Blown Away

We woke up in the middle of the night to a huge storm raging outside. I haven't been able to find any stats on it, but the wind was stronger than anything I've ever heard here yet -- and the wind gusts we get on this hilltop are pretty amazing.

All of our deck furniture was piled on top of each other at one end of the deck this morning. The 14 ceramic tiles from the table top were all blown out. I was SURE some of them were broken or missing, but there's only one with a corner chipped off. The grill was still in place, thanks to Keith bungee-cording it to the deck railing, but the cover was blown off, torn in half, and half of it had blown into the empty lot down the hill.

It's trash day, so of course, all the trash and recyclables are blown all over the neighborhood. We can't even find our trash container. Eastin and I picked up four bags of trash around the neighborhood -- none of which belonged to us. Who knows what poor sap out there is picking up our trash out of his yard.

But the worst thing is . . . our big, beautiful elm in the backyard has lost some big branches. Keith is afraid is might have to be cut down altogether. I could just cry. I know it's just a tree, but it's big and beautiful and I love that tree! I sit on the deck in the morning to do my quiet time and look at the branches sway and listen to the birds singing in it and all seems right in the world. Oh, it's just heartbreaking.

Apparently there's some minor flooding in the area, but there's more rain expected over the weekend so it may get worse, unfortunately. I tell ya, Mother Nature has it in for Iowans this year.

Misunderstood

A certain loved one has told me that I'm sounding a bit too pompous and arrogant in my blog posts lately. Hmm. Lord knows, I don't feel pompous and arrogant. My readers have always been friends who know me pretty well . . but I seem to be getting different readers these days. I guess I need to be more mindful of how I might sound to a stranger who wouldn't hear my voice when they read these words.

In particular, they thought my earlier post about not understanding poor people could be insulting to some. I was concerned about that -- I specifically did NOT want to come across as a know-it-all judgmental snob who thought I could fix everyone's problems. That was my point in that post -- I clearly don't know it all. There are obviously details about living in poverty that I am completely clueless about.

A friend emailed me about that post and explained to me her situation and the difficulties of getting out of financial pits. And THAT's what I was hoping to hear. Keith and I were talking last night about how incredibly blessed we have been. But we are blessed to be a blessing. I have felt burdened lately to be doing more to help those "less fortunate". But how is the big question.

I read a fantastic book a while back: When Helping Hurts by Brian Fikkert. Everyone should read this book. He talks about how often people step in to try to help the poor, but, because they don't really understand the dynamics and culture of poverty, they end up actually hurting more than they help. That's me -- as I said in my post, I don't understand . . . and I'm liable to make a situation worse with my efforts.

So, how do I come to understand? I guess that requires spending time with people, getting to know them and their circumstances on a more intimate level. Now to figure out how to make that happen. I mean, it's not like I can walk up to someone and say, "Hey! You look poor. Let me get to know you." Talk about pompous and arrogant.....

Where's the Hidden Camera?

So, Leslie and I are sitting on the bleachers watching Keith's co-ed softball team -- Eastin's at the playground nearby. It's just a bit chilly and I'm wondering how long we're going to last here.

Suddenly, Leslie says, "Mom! That plant is growing into the ground!"

I look where she's pointing, thinking she means the ends of the leaves are stuck in the ground or something. And then I see it: a small stem of a dandelion looks very much like it's sinking.

I step off the bleachers and up to the fence to get a closer look. Nothing. The wind rustling the leaves a bit. I climb back onto my seat wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me or what.

And then Leslie and I gasped in unison as the four large leaves of this dandelion plant start slowing sinking into the ground. They stop a moment, and then they're suddenly sucked away completely.

Absolutely the most freakish thing I've ever seen. I started to wonder if Candid Camera was filming us. We'd have been a sight with our mouths all agog and our eyes buggin'.

I called Keith over and showed him the spot where this dandelion used to be. He and another player looked the ground over and saw a hole indicating the presence of some kind of underground critter. Yeah, that's the only explanation I could think of.

The game continued and we watched . . . watched the rest of the dandelions, that is. The game wasn't nearly as fascinating as the plant life. We were just about to give up on our critter when another one bit the dust. One leaf . . two leaves . . . and pop, it was no more. Wow.

Maybe the rest of you won't find this so intriguing. But it sure made our night!

Three Ways to Read, Part Three

Now, somebody is going to argue that memorizing isn't reading. But I'm thinking of reading in the very broad sense -- the input part of the input-process-output learning mechanism. Listening falls into that category, too. Memorizing is just a more focused, intense form of input into the brain, so yeah, it's "reading".

I memorize. For some reason, God just designed me so that memorization comes easy for me and is fulfilling. When Leslie was a newborn, I started memorizing the beatitudes, and then continued on with the rest of the Sermon on the Mount. And then the book of James. And then Galatians. And then First John. I'm not bragging, and please don't be impressed. Like I said, I'm just made this way. (When I was seven, I memorized the Gettysburg Address, just for fun. Little freakish me.)

I only bring this up because I learned with all that scripture memory the value of having meaningful words stored away in your heart. To remember the order of ideas, I had to look for a flow of thought between the different sections, which gave me a lot of insight into the meaning of the passage. To remember unusual words and wording, I had to consider why the writer chose those words, which again gave me food for thought. I found verses and phrases coming to my mind automatically when I was in life situations that called for them. Basically, the scripture became a part of me, a part of my thinking, a part of my worldview.

This is why I was very conscientious about the scripts I wrote for the homeschool drama programs this year. These kids were memorizing this stuff. Some of those words will be with them for the rest of their lives. May as well make those words count.

Many classical education homeschool resources recommend that students memorize literary passages on a regular basis. Kids used to do this all the time in school. Read Laura Ingalls Wilder's books and you hear about them having to recite poems, essays, speeches, even entire history texts. Reciting out loud adds even more value to the practice. To recite expressively, you have to really think about the meaning of the words, the emotion behind the passage.

You own a piece of literature when you memorize it. I know this isn't for everybody, but don't knock it until you try it. Try more than just a Bible verse or a one-sentence quotation. Challenge yourself with a passage of significant length, one that has a lot of meaning for you. Add a sentence or a phrase every day. Run through it in your mind while you're filling up the gas tank, unloading the dishwasher, whatever. See if you aren't ultimately changed by the power of the words.

I Can't Drive 55

We drove home from Lindsborg yesterday. As a general rule, I drive 4-7 miles per hour above the speed limit when I'm driving on the highway. I know I'm not alone; just about everyone I know does the same thing. Thing is, I am a rule-loving, law-abiding citizen. So, why do I drive 4-7 miles per hour above the speed limit on the highway?

Well, I have through unfortunate experience learned that if you get much faster than that, you're risking a ticket. Rarely will a patrolman think it's worth the trouble to stop you when you're toeing the line within a few mph.

Also, I don't know and therefore don't understand how the powers-that-be determined what the speed limit should be. When I was a kid, you couldn't drive over 55 anywhere in the country. Then out of nowhere, someone decided 65 was just fine, thank you very much. And then 70s and 75s starting popping up. If you drive cross-country, you see that one state sets their max at one point, another state will set it somewhere else. Who do you believe about what is really safe?

Some speed limits seem just arbitrary and silly to me, too. Why in the world do I need to slow down from 70 to 55 on an empty four-lane highway in the middle of Nebraska just because we're passing a town a quarter of a mile away? Conversely, driving 55 on the bumper-to-bumper New Jersey Turnpike when everyone else is zooming past at 75 or 80 is downright dangerous.

So, what it boils down to is this: I drive the speed I do on highways because I think I know better than the highway experts -- and because I'm more concerned with not getting a ticket than with obeying the law.

I'm not sure that's a very flattering picture I just painted of myself.

Three Ways to Read, Part Two

My senior year of college, I took (because I had to) a literature class called "Heroic Themes". One of the books we read was Ulysses, by James Joyce. I saw later that some organization had put that book on the top of their list of the 100 best novels of all time. Shut up. They have to be kidding.

I remember nothing about this monstrously long novel. Well, except for the fact that my professor came to class every day we discussed it with two equally long reference books that she used to explain the symbolism and so forth. I couldn't quite understand why a piece of writing could be considered so great when it required the help of two extra books to make any sense of it.

I think of that sometimes when I pull out my concordance and commentary to do some intense Bible study. But there is a difference. The Bible is a very unique piece of writing. Living and active, not static and dormant like the stuff I read in lit courses. Like an ogre, it has layers. Like a great poem, you can read the same passage several times and God reveals more truth each time. And you can focus on small sections at a microlevel and find even more.

An example: one time I was studying the second half of Proverbs 31, the "wife of noble character" passage. I wondered what exactly the term "noble" meant in the context. So, I got out my trusty Strong's Exhaustive Concordance and looked it up. The Hebrew word translated "noble character" here is hayil. In other passages, it is translated army, strength, brave warriors, troops, etc.

In other words, a wife of noble character is a warrior wife. Oh, yeah -- that opens up a whole new window on that passage. You see . . . layers.

So, some literature is meant not just to be read but to be studied. Too bad "study" has become such a dirty word anymore. Deep study is what makes one a deep person. And the world has far too many shallow people as it is.

Worship the Orthodox Way

On my retreat this past weekend, I went to church with our neighbors, the Virippils, at St. Thomas Orthodox Church. It was my first time in an Orthodox Church, I believe. Beautiful sanctuary. Nice service. Very different from what I'm used to, but an enjoyable experience.

I got to speak with the pastor a bit after the service and asked him some questions about their beliefs and practice. Like, what's the significance of the incense they swing at everything? He explained, but I don't think I really got it all. He struck me as one of those pastors (of whom I have known many) who have a hard time explaining such things in regular, simple language. Nothing against him -- very nice guy -- but seminary seems to do that to people sometimes.

I didn't question him much more after the incense query, but I did have more I was wondering about. Like . . . all the icons. Especially their kissing them. My friend explained to me (when I asked who "Theotokos" was -- Greek for "Mother of God") that they do not worship Mary, but they "give her veneration". I'd like to understand the distinction there a little better. Apparently they "venerate" the saints, too.

And I've always been fascinated by churches who see communion (and baptism) as "sacraments". I grew up Baptist. We called them "ordinances". They were not sacraments, because no saving grace is actually conveyed in the act. They were merely symbols and acts of obedience.

So, I am fascinated by people believing that eating this piece of bread dipped in some grape juice--or getting dunked in a tub of water--actually changes something in you spiritually. Erases original sin. Conveys forgiveness. Whatever. It's such a bizarre concept to me. But I suppose I have beliefs that others would find pretty bizarre as well . . . hmmmm.....

Overall, though, the Orthodox service was a positive experience. It's good to worship in someone else's "worship language" once in a while.