There's nothing like working at the mall, taking pictures of Santa with terrified children to suck the Christmas spirit right out of you. That's what I've been doing the last 5 weeks or so, with one more grueling week to go.
Don't get me wrong, I love taking portraits, especially when the child that wouldn't even look at Santa is now sitting in a rocking chair, smiling away, blissfully unaware that the guy in the red suit is sitting right behind them. And then there are the adorable 3 year-olds who walk right up to Santa with shining eyes, clamber onto his lap, and give him a great big hug.
But I have to tell you about a moment this last week that made me stop and check myself. It's scary when we see the enemy, and the enemy is us. Or me, I should say.
It was a typical Tuesday, kind of slow, since it wasn't the week before Christmas yet. But in the evening, the line got longer, and I was working hard to get those sometimes elusive smiles. It's physically tiring work, but I consider it my Christmas workout program.
Anyway, this lady comes through with her four children, all of them 8 or older, and typically with that age comes a more difficult time getting the "real" smiles. There were a lot of cheesy smiles with this group, and I took several pictures in my effort to get that last great shot. Finally, I got a really fabulous shot of all four of them (and Santa, too!), and stopped to show this lady, who had been taking pictures with her own camera this whole time.
Now our purpose is to take pictures so people will buy them... that's our product, a photo of their child with Santa. This is important to remember. Because a lot of people must think we're a charity... they get indignant when we tell them that visits with Santa are free, of course, but if they'd like to take pictures with their own cameras, they need to buy a picture.
I know, it sounds so mercenary on our part. But all of us are working to make money, and yes, Santa is paid to sit and smile for the camera and chat up those voluble little ones who have a list with pictures included. All of that takes money, and if everyone got to take their own pictures, there would be no Santa next year.
Besides, Santa is a fiction made up by some marketing guy with Coca Cola, and we know the real reason for the season, and he ain't it. But that's a whole 'nother post. So yes, I am a little bit mercenary because while this is a big cultural thing, it's not that important. At least not important enough to go someplace and teach your children what a dishonest person you are. Have I fully turned into the Grinch yet? Almost....
Anyway, this lady took a ton of pictures of her children and then turned to look at the gorgeous picture I took and said, "No, I don't think we'll get any pictures today." And walked away. I'm sure she's a very reasonable, even a very nice person in life, but at that moment, she was the devil incarnate to me. I was struck speechless as she walked away and herded her kids out of the area.
I thought she was the enemy. I prayed for her to repent and to feel guilt and whenever she looked at those pictures she would torment herself over her dishonesty. Every time I thought about it, I would self-righteously pray for her to be convicted of her nastiness and soul-less behavior. That night, I did not sleep well; I had weird dreams that left me feeling strange and exhausted in the morning.
That next morning, as I lay in bed listening to the radio alarm, I thought about it, and a little voice said to me, "You need to forgive this woman." WHAT??? Forgive HER? Noooooo!
Forgive her... hmmmm. At that moment, my eyes were opened to what really took place. That woman probably slept really well, and enjoyed her pictures immensely. She probably went home exulting in the fact that she got around the system, and that she beat us at our game. I don't really know what she was thinking.
But when I began praying for bad things to happen to her (yes, I did. I'm guilty, and ashamed), I leaped out of God's will, and began behaving like the enemy always wants us to behave. And I was wholly and willingly on the enemy's team for a while, the entire time thinking I was so much better than she was. I was the enemy, to myself, and even to God for a moment. Until He showed me gently where I was wrong.
You see, Jesus said "If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also." (Luke 6:29)
I am thankful that I was speechless when that lady walked away, otherwise I'd have more repenting to do. I needed to pray for that lady the way God wants me to: to pray for her to know Him, that she would be blessed when she looked at those photos, that she would come in contact with Christians who can tell her about His love for her. I needed to look at her as someone who needs God, just as I need Him.
I needed to behave like a follower of Christ.
Forgiveness from God is not easy; He gave His Son so that I could be forgiven. But God extends forgiveness freely to all of us, even when we behave like the enemy. As long as we turn away from that behavior and learn from it, God will always take us back. I want to be like those 3-year-olds who come to Him with shining eyes, and clamber onto His lap, happy to be in His presence.
May your Christmas be full of joy and forgiveness.
Sunset at Mille Lacs Lake
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Grateful for our winter wonderland
Picture perfect! It snowed last night, a dusting of fluffy, perfectly formed snowflakes. The sun was out this morning, and the snow sparkled and made me squint from the brightness. We live in a winter wonderland right now, and it's breathtaking.
The fir trees are loaded down with snow, looking like three-dimensional sugar cookies with way too much icing on them. Long driveways through woods look magical, with the trees full of snow and everything looks clean and fresh, blanketed in pure white.
When you look at tree branches with the sun at a certain angle, they look like they've been strung with crystals; jeweled up and ready for the next big party. Almost everywhere I look up here in the northern suburbs, I see beautiful scenery.
I've been trying to scramble around when I have an hour or two and take some pictures, but the pictures never seem as magnificent on that lcd screen as they do right in front of my eyes. The real thing in real-time 3D can't be beat.
The camera has trouble capturing the brilliance of the snow, so pictures in shade often have more nuance and softness. And snow looks blue when it's in deep shade. That's always amazed me... it must reflect the sky on clear days, just like water does.
As I open my eyes to the beauty around me, I am thankful for the eyes to see them, the health to drive in my vehicle, the roads that are plowed regularly, the camera with which I take the pictures, and most of all, the ability to be grateful to the God of the universe, to whom I can give thanks.
Near Dalen's elementary school, there's a Methodist church. I've been amused by their signage lately... it says, "Get rich quick. Count your blessings." And when I think of the many, many blessings in my life, I do count myself rich.
The fir trees are loaded down with snow, looking like three-dimensional sugar cookies with way too much icing on them. Long driveways through woods look magical, with the trees full of snow and everything looks clean and fresh, blanketed in pure white.
When you look at tree branches with the sun at a certain angle, they look like they've been strung with crystals; jeweled up and ready for the next big party. Almost everywhere I look up here in the northern suburbs, I see beautiful scenery.
I've been trying to scramble around when I have an hour or two and take some pictures, but the pictures never seem as magnificent on that lcd screen as they do right in front of my eyes. The real thing in real-time 3D can't be beat.
The camera has trouble capturing the brilliance of the snow, so pictures in shade often have more nuance and softness. And snow looks blue when it's in deep shade. That's always amazed me... it must reflect the sky on clear days, just like water does.
As I open my eyes to the beauty around me, I am thankful for the eyes to see them, the health to drive in my vehicle, the roads that are plowed regularly, the camera with which I take the pictures, and most of all, the ability to be grateful to the God of the universe, to whom I can give thanks.
Near Dalen's elementary school, there's a Methodist church. I've been amused by their signage lately... it says, "Get rich quick. Count your blessings." And when I think of the many, many blessings in my life, I do count myself rich.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Mercy killing or cold-blooded plant murder?
I have a very tenderhearted almost-13-year-old. This afternoon was drizzly and warm out (for November anyway), and everything was melting. Did I mention it was also raining? Needless to say, it was kind of miserable outside.
On the kitchen table was a doomed sage plant that I had dug out of my herb pot this fall and brought in the house, thinking I could grow it inside until next spring. It works with rosemary really well; oregano and thyme not so much, but they're doing better than this poor, sad sage plant. The plan was to chuck it out on the compost heap, so I asked Evan to do this simple thing for me.
But he objected to the plan. Maybe it was the way I worded my request: "I need you to do something for me, please. Throw this plant out on the compost heap; it's a mercy killing." He didn't see it that way... it was cold-blooded murder, and he was not going to be a part of any type of plant killing.
I realized my error and told him that the plant really was infested with bugs (I thought it was, otherwise, why would it look so SAD?) and wasn't going to survive anyway. And MAYBE it'll grow back next spring... if it's placed properly in the compost heap. I was stretching it, but I really needed that plant pot empty (I have some green onion root tips that need to get potted).
He had this brilliant idea: "Put the pot outside and the bugs will die!" I waited for the lightbulb to come on.... "Oh, wait, if I put the plant outside to kill the bugs, not only will the plant still die, but I'm also KILLING the bugs!" More cold-blooded murder. I sighed. And let him work it out in his own way.
A few minutes later, he came in triumphantly and put the empty pot on the kitchen table. Outside, perkily planted in our empty garden, was the sage plant, waiting out the winter "safely" in the dirt. It actually looks quite beautiful out there, a splash of green in the midst of brown and white.
I haven't the heart to tell him that it likely won't survive our Zone 4 winters (it's rated for Zone 5). If it does survive, it'll be a miracle, and one so tenderhearted really should see those types of miracles more often than those of us with pragmatic hearts. And they probably do see miracles more because their eyes see more. They see the importance of a poor little plant, and value even the little bugs that have made their home in the pot.
I love my second-born, so full of contradictions and flair. He brings a lot of excitement into my life, and believe me when I say I could use a lot less excitement. But there are moments of joy, especially at times like these, when I'm given a glimpse into how his mind works. He's a miracle, and I'm thankful for my tenderhearted almost-13-year-old.
On the kitchen table was a doomed sage plant that I had dug out of my herb pot this fall and brought in the house, thinking I could grow it inside until next spring. It works with rosemary really well; oregano and thyme not so much, but they're doing better than this poor, sad sage plant. The plan was to chuck it out on the compost heap, so I asked Evan to do this simple thing for me.
But he objected to the plan. Maybe it was the way I worded my request: "I need you to do something for me, please. Throw this plant out on the compost heap; it's a mercy killing." He didn't see it that way... it was cold-blooded murder, and he was not going to be a part of any type of plant killing.
I realized my error and told him that the plant really was infested with bugs (I thought it was, otherwise, why would it look so SAD?) and wasn't going to survive anyway. And MAYBE it'll grow back next spring... if it's placed properly in the compost heap. I was stretching it, but I really needed that plant pot empty (I have some green onion root tips that need to get potted).
He had this brilliant idea: "Put the pot outside and the bugs will die!" I waited for the lightbulb to come on.... "Oh, wait, if I put the plant outside to kill the bugs, not only will the plant still die, but I'm also KILLING the bugs!" More cold-blooded murder. I sighed. And let him work it out in his own way.
A few minutes later, he came in triumphantly and put the empty pot on the kitchen table. Outside, perkily planted in our empty garden, was the sage plant, waiting out the winter "safely" in the dirt. It actually looks quite beautiful out there, a splash of green in the midst of brown and white.
I haven't the heart to tell him that it likely won't survive our Zone 4 winters (it's rated for Zone 5). If it does survive, it'll be a miracle, and one so tenderhearted really should see those types of miracles more often than those of us with pragmatic hearts. And they probably do see miracles more because their eyes see more. They see the importance of a poor little plant, and value even the little bugs that have made their home in the pot.
I love my second-born, so full of contradictions and flair. He brings a lot of excitement into my life, and believe me when I say I could use a lot less excitement. But there are moments of joy, especially at times like these, when I'm given a glimpse into how his mind works. He's a miracle, and I'm thankful for my tenderhearted almost-13-year-old.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Strange and beautiful ice in my life
Ice is a strange substance. It's the solid form of water, and yet it floats (most solids sink), which means it's lighter than water. Of course, we could say that water is a strange substance, but I want to stick with ice for a moment because we have SO MUCH of it here in Minnesota right now.
It's been sleeting all day and there's a coating of ice on everything -- roads, trees, little frozen plants, the windows of my van, which is really annoying when you're in a hurry to go somewhere. The ice is inconvenient, but pretty, in a twisted kind of way. I say twisted because what we find beautiful is the ice encasing everything -- smothering it, you could say.
Some of the smaller cedar trees are bent in half from the weight of the ice. I kind of laughed because that looks comical, but I also sighed internally, because that's often a picture of me going through my day. It's a bit tragic, if you want to go to the dark side of that thought, because the weight of that pretty ice can break the tree in half, or at least break the branches off.
As I drove through the day delivering my Yellow Books (yes, DO call off your vicious attack dogs as I walk up to your front door -- and do NOT open the door and let them come charging out at me. Thank you.), I thought of how spectacular the ice would look if the sun suddenly came charging out of the dreary clouds (kind of like those dogs). Spectacular! But it didn't all day. Darn.
So I thought of how we add things that we think are good and beautiful to our lives, when all the while, it's slowly bending us in half from the weight. Things like electronics (portable or not), new vehicles, another shiny kitchen tool (but for sure get the Pampered Chef can opener), that lovely diamond necklace you've been pining for, the latest computer accessory, and a myriad other things that we think will make our lives easier and happier.
How does it weigh us down? It takes our time... time to play with it, to take care of it, to pay for it. Oh sure, when we first get the shiny new thing, we are happy for a while. And then strangely, we are dissatisfied again.
What else can we get now? Oh yippee, the new version is out! And only 15 months after the last version came! How thoughtful of the manufacturers to come out with it as soon as we've gotten bored with that last version. They're so nice to us. Not!
What's so sad is that we all are willing participants in this mad merry-go-round. Me included! The advertisers know this, we know this (even if we're not willing to admit it sometimes), the "trend-makers" know this.
I know this is trending towards material things, but there are some good and beautiful activities we add to our lives that may be weighing us down as well. If what you're doing is causing you to lose focus on the important things, like God, spouse, and children, then it can be deadly and destructive.
De-icing for me means spending more time with my kids, trying to communicate more with hubby, having a quiet time each day to think about what's important and counting my blessings. Simple and beautiful, without all the bells and whistles. Or ice.
What's your ice?
It's been sleeting all day and there's a coating of ice on everything -- roads, trees, little frozen plants, the windows of my van, which is really annoying when you're in a hurry to go somewhere. The ice is inconvenient, but pretty, in a twisted kind of way. I say twisted because what we find beautiful is the ice encasing everything -- smothering it, you could say.
Some of the smaller cedar trees are bent in half from the weight of the ice. I kind of laughed because that looks comical, but I also sighed internally, because that's often a picture of me going through my day. It's a bit tragic, if you want to go to the dark side of that thought, because the weight of that pretty ice can break the tree in half, or at least break the branches off.
As I drove through the day delivering my Yellow Books (yes, DO call off your vicious attack dogs as I walk up to your front door -- and do NOT open the door and let them come charging out at me. Thank you.), I thought of how spectacular the ice would look if the sun suddenly came charging out of the dreary clouds (kind of like those dogs). Spectacular! But it didn't all day. Darn.
So I thought of how we add things that we think are good and beautiful to our lives, when all the while, it's slowly bending us in half from the weight. Things like electronics (portable or not), new vehicles, another shiny kitchen tool (but for sure get the Pampered Chef can opener), that lovely diamond necklace you've been pining for, the latest computer accessory, and a myriad other things that we think will make our lives easier and happier.
How does it weigh us down? It takes our time... time to play with it, to take care of it, to pay for it. Oh sure, when we first get the shiny new thing, we are happy for a while. And then strangely, we are dissatisfied again.
What else can we get now? Oh yippee, the new version is out! And only 15 months after the last version came! How thoughtful of the manufacturers to come out with it as soon as we've gotten bored with that last version. They're so nice to us. Not!
What's so sad is that we all are willing participants in this mad merry-go-round. Me included! The advertisers know this, we know this (even if we're not willing to admit it sometimes), the "trend-makers" know this.
I know this is trending towards material things, but there are some good and beautiful activities we add to our lives that may be weighing us down as well. If what you're doing is causing you to lose focus on the important things, like God, spouse, and children, then it can be deadly and destructive.
De-icing for me means spending more time with my kids, trying to communicate more with hubby, having a quiet time each day to think about what's important and counting my blessings. Simple and beautiful, without all the bells and whistles. Or ice.
What's your ice?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Curiosity is a curious thing
I have a tendency to go overboard on things. When my curiosity is aroused, I am consumed with finding information on wherever my latest interest lies. Depending on the subject, I can be satisfied with one session at the computer, or sometimes, become a lifelong fan (Flylady and Libera are two examples). Learning about houseplants was another interest, a long time ago, and before I had the internet, so I borrowed lots of books from the library. (That's another blog topic altogether!)
This all-consuming curiosity can be a problem, especially since I have three boys, a house to clean, a temporary part-time job, lead a children's group at Bible Study Fellowship, and do a lot of church volunteer work. Time is always a scarce commodity.
The problem lies in spending too much time in researching, learning, reading, watching. And the internet has made it easier to do all of that, which gets me in trouble because it is very time-consuming. It all started when we got high-speed internet a few years ago.
Before high-speed, the internet was a dull, frustrating place and I didn't want to spend time on it (dial-up is such a drag). However, it was harder to do schooling, and Google wasn't at my fingertips to find out the answer to my latest question, whatever it may be. And I had no (gasp!) Facebook.
So satisfying my curiosity can be a good thing, yet there needs to be a balance. I'm still trying to find that balance, and more often than not, I'm definitely on the unbalanced side of things (and it somehow never goes over to the "housecleaning" side. My family would keel over in shock if that were ever to happen).
I'm ever-hopeful that "one day" I'll finally find the perfect balance and life will roll smoothly on, with nary a struggle or moment of stress. Yeah, right. That'll happen the day I die... then I'll have "perfect" rest! Or the day I begin prescription drugs to help me cope with the stress. But I digress. Wow, I'm full of rhymes tonight.
The phrase "curiosity killed the cat" has popped up in my mind and I wonder if it's possible for curiosity to kill your... time, priorities, relationships, and peace. When I look for balance, I guess what I'm really looking for is peace, the sense that things are as they should be. No matter my circumstances, I can roll on peacefully, calmly, purposefully.
"You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in You" (Isaiah 26.3). A steadfast mind is one that is firm in belief, determination, or adherence, and is not subject to change. That sounds purposeful and focused!
The key word for me in that Isaiah passage is the first one, "You." It's not me who keeps me in perfect peace, it's Him. My job is to stay steadfast in belief, determination, and adherence... and to trust. I believe that His Son died for me, loves me and cares for me. I am determined to live my life for Him. I adhere to the principles in the Bible (or try to). And I trust Him with everything I am and have.
I'm not totally there yet, as many of you know (you can stop laughing now). But perfect peace will come when I am able to prioritize everything in my life in the right place, with feeding my curiosity somewhere between God and doing the laundry. One baby step at a time, and this blog is recognizing that I need to re-prioritize. And maybe re-name this blog "Mid-Afternoon Musings"?
What brings you peace?
This all-consuming curiosity can be a problem, especially since I have three boys, a house to clean, a temporary part-time job, lead a children's group at Bible Study Fellowship, and do a lot of church volunteer work. Time is always a scarce commodity.
The problem lies in spending too much time in researching, learning, reading, watching. And the internet has made it easier to do all of that, which gets me in trouble because it is very time-consuming. It all started when we got high-speed internet a few years ago.
Before high-speed, the internet was a dull, frustrating place and I didn't want to spend time on it (dial-up is such a drag). However, it was harder to do schooling, and Google wasn't at my fingertips to find out the answer to my latest question, whatever it may be. And I had no (gasp!) Facebook.
So satisfying my curiosity can be a good thing, yet there needs to be a balance. I'm still trying to find that balance, and more often than not, I'm definitely on the unbalanced side of things (and it somehow never goes over to the "housecleaning" side. My family would keel over in shock if that were ever to happen).
I'm ever-hopeful that "one day" I'll finally find the perfect balance and life will roll smoothly on, with nary a struggle or moment of stress. Yeah, right. That'll happen the day I die... then I'll have "perfect" rest! Or the day I begin prescription drugs to help me cope with the stress. But I digress. Wow, I'm full of rhymes tonight.
The phrase "curiosity killed the cat" has popped up in my mind and I wonder if it's possible for curiosity to kill your... time, priorities, relationships, and peace. When I look for balance, I guess what I'm really looking for is peace, the sense that things are as they should be. No matter my circumstances, I can roll on peacefully, calmly, purposefully.
"You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in You" (Isaiah 26.3). A steadfast mind is one that is firm in belief, determination, or adherence, and is not subject to change. That sounds purposeful and focused!
The key word for me in that Isaiah passage is the first one, "You." It's not me who keeps me in perfect peace, it's Him. My job is to stay steadfast in belief, determination, and adherence... and to trust. I believe that His Son died for me, loves me and cares for me. I am determined to live my life for Him. I adhere to the principles in the Bible (or try to). And I trust Him with everything I am and have.
I'm not totally there yet, as many of you know (you can stop laughing now). But perfect peace will come when I am able to prioritize everything in my life in the right place, with feeding my curiosity somewhere between God and doing the laundry. One baby step at a time, and this blog is recognizing that I need to re-prioritize. And maybe re-name this blog "Mid-Afternoon Musings"?
What brings you peace?
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Pause, and step out of the stream
Getting older sucks sometimes. There's the increasing number of aches and pains that pop up out of nowhere. Your feet hurt when you get out of bed every morning. The gray hairs (if you have any hairs) are multiplying like rabbits in the Australian outback.
You look at young moms and dads carrying their babies and toddlers and think, "Gosh, those parents look like they should still be in high school...!" People you knew in high school start making the news, all distinguished and old-looking.
I know, I know, I've still got a ways to go before I reach official "old" status (notice I started with "getting older," not "getting old"). Maybe it's that midlife crisis that has me thinking about getting older, and wondering what's ahead for me.
My eyes have been opened these past weeks as I muse about ageing. I'd been too busy, involved in my own life and schedule, and have hardly noticed the number of "old" people who walk through my life.
I saw the gentleman walking slowly through my neighborhood, wearing his jacket and tweedy beret, taking a leisurely shuffle in the brisk fall air. The prim, proper little old lady sitting at the WalMart bench, waiting for someone, I suppose. The even older little lady with the sad, hopeless eyes, being led through the parking lot by her daughter? grandaughter?
These people seem to be standing quietly on the banks of a restless stream, watching humanity flow by loudly, ceaselessly. One day, I will be one of them, if I am lucky (?) enough to live that long.
When I'm done raising my kids, and the grandkids have all grown up, how will I spend my time? What will be my purpose then? As body fails, eyesight and hearing dim, and joints crackle, what will I be doing to keep myself going? I honestly don't know at this point.
I have been quite depressing about this whole ageing thing, sorry. There is a brighter side, and that has to do with looking forward to what comes after. Let me explain.
A long time ago, I once had someone ask me where I thought I'd go after I died. I said, "Well, I don't know if I believe the whole heaven and hell concept. I think maybe we just 'snuff out' when we die; just stop existing." This was a little comforting to me, because hell seemed like a really bad idea.
Then they asked me, IF there was a heaven and a hell, where would I hope to go? I said, "Well, I hope I'd go to heaven. I've been a good person, you know, never murdered anyone. Yet."
They asked me to give them a percent, based on what chance I thought I had of getting into heaven. I said flippantly, "Oh, probably 60%. My good deeds should outweigh my bad, pretty heavily, if I might add."
The next question was a toughie... what would I say to God to let me in to heaven? Jiminy! I think I mumbled something about "God, ummm, I think I've been a good person. Let me in, please?" Ok, epic fail on that one, and a bit pathetic.
THEN the question that had me stumped, and ultimately saved my soul. This person dared to say that if I were right and he was wrong, then everything would be fine, right? My soul would cease to exist and there would be no consequence for my deeds, good or bad. I would be fine -- nonexistent, but fine.
But if HE was right, and there was a heaven and a hell, would my pathetic plea to God be able to save me? Where would I be for eternity? I had no answer for that one, because I was clueless.
As I look ahead and see the years of my life flow by, I know that, ultimately, we all end up going through death and coming out one way or another. This makes me pause... and step out of the stream for a moment to consider my life. How will I use the rest of the time I've been given before heading into that great beyond?
And for you, do you know where you're headed?
You look at young moms and dads carrying their babies and toddlers and think, "Gosh, those parents look like they should still be in high school...!" People you knew in high school start making the news, all distinguished and old-looking.
I know, I know, I've still got a ways to go before I reach official "old" status (notice I started with "getting older," not "getting old"). Maybe it's that midlife crisis that has me thinking about getting older, and wondering what's ahead for me.
My eyes have been opened these past weeks as I muse about ageing. I'd been too busy, involved in my own life and schedule, and have hardly noticed the number of "old" people who walk through my life.
I saw the gentleman walking slowly through my neighborhood, wearing his jacket and tweedy beret, taking a leisurely shuffle in the brisk fall air. The prim, proper little old lady sitting at the WalMart bench, waiting for someone, I suppose. The even older little lady with the sad, hopeless eyes, being led through the parking lot by her daughter? grandaughter?
These people seem to be standing quietly on the banks of a restless stream, watching humanity flow by loudly, ceaselessly. One day, I will be one of them, if I am lucky (?) enough to live that long.
When I'm done raising my kids, and the grandkids have all grown up, how will I spend my time? What will be my purpose then? As body fails, eyesight and hearing dim, and joints crackle, what will I be doing to keep myself going? I honestly don't know at this point.
I have been quite depressing about this whole ageing thing, sorry. There is a brighter side, and that has to do with looking forward to what comes after. Let me explain.
A long time ago, I once had someone ask me where I thought I'd go after I died. I said, "Well, I don't know if I believe the whole heaven and hell concept. I think maybe we just 'snuff out' when we die; just stop existing." This was a little comforting to me, because hell seemed like a really bad idea.
Then they asked me, IF there was a heaven and a hell, where would I hope to go? I said, "Well, I hope I'd go to heaven. I've been a good person, you know, never murdered anyone. Yet."
They asked me to give them a percent, based on what chance I thought I had of getting into heaven. I said flippantly, "Oh, probably 60%. My good deeds should outweigh my bad, pretty heavily, if I might add."
The next question was a toughie... what would I say to God to let me in to heaven? Jiminy! I think I mumbled something about "God, ummm, I think I've been a good person. Let me in, please?" Ok, epic fail on that one, and a bit pathetic.
THEN the question that had me stumped, and ultimately saved my soul. This person dared to say that if I were right and he was wrong, then everything would be fine, right? My soul would cease to exist and there would be no consequence for my deeds, good or bad. I would be fine -- nonexistent, but fine.
But if HE was right, and there was a heaven and a hell, would my pathetic plea to God be able to save me? Where would I be for eternity? I had no answer for that one, because I was clueless.
As I look ahead and see the years of my life flow by, I know that, ultimately, we all end up going through death and coming out one way or another. This makes me pause... and step out of the stream for a moment to consider my life. How will I use the rest of the time I've been given before heading into that great beyond?
And for you, do you know where you're headed?
Thursday, October 21, 2010
I'm Smiling Because...
Until about a month ago, some mornings found me scowling into my coffee cup. My morning irritant was opening a can of sweetened condensed milk, my creamer of choice. Why would that put me in such a bad mood? Because I have a bad can opener. Yep, a kitchen tool.
Ok, it wasn't just the opener, it was the whole tedious process of opening the can. The condensed milk would well up and get all over the little can opener gear, which I'd have to rinse off, then the "lid" would need to be pried off with much effort, sometimes having to go over and over that one little bit of tin that just will not cut through! I'm getting sweaty hands and furrowed brow just thinking about this whole process.
Then the condensed milk stuck to the lid would need to be scraped off. Well, this part wasn't that bad because I sometimes (gasp!) licked off the little bit left behind on the lid. Of course, I always had visions of cutting my tongue in half and having to explain to the EMTs how that happened....
So it was an ORDEAL that I always dreaded. But now! Oh, happy day! I got a new can opener! It's hard to believe what a difference a really good kitchen tool makes, especially when you've been dealing with a really mediocre kitchen tool.
Really, is it possible to go all giddy about a can opener? (Don't answer that.) What makes us smile? The big victories - honestly won and shared with loved ones - can give us a smile and satisfaction that lasts for a while. But little daily things can also give the same amount of satisfaction because they are daily.
Someone once said that 5% of our lives is made up of big events: birthdays, anniversaries, parties, special events. The other 95% is daily life; mundane things that happen over and over. Most people work to make that 5% special... while leaving the rest to simply pass by, unnoticed, unheralded, unappreciated. But that's 95% of our lives! What great little things in your life are going unnoticed and underappreciated; that make you smile?
Anyway, I digress. The reason this new can opener is so much better is because it somehow "undoes" (is that a word?) the top of the can... it's not cutting through the tin. So there are no sharp edges, no upwelling of treacherous sweet liquids, nothing. You use this miracle tool, and then you lift the top off, easy as pie.
Ok, it wasn't just the opener, it was the whole tedious process of opening the can. The condensed milk would well up and get all over the little can opener gear, which I'd have to rinse off, then the "lid" would need to be pried off with much effort, sometimes having to go over and over that one little bit of tin that just will not cut through! I'm getting sweaty hands and furrowed brow just thinking about this whole process.
Then the condensed milk stuck to the lid would need to be scraped off. Well, this part wasn't that bad because I sometimes (gasp!) licked off the little bit left behind on the lid. Of course, I always had visions of cutting my tongue in half and having to explain to the EMTs how that happened....
So it was an ORDEAL that I always dreaded. But now! Oh, happy day! I got a new can opener! It's hard to believe what a difference a really good kitchen tool makes, especially when you've been dealing with a really mediocre kitchen tool.
Really, is it possible to go all giddy about a can opener? (Don't answer that.) What makes us smile? The big victories - honestly won and shared with loved ones - can give us a smile and satisfaction that lasts for a while. But little daily things can also give the same amount of satisfaction because they are daily.
Someone once said that 5% of our lives is made up of big events: birthdays, anniversaries, parties, special events. The other 95% is daily life; mundane things that happen over and over. Most people work to make that 5% special... while leaving the rest to simply pass by, unnoticed, unheralded, unappreciated. But that's 95% of our lives! What great little things in your life are going unnoticed and underappreciated; that make you smile?
Anyway, I digress. The reason this new can opener is so much better is because it somehow "undoes" (is that a word?) the top of the can... it's not cutting through the tin. So there are no sharp edges, no upwelling of treacherous sweet liquids, nothing. You use this miracle tool, and then you lift the top off, easy as pie.
I do not work for Pampered Chef and have not been paid to write this blog. But there it is. Their can opener puts a smile on my face whenever I have to open a can of anything. And I think of how simple things like a super duper can opener can make me smile, make my day a little brighter, and appreciate 100% of the life I've been given.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Did you know puffball mushrooms are edible?
Aaah, a puffball mushroom, fried in butter with a little salt... WOW! I am now a confirmed puffball mushroom nut.... How did THAT happen? Glad you asked.
Yesterday, as I got out of the van, I looked over to the grass on the side of the driveway and saw a round, white thing poking out of the lawn. It was about two inches wide and almost perfectly round. As soon as I got within a few feet, I could tell it was a puffball mushroom.
Now before this encounter, I had the vague inkling that they were edible, but I was well-trained by all the mushroom documentaries where they tell you that mushrooms are delicious -- but every delicious mushroom also has an icky-tasting and/or completely deadly look-alike. So, these documentaries always say, "Don't EVER try to identify mushrooms without a mushroom expert at your elbow, and even then, you may just die." Or something like that.
After a few clicks on Google, however, I was able to learn that all varieties of puffball are edible, and some are gigantic. I could cut and paste some photos, but if you google puffball, that would save me a lot of work.
Anyway, there is one lookalike, and it's pretty easy to tell when you've got the destroying angel mushroom, as it's so descriptively called, versus a puffball. Since this is a little more important to know, here's a link that shows destroying angel mushrooms: http://americanmushrooms.com/taxa/Amanita_virosa_03.htm . The interior of a puffball does NOT have that cap-shaped pattern -- it's evenly textured all the way through, kind of like the Magic Erasers you use to clean your walls.
I'm sorry, this is a really pathetic blog today, but my main goal is to tell you that puffball mushrooms are a taste that is out of this world. I'll try to tell you what they taste like as soon as I finish the rest of the story.
So I picked this round mushroom up off the lawn, and it left a neat, round depression in the grass (where I'm hoping more puffballs will sprout or whatever they do). This was not the first puffball I've picked out of this lawn, and I'm so sad to say that I threw the other ones out. I found a similarly-sized one about two weeks ago, in almost the same section of grass, and last year, I found a huge five-incher. That just makes me want to cry, thinking about the wasted deliciousness.
After examining the snowy-white and firm, spongy inside and determining that it was not, in fact, a destroying angel mushroom, I peeled it, sliced it, and fried it in butter with a little salt. With just a little trepidation, since I didn't have a mushroom expert at my elbow, I took a taste. Amazing.
It had such a meaty, almost chicken-y taste, but with a bit of nuttiness (that could be the butter)... it is nearly indescribable. You have to try it yourself sometime, or, if you're still a little nervous about the lingering after-effects of eating a puffball mushroom, send them all my way.
I did monitor myself afterward, and got a very slight tingling in my throat within an hour after eating it, and maybe a little bit of delirium/hysteria, but that could be explained by my instant addiction to this humble fungus. The tingling in my throat went away within a few minutes.
You can ask my sister-in-law, who lives across the street about the delirium/hysteria. I went over there to look for puffballs in her lawn, too, and she witnessed a little bit of the... enthusiasm that I had. Hysteria's such a strong word.
Brian and Noah both tried little, tiny pieces of cooked puffball, and they're both as normal as could be (or as they normally are, which may not be completely normal). They both liked it. Brian was even willing to walk through the woods at his brother's house to look for more. We'll have to do that as soon as all the poison ivy leaves fall. Can't wait!
Yesterday, as I got out of the van, I looked over to the grass on the side of the driveway and saw a round, white thing poking out of the lawn. It was about two inches wide and almost perfectly round. As soon as I got within a few feet, I could tell it was a puffball mushroom.
Now before this encounter, I had the vague inkling that they were edible, but I was well-trained by all the mushroom documentaries where they tell you that mushrooms are delicious -- but every delicious mushroom also has an icky-tasting and/or completely deadly look-alike. So, these documentaries always say, "Don't EVER try to identify mushrooms without a mushroom expert at your elbow, and even then, you may just die." Or something like that.
After a few clicks on Google, however, I was able to learn that all varieties of puffball are edible, and some are gigantic. I could cut and paste some photos, but if you google puffball, that would save me a lot of work.
Anyway, there is one lookalike, and it's pretty easy to tell when you've got the destroying angel mushroom, as it's so descriptively called, versus a puffball. Since this is a little more important to know, here's a link that shows destroying angel mushrooms: http://americanmushrooms.com/taxa/Amanita_virosa_03.htm . The interior of a puffball does NOT have that cap-shaped pattern -- it's evenly textured all the way through, kind of like the Magic Erasers you use to clean your walls.
I'm sorry, this is a really pathetic blog today, but my main goal is to tell you that puffball mushrooms are a taste that is out of this world. I'll try to tell you what they taste like as soon as I finish the rest of the story.
So I picked this round mushroom up off the lawn, and it left a neat, round depression in the grass (where I'm hoping more puffballs will sprout or whatever they do). This was not the first puffball I've picked out of this lawn, and I'm so sad to say that I threw the other ones out. I found a similarly-sized one about two weeks ago, in almost the same section of grass, and last year, I found a huge five-incher. That just makes me want to cry, thinking about the wasted deliciousness.
After examining the snowy-white and firm, spongy inside and determining that it was not, in fact, a destroying angel mushroom, I peeled it, sliced it, and fried it in butter with a little salt. With just a little trepidation, since I didn't have a mushroom expert at my elbow, I took a taste. Amazing.
It had such a meaty, almost chicken-y taste, but with a bit of nuttiness (that could be the butter)... it is nearly indescribable. You have to try it yourself sometime, or, if you're still a little nervous about the lingering after-effects of eating a puffball mushroom, send them all my way.
I did monitor myself afterward, and got a very slight tingling in my throat within an hour after eating it, and maybe a little bit of delirium/hysteria, but that could be explained by my instant addiction to this humble fungus. The tingling in my throat went away within a few minutes.
You can ask my sister-in-law, who lives across the street about the delirium/hysteria. I went over there to look for puffballs in her lawn, too, and she witnessed a little bit of the... enthusiasm that I had. Hysteria's such a strong word.
Brian and Noah both tried little, tiny pieces of cooked puffball, and they're both as normal as could be (or as they normally are, which may not be completely normal). They both liked it. Brian was even willing to walk through the woods at his brother's house to look for more. We'll have to do that as soon as all the poison ivy leaves fall. Can't wait!
Friday, October 1, 2010
What, Really?
After reading my last post, some of you may be saying that very thing: "What, really? Is this some kind of Sunday School thing? 'Be a light'? What kind of purpose is that?!" I have some reasons for my "simplistic" conclusion from that night:
So what does it mean to be a light? Is it helpful to picture myself as a lightbulb or candle or glow-in-the-dark bracelet? Is it doing certain things or being a certain way?
Some of the things light does:
Often I feel compelled to start making a list of what I need to DO when I see a statement like "Be a light." I think to myself...
"Oooh, I'm gonna start doing my housework more excellently all the time...
I'll always be patient and never yell at my kids again...
I will go out and talk to all of my neighbors...
and invite them all over for lunch over the course of the next 3 months....
I've set myself up for failure, because there's no way to keep that up forever, or even through the end of the week.
- I was very emotional, and it made sense to me at the moment
- It was night time -- I was tired
- I didn't explain it or even understand it fully
- I'm a woman, that's my prerogative
- I had waaaaay too much chocolate that evening (ok, that's not really a reason -- see #4)
So what does it mean to be a light? Is it helpful to picture myself as a lightbulb or candle or glow-in-the-dark bracelet? Is it doing certain things or being a certain way?
Some of the things light does:
- illuminates
- guides
- gives comfort and courage
- keeps you from stumbling
- heals
- gives life
- provides a focus
- and many, many, many more things
Often I feel compelled to start making a list of what I need to DO when I see a statement like "Be a light." I think to myself...
"Oooh, I'm gonna start doing my housework more excellently all the time...
I'll always be patient and never yell at my kids again...
I will go out and talk to all of my neighbors...
and invite them all over for lunch over the course of the next 3 months....
I've set myself up for failure, because there's no way to keep that up forever, or even through the end of the week.
Then, inspiration (or God again?) struck... I am NOT the source of the light! It flows through me and comes from God Himself... I am the glass or vessel through which it flows, and when it appears dim, that's me blocking the light somehow.
I can try to do all these things and get in His way, or I can rest in Him and let Him shine through me... which all comes down to trust. I trust that He is in control and has a plan for my life, even this part of my life. As a bonus, I get real peace because everything I do has a reason... it's not useless.
I get out of His way by pushing aside my pride, my selfishness, my need to be praised by people. Sounds so simple, yet it's so hard! But the purpose of letting the light shine is so others can see God more clearly, not me.
Now that I've possibly confused you more, I'm going to call it quits. I'm still working it out and trying to understand and be obedient to what I'm hearing (kind of like personal therapy). If you have any thoughts or comments, feel free to post. I'm pretty thick-skinned :-).
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
What is the purpose of my life?
The lightbulb in the bathroom had been out for weeks and I kept forgetting to change it out. It was one of four above the sink, so we didn't really need it, but every time I looked up, I'd mentally smack myself in the forehead for not being able to remember to change it, throw it away, and get a new one. So when I reached up to unscrew it and it flickered and came back ON, I stared up unbelievingly, positive that this was a message. And then the tears came.
About 30 minutes earlier, I'd been trudging around the silent house, picking up things, scowling at the 50th pair of socks on the floor, and complaining to myself about how I'm the only one who ever picks up (besides Dale, my dear dad-in-law). After tidying up for a few minutes, I turned off all the lights and prepared to go up to shower. But a glow outside and the emptiness inside of me caused me to go to the patio door and open it. The cool air felt nice, and I saw a 3/4 moon glowing brightly on the horizon, lighting up the clouds around it. But the beautiful moonlit scene was totally lost on me as I contemplated my life.
Why am I here? What is my purpose here, now? I cried as I thought about how the evening had gone -- my impatience with my boys and the awful day-to-day grind of doing the same things over and over: dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, laundry, picking up socks, endlessly. My whole life felt devoid of meaning, and I wondered if my existence on this earth made any difference.
I was totally wallowing, and I let it wash over me. I cried as I prayed, "God, show me my purpose!" not expecting any answer this night. Sighing, I finally turned away from the door, shutting out the cool autumn air and that amazing moonlight.
The dining room was dark as I walked to the garbage bin to throw away my tissue. Before the lid closed, however, I thought I saw a glow in the trash. Interesting.... So I opened it up and looked in, and there, laying on top was a glow-in-the-dark bracelet, one of those cheap little souvenirs you buy at the fair after the fireworks are done.
I had thrown it in there during my begrudging clean-up earlier, thinking that the glow was gone and the thing was useless. Dalen had gotten a whole set from his Auntie Jill for his 8th birthday two days earlier, and this one had been sitting out for almost two days.
In the light of day, the glow was not noticeable, and its purpose was hidden. But in the darkness, the glow that still clung to it lit up the inside of that trash bin and made it look special, causing me to stop and take a second look. God had already answered my plea to show me my purpose through this little thing... it shed its light where it was, even in the trash can.
Even feeling at the lowest I've ever been in my life, my figurative trash can, I can still give off a little light. Just as much as I am able to, and God notices, and so do others. I do make a difference. I do have a purpose, even if I can't see what it is right now.
I thanked Him for that timely message. But He wasn't done yet, because after my shower, I tried to change that "dead" light bulb, and it began to glow again. All it needed was a little adjustment by my hand, and it was ready to give out more light.
God adjusted me tonight, and I have a little glimmer of hope, and a marvelous sense of His presence and care for me - His little light - who simply needed the touch of His hand.
About 30 minutes earlier, I'd been trudging around the silent house, picking up things, scowling at the 50th pair of socks on the floor, and complaining to myself about how I'm the only one who ever picks up (besides Dale, my dear dad-in-law). After tidying up for a few minutes, I turned off all the lights and prepared to go up to shower. But a glow outside and the emptiness inside of me caused me to go to the patio door and open it. The cool air felt nice, and I saw a 3/4 moon glowing brightly on the horizon, lighting up the clouds around it. But the beautiful moonlit scene was totally lost on me as I contemplated my life.
Why am I here? What is my purpose here, now? I cried as I thought about how the evening had gone -- my impatience with my boys and the awful day-to-day grind of doing the same things over and over: dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, laundry, picking up socks, endlessly. My whole life felt devoid of meaning, and I wondered if my existence on this earth made any difference.
I was totally wallowing, and I let it wash over me. I cried as I prayed, "God, show me my purpose!" not expecting any answer this night. Sighing, I finally turned away from the door, shutting out the cool autumn air and that amazing moonlight.
The dining room was dark as I walked to the garbage bin to throw away my tissue. Before the lid closed, however, I thought I saw a glow in the trash. Interesting.... So I opened it up and looked in, and there, laying on top was a glow-in-the-dark bracelet, one of those cheap little souvenirs you buy at the fair after the fireworks are done.
I had thrown it in there during my begrudging clean-up earlier, thinking that the glow was gone and the thing was useless. Dalen had gotten a whole set from his Auntie Jill for his 8th birthday two days earlier, and this one had been sitting out for almost two days.
In the light of day, the glow was not noticeable, and its purpose was hidden. But in the darkness, the glow that still clung to it lit up the inside of that trash bin and made it look special, causing me to stop and take a second look. God had already answered my plea to show me my purpose through this little thing... it shed its light where it was, even in the trash can.
Even feeling at the lowest I've ever been in my life, my figurative trash can, I can still give off a little light. Just as much as I am able to, and God notices, and so do others. I do make a difference. I do have a purpose, even if I can't see what it is right now.
I thanked Him for that timely message. But He wasn't done yet, because after my shower, I tried to change that "dead" light bulb, and it began to glow again. All it needed was a little adjustment by my hand, and it was ready to give out more light.
God adjusted me tonight, and I have a little glimmer of hope, and a marvelous sense of His presence and care for me - His little light - who simply needed the touch of His hand.
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