is drama, after all; it's meant to be performed, not read.<br />
<br />
- <b>They learn empathy.</b> When you are in a play, you become another person. You have to think what they would think, feel what they would feel, react as they would react. No better way to step into another person's shoes and see life from their perspective. Such skills transfer into the real world. And such skills are more important than I can even express here.<br />
<br />
- <b>They learn to accept criticism and feedback with grace.</b> Part of the rehearsal process is having the director give you feedback on your performance and learning to apply it. Without taking it personally. Without feeling like a failure. Without copping an attitude. Without resenting the critic. And that's something they will need to do for the rest of their lives.<br />
<br />
- <b>They learn teamwork.</b> Those sixty kids I mentioned earlier? Only a handful of them were lead roles on the stage. Some of them had a multitude of little roles. Some of them ran spotlights. Some of them helped actors with quick costume changes. Some of them opened curtains at critical moments to make set changes go quickly so the pace of the play wasn't disrupted. Every single person was critical to the production. And the run of the show was a success because every single person took their part seriously and did it with excellence.<br />
<br />
- <b>They make great friends.</b> When you spend this much time with people, you get close. You become a family. It's wonderful.<br />
<br />
<br />
There's so much more. I'm so grateful for the time I spent in theater when I was young, and I'm so grateful for the opportunities my own children have had. If you're a parent, I urge you to find a play for your kiddos to get involved in. At least once.<br />
<br />
And if you're a San Antonio parent, may I recommend you look into Crystal Sea Drama Company? They have a couple summer camps coming up. Well worth it.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-66528667050863096422016-04-25T08:44:00.000-05:002016-04-25T08:44:03.264-05:00Je Suis Bilbo<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My middle school
students are assigned a "Home Reader" each quarter, a book they are
supposed to read at home and complete a response form about. I
don't choose the books for their Home Readers, and several of them were new to
me this year. I've spent a significant amount of my reading time keeping up
with my three grades and all of their readers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The 7<sup>th</sup>
grade class read <u>The Hobbit</u> third quarter. That's one I have read
before, a long time ago with my eldest in homeschool, but I didn't really
remember any of it. And I only saw the first of the movies, so I figured I'd
better go through that one one more time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And . . . it was
alright. I think that, for whatever reason, J.R.R. Tolkien just isn't my cup of
tea, which surprises me, because he sounds like something I would be all about.
Hubby and I tried to watch the first Lord of the Rings movie and never finished
it – which is something we never do. It just didn't grab us. I probably will try
reading the books sometime and see if I like them better.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But returning to <u>The
Hobbit:</u> as I said, it was . . . alright. Some fun parts, some dull parts,
nothing that jumped out and really inspired me, frankly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w8Ad-o3QxQo/Vx4dH_WG26I/AAAAAAAACQM/U6sPMtgQROs1t3xWOUT20BnGX1dd5n3AQCLcB/s1600/bilbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w8Ad-o3QxQo/Vx4dH_WG26I/AAAAAAAACQM/U6sPMtgQROs1t3xWOUT20BnGX1dd5n3AQCLcB/s320/bilbo.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Other than Bilbo.
I can relate to Bilbo. You know what it is about him that I can relate to? He
had absolutely no interest in going on an adventure. He was quite content
sitting in his little hovel with a very calm, predictable life for the rest of
his days. It was comfortable. He liked comfortable. I like comfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, once he got
out and experienced some excitement, he enjoyed it. He was proud of what he was
able to accomplish on his adventure. But when it was over, he was quite ready
to go back home to his calm, predictable, comfortable life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can't say that
I'm happy about the fact that I'm like Bilbo. That's not the kind of
person I want to be. I see these people with all this energy and enthusiasm
doing all these exciting things and kinda wish that was me. But not so much. I
need a shove. I need a Gandalf to come in and say, "What's wrong with you?
We're going to do this. This is what you were made for. Let's go."</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lately, it seems to be my kids that inspire me to get out and do. Too often, it has been the case that if I want something available for my kids -- a homeschool drama program, an English class at their school, a book club, a Bible study -- I have to go out and make it happen myself. I'm much more likely to put myself out there for the sake of my kids than for my own sake.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'Cause I'm Bilbo. The comfortable.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But someday soon (too, too soon!!), my girls will be gone, and I won't have that shove. What will I do then? </span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe when I get my sleep problems taken care of (when? if? not holding my breath), I'll have more energy and want more excitement in my life. Right now, I love my home and my sofa. I love them a lot.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"Bother burgling and everything to do with it! I wish I was at home in my nice hole by the fire, with the kettle just beginning to sing!"</i></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me, too, my hobbit friend. Me, too.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<br /></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-6021942460038249832016-04-11T08:19:00.000-05:002016-04-11T08:34:12.016-05:00Reading "The Hiding Place"<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the things about teaching English is that you have to read all of the books you assign to your students. And when I'm in the first year of teaching four different levels of English (6</span></span></strong><strong style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">th, 7th, and 8th grade at my school, and my 10th grade daughter and a couple of her friends at home), that means I have to do a lot of reading to keep up.</span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My daughter and
her friends were assigned – by me – the autobiography <u>The Hiding Place</u>
to read a couple months ago. If you're not familiar with Corrie ten Boom or her story, you really must read this. She and her Dutch family were sent to a concentration camp (where her father and sister died) because they hid Jews from the Nazis in a secret room in their home, along with a great deal of other dangerous work they did for the Underground in the Netherlands.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I mainly chose this book for the kids because I wanted them to read at least one
biography/autobiography this year, and they covered the Holocaust in history that month, so
it seemed appropriate. (Yes, my daughter also read <u>Night</u> by Elie Weisel,
in case you literature buffs are wondering. She wrote a fascinating essay comparing the two stories: how Elie lost his faith in the camps while Corrie found hers.) And I constantly heard great things about Corrie ten Boom and her book when I was a child.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W1U-qx__zFE/Vwui_MAV-MI/AAAAAAAACP4/ElIykDxnjywaWHP2wv1FvCj48C0237f9w/s1600/the%2Bhiding%2Bplace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W1U-qx__zFE/Vwui_MAV-MI/AAAAAAAACP4/ElIykDxnjywaWHP2wv1FvCj48C0237f9w/s320/the%2Bhiding%2Bplace.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hidden room in the ten Boom house.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, of course, I
had to read it first. And now I understand what the fuss was about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, my gosh, <i>this
book</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I would read one
chapter and then have to stop and think and pray. So many things God had to
teach me through the reading of this book. <o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For example, I was struck
by the character of Betsie, the author's sister. She was almost too good to be
true. In fact, my daughter mentioned that she thought it was a good thing
Corrie wrote the book and not Betsie because the reader could relate more to
Corrie and her struggles and doubts. Betsie's faith was so rock solid. Her compassion, even for her enemies, was unfathomable. Upon hearing the name of the man who betrayed them to the authorities, she said, "I pray for him whenever his name comes to my mind. How dreadfully he must be suffering!"</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, Lord, give me Your love like that, to desire the best for others despite what they've done to me.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I will probably never forget the story of
Betsie leading Corrie to thank God for the fleas in their new barracks –
because scripture told them to give thanks in all things. And of course, not
until much later do they find out that the fleas kept the guards from coming
into their barracks, which allowed them to hold Bible studies in there, among other things. A valid reason to be thankful for them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lord, give me that
kind of faith, that everything in my life is ordained by You and deserving of
my gratitude.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While I read, I kept thinking, <i>I could never do this.
I could never be this strong or this brave. I could never put myself on the
line like this.</i> But then I read how, at the end, when she was released from
the concentration camp, Corrie tried to go on working for the Underground and
couldn't. She was seized with fear on her first "mission." That's
when she realized that the only reason she and her family had been able to do
what they had done was because God had empowered them with the strength and courage
to do it. Now, He had different work for her, and so the power for this particular work
was not there anymore.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lord, help me
always remember that I don't have to fear whatever trials my future may hold,
becaus</span></span></strong><strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">e You are already empowering me to face them when the time comes. Fresh manna for each day . . . with none to save for tomorrow.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I really need to read more biographies. I never seem to put them down as the same person I was when I picked them up.</span></span></strong></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-90321102007029562132016-03-28T08:00:00.001-05:002016-03-28T08:00:05.873-05:00Players With No Lines<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the past eight
years, I've written four full-length plays, six one-acts, and a boatload of
skits, which have all been performed before relatively good-sized audiences.
So, I suppose I could call myself a playwright. I still don't quite feel
comfortable assuming that label, though. Just looking at those numbers – and
remembering the conversation I had with a friend about a year
before this binge began in which I stated emphatically that "I am
not a writer" – I don't feel like I can really take credit for much of
that. This has been a God thing. Every time I sat down to write another drama
for somebody, I wondered if this would be the day that the spigot would run dry
and God's work would be done in that area of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However, I bring
up my play-writing experience because it explains why I think I reacted so
strongly to a quote I read in an article a while back. The author was referring
to a book about prayer by Paul Miller (which is now on my gift list – Mother's
Day is coming up, and my birthday is in August, ahem). Here is the quote that
stuck with me:<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qjuZGs7DgjQ/Vvkmz-HBkbI/AAAAAAAACPk/Hb0gdPOBk-Y3f_EmEyiKlu1cbDUJMGXog/s1600/script.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qjuZGs7DgjQ/Vvkmz-HBkbI/AAAAAAAACPk/Hb0gdPOBk-Y3f_EmEyiKlu1cbDUJMGXog/s320/script.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When we have a praying life, we become aware of and enter
into the story God is weaving in our lives. . . . Prayer is not the center of
this book. Getting to know a person, God, is the center. . . . We are actors in
his drama, listening for our lines, quieting our hearts so we can hear the
voice of the Playwright. . . If you are going to enter this divine dance we
call prayer, you have to surrender your desire to be in control . . .<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></i></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">God is the
playwright. He writes the script of our lives. Our job is to "listen for
our lines" so we can submit to his storyline.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That listening can
be a challenging task, however. I don't know how many times I've wished I had
an actual printed script in hand, with my lines and stage directions written
out for me. The Playwright's voice is difficult to hear some days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I recall
certain times in my writing when a character kind of took over the script – not
in a bad way or spooky way. I mean, I created a character, and then I created a
situation that the character would be in, and from that point, the lines and
stage directions seemed to create themselves. I was almost taking dictation as
I wrote – I simply copied down what that character would naturally say and do
in that situation. Only if I had a twist to insert for the sake of my greater
theme did I inject myself as playwright again. But that often wasn't even
necessary; if my characters and situation were set up well, the drama wrote
itself.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And I'm wondering
now if that isn't something like what the Great Playwright does. He creates us
. . . more than that, He continually RE-creates us, if we put ourselves in His
hands to do so. He orchestrates the situations around us, a profoundly complex choreography of plotlines and conflicts and climaxes that all promote his general
theme. And at some point, when we have submitted to His molding and will, He no
longer needs to feed us lines. We can improvise, based on who He has made us
and where He has placed us. We do what is natural to us.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, we don't need to be so worried about saying the right things or doing the right things . . . we just need to be worried about being the right person, being the person God is re-creating us to be. And we know who that person is by knowing who Christ is.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Get to know Him intimately, and the rest falls into place. Know Him well enough to know that you can safely give Him control. That's doable. That's a manageable goal when the world is falling apart around me. Just know the Playwright. </span></span></strong></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-86404867398704639542016-03-21T08:30:00.000-05:002016-03-21T08:37:33.872-05:00Conquering My Fear. Kind Of.<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Root canal</span></i></strong><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Are you quaking in
your boots? The term epitomizes a horrible experience – how many times have you
heard someone say, "I'd rather have a root canal than <i>blah blah blah </i>. . . "<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I've had some
pretty awful dental experiences in my past. I have terrible memories of my
mother holding me down in the dentist's office while they tried to pull three
stubborn teeth that weren't coming out on their own. It took hours. They would
get one out and we'd all take a break before starting in on the other. And the
main problem was that nobody believed me when I said <i>I could still feel all this!!</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I finally got a
dentist in Hutchinson who told me that when I get nervous, my adrenaline
neutralizes the novocaine. He had to
give me two or three times as much as his other patients to keep me numb.
Finally! Someone who believed me! He recommended, when I moved, that I never
again settle for any dentist who wouldn't give me enough meds to really numb
me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qUNxjv3DriY/Vu_2S_xC9rI/AAAAAAAACPQ/EdId2K_CcHYlminrvcgDZLvfCIPL9ioUw/s1600/root%2Bcanal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qUNxjv3DriY/Vu_2S_xC9rI/AAAAAAAACPQ/EdId2K_CcHYlminrvcgDZLvfCIPL9ioUw/s1600/root%2Bcanal.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And I haven't. Dr.
Ringler empowered me. When my first dentist in New Jersey sat back disgusted at
my continual yelps while he tried to drill in my mouth and said, "Well,
just what exactly do you want me to DO for you?" I left and found another
dentist. (I wish I'd said to him, "I want you to stop patronizing me like
I'm a child who doesn't know the difference between pain and pressure!!"
But I didn't have quite that much courage yet. Walking out was a big enough
deal at the time.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, surely it's
understandable how scared I was going to see an endodontist last week for a
scan to see what needed to be done with tooth #21. And surely you can
sympathize when he said "root canal and surgical procedure" . . . and
that he could do the procedure right then . . . and I started to freak out
internally.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because I knew I
should do it. It had to be done or I'd lose the tooth (which is an option I
considered, believe me, but they said that would be even more painful and
expensive). I was on spring break, so I had no reason not to just get it done
immediately. If I waited, I would just work myself up into more of a panic
about it. Better to get it over with.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I started to
cry when I told the endodontist to go ahead. And I was embarrassed at my tears.
Forty-seven-year-old woman! The tears just came – I couldn't stop them. I
couldn't believe how terrified I was of the potential <i>pain.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The procedure
ended up taking forty-five minutes longer than they said because an instrument
broke off inside my mouth and they had trouble getting it out (good grief –
that WOULD happen to me). Fortunately, I was on nitrous oxide and completely
oblivious. Gotta love nitrous oxide.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The good news? I
didn't even hurt the next morning. Hallelujah, Thine the glory.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The bad news? A
week later, I'm hurting and my gums are swollen. Gotta call the endodontist
about that. Ugh.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The worst news? My
bill. <i>Good grief.</i></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span></strong></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-41208282214742435832016-03-14T09:30:00.000-05:002016-03-14T09:30:49.760-05:00On Writing and Thinking and AdultingSo, it's been quite a while since I posted. And I'm sitting here trying to figure out exactly why.<br />
<br />
I know in the last couple weeks, it had to do with my laptop. It's kinda dead. Kinda. The battery won't charge, only it's not the battery; it's the place where the charger cord connects. I've been borrowing my daughter's laptop for a week or two now, and so I try not to take it from her any more than necessary because she's being really sweet about it.<br />
<br />
Before that, I think it was the play she was in. Well, not "in" -- she was the stage manager for <u>The Importance of Being Earnest</u>. Stage manager means she runs the whole show at performances, and she did a great job. I was so proud of her. But the run of a show is a crazy busy time, and I didn't get to my blog then.<br />
<br />
Beyond that, though, frankly, I just haven't known what to write about. And that's kind of unusual for me. I always can come up with <i>something</i> to say. And that's been one of the reasons for keeping up this blog . . . to make myself keep thinking about things that matter and trying to communicate those thoughts to people.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-35z9KLRTLc0/VubKWj_ZO2I/AAAAAAAACO8/olpf5j9tAB8x-R0jlEt1omwK4XdsnWI8Q/s1600/brain%2Bfull%2Bof%2Bthoughts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-35z9KLRTLc0/VubKWj_ZO2I/AAAAAAAACO8/olpf5j9tAB8x-R0jlEt1omwK4XdsnWI8Q/s320/brain%2Bfull%2Bof%2Bthoughts.jpg" width="290" /></a></div>
I come up with thoughts during the week. The election process gives me all sorts of fodder to write about. Church and Sunday School usually inspire thoughts. Stuff happens in school, and during homeschool, etc. etc. But I don't ever seem to have the time . . . or inclination . . . or computer access . . . to sit and type those thoughts up when they occur to me. And when Monday morning rolls around, I'm dry as a bone. Tired and just forcing one step in front of the other to get started on my morning.<br />
<br />
My sleep problems may be a factor. I've noted that my cpap machine doesn't seem to be fitting very well anymore.<br />
<br />
General busy-ness is a factor, also. My to-do list is quite long right now. And most of the items on that list are mental items -- things I need to sit and think about. Lesson plans. School plans for next year. Drama plans for summer and fall. Writing gigs. Homeschool plans for my daughter. Oh, the thinks I must think.<br />
<br />
Think time requires big chunks of time. And it puts me in a mood -- a self-absorbed, living-in-my-brain mood. And I don't feel like communicating with anyone about anything, unless it is directly connected with my current think.<br />
<br />
So, anyway, my apologies for isolating myself from you (if any of you noticed or missed me!). This is spring break, so maybe I'll get caught up on my thinks and writes and have stuff to say when the week's over. I know others of you have spring break this week also. Enjoy your time, and head back to life refreshed next Monday!<br />
<br />
For the rest of you who are adulting this week without a spring break, good for you. The world needs more adults. Might you consider jumping into the presidential race?GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-36189823646738713212016-02-22T08:38:00.001-06:002016-02-22T08:39:20.540-06:00Really, South Carolina? <i>The Lord is my light and my salvation;</i><br />
<i>Whom shall I fear?</i><br />
<i>The Lord is the stronghold of my life;</i><br />
<i>Of whom shall I be afraid?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Thus begins the 27th Psalm, which my pastor preached on yesterday and which I have memorized in the past. I was glad for reminder of the precious words in this passage last night because I have new fears as of Saturday evening.<br />
<br />
I'm afraid of Trump being the Republican nominee for president. More than that, I fear a Trump presidency.<br />
<br />
I'm thoroughly stunned at how this has progressed. The man infuriated me from the moment he entered the race, but my husband kept assuring me that there was no chance he would get the nomination. It just wouldn't happen. He's not that reassuring anymore.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wxoJxWW9EfY/VssbwLYjpVI/AAAAAAAACOo/unouHPFgIMo/s1600/dying%2Bchurch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wxoJxWW9EfY/VssbwLYjpVI/AAAAAAAACOo/unouHPFgIMo/s1600/dying%2Bchurch.jpg" /></a></div>
But you know . . . I'm not so sure that my greatest fear is what will happen to the country. Frankly, I accepted the pending demise of our nation long ago. As much as it will sadden me, and as much as I will fight it, I have no doubt that the America I knew -- and certainly the America my parents knew -- will not be here for my children. And I can accept that as God's sovereign will here because I know that America is not integral to the kingdom of God. In the vast scope of eternity, America is a blip on the radar. There are far more important things than "the American dream."<br />
<br />
No, that is not what distresses me. What distresses me is that <i>Donald Trump won the evangelical vote in South Carolina</i>. The church, the people of God, the body of Christ on earth looked at this arrogant, selfish, petty, vindictive, manipulative man and believed him to be worthy of the most powerful political position on the planet -- deemed him the best hope for our nation among the alternatives. What could they POSSIBLY have been thinking??<br />
<br />
In light of the results of the primaries so far, I am less concerned about the future of America than I am about the future of the American church. Have we truly become so blind? Have we truly become so short-sighted? Have we truly become so deceived?<br />
<br />
Because America is not the hope of the world; Christ is. And if the body of Christ on earth is thinking and behaving so abysmally, we are all quite lost.<br />
<br />
And so I return to the 27th Psalm, grasping for hope, just as the Psalmist was. <i>Hear my voice when I call, O Lord. Have mercy on me and answer me. . . Do not hide your face from me. . . Do not reject or forsake me. . . </i>although we deserve it. Although we've turned from your face. Have mercy, Lord.<br />
<br />
<i>I am still confident of this:</i><br />
<i>I will see the goodness of the Lord</i><br />
<i>In the land of the living.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Wait for the Lord.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Be strong, take heart,</i><br />
<i>And wait for the Lord.</i>GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-36092261668642996632016-02-15T19:59:00.000-06:002016-02-15T19:59:21.544-06:00The Curse of Productivity<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My eldest informed
her father and me the other day that we are the reason she despises the word
"productivity."<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, good
heavens. "Productivity" is one of my favorite words. Productivity is one
of the greatest feelings in the world. Productivity is next to godliness, for
crying out loud. I generally define the quality of my day by how productive I
have been able to be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet I have caused
my daughter to despise the word – and presumably the concept. I'm aghast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I blame her
personality type. In fact, this was the context of her remark – we were talking
about our Meyers-Briggs types. This daughter is the lone "P" in a
family of "J"s. I was just explaining to everyone that I had read an
explanation of those labels that was new to me. J's prioritize the importance
of making a decision, getting something done. By contrast, P's are more
concerned with acquiring all the necessary information, continuing to consider,
tossing around the possibilities, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ldi8iKhxRrs/VsKCAc5cXzI/AAAAAAAACOU/2nMSdCPnG2k/s1600/to%2Bdo%2Blist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ldi8iKhxRrs/VsKCAc5cXzI/AAAAAAAACOU/2nMSdCPnG2k/s1600/to%2Bdo%2Blist.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, she comes by
it naturally, this lack of urgency to get things done. Or so she claims.
Whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For my part, I
can't imagine NOT valuing productivity. It is so ingrained in my nature – in my
very being. Life is about getting things done. If you don't get things done,
what bloody good are you? What have you accomplished? What are you here for?
What do you have to show for yourself?<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet, even as I
type that, I recognize that I am, perhaps, the opposite extreme to my daughter,
and that's not necessarily a good thing. I should NOT define the quality of my
day by how productive I have been able to be. It is possible to have a day where
I cross nothing of significance off of my to-do list, and yet I might have still
managed to be right in the center of God's will for that moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps I
interacted with people. That's not a to-do list item, but it is important
nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps I
regenerated my spirit. Again, quite necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps . . . well
. . . I'm sure there are other things. (My daughter could probably help me out
here.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I'll
acknowledge, a happy medium may be in order here. I probably need to figure out
how to knock the idol of productivity off of the throne of my heart without
condemning myself to the ranks of the useless and ineffectual.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">BUT . . . my
eldest also needs to learn the value of getting things done. Yes. She does.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-3954600246306669312016-02-08T08:25:00.000-06:002016-02-08T08:25:41.482-06:00Lessons from 1912<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I found a link the
other day to an exam given to 8<sup>th</sup> grade students in 1912. So,
because the girls and I were sitting around bored, I started quizzing them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Good heavens. I
didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I laughed – a lot. <o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We laughed more
and more as the night went on. The funniest moment for me was when I asked them
who invented the cotton gin. "Martin Luther!" my eldest called.
"Kabalevsky!" the youngest screamed. I decided to just content myself
with the fact that a good number of kids their age don't know who Martin Luther
is to even offer him as a joke answer, and even less have probably even HEARD
of Kabalevsky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But to be fair, I
wouldn't have passed the test either. Not even the grammar section, and we all
know what a grammar diva I am. "What properties have verbs?" Yeah,
right. And I took some comfort in the fact that these 1912 kids had one hundred
years less of history to learn than we did. So, I don't mourn my inability to
"sketch briefly Peter Stuyvesant."<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o8zX8-hGXco/VrikfcaGfaI/AAAAAAAACOA/DkNfSgunNoU/s1600/1912%2Btest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o8zX8-hGXco/VrikfcaGfaI/AAAAAAAACOA/DkNfSgunNoU/s1600/1912%2Btest.jpg" /></span></a><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It also has
occurred to me, when I've seen such items in the past, that we can't
necessarily compare those kids to ours. While I would argue that we need to do a better job of educating our children these days, still, comparing public school results today to public
school results in 1912 is like comparing apples and oranges.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1912, they did
not have this lofty goal of "No Child Left Behind." America has
decided that <i>every single student in the
country</i> needs to be equally well-educated. That was not the goal in 1912. A
much smaller percentage of students were attending school back then. Many did
not have access to schools . . . many had to work to support their families and
couldn't take the time for school . . . and many, frankly, just couldn't cut it
in school, and they quit. And they were allowed to quit. It's much easier to
hold your students to a higher standard when you don't have to worry about
getting EVERY student to that standard. <o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That's the thing
about high standards: they sometimes give the illusion of grand success, but
they often reflect a reality of <i>selective</i>
success.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My daughter had a
different reaction to the test, however. In the car the next day (after
finishing her history assignment for the morning over the second World War),
she said, "You know, it's weird to think that those kids in 1912 knew
nothing at all about either of the World Wars."<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They didn't. They
had no idea that these stunning, cataclysmic, world-changing events were just
around the corner in their lives. Life probably seemed to them pretty calm,
pretty smooth, pretty much like this is how it has always been and always will
be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Makes you wonder,
doesn't it? In thirty years, what stunning, cataclysmic, world-changing events
could disrupt the calm, smooth lives of MY teenagers?</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I almost shudder
to think.</span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly;">
<strong style="line-height: 13.8pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-74050457582916814312016-01-25T08:18:00.000-06:002016-01-25T08:18:23.288-06:00English Teacher Musings- I posted a meme on FB a while back that has a bunch of words misspelled -- errors like "could of" instead of "could've," that kind of thing. One of my friends LOL'd it and commented that for me to read that must be like someone with perfect pitch listening to a tone-deaf person sing. Oh, my goodness . . . <i>nailed it</i>.<br />
<br />
- Speaking of memes, my husband and I were just commenting on that word yesterday: <i>meme</i>. What a weird word it is. Wondering where in the world it came from. Amazed that it has suddenly become such a commonly used term when it seemed to come out of nowhere a couple years ago.<br />
<br />
- And not only is a texting term like "LOL" common in everyday usage anymore, but I just used it as a verb. Language evolution is fascinating.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lBt761-TKCo/VqYtOooqTCI/AAAAAAAACNs/YUuhZqxUMa0/s1600/English%2Bclass%2Bclock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lBt761-TKCo/VqYtOooqTCI/AAAAAAAACNs/YUuhZqxUMa0/s1600/English%2Bclass%2Bclock.jpg" /></a></div>
- And speaking of language evolution, I'm going to go out on a limb and predict that the word "whom" is just going to fade away in the next hundred years or so. Someday, people will read literature and documents from our time and react to the word "whom" the way we react to the word "thou." <i>What does that mean? Why did people talk so weird back then? Old English -- pah.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
- I rarely get to choose the literature I teach in my English classes, and I've decided I don't really want that responsibility. Do you know how much literature there is out there? Good, meaningful, influential, classic literature? A whole heck of a lot. Even though I'm given the curriculum to teach at my school, I get to choose what my homeschooled daughter reads for English, and sometimes it's overwhelming. I want her to read <i>everything</i>.<br />
<br />
- "Theme" is one of the story elements that I teach in my literature classes, and the definition we give for it is "the statement about life that an author wants to convey in his/her story." Only that's not entirely accurate . . . because sometimes the theme isn't necessarily a statement. It's just a topic. The story addresses the theme of "conformity," but the author may not be making a clear statement about that topic as much as just wanting us to think more about it. And sometimes an author writes something with no particular "theme" in mind at all -- just writing a good story. Nevertheless, if it is a <i>good </i>story, we readers find a theme. Because this is one of the aspects of our being made in the image of God -- this ability and need to search for meaning.<br />
<br />
- I emphasized (with italics) the modifier <i>good</i> with regards to a story. Not all stories are good. And by that, I don't mean that not all stories are entertaining or enjoyable. Those factors are a matter of personal preference, really. But I think we can come up with criteria for what makes a story good, or at least better than another. I don't know what that definition is . . . but I heard one a while back that I thought was a good start to the conversation anyway: good stories, even if they are fictional stories, are TRUE. They express truth. They show us truth. Even if that truth is the ugliness of reality.<br />
<br />
- Good stories must have some universal appeal about them, too. Something that rings true in all people, whatever culture they come from.<br />
<br />
- An old friend once talked about a play (and therefore, a story) having value if there is a <i>redemptive</i> quality to it. I like that, too.<br />
<br />
- When I taught public school twenty-some years ago, every year, I had some smart aleck kid who would declare that literature can mean anything you want it to mean. This declaration usually came sometime in January or February, which was handy because it would be cold enough for me to have my winter coat in the classroom. I would ask my students what color my coat was. Some would say green, some blue, some greenish-blue, some blueish-green, some teal, some aqua . . . we even sometimes discussed how next to a blue wall it would look more green and next to a green wall it would look more blue. I explained to them that any of those answers could be correct, depending on your perspective, your background, your prior knowledge and vocabulary . . .<br />
<br />
But if anyone said my coat was hot pink, that was WRONG. Just because there may be more than one acceptable answer to a question doesn't mean any answer is acceptable.<br />
<br />
And yes, that shut the smart alecks up, believe it or not. I should've kept that coat just for those purposes. Too many smart alecks in our world need shutting up.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<br />GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-12474832867057818652016-01-18T07:31:00.000-06:002016-01-18T07:31:00.132-06:00On Elections, Prayer, and William WilberforceMy Iowa friends have been posting pictures of themselves meeting presidential candidates. 'Tis the season.<br />
<br />
It was quite an experience living in the Hawkeye state for the 2012 caucuses. Candidates were <i>everywhere</i>. We simply stopped answering the phone because we got pre-recorded calls from one campaign or another all day long. By the last week, I was erasing 10-12 messages from our voicemail every night -- including the occasional one that sounded suspiciously like it might have been the actual candidate on the phone and made me kind of wish I'd picked up the receiver and asked the man a few questions.<br />
<br />
Despite such annoyances, I liked being in Iowa for a presidential election. Frankly, it was the only time I've ever felt like my vote mattered much, like it might actually make a difference in things. But I think I'm grateful not to be there this year because I have no bloody clue who I would vote for.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbJpB1KuZ-w/Vpzn1oyTfqI/AAAAAAAACNY/1UBHHoPluM0/s1600/wilberforce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbJpB1KuZ-w/Vpzn1oyTfqI/AAAAAAAACNY/1UBHHoPluM0/s1600/wilberforce.jpg" /></a></div>
I hate elections. Admittedly, I would probably hate any alternative even more; they are a necessary evil in a free society, which is where I want to live. But the process of choosing people to represent us in the government has become such an unsavory one. I despair of our being able to elect an intelligent, capable, and moral person to national office unless it just happens by accident.<br />
<br />
For Christmas, I got Eric Metaxas' book <u>Amazing Grace</u> about the life of William Wilberforce, the man behind the abolition of the slave trade in Britain. Great book. <i>Great, great</i> book. Highly recommended.<br />
<br />
Interesting thing about Wilberforce: he didn't become a believer until after he was pretty well established in the House of Commons. In fact, the man who eventually became the nation's moral compass was something of a moral mess when he was elected to Parliament. And it sounds like he couldn't have been elected if he had been otherwise. Parliament was so corrupt at the time, Wilberforce pretty much had to buy his way into office.<br />
<br />
Once he met Jesus and his life turned around, he was convinced he would need to resign, that remaining in his elected position would have to be inconsistent with his new convictions. It was John Newton (former slave ship captain and author of the lyrics to the famous hymn "Amazing Grace") who convinced him that he needed to stay where he was -- that perhaps God had brought him to this place "for such a time as this." And the rest is world-changing history.<br />
<br />
Reading about Wilberforce convicted me in so many ways. But it also changed my approach to and my attitude about elections and government.<br />
<br />
As I said, I despair of our electing a righteous person to the office of president -- rightly or wrongly, that's where I'm at. I fear the the election process has become such that it requires things of our potential leaders that make them decidedly less than righteous, moral, or ethical.<br />
<br />
But Wilberforce's story reminds me that God isn't hampered by that fact. God is in the life-changing business, and our elected officials are not beyond His reach. If God can change an 18th century British Parliamentarian and use him in such a mighty way, He can certainly do that with a 21st century American president.<br />
<br />
So while I will still vote my conscience this year, hoping for a candidate that has the moral direction I want in a leader, I will not be discouraged at my lack of choices or my apparent impotence in the matter. I am not impotent. I am a pray-er. And God still uses pray-ers to move the world, perhaps even by moving the moral compasses of the ungodly people in power.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-43184146527973690182016-01-04T12:06:00.001-06:002016-01-04T12:06:41.777-06:00Happy New Year??<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And so, it's a new year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Actually, I'm reminded that the idea that a brand new year starts
on the date we designate as January 1<sup>st</sup> is very manufactured. Other
cultures and peoples have their new years starting on different dates. I
suspect there may be cultures that make no recognition of the beginning of a
new yearly cycle at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nevertheless, it's a new year, the time when people decide to fix
what's wrong with themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I got way too much wrong with myself to fix in a year. Pshaw.
Fuhget dat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our Sunday School teacher Aaron (I very much like our Sunday
School teacher Aaron, by the way) encouraged us this morning to think of our
New Year Resolutions list not as a "to-do" list, but as a
"to-be" list. Of course, the distinction is minor, considering that <u>being</u>
anything different requires <u>doing</u> some things different . . . however, I
still like the distinction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AVWB4_hTEQU/VoqzmLIIRRI/AAAAAAAACNE/Xu1hm4wMFZc/s1600/15-happy-new-year-wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AVWB4_hTEQU/VoqzmLIIRRI/AAAAAAAACNE/Xu1hm4wMFZc/s320/15-happy-new-year-wallpaper.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">What is on my "to-be" list for 2016?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2016, I want to be healthy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2016, I want to be productive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2016, I want to be physically and emotionally present with the
people I love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But one goal that is NOT on my 2016 to-be list is to be <i>happy</i>. I'm not saying I want to be
unhappy. Rather, I have learned as I've gotten old that when I aim for happy, I
get nothing. Momentary elation, if I'm lucky, but I quickly fall back into drab
melancholy. Happiness is not a goal; happiness is a by-product.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And it's not a by-product of being healthy or productive or
present with the people I love . . . because I've been all of those things at
various times in my life and was often still miserable deep-down, if I was
honest with myself. The only times I can say I was every truly happy – or a
better word would be <i>joyful</i> – is
those fleeting moments when I accomplished the last thing on my to-be list.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2016, I want to be intimate with God.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As often as possible. As deeply as possible. Everything else that
means anything or that satisfies my soul flows from that. So, I wish the same
for the rest of you. </span><s style="font-family: inherit;">Happy</s><span style="font-family: inherit;"> God-Filled New Year!</span></div>
GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894900671202619851.post-55834814518989547452015-12-14T08:39:00.000-06:002015-12-14T08:39:40.976-06:00Looking for Joy in All the Right PlacesAt church yesterday, we lit the Advent candle of joy. Joy is my middle name. Literally, not figuratively . . . though I would gladly trade the literal for the figurative.<br />
<br />
Joy seems so elusive to people. Happiness is not, although we think it is. Happiness is temporary and surface-level. I feel happy when I get to sleep in. I feel happy when the dog greets me enthusiastically at the door. I feel happy when my favorite Christmas song comes on the radio. I feel happy when I eat dark-chocolate-covered blueberries.<br />
<br />
Joy is different. Joy is deeper. Joy is a condition of the heart, not a reaction to my circumstances. I've known people who profess to be joyful, Christians who claim to have "the joy of Christ" (or some churchy thing like that), whose daily attitudes show them up for liars. You can't have joy and grumble every time I see you about how hard your life is and how uncooperative your kids are and how inadequate your bank account is and how decrepit your body has become . . .<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2449xwV0yuQ/Vm7S92F4rKI/AAAAAAAACMw/18J-fVy_rqo/s1600/joy%2Bcandle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2449xwV0yuQ/Vm7S92F4rKI/AAAAAAAACMw/18J-fVy_rqo/s1600/joy%2Bcandle.jpg" /></a></div>
It occurred to me this past week (for some unknown reason) that an awful lot of us believe that our joy -- or at least our happiness, but probably our joy, as well -- is dependent on being able to do the things we want to do. Kids assume they'll be happy when they're adults and can do all the things they can't do when they're young. Adults assume they'll be happy when they're retired and can spend their days not working, but doing what they want. Poor people assume they'd be happy if they had enough money to not have to work so hard at a job they don't like. Rich people assume they'd be happy if they didn't have obligations to people to do things they don't enjoy doing.<br />
<br />
I know that I would give my right arm for a day with no obligations of any kind, present or future, when I could spend my time on whatever appeals to me at that moment and not feel guilty doing so.<br />
<br />
But I have enough sense to know that, although that <i>might</i> make me happy for the day, it would not make me joyful. Joy is different. Joy is deeper. Joy is a condition of the heart. Joy has nothing to do with doing what I want to do instead of what I have to do.<br />
<br />
Joy, it seems, has more to do with doing the things I'm <i>truly</i> supposed to be doing as opposed to the things I <i>think</i> I should be doing or the things I think will make me happy. Doing those good works that "God prepared in advance" for me to do.<br />
<br />
If God prepared some low-key, menial work for me to do, I will never find joy doing the grand and glorious work I prefer that gets me lots of attention and praise from the people who see me.<br />
<br />
If God prepared some kids for me to nurture and raise, I will never find joy putting them in daycare every day and running off to a job, even if I love what I do, even if I am "changing lives" in my fabulous profession, even if I <i>think</i> being a stay-at-home mom will drive me crazy.<br />
<br />
Joy comes from being exactly where God wants you, because God made you and knows how He made you and what you were made for. Because the joy comes not from what we're doing, but from the condition of our heart when we are so in love with God and so completely trusting of His love for us that we are willing to go to the lions if that's what He calls us to. When that relationship with God is completely right (which is a daily effort while we're here on earth, I think), our heart is right, and the joy comes.<br />
<br />
This is not a revelation to most believers. We know this. The revelation comes in how poorly we are living what we profess to believe. If we believe that our joy is in our relationship to God, why do we continue to seek it in the praise of others? In the love of our family? In success at our careers? In dark-chocolate-covered blueberries? Why do we give little more than obligatory lip service to the one thing we were created for and then wonder and complain about the fact that we have no genuine joy in our lives?<br />
<br />
Seek joy this week, friends -- in the only place it can ever be found.GJKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333356530730791540noreply@blogger.com0