Bible reading is part of my daily routine. Unlike many people, however, I don't attempt to read the entire Bible through every year. Rather, since the Old Testament is over three times as long as the New Testament and I'd rather focus on the New Testament, I split off Psalms and Proverbs for daily immersion and divide the rest of the Old Testament into three one-year sections.
This year I started again with Genesis. With this 3-year schedule, I've been wandering in the wilderness since the Israelites left Egypt in mid-April (Exodus 13). It's not quite 40 years, but it's long enough that I'm getting a little weary of laws, and seemingly endless instructions for sacrifices and lifestyle regulations and tabernacle furnishings, and grumpy people to whom God has revealed himself in ways he has never done with any other group but who seem to have the memory and faith of a goldfish. They came so close to the Promised Land back in July (Numbers 13) but were afraid to challenge the "giants in the land". This prompted God to assign them to 40 years of wandering in the desert. Of course, at that point they realized that they had messed up and tried to take things into their own hands in Numbers 14, with devastating results. So they settled into desert life, but not without plenty of grumbling.
Now it's the end of September. Moses has reviewed the entire journey at length in Deuteronomy and is about to die. We're on the verge of finally entering the Promised Land with Joshua in October.
If only these people had trusted God to conquer the giants back in July, we wouldn't have had to spend all this time wandering around in the desert. The years have not been pleasant. There has been grumbling and unrest every time Moses stopped to take a breath between dictating all the laws and regulations God shared with him on the mountain. Faith, trust, hope, contentment ... these concepts all seem foreign to this people. Rather, "We want meat. We're thirsty. We're tired of manna! Who put Moses in charge, anyway? It's not like he has all the brains of this outfit! Where IS Moses, anyway?! Is he back up on that mountain again? What does he DO up there? WE WANT TO GO BACK TO EGYPT!! Sure, we were slaves there, but at least we had leeks and onions to eat."
Ah, the promised land. Can I glimpse the delight and joy of the land across the river clearly enough to be content in the dry heat of the desert? Can I tolerate the hunger and thirst I experience today in confidence that I will forget all the discomfort of today when I cross that river? Do I genuinely believe that the unknown land before me is far better than the painful but familiar land of slavery behind me? Do I grumble any less than these people who have been driving Moses, God, and me crazy for the past five months? Is my faith any stronger and my memory any longer than theirs?
I hear of shortcuts into the promised land that don't involve extended time in the desert. They promise milk and honey now rather than later. Am I strong enough to resist the urge to run ahead of God's leading in order to satisfy my hunger? Is it possible to be content in the desert?
This time in the desert has given me plenty to ponder.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
Front porches
I mentioned a couple of months ago a book by Joseph R. Myers called The Search to Belong. One of the concepts he explored was the loss of front porches in our culture. As I've finished the book and set it aside, it's the front porch question that has stayed with me.
Here's the idea (as it has stuck with me, without referring back to the book):
1. A front porch is a public setting. The whole neighborhood can see you sitting there but can't necessarily overhear your conversation. It's a place where one-on-one conversations can be held in public.
2. A front porch announces availability. When you're sitting out on your porch, people know that they're welcome to stop by and say 'hi'.
3. A front porch is a neutral place. In a way, you're on your own turf but you're not inviting people into the intimacy of your home.
4. A front porch is easily escaped. Your guests can wander on down the street. You can withdraw into your home and shut the door with little excuse needed. Or you can suddenly be distracted by something or someone in the neighborhood and change the direction of an uncomfortable conversation.
I mentioned this concept to an older person and her response was that front porches are a pain to keep clean. I'm not sure how that fits into the analogy. But there are other drawbacks to literal front porches. The only people you meet there are your neighbors or those who venture into your neighborhood for some reason. Our lifestyle doesn't allow a lot of time to simply sit on a porch waiting for someone to come by. There's no easy way to be available to some passerbys but not others. There's no climate control on an open porch and we're not much open to making do with whatever temperature God gives us.
I'm not sure literal front porches were ever the ideal places they were painted to be in the book, but the concept of finding such a place intrigues me. The author says that today's front porch is Starbucks. There's no Starbucks where I live, but even if there were, I don't think that would be the "front porch" place for me. So I've been looking for front porches in other places in my small town.
Here's what I've found:
1. The public library. I work there so it's a natural place for me. It fits several of the criteria -- a public place where semi-private conversation can happen, a place of availability, neutral territory. However, many people never come to the library and the one where I work doesn't easily allow conversation without listeners. It's definitely a front porch kind of place, but not adequate for all the front porch conversations I'd like to have.
2. The local high school football stadium. This is actually the best "front porch" I've found. It fits all the criteria of a front porch and attracts a variety of people, some of whom are absorbed in the game, but many others who are there as much for the social event as for the game. A person can sit here a while and then there and wander off to the concession stand, chatting with those encountered along the way. Unfortunately, it's seasonal, with maybe a half dozen home games every fall.
3. The foyer at church. This is not quite as nice as the football stadium. Like the library, it only attracts a certain set of people. Also, unlike the football game where the main event happens on the "front porch", at church the "front porch" life is tacked on to the beginning and end of the main event and there's a sense that we ought to be moving on soon.
4. Church fellowship times. These tend to revolve around eating, which forces one to choose a seat and set of companions for most of the duration of the event. And, again, there are only so many people involved. They're good, but I think I've probably experienced more satisfying fellowship at both the football stadium and the foyer than in the church fellowship hall, even with the same people.
5. Wal-Mart. Stores attract all sorts of people and pretty much fit the criteria for a "front porch" except for having lousy seating options. It doesn't cost anything to browse and, anyway, we all have to buy soap eventually. I've had some excellent "front porch" exchanges in store aisles. (I've also been mildly irritated by other people's "front porch" conversations that are blocking the aisle.)
6. Restaurants. These are probably the most obvious places to do "front porch" outings, but have the drawbacks of the church fellowship hall -- being seated in one spot eating rather than free to mingle -- plus more. I'm not ready to depend on restaurant dining for my social life. My metabolism can't handle that lifestyle.
What do you think? Where do you do "front porch" fellowship: unscripted, personal-level conversation in a public setting with whomever happens to be there with both parties free to move on at any time? Where are you available to take time to listen to people who need to talk about personal issues?
Here's the idea (as it has stuck with me, without referring back to the book):
1. A front porch is a public setting. The whole neighborhood can see you sitting there but can't necessarily overhear your conversation. It's a place where one-on-one conversations can be held in public.
2. A front porch announces availability. When you're sitting out on your porch, people know that they're welcome to stop by and say 'hi'.
3. A front porch is a neutral place. In a way, you're on your own turf but you're not inviting people into the intimacy of your home.
4. A front porch is easily escaped. Your guests can wander on down the street. You can withdraw into your home and shut the door with little excuse needed. Or you can suddenly be distracted by something or someone in the neighborhood and change the direction of an uncomfortable conversation.
I mentioned this concept to an older person and her response was that front porches are a pain to keep clean. I'm not sure how that fits into the analogy. But there are other drawbacks to literal front porches. The only people you meet there are your neighbors or those who venture into your neighborhood for some reason. Our lifestyle doesn't allow a lot of time to simply sit on a porch waiting for someone to come by. There's no easy way to be available to some passerbys but not others. There's no climate control on an open porch and we're not much open to making do with whatever temperature God gives us.
I'm not sure literal front porches were ever the ideal places they were painted to be in the book, but the concept of finding such a place intrigues me. The author says that today's front porch is Starbucks. There's no Starbucks where I live, but even if there were, I don't think that would be the "front porch" place for me. So I've been looking for front porches in other places in my small town.
Here's what I've found:
1. The public library. I work there so it's a natural place for me. It fits several of the criteria -- a public place where semi-private conversation can happen, a place of availability, neutral territory. However, many people never come to the library and the one where I work doesn't easily allow conversation without listeners. It's definitely a front porch kind of place, but not adequate for all the front porch conversations I'd like to have.
2. The local high school football stadium. This is actually the best "front porch" I've found. It fits all the criteria of a front porch and attracts a variety of people, some of whom are absorbed in the game, but many others who are there as much for the social event as for the game. A person can sit here a while and then there and wander off to the concession stand, chatting with those encountered along the way. Unfortunately, it's seasonal, with maybe a half dozen home games every fall.
3. The foyer at church. This is not quite as nice as the football stadium. Like the library, it only attracts a certain set of people. Also, unlike the football game where the main event happens on the "front porch", at church the "front porch" life is tacked on to the beginning and end of the main event and there's a sense that we ought to be moving on soon.
4. Church fellowship times. These tend to revolve around eating, which forces one to choose a seat and set of companions for most of the duration of the event. And, again, there are only so many people involved. They're good, but I think I've probably experienced more satisfying fellowship at both the football stadium and the foyer than in the church fellowship hall, even with the same people.
5. Wal-Mart. Stores attract all sorts of people and pretty much fit the criteria for a "front porch" except for having lousy seating options. It doesn't cost anything to browse and, anyway, we all have to buy soap eventually. I've had some excellent "front porch" exchanges in store aisles. (I've also been mildly irritated by other people's "front porch" conversations that are blocking the aisle.)
6. Restaurants. These are probably the most obvious places to do "front porch" outings, but have the drawbacks of the church fellowship hall -- being seated in one spot eating rather than free to mingle -- plus more. I'm not ready to depend on restaurant dining for my social life. My metabolism can't handle that lifestyle.
What do you think? Where do you do "front porch" fellowship: unscripted, personal-level conversation in a public setting with whomever happens to be there with both parties free to move on at any time? Where are you available to take time to listen to people who need to talk about personal issues?
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Going to church without getting angry -- Take 2
I've been working on this.
Maybe I should start by explaining what makes me angry at church.
1. Having God portrayed as out-dated and dumpy, stuck somewhere back in the 1950s without much connection to what's happening in the 21st century.
2. Selfish attitudes that say the most important thing is to keep the church alive, that call us to evangelism more in order to add people to the church than because we care about people who are spiritually hungry, that place church growth as more important than spiritual health and converting people as more important than ministry to the poor and oppressed.
3. Bad theology.
4. Reading bad theology into the sacred Word of God.
5. Turning the living and active Word of God into something as dry as dust.
6. Pride.
7. Critical attitudes. (Oh wait, that would include my own. Well, maybe my own critical attitude does indeed add to my anger. I don't like spending so much time recovering my equilibrium after every church service.)
Yet, I'm part of the church. I like being part of the church, even if it presents God as old-fashioned and stuffy. I refuse to leave my church behind in my quest for Christian community.
So how do I avoid getting angry? I've been puzzling over this and I think I have an answer. It involves setting aside my view of the church as a single organism and instead seeing individuals within my church family and appreciating each of them.
When I look at the church as an organism, my view is heavily influenced by the most visible members: the leaders, both official and unofficial; the outspoken people; those with longevity and influence.
When I focus on individual members, I remember that for every outspoken person with intolerable theology, there is a quiet person who has profound insight into the Word of God. For every senior adult who insists that the key to spiritual fervor is doing things like we did in the good old days, there's a young person doing less talking but eager to embrace the postmodern age in which we find ourselves. For every insensitive leader, there's a compassionate worker caring about those around them.
I still have to make focused steps toward recovery after most every church service, but this approach shortens the process by helping me put the most obnoxious things I see and hear in perspective. The church as a whole isn't stuck in the 1950s. A few vocal people are stuck there, but there are also some quiet people who support every move toward becoming relevant to our culture. I am not alone.
Tomorrow is once again a chance to practice attending church services without getting angry. Challenges are good for us, right?
Maybe I should start by explaining what makes me angry at church.
1. Having God portrayed as out-dated and dumpy, stuck somewhere back in the 1950s without much connection to what's happening in the 21st century.
2. Selfish attitudes that say the most important thing is to keep the church alive, that call us to evangelism more in order to add people to the church than because we care about people who are spiritually hungry, that place church growth as more important than spiritual health and converting people as more important than ministry to the poor and oppressed.
3. Bad theology.
4. Reading bad theology into the sacred Word of God.
5. Turning the living and active Word of God into something as dry as dust.
6. Pride.
7. Critical attitudes. (Oh wait, that would include my own. Well, maybe my own critical attitude does indeed add to my anger. I don't like spending so much time recovering my equilibrium after every church service.)
Yet, I'm part of the church. I like being part of the church, even if it presents God as old-fashioned and stuffy. I refuse to leave my church behind in my quest for Christian community.
So how do I avoid getting angry? I've been puzzling over this and I think I have an answer. It involves setting aside my view of the church as a single organism and instead seeing individuals within my church family and appreciating each of them.
When I look at the church as an organism, my view is heavily influenced by the most visible members: the leaders, both official and unofficial; the outspoken people; those with longevity and influence.
When I focus on individual members, I remember that for every outspoken person with intolerable theology, there is a quiet person who has profound insight into the Word of God. For every senior adult who insists that the key to spiritual fervor is doing things like we did in the good old days, there's a young person doing less talking but eager to embrace the postmodern age in which we find ourselves. For every insensitive leader, there's a compassionate worker caring about those around them.
I still have to make focused steps toward recovery after most every church service, but this approach shortens the process by helping me put the most obnoxious things I see and hear in perspective. The church as a whole isn't stuck in the 1950s. A few vocal people are stuck there, but there are also some quiet people who support every move toward becoming relevant to our culture. I am not alone.
Tomorrow is once again a chance to practice attending church services without getting angry. Challenges are good for us, right?
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Much to learn
I wrote last week that I've never been bored at home. Maybe I should clarify that to say I've never been bored at home while free to choose my own activity. There are always plenty of interesting things to do if I have the freedom to choose.
Thursday evening, Dave and I made the 45-mile trek to Bloomington, Indiana, our closest shopping area with a mall and bookstores. While looking around at Barnes and Noble, I felt the familiar urge to buy books and learn new stuff. I'm a visual learner. Books are my primary source of learning. And there are so many of them!
Standing in the computer section of the bookstore while Dave selected a book on Postfix, I was drawn to the idea of learning HTML or Java or Perl or C++ or Windows Networking or even Postfix.
If there were a series of books titled, "Master [fill in the blank] in 30 Simple 10-Minute Lessons!" and they delivered on that promise, and I had plenty of money and plenty of 10-minute chunks of time in my day, I would buy one each on all those computer subjects. Then I'd wander off to collect other books from the series on Spanish and woodworking and home decorating and cooking for two and ceramic tile installation and saxophone and drums and music composition/arranging and flower arranging and prayer and dog training and gardening and literature and poetry and Shakespeare and accounting and writing and a couple of dozen more.
Unfortunately, the "if" statements above have not been met. Most subjects can't be mastered so easily. Both money and time are dear. Plus, I'm reminded of a Beatles song called "Junk": "'Buy buy,' says the sign in the shop window; 'Why? why?' says the junk in the yard." I already have piles of how-to books at home that I haven't finished. Why would I need any more?
This week at the library, I was working on a task I do weekly which involves taking tabulated output from a database, manipulating it in a spreadsheet, and printing the results. The steps aren't many but eat up maybe half an hour of my time every week. I decided to see if I could create a macro to help me with the task without investing a lot of time in it. The short answer is no. I once used macros but haven't for several years, which means several versions of the software. I would need to start with the basics and bring my skills up to speed. I'm not sure I could count on saving enough time on my weekly tasks to justify the initial time investment. Even if it would save me substantial time in the long run, I would still need to figure out where to find the time to invest in this learning endeavor. It's like buying a high-efficiency furnace. The fact that it will pay for itself over time in lower heating bills doesn't help with the initial cost. And in this case, I'm not certain there would be a payback.
For now, I've taken on only a few topics for persistent time investment in learning -- Spanish, prayer, the nature of the kingdom of God. Other learning projects drift in and out of my focus but mostly I reject them for lack of time to commit to them.
Still, yesterday at the huge antique show a few miles from here I found "DOS for Dummies" for fifty cents and all my defenses were breached. It's just for reference for those rare occasions when I find myself looking at the c:/ prompt and searching through my limited DOS vocabulary for something intelligent to type. I'm sure I can find room for it on a bookshelf somewhere. Maybe I could study it for, say, 10 minutes a day and actually become proficient at DOS. Or maybe not.
It's probably a good thing I live so far from Barnes and Noble.
Thursday evening, Dave and I made the 45-mile trek to Bloomington, Indiana, our closest shopping area with a mall and bookstores. While looking around at Barnes and Noble, I felt the familiar urge to buy books and learn new stuff. I'm a visual learner. Books are my primary source of learning. And there are so many of them!
Standing in the computer section of the bookstore while Dave selected a book on Postfix, I was drawn to the idea of learning HTML or Java or Perl or C++ or Windows Networking or even Postfix.
If there were a series of books titled, "Master [fill in the blank] in 30 Simple 10-Minute Lessons!" and they delivered on that promise, and I had plenty of money and plenty of 10-minute chunks of time in my day, I would buy one each on all those computer subjects. Then I'd wander off to collect other books from the series on Spanish and woodworking and home decorating and cooking for two and ceramic tile installation and saxophone and drums and music composition/arranging and flower arranging and prayer and dog training and gardening and literature and poetry and Shakespeare and accounting and writing and a couple of dozen more.
Unfortunately, the "if" statements above have not been met. Most subjects can't be mastered so easily. Both money and time are dear. Plus, I'm reminded of a Beatles song called "Junk": "'Buy buy,' says the sign in the shop window; 'Why? why?' says the junk in the yard." I already have piles of how-to books at home that I haven't finished. Why would I need any more?
This week at the library, I was working on a task I do weekly which involves taking tabulated output from a database, manipulating it in a spreadsheet, and printing the results. The steps aren't many but eat up maybe half an hour of my time every week. I decided to see if I could create a macro to help me with the task without investing a lot of time in it. The short answer is no. I once used macros but haven't for several years, which means several versions of the software. I would need to start with the basics and bring my skills up to speed. I'm not sure I could count on saving enough time on my weekly tasks to justify the initial time investment. Even if it would save me substantial time in the long run, I would still need to figure out where to find the time to invest in this learning endeavor. It's like buying a high-efficiency furnace. The fact that it will pay for itself over time in lower heating bills doesn't help with the initial cost. And in this case, I'm not certain there would be a payback.
For now, I've taken on only a few topics for persistent time investment in learning -- Spanish, prayer, the nature of the kingdom of God. Other learning projects drift in and out of my focus but mostly I reject them for lack of time to commit to them.
Still, yesterday at the huge antique show a few miles from here I found "DOS for Dummies" for fifty cents and all my defenses were breached. It's just for reference for those rare occasions when I find myself looking at the c:/ prompt and searching through my limited DOS vocabulary for something intelligent to type. I'm sure I can find room for it on a bookshelf somewhere. Maybe I could study it for, say, 10 minutes a day and actually become proficient at DOS. Or maybe not.
It's probably a good thing I live so far from Barnes and Noble.
Friday, September 09, 2005
A Letter to the Editor
This is now my second letter written and delivered to the editor of the local daily newspaper, the first having been written around 10 years ago concerning a school controversy. The current controversy is about what time should be observed in Daviess County, Indiana. The Indiana legislature narrowly passed (by one vote) a bill stating that the state will henceforth observe Daylight Savings Time like normal people. The governor is leaving it up to individual counties to petition the federal government if they want to be reassigned to a different time zone. Daviess County, like most in the state, is in the Eastern time zone. The county commissioners think Central time is a better choice for us. The editorial staff of the newspaper concurs with that position with one dissenting opinion. Thus the letter. By way of explanation, the locations mentioned are Crane Naval Base (employs around 4000 people about 12 miles east of my home), Bedford (small city 35 miles east), Bloomington (larger city 45 miles northeast), Indianapolis (state capital and largest city in the state 80 miles northeast), Evansville (large city 65 miles to the south which is in the central time zone), and Chicago, Illinois (very large city 250 miles northwest and also on central time).
The likelihood of my letter making any difference is small, but the urge to respond publicly to what is being thrust upon us finally became strong enough to send me to my keyboard.
The likelihood of my letter making any difference is small, but the urge to respond publicly to what is being thrust upon us finally became strong enough to send me to my keyboard.
-------------------------
To the editor:
To the editor:
As a North Daviess resident, I greatly appreciated Shannon Graber's opinion piece on the time change. Personally, I'm more concerned with being on the same time as Crane, Bedford, Bloomington, and Indianapolis than with Evansville or Chicago.
We could split the county in discussing our economic ties, but perhaps it would make the choice more obvious if we considered the sun. We have been blessed during our decades of observing year-round Eastern Standard Time (EST). The sun is always up by a few minutes after 8 a.m. and never sets more than a few minutes before 5:30 p.m. At the other extreme, the earliest summer sunrise is around 5:30 a.m. and the latest sunset around 8:15 p.m. Unfortunately, in order to be like everyone else, we either have to give up some morning time or some evening time. Daylight "savings" time is going to cost us some daylight somewhere.
When we don't change time, we have around 3 months of the sun rising between 7:30 and 8 a.m. and 3 months of the sun setting between 5:30 and 6 p.m. If we choose Eastern Daylight Savings Time (EDT), we will add around five weeks of late (after 7:30) sunrises in the early fall in exchange for longer summer evenings. (The spring time change will come after the sun already rises by 7:30 even on EDT.)
On the other hand, if we choose Central Daylight Savings Time (CDT), we will go from three months of sunsets before 6 p.m. to five months! And from the time change in the fall until the end of January the sun will set between 4:30 and 5 p.m. People who work until 5 will go three months without any after-work daylight hours! Every 7 pm activity between the October time change and the middle of March will be at least an hour after sunset. Ask some of your Evansville friends about those dark days of winter.
I realize that Daylight Savings Time for Indiana is more about being like our neighbors than saving any daylight, but I for one hope we don't give up our already-short winter afternoons in order to be like our neighbors to the south and west rather than those to the north and east.
Marsha Lynn
Odon
Monday, September 05, 2005
The empty nest
It has been a little over a week since Dave and I settled our youngest child into a college dorm room. We came home to our empty house on Saturday night. By Friday, six days later, I finally quit listening for the household to stir into action in the morning and comprehended that after Dave leaves for work each day I am truly alone.
This is a new experience for me. Last time I didn't have kids in the house (at least at both ends of the school day) -- 22 years ago -- I worked 40 hours per week. Now I work 15 at the public library and have various volunteer positions, mainly church-related.
I've told people over the years that I have never been bored at home. That's still true. There's no danger of boredom setting in any time soon. I come from a long line of putterers. According to my World Book dictionary "putter" means: To keep busy in a rather useless way. Yes, that's it exactly. I can happily putter away long hours on projects with little real value such as, say, alphabetizing my CD collection or pulling weeds in the garden one at a time by hand rather than finding a tool that would expedite the job. It would be easy to settle into those types of activities. The challenge will be to direct my energy toward projects that require more effort than puttering but are also of more value.
One important goal I've set is to maintain relationships beyond my church. For the past 17 years, I've had children enrolled in the local school system, and their activities have been my gateway into community life. There was a time when it was unusual for me to see an unfamiliar child on the streets of our small town. I knew my children's classmates and got to know the parents of those classmates at school sporting events and concerts and open houses and summer ballgames at the park. I could attend school events and count on recognizing many faces in the crowd. We would chat and compare notes on child-raising and catch up with each other and then go our separate ways until the next event brought us together. Now those other parents are moving past their days of involvement in the school just as I am doing. Their children have gone off to college and careers just as mine have. I need to figure out places to frequent in order to continue those happenstance relationships. My library job helps, but there are many among that crowd who never come into the library.
Friday evening Dave and I went to the high school football game. With our youngest having just graduated, we still found plenty of acquaintances among the crowd -- parents with younger kids still in school. I came away from the game feeling like I'd had my "social fix" for the week. I sort of wish we actually enjoyed watching sports so that we would continue to be motivated to attend the games. But the truth is, I only go for the social interaction and Dave often declines to accompany me.
A book I recently read by Joseph R. Myers called The Search to Belong addresses, among other things, the loss of front porches from our streets. The front porch was a place to sit and chat with someone on neutral territory -- in full view of the neighborhood rather than in the intimacy of the home, in public space yet with some level of privacy. The school gym, cafeteria, tennis courts, and ball fields have served as my front porch for the past 17 years. Myers suggested that Starbucks is the new front porch. Besides the literal problem of not even knowing the location of the closest Starbucks and not drinking coffee, I'm a little reluctant to tie my social interaction to places that require plenty of disposable income. Again, the library is one alternative. It's free and draws many people for visits of various frequency and duration. Still, I'm looking for other possibilities.
One thing I'm doing is making more frequent trips to the local grocery store, buying less per trip. How the simple household task of "getting groceries" has changed over the years -- from going one evening a week after work, to packing up babies for a weekly outing, to moving back to evening outings because I couldn't handle three children under 5 in the grocery store alone, to shopping while the kids were in school and racing home to beat the schoolbus, to leaving a note telling where I was and when I expected to be home, to sending teenagers out for last-minutes items. Now I just pop out and get what I need when I choose with only my husband to keep informed of my whereabouts if my grocery run extends beyond his work hours.
At every stage of life there have been new joys even as some of the old joys became but memories. It seems that the empty nest stage is no exception.
This is a new experience for me. Last time I didn't have kids in the house (at least at both ends of the school day) -- 22 years ago -- I worked 40 hours per week. Now I work 15 at the public library and have various volunteer positions, mainly church-related.
I've told people over the years that I have never been bored at home. That's still true. There's no danger of boredom setting in any time soon. I come from a long line of putterers. According to my World Book dictionary "putter" means: To keep busy in a rather useless way. Yes, that's it exactly. I can happily putter away long hours on projects with little real value such as, say, alphabetizing my CD collection or pulling weeds in the garden one at a time by hand rather than finding a tool that would expedite the job. It would be easy to settle into those types of activities. The challenge will be to direct my energy toward projects that require more effort than puttering but are also of more value.
One important goal I've set is to maintain relationships beyond my church. For the past 17 years, I've had children enrolled in the local school system, and their activities have been my gateway into community life. There was a time when it was unusual for me to see an unfamiliar child on the streets of our small town. I knew my children's classmates and got to know the parents of those classmates at school sporting events and concerts and open houses and summer ballgames at the park. I could attend school events and count on recognizing many faces in the crowd. We would chat and compare notes on child-raising and catch up with each other and then go our separate ways until the next event brought us together. Now those other parents are moving past their days of involvement in the school just as I am doing. Their children have gone off to college and careers just as mine have. I need to figure out places to frequent in order to continue those happenstance relationships. My library job helps, but there are many among that crowd who never come into the library.
Friday evening Dave and I went to the high school football game. With our youngest having just graduated, we still found plenty of acquaintances among the crowd -- parents with younger kids still in school. I came away from the game feeling like I'd had my "social fix" for the week. I sort of wish we actually enjoyed watching sports so that we would continue to be motivated to attend the games. But the truth is, I only go for the social interaction and Dave often declines to accompany me.
A book I recently read by Joseph R. Myers called The Search to Belong addresses, among other things, the loss of front porches from our streets. The front porch was a place to sit and chat with someone on neutral territory -- in full view of the neighborhood rather than in the intimacy of the home, in public space yet with some level of privacy. The school gym, cafeteria, tennis courts, and ball fields have served as my front porch for the past 17 years. Myers suggested that Starbucks is the new front porch. Besides the literal problem of not even knowing the location of the closest Starbucks and not drinking coffee, I'm a little reluctant to tie my social interaction to places that require plenty of disposable income. Again, the library is one alternative. It's free and draws many people for visits of various frequency and duration. Still, I'm looking for other possibilities.
One thing I'm doing is making more frequent trips to the local grocery store, buying less per trip. How the simple household task of "getting groceries" has changed over the years -- from going one evening a week after work, to packing up babies for a weekly outing, to moving back to evening outings because I couldn't handle three children under 5 in the grocery store alone, to shopping while the kids were in school and racing home to beat the schoolbus, to leaving a note telling where I was and when I expected to be home, to sending teenagers out for last-minutes items. Now I just pop out and get what I need when I choose with only my husband to keep informed of my whereabouts if my grocery run extends beyond his work hours.
At every stage of life there have been new joys even as some of the old joys became but memories. It seems that the empty nest stage is no exception.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Lessons in Morse Code
Long ago and far away I was the daughter of a science teacher who was a "ham" -- an amateur radio operator. Since he was a teacher, it was natural for him to guide his young students into the world of amateur radio. Since I was his daughter, it is not surprising that I was included among those students. I learned the Morse code and practiced it until I could send and receive it at 5 words per minute, memorized enough incomprehensible facts to pass a written exam, and received my call letters -- WN9DHQ. "N" for "novice". At the time, holders of a novice license were only allowed to communicate via Morse code, not by voice. For the same code speed but more memorized facts, I could earn a "technician" license and use voice but on frequencies with limited range. In order to talk around the world by voice, I would need a "general class" license, requiring a code speed of 13 wpm and an even more extensive written test.
The only way to increase my Morse code speed was to practice. The most interesting way to practice was to get on the radio and "talk" to people using Morse code. I would send out a CQ ("seek you") on an empty frequency or respond to someone else's CQ and we would exchange the usual information -- name, location, license level, etc. This is where I learned a lesson that is applicable to several areas of life.
It turns out that sending Morse code is easier than receiving and decoding it. I could always send it at a faster rate than I could receive it. With all the practice I had sending CQs, I could especially fly on that invitation to a stranger. There was the rub. People tended to respond at the same rate that I was sending. Whenever I sent code out faster than I could receive it, I'd end up missing half the letters of the response. Sometimes I could slow down and my partner in conversation would take the hint and follow suit. Other times, the attempt to comprehend what was being sent just became very frustrating and I'd have to sign off in embarrassment, knowing the other person probably despised me for starting a conversation at a speed I couldn't handle.
The other thing that I observed during this time was that it was often obvious when someone was sending code faster than they could receive it. It took on a telltale sloppiness. Although it's easy to send Morse code at a faster rate than one can receive it, it's not nearly so easy to do it well at the higher speed.
It has been years since I was a novice "ham" and it would take a lot of review and practice to regain my Morse code skills at this point in my life, but one lesson has stuck with me. When speaking, people can easily move beyond their grasp of a subject, but it shows when that happens.
I deal with computers more than radios these days. I hear various people "teaching" other people about computers. Sometimes they're "sending" at a higher rate than they can really handle, moving beyond what they clearly understand into areas where they have just enough knowledge to be dangerous. It starts to show.
The same phenomena can be observed in those teaching interpersonal skills or doing religious training. For example, sometimes I wonder whether those teaching about prayer have skills in keeping with their teaching. Are they sharing what they themselves have learned or are they repeating lessons they've heard from others but have yet to master? It reminds me to check to see if I too sometimes try to teach lessons I haven't quite learned.
Just some thoughts.
WB9DHQ, General class amateur radio operator.
.-- -... ----. -.. .... --.-
- - --.- .-..
The only way to increase my Morse code speed was to practice. The most interesting way to practice was to get on the radio and "talk" to people using Morse code. I would send out a CQ ("seek you") on an empty frequency or respond to someone else's CQ and we would exchange the usual information -- name, location, license level, etc. This is where I learned a lesson that is applicable to several areas of life.
It turns out that sending Morse code is easier than receiving and decoding it. I could always send it at a faster rate than I could receive it. With all the practice I had sending CQs, I could especially fly on that invitation to a stranger. There was the rub. People tended to respond at the same rate that I was sending. Whenever I sent code out faster than I could receive it, I'd end up missing half the letters of the response. Sometimes I could slow down and my partner in conversation would take the hint and follow suit. Other times, the attempt to comprehend what was being sent just became very frustrating and I'd have to sign off in embarrassment, knowing the other person probably despised me for starting a conversation at a speed I couldn't handle.
The other thing that I observed during this time was that it was often obvious when someone was sending code faster than they could receive it. It took on a telltale sloppiness. Although it's easy to send Morse code at a faster rate than one can receive it, it's not nearly so easy to do it well at the higher speed.
It has been years since I was a novice "ham" and it would take a lot of review and practice to regain my Morse code skills at this point in my life, but one lesson has stuck with me. When speaking, people can easily move beyond their grasp of a subject, but it shows when that happens.
I deal with computers more than radios these days. I hear various people "teaching" other people about computers. Sometimes they're "sending" at a higher rate than they can really handle, moving beyond what they clearly understand into areas where they have just enough knowledge to be dangerous. It starts to show.
The same phenomena can be observed in those teaching interpersonal skills or doing religious training. For example, sometimes I wonder whether those teaching about prayer have skills in keeping with their teaching. Are they sharing what they themselves have learned or are they repeating lessons they've heard from others but have yet to master? It reminds me to check to see if I too sometimes try to teach lessons I haven't quite learned.
Just some thoughts.
WB9DHQ, General class amateur radio operator.
.-- -... ----. -.. .... --.-
- - --.- .-..
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Teamwork and Leadership
It has been an interesting and frustrating week. I certainly don't want to relive the whole thing here, just share a couple of observations.
One of the highlights of the week was a visit with a professor whose classroom my husband and I sat in 26 years ago at Tristate University in Angola, Indiana. After over 30 years as a professor and with three years to go until retirement, he is still enthused about his work. That was a blessing in itself. As he shared some of the current projects in the Tristate engineering department, he used the word "team" several times to describe the approach. I shuddered and was glad I escaped academia before the emphasis on teamwork in education took hold. There were few times I was asked to serve on a team during my early education. More recently, I took a graduate library science class and was assigned to do a team project. It was a source of high stress as we sought to coordinate schedules and efforts. The class was on organizational management and as a reaction against the team project I did my research paper on individualistic versus collectivistic cultures in the workplace. I much prefer to take responsibility for a project and do it myself than to use the team approach.
Dinner with the professor was Tuesday evening. On Wednesday, I discovered that management has zeroed in on something I do and is working on ways for it to be done better. As a first step, they've adjusted the format. This was disturbing to me. Should not those most affected by changes be involved in the process of planning those changes? As someone responsible for implementing the changes, why aren't I part of the leadership team? Why am I being informed of the changes via a general announcement?
Obviously, there's inconsistency in my attitude. Am I a team player or not? I'm still working on the answer to that question. I think it has to do with whether or not the project is too much for one person to handle and how teamwork is managed. Group grocery shopping drives me crazy. If there are two of us working together to fill one grocery cart, it seems to me that one of us is superfluous. One can quickly make decisions and fill the cart. Two will end up discussing which brand of yogurt to buy and whether we really need the Twinkies. If both have opinions, my philosophy is to give each a grocery cart, assign general categories of responsibility, and cut out all the negotiations. Buying groceries for a household does not require a team but if it's going to be approached as a team project, find a way to divvy it up into individual projects.
On the other hand, the graduation party we had back in May was more than I could handle and I was glad to team up with two other families for it. I became a team member, discussing details, measuring how strongly each felt about certain aspects of the event, reaching compromises, and dividing up tasks in order to do more together than we could do apart. After all the parties were over and my graduate sank exhausted into the clutter of gifts and memorabilia, the reward for our work was her contented sigh as she commented that she and her buddies had the best party of all. It was teamwork that did it.
Back to the grocery store analogy, what I encountered this week was the discovery that while I was out filling my cart, someone had changed the menu without telling me. When I signed up as a shopper, I was agreeing to a particular set of expectations. If the expectations are changing, I'd like to be involved as part of the meal-planning team. I may not be interested in the job if I have to visit specialty shops every week to seek out elusive ingredients added to my list by people who don't shop.
Some things require teamwork. I like being on teams with worthy goals and good management where I can find a role to play. I don't mind managing teams if all the members are interested in working together and listening to each other. I'm uncomfortable on teams where the team members are assigned tasks at the whim of management without involvement in the decision-making process.
I protested Wednesday's management decision and a team meeting has been scheduled for next Wednesday. It remains to be seen whether I can continue as part of the team. Once again, relationships get difficult, but they are still worth the trouble.
One of the highlights of the week was a visit with a professor whose classroom my husband and I sat in 26 years ago at Tristate University in Angola, Indiana. After over 30 years as a professor and with three years to go until retirement, he is still enthused about his work. That was a blessing in itself. As he shared some of the current projects in the Tristate engineering department, he used the word "team" several times to describe the approach. I shuddered and was glad I escaped academia before the emphasis on teamwork in education took hold. There were few times I was asked to serve on a team during my early education. More recently, I took a graduate library science class and was assigned to do a team project. It was a source of high stress as we sought to coordinate schedules and efforts. The class was on organizational management and as a reaction against the team project I did my research paper on individualistic versus collectivistic cultures in the workplace. I much prefer to take responsibility for a project and do it myself than to use the team approach.
Dinner with the professor was Tuesday evening. On Wednesday, I discovered that management has zeroed in on something I do and is working on ways for it to be done better. As a first step, they've adjusted the format. This was disturbing to me. Should not those most affected by changes be involved in the process of planning those changes? As someone responsible for implementing the changes, why aren't I part of the leadership team? Why am I being informed of the changes via a general announcement?
Obviously, there's inconsistency in my attitude. Am I a team player or not? I'm still working on the answer to that question. I think it has to do with whether or not the project is too much for one person to handle and how teamwork is managed. Group grocery shopping drives me crazy. If there are two of us working together to fill one grocery cart, it seems to me that one of us is superfluous. One can quickly make decisions and fill the cart. Two will end up discussing which brand of yogurt to buy and whether we really need the Twinkies. If both have opinions, my philosophy is to give each a grocery cart, assign general categories of responsibility, and cut out all the negotiations. Buying groceries for a household does not require a team but if it's going to be approached as a team project, find a way to divvy it up into individual projects.
On the other hand, the graduation party we had back in May was more than I could handle and I was glad to team up with two other families for it. I became a team member, discussing details, measuring how strongly each felt about certain aspects of the event, reaching compromises, and dividing up tasks in order to do more together than we could do apart. After all the parties were over and my graduate sank exhausted into the clutter of gifts and memorabilia, the reward for our work was her contented sigh as she commented that she and her buddies had the best party of all. It was teamwork that did it.
Back to the grocery store analogy, what I encountered this week was the discovery that while I was out filling my cart, someone had changed the menu without telling me. When I signed up as a shopper, I was agreeing to a particular set of expectations. If the expectations are changing, I'd like to be involved as part of the meal-planning team. I may not be interested in the job if I have to visit specialty shops every week to seek out elusive ingredients added to my list by people who don't shop.
Some things require teamwork. I like being on teams with worthy goals and good management where I can find a role to play. I don't mind managing teams if all the members are interested in working together and listening to each other. I'm uncomfortable on teams where the team members are assigned tasks at the whim of management without involvement in the decision-making process.
I protested Wednesday's management decision and a team meeting has been scheduled for next Wednesday. It remains to be seen whether I can continue as part of the team. Once again, relationships get difficult, but they are still worth the trouble.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
What is it about a garden?
When you live with people you live with expectations. You're generally expected to do something more productive with your days than sitting around eating bon-bons and watching soap operas.
I spend too much time at the computer. Sometimes it has to do with productivity. Other times I'm keeping up internet relationships. Either way, my family finds it annoying. If they were in charge of planning my day, they would put more emphasis on other activities.
I read. In the morning I read inspirational books and magazines. In the evening, I'm more likely to turn to fiction (if I can get away from the computer). Again, those who observe my life most closely seem annoyed to find me reading while they're doing other things, even though I seldom read anything beyond the newspaper between my morning reading and bedtime.
I have a garden. There is very little productive about gardening the way I do it. I have 20 4X4 raised beds and work them by hand. I don't use commercial fertilizers and don't end up with a bountiful crop. One bed is in alfalfa, four have strawberry plants, two others are growing flowers. Once strawberry season is over in early June, my main harvest consists of fresh cucumbers and tomatoes. I hope to increase the productivity of my garden as I move into the empty nest years. (There's something wrong with that picture -- finally having enough time to cultivate a productive garden when those who would eat the produce move out of my life.) For now, however, I garden more for pleasure than for produce. I like to work in the dirt, to break up the soil and plant seeds, to knock Japanese beetles and potato bugs into a jar of ammonia water. There's something very relaxing about sitting out in the garden pulling weeds, seeing the contrast between the bare ground behind me and the weeds ahead. The actual crops are just props for those other activities.
What amazes me is that no one seems to mind the time I spend in the garden. Don't they notice how little there is to show for my work? Don't they worry about the things I'm not doing while I'm out in the garden? Aren't they annoyed that they have to track me down when the phone rings? Shouldn't I be cooking their meals or ironing their clothes or ... something?
When I'm reading people want to talk to me. When I'm sitting at the computer people want my attention elsewhere. Those same people would be perfectly welcome in the garden. I could chat while I weed. I wouldn't mind if they sat and watched. The cat shows up consistently, knowing that the garden isn't really a good use of my time and that it's a good opportunity to claim my lap and my attention. But the people mainly wave as they drive past the garden unless a phone call comes in for me.
I'm certainly not complaining here. I greatly enjoy my time in the garden. I'm just not sure how I can get away with using my time so frivolously with so few complaints. How does playing in the dirt pass for real work so much more easily than, say, updating financial records?
This is a good deal.
I spend too much time at the computer. Sometimes it has to do with productivity. Other times I'm keeping up internet relationships. Either way, my family finds it annoying. If they were in charge of planning my day, they would put more emphasis on other activities.
I read. In the morning I read inspirational books and magazines. In the evening, I'm more likely to turn to fiction (if I can get away from the computer). Again, those who observe my life most closely seem annoyed to find me reading while they're doing other things, even though I seldom read anything beyond the newspaper between my morning reading and bedtime.
I have a garden. There is very little productive about gardening the way I do it. I have 20 4X4 raised beds and work them by hand. I don't use commercial fertilizers and don't end up with a bountiful crop. One bed is in alfalfa, four have strawberry plants, two others are growing flowers. Once strawberry season is over in early June, my main harvest consists of fresh cucumbers and tomatoes. I hope to increase the productivity of my garden as I move into the empty nest years. (There's something wrong with that picture -- finally having enough time to cultivate a productive garden when those who would eat the produce move out of my life.) For now, however, I garden more for pleasure than for produce. I like to work in the dirt, to break up the soil and plant seeds, to knock Japanese beetles and potato bugs into a jar of ammonia water. There's something very relaxing about sitting out in the garden pulling weeds, seeing the contrast between the bare ground behind me and the weeds ahead. The actual crops are just props for those other activities.
What amazes me is that no one seems to mind the time I spend in the garden. Don't they notice how little there is to show for my work? Don't they worry about the things I'm not doing while I'm out in the garden? Aren't they annoyed that they have to track me down when the phone rings? Shouldn't I be cooking their meals or ironing their clothes or ... something?
When I'm reading people want to talk to me. When I'm sitting at the computer people want my attention elsewhere. Those same people would be perfectly welcome in the garden. I could chat while I weed. I wouldn't mind if they sat and watched. The cat shows up consistently, knowing that the garden isn't really a good use of my time and that it's a good opportunity to claim my lap and my attention. But the people mainly wave as they drive past the garden unless a phone call comes in for me.
I'm certainly not complaining here. I greatly enjoy my time in the garden. I'm just not sure how I can get away with using my time so frivolously with so few complaints. How does playing in the dirt pass for real work so much more easily than, say, updating financial records?
This is a good deal.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
What I'm reading
Earlier this year, I placed a "reactive" order of three books (gotta meet the $25 free shipping level) from Amazon. Each of the three was an act of rebellion. One of them was in response to being assigned to read a book about small groups so that I could be a more effective SS teacher/small group leader. The assigned reading wasn't terrible, but certainly didn't shine amidst my other reading. (A Generous Orthodoxy by Brian McLaren, Spiritual Leadership by J. Oswald Chambers (again), the quarterly Notre Dame Magazine, A Theology of Love by Mildred Bangs Wynkoop (again), The Signature of Jesus by Brennan Manning, Live to Tell: Evangelism for a Postmodern Age by Brad J. Kallenberg) The small group book kept getting shoved aside during busy times. The week of General Ass'y, I finally decided I'd invested enough time in it and just skimmed through the second half of it.
Then I pulled Amazon.com's recommendation to me for a book about small groups from the pile of "on deck" books -- The Search to Belong by Joseph R. Myers. (Amazon knows what I like. :-) )
What a contrast. I am greatly enjoying it. It talks about how people look for belonging at four levels -- public, social, personal, and intimate. Public belonging is still belonging and not inferior to other levels of belonging. It's the type of belonging people find at bingo night or with a special-interest group, where you know people from the group at a certain level and enjoy being part of the "family", but don't really know (or particularly care to know) them on a personal level.
It turns out the author isn't particularly supportive of the philosophy that says all true ministry in the church happens in small groups. Good things do indeed happen in small groups but it's hard to force people into such fellowship. It's better if the groups form spontaneously in an environment that nurtures such groupings without forcing them.
Although I'm enjoying the book, so far only one quote has made it into my quote collection. I'll share it here:
"Be at peace. People connect and are motivated to connect in all four spaces [public, social, personal, intimate]. It is our charge to invite the stranger in. We do not invite strangers in for intimacy. We invite them in so they will no longer be strangers. We give space and they find family, belonging, and community. So gently knock and wait for them to invite you in."
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Church: How I go without getting angry
I borrowed my title from a book I read. When I saw the chapter title coming up I was excited and almost skipped ahead to see what tips I could find there. Finally, I arrived with great anticipation. How does this postmodern author go to church without getting angry? What is his secret?
He changed churches. He shopped around until he found one he liked. Sigh.
I'm not changing churches. There's too much good about the one I attend. It's convenient. It links me to a larger community. There are good people there. However, in multiple ways, it's stuck in the middle of the last century and I encounter things there that make me angry.
I notice in the Bible that Jesus got angry when he went to church. (See Mark 3:1-6) Apparently, it's not a terrible thing to have happen. But I'm not nearly so justified in my anger as Jesus. Some of it has to do with the poor and needy being overlooked but there's also some of it having to do with me being overlooked. And I've become hypersensitive in some areas, misinterpreting things said and done to be more offensive than if I would were I being more gracious in my assessment of them. Sometimes I'm not very charitable. Sometimes I have the sensitivity on my offense meter turned up way too high.
So how do I go to church without getting angry? I'm still working on that. Here's a tentative list of ideas:
1. Nurture my sense of humor. It's hard to stay angry with someone when you're laughing with them.
2. Be slow to see offense. Give people the benefit of the doubt.
3. Refuse to focus on my own sad self when among the blessed family of God.
4. Seek fellowship with the quiet people rather than focusing on the more vocal (and offensive) people.
5. Seek points of commonality while overlooking annoyances.
Tomorrow is another chance to put all this into practice. Will it help me escape without steaming? Time will tell.
He changed churches. He shopped around until he found one he liked. Sigh.
I'm not changing churches. There's too much good about the one I attend. It's convenient. It links me to a larger community. There are good people there. However, in multiple ways, it's stuck in the middle of the last century and I encounter things there that make me angry.
I notice in the Bible that Jesus got angry when he went to church. (See Mark 3:1-6) Apparently, it's not a terrible thing to have happen. But I'm not nearly so justified in my anger as Jesus. Some of it has to do with the poor and needy being overlooked but there's also some of it having to do with me being overlooked. And I've become hypersensitive in some areas, misinterpreting things said and done to be more offensive than if I would were I being more gracious in my assessment of them. Sometimes I'm not very charitable. Sometimes I have the sensitivity on my offense meter turned up way too high.
So how do I go to church without getting angry? I'm still working on that. Here's a tentative list of ideas:
1. Nurture my sense of humor. It's hard to stay angry with someone when you're laughing with them.
2. Be slow to see offense. Give people the benefit of the doubt.
3. Refuse to focus on my own sad self when among the blessed family of God.
4. Seek fellowship with the quiet people rather than focusing on the more vocal (and offensive) people.
5. Seek points of commonality while overlooking annoyances.
Tomorrow is another chance to put all this into practice. Will it help me escape without steaming? Time will tell.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
The party's over
Seventeen years of involvement with the local school system came to an end last night. My youngest child graduated from high school. It has been a fun ride. I've met many wonderful people -- teachers, parents, administrators, staff, students. Some I'll see around the community. There will be others whose path will never cross mine again. Either way, it won't be the same. My days as the parent of school-age children are over.
My older daughter asked me if I would still attend parent-teacher conferences. I said, "Sure, if I can find out when they are." That's been a standing joke over the years. The school sets aside a half day for parent-teacher conferences every year. However, communication between the high school and parents sometimes falters and I've missed a year or two simply because I didn't know when or how the conferences were being handled. In the years I've managed to make it, I've sought out the teachers of my children for conversation, but also chatted with anyone else I've encountered. Since my children have all done well in school, I've viewed the parent-teacher conference day as primarily a social opportunity -- a time set aside for informal exchange with the school staff about my kids and their kids and how things are going for all of us. Several of the teachers at the high school have children the same age as mine, giving us common ground whether or not they actually have one of mine in their classroom in any given year.
We had a party last night. I'm not good at parties. I suggested to my daughter that she find friends for a joint event and she did. It turned out to be a wonderful evening. In a small, rural community, many of the friends of the two friends she chose were at least acquaintances of our family, giving us a chance to visit with a broad spectrum of the community. We had a good setting, good help, good food through our joint effort, and a very pleasant evening.
I've heard that there's life after children and I'm looking forward to enjoying a new season of life. Still, as I stood in the school gym for the last time as the parent of a student and picked out all the familiar faces from among this community I've grown to love, I realized that, truly, I have been blessed.
My older daughter asked me if I would still attend parent-teacher conferences. I said, "Sure, if I can find out when they are." That's been a standing joke over the years. The school sets aside a half day for parent-teacher conferences every year. However, communication between the high school and parents sometimes falters and I've missed a year or two simply because I didn't know when or how the conferences were being handled. In the years I've managed to make it, I've sought out the teachers of my children for conversation, but also chatted with anyone else I've encountered. Since my children have all done well in school, I've viewed the parent-teacher conference day as primarily a social opportunity -- a time set aside for informal exchange with the school staff about my kids and their kids and how things are going for all of us. Several of the teachers at the high school have children the same age as mine, giving us common ground whether or not they actually have one of mine in their classroom in any given year.
We had a party last night. I'm not good at parties. I suggested to my daughter that she find friends for a joint event and she did. It turned out to be a wonderful evening. In a small, rural community, many of the friends of the two friends she chose were at least acquaintances of our family, giving us a chance to visit with a broad spectrum of the community. We had a good setting, good help, good food through our joint effort, and a very pleasant evening.
I've heard that there's life after children and I'm looking forward to enjoying a new season of life. Still, as I stood in the school gym for the last time as the parent of a student and picked out all the familiar faces from among this community I've grown to love, I realized that, truly, I have been blessed.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
The Problem with Blogs
Yes, I know. It has been almost two months since I last added to my blog. It's not because I haven't had plenty to ponder. It's because those ponderings have revolved around relationships and situations involving other people. Sharing my private thoughts in a public forum is one thing. Sharing my private thoughts about other people and what they're doing is something else entirely. Writing in ways that only refer to those situations obliquely seems a waste when I need to make hard choices and deal with things directly. So I've taken time out to deal with some of what's been happening.
You know, relationships are worth it: Worth putting my blog on hold; worth dealing with stress; worth working at; worth all the trouble. I hope to emerge from this time with my most valued relationships stronger than ever. I'm still working at that.
You know, relationships are worth it: Worth putting my blog on hold; worth dealing with stress; worth working at; worth all the trouble. I hope to emerge from this time with my most valued relationships stronger than ever. I'm still working at that.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Perception
I planted peas Saturday. It was time. Spring insists on advancing every day. It doesn't wait for me to have time to work in the garden. Some years it sneaks right past me and I realize that the days for planting peas have come and gone while I've been worrying about tax tables and tennis tournaments and other aspects of being a household manager and mother.
My daughter had a lead role in last weekend's high school musical. We were within 15 minutes of leaving for Saturday's perfomance when I headed out the door with my seed packets. I quickly made a trough in the dirt, threw in the seeds and tamped the dirt down over them. They were planted.
Later I said something about having planted peas. My husband noted that I hadn't undertaken that task until late in the day. I may have been reading too much into his tone, but what I heard was that a handful of seeds thrown into the garden at the end of the day wasn't much to show for an entire Saturday at home. While he had a point and I can't claim to have used the day as efficiently as I could have, he was also overlooking something: Peas don't grow well in uncultivated soil. I had been out earlier in the day and turned over the soil in the pea bed. Two days earlier I had moved aside the cover that had been protecting the bed from spring rains so that the heavy clay could dry out enough for early planting. I put that cover there a couple of weeks ago. It was covering soil that had been turned in the fall so that less work would be required now. I've also been sorting my seed collection and pulling out those that need to go into the ground in the next couple of weeks.
Sometimes I'm aware of how little other people know of what makes up my days. When I hit a series of stupid mistakes that's nice. As long as I change settings between goof-ups, no one person sees the full scope of my stupidity. It's not so nice when someone looks at the results of my days and decides that I'm not using my time and talents productively. They see how little I've accomplished on tasks that are important to them and fail to notice any progress on tasks that I'm doing for someone else. Or they underestimate how much effort it took to do something. Like planting peas. 10 minutes. That's all it took. Grab a couple of seed packets, walk out to the garden, open up a shallow trench, toss in some seeds, and cover them up with dirt. Not much accomplishment there.
How often do I lack perception when looking at the actions of others. Do I see them as less mistake-prone than I am since I see so few of their mistakes? Do I see them as contributing less to my favorite projects than they oughtta because I overlook the other demands on their lives? Am I most aware of the times they are relaxing and less observant when they're working?
We never have a complete picture even of those with whom we live. If we are so unaware of even their observable actions, how much less do we know the extent of their inner lives? Each of us sees every mistake we ourselves make. We are aware of every contribution we make to the general welfare of those around us. All day, every day, we observe our own actions and monitor our thoughts and motivations. We know how hard we try and how discouraged we are by our failures. In comparison, we are almost completely ignorant of every other person in the world. Yet, we are often tempted to assess the performance and attitudes of those people of whom we know so little. Is there a way to avoid doing so?
My daughter had a lead role in last weekend's high school musical. We were within 15 minutes of leaving for Saturday's perfomance when I headed out the door with my seed packets. I quickly made a trough in the dirt, threw in the seeds and tamped the dirt down over them. They were planted.
Later I said something about having planted peas. My husband noted that I hadn't undertaken that task until late in the day. I may have been reading too much into his tone, but what I heard was that a handful of seeds thrown into the garden at the end of the day wasn't much to show for an entire Saturday at home. While he had a point and I can't claim to have used the day as efficiently as I could have, he was also overlooking something: Peas don't grow well in uncultivated soil. I had been out earlier in the day and turned over the soil in the pea bed. Two days earlier I had moved aside the cover that had been protecting the bed from spring rains so that the heavy clay could dry out enough for early planting. I put that cover there a couple of weeks ago. It was covering soil that had been turned in the fall so that less work would be required now. I've also been sorting my seed collection and pulling out those that need to go into the ground in the next couple of weeks.
Sometimes I'm aware of how little other people know of what makes up my days. When I hit a series of stupid mistakes that's nice. As long as I change settings between goof-ups, no one person sees the full scope of my stupidity. It's not so nice when someone looks at the results of my days and decides that I'm not using my time and talents productively. They see how little I've accomplished on tasks that are important to them and fail to notice any progress on tasks that I'm doing for someone else. Or they underestimate how much effort it took to do something. Like planting peas. 10 minutes. That's all it took. Grab a couple of seed packets, walk out to the garden, open up a shallow trench, toss in some seeds, and cover them up with dirt. Not much accomplishment there.
How often do I lack perception when looking at the actions of others. Do I see them as less mistake-prone than I am since I see so few of their mistakes? Do I see them as contributing less to my favorite projects than they oughtta because I overlook the other demands on their lives? Am I most aware of the times they are relaxing and less observant when they're working?
We never have a complete picture even of those with whom we live. If we are so unaware of even their observable actions, how much less do we know the extent of their inner lives? Each of us sees every mistake we ourselves make. We are aware of every contribution we make to the general welfare of those around us. All day, every day, we observe our own actions and monitor our thoughts and motivations. We know how hard we try and how discouraged we are by our failures. In comparison, we are almost completely ignorant of every other person in the world. Yet, we are often tempted to assess the performance and attitudes of those people of whom we know so little. Is there a way to avoid doing so?
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
On writing
Yesterday someone asked me if she could include something I had written on her church web page. She noted that, unfortunately, the church would be unable to pay me anything. Pay me for my words? I know this happens all the time, but it's hard for me to imagine that someone would want to buy my words. I toss out free words every day. There doesn't seem to be much of a market for them. I've even had people walk away while I was still talking, still handing out words to them. Does putting those same words in print give them more value? If so, why? Is it because they're edited and checked for grammar errors? Is it because they're less obtrusive than verbal words, more adaptable to the time schedule of the one receiving them? Is it because I put more thought into them?
Selling words. Come to think of it, some people sell their verbal words: speaking at conferences, preaching sermons, teaching classes. Of course, they have to show up to deliver them. If one sells written words, there's no need to follow them to their destination. I haven't checked back to the church site to see if my words are there yet. I won't have to pay any attention to them once they're there. Nor will I know if anyone reads them or, if someone does, what response they bring.
I have a few words scattered here and there around the internet, all handed out for free. Last time I did a search on my name and town, I discovered someone had copied an Advent devotional I wrote several years ago, along with the rest of the collection, onto a site I'd never seen before. I wonder if that person had permission from the owner of the site where those devotionals were originally published. Does it matter?
The lady with the church website isn't actually buying my words, simply asking for permission to use them. I wonder if offers to pay for words ever come in such unsolicited fashion.
Probably not.
Selling words. Come to think of it, some people sell their verbal words: speaking at conferences, preaching sermons, teaching classes. Of course, they have to show up to deliver them. If one sells written words, there's no need to follow them to their destination. I haven't checked back to the church site to see if my words are there yet. I won't have to pay any attention to them once they're there. Nor will I know if anyone reads them or, if someone does, what response they bring.
I have a few words scattered here and there around the internet, all handed out for free. Last time I did a search on my name and town, I discovered someone had copied an Advent devotional I wrote several years ago, along with the rest of the collection, onto a site I'd never seen before. I wonder if that person had permission from the owner of the site where those devotionals were originally published. Does it matter?
The lady with the church website isn't actually buying my words, simply asking for permission to use them. I wonder if offers to pay for words ever come in such unsolicited fashion.
Probably not.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Finding My Voice
As I read the blogs of others, I realize that the best blogs have a theme. The writer has a particular interest and addresses it. What would that interest be for me?
Do I want a diary? (Today I washed the sheets and hung them on the line to dry.)
Do I want a journal? (How pleasant it was to breathe in the fresh scent of the sheets today when retrieving them from the line!)
Will I write about gardening? Parenting? Life at the public library? Small town living? My spiritual journey? Marriage? The empty nest? Music? Books? Probably not movies or television since I so seldom watch either.
Shall I choose a theme or will one gradually find its way to the surface as I write?
I know someone who keeps three blogs -- a personal blog, a reading blog, and a thinking blog. That's besides the articles he posts on his website. I think if I tried that, I would end up neglecting all except one.
I've called my blog "Ponderings". Maybe for now I'll simply ponder as to what I should ponder about.
Do I want a diary? (Today I washed the sheets and hung them on the line to dry.)
Do I want a journal? (How pleasant it was to breathe in the fresh scent of the sheets today when retrieving them from the line!)
Will I write about gardening? Parenting? Life at the public library? Small town living? My spiritual journey? Marriage? The empty nest? Music? Books? Probably not movies or television since I so seldom watch either.
Shall I choose a theme or will one gradually find its way to the surface as I write?
I know someone who keeps three blogs -- a personal blog, a reading blog, and a thinking blog. That's besides the articles he posts on his website. I think if I tried that, I would end up neglecting all except one.
I've called my blog "Ponderings". Maybe for now I'll simply ponder as to what I should ponder about.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
On being a writer
I read an article this week that suggested a blog as a good start for becoming a writer. Of course, one would probably need to tell others they have a blog in order to become a writer with readers, but I'm thinking it won't hurt to practice first.
This article suggested writing a weekly column. That sort of discipline scares me. Maybe that's why I'm not actually a writer, only a person who writes.
Life is too wild to write. There are musical costumes to be sewn, meetings to attend, meals to prepare, taxes to figure, general maintenance of soul and body to which I must attend. I write anyway, but most of it is in the form of prayer.
Someone said that if a person can be anything besides a writer, it's a good idea to do so. Can I live without writing? Not well. Can I live without writing for the world to read? Probably. So why am I here?
A deeper question might be, will I keep coming back?
This article suggested writing a weekly column. That sort of discipline scares me. Maybe that's why I'm not actually a writer, only a person who writes.
Life is too wild to write. There are musical costumes to be sewn, meetings to attend, meals to prepare, taxes to figure, general maintenance of soul and body to which I must attend. I write anyway, but most of it is in the form of prayer.
Someone said that if a person can be anything besides a writer, it's a good idea to do so. Can I live without writing? Not well. Can I live without writing for the world to read? Probably. So why am I here?
A deeper question might be, will I keep coming back?
Friday, February 25, 2005
Speaking of telephone numbers
A new telephone directory arrived in our mailbox yesterday. And it has my name in it! I'm so excited.
I wonder how long it has been since I first requested that my name be included in the listing? What prompted the request was my in-laws moving to town. That was nine years ago. They sometimes get calls intended for me because the caller isn't sure of my husband's name and picks the wrong number.
It's been a long journey. At least twice I called the phone company and was told it was too late for the directory already in process. That's all right, I told them. Just change it for the next one. Another year would pass after the arrival of that in-process directory and I would discover the change had not been made. However, instead of calling immediately, I'd forget about it until it was once again too late to catch the next publication. Finally, I requested the change, waited a couple of weeks and verified that 'information' could come up with a number to match my name. Still I couldn't be sure until I actually saw it in print.
I feel so much more like a real person now.
I wonder how long it has been since I first requested that my name be included in the listing? What prompted the request was my in-laws moving to town. That was nine years ago. They sometimes get calls intended for me because the caller isn't sure of my husband's name and picks the wrong number.
It's been a long journey. At least twice I called the phone company and was told it was too late for the directory already in process. That's all right, I told them. Just change it for the next one. Another year would pass after the arrival of that in-process directory and I would discover the change had not been made. However, instead of calling immediately, I'd forget about it until it was once again too late to catch the next publication. Finally, I requested the change, waited a couple of weeks and verified that 'information' could come up with a number to match my name. Still I couldn't be sure until I actually saw it in print.
I feel so much more like a real person now.
Wrong Number, Small Town, USA
(Note: Names and numbers changed to protect the innocent.)
Ring, ring!!
Hello?
Ronna?
Nope. This is Marsha Lynn. You want 9568. This is 9468.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
That's all right. They get our calls; we get their calls. It's not a problem.
You're from the library, right?
Yes, I am.
Oh... well, I'm sorry again. Good-bye.
I wish I were better at identifying telephone voices. She recognized my name, but I didn't recognize her voice.
At least Ronna's number was fresh in my mind this time because our daughters are in a musical group together and I called her about something last week.
One thing I haven't figured out is why two different people have left messages for Ronna and/or her husband on our answering machine. The outgoing message clearly states our name which sounds nothing like their name. Would you talk to an answering machine that claims to belong to someone other than the person you were calling? Would you call the person who left such a message to tell them they dialed the wrong number?
Ring, ring!!
Hello?
Ronna?
Nope. This is Marsha Lynn. You want 9568. This is 9468.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
That's all right. They get our calls; we get their calls. It's not a problem.
You're from the library, right?
Yes, I am.
Oh... well, I'm sorry again. Good-bye.
I wish I were better at identifying telephone voices. She recognized my name, but I didn't recognize her voice.
At least Ronna's number was fresh in my mind this time because our daughters are in a musical group together and I called her about something last week.
One thing I haven't figured out is why two different people have left messages for Ronna and/or her husband on our answering machine. The outgoing message clearly states our name which sounds nothing like their name. Would you talk to an answering machine that claims to belong to someone other than the person you were calling? Would you call the person who left such a message to tell them they dialed the wrong number?
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Forms and more forms
Monday I finished our personal income taxes which provide the necessary data to complete two FAFSAs (Free Applications for Federal Student Aid) and one College Board profile so that two universities can determine how much money we should be able to provide for our two college students next year. Tonight I submitted the financial aid forms online. Whew! Four days to spare. Now I can move on to other, equally pressing deadlines.
So when am I supposed to have time to think deep thoughts for my blog?
It took me a while to figure out that I wouldn't have to complete a FAFSA for my oldest this year. She's graduating. No more FAFSAs for her. No more claiming her on our taxes. Unless she opts for graduate school, August will no longer mean a move back to college for her.
It's taking me a bit to adjust to this new stage in life. She always has been the one to step into these new experiences first, leading the way for her brother and sister. I can see why oldest children develop different traits than middle and youngest children. (I'm a middle child myself.)
So when am I supposed to have time to think deep thoughts for my blog?
It took me a while to figure out that I wouldn't have to complete a FAFSA for my oldest this year. She's graduating. No more FAFSAs for her. No more claiming her on our taxes. Unless she opts for graduate school, August will no longer mean a move back to college for her.
It's taking me a bit to adjust to this new stage in life. She always has been the one to step into these new experiences first, leading the way for her brother and sister. I can see why oldest children develop different traits than middle and youngest children. (I'm a middle child myself.)
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