After long days of stinking hot weather, the window air conditioner is turned off tonight and the whole-house fan on with windows open. The night noises coming from the woods outside my bedroom window are those of late summer -- the loud and incessant songs of crickets, locusts, and whatever.
If you asked me in March about the characteristics of August in southern Indiana, I would tell you it tends to be hot and humid without a lot of rain. The rivers are low, the garden overrun with weeds and overripe cucumbers. I would not mention the crickets. That’s because I forget about them when it’s not late summer. I don’t even know when they start their season of singing or when it ends. In fact, I don’t know during which hours of the day and night they perform their serenade. It’s 9:15 pm (Central) right now and they’ve been singing for several hours.
The seasons come and go and bring me surprises. I forget how loud the morning birds are in the spring. When I long for warm weather in the winter, I forget about the bugs that are part of summer. I also forget how difficult it is to keep up with housecleaning during summer break. When I long for cooler weather in the summer, I forget about having to keep the fire going and dealing with outerwear and mud. When I look ahead to spring, I forget about the capriciousness of March and the tornado warnings that come with April showers. My focus is on the flowers and those rare days of perfect spring weather.
Every season brings pleasant moments. And unpleasant. I tend to remember the pleasant part of each and forget the unpleasant aspects. Sometimes. Other times I focus in on the unpleasant and forget some of the pleasant side effects, such as the smell of summer rain after a dry spell.
Perfect days are rare enough in southern Indiana to be treasured. A week ago I spent half a day in a canoe on a river that was just the right depth and the right width, with a pleasant mix of sun and shade and a good sampling of wildlife on a perfect sunny day with temperatures in the high 80s and a pleasant partner in a pleasant group. A sudden dip in the river when the canoe hung up on a rock and tipped us over, was not at all unpleasant. (At least not the first time.) It had been many years since past canoe experiences. My memories of those times are fringed with frustration and maybe even some tears in connection with a canoe that refused to respond the way I wanted it to. Is my memory focused in on the unpleasant side of those times? Were there pleasant moments that I’ve forgotten? Those past experiences could not have been nearly so satisfying overall as this recent one or I think I would have remembered more about the good parts.
School starts this week in the local public school systems. My college kids will be heading back in the next couple of weeks. The nest will be empty again. There will be opportunity to reestablish daily routines. Household chores can be scheduled with less likelihood of interruption. I might even be able to post blog entries on a more regular basis and finish up some books and update my reading list. This seems like a very good thing to me. I think I like fall. I think I like it a lot. But I’m probably forgetting something.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Confessions of a Geek
A little over three years ago, for our 25th wedding anniversary, my husband gave me a Dell Axim PDA. After 25 years he’s well trained in the rules of buying me gifts – no clothes; NO kitchen appliances! Garden tools are all right as long as they don't come with small gasoline engines. (The "Weedeater" for our 15th anniversary was a bit of a bust but still better than a blender.) Technology is good. I loved the PDA. It’s even appropriately silver.
The point of a PDA was to have easy access to the library holdings while shopping. Most of the videos for the library come from Wal-Mart. With a Pocket Excel file of all the videos in the library, I can stand in the store and make sure that the video in my hand is not already on the shelf at the library. Or if I see bargain books in a bookstore, I can check to see which titles we don’t have. Very nice.
It turns out that getting the list of holdings out of the library database and into manageable Excel spreadsheets on the PDA is not as trivial as one might hope and it’s past time to update my files again, but it has been useful. And, besides, PDAs do more than spreadsheets. My Dell has calendars, notes, contacts, and task lists that sync with Microsoft Outlook. This means that in one small silver box I keep my address book with phone numbers, my datebook, my grocery list, my to-do list, and miscellaneous notes such as the estimate for a car repair, the hours of the recycling center, the part number for buying vacuum cleaner bags from Sears, and how to update the cell phone. That’s nice. It’s not perfect. I’ve totally missed meetings and appointments because I forgot to check the calendar and didn’t notice the reminder message, but it’s still nice.
Back a year or so, someone mentioned on an internet message board that they used their PDA to play midi files for church services, plugging it into the sound system. This caught my attention. I knew that my PDA would play .mp3 files but the sound quality is certainly nothing to write home about with its chintzy little speaker. I seldom messed with music on it. What was this about plugging it into a sound system? I examined it and discovered something I had completely overlooked – a headphone jack! Voila! I have an mp3 player! It does playlists and shuffles between songs and works with the tape adapters we already had in our cars for portable CD players. This opened up a whole new career for my PDA. Except I needed more memory. I could only squeeze 16 songs onto the SD memory card I had for it. I put a bigger card on my Christmas list. I also found a small CF memory card for the other slot that would hold four songs.
Last week I attended the “Women of Faith” conference in Chicago. During a break, the bag I was carrying somehow became inverted and the velcro pocket holding my PDA wasn’t fastened shut. The PDA hit the floor and the stylus fell out. I gathered it up and was relieved to discover that it still worked. It wasn’t until the following day on my way home that I discovered my music selection was drastically reduced. Closer examination revealed that the SD card slot was empty. All my nice music was in a little memory card left on the floor of a restroom in the United Center in Chicago. I felt such loss. Which is ridiculous. I still had the PDA and it still worked. I still had all of the songs on my laptop at home. I had actually lost nothing except the memory card. But it was gone. Forever gone. (OK, I could contact the United Center and ask them to check lost-and-found and mail it back to me, but short of making that effort it’s gone.) I was sad.
Less than a week later, my husband and I took our daughter to the airport and had time to shop on the way home. At the first store, we headed to “Electronics”. And there it was! The purchase of my dreams. A 512 MB SD card packaged with a translucent reader which converts it into a USB jump drive. I excitedly made the purchase and started the arduous process of extracting it from its plastic armored packaging. So much memory. I wondered about adding more software to my PDA. The one thing it hadn’t become was a portable Bible for when I found myself facing a sermon without the proper resources. I started looking around stores for software and discovered it’s rather pricey.
As we made our way home, my husband spotted a Verizon dealer and decided to take care of a family cell phone crisis. I asked to be dropped off at a nearby K-Mart while he did that. I thought I’d look at clothes. Or maybe luggage. But where did I end up? “Electronics,” of course. This time I found a 64 MB CF card – four times as big as the one I had – marked down to $7. How could I pass up such a bargain?
I came home and, with a greater awareness of the value of software for the device, downloaded a couple of demo programs, including a $14 Bible reader and one free Bible translation. Now, along with the address book, notebook, library card catalog, and .mp3 player, my little silver box contains a portable Bible for life’s little emergencies. And there are yet untapped capabilities. It would happily serve as an alarm clock if I found myself in a Motel 6 and had forgotten to bring my clock radio. I have map software that I need to find a way to load onto it.
I was so excited about my buys I wanted to tell all my friends. But who really cares about memory cards and software for my geeky PDA? I didn’t have a single sensible “girl purchase” to show for my day.
It’s true. I’m a geek. I love my technological toys. Did I mention the GPS I thought I was buying for my husband a few years back? Oh well, maybe another time.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Celebrating God and Country
Being a critical thinker can be a pain sometimes. For one thing, it tends to make one critical, which is not exactly the way to win friends and influence people. Who could ever love a critic?
This morning I found myself participating in a church service designed to celebrate the independence of the United States of America. It was nicely done and attracted a good crowd. There was a color guard with several World War II veterans. All former service personnel present were given Bibles. The songs that were sung spoke of God and country. The speaker spoke of maintaining his Christian faith while serving in the military. The congregation pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.
Wait. They did what?! They pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the country for which it stands. In the sanctuary of a Christian church on Sunday morning. They did not pledge allegiance to the Christian faith or to the God they gathered to worship. They pledged allegiance to a particular flag representing a particular citizenship.
Now, granted, every single person present in the service was born in the U.S.A. and learned the pledge to the American flag at an early age. This is in the center of the U.S., hundreds of miles from the closest border. While there are many non-citizens in the county, there are few in the immediate community and none of those have ever stepped foot into this particular church. Everyone present was a red-blooded American and glad to pledge allegiance to the flag. Well, almost everyone.
It’s the internet that has ruined me for this type of service! Where else would I have had personal conversations with Europeans who are shocked by the way Americans mix up God and country? Where else would I have learned to cringe when Americans cite our country’s great wealth and power as indicative of God’s special favor? Where else would I have encountered the crazy assertion that God is not a Republican? Worse, that He’s not even an American? Certainly not in this community where almost all local officials are selected in the Republican primary.
I’m torn. Even before the internet I was bothered by secular holiday traditions being brought into the church. Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. There’s nothing evil about those symbols but they are irrelevant to the mystery of the Incarnation and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The secular side of the holidays can be found anywhere. Only in the church is the holy lifted out of the holiday and the mystery of God in flesh dying on behalf of mankind and being resurrected from the dead made known. Why would we invite Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny into the church when we have the real deal! Our entire faith rests on the events behind Christmas and Easter. Shouldn’t we focus on those awe-inspiring events and provide a sanctuary away from what they become in the hands of retailers?
I noticed on my own how shabby Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny look when set up against the Incarnation and Resurrection. It took the internet to show me how shabby the worship of the most powerful country on earth looks when set up against the least powerful aspect of the kingdom of heaven. This world is not our home. Why are we pledging allegiance to a civil government during the one time of the week set aside for the express purpose of renewing our commitment to living as aliens in a country not our own?
Like I said, I’m torn. There was an unusual air of excitement this morning. Something was happening. We weren’t gathered simply to pay homage to a God who declines to send fire to ignite the sacrifice on the altar. There’s so much more substance to the worship of country than of God. The color guard was lined up on the platform stirring our hearts to patriotism. The sanctuary was much fuller than usual. The singing was more enthusiastic than usual. We finally found something that will bring people through the doors so that we can teach them to appreciate how special it is to worship God. By making the worship of God secondary in importance for just one morning. How could anyone be critical of something that gets people into the church who would not come for an ordinary service where all we’re doing is ordinary worship of the "immortal, invisible, God only wise, in light inaccessible hid from our eyes"?
How, indeed?
This morning I found myself participating in a church service designed to celebrate the independence of the United States of America. It was nicely done and attracted a good crowd. There was a color guard with several World War II veterans. All former service personnel present were given Bibles. The songs that were sung spoke of God and country. The speaker spoke of maintaining his Christian faith while serving in the military. The congregation pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.
Wait. They did what?! They pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the country for which it stands. In the sanctuary of a Christian church on Sunday morning. They did not pledge allegiance to the Christian faith or to the God they gathered to worship. They pledged allegiance to a particular flag representing a particular citizenship.
Now, granted, every single person present in the service was born in the U.S.A. and learned the pledge to the American flag at an early age. This is in the center of the U.S., hundreds of miles from the closest border. While there are many non-citizens in the county, there are few in the immediate community and none of those have ever stepped foot into this particular church. Everyone present was a red-blooded American and glad to pledge allegiance to the flag. Well, almost everyone.
It’s the internet that has ruined me for this type of service! Where else would I have had personal conversations with Europeans who are shocked by the way Americans mix up God and country? Where else would I have learned to cringe when Americans cite our country’s great wealth and power as indicative of God’s special favor? Where else would I have encountered the crazy assertion that God is not a Republican? Worse, that He’s not even an American? Certainly not in this community where almost all local officials are selected in the Republican primary.
I’m torn. Even before the internet I was bothered by secular holiday traditions being brought into the church. Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. There’s nothing evil about those symbols but they are irrelevant to the mystery of the Incarnation and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The secular side of the holidays can be found anywhere. Only in the church is the holy lifted out of the holiday and the mystery of God in flesh dying on behalf of mankind and being resurrected from the dead made known. Why would we invite Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny into the church when we have the real deal! Our entire faith rests on the events behind Christmas and Easter. Shouldn’t we focus on those awe-inspiring events and provide a sanctuary away from what they become in the hands of retailers?
I noticed on my own how shabby Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny look when set up against the Incarnation and Resurrection. It took the internet to show me how shabby the worship of the most powerful country on earth looks when set up against the least powerful aspect of the kingdom of heaven. This world is not our home. Why are we pledging allegiance to a civil government during the one time of the week set aside for the express purpose of renewing our commitment to living as aliens in a country not our own?
Like I said, I’m torn. There was an unusual air of excitement this morning. Something was happening. We weren’t gathered simply to pay homage to a God who declines to send fire to ignite the sacrifice on the altar. There’s so much more substance to the worship of country than of God. The color guard was lined up on the platform stirring our hearts to patriotism. The sanctuary was much fuller than usual. The singing was more enthusiastic than usual. We finally found something that will bring people through the doors so that we can teach them to appreciate how special it is to worship God. By making the worship of God secondary in importance for just one morning. How could anyone be critical of something that gets people into the church who would not come for an ordinary service where all we’re doing is ordinary worship of the "immortal, invisible, God only wise, in light inaccessible hid from our eyes"?
How, indeed?
Monday, June 26, 2006
Politics
Thus far, I have failed to introduce any thematic cohesiveness to this blog. Subjects have ranged from gardening to writing to religion. The overwhelming majority of out-of-town (off the search engines) visitors come by to read my front porches entry from last September. It doesn’t appear from the counter stats that they bother to wander around once they get here, just pop in for that one entry and leave. I’ve done a couple of follow-up posts but Yahoo is happy with the one from September and after a brief moment of fame as the #2 hit for a search for "front porches" on the MSN search engine, I'm no longer getting traffic from that direction. I guess I could make the entire blog about front porches in response to obvious interest among the general public but there are too many other interesting topics.
One subject I don’t think I’ve tried is politics. For the most part, I don’t get too excited about the subject. It took me a while after I was hired by the public library board to figure out that I work for a local government unit. My small salary is underwritten by the taxpayers of the township in which I reside. The library is governed by state law and I’ve become acquainted with such agencies as the Library Development Office which is part of the Indiana State Library, the State Board of Accounts, and the Department of Local Government Finance. I’ve been favorably impressed with the "bureaucrats" I’ve met in these agencies.
I’ve also become better acquainted with the state legislative process. I’ve discovered that the quest to impress the voting public often outstrips the grasp state politicians have of the true nature of the issues they address. It turns out that being a politician at the state level doesn’t require a degree in rocket science. (Not that such a degree would qualify one for governing.) Rather, it requires the ability to sound good and argue persuasively even when you don’t know what you’re talking about. This may sound cynical but I write it not in derision but simply as an observation. It's a skill I can admire from a distance but which I have little desire to learn.
This week I attended a town meeting. I’m not sure I really belonged there. I live one mile outside the city limits of the town I call home. I don’t vote for town officials. I don’t pay town taxes. I don’t have town services. However, the library is inside the city limits and the topic of discussion was the future of the town, a subject in which I have a stake both as a resident of the larger community and as the town librarian. So I went. I like meetings. I like people and there are almost always people at meetings. Plus, meetings tend to be held in those elusive, neutral "front porch" settings.
This particular meeting was on Thursday evening. Sometime over the past week or so, the three members of the town council met and ended up in conflict with the town park board. By the time the weekly local newspaper went to press on Tuesday afternoon, three of five park board members had resigned, as well as the entire seven-member board of the annual town fair to be held in less than two months, throwing the local political scene into chaos. I was a little leery of the Thursday meeting but headed out into a stormy night to catch the action firsthand rather than relying on the newspaper report.
The meeting itself didn’t strike me as being particularly tense, but I did notice a lack of professionalism and competency for the task at hand. I wasn’t sure the facilitators were collecting anything of value or that they’d know what to do with it if they did. However, I could be surprised. Perhaps there was more going on there than I observed.
The meeting was adjourned as another storm moved through the area and the rain was falling in sheets. I found no conversational opportunities in the building and moved out to the covered front porch to wait for a break in the rain. The group that followed me out the door didn’t appear to notice me as I edged towards the back of the porch. One attendee, the most offended in the blow-up with the town council, treated us all to a colorful report of the ongoing conflict. The contrast between his generally positive contribution to the meeting itself and his bitterly negative attitude on the porch startled me. I later heard a second-hand report from the other side of the conflict that only two of the attendees were truly interested in the meeting and the rest were there simply to agitate.
I take back all I’ve written about community groups being easier to work with than church groups. It may be generally true for community groups that aren’t caught up in politics but right now I’m deeply grateful that I don’t have to be involved in local politics beyond working with the library board, the seven members of which are appointed by five different elected bodies in the county.
I have seldom heard such bitterness and lack of Christian charity as I’ve heard this week. The conflict involves some of the most concerned citizens of this small, struggling town. It will be interesting to see how they manage to resolve their differences so that they can live and work together.
I think I’m glad for the one mile between my home and the city limits and the two miles to the town hall. It's nice to live outside the war zone.
One subject I don’t think I’ve tried is politics. For the most part, I don’t get too excited about the subject. It took me a while after I was hired by the public library board to figure out that I work for a local government unit. My small salary is underwritten by the taxpayers of the township in which I reside. The library is governed by state law and I’ve become acquainted with such agencies as the Library Development Office which is part of the Indiana State Library, the State Board of Accounts, and the Department of Local Government Finance. I’ve been favorably impressed with the "bureaucrats" I’ve met in these agencies.
I’ve also become better acquainted with the state legislative process. I’ve discovered that the quest to impress the voting public often outstrips the grasp state politicians have of the true nature of the issues they address. It turns out that being a politician at the state level doesn’t require a degree in rocket science. (Not that such a degree would qualify one for governing.) Rather, it requires the ability to sound good and argue persuasively even when you don’t know what you’re talking about. This may sound cynical but I write it not in derision but simply as an observation. It's a skill I can admire from a distance but which I have little desire to learn.
This week I attended a town meeting. I’m not sure I really belonged there. I live one mile outside the city limits of the town I call home. I don’t vote for town officials. I don’t pay town taxes. I don’t have town services. However, the library is inside the city limits and the topic of discussion was the future of the town, a subject in which I have a stake both as a resident of the larger community and as the town librarian. So I went. I like meetings. I like people and there are almost always people at meetings. Plus, meetings tend to be held in those elusive, neutral "front porch" settings.
This particular meeting was on Thursday evening. Sometime over the past week or so, the three members of the town council met and ended up in conflict with the town park board. By the time the weekly local newspaper went to press on Tuesday afternoon, three of five park board members had resigned, as well as the entire seven-member board of the annual town fair to be held in less than two months, throwing the local political scene into chaos. I was a little leery of the Thursday meeting but headed out into a stormy night to catch the action firsthand rather than relying on the newspaper report.
The meeting itself didn’t strike me as being particularly tense, but I did notice a lack of professionalism and competency for the task at hand. I wasn’t sure the facilitators were collecting anything of value or that they’d know what to do with it if they did. However, I could be surprised. Perhaps there was more going on there than I observed.
The meeting was adjourned as another storm moved through the area and the rain was falling in sheets. I found no conversational opportunities in the building and moved out to the covered front porch to wait for a break in the rain. The group that followed me out the door didn’t appear to notice me as I edged towards the back of the porch. One attendee, the most offended in the blow-up with the town council, treated us all to a colorful report of the ongoing conflict. The contrast between his generally positive contribution to the meeting itself and his bitterly negative attitude on the porch startled me. I later heard a second-hand report from the other side of the conflict that only two of the attendees were truly interested in the meeting and the rest were there simply to agitate.
I take back all I’ve written about community groups being easier to work with than church groups. It may be generally true for community groups that aren’t caught up in politics but right now I’m deeply grateful that I don’t have to be involved in local politics beyond working with the library board, the seven members of which are appointed by five different elected bodies in the county.
I have seldom heard such bitterness and lack of Christian charity as I’ve heard this week. The conflict involves some of the most concerned citizens of this small, struggling town. It will be interesting to see how they manage to resolve their differences so that they can live and work together.
I think I’m glad for the one mile between my home and the city limits and the two miles to the town hall. It's nice to live outside the war zone.
Friday, June 16, 2006
God's church. My community.
I hear a lot of sermons. The cumulative effect keeps me grounded within the Christian community but most of them pass over me with little impact on an individual basis. Each is one person’s attempt to interpret the message of the Bible and apply it to my life. It’s the time I spend actually reading the Bible with openness to being changed by it that has greater impact on my life, along with carefully-selected books.
Sermons, however, leave echoes in my mind. One of those ehoes has been reinforced multiple times: “It’s not your church; it’s God’s church.” This is used as a rebuke to those saying this or that about “my church” and is said by the same people who remind us, “It’s not about you.” The idea is to discourage power struggles in the church by lessening the sense of ownership.
I recently wrote something about my community and the echo popped up with a slight modification. Is it my community? I tried to think of how that phrase could denote an unhealthy sense of ownership. I couldn’t quite get there. Who could ever claim to own a community in the sense of having authority over it? A mayor? A police chief? Anyone less than a liege lord? Obviously, I’m none of those and I’m not claiming blanket authority when I refer to “my community”. Rather, I am identifying myself with the people living around me, primarily those in the local public school district. I have chosen to make my home among them and to be part of the common life they represent. It’s not simply the community in which my family lives as outsiders, keeping some separate identity. It’s part of who we are. It’s the community my husband and I have chosen to embrace as home for the past 27 years and for which we take some sense of responsibility, not because we own it but because it has taken us in and we owe it loyalty and generosity. It’s my community, and building it up by every means available to me is to my own benefit.
Those same sorts of things could be said about the local church of which I have been an active member for the entire 27 years I’ve been part of the local community. It’s “my church” in that I have chosen to identify myself with it and to take some measure of responsibility for its welfare. I owe it loyalty and generous support. I work to make it better. Building up the church is mutually beneficial to all involved.
When I talk about my community and look for ways to make it a better place to live, doors open wide with opportunities for me. I am the director of the only public library district within the school district. I represent the community on the county adult literacy council. I could do much more if I had more time. No one ever says to me, “It’s not your community. We don’t need your interference here.”
In contrast, if I mention “my church” and look for ways to make it a better center for Christian worship, the echoes pop up and remind me that it’s not my church. There are service opportunities there but no roles equivalent to those offered to me by the broader community. It’s God’s church and He hasn’t chosen me for His leadership team.
I’m finding that I’m slowly adjusting my viewpoint to accept this message that the church I attend and of which I am an official member is not my church. The challenges facing leadership are daunting and, if there is a way out of the wilderness in which we’re wandering, finding it will require significant wisdom and insight. I would gladly accept an invitation to be part of a team effort to find that elusive path. That invitation has not been issued, either formally or informally. My views are too radical by local standards to make me a good candidate for the leadership team of a rural, conservative, evangelical (dying) church.
Combining the message that it’s not my church with that lack of invitation to be a part of the leadership team leaves me with little choice other than to let it go and drop all sense of responsibility for the future of the church. It’s not my church. I’m not responsible for what happens there.
On the other hand, the church-of-which-I-am-an-active-member-but-which-is-not-mine is part of my community. One way to serve the community is to serve within the church as I am able and to share the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ that is at the core of the church. I believe that the best thing I can do for my community is to take the good news from the church out of its stale, musty housing and offer it to those outside its walls. The church may be dying but the good news of reconciliation with the God of the universe through Jesus Christ and the resulting life of grace and peace is as fresh and welcome and vital in the 21st century as ever.
God’s church. My community. I think it’s time for me to leave the church in God’s hands and focus on the people who are willing to be part of my community.
Comments, anyone?
Sermons, however, leave echoes in my mind. One of those ehoes has been reinforced multiple times: “It’s not your church; it’s God’s church.” This is used as a rebuke to those saying this or that about “my church” and is said by the same people who remind us, “It’s not about you.” The idea is to discourage power struggles in the church by lessening the sense of ownership.
I recently wrote something about my community and the echo popped up with a slight modification. Is it my community? I tried to think of how that phrase could denote an unhealthy sense of ownership. I couldn’t quite get there. Who could ever claim to own a community in the sense of having authority over it? A mayor? A police chief? Anyone less than a liege lord? Obviously, I’m none of those and I’m not claiming blanket authority when I refer to “my community”. Rather, I am identifying myself with the people living around me, primarily those in the local public school district. I have chosen to make my home among them and to be part of the common life they represent. It’s not simply the community in which my family lives as outsiders, keeping some separate identity. It’s part of who we are. It’s the community my husband and I have chosen to embrace as home for the past 27 years and for which we take some sense of responsibility, not because we own it but because it has taken us in and we owe it loyalty and generosity. It’s my community, and building it up by every means available to me is to my own benefit.
Those same sorts of things could be said about the local church of which I have been an active member for the entire 27 years I’ve been part of the local community. It’s “my church” in that I have chosen to identify myself with it and to take some measure of responsibility for its welfare. I owe it loyalty and generous support. I work to make it better. Building up the church is mutually beneficial to all involved.
When I talk about my community and look for ways to make it a better place to live, doors open wide with opportunities for me. I am the director of the only public library district within the school district. I represent the community on the county adult literacy council. I could do much more if I had more time. No one ever says to me, “It’s not your community. We don’t need your interference here.”
In contrast, if I mention “my church” and look for ways to make it a better center for Christian worship, the echoes pop up and remind me that it’s not my church. There are service opportunities there but no roles equivalent to those offered to me by the broader community. It’s God’s church and He hasn’t chosen me for His leadership team.
I’m finding that I’m slowly adjusting my viewpoint to accept this message that the church I attend and of which I am an official member is not my church. The challenges facing leadership are daunting and, if there is a way out of the wilderness in which we’re wandering, finding it will require significant wisdom and insight. I would gladly accept an invitation to be part of a team effort to find that elusive path. That invitation has not been issued, either formally or informally. My views are too radical by local standards to make me a good candidate for the leadership team of a rural, conservative, evangelical (dying) church.
Combining the message that it’s not my church with that lack of invitation to be a part of the leadership team leaves me with little choice other than to let it go and drop all sense of responsibility for the future of the church. It’s not my church. I’m not responsible for what happens there.
On the other hand, the church-of-which-I-am-an-active-member-but-which-is-not-mine is part of my community. One way to serve the community is to serve within the church as I am able and to share the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ that is at the core of the church. I believe that the best thing I can do for my community is to take the good news from the church out of its stale, musty housing and offer it to those outside its walls. The church may be dying but the good news of reconciliation with the God of the universe through Jesus Christ and the resulting life of grace and peace is as fresh and welcome and vital in the 21st century as ever.
God’s church. My community. I think it’s time for me to leave the church in God’s hands and focus on the people who are willing to be part of my community.
Comments, anyone?
Sunday, June 04, 2006
The influence of books
The subject of this entry comes from two different stimuli: 1) A suggestion that for Memorial Day, we honor someone who has been a great blessing in our lives. (I’m slow in getting around to responding.) 2) A sermon series based on a book I’ve been through twice, once as a personal encounter ten or more years ago and once as a teacher.
I dug out the book behind the sermon series, thinking it would be of value to go through it again. There are eight chapters. As I scanned the titles of the chapters, I realized that the lessons in the book have already been incorporated into my life as much as they probably will be. They’re fairly good lessons. If I find the time and my shared internet connection is available enough I will listen to the sermons, but I think I’ve pretty much mined the book.
I mentioned in an earlier entry that I was surprised by how many of my current habits find their roots in Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. I don’t know that I’ve incorporated enough to be even moderately effective, but that book has made a difference in my life.
Obviously, my life (and everyone else’s) is a conglomeration of influences. Most of those influences are people. Yet, I can’t point to any one person who has played a “larger than life” role. Each has their place in sculpting me into what I am today, chipping away here and there, changing who and what I am. Many have been a blessing to me. None that I can think of have stepped beyond their place and prompted a complete change in direction in my life.
In contrast to the people, I can point to several books that had immediate and lasting influence on my life. Perhaps the strongest entry in the field is, A Christian’s Secret to a Happy Life by Hannah Whitall Smith. It was an accidental meeting when I discovered that book. My first clue that it existed came from a Catherine Marshall book given to me by my sister-in-law. Marshall mentioned it in passing as an example of a book that had been of great value to a friend but which she found dull and lifeless. When I later found a little paperback edition on the shelves in the church office, I recognized the title and decided to see what it was about. It was the exact book that I needed at that time in my life. I invited it in and it took up residence in my heart. That was 20 years ago and its influence continues to this day.
There have been others along the way. My Utmost for His Highest, a classic daily devotional of the transcribed words of Oswald Chambers. Stephen Covey’s book. Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster. That was another accidental encounter. If I remember correctly, it was a delivery of kids to church camp that took me past a Christian bookstore. I stopped in to browse the shelves for a book I wanted to read but which I couldn’t even begin to describe to myself. I couldn’t figure out what I was searching for; I only knew that I wasn’t finding it. I left the store empty-handed. Back in town, I stopped past the church and chatted with my pastor for a few moments. I don’t know what I said but he said, “Here’s a book you need to read,” and handed me Richard Foster’s book. It was exactly what I had been seeking. Several habits of my moderately effective life trace back to that book rather than the Covey book. (Perhaps that pastor who shared his library with me counts as one of those “great blessing” people, simply by knowing what book to hand me and when.)
Maybe the difference between people and books is that I can go back to the books and find them unchanged. I can find within the pages the same message that spoke to my soul and prompted change in my living. I’m often surprised to find the headwaters of a stream I now take for granted in a forgotten book. In contrast, the people have all changed and my memory is unreliable. I don’t know which of my character traits trace back to a stray comment here or there by a teacher or friend or stranger.
I often feel like I’m an alien in my world. As someone told me not long ago, “You have a different way of looking at things.” It wasn’t meant as a positive description. Being different is often lonely. The recent additions to my list of influential books have been those that make me feel that there are others like me in other places. I discovered a label for myself in those books – a postmodern Christian. In my everyday world, that phrase is an oxymoron. One either has a postmodern worldview or a Christian worldview. The two are incompatible because postmodernity denies absolute truth and Christianity depends on absolute truth. How refreshing it has been to discover successful writers who are citizens of both those seemingly incompatible countries and who make a living expressing my core beliefs in written form and selling them. I didn’t even know they were mentionable, let alone marketable.
What a blessing the printing press has been to me.
I dug out the book behind the sermon series, thinking it would be of value to go through it again. There are eight chapters. As I scanned the titles of the chapters, I realized that the lessons in the book have already been incorporated into my life as much as they probably will be. They’re fairly good lessons. If I find the time and my shared internet connection is available enough I will listen to the sermons, but I think I’ve pretty much mined the book.
I mentioned in an earlier entry that I was surprised by how many of my current habits find their roots in Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. I don’t know that I’ve incorporated enough to be even moderately effective, but that book has made a difference in my life.
Obviously, my life (and everyone else’s) is a conglomeration of influences. Most of those influences are people. Yet, I can’t point to any one person who has played a “larger than life” role. Each has their place in sculpting me into what I am today, chipping away here and there, changing who and what I am. Many have been a blessing to me. None that I can think of have stepped beyond their place and prompted a complete change in direction in my life.
In contrast to the people, I can point to several books that had immediate and lasting influence on my life. Perhaps the strongest entry in the field is, A Christian’s Secret to a Happy Life by Hannah Whitall Smith. It was an accidental meeting when I discovered that book. My first clue that it existed came from a Catherine Marshall book given to me by my sister-in-law. Marshall mentioned it in passing as an example of a book that had been of great value to a friend but which she found dull and lifeless. When I later found a little paperback edition on the shelves in the church office, I recognized the title and decided to see what it was about. It was the exact book that I needed at that time in my life. I invited it in and it took up residence in my heart. That was 20 years ago and its influence continues to this day.
There have been others along the way. My Utmost for His Highest, a classic daily devotional of the transcribed words of Oswald Chambers. Stephen Covey’s book. Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster. That was another accidental encounter. If I remember correctly, it was a delivery of kids to church camp that took me past a Christian bookstore. I stopped in to browse the shelves for a book I wanted to read but which I couldn’t even begin to describe to myself. I couldn’t figure out what I was searching for; I only knew that I wasn’t finding it. I left the store empty-handed. Back in town, I stopped past the church and chatted with my pastor for a few moments. I don’t know what I said but he said, “Here’s a book you need to read,” and handed me Richard Foster’s book. It was exactly what I had been seeking. Several habits of my moderately effective life trace back to that book rather than the Covey book. (Perhaps that pastor who shared his library with me counts as one of those “great blessing” people, simply by knowing what book to hand me and when.)
Maybe the difference between people and books is that I can go back to the books and find them unchanged. I can find within the pages the same message that spoke to my soul and prompted change in my living. I’m often surprised to find the headwaters of a stream I now take for granted in a forgotten book. In contrast, the people have all changed and my memory is unreliable. I don’t know which of my character traits trace back to a stray comment here or there by a teacher or friend or stranger.
I often feel like I’m an alien in my world. As someone told me not long ago, “You have a different way of looking at things.” It wasn’t meant as a positive description. Being different is often lonely. The recent additions to my list of influential books have been those that make me feel that there are others like me in other places. I discovered a label for myself in those books – a postmodern Christian. In my everyday world, that phrase is an oxymoron. One either has a postmodern worldview or a Christian worldview. The two are incompatible because postmodernity denies absolute truth and Christianity depends on absolute truth. How refreshing it has been to discover successful writers who are citizens of both those seemingly incompatible countries and who make a living expressing my core beliefs in written form and selling them. I didn’t even know they were mentionable, let alone marketable.
What a blessing the printing press has been to me.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Fiction
I have recently read the latest entries in two multi-volume fiction series: Party Princess by Meg Cabot (from The Princess Diaries) and Miss Julia Takes a Stand by Ann B. Ross. They both arrived at the library in the same shipment and I did what I do only rarely and for only three or four series – snatched them up before anyone else got to them and spirited them home to read them. Thus, I felt strong pressure to get them read quickly and back to the library.
Reading those two books back-to-back was interesting. They are both written in first person. Mia, in The Princess Diaries, keeps a journal which then becomes the book. Time moves very slowly in these books, with each one covering little more than a week. (The girl must write at lightening speed to fill a book’s worth of journals in a week, writing down conversations as they occur and recording each day in detail along with her reflections on the events going on around her.) She is 15 and such a teenager, popping back and forth between major international social issues that are calling for her attention (being a princess and all) and minor personal social issues that manage to capture her full attention most of the time without effort.. I marvel at the ability of the author to portray Mia as so shallow and clueless and yet so earnest and likable. By book count, I probably read more children’s fiction than any other single genre of writing and these books stand out in my mind as exceptional writing. One thing I’ve enjoyed is how the author has woven the two movies based on her Princess Diary books into the story itself. (Mia was embarrassed by being dragged further into the spotlight and noted that the movies changed some of the details of her life.) The books are crammed so full of pop culture that they’ll require a dictionary of our time in order for future generations to appreciate them. They're unlikely to stay in print for any great length of time, but they’re a treat for today and I enjoy them.
Miss Julia is at the opposite end of life from Mia, in her “golden years” and newly widowed at the beginning of the series. In the books, she reports what’s happening in her life and shares her opinions and observations concerning those happenings. Again, I am impressed by how the author manages to portray her character as flawed yet attractive. In this most recent entry in the series, Miss Julia at one point worries that an action she might be forced to take would stir up the town gossips. She informs us that “gossip has been the bane of my existence”. As I read her words, I hear the exact tone of her voice because I’ve heard those words, or words like them, so many times. In the next paragraph she remembers that she has failed to update her husband (whom she married a couple of books ago) concerning marital trouble a couple they know is reportedly having and corrects that oversight. And again, I admire how the author leaves her character clueless while letting us in on the fact that Miss Julia enjoys gossip well enough when it concerns other people.
In both these series, everything the reader learns about the world being created by the author is seen through the eyes of the narrator/main character. Yet, we manage to learn things concerning these worlds to which the narrator remains oblivious; the narrator tells us things she herself does not know.
I presume that the words I write (and speak) sometimes say more than I intend them to say as people read between the lines and pick up on what I’m revealing but not saying. I presume that sometimes people get a chuckle at my expense when that happens because they find my cluelessness amusing. But I don’t know how someone can deliberately step into a personality whose foibles they recognize and intend to reveal to their readers and stay in character while revealing those foibles. If I were ever going to write fiction, I think this is the type of fiction I would want to write, but I can no more imagine being able to do it than I can imagine painting the Mona Lisa.
Writers of good fiction amaze me.
Reading those two books back-to-back was interesting. They are both written in first person. Mia, in The Princess Diaries, keeps a journal which then becomes the book. Time moves very slowly in these books, with each one covering little more than a week. (The girl must write at lightening speed to fill a book’s worth of journals in a week, writing down conversations as they occur and recording each day in detail along with her reflections on the events going on around her.) She is 15 and such a teenager, popping back and forth between major international social issues that are calling for her attention (being a princess and all) and minor personal social issues that manage to capture her full attention most of the time without effort.. I marvel at the ability of the author to portray Mia as so shallow and clueless and yet so earnest and likable. By book count, I probably read more children’s fiction than any other single genre of writing and these books stand out in my mind as exceptional writing. One thing I’ve enjoyed is how the author has woven the two movies based on her Princess Diary books into the story itself. (Mia was embarrassed by being dragged further into the spotlight and noted that the movies changed some of the details of her life.) The books are crammed so full of pop culture that they’ll require a dictionary of our time in order for future generations to appreciate them. They're unlikely to stay in print for any great length of time, but they’re a treat for today and I enjoy them.
Miss Julia is at the opposite end of life from Mia, in her “golden years” and newly widowed at the beginning of the series. In the books, she reports what’s happening in her life and shares her opinions and observations concerning those happenings. Again, I am impressed by how the author manages to portray her character as flawed yet attractive. In this most recent entry in the series, Miss Julia at one point worries that an action she might be forced to take would stir up the town gossips. She informs us that “gossip has been the bane of my existence”. As I read her words, I hear the exact tone of her voice because I’ve heard those words, or words like them, so many times. In the next paragraph she remembers that she has failed to update her husband (whom she married a couple of books ago) concerning marital trouble a couple they know is reportedly having and corrects that oversight. And again, I admire how the author leaves her character clueless while letting us in on the fact that Miss Julia enjoys gossip well enough when it concerns other people.
In both these series, everything the reader learns about the world being created by the author is seen through the eyes of the narrator/main character. Yet, we manage to learn things concerning these worlds to which the narrator remains oblivious; the narrator tells us things she herself does not know.
I presume that the words I write (and speak) sometimes say more than I intend them to say as people read between the lines and pick up on what I’m revealing but not saying. I presume that sometimes people get a chuckle at my expense when that happens because they find my cluelessness amusing. But I don’t know how someone can deliberately step into a personality whose foibles they recognize and intend to reveal to their readers and stay in character while revealing those foibles. If I were ever going to write fiction, I think this is the type of fiction I would want to write, but I can no more imagine being able to do it than I can imagine painting the Mona Lisa.
Writers of good fiction amaze me.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Blogging, Front Porches, and the Empty Nest
This blog is averaging 13 visitors per day. Most of those are people wanting to read about “front porches”. I typed those words into the URL line of Internet Explorer today (where you are supposed to type actual web addresses) and was thrown into an MSN search that gave me 68,426 results. This post was at the top of the list. I find that amazing. Even more amazing is that a yahoo.com search yields 1,150,000 hits with that same post listed second. I’m not sure what everyone is wanting to know about front porches but many choose to follow the link, even though this is clearly a blog (being on blogspot and all). They don’t say anything while they’re here. They simply parade by silently without names or faces – day after day after day.
I don’t know enough about search engines to know if success increases success. Is it because people follow the link here when it’s on their list of results that it has moved so high on the list? Is it because someone else linked to it in their blog? Out of 45 entries here (46 with this one), only one is specifically about the role of front porches in our cultural history. Why does it attract so many visitors?
What prompted the front porch post was some reading I was doing and the change in life brought on by our empty nest (another popular search term). I was looking for places to meet people and to be able to discuss serious or not-so-serious topics in a public setting. I’m still finding that I have to be purposeful in getting out into the community in order to keep my world from shrinking now that I no longer have children in the local school. There are some people who were part of those school years whom I seldom if ever see now. (Yes, I could call them and make a date, but I would still miss those times when our paths simply crossed without special effort.) However, my search for “front porches” is going fairly well.
Last week, I decided I was going to “Grand March” out at the high school. I can’t imagine that this event has the same pull in many places that it does here. The school is small enough that every couple (and single) attending prom can be introduced and promenade across the high school gym (which through much effort has been transformed for the evening) in well less than an hour. I can’t think of any other school event that draws more people out other than graduation. Parents are there taking pictures. And grandparents. And aunts and uncles. And friends. (That’s where I fit in). This is a huge event!
I had another commitment that night. My husband was out of town and I couldn’t think of anyone else who would want to attend both events, so I headed out by myself to the first for a while and then slipped out early to return to the high school, arriving ten minutes or so before the start time but far too late to dream of getting a good seat. In the huge crowd (filling one side of the gym from the floor to the top of the balcony), I couldn’t spot anyone I knew with an empty seat close to them. As I surveyed the crowd, I was conscious of being surveyed and gave up rather quickly, climbing to the balcony and choosing a place close to a couple of acquaintances but not too close. After the event, I spoke to less than a dozen people out of the entire mob – the crowd was too tight to allow for mingling and the focus was, of course, on the prom-goers. That’s a rather poor return for investing an hour sitting alone in a crowd. Still, it was more people than I would have interacted with if I had sat at home. And the bigger return has come in the fodder for conversation it has given me with the prom-goers, parents, and grandparents I’ve seen since then.
Yesterday morning brought another “front porch” opportunity. It was opening day for the summer ball league. I was asked to attend a ceremony after the parade when a flag would be presented to the library by the American Legion. I arrived early and walked from where I parked by the ballfields across the park and a little ways up the parade route until I met up with the beginning of the parade and a group of people I knew with whom to watch it pass. It’s an interesting parade. Kids in bright t-shirts are sorted out by color (or possibly by team) and arranged on trailers, in truck beds, even in a horse-drawn wagon. They throw candy out to the crowd. However, there are hardly any kids along the route to collect the candy. The kids are all in the parade! What few non-participating kids come out to watch the parade end up with huge bags of candy.
Ah... life in the slow lane. Taking time to watch a parade of other people’s kids. Standing in front of the library (last-minute change of venue) and smiling for the camera as the flag is presented. Looking for my picture in this week’s newspaper to see if I smiled at the right time and how much damage the wind did to my hair. And chatting with this person and that one as they cross my path. It’s almost like leisurely swinging in the porch swing on the front porch I don’t have.
I don’t know enough about search engines to know if success increases success. Is it because people follow the link here when it’s on their list of results that it has moved so high on the list? Is it because someone else linked to it in their blog? Out of 45 entries here (46 with this one), only one is specifically about the role of front porches in our cultural history. Why does it attract so many visitors?
What prompted the front porch post was some reading I was doing and the change in life brought on by our empty nest (another popular search term). I was looking for places to meet people and to be able to discuss serious or not-so-serious topics in a public setting. I’m still finding that I have to be purposeful in getting out into the community in order to keep my world from shrinking now that I no longer have children in the local school. There are some people who were part of those school years whom I seldom if ever see now. (Yes, I could call them and make a date, but I would still miss those times when our paths simply crossed without special effort.) However, my search for “front porches” is going fairly well.
Last week, I decided I was going to “Grand March” out at the high school. I can’t imagine that this event has the same pull in many places that it does here. The school is small enough that every couple (and single) attending prom can be introduced and promenade across the high school gym (which through much effort has been transformed for the evening) in well less than an hour. I can’t think of any other school event that draws more people out other than graduation. Parents are there taking pictures. And grandparents. And aunts and uncles. And friends. (That’s where I fit in). This is a huge event!
I had another commitment that night. My husband was out of town and I couldn’t think of anyone else who would want to attend both events, so I headed out by myself to the first for a while and then slipped out early to return to the high school, arriving ten minutes or so before the start time but far too late to dream of getting a good seat. In the huge crowd (filling one side of the gym from the floor to the top of the balcony), I couldn’t spot anyone I knew with an empty seat close to them. As I surveyed the crowd, I was conscious of being surveyed and gave up rather quickly, climbing to the balcony and choosing a place close to a couple of acquaintances but not too close. After the event, I spoke to less than a dozen people out of the entire mob – the crowd was too tight to allow for mingling and the focus was, of course, on the prom-goers. That’s a rather poor return for investing an hour sitting alone in a crowd. Still, it was more people than I would have interacted with if I had sat at home. And the bigger return has come in the fodder for conversation it has given me with the prom-goers, parents, and grandparents I’ve seen since then.
Yesterday morning brought another “front porch” opportunity. It was opening day for the summer ball league. I was asked to attend a ceremony after the parade when a flag would be presented to the library by the American Legion. I arrived early and walked from where I parked by the ballfields across the park and a little ways up the parade route until I met up with the beginning of the parade and a group of people I knew with whom to watch it pass. It’s an interesting parade. Kids in bright t-shirts are sorted out by color (or possibly by team) and arranged on trailers, in truck beds, even in a horse-drawn wagon. They throw candy out to the crowd. However, there are hardly any kids along the route to collect the candy. The kids are all in the parade! What few non-participating kids come out to watch the parade end up with huge bags of candy.
Ah... life in the slow lane. Taking time to watch a parade of other people’s kids. Standing in front of the library (last-minute change of venue) and smiling for the camera as the flag is presented. Looking for my picture in this week’s newspaper to see if I smiled at the right time and how much damage the wind did to my hair. And chatting with this person and that one as they cross my path. It’s almost like leisurely swinging in the porch swing on the front porch I don’t have.
Monday, May 01, 2006
On Loneliness
I should not live by myself. I don't live by myself...usually. However, my husband left on a business trip five days ago and I've been living alone for that long. That's how I know that a solitary life is not a good idea for me.
I've long enjoyed solitude. Right now the house is totally quiet except for the hum of the computer fan. I had music on earlier but tired of it and chose silence instead. I could turn the television on, but doing so has no appeal to me. I'm okay with silence. For a while. I don't need noise but I do need someone to talk to now and then.
Five days of solitary living. And coincidently, five evening trips to church events during that time - 32 miles each way. Every night. Just me and my minivan and the radio and my PDA/mp3 player and a set of "Adventures in Odyssey" tapes covering mostly the same roads five times for a total of 350 miles or so. (Various routes and a couple of detours to run errands added some extra miles.). I made half-hearted attempts to find traveling companions but didn't resort to begging. I figured there would be plenty of people to chat with once I got there. It turns out most everyone I knew had plenty of other people to chat with. If my goal was to find companionship, the results weren't wildly successful. Most of the event consisted of listening to sermons that left me full of unshared negative reactions and a certainty that pinning someone down long enough to share those reactions was not a good idea. Some of them burst out in my last post and follow-ups on a message board where patient people responded kindly. Listening to so many offensive words without responding in any way is difficult. I suppose I could have simply quit attending and stayed home alone instead but I was drawn back every evening by the hope of meaningful exchange.
I haven't sat alone in the house in between the evening events. I've been out. I have a part-time job that brings me into contact with people. But the loneliness is definitely getting to me. The house is quiet now but I heard the scratchings of a mouse one night. It showed up in the basement room where I was sitting at the computer. I talked to it, scolding it for coming into my house where I would be obliged to get a trap and some peanut butter and attempt to kill it. It didn't talk back, just disappeared behind some insulation. The outdoor dogs and cat aren't much good for conversation either. Nor the fish, although they do congregate in the part of the tank closest to me if I pause in their vicinity.
I have a telephone. I could call someone. But the people who are the most interesting partners for conversation aren't sitting at home waiting for me to call and fill their evening with chit-chat. Even when I'm lonely, I'm still no more inclined to make telephone calls than any other time. In fact, I find myself less and less inclined to do anything -- fix myself something to eat or tackle the many projects that I could undertake with all this uninterrupted time. So much opportunity and the best I can do is another boring blog entry about me, me, me.
I can survive living alone for a few days at a time, but the words I'm not speaking build up inside me and woe to anyone who offers me a listening ear. I tend to develop run-at-the-mouth tendencies when I have this much solitude.
My husband will be home tomorrow. That will be good. And in a few days the first college kid comes home for the summer. The empty nest will no longer be empty. Things are going to start happening around here. I may as well enjoy the silence tonight.
I've long enjoyed solitude. Right now the house is totally quiet except for the hum of the computer fan. I had music on earlier but tired of it and chose silence instead. I could turn the television on, but doing so has no appeal to me. I'm okay with silence. For a while. I don't need noise but I do need someone to talk to now and then.
Five days of solitary living. And coincidently, five evening trips to church events during that time - 32 miles each way. Every night. Just me and my minivan and the radio and my PDA/mp3 player and a set of "Adventures in Odyssey" tapes covering mostly the same roads five times for a total of 350 miles or so. (Various routes and a couple of detours to run errands added some extra miles.). I made half-hearted attempts to find traveling companions but didn't resort to begging. I figured there would be plenty of people to chat with once I got there. It turns out most everyone I knew had plenty of other people to chat with. If my goal was to find companionship, the results weren't wildly successful. Most of the event consisted of listening to sermons that left me full of unshared negative reactions and a certainty that pinning someone down long enough to share those reactions was not a good idea. Some of them burst out in my last post and follow-ups on a message board where patient people responded kindly. Listening to so many offensive words without responding in any way is difficult. I suppose I could have simply quit attending and stayed home alone instead but I was drawn back every evening by the hope of meaningful exchange.
I haven't sat alone in the house in between the evening events. I've been out. I have a part-time job that brings me into contact with people. But the loneliness is definitely getting to me. The house is quiet now but I heard the scratchings of a mouse one night. It showed up in the basement room where I was sitting at the computer. I talked to it, scolding it for coming into my house where I would be obliged to get a trap and some peanut butter and attempt to kill it. It didn't talk back, just disappeared behind some insulation. The outdoor dogs and cat aren't much good for conversation either. Nor the fish, although they do congregate in the part of the tank closest to me if I pause in their vicinity.
I have a telephone. I could call someone. But the people who are the most interesting partners for conversation aren't sitting at home waiting for me to call and fill their evening with chit-chat. Even when I'm lonely, I'm still no more inclined to make telephone calls than any other time. In fact, I find myself less and less inclined to do anything -- fix myself something to eat or tackle the many projects that I could undertake with all this uninterrupted time. So much opportunity and the best I can do is another boring blog entry about me, me, me.
I can survive living alone for a few days at a time, but the words I'm not speaking build up inside me and woe to anyone who offers me a listening ear. I tend to develop run-at-the-mouth tendencies when I have this much solitude.
My husband will be home tomorrow. That will be good. And in a few days the first college kid comes home for the summer. The empty nest will no longer be empty. Things are going to start happening around here. I may as well enjoy the silence tonight.
Friday, April 28, 2006
"It's not about you"
[Note: I'm exposing my moorings in the evangelical subculture in this post. It was originally written as a post on a board within that subculture and is here because it grew into full-fledged ramblings. It's time for something new here anyway.]
I've decided that every time I hear the words "It's not about you" spoken in reference to worship styles, I will make a mental note that the speaker has chosen an extreme position. I know that there is often justification for moving to one extreme in order to provide a counterweight to those on the other extreme, but I still need to be aware that what I'm hearing needs some of that other extreme in order to get good balance.
If you take away all other voices, telling the church that church is "not about you" is exposed as ludicrous. The church of Jesus Christ is composed of his disciples. Those disciples meet together in order to worship as a community and to encourage each other in the faith. How can someone come in and tell those people that their meetings are not about them? Can you imagine encountering that statement in the writings of the apostle Paul?
"In him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spririt (Ephesians 2:22)"
"When you come together, everyone has a hymn, or a word of instruction, a revelation, a tongue or an interpretation. All of these must be done for the strengthening of the church. (1 Corinthians 14:26)"
"Oh, and by the way, it's not about you (???)"
The church is the fellowship of the disciples of Jesus Christ. We are the church. It's ALL about us! It's what we do. We gather as a community of believers. We worship together. We pray together. We encourage each other. We enjoy the warmth of fellowship. If we're structuring our meetings in a way that hinders those basic activities in the name of ministry to nonbelievers who may join us, something is wrong.
What prompts people to make statements such as "It's not about you"? A concern for evangelism. They want our meetings to be attractive to nonbelievers. They want our meetings to be evangelistic events rather than simply times of adoration and encouragement.
I have a theory that a church made up of people who enjoy depth in their worship and warmth in their fellowship will be naturally attractive to nonbelievers. The only missing ingredient is an open door to those nonbelievers. I think it's the open door that those who make the "not about you" statement are advocating.
So where does the balance lie? I suppose it would be nice if once we became Christians, we no longer needed nuture and encouragement. After all, we have the Bible and our devotional life to feed upon. Isn't God all we need? I know a song or two supporting that idea. But I don't see it supported by Scripture. Rather, the fellowship of believers is a central theme of the New Testament. We don't become instant givers when we become Christians. We move into a give-and-take relationship with other believers. At first, it's mostly take with little to give. Later, we give more and take less. But even the most mature Christian needs encouragement and nuture from the body of believers. They need the prayers of others. They need to be valued and listened to. I don't believe that there is anyone who can't benefit from a listening ear. We are all takers at various times in various relationships. Part of being a giving church is recognizing that there is no one who doesn't occasionally need to take a break from giving and become a taker for at least a few moments.
The "not about you" people discredit the needs of the believers in calling attention to the needs of the lost outside the doors. What they fail to see is that the best ministry doesn't discriminate between "lost" and "found" but embraces all as loved of God.
If we believe that every human soul longs to worship, then we have to believe that true worship is attractive to all. Thus, the goal of church gatherings should be to facilitate that level of worship. At which point, we discover that worship is about the worshippers and the Object of their worship, not the nonbelievers.
The "not about you" people fear that such an approach will take us back to the 1950s, to outmoded music and a vocabulary that makes the old people comfortable but has no attraction to anyone without a background in that era. I'm not so sure. I see a lot of boredom on the faces of those stuck in the 1950s in worship styles. They wouldn't be happy driving 1950s cars with no air conditioning or cruise control. I don't think they're really happy with 1950s worship either. They just don't want to be dragged into unfamiliar territory and left floundering while all the attention is focused on the "lost".
What would happen if we focused on facilitating true worship for everyone in the church, including "you"? It would take some listening and some giving. Is there a chance that people standing outside looking in might be attracted to a group that values everyone equally?
I've decided that every time I hear the words "It's not about you" spoken in reference to worship styles, I will make a mental note that the speaker has chosen an extreme position. I know that there is often justification for moving to one extreme in order to provide a counterweight to those on the other extreme, but I still need to be aware that what I'm hearing needs some of that other extreme in order to get good balance.
If you take away all other voices, telling the church that church is "not about you" is exposed as ludicrous. The church of Jesus Christ is composed of his disciples. Those disciples meet together in order to worship as a community and to encourage each other in the faith. How can someone come in and tell those people that their meetings are not about them? Can you imagine encountering that statement in the writings of the apostle Paul?
"In him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spririt (Ephesians 2:22)"
"When you come together, everyone has a hymn, or a word of instruction, a revelation, a tongue or an interpretation. All of these must be done for the strengthening of the church. (1 Corinthians 14:26)"
"Oh, and by the way, it's not about you (???)"
The church is the fellowship of the disciples of Jesus Christ. We are the church. It's ALL about us! It's what we do. We gather as a community of believers. We worship together. We pray together. We encourage each other. We enjoy the warmth of fellowship. If we're structuring our meetings in a way that hinders those basic activities in the name of ministry to nonbelievers who may join us, something is wrong.
What prompts people to make statements such as "It's not about you"? A concern for evangelism. They want our meetings to be attractive to nonbelievers. They want our meetings to be evangelistic events rather than simply times of adoration and encouragement.
I have a theory that a church made up of people who enjoy depth in their worship and warmth in their fellowship will be naturally attractive to nonbelievers. The only missing ingredient is an open door to those nonbelievers. I think it's the open door that those who make the "not about you" statement are advocating.
So where does the balance lie? I suppose it would be nice if once we became Christians, we no longer needed nuture and encouragement. After all, we have the Bible and our devotional life to feed upon. Isn't God all we need? I know a song or two supporting that idea. But I don't see it supported by Scripture. Rather, the fellowship of believers is a central theme of the New Testament. We don't become instant givers when we become Christians. We move into a give-and-take relationship with other believers. At first, it's mostly take with little to give. Later, we give more and take less. But even the most mature Christian needs encouragement and nuture from the body of believers. They need the prayers of others. They need to be valued and listened to. I don't believe that there is anyone who can't benefit from a listening ear. We are all takers at various times in various relationships. Part of being a giving church is recognizing that there is no one who doesn't occasionally need to take a break from giving and become a taker for at least a few moments.
The "not about you" people discredit the needs of the believers in calling attention to the needs of the lost outside the doors. What they fail to see is that the best ministry doesn't discriminate between "lost" and "found" but embraces all as loved of God.
If we believe that every human soul longs to worship, then we have to believe that true worship is attractive to all. Thus, the goal of church gatherings should be to facilitate that level of worship. At which point, we discover that worship is about the worshippers and the Object of their worship, not the nonbelievers.
The "not about you" people fear that such an approach will take us back to the 1950s, to outmoded music and a vocabulary that makes the old people comfortable but has no attraction to anyone without a background in that era. I'm not so sure. I see a lot of boredom on the faces of those stuck in the 1950s in worship styles. They wouldn't be happy driving 1950s cars with no air conditioning or cruise control. I don't think they're really happy with 1950s worship either. They just don't want to be dragged into unfamiliar territory and left floundering while all the attention is focused on the "lost".
What would happen if we focused on facilitating true worship for everyone in the church, including "you"? It would take some listening and some giving. Is there a chance that people standing outside looking in might be attracted to a group that values everyone equally?
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Motivation for biting
A friend was speaking of a situation today and I noticed she was using the tone of voice she uses when I say something annoying. Except I was not the cause of the tone today. It was a whole group of people who had irritated her. Although I’m part of that group and was indeed among the offenders, it took more than me to trigger the tone of voice. As she laid out her view of the reason for this annoying behavior, I was struck by the box that she drew around our motivations for acting as we are acting. We lack commitment. We don’t want to get involved. Our priorities are not as they should be. She was trying to be kind in sharing her concerns with us, but could find no other way to characterize our lack of responsiveness. Thus, the awkward tone. It stemmed from discovering troublesome deficiencies in people who ought to be doing better and trying to address those deficiencies without offending anyone.
I’m reminded of a class I once took on "organizational behavior." The author of the textbook for the class pointed out that we tend to assess our own failures as being a response to outside forces, i.e. circumstances prevent us from doing what we ought to do. However, we tend to assess the deficiencies of others as stemming from inner forces, i.e. they could easily do the right thing if only they had the necessary motivation. This was a classic example of that mindset.
I’m in the group of noncommital people who are not stepping up to the plate to take a turn at bat. If my friend were to ask me why and genuinely invite me to share my thoughts on the subject, I would cite outside hindrances. I’d like to be more involved, but there are obstacles in my path. She’s not asking the question. In her mind, she already knows the answer. And that answer lies within me. Even if she asked and listened to my answer, she would discount the obstacles as much less significant than I’m making them. The bottom line is, I don’t care like I ought to care. If I did, I would pick up my bat and start swinging.
How do we break through impasses such as this?
In another situation, a person is being assessed as being involved in deliberate wrongdoing. I have heard the statement, "He knew what he was doing was wrong," over and over. Not only are those making that statement assigning faulty motivation but a deliberate choice of wrong over right. No quarter is being given. He did wrong and must pay for his deeds. There has even been talk of bringing in the law, or at least threatening to call the media.
Is what they are saying true? Not from the point of view of the accused. I’ve talked to him. He admits that he "screwed up" but truly believes he had the best motivations for what he did and was more right than wrong. I suspect that both the court of law and the media would find his version of what happened more compelling than that of those accusing him of wrongdoing.
I’m in the middle, standing between the mob with their pitchforks and torches and the ogre with his admirable goals but disgusting social habits. How do I persuade the mob to go back to their homes and businesses and give up exposing the onion-like ogre as a monster? This impasse has exposed a rather ugly side of several among the mob. I feel sort of like I did years ago when one child took another’s coloring book and refused to give it back per my instructions and the offended child took matter into his own hands, er, teeth, by biting the offender. I couldn’t decide which crime to address first and how to balance the punishment. It was a watershed moment in developing my skills as a parent. But in this case, I’m not the parent and these aren’t children. Sending them to separate rooms to play apart since they can’t play well together isn’t an option.
In discussing this situation with a team member, I observed that there is some "biting" happening on both sides in response to perceived wrongs. The response I received was that this should not be. Adults should act like adults and not stoop to returning evil for evil. Knowing that the person saying this was a minister, I asked about her beliefs concerning the innate depravity of our species. She seems to think we should suppress our depravity. I don’t disagree with her, but my observation is that our best approaches to suppression tend to develop leaks under pressure.
Are people basically self-centered? The doctrine of the depravity of man would certainly support that position. However, the tempering factor that saves human society is that self is generally best served by at least giving the appearance of being honest and upright and having good social skills. By doing good, we feel good about ourselves, like we’ve earned a right to live on this earth and to be treated decently by others.
My minister friend seems to think that mature people should be good for goodness sake rather than because it yields positive results. My annoyed friend seems to think that we aren’t even motivated enough to be good because of the built-in social benefits of goodness. Meanwhile, it seems to me that we’re all doing the best we can given the circumstances under which we’re living – whether for goodness sake or in response to social pressures is debatable. The crunch comes when the cost-to-benefit ratio of doing the right thing increases. How many will continue to do good when it doesn’t pay well even in intangible benefits?
I don’t know that I have any answers here, but after twelve days, it seemed like it was time to say something and this has been on my mind.
I’m reminded of a class I once took on "organizational behavior." The author of the textbook for the class pointed out that we tend to assess our own failures as being a response to outside forces, i.e. circumstances prevent us from doing what we ought to do. However, we tend to assess the deficiencies of others as stemming from inner forces, i.e. they could easily do the right thing if only they had the necessary motivation. This was a classic example of that mindset.
I’m in the group of noncommital people who are not stepping up to the plate to take a turn at bat. If my friend were to ask me why and genuinely invite me to share my thoughts on the subject, I would cite outside hindrances. I’d like to be more involved, but there are obstacles in my path. She’s not asking the question. In her mind, she already knows the answer. And that answer lies within me. Even if she asked and listened to my answer, she would discount the obstacles as much less significant than I’m making them. The bottom line is, I don’t care like I ought to care. If I did, I would pick up my bat and start swinging.
How do we break through impasses such as this?
In another situation, a person is being assessed as being involved in deliberate wrongdoing. I have heard the statement, "He knew what he was doing was wrong," over and over. Not only are those making that statement assigning faulty motivation but a deliberate choice of wrong over right. No quarter is being given. He did wrong and must pay for his deeds. There has even been talk of bringing in the law, or at least threatening to call the media.
Is what they are saying true? Not from the point of view of the accused. I’ve talked to him. He admits that he "screwed up" but truly believes he had the best motivations for what he did and was more right than wrong. I suspect that both the court of law and the media would find his version of what happened more compelling than that of those accusing him of wrongdoing.
I’m in the middle, standing between the mob with their pitchforks and torches and the ogre with his admirable goals but disgusting social habits. How do I persuade the mob to go back to their homes and businesses and give up exposing the onion-like ogre as a monster? This impasse has exposed a rather ugly side of several among the mob. I feel sort of like I did years ago when one child took another’s coloring book and refused to give it back per my instructions and the offended child took matter into his own hands, er, teeth, by biting the offender. I couldn’t decide which crime to address first and how to balance the punishment. It was a watershed moment in developing my skills as a parent. But in this case, I’m not the parent and these aren’t children. Sending them to separate rooms to play apart since they can’t play well together isn’t an option.
In discussing this situation with a team member, I observed that there is some "biting" happening on both sides in response to perceived wrongs. The response I received was that this should not be. Adults should act like adults and not stoop to returning evil for evil. Knowing that the person saying this was a minister, I asked about her beliefs concerning the innate depravity of our species. She seems to think we should suppress our depravity. I don’t disagree with her, but my observation is that our best approaches to suppression tend to develop leaks under pressure.
Are people basically self-centered? The doctrine of the depravity of man would certainly support that position. However, the tempering factor that saves human society is that self is generally best served by at least giving the appearance of being honest and upright and having good social skills. By doing good, we feel good about ourselves, like we’ve earned a right to live on this earth and to be treated decently by others.
My minister friend seems to think that mature people should be good for goodness sake rather than because it yields positive results. My annoyed friend seems to think that we aren’t even motivated enough to be good because of the built-in social benefits of goodness. Meanwhile, it seems to me that we’re all doing the best we can given the circumstances under which we’re living – whether for goodness sake or in response to social pressures is debatable. The crunch comes when the cost-to-benefit ratio of doing the right thing increases. How many will continue to do good when it doesn’t pay well even in intangible benefits?
I don’t know that I have any answers here, but after twelve days, it seemed like it was time to say something and this has been on my mind.
Friday, April 07, 2006
The Piano Tuner
I once read an internet exchange in which one of the participants was a stay-at-home mom. I can’t remember how it came up but she mentioned that it wasn’t like she was so lonely she carried on conversations with service people. I guess I’m that lonely. I’ve always enjoyed chatting with people who come to my house to fix my appliances or do construction work. I try to keep in mind that they are charging by the hour whether they’re working or talking but figure a few minutes here and there won’t cost me an arm and a leg. Most of them are interesting people who are part of my rural community, often with mutual interests such as the school or church. It would seem odd to me to not say anything to them while they were in my home.
One of my most frequent visitors in that category is the piano tuner. I don’t have my piano tuned as often as I ought, but I generally call him at least once a year unless my brother from Florida happens to be on one of his cross-country piano-tuning tours. It has probably been 20 years since the first time he tuned my piano and he and my brother are the only ones that have tuned it since that first time. He told me Tuesday that he’s 81 years old. Not surprisingly, mention of “the fields of Flander” will bring tears to his eyes. He occasionally speaks of the war, not frequently, but with a grief that has endured all the years since he served in Europe as a young man.
The piano tuner is an actor. He has played “Daddy Warbucks” and is an obvious choice for that role. He and his wife are frequently in plays at a small theater in our county seat. I’ve never met his wife and never seen him perform. Their next play is in June. I would like to make a point to be there for one of the performances. Maybe this time it will work out to do that.
The piano tuner is Catholic. He’s a family man. I think he told me Tuesday that his wife bore 12 children. Later I think he mentioned that they raised 11 children. He’s told me about his children enough over the years that I ought to know the count but it slips my mind. His children are multi-talented. Six of his girls sing the national anthem in four-part harmony at major sporting events in Indianapolis. Several have been or are professional musicians. He loves his children and is justifiably proud of them.
The piano tuner loves his wife. Every time he comes he tells me again about how petite she is, yet she raised those 11 children and is still going strong today. He knows that I’m a librarian and asked me Tuesday why I wasn’t working. I told him the library didn’t open until 1:00 pm. Then with a smile I pointed out that I actually was working, just not outside the home. That reminded him of the time someone asked his wife, “Oh, you don’t work?” Apparently, they didn’t think that raising 11 children counted as working. He finds her amazing.
The piano tuner likes to talk. He told me of the time he was at the national piano tuners conference and a young lady was speaking and said that when she went to a house to “talk to” a piano, she explained to the homeowners, that she could not talk and tune their piano at the same time and requested that they not bother her. He nudged the man next to him and noted that his response to that statement would be to ask her to leave. The reason he’s still tuning pianos at 81 is because of the people.
The piano tuner likes me. I try to choose tasks while he’s tuning that keep me within easy earshot of the livingroom. He takes occasional breaks and will make enough noise to draw me back for another short chat. Or he will call my name and ask me for something small such as a table knife or a cough drop. Tuesday he called me back to the room several times simply so he could tell me something that had crossed his mind. I didn’t mind. The tuning takes around an hour and a half including the chit-chat. I can generally get a few things done during that time and it only happens once a year or so.
I like the piano tuner. He’s an interesting person, different from my usual partners in conversation. Plus he likes me. As I wrote out a check to pay him Tuesday he said, “If I’ve never told you before, I’ll tell you now: You’re one of my favorite customers.” He’s told me that before. It still makes me feel good. I’m aware that I don’t always wear well with people. It’s nice to know that at least one person still enjoys talking to me after 20 years. His rates for making me feel good about myself are lower than a therapist and come with a piano tuning and interesting conversation. It’s not a bad exchange at all.
I hope that if I make it to 81, I can find ways to still be a blessing to those around me. Like the piano tuner.
One of my most frequent visitors in that category is the piano tuner. I don’t have my piano tuned as often as I ought, but I generally call him at least once a year unless my brother from Florida happens to be on one of his cross-country piano-tuning tours. It has probably been 20 years since the first time he tuned my piano and he and my brother are the only ones that have tuned it since that first time. He told me Tuesday that he’s 81 years old. Not surprisingly, mention of “the fields of Flander” will bring tears to his eyes. He occasionally speaks of the war, not frequently, but with a grief that has endured all the years since he served in Europe as a young man.
The piano tuner is an actor. He has played “Daddy Warbucks” and is an obvious choice for that role. He and his wife are frequently in plays at a small theater in our county seat. I’ve never met his wife and never seen him perform. Their next play is in June. I would like to make a point to be there for one of the performances. Maybe this time it will work out to do that.
The piano tuner is Catholic. He’s a family man. I think he told me Tuesday that his wife bore 12 children. Later I think he mentioned that they raised 11 children. He’s told me about his children enough over the years that I ought to know the count but it slips my mind. His children are multi-talented. Six of his girls sing the national anthem in four-part harmony at major sporting events in Indianapolis. Several have been or are professional musicians. He loves his children and is justifiably proud of them.
The piano tuner loves his wife. Every time he comes he tells me again about how petite she is, yet she raised those 11 children and is still going strong today. He knows that I’m a librarian and asked me Tuesday why I wasn’t working. I told him the library didn’t open until 1:00 pm. Then with a smile I pointed out that I actually was working, just not outside the home. That reminded him of the time someone asked his wife, “Oh, you don’t work?” Apparently, they didn’t think that raising 11 children counted as working. He finds her amazing.
The piano tuner likes to talk. He told me of the time he was at the national piano tuners conference and a young lady was speaking and said that when she went to a house to “talk to” a piano, she explained to the homeowners, that she could not talk and tune their piano at the same time and requested that they not bother her. He nudged the man next to him and noted that his response to that statement would be to ask her to leave. The reason he’s still tuning pianos at 81 is because of the people.
The piano tuner likes me. I try to choose tasks while he’s tuning that keep me within easy earshot of the livingroom. He takes occasional breaks and will make enough noise to draw me back for another short chat. Or he will call my name and ask me for something small such as a table knife or a cough drop. Tuesday he called me back to the room several times simply so he could tell me something that had crossed his mind. I didn’t mind. The tuning takes around an hour and a half including the chit-chat. I can generally get a few things done during that time and it only happens once a year or so.
I like the piano tuner. He’s an interesting person, different from my usual partners in conversation. Plus he likes me. As I wrote out a check to pay him Tuesday he said, “If I’ve never told you before, I’ll tell you now: You’re one of my favorite customers.” He’s told me that before. It still makes me feel good. I’m aware that I don’t always wear well with people. It’s nice to know that at least one person still enjoys talking to me after 20 years. His rates for making me feel good about myself are lower than a therapist and come with a piano tuning and interesting conversation. It’s not a bad exchange at all.
I hope that if I make it to 81, I can find ways to still be a blessing to those around me. Like the piano tuner.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Thoughts while sitting in the dark
A “severe thunderstorm” has passed by and severed our connection with the power grid. I was putting the final touches on an e-mail on the desktop computer when the lights went out and all my carefully constructed words were reduced to a pile of 1's and 0's back in the old bit bucket. Sigh. Will I ever be able to construct them into anything close to the masterpiece I lost? Ok, it was just a simple response to a friend asking about strategies for purchasing airfare on the internet. Maybe I can remember my main points. Still, it’s sad to lose words that have been strung together with care. I’ve had much greater disasters involving computers and writing projects, but even small ones bring some measure of loss.
So here I am on my laptop with 2:21 hours of battery power, which ought to get me into the territory of “reasonable” bedtime. I have an old-fashioned oil lamp lit to soften the contrast between the laptop screen on its lowest brightness setting and the darkness of a house with no power on a rainy night.
The possibilities for evening activities without power are surprisingly limited. What did people do in the days before oil was found to be useful? More, what did we do during evening power outages before the laptop purchase? I suppose I should be playing games with someone. I can’t remember the last time game-playing was at the top of my list of preferred activities. My husband and I discovered early in our relationship that we would remain friends much longer if we never played games with each other. It's not something I particularly miss.
Power outages are interesting revelations of how strong habits can be. No matter how many light switches I flip without any light being produced, I continue to reach out and flip them periodically as I move from room to room. At some level I always expect the next one to work and am disappointed anew when it doesn't.
On the other hand, I’m always surprised that the piano works. The stereo doesn’t. The television doesn’t. The computers don’t. Nor the refrigerator, microwave, or answering machine. The phone on the wall works, but not the cordless phones. The flashlights work but only until their batteries are dead. The portable radio telling us of local storm damage also has limited battery life. My lamp will run out of oil eventually if I leave it on. We have running water but only until the pressure tank is empty. But the piano simply works – no batteries, no electricity, no time limit. It’s a purely mechanical appliance. I don’t know why, but this amazes me. I might even play it if it if my husband weren’t choosing sleep as his way to while away the hours of darkness and the piano weren’t so badly in need of tuning. It finally has reached the point where I called the piano tuner last week. He will be here Tuesday morning. The power will surely be back on long before then, but it doesn’t matter. He starts with an old-fashioned tuning fork and does the whole thing by ear. No external power source needed.
So even in the dark I could be making thunderous music right here in our livingroom without draining power from anything but my own fingers and arms. I wonder what else we could do mechanically if electricity weren’t so convenient? We may never know unless the world forces us to quit using up the earth’s resources and melting the polar ice-cap with our insatiable appetite for electric power.
The Children’s Museum at Indianapolis used to have a stationary bike that generated electricity. It took sustained, high-energy pedaling to turn on a lightbulb and I never managed to get the small television turned on. Just think what it would do to alleviate America’s obesity problem if every television were powered by pedaling. Families could get additional pedals and share the load for extended times of viewing or for a bigger screen.
Our kitchens could be peddle-powered, too. We could put a hot dog in the microwave and pedal like mad until the end burst open. I wonder if we would break even calorie-wise on that deal.
Meanwhile, it has been almost two hours since the lights went out. I can save this but I can’t post. I hear snoring from the sleep-it-off half of the household. It might be time to make sure all the light switches are in the “off” position, blow out the lamp, and call it a night.
Wait ... there’s a hardly-used modem in this laptop. The phone line is live. Yes, I think I can post if I can find my way through the darkness to an appropriate phone jack. THEN I’ll call it a night.
Enjoy your electricity, dear readers. Hopefully, the power outage is over as you read this. There have been a couple of hopeful flickers and I’m confident that our faithful linemen will prevail.
So here I am on my laptop with 2:21 hours of battery power, which ought to get me into the territory of “reasonable” bedtime. I have an old-fashioned oil lamp lit to soften the contrast between the laptop screen on its lowest brightness setting and the darkness of a house with no power on a rainy night.
The possibilities for evening activities without power are surprisingly limited. What did people do in the days before oil was found to be useful? More, what did we do during evening power outages before the laptop purchase? I suppose I should be playing games with someone. I can’t remember the last time game-playing was at the top of my list of preferred activities. My husband and I discovered early in our relationship that we would remain friends much longer if we never played games with each other. It's not something I particularly miss.
Power outages are interesting revelations of how strong habits can be. No matter how many light switches I flip without any light being produced, I continue to reach out and flip them periodically as I move from room to room. At some level I always expect the next one to work and am disappointed anew when it doesn't.
On the other hand, I’m always surprised that the piano works. The stereo doesn’t. The television doesn’t. The computers don’t. Nor the refrigerator, microwave, or answering machine. The phone on the wall works, but not the cordless phones. The flashlights work but only until their batteries are dead. The portable radio telling us of local storm damage also has limited battery life. My lamp will run out of oil eventually if I leave it on. We have running water but only until the pressure tank is empty. But the piano simply works – no batteries, no electricity, no time limit. It’s a purely mechanical appliance. I don’t know why, but this amazes me. I might even play it if it if my husband weren’t choosing sleep as his way to while away the hours of darkness and the piano weren’t so badly in need of tuning. It finally has reached the point where I called the piano tuner last week. He will be here Tuesday morning. The power will surely be back on long before then, but it doesn’t matter. He starts with an old-fashioned tuning fork and does the whole thing by ear. No external power source needed.
So even in the dark I could be making thunderous music right here in our livingroom without draining power from anything but my own fingers and arms. I wonder what else we could do mechanically if electricity weren’t so convenient? We may never know unless the world forces us to quit using up the earth’s resources and melting the polar ice-cap with our insatiable appetite for electric power.
The Children’s Museum at Indianapolis used to have a stationary bike that generated electricity. It took sustained, high-energy pedaling to turn on a lightbulb and I never managed to get the small television turned on. Just think what it would do to alleviate America’s obesity problem if every television were powered by pedaling. Families could get additional pedals and share the load for extended times of viewing or for a bigger screen.
Our kitchens could be peddle-powered, too. We could put a hot dog in the microwave and pedal like mad until the end burst open. I wonder if we would break even calorie-wise on that deal.
Meanwhile, it has been almost two hours since the lights went out. I can save this but I can’t post. I hear snoring from the sleep-it-off half of the household. It might be time to make sure all the light switches are in the “off” position, blow out the lamp, and call it a night.
Wait ... there’s a hardly-used modem in this laptop. The phone line is live. Yes, I think I can post if I can find my way through the darkness to an appropriate phone jack. THEN I’ll call it a night.
Enjoy your electricity, dear readers. Hopefully, the power outage is over as you read this. There have been a couple of hopeful flickers and I’m confident that our faithful linemen will prevail.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Frustration, Trust, Cooperation, and Synergy
In Stephen Covey’s book The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, the author recommends that one teach or at least discuss the material in the book within 48 hours of reading it. I first read the book not long after its 1989 publication date. A few weeks ago I started teaching from it. That’s a little over the 48-hour recommended gap between learning and teaching but it took that long for the teaching opportunity to come along.
As I’ve gone through the book again, I’ve been surprised by how much of it I have retained, not necessarily in my mind as something I read in that particular book, but as a “habit,” you might say. I have a personal mission statement that I first developed while reading that book and have updated periodically over the years. I review it now and again and consider how my default priorities correlate with the goals therein. I try to plan by the month and week rather than one day at a time - when I’m on top of things enough to plan at all. An occasional thought pops into my mind about things like paradigm shifts and emotional bank accounts and the contrast between my "circle of concern" and my "circle of influence", concepts I first encountered in The 7 Habits ...
I’ve also forgotten much of what I read in the book, enough that I’m pretty much stuck at being sort of rather than highly effective. Maybe teaching it will help my retention and I will be able to move up to somewhat effective. Or maybe not.
Last week’s lesson was on Habit #6 – “Synergize®” As predicted, teaching the material is increasing its impact in my own mind. I’ve been pondering the concept of synergy (the whole is more than the sum of the parts) all week.
There’s a graph in the chapter on synergy. I’m a mathematical thinker. Graphs speak to me and stick with me. On the graph, the ‘y’ axis is trust; the ‘x’ axis is cooperation. When trust and cooperation are low, people tend to find Win/Lose solutions to conflict. One side wins, the other loses. Moderate levels of trust and cooperation might lead to compromise, everyone loses a little and wins a little. It takes high levels of both trust and cooperation to discover Win/Win solutions through synergy, a final answer better than any of the initial solutions proposed by those involved in the discussion/conflict.
Set against this concept in my mind are some frustrating situations in my life. I’m banging my head against the wall. I look at the situations and long for an atmosphere that would enable synergistic Win/Win solutions. Instead, I find people who are too bent on winning to care that I’m losing and who are not interested in cooperating with me. As a result, according to Habit #4 (Think Win/Win) we’re all losing. Dr. Covey makes the point in that chapter that those who make Win/Lose choices actually lose. In the end, there is no Win/Lose or Lose/Win, only Win/Win or Lose/Lose.
This frustrates me, to put it mildly. Why can’t we sit down and let synergy do its magic as we come up with a Win/Win solution that is better than any one person can formulate alone? I’m not the only one frustrated by walls being erected in the organization as a result of mistrust. Why can’t we address the issues together and work toward synergistic solutions?
As I’ve thought about this, it has occurred to me that my own frustration is both a symptom of the problem and a cause of the problem. Those building the walls don’t trust me and are not willing to cooperate with me. They simply put up walls and shut me out of the decision-making process. Hearing me bang my head against those walls bolsters their confidence that the walls were a good idea. As my frustration at losing mounts, their desire to interact with me decreases. Shut the door. Keep her out. She can’t be trusted. There’s no use trying to cooperate with her. Take the win. Don’t worry about the losers. Losers are emotionally unstable and irrational. I end up isolated and alone behind the wall. No one hears my cries. Many around me are dealing with their own walls.
There is one other option besides Win/Win or Lose/Lose according to Dr. Covey - No Deal. Neither side wins; neither side loses. The parties involved agree that there will be no solution and either go their separate ways or move on to other priorities depending on the desirability of a continued relationship.
One side cannot force a Win/Win solution if the other side isn’t willing to trust and cooperate. That leaves Lose/Lose or No Deal. However, if a wonderful, synergistic Win/Win solution is lost through No Deal, isn’t that also a loss?
To reach Win/Win, one side has to decide to trust and cooperate with the other, even when trust has been previously violated. I can’t do it. These people have shown a willingness to shut people out (including me), a lack of concern for the interests of others. Even though it may be my own frustration that has prompted them to shut the door on me, I still can’t trust them enough to take the first step toward cooperation while they're still blocking me out.
It’s at this point that I’m thrown back on my faith. I can’t trust the people involved to care about me, but I can choose to trust God to do so. Jesus taught that those who freely accept Lose/Win decisions that are forced on them are winners in the end. (See Matthew 5:38-41) That Win may be a long time coming. Or maybe not. If I offer cooperation and express trust in God that the wall will not finally defeat me, is there hope that trust and cooperation will be offered in return? It’s something to ponder anyhow.
An old poem whose origins are lost to me comes to mind:
He drew a circle that shut me out
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win,
We drew a circle that took him in.
I need to go look for some circle-drawing chalk.
As I’ve gone through the book again, I’ve been surprised by how much of it I have retained, not necessarily in my mind as something I read in that particular book, but as a “habit,” you might say. I have a personal mission statement that I first developed while reading that book and have updated periodically over the years. I review it now and again and consider how my default priorities correlate with the goals therein. I try to plan by the month and week rather than one day at a time - when I’m on top of things enough to plan at all. An occasional thought pops into my mind about things like paradigm shifts and emotional bank accounts and the contrast between my "circle of concern" and my "circle of influence", concepts I first encountered in The 7 Habits ...
I’ve also forgotten much of what I read in the book, enough that I’m pretty much stuck at being sort of rather than highly effective. Maybe teaching it will help my retention and I will be able to move up to somewhat effective. Or maybe not.
Last week’s lesson was on Habit #6 – “Synergize®” As predicted, teaching the material is increasing its impact in my own mind. I’ve been pondering the concept of synergy (the whole is more than the sum of the parts) all week.
There’s a graph in the chapter on synergy. I’m a mathematical thinker. Graphs speak to me and stick with me. On the graph, the ‘y’ axis is trust; the ‘x’ axis is cooperation. When trust and cooperation are low, people tend to find Win/Lose solutions to conflict. One side wins, the other loses. Moderate levels of trust and cooperation might lead to compromise, everyone loses a little and wins a little. It takes high levels of both trust and cooperation to discover Win/Win solutions through synergy, a final answer better than any of the initial solutions proposed by those involved in the discussion/conflict.
Set against this concept in my mind are some frustrating situations in my life. I’m banging my head against the wall. I look at the situations and long for an atmosphere that would enable synergistic Win/Win solutions. Instead, I find people who are too bent on winning to care that I’m losing and who are not interested in cooperating with me. As a result, according to Habit #4 (Think Win/Win) we’re all losing. Dr. Covey makes the point in that chapter that those who make Win/Lose choices actually lose. In the end, there is no Win/Lose or Lose/Win, only Win/Win or Lose/Lose.
This frustrates me, to put it mildly. Why can’t we sit down and let synergy do its magic as we come up with a Win/Win solution that is better than any one person can formulate alone? I’m not the only one frustrated by walls being erected in the organization as a result of mistrust. Why can’t we address the issues together and work toward synergistic solutions?
As I’ve thought about this, it has occurred to me that my own frustration is both a symptom of the problem and a cause of the problem. Those building the walls don’t trust me and are not willing to cooperate with me. They simply put up walls and shut me out of the decision-making process. Hearing me bang my head against those walls bolsters their confidence that the walls were a good idea. As my frustration at losing mounts, their desire to interact with me decreases. Shut the door. Keep her out. She can’t be trusted. There’s no use trying to cooperate with her. Take the win. Don’t worry about the losers. Losers are emotionally unstable and irrational. I end up isolated and alone behind the wall. No one hears my cries. Many around me are dealing with their own walls.
There is one other option besides Win/Win or Lose/Lose according to Dr. Covey - No Deal. Neither side wins; neither side loses. The parties involved agree that there will be no solution and either go their separate ways or move on to other priorities depending on the desirability of a continued relationship.
One side cannot force a Win/Win solution if the other side isn’t willing to trust and cooperate. That leaves Lose/Lose or No Deal. However, if a wonderful, synergistic Win/Win solution is lost through No Deal, isn’t that also a loss?
To reach Win/Win, one side has to decide to trust and cooperate with the other, even when trust has been previously violated. I can’t do it. These people have shown a willingness to shut people out (including me), a lack of concern for the interests of others. Even though it may be my own frustration that has prompted them to shut the door on me, I still can’t trust them enough to take the first step toward cooperation while they're still blocking me out.
It’s at this point that I’m thrown back on my faith. I can’t trust the people involved to care about me, but I can choose to trust God to do so. Jesus taught that those who freely accept Lose/Win decisions that are forced on them are winners in the end. (See Matthew 5:38-41) That Win may be a long time coming. Or maybe not. If I offer cooperation and express trust in God that the wall will not finally defeat me, is there hope that trust and cooperation will be offered in return? It’s something to ponder anyhow.
An old poem whose origins are lost to me comes to mind:
He drew a circle that shut me out
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win,
We drew a circle that took him in.
I need to go look for some circle-drawing chalk.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Karaoke
Some among the powers-that-be at the church to which I belong have decided that those who decline invitations to join our fellowship of Christian believers may be staying away because they find our services less attractive than alternative activities (i.e. boring). The obvious solution is to do something more interesting than lining up on long wooden pews singing “church songs” together and listening to long prayers and an extended lecture about some passage of the Bible. Thus, one Sunday evening a month is being set aside for “fun and fellowship” rather than the usual Sunday evening service. I have mixed feelings about that move, seeing both positive and negative points, but that’s a topic for another time and place. None of those feelings are strong enough to merit a blog entry. After all, I have yet to find the verse in the Bible that commands Christians to attend two church services every Sunday. Primarily, I’m just going with the flow without comment.
Last evening was our second such event. It was a karaoke night. Having led a sheltered life, this was my first exposure to the activity. I was amazed. The high school student beside me at the table insisted strongly at the outset that “I don’t sing!” However, by the end of the evening, she had joined one or both of her younger brothers and young cousin several times behind the microphone. People who have been part of my church family for years and whom I’ve never heard sing took the microphone voluntarily. For some, the result explained why they don’t participate in special music for church services. Others revealed unknown talents and made me wonder why they’ve never responded to requests for more musicians to become involved in our church music program.
By my unofficial count, there were 47 in attendance for this event, double the number present the week before for an “ordinary” evening service. Of those, eighteen, more than a third, took the microphone for either a solo or group song besides the unison “table songs”. Only three of those who performed do special music in our services on a regular basis. Several who have very nice singing voices declined to participate. Most of the 15 who sang other than those three regular church soloists had not previously revealed their ambitions for public performance. What is it about an open mic and a karaoke machine that breaks down the inhibitions people have about standing in front of a fairly large group of people and displaying their musical skills?
Did I feel the pull? Yes, it was there. Knowing that I might not be the worst singer in the group based on what I was hearing was probably part of that pull. I guess that’s the blessing of those whose dreams and ambitions exceed their musical skills. They make it easier for others to take the risk of embarrassing themselves. I went so far as to look over the selections available to see if one would grab me and propel me to the front. None did. I do often wish I had better singing skills because I would love to be able to include the lyrics when I make music rather than just playing the tune on the piano. The selections available didn’t include any of the songs that stir up those wishes. They were more for fun. If I’m going to do things for fun, I’ll stick to the piano -- Henry Mancini, Floyd Kramer, and such. If karaoke included piano music, I definitely would have been up there doing “The Pink Panther” since the remake of that movie is still playing at the local theater and I love playing Henry Mancini music. Instead, I just enjoyed being part of the audience and sometimes sang along softly. Being the interim pianist for church services, I have no lack of opportunity to display what talents I have on the instrument for which I have the most skills – the piano. In truth, I don’t consider a church service the best setting for a performance since the purpose of such a gathering is to glorify God rather than individuals among the congregation, but the challenge of using my skills to bring others into the presence of God is plenty for me. I don’t need performance opportunities.
I went to the karaoke night with apprehension. Would there be arm-twisting to get people to perform? Would the pressure make anyone uncomfortable? Was it really an event to which one could invite someone who wasn’t part of the church crowd?
I was pleasantly surprised. I had thought that recreational singing was pretty much a lost activity outside people sitting in pews in churches. I had heard that public speaking was among the greatest fears of people. Surely, public singing would be an even greater fear.
I learned some things last night. We have people sitting quietly in the pews every week who would share their musical talents with us given the right opportunity. I'm not sure what to do with this knowledge, how to provide those opportunities as an avenue for ministry, but I find it interesting.
Did the karaoke night accomplish it's purpose of attracting people who think our church services are boring? Well, it brought some people back Sunday night who wouldn't ordinarily return for the evening service. And we had a Methodist join us for a while. Other than that, it was just the usual crowd having some fun together instead of doing the usual pew thing. Maybe that's not a bad thing to accomplish.
Last evening was our second such event. It was a karaoke night. Having led a sheltered life, this was my first exposure to the activity. I was amazed. The high school student beside me at the table insisted strongly at the outset that “I don’t sing!” However, by the end of the evening, she had joined one or both of her younger brothers and young cousin several times behind the microphone. People who have been part of my church family for years and whom I’ve never heard sing took the microphone voluntarily. For some, the result explained why they don’t participate in special music for church services. Others revealed unknown talents and made me wonder why they’ve never responded to requests for more musicians to become involved in our church music program.
By my unofficial count, there were 47 in attendance for this event, double the number present the week before for an “ordinary” evening service. Of those, eighteen, more than a third, took the microphone for either a solo or group song besides the unison “table songs”. Only three of those who performed do special music in our services on a regular basis. Several who have very nice singing voices declined to participate. Most of the 15 who sang other than those three regular church soloists had not previously revealed their ambitions for public performance. What is it about an open mic and a karaoke machine that breaks down the inhibitions people have about standing in front of a fairly large group of people and displaying their musical skills?
Did I feel the pull? Yes, it was there. Knowing that I might not be the worst singer in the group based on what I was hearing was probably part of that pull. I guess that’s the blessing of those whose dreams and ambitions exceed their musical skills. They make it easier for others to take the risk of embarrassing themselves. I went so far as to look over the selections available to see if one would grab me and propel me to the front. None did. I do often wish I had better singing skills because I would love to be able to include the lyrics when I make music rather than just playing the tune on the piano. The selections available didn’t include any of the songs that stir up those wishes. They were more for fun. If I’m going to do things for fun, I’ll stick to the piano -- Henry Mancini, Floyd Kramer, and such. If karaoke included piano music, I definitely would have been up there doing “The Pink Panther” since the remake of that movie is still playing at the local theater and I love playing Henry Mancini music. Instead, I just enjoyed being part of the audience and sometimes sang along softly. Being the interim pianist for church services, I have no lack of opportunity to display what talents I have on the instrument for which I have the most skills – the piano. In truth, I don’t consider a church service the best setting for a performance since the purpose of such a gathering is to glorify God rather than individuals among the congregation, but the challenge of using my skills to bring others into the presence of God is plenty for me. I don’t need performance opportunities.
I went to the karaoke night with apprehension. Would there be arm-twisting to get people to perform? Would the pressure make anyone uncomfortable? Was it really an event to which one could invite someone who wasn’t part of the church crowd?
I was pleasantly surprised. I had thought that recreational singing was pretty much a lost activity outside people sitting in pews in churches. I had heard that public speaking was among the greatest fears of people. Surely, public singing would be an even greater fear.
I learned some things last night. We have people sitting quietly in the pews every week who would share their musical talents with us given the right opportunity. I'm not sure what to do with this knowledge, how to provide those opportunities as an avenue for ministry, but I find it interesting.
Did the karaoke night accomplish it's purpose of attracting people who think our church services are boring? Well, it brought some people back Sunday night who wouldn't ordinarily return for the evening service. And we had a Methodist join us for a while. Other than that, it was just the usual crowd having some fun together instead of doing the usual pew thing. Maybe that's not a bad thing to accomplish.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Good works
I see I passed the one-year anniversary mark of this blog a week ago without notice. I still haven't settled on a theme, a direction, a purpose for the whole blogging experience. The topics I've pondered have been pretty random.
One area I have sort of stayed away is spiritual issues. Maybe it's time to go there.
I was in a Bible study last evening that dealt with Matthew chapter 3 where John the Baptist says to the people coming from Jerusalem for baptism: "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?" The discussion involved the wrath of God. I noticed that the passage didn't actually give the source for the "coming wrath," only mentioned that it was coming. Was it the wrath of God or the wrath of enemies or from some other source? The New Testament deals more with the love of God than the wrath of God. Was it reading too much into this passage to presume that the wrath mentioned was God's wrath?
Asking such a question wouldn't have really fit into the tone of the discussion so I drifted off into my own thoughts. Let's see... are there other New Testament passages about the wrath of God? Yes, Romans chapter 1, verses 18-32. What struck me in this passage, however, is that the consequences of wrong choices were placed in this life. The discussion going on around me focused more on judgment and punishment after death. Does the wrath of God have more to do with eternal damnation or with more immediate natural consequences of godless living? Because the people mentioned chose to ignore God, they suffered the sad consequences of their life choices.
I continued into Romans chapter 2. Ah, here it does indeed talk about the "day of God's wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed." So then, if there is an element of "wrath" that is simply the natural result of decisions made and comes in this life, is there a chance that even in the day of judgment the wrath of God is less overt and more a natural consequence of choices being made that reject the love of God? C.S. Lewis, in The Great Divorce, depicted people choosing to forego heaven because the requirements for entry were offensive to them. They could have entered but it would have cost them dearly and they chose to remain outside. In view of John's assertion that "God is love," can we look at alternative views of the nature of God's wrath?
Then I came to verses 6 and 7 in Romans chapter 2. "God 'will give to each person according to what he has done'. To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality, he will give eternal life." (The inner quotes refer back to two Old Testament passages that give this same message.)
That was the end of my study of God's wrath toward those who do wrong. What's this about those who do good? I know from other passages that it's not good deeds that put us in right relationship with God. We are saved by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8). However, here's an interesting insight into life beyond the narrow gate by which we enter into relationship with God.
"To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality ..." How does one seek glory and honor and immortality by persistence in doing good? Aren't we to do all things for the glory and honor of God? (see 1 Corinthians 10:13) But immortality would be for the person doing good, not for God. Does doing good bring honor and glory in addition to immortality? What is involved in "doing good"? As a young man once asked Jesus (as recorded in Matthew 19:16), "What good thing must I do to get eternal life?" Jesus' response was that he needed to keep the commandments. When the young man pushed for more specific direction, Jesus suggested that if he wanted to be perfect he should sell all his possessions and give to the poor and become one of Jesus' disciples.
Doing good. Valuing people is good. Caring is good. Educating is good. Contributing to the community in various ways is good. Giving is good. Going to bat for the weak and oppressed is good.
Does doing those things result in glory and honor? Possibly. Sometimes it might even be during the lifetime of the do-gooder. Other times the glory and honor might be delayed.
There is mystery in eternal reward. Most paradigms of the modern evangelical church follow a black-and-white pattern. Heaven or hell, which will it be? Eternal reward or eternal punishment? You're either in or out, a sheep or a goat. The Bible isn't nearly so clearcut. It talks about some receiving many blows and others being beaten with few blows (Luke 12:47-48). It talks about great reward in heaven (Matthew 5:12) and being saved but barely and with loss (1 Corinthians 3:15). The parable of the workers in the vineyard (Matthew 20:1-16) ends with everyone receiving the same compensation regardless of the amount of time they spent working, but several other places correlate reward to how one lives, including the Roman passage and Revelation 22:12 where Jesus promises to "give to everyone according to what he has done."
Maybe it's because I'm in a tradition which emphasizes that salvation is obtained by faith rather than works, but I don't hear much about the value of good works. Glory, honor, and immortality. That seems like a pretty good payback for pursuing good works while depending on God's grace for the basic entry level into his kingdom.
One would think that it would be obvious that Christians should do good works. After all, Ephesians 2:10 says that we were "created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." However, that message seems to be lost in the evangelical community. Rather than good works, we're called to focus on evangelism, on saving the lost.
Sometimes I wonder if I need to hole up someplace with my Bible and let it permeate my being without the filter of the church. I wonder how my life would change if I did that and whether it would be a healthy change.
Meanwhile, there is good to be done and little opportunity for withdrawal to lonely places.
One area I have sort of stayed away is spiritual issues. Maybe it's time to go there.
I was in a Bible study last evening that dealt with Matthew chapter 3 where John the Baptist says to the people coming from Jerusalem for baptism: "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?" The discussion involved the wrath of God. I noticed that the passage didn't actually give the source for the "coming wrath," only mentioned that it was coming. Was it the wrath of God or the wrath of enemies or from some other source? The New Testament deals more with the love of God than the wrath of God. Was it reading too much into this passage to presume that the wrath mentioned was God's wrath?
Asking such a question wouldn't have really fit into the tone of the discussion so I drifted off into my own thoughts. Let's see... are there other New Testament passages about the wrath of God? Yes, Romans chapter 1, verses 18-32. What struck me in this passage, however, is that the consequences of wrong choices were placed in this life. The discussion going on around me focused more on judgment and punishment after death. Does the wrath of God have more to do with eternal damnation or with more immediate natural consequences of godless living? Because the people mentioned chose to ignore God, they suffered the sad consequences of their life choices.
I continued into Romans chapter 2. Ah, here it does indeed talk about the "day of God's wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed." So then, if there is an element of "wrath" that is simply the natural result of decisions made and comes in this life, is there a chance that even in the day of judgment the wrath of God is less overt and more a natural consequence of choices being made that reject the love of God? C.S. Lewis, in The Great Divorce, depicted people choosing to forego heaven because the requirements for entry were offensive to them. They could have entered but it would have cost them dearly and they chose to remain outside. In view of John's assertion that "God is love," can we look at alternative views of the nature of God's wrath?
Then I came to verses 6 and 7 in Romans chapter 2. "God 'will give to each person according to what he has done'. To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality, he will give eternal life." (The inner quotes refer back to two Old Testament passages that give this same message.)
That was the end of my study of God's wrath toward those who do wrong. What's this about those who do good? I know from other passages that it's not good deeds that put us in right relationship with God. We are saved by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8). However, here's an interesting insight into life beyond the narrow gate by which we enter into relationship with God.
"To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality ..." How does one seek glory and honor and immortality by persistence in doing good? Aren't we to do all things for the glory and honor of God? (see 1 Corinthians 10:13) But immortality would be for the person doing good, not for God. Does doing good bring honor and glory in addition to immortality? What is involved in "doing good"? As a young man once asked Jesus (as recorded in Matthew 19:16), "What good thing must I do to get eternal life?" Jesus' response was that he needed to keep the commandments. When the young man pushed for more specific direction, Jesus suggested that if he wanted to be perfect he should sell all his possessions and give to the poor and become one of Jesus' disciples.
Doing good. Valuing people is good. Caring is good. Educating is good. Contributing to the community in various ways is good. Giving is good. Going to bat for the weak and oppressed is good.
Does doing those things result in glory and honor? Possibly. Sometimes it might even be during the lifetime of the do-gooder. Other times the glory and honor might be delayed.
There is mystery in eternal reward. Most paradigms of the modern evangelical church follow a black-and-white pattern. Heaven or hell, which will it be? Eternal reward or eternal punishment? You're either in or out, a sheep or a goat. The Bible isn't nearly so clearcut. It talks about some receiving many blows and others being beaten with few blows (Luke 12:47-48). It talks about great reward in heaven (Matthew 5:12) and being saved but barely and with loss (1 Corinthians 3:15). The parable of the workers in the vineyard (Matthew 20:1-16) ends with everyone receiving the same compensation regardless of the amount of time they spent working, but several other places correlate reward to how one lives, including the Roman passage and Revelation 22:12 where Jesus promises to "give to everyone according to what he has done."
Maybe it's because I'm in a tradition which emphasizes that salvation is obtained by faith rather than works, but I don't hear much about the value of good works. Glory, honor, and immortality. That seems like a pretty good payback for pursuing good works while depending on God's grace for the basic entry level into his kingdom.
One would think that it would be obvious that Christians should do good works. After all, Ephesians 2:10 says that we were "created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." However, that message seems to be lost in the evangelical community. Rather than good works, we're called to focus on evangelism, on saving the lost.
Sometimes I wonder if I need to hole up someplace with my Bible and let it permeate my being without the filter of the church. I wonder how my life would change if I did that and whether it would be a healthy change.
Meanwhile, there is good to be done and little opportunity for withdrawal to lonely places.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Weeds and long-toothed enemies
I see it has been two weeks since I posted anything here. I'm pleased to report that it has been a rodent-free two weeks. At least if there are rodents sharing my living quarters they're smart enough to stay quiet and out of sight.
However... I'm still dealing with the lingering effects of the voles in the corner of the basement.
For many years, I've noticed a strange phenomenon in the spring. My houseplants sprout weeds. These are indoor plants, never allowed out of the house. Completely domesticated. Yet, in March or April a weed pops up here and another one there. This leads to several questions in my mind. What is the source of the weed seed? Why only in spring? How does a seed that has somehow managed to invade the fertile soil of a houseplant know when its time to grow?
I've never found the answers to those questions. This year, however, things are different. It's only February. Spring is not here yet. Most of my houseplants are wintering under the grow light in the basement. I move them there to make room for the Christmas tree in December and they tend to stay there until I get around to starting seedlings for the garden under the light. Shortly after my last blog entry, I discovered weeds growing in several of the plants. Why? Why so many? Why in February? They were in bunches as though emerging from a pile of seeds. There were many, many little seedlings.
As the days passed, these seedlings opened up their first leaves and I recognized them -- buckwheat. I know those leaves. They are similar to morning glory leaves but not quite the same. I plant buckwheat in my garden to keep the soil busy when I'm not growing other things. (It has to do with the nature and vacuum conflict.) It grows, blooms in little white flowers of no particular beauty, develops seeds, replants itself, and starts the cycle over. The source that recommended it for this use says to turn it under before it flowers in order to prevent it from becoming a nuisance. I don't bother. I've been planting it for years and it has never become a nuisance. When winter comes it all dies. This is a good thing.
Morning glories on the other hand are determined to lay claim to my entire garden. I pull up hundreds of seedlings all summer long. Always a few escape my notice and manage to produce their quite pleasing flowers, lulling me into thinking that surely just one or two morning glory plants in some quiet corner of the garden can't be all that bad and setting me up for another summer-long battle with morning glory seedlings sneaking into every bed in the garden. It's because of the morning glories that I've come to know buckwheat first leaves so well. I have to be able to distinguish between them in order to wage my battle against the morning glories trying to pass themselves off as buckwheat seedlings.
Buckwheat growing in my houseplants. This is not happenstance. This is the work of the voles. Oh well, the houseplants need something. No big deal. I like having things growing in my little basement garden nook in February.
A week ago, I decided to start some cabbage, cauliflower, and broccoli seeds under the grow lights. It's not that cole crops ever actually develop into anything in my garden, but it gives me something springy to do in February when it's still too early to start tomatoes and such.
I pulled out my meager seed cache (reduced greatly by the vole invaders), my seed trays, and potting soil. I had a new large bag of soil which hadn't been opened, but had a hole in the top. When I opened it up, I discovered not just potting soil but, you guessed it, buckwheat seedlings! They were rather light-starved since they'd been growing in a bag of dirt in a cabinet. I decided to ignore them. I'd simply uproot them and bury them in the seed trays. The decaying plant matter could provide nutrients for the new seedlings. I planted my seeds, watered the tray, put it down under the grow lights, and forgot about it for a few days. When I went to check on it, guess what I found. Many, many seedlings shooting up toward the light. Whoa! I didn't plant this many cabbage seeds. As a farmer once said when confronted with a similar situation in a parable told by Jesus Christ, "An enemy hath done this!" Obviously, there were not only buckwheat seedlings in the potting soil, but also not-yet-germinated buckwheat seeds. How would I tell the difference between the buckwheat and my cole crop seedlings? The farmer in Jesus' parable decided to let both the wheat and the "tares" grow together until the harvest lest pulling up the "tares" destroy the wheat plants, but I decided that I might be able to take a different approach. All week, as soon as the little seedlings open up their first leaves and I positively indentify them as buckwheat I've been nipping them off with a thumbnail. It has helped that there are so many of them and they're growing around the edges of the tray compartments rather than sprouting from the center where I put my seeds.
Yesterday for the first time, I noticed a seedling that looked different from the many buckwheat sprouts still sprouting. It was a darker green. It was growing from the center of the compartment. I think it's the real thing. The color difference will make it easier to continue nipping off the buckwheat without being so concerned that I might be killing off my cole crop before I even get it out into the inhospitable garden plot.
Those voles were busy! They stashed buckwheat in the potting soil, my houseplants, AND my laundry. (Fortunately, it was dry laundry and I managed to get those seeds out the back door before they sprouted.) The evidence of their activity is still popping up these two weeks later.
The mousetraps are staying. I ended up throwing out all the remaining buckwheat seeds and included a new supply with this spring's seed catalog order. Although it's a weed in the basement, I'm still open to the idea of planting it in my garden to choke out more obnoxious weeds.
Death to voles that come in the house! I need to get the word out.
However... I'm still dealing with the lingering effects of the voles in the corner of the basement.
For many years, I've noticed a strange phenomenon in the spring. My houseplants sprout weeds. These are indoor plants, never allowed out of the house. Completely domesticated. Yet, in March or April a weed pops up here and another one there. This leads to several questions in my mind. What is the source of the weed seed? Why only in spring? How does a seed that has somehow managed to invade the fertile soil of a houseplant know when its time to grow?
I've never found the answers to those questions. This year, however, things are different. It's only February. Spring is not here yet. Most of my houseplants are wintering under the grow light in the basement. I move them there to make room for the Christmas tree in December and they tend to stay there until I get around to starting seedlings for the garden under the light. Shortly after my last blog entry, I discovered weeds growing in several of the plants. Why? Why so many? Why in February? They were in bunches as though emerging from a pile of seeds. There were many, many little seedlings.
As the days passed, these seedlings opened up their first leaves and I recognized them -- buckwheat. I know those leaves. They are similar to morning glory leaves but not quite the same. I plant buckwheat in my garden to keep the soil busy when I'm not growing other things. (It has to do with the nature and vacuum conflict.) It grows, blooms in little white flowers of no particular beauty, develops seeds, replants itself, and starts the cycle over. The source that recommended it for this use says to turn it under before it flowers in order to prevent it from becoming a nuisance. I don't bother. I've been planting it for years and it has never become a nuisance. When winter comes it all dies. This is a good thing.
Morning glories on the other hand are determined to lay claim to my entire garden. I pull up hundreds of seedlings all summer long. Always a few escape my notice and manage to produce their quite pleasing flowers, lulling me into thinking that surely just one or two morning glory plants in some quiet corner of the garden can't be all that bad and setting me up for another summer-long battle with morning glory seedlings sneaking into every bed in the garden. It's because of the morning glories that I've come to know buckwheat first leaves so well. I have to be able to distinguish between them in order to wage my battle against the morning glories trying to pass themselves off as buckwheat seedlings.
Buckwheat growing in my houseplants. This is not happenstance. This is the work of the voles. Oh well, the houseplants need something. No big deal. I like having things growing in my little basement garden nook in February.
A week ago, I decided to start some cabbage, cauliflower, and broccoli seeds under the grow lights. It's not that cole crops ever actually develop into anything in my garden, but it gives me something springy to do in February when it's still too early to start tomatoes and such.
I pulled out my meager seed cache (reduced greatly by the vole invaders), my seed trays, and potting soil. I had a new large bag of soil which hadn't been opened, but had a hole in the top. When I opened it up, I discovered not just potting soil but, you guessed it, buckwheat seedlings! They were rather light-starved since they'd been growing in a bag of dirt in a cabinet. I decided to ignore them. I'd simply uproot them and bury them in the seed trays. The decaying plant matter could provide nutrients for the new seedlings. I planted my seeds, watered the tray, put it down under the grow lights, and forgot about it for a few days. When I went to check on it, guess what I found. Many, many seedlings shooting up toward the light. Whoa! I didn't plant this many cabbage seeds. As a farmer once said when confronted with a similar situation in a parable told by Jesus Christ, "An enemy hath done this!" Obviously, there were not only buckwheat seedlings in the potting soil, but also not-yet-germinated buckwheat seeds. How would I tell the difference between the buckwheat and my cole crop seedlings? The farmer in Jesus' parable decided to let both the wheat and the "tares" grow together until the harvest lest pulling up the "tares" destroy the wheat plants, but I decided that I might be able to take a different approach. All week, as soon as the little seedlings open up their first leaves and I positively indentify them as buckwheat I've been nipping them off with a thumbnail. It has helped that there are so many of them and they're growing around the edges of the tray compartments rather than sprouting from the center where I put my seeds.
Yesterday for the first time, I noticed a seedling that looked different from the many buckwheat sprouts still sprouting. It was a darker green. It was growing from the center of the compartment. I think it's the real thing. The color difference will make it easier to continue nipping off the buckwheat without being so concerned that I might be killing off my cole crop before I even get it out into the inhospitable garden plot.
Those voles were busy! They stashed buckwheat in the potting soil, my houseplants, AND my laundry. (Fortunately, it was dry laundry and I managed to get those seeds out the back door before they sprouted.) The evidence of their activity is still popping up these two weeks later.
The mousetraps are staying. I ended up throwing out all the remaining buckwheat seeds and included a new supply with this spring's seed catalog order. Although it's a weed in the basement, I'm still open to the idea of planting it in my garden to choke out more obnoxious weeds.
Death to voles that come in the house! I need to get the word out.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Cold-blooded rodent murder
I drowned two small rodents this week. I held their little heads under water until they quit struggling. I don't remember ever drowning an animal before. (This may be a case of suppressed memories.) A darker side of my personality may be emerging.
Critter #1 was a gray mouse with bright little black button eyes. It was clumsy. Rather than being caught in my trap properly by jostling the trip level while enjoying a last meal of peanut butter, it apparently tripped over the trigger in passing and was caught by its back leg. This, of course, was not fatal. I heard the trap snap shut in the wee hours of the morning in the attic-closet beside our bedroom. I heard the trap being dragged across the floor. I heard rustlings. I heard the trap being dragged around some more. I thought of the mementoes and Christmas decorations stored in that attic space and the destruction done to such items when a mouse discovers them. I wondered how much of the mouse was caught and thought about the possibility of it chewing off the trapped body part and continuing to live in the attic. By the end of an hour, I had moved on to meditating my approach to mouse murder.
Trying to make as little noise as possible in order to avoid disturbing my husband (whose chosen form of mouse elimination is poison), I gathered a flashlight, an old sherbert container, and a magazine. The capture of mouse and trap didn't go as smoothly nor as quietly as I hoped (a couple of involuntary "eeks" escaped my mouth when the mouse got too close for comfort), but eventually I emerged with mouse and trap in the sherbert container and the magazine acting as a lid.
Ordinarily, at this point, I would consider release outside. However, there were a couple of aggravating factors. (1) I wasn't ready to give up my trap and couldn't figure out how to release the mouse without getting bitten. (2) I had been home alone most of the week and this mouse had been impersonating an intruder in the night with its rustlings, depositing droppings on the utensils in my kitchen drawers, and then moving into the attic with our family keepsakes, leaving me with less than kindly feelings toward it. I'll spare you the details of what happened in the bathroom, but it was over fairly quickly and the mouse was dead when I disposed of it on the woods side of the house.
Just a few days later, I found buckwheat seeds in my clean laundry. Grrrrr!!! There were two crimes committed here -- messing up my laundry and wreaking destruction in the drawer in the basement where I store my garden seeds. My thoughts turned to that little gray mouse and I was glad I had drowned it and wished I could do it again. However, when I checked my seed drawer, I heard rustlings in the wall behind the cabinet. Grrr. More traps.
This time I caught voles -- little brown mouse-like rodents. The first two were clean killings. Vole #3 ran off with my trap. I searched high and low through the garden clutter before finding it. Another incomplete kill. It should have been dead. The trap had closed over its neck and skull, doing plenty of damage. Yet, it was still alive at 10 in the morning! I admired its will to live but felt obliged to finish it off after doing so much damage. There was a bucket of collected rainwater outside the basement door. I dropped mouse and trap in the bucket and held it down. I waited for the struggling to stop. And waited. The little critter must have had an extraordinary will to live. It lasted much longer underwater than the mouse did a few days earlier.
Two rodents deprived of life in just a few days. Premeditation in each case. I'm hoping the word gets around the neighborhood rodent population.
I put what seeds weren't ruined in plastic boxes and threw out the rest, but I probably need to do a house inspection for entry points. I prefer to live at peace with my furry woodland neighbors as much as possible.
Critter #1 was a gray mouse with bright little black button eyes. It was clumsy. Rather than being caught in my trap properly by jostling the trip level while enjoying a last meal of peanut butter, it apparently tripped over the trigger in passing and was caught by its back leg. This, of course, was not fatal. I heard the trap snap shut in the wee hours of the morning in the attic-closet beside our bedroom. I heard the trap being dragged across the floor. I heard rustlings. I heard the trap being dragged around some more. I thought of the mementoes and Christmas decorations stored in that attic space and the destruction done to such items when a mouse discovers them. I wondered how much of the mouse was caught and thought about the possibility of it chewing off the trapped body part and continuing to live in the attic. By the end of an hour, I had moved on to meditating my approach to mouse murder.
Trying to make as little noise as possible in order to avoid disturbing my husband (whose chosen form of mouse elimination is poison), I gathered a flashlight, an old sherbert container, and a magazine. The capture of mouse and trap didn't go as smoothly nor as quietly as I hoped (a couple of involuntary "eeks" escaped my mouth when the mouse got too close for comfort), but eventually I emerged with mouse and trap in the sherbert container and the magazine acting as a lid.
Ordinarily, at this point, I would consider release outside. However, there were a couple of aggravating factors. (1) I wasn't ready to give up my trap and couldn't figure out how to release the mouse without getting bitten. (2) I had been home alone most of the week and this mouse had been impersonating an intruder in the night with its rustlings, depositing droppings on the utensils in my kitchen drawers, and then moving into the attic with our family keepsakes, leaving me with less than kindly feelings toward it. I'll spare you the details of what happened in the bathroom, but it was over fairly quickly and the mouse was dead when I disposed of it on the woods side of the house.
Just a few days later, I found buckwheat seeds in my clean laundry. Grrrrr!!! There were two crimes committed here -- messing up my laundry and wreaking destruction in the drawer in the basement where I store my garden seeds. My thoughts turned to that little gray mouse and I was glad I had drowned it and wished I could do it again. However, when I checked my seed drawer, I heard rustlings in the wall behind the cabinet. Grrr. More traps.
This time I caught voles -- little brown mouse-like rodents. The first two were clean killings. Vole #3 ran off with my trap. I searched high and low through the garden clutter before finding it. Another incomplete kill. It should have been dead. The trap had closed over its neck and skull, doing plenty of damage. Yet, it was still alive at 10 in the morning! I admired its will to live but felt obliged to finish it off after doing so much damage. There was a bucket of collected rainwater outside the basement door. I dropped mouse and trap in the bucket and held it down. I waited for the struggling to stop. And waited. The little critter must have had an extraordinary will to live. It lasted much longer underwater than the mouse did a few days earlier.
Two rodents deprived of life in just a few days. Premeditation in each case. I'm hoping the word gets around the neighborhood rodent population.
I put what seeds weren't ruined in plastic boxes and threw out the rest, but I probably need to do a house inspection for entry points. I prefer to live at peace with my furry woodland neighbors as much as possible.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Serving the public
I am the librarian at a small public library in a rural community. Our collection includes microfilm of 125 years or so of the local weekly newspaper. Until sometime in 2004, we had a microfilm viewer with no printing capabilities. If someone wanted to take away information from the newspaper archive, they either had to copy it by hand or request a copy from the state library, which also maintains newspaper archives.
In 2004, thanks to the generosity of a donor and ongoing improvements in technology, we were able to purchase a microfilm viewer/scanner. It uses TWAIN (Technology Without An Interesting Name) to feed a scanned image of what is on the microfilm to a computer where it can be manipulated and printed or sent out by e-mail.
This piece of technology has been a mixed blessing. Our prints tend to be low quality with some areas too dark to read and others too light and most everything a bit blurred. I’ve invested much time trying to find the key to legible copies. The most recent breakthrough was when I discovered that our color inkjet printer gives better results than the laser printer. Things still aren’t perfectly clear, but they’re better. Trying alternative image-processing software has also helped.
This week a couple came into the library wanting to do newspaper research and I set them up on the microfilm reader/scanner, letting them know that we could indeed produce prints using our circulation computer if desired, although we struggle with the quality of those prints. A while later, they informed my coworker that they had found a page they wanted printed and I left my office work to assist with the process.
Could we print the entire sheet? No, only what is in the viewing area of the reader – about half a page at a time. That was a disappointment but they positioned the top half of a page of ads in the viewer and asked for a print of it. I grabbed the computer between patrons checking out library materials and did the scan. This was the first time we’d ever tried to capture the entire screen. I was pleased by the on-screen quality of the scan. I sent it to the inkjet printer and stepped out of the way so that my coworker could process checkouts for the next patron.
We waited. And waited. And waited. I checked to see if the printer was on. It was. Finally, it came to life and picked up a sheet of paper and printed a fraction of an inch. Then stopped. Then printed another small portion. My coworker reported that the circulation software was bogged down. We were obviously taxing the capacity of the computer. Mrs. Researcher found the process annoyingly slow.
Finally, the finished product emerged. I was amazed. The entire half sheet of newsprint was landscaped on 8 ½ X 11 inch paper and was as sharp as if we had copied the print version of the paper on our copier. I was quite pleased as I handed it to Mrs. Researcher. She, too, was amazed. “It’s so small!” Well, yes, neither of our printers accept 11X17 paper. Placing half a sheet of newsprint on 8 ½ X 11 paper is going to reduce it substantially. Yet, it was legible!
She decided it would have to do and had her husband reposition the scanner to the bottom half of the page. I elbowed my way back into the ongoing circulation process and did a second slow scan while everyone in line waited. I sent that scan off to the printer and waited for the results to be slowly rendered in ink. Mrs. Researcher opined that we need to consider getting a faster printer. I obligingly suggested that we could use the very fast laser printer if she preferred but that we had discovered the quality was better with the inkjet. She grudgingly waited. Again, I was thrilled with the quality of the printout, the best I’d seen since we purchased the scanner. I need to investigate further to see if the secret is in scanning a larger area so that the software isn’t trying to enlarge the area selected for scanning.
Mr. and Mrs. Researcher paid their 20 cents for two copies and went on their way with little in the way of thanks for services provided. I suspect they find no end of low-quality service in their lives. Imagine having to invest two entire dimes plus 20 minutes or so to get a copy of a single page of newsprint split in half and substantially reduced. You’d think they’d have better service at a public library no matter how small. It might have helped if there had been a computer dedicated to their project rather than used for other tasks during the printing process. People just aren’t considerate of the needs of visitors in these backwoodsy areas.
I never cease to be amazed by the contrasts in attitude among various people when requesting services. Most of our visitors asking for prints of newspaper articles are considerate and patient and thrilled to get a copy of the information they came seeking.
Then there are the others. We try to give them the same friendly service we give the congenial ones, but now I’m using my blog to inform the whole world of one couple's insensitivity to their surroundings. If you know someone with a reduced copy of a page of ads from the Odon newspaper, don’t tell them you read this here, OK? Or if you do, tell them only how grateful the librarian is for the renewed hope of being able to produce good prints from the microfilm scanner. Which is the honest truth.
In 2004, thanks to the generosity of a donor and ongoing improvements in technology, we were able to purchase a microfilm viewer/scanner. It uses TWAIN (Technology Without An Interesting Name) to feed a scanned image of what is on the microfilm to a computer where it can be manipulated and printed or sent out by e-mail.
This piece of technology has been a mixed blessing. Our prints tend to be low quality with some areas too dark to read and others too light and most everything a bit blurred. I’ve invested much time trying to find the key to legible copies. The most recent breakthrough was when I discovered that our color inkjet printer gives better results than the laser printer. Things still aren’t perfectly clear, but they’re better. Trying alternative image-processing software has also helped.
This week a couple came into the library wanting to do newspaper research and I set them up on the microfilm reader/scanner, letting them know that we could indeed produce prints using our circulation computer if desired, although we struggle with the quality of those prints. A while later, they informed my coworker that they had found a page they wanted printed and I left my office work to assist with the process.
Could we print the entire sheet? No, only what is in the viewing area of the reader – about half a page at a time. That was a disappointment but they positioned the top half of a page of ads in the viewer and asked for a print of it. I grabbed the computer between patrons checking out library materials and did the scan. This was the first time we’d ever tried to capture the entire screen. I was pleased by the on-screen quality of the scan. I sent it to the inkjet printer and stepped out of the way so that my coworker could process checkouts for the next patron.
We waited. And waited. And waited. I checked to see if the printer was on. It was. Finally, it came to life and picked up a sheet of paper and printed a fraction of an inch. Then stopped. Then printed another small portion. My coworker reported that the circulation software was bogged down. We were obviously taxing the capacity of the computer. Mrs. Researcher found the process annoyingly slow.
Finally, the finished product emerged. I was amazed. The entire half sheet of newsprint was landscaped on 8 ½ X 11 inch paper and was as sharp as if we had copied the print version of the paper on our copier. I was quite pleased as I handed it to Mrs. Researcher. She, too, was amazed. “It’s so small!” Well, yes, neither of our printers accept 11X17 paper. Placing half a sheet of newsprint on 8 ½ X 11 paper is going to reduce it substantially. Yet, it was legible!
She decided it would have to do and had her husband reposition the scanner to the bottom half of the page. I elbowed my way back into the ongoing circulation process and did a second slow scan while everyone in line waited. I sent that scan off to the printer and waited for the results to be slowly rendered in ink. Mrs. Researcher opined that we need to consider getting a faster printer. I obligingly suggested that we could use the very fast laser printer if she preferred but that we had discovered the quality was better with the inkjet. She grudgingly waited. Again, I was thrilled with the quality of the printout, the best I’d seen since we purchased the scanner. I need to investigate further to see if the secret is in scanning a larger area so that the software isn’t trying to enlarge the area selected for scanning.
Mr. and Mrs. Researcher paid their 20 cents for two copies and went on their way with little in the way of thanks for services provided. I suspect they find no end of low-quality service in their lives. Imagine having to invest two entire dimes plus 20 minutes or so to get a copy of a single page of newsprint split in half and substantially reduced. You’d think they’d have better service at a public library no matter how small. It might have helped if there had been a computer dedicated to their project rather than used for other tasks during the printing process. People just aren’t considerate of the needs of visitors in these backwoodsy areas.
I never cease to be amazed by the contrasts in attitude among various people when requesting services. Most of our visitors asking for prints of newspaper articles are considerate and patient and thrilled to get a copy of the information they came seeking.
Then there are the others. We try to give them the same friendly service we give the congenial ones, but now I’m using my blog to inform the whole world of one couple's insensitivity to their surroundings. If you know someone with a reduced copy of a page of ads from the Odon newspaper, don’t tell them you read this here, OK? Or if you do, tell them only how grateful the librarian is for the renewed hope of being able to produce good prints from the microfilm scanner. Which is the honest truth.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Birthdays
Yesterday was my 48th birthday. 48! How can I have lived almost half a century in so little time? I think I've run into some kind of time warp. This awareness is particularly acute when I have to choose my birth year from a drop-down menu. Scroll, scroll, scroll ... Past the 80s (my children and their peers), past the 70s (all those young parents), past the 60s (my younger brothers), and finally back to 1958. Can it be that I was born in the 1950s, that time of slicked-back hair and leather jackets? I have no sense of connection to the characters from "Grease". Yet, I learned to walk and talk before the 60s arrived. Can it be that I am a contemporary of flower children and Jesus Freaks and draft dodgers? Though I was only a child during those tumultuous years of the 1960s and don't consider myself a part of that era, I have to reach back beyond the 1960s to find my birth year. Ridiculous. Just ridiculous.
One problem with piling up 48 years of living is how the accumulated list of regrettable acts has grown so long and bothersome. I suppose everyone has done some regrettable things and said regrettable words by the time they are 20. If they listed the ten most regrettable memories, they might come up with maybe a few doozies and then some not hardly worth listing. By the time they're 30, they've added a couple more doozies toward the top of the list and dropped off some of those less memorable regrets from the bottom. At 48, the number of memories that still make me cringe long after the actual event has expanded to push those weak entries from my first 20 years way down on the list. I've had time to accumulate quite a number of regrets that, even with years to gain perspective and find healing, make me cry if I look too closely at them. The price I would pay to be able to rectify the most painful and humiliating parts of that portion of my personal history for which I bear responsibility has grown.
I remember a high school teacher once commenting that we remain the same person no matter how old we become, that he or she (fading memory has robbed me of that detail) was still the child s/he had once been within. Now that I'm at a point to better evaluate the truth of that statement, I'm not sure. Am I the same person I was at 11, that fateful year when my best friend moved away and left me to the mercy of girl bullies who declared me a social outcast? the year I discovered that I might find better friends among my fellow outcasts than among the popular crowd? the year my teacher smiled at me personally after years of feeling unattractive and/or somehow invisible to most of the adults in my life?
Am I the same person I was when I turned 20 and was planning my wedding and future? Am I the same person I was at 25 when I traveled alone as a woman engineer working for the US Navy in civil service through the Montreal airport and Canadian customs and drove to a company in Ontario? Am I the same person I was when I turned 30 and was a full-time mother to three preschoolers and took on the responsibility of keeping the financial records for my church? Am I the same person I was at 40 when those preschoolers hit adolescence and one of them closed the windows of his soul to me?
I'm not sure. I'd like to think that the forces that have shaped me over the years, including those regrettable moments I mentioned earlier, have changed me for the better as I've learned lessons and made choices in response to those forces. Although I am the keeper of the memories, both painful and wonderful of that little girl and young woman I once was, I don't think I would tell a classroom of impressionable teenagers that I am still the person I was when I sat in that high school classroom so many years ago. Experience, maturity, perspective, and my spiritual journey have changed me to the point that the people from those earlier times in my life no longer know me.
Yesterday I spoke to a peer whom I had not seen for years. We were once part of an informal college music group and traveled together on weekends. As we chatted about old times, I sensed a barrier between us. It may have been simply the years of distance from when we knew each other, but I couldn’t help but wonder if her memories of our times together made her less than enthused about renewed acquaintance with me. Interestingly enough, I sensed the same thing when chatting with another member of that same group whose path crossed mine a couple of years ago. Was I so obnoxious at 19? Would they like me better at 48 if they knew me? I suspect I’ll never know the answer to that question, although I think the reason I noticed the reticence was because people of similar backgrounds and circumstances don’t generally respond to my overtures of friendliness in such a manner at this point in my life. (Maybe they would if they tried to live with me for a few weekends.)
48 years old. I don’t know how old I consider myself, but not that old. There has to be a mistake somewhere. Right?
One problem with piling up 48 years of living is how the accumulated list of regrettable acts has grown so long and bothersome. I suppose everyone has done some regrettable things and said regrettable words by the time they are 20. If they listed the ten most regrettable memories, they might come up with maybe a few doozies and then some not hardly worth listing. By the time they're 30, they've added a couple more doozies toward the top of the list and dropped off some of those less memorable regrets from the bottom. At 48, the number of memories that still make me cringe long after the actual event has expanded to push those weak entries from my first 20 years way down on the list. I've had time to accumulate quite a number of regrets that, even with years to gain perspective and find healing, make me cry if I look too closely at them. The price I would pay to be able to rectify the most painful and humiliating parts of that portion of my personal history for which I bear responsibility has grown.
I remember a high school teacher once commenting that we remain the same person no matter how old we become, that he or she (fading memory has robbed me of that detail) was still the child s/he had once been within. Now that I'm at a point to better evaluate the truth of that statement, I'm not sure. Am I the same person I was at 11, that fateful year when my best friend moved away and left me to the mercy of girl bullies who declared me a social outcast? the year I discovered that I might find better friends among my fellow outcasts than among the popular crowd? the year my teacher smiled at me personally after years of feeling unattractive and/or somehow invisible to most of the adults in my life?
Am I the same person I was when I turned 20 and was planning my wedding and future? Am I the same person I was at 25 when I traveled alone as a woman engineer working for the US Navy in civil service through the Montreal airport and Canadian customs and drove to a company in Ontario? Am I the same person I was when I turned 30 and was a full-time mother to three preschoolers and took on the responsibility of keeping the financial records for my church? Am I the same person I was at 40 when those preschoolers hit adolescence and one of them closed the windows of his soul to me?
I'm not sure. I'd like to think that the forces that have shaped me over the years, including those regrettable moments I mentioned earlier, have changed me for the better as I've learned lessons and made choices in response to those forces. Although I am the keeper of the memories, both painful and wonderful of that little girl and young woman I once was, I don't think I would tell a classroom of impressionable teenagers that I am still the person I was when I sat in that high school classroom so many years ago. Experience, maturity, perspective, and my spiritual journey have changed me to the point that the people from those earlier times in my life no longer know me.
Yesterday I spoke to a peer whom I had not seen for years. We were once part of an informal college music group and traveled together on weekends. As we chatted about old times, I sensed a barrier between us. It may have been simply the years of distance from when we knew each other, but I couldn’t help but wonder if her memories of our times together made her less than enthused about renewed acquaintance with me. Interestingly enough, I sensed the same thing when chatting with another member of that same group whose path crossed mine a couple of years ago. Was I so obnoxious at 19? Would they like me better at 48 if they knew me? I suspect I’ll never know the answer to that question, although I think the reason I noticed the reticence was because people of similar backgrounds and circumstances don’t generally respond to my overtures of friendliness in such a manner at this point in my life. (Maybe they would if they tried to live with me for a few weekends.)
48 years old. I don’t know how old I consider myself, but not that old. There has to be a mistake somewhere. Right?
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