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.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
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?
Friday, December 30, 2005
The Price of Nonconformity
I don’t know when I decided to become a nonconformist but the tendency showed up early in my life, at least in my choice of literature. I got an early start on reading and read most of the Oz books in early elementary school. (Long books to satisfy my literary appetite with large print to fit my immature eyes.) When my classmates discovered the joys of reading and were excited about the Boxcar Children, I was reading horse stories. When they moved on to the "Little House" books, I yawned and went back to my horse stories. Walter Farley. Marguerite Henry. Those were my favorite authors. I enjoyed the Bobbsey Twins somewhere along the way, but when the other girls started reading Nancy Drew books, I was already a Hardy Boys fan, having delved into my brothers’ collection, and couldn't get excited about a girl detective. I became a fan of the Lone Ranger in books without knowing anything about the radio or television versions of the stories. And I read all the childhood life fictionalized biographies I could find.
Of course, this meant I missed out on some excellent standards in children’s literature. I finally got around to reading the "Little House" books by Laura Ingalls Wilder during a college break one year. I didn’t get to know the "Boxcar Children" by Gertrude Chandler Warner until my son read the series when he was in elementary school. Around that same time, I pulled the Beverly Cleary "Ramona" books out of the elementary library where I was doing volunteer work and read that complete set. I’ve slowly filled in some of the gaps in my literary background from the children’s department of the library over the years as well as sampling new juvenile selections. I enjoy children’s literature. It’s fast. It’s clean. It is often very well written. I can pick up on the underlying message more readily than in adult fiction. (At least I can now; when I read Black Beauty for probably the tenth time but first time as an adult, I was shocked to discover that it was not the horse story I had always loved as much as social commentary.)
Somehow, in my reading as a child and still as an adult, I passed over the Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis, even after being greatly influenced by his books written for adults. I’ve read his space trilogy but not his children’s books! I’ve read the books by Lewis’ friend, J. R. R. Tolkien. I’ve read several fairy tales by George MacDonald, whom Lewis called his mentor, and found them wonderful. Why not The Chronicles of Narnia?
It’s not that I didn’t try. I bought a boxed set of the series and read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when my children were young. They eventually read the entire set. I thought maybe I made it through the set sometime along the way. I know I read The Magician’s Nephew. Apparently, I never made it further than that.
When the movie based on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was released a few weeks ago, my husband and I went to see it on opening night. I decided it was a good time to (re)read the series. However, by the time I got to The Horse and His Boy, I realized I was not reading again but for the first time.
How did I pass these up? This is the exact kind of children’s literature that most appeals to me. (Since my Oz days, I’ve enjoyed books of magic and I've read through long collections of fairy tales.) They are widely accepted as children’s classics. In fact, they are perhaps the most popular classics in children’s literature I’ve never read.
So, all you Harry Potter fans, what are your favorite selections from classic children’s literature? Have I missed anything else?
Of course, this meant I missed out on some excellent standards in children’s literature. I finally got around to reading the "Little House" books by Laura Ingalls Wilder during a college break one year. I didn’t get to know the "Boxcar Children" by Gertrude Chandler Warner until my son read the series when he was in elementary school. Around that same time, I pulled the Beverly Cleary "Ramona" books out of the elementary library where I was doing volunteer work and read that complete set. I’ve slowly filled in some of the gaps in my literary background from the children’s department of the library over the years as well as sampling new juvenile selections. I enjoy children’s literature. It’s fast. It’s clean. It is often very well written. I can pick up on the underlying message more readily than in adult fiction. (At least I can now; when I read Black Beauty for probably the tenth time but first time as an adult, I was shocked to discover that it was not the horse story I had always loved as much as social commentary.)
Somehow, in my reading as a child and still as an adult, I passed over the Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis, even after being greatly influenced by his books written for adults. I’ve read his space trilogy but not his children’s books! I’ve read the books by Lewis’ friend, J. R. R. Tolkien. I’ve read several fairy tales by George MacDonald, whom Lewis called his mentor, and found them wonderful. Why not The Chronicles of Narnia?
It’s not that I didn’t try. I bought a boxed set of the series and read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when my children were young. They eventually read the entire set. I thought maybe I made it through the set sometime along the way. I know I read The Magician’s Nephew. Apparently, I never made it further than that.
When the movie based on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was released a few weeks ago, my husband and I went to see it on opening night. I decided it was a good time to (re)read the series. However, by the time I got to The Horse and His Boy, I realized I was not reading again but for the first time.
How did I pass these up? This is the exact kind of children’s literature that most appeals to me. (Since my Oz days, I’ve enjoyed books of magic and I've read through long collections of fairy tales.) They are widely accepted as children’s classics. In fact, they are perhaps the most popular classics in children’s literature I’ve never read.
So, all you Harry Potter fans, what are your favorite selections from classic children’s literature? Have I missed anything else?
Saturday, December 17, 2005
What is it about Christmas that makes me go crazy?
Every year in December I lose my grip on sanity. Why?
Ordinarily, I don’t consider myself a perfectionist to the point of driving myself or other people crazy. However, something about the Christmas season stirs up my strongest insecurities and weighs me down with the conviction that whatever I’m doing, it’s not good enough. I’m not baking enough. I’m not entertaining enough. I’m not buying enough gifts. The gifts that I am buying are lame. The ones I bought last week are obviously totally inappropriate. I have ideas that are SO much better this week, but still probably not good enough. Someplace out there is the perfect gift for each one of my loved ones. I just have to find it and then they will see how well I know them and of what value they are to me.
My usual solution to the gift dilemma is to wait until the last possible moment to commit to anything in gift-buying so that there’s no time for second thoughts. Then I realize that the perfect gift was the one that I should have ordered two weeks ago and can’t be bought in stores anywhere the week of Christmas.
One thing I do because I want to during December (as opposed to the many things that I do out of obligation) is send Christmas cards. Even in that area, though, this temporary insanity sucks much of the joy out of sending them. A form letter? Can’t do it. How can one write a one-size-fits-all letter? That’s not good enough. Cards out of a box with our names under the pre-printed greeting? What’s the point? It’s the chance to actually communicate with long-lost and not-so-lost acquaintances that is attractive to me. Why give up that chance to communicate? So I write multiple letters that contain the same basic information but which are each somehow customized to their recipients. The problem is that this requires a substantial time commitment, even with the aid of a wordprocessor and cut-and-paste. The list of people who get letters isn’t very long.
My church family has a tradition of exchanging cards each year by dropping them in a special box in the church foyer. It’s rare to have a note included with the card. Again, I ask: What’s the point? If all we’re doing is wishing each other a generic Merry Christmas, why bother putting so much time and effort and money into it? Why not just wish each other a Merry Christmas in person and be done with it?
This year I came up with a partial solution to the church card exchange. I created my own "church families are special" greeting card in PrintMaster (by Broderbund). Ahh... much better. Hallmark doesn’t make a card that expresses the appreciation I feel for this group that so often has filled the role of extended family for me and my husband and children. But I can feel good about creating one card that embraces each family group individually but equally and expresses my appreciation for them in a special way during the Christmas season.
So I made the card. I printed multiple copies of the card. I signed our names. I wrote names on envelopes. I piled up the cards to take over to the church for distribution. I even went so far as to carry them into the church. Then I carried them back home. I realized that I had failed to include children when putting names on the envelopes. I realized that there was a chance that a few of the people might ask, "Dave & Marsha who???" I realized that just one slight modification would have made the card so much better. I realized there was a flaw that will likely be pointed out by a few. Perfectionism caused paralysis again. I had to push it aside, add the children’s names and our last name for the cases where there might be doubt and take those terribly imperfect homemade cards back over for distribution. It’s only a pile of greeting cards to people I see every week, often multiple times each week. Why would I let myself get in such a twist over making them perfect?
Making my own cards has allowed me to expand my mailing list by providing opportunity to customize the greeting itself to fit various groups. In this first year of the empty nest, I’m missing the interaction I’ve had over the years with my peers in the community, the parents of my children’s classmates. I made a special greeting card for my favorite people from that group. I’ve completed around 60 cards (mostly going to people either in the church or the community) and have another 30 or so to go. Most of the cards that will actually include a letter are left and I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed, wondering if I’ll ever complete this task. And this is one of the most enjoyable parts of Christmas for me! I don’t even want to think about the gifts!
Christmas is a week away and I’m not even close to ready. I have a bare evergreen tree in my livingroom and colored lights running down the banister. That’s the extent of my decorations thus far. There are no Christmas goodies in the house and all my kids are coming home in the next 48 hours. (Yea!)
Maybe it’s the absolute drop-dead deadlines of the Christmas season that do this to me. Not only are there multiple obligations that could be done with excellence if there were a little more time in which to do them, but the deadlines are mostly non-negotiable.
Obviously, blog posts need to go way down on my list of priorities. In defiance of my compulsiveness during this season, I will now post this in its imperfect first-draft form. Maybe. After I fix up just a few minor problems.
I’ll see you after Christmas.
Ordinarily, I don’t consider myself a perfectionist to the point of driving myself or other people crazy. However, something about the Christmas season stirs up my strongest insecurities and weighs me down with the conviction that whatever I’m doing, it’s not good enough. I’m not baking enough. I’m not entertaining enough. I’m not buying enough gifts. The gifts that I am buying are lame. The ones I bought last week are obviously totally inappropriate. I have ideas that are SO much better this week, but still probably not good enough. Someplace out there is the perfect gift for each one of my loved ones. I just have to find it and then they will see how well I know them and of what value they are to me.
My usual solution to the gift dilemma is to wait until the last possible moment to commit to anything in gift-buying so that there’s no time for second thoughts. Then I realize that the perfect gift was the one that I should have ordered two weeks ago and can’t be bought in stores anywhere the week of Christmas.
One thing I do because I want to during December (as opposed to the many things that I do out of obligation) is send Christmas cards. Even in that area, though, this temporary insanity sucks much of the joy out of sending them. A form letter? Can’t do it. How can one write a one-size-fits-all letter? That’s not good enough. Cards out of a box with our names under the pre-printed greeting? What’s the point? It’s the chance to actually communicate with long-lost and not-so-lost acquaintances that is attractive to me. Why give up that chance to communicate? So I write multiple letters that contain the same basic information but which are each somehow customized to their recipients. The problem is that this requires a substantial time commitment, even with the aid of a wordprocessor and cut-and-paste. The list of people who get letters isn’t very long.
My church family has a tradition of exchanging cards each year by dropping them in a special box in the church foyer. It’s rare to have a note included with the card. Again, I ask: What’s the point? If all we’re doing is wishing each other a generic Merry Christmas, why bother putting so much time and effort and money into it? Why not just wish each other a Merry Christmas in person and be done with it?
This year I came up with a partial solution to the church card exchange. I created my own "church families are special" greeting card in PrintMaster (by Broderbund). Ahh... much better. Hallmark doesn’t make a card that expresses the appreciation I feel for this group that so often has filled the role of extended family for me and my husband and children. But I can feel good about creating one card that embraces each family group individually but equally and expresses my appreciation for them in a special way during the Christmas season.
So I made the card. I printed multiple copies of the card. I signed our names. I wrote names on envelopes. I piled up the cards to take over to the church for distribution. I even went so far as to carry them into the church. Then I carried them back home. I realized that I had failed to include children when putting names on the envelopes. I realized that there was a chance that a few of the people might ask, "Dave & Marsha who???" I realized that just one slight modification would have made the card so much better. I realized there was a flaw that will likely be pointed out by a few. Perfectionism caused paralysis again. I had to push it aside, add the children’s names and our last name for the cases where there might be doubt and take those terribly imperfect homemade cards back over for distribution. It’s only a pile of greeting cards to people I see every week, often multiple times each week. Why would I let myself get in such a twist over making them perfect?
Making my own cards has allowed me to expand my mailing list by providing opportunity to customize the greeting itself to fit various groups. In this first year of the empty nest, I’m missing the interaction I’ve had over the years with my peers in the community, the parents of my children’s classmates. I made a special greeting card for my favorite people from that group. I’ve completed around 60 cards (mostly going to people either in the church or the community) and have another 30 or so to go. Most of the cards that will actually include a letter are left and I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed, wondering if I’ll ever complete this task. And this is one of the most enjoyable parts of Christmas for me! I don’t even want to think about the gifts!
Christmas is a week away and I’m not even close to ready. I have a bare evergreen tree in my livingroom and colored lights running down the banister. That’s the extent of my decorations thus far. There are no Christmas goodies in the house and all my kids are coming home in the next 48 hours. (Yea!)
Maybe it’s the absolute drop-dead deadlines of the Christmas season that do this to me. Not only are there multiple obligations that could be done with excellence if there were a little more time in which to do them, but the deadlines are mostly non-negotiable.
Obviously, blog posts need to go way down on my list of priorities. In defiance of my compulsiveness during this season, I will now post this in its imperfect first-draft form. Maybe. After I fix up just a few minor problems.
I’ll see you after Christmas.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Me, Me, Me
Blog (Weblog): An online journal.
Journal: An account of what happens or of what one thinks, feels, or notices, such as a diary, a ship’s log, or the written account of what happens at each meeting of a society or town meeting. (World Book Dictionary, Thorndike Barnhart, 1984)
Ponder: To consider carefully, think over. (1984 World Book Dictionary again)
Ponderings: Considerations, personal analyses. (Not in dictionary)
So I have a blog, an online account of either what happens or what I think, feel, or notice, carrying a title coined from a term meaning personal thoughts. I think that takes the focus off of actual happenings and leaves me with just thoughts. My thoughts. My feelings. What I notice.
I was sharing my feelings on a particular matter with someone this week while trying to resolve a conflict which had popped up unexpectedly. It felt so self-centered. Does it matter what I think on the matter? It would be foolish to think that anyone else thinks exactly like I do. There’s NO one who thinks like I do on every subject. There may not be many who share my feelings on most subjects. If I’m the only one who is bothered by something, is it even worth mentioning?
Perhaps I should check to see how others feel on various subjects so that I can report their thoughts, feelings, and observations instead of focusing in on my own. Of course, I’d have to make sure I completely understood what they told me so that I could report it accurately. And I’d need permission to broadcast those thoughts and feelings on a public blog site. Even if I’m not planning to share those thoughts publicly, there are still difficulties in accurately understanding and reporting what other people think and feel. I may THINK I know how others are responding to something, but I don’t really have a complete grasp on their thoughts even after they attempt to share them with me. Sometimes the thoughts don’t fit well into words. Sometimes I look behind the words for hidden meanings and guess incorrectly as to what the unspoken undertones are saying. Sometimes I have filters installed that interpret the meanings of the words and give them a slightly different hue. I might filter them to be more in keeping with my own thoughts. Or I might give them more or less charitable interpretations.
Back to this week's conversation. I shared that a particular approach to management makes me feel a certain way. I was guessing that maybe other people respond in a similarly negative way but I don’t really know that to be the case. If it’s true, it might be helpful to the person doing the managing to hear my thoughts as representative of those of other people. But if my response reflects personal hangups, maybe I’m better off trying to disarm my ‘hot buttons’ rather than complaining to the one who pushes them. Even if my thoughts and feelings are representative of how others respond, will the person with whom I share dismiss them as springing from my own personality problems?
The thoughts, feelings, and observations I know best and am most authorized to publicize are my own. Some of what I share might reflect a common thought process. Other times I might verbalize the unformed thoughts of others. Much of what I share may simply seem like it’s coming out of left field. My thoughts are not always rational or ‘correct’ or helpful. They may not even be particularly interesting most of the time. They’re just the ones I have. If anyone would like to share some of their own thoughts here (in the comments), they’re welcome to do so. Meanwhile, it's a blog. It's all about me. Which may get pretty boring after a while.
Journal: An account of what happens or of what one thinks, feels, or notices, such as a diary, a ship’s log, or the written account of what happens at each meeting of a society or town meeting. (World Book Dictionary, Thorndike Barnhart, 1984)
Ponder: To consider carefully, think over. (1984 World Book Dictionary again)
Ponderings: Considerations, personal analyses. (Not in dictionary)
So I have a blog, an online account of either what happens or what I think, feel, or notice, carrying a title coined from a term meaning personal thoughts. I think that takes the focus off of actual happenings and leaves me with just thoughts. My thoughts. My feelings. What I notice.
I was sharing my feelings on a particular matter with someone this week while trying to resolve a conflict which had popped up unexpectedly. It felt so self-centered. Does it matter what I think on the matter? It would be foolish to think that anyone else thinks exactly like I do. There’s NO one who thinks like I do on every subject. There may not be many who share my feelings on most subjects. If I’m the only one who is bothered by something, is it even worth mentioning?
Perhaps I should check to see how others feel on various subjects so that I can report their thoughts, feelings, and observations instead of focusing in on my own. Of course, I’d have to make sure I completely understood what they told me so that I could report it accurately. And I’d need permission to broadcast those thoughts and feelings on a public blog site. Even if I’m not planning to share those thoughts publicly, there are still difficulties in accurately understanding and reporting what other people think and feel. I may THINK I know how others are responding to something, but I don’t really have a complete grasp on their thoughts even after they attempt to share them with me. Sometimes the thoughts don’t fit well into words. Sometimes I look behind the words for hidden meanings and guess incorrectly as to what the unspoken undertones are saying. Sometimes I have filters installed that interpret the meanings of the words and give them a slightly different hue. I might filter them to be more in keeping with my own thoughts. Or I might give them more or less charitable interpretations.
Back to this week's conversation. I shared that a particular approach to management makes me feel a certain way. I was guessing that maybe other people respond in a similarly negative way but I don’t really know that to be the case. If it’s true, it might be helpful to the person doing the managing to hear my thoughts as representative of those of other people. But if my response reflects personal hangups, maybe I’m better off trying to disarm my ‘hot buttons’ rather than complaining to the one who pushes them. Even if my thoughts and feelings are representative of how others respond, will the person with whom I share dismiss them as springing from my own personality problems?
The thoughts, feelings, and observations I know best and am most authorized to publicize are my own. Some of what I share might reflect a common thought process. Other times I might verbalize the unformed thoughts of others. Much of what I share may simply seem like it’s coming out of left field. My thoughts are not always rational or ‘correct’ or helpful. They may not even be particularly interesting most of the time. They’re just the ones I have. If anyone would like to share some of their own thoughts here (in the comments), they’re welcome to do so. Meanwhile, it's a blog. It's all about me. Which may get pretty boring after a while.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
The Reason for the Season
I see it on church signs, on greetings cards; I hear it in various Christian settings: "Jesus Is the Reason for the Season". In response, something within me suggests, "If Jesus is the reason for all this, why do I associate myself with Christianity? If the values of the Christmas season with all it’s tinsel reflect the heart of Christianity, I need to find a new faith."
Is Christmas about Jesus? No. Not now. Not ever. Christmas didn’t begin in a manger in Bethlehem. The life of Jesus Christ began in Bethlehem, but Christmas began in the dark lands of the north.
I recently heard someone say that they are glad Christmas comes at this time of the year because the lights are so beautiful on dark winter nights. Hello! That’s not coincidence, you know! December 25th is not the historic date of Jesus’ birth. Rather, it’s the first day of perceptibly longer daylight after the winter solstice. The winter solstice is the reason for the season. Think how dark and cold and depressing December would be without Christmas. Winter is a time of darkness and death. We need help to make it through. What a momentous occasion when after weeks of each day being a little shorter than the previous one, there comes a day that is just a wee bit longer. The tide has turned. We’re heading back to warmth and light. It may be a long time coming, but we’ve made a start. It’s a reason to celebrate.
Even though it’s dark now, the light will return. In the meantime, we string up lights all around city, town, and country. We change our decor to a Christmas theme. We bring evergreen trees inside and hang lights and ornaments on them. We have social gatherings. In the midst of the darkest days, our electric meters hum as we light the world in defiance of the darkness.
There’s more to Christmas than bringing artificial light into the darkness of December. We also shop! We fill the streets with traffic and the store aisles with shopping carts as we go out and spend our money on the commercial offerings of our culture. We buy gifts and wrap them in bright paper and adorn them with ribbons. We pile those gifts high under and around the trees in our homes. We buy gifts for people we love and for people we hate and for people we barely know and for people we don't know at all. We buy gifts for people who ask us not to buy them gifts. If we don't know someone well enough to select a suitable gift, we buy something that we would like or that we think they ought to like but which may have no actual value at all to them. Or we buy what other people tell us our gift recipients will like, whether the gift seems of true value or not. (Sometimes we make sure they’re returnable.) It gives us something to do in December. Go out and enjoy the lights and the cheery music. Mingle with other people. Collect the gifts. Wrap the gifts. Anticipate the distribution of the gifts. Chase away the darkness.
In the midst of this comes a group of people saying, "Jesus is the reason for the season." The lights? They’re about Jesus, the light of the world. The music? Jesus, the reason to sing. Christmas trees? Jesus again, bringing us eternal (evergreen) life! The wreaths? Symbols of God's unending love. The gifts? Celebrating the greatest gift ever and reminding us of those who brought gifts to Jesus on his birth. December 25th? No, not the first day of perceptible increase in length after the winter solstice (who even knew that?) but the day of Jesus’ birth.
This is a problem to me. I don’t mind celebrating Jesus’ birth on December 25th. But I mind it very much when people try to match up the over-the-top excesses of our culture’s holiday season with the life and values of Jesus Christ. To say that Jesus is the reason for frenzied shoppers trampling each other trying to grab the last hot item available in town is a terrible affront to the Christian faith, denying the most basic values of Christianity, such as simplicity and generosity. To say that He’s the reason for the piles of often-thoughtless gifts that are so soon broken or discarded trivializes the value of the gift He gives to us. To say that Jesus is the reason people string up lights is to presume that we know the motivation of people who may be simply enjoying the beauty of the displays. We don’t do all these things because of Jesus! We do it because it’s December and it’s dark and we need a way to cope with the darkness of winter.
Maybe I’m deceived here. Maybe other people truly trace all of their winter holiday activities back to Jesus. Maybe the joy of their relationship with Jesus Christ inspires them to put up lights and a tree in December and go out and buy gifts for everyone they know. I’m not one of those people. The joy of my relationship with Jesus Christ doesn’t make me do anything in December that I don’t do at other times in the year. Celebrating Jesus’ birth, even if I do it in December, does not require more preparation than celebrating the greater wonder of his resurrection a few days after the spring equinox. Being a Christian doesn’t prompt me to make an annual pilgrimage to the mall to buy gifts of dubious value for my friends and acquaintances. Only the cultural pressure of the winter solstice celebration prompts me to do that.
For many years, I have dreaded the arrival of December. Stress is caused by unpleasant circumstances that are beyond our control. Christmas in my adult years has involved multiple sets of unpleasant circumstances beyond my control. Thus, for me, Christmas is the ultimate source of stress. One thing that has helped me is to realize that American (or European or any other) Christmas traditions are not nearly so sacred as Christians like to make them out to be. Very little of what happens at Christmas time in the 21st century truly traces back to the birth of Jesus Christ.
If I regard Christmas as simply a cultural response to the cold, dark days of winter, it is freeing to me. I like the lights. It’s dark in December. Lights are good. A Christmas tree is nice. Christmas decorations brighten the atmosphere. Special food and social activities lift my spirits. A few gifts exchanged with loved ones is a pleasant winter event. Taking time during December to send greetings to friends and relatives near and far is a good use of this month when the darkness gives us more time inside. Commemorating the birth of Jesus during these dark days adds a special touch to the winter holidays.
No, Jesus is not the reason for the season. My commitment to Jesus Christ is not measured by how much I spend at the mall. Nor by how many social events I host or attend. Nor by how much fruitcake I make and give away. Not even by how many hours I spend in church either celebrating or preparing to celebrate Christmas. I actually appreciate the shift from saying "Merry Christmas" to "Happy Holidays". Not only do I favor descriptors other than "merry" for the commemoration of the advent of Christ, I think the latter greeting is more appropriate in light of the overwhelmingly secular nature of our winter celebration. Giving our blessing to the excessiveness of the holiday season by referring to the entire frenzied season as "Christ’s mass" is offensive to me as one who seeks to follow that humble carpenter.
So to those of you who will marvel at the miracle of the Incarnation this month, may the season be blessed with warm gatherings and a fresh wonder at the amazing love that prompted that event. To those of you who are more focused on other aspects of the season, I wish you "Happy Holidays." May the lights and the music and, yes, even the shopping bring you good cheer during these dark days.
Is Christmas about Jesus? No. Not now. Not ever. Christmas didn’t begin in a manger in Bethlehem. The life of Jesus Christ began in Bethlehem, but Christmas began in the dark lands of the north.
I recently heard someone say that they are glad Christmas comes at this time of the year because the lights are so beautiful on dark winter nights. Hello! That’s not coincidence, you know! December 25th is not the historic date of Jesus’ birth. Rather, it’s the first day of perceptibly longer daylight after the winter solstice. The winter solstice is the reason for the season. Think how dark and cold and depressing December would be without Christmas. Winter is a time of darkness and death. We need help to make it through. What a momentous occasion when after weeks of each day being a little shorter than the previous one, there comes a day that is just a wee bit longer. The tide has turned. We’re heading back to warmth and light. It may be a long time coming, but we’ve made a start. It’s a reason to celebrate.
Even though it’s dark now, the light will return. In the meantime, we string up lights all around city, town, and country. We change our decor to a Christmas theme. We bring evergreen trees inside and hang lights and ornaments on them. We have social gatherings. In the midst of the darkest days, our electric meters hum as we light the world in defiance of the darkness.
There’s more to Christmas than bringing artificial light into the darkness of December. We also shop! We fill the streets with traffic and the store aisles with shopping carts as we go out and spend our money on the commercial offerings of our culture. We buy gifts and wrap them in bright paper and adorn them with ribbons. We pile those gifts high under and around the trees in our homes. We buy gifts for people we love and for people we hate and for people we barely know and for people we don't know at all. We buy gifts for people who ask us not to buy them gifts. If we don't know someone well enough to select a suitable gift, we buy something that we would like or that we think they ought to like but which may have no actual value at all to them. Or we buy what other people tell us our gift recipients will like, whether the gift seems of true value or not. (Sometimes we make sure they’re returnable.) It gives us something to do in December. Go out and enjoy the lights and the cheery music. Mingle with other people. Collect the gifts. Wrap the gifts. Anticipate the distribution of the gifts. Chase away the darkness.
In the midst of this comes a group of people saying, "Jesus is the reason for the season." The lights? They’re about Jesus, the light of the world. The music? Jesus, the reason to sing. Christmas trees? Jesus again, bringing us eternal (evergreen) life! The wreaths? Symbols of God's unending love. The gifts? Celebrating the greatest gift ever and reminding us of those who brought gifts to Jesus on his birth. December 25th? No, not the first day of perceptible increase in length after the winter solstice (who even knew that?) but the day of Jesus’ birth.
This is a problem to me. I don’t mind celebrating Jesus’ birth on December 25th. But I mind it very much when people try to match up the over-the-top excesses of our culture’s holiday season with the life and values of Jesus Christ. To say that Jesus is the reason for frenzied shoppers trampling each other trying to grab the last hot item available in town is a terrible affront to the Christian faith, denying the most basic values of Christianity, such as simplicity and generosity. To say that He’s the reason for the piles of often-thoughtless gifts that are so soon broken or discarded trivializes the value of the gift He gives to us. To say that Jesus is the reason people string up lights is to presume that we know the motivation of people who may be simply enjoying the beauty of the displays. We don’t do all these things because of Jesus! We do it because it’s December and it’s dark and we need a way to cope with the darkness of winter.
Maybe I’m deceived here. Maybe other people truly trace all of their winter holiday activities back to Jesus. Maybe the joy of their relationship with Jesus Christ inspires them to put up lights and a tree in December and go out and buy gifts for everyone they know. I’m not one of those people. The joy of my relationship with Jesus Christ doesn’t make me do anything in December that I don’t do at other times in the year. Celebrating Jesus’ birth, even if I do it in December, does not require more preparation than celebrating the greater wonder of his resurrection a few days after the spring equinox. Being a Christian doesn’t prompt me to make an annual pilgrimage to the mall to buy gifts of dubious value for my friends and acquaintances. Only the cultural pressure of the winter solstice celebration prompts me to do that.
For many years, I have dreaded the arrival of December. Stress is caused by unpleasant circumstances that are beyond our control. Christmas in my adult years has involved multiple sets of unpleasant circumstances beyond my control. Thus, for me, Christmas is the ultimate source of stress. One thing that has helped me is to realize that American (or European or any other) Christmas traditions are not nearly so sacred as Christians like to make them out to be. Very little of what happens at Christmas time in the 21st century truly traces back to the birth of Jesus Christ.
If I regard Christmas as simply a cultural response to the cold, dark days of winter, it is freeing to me. I like the lights. It’s dark in December. Lights are good. A Christmas tree is nice. Christmas decorations brighten the atmosphere. Special food and social activities lift my spirits. A few gifts exchanged with loved ones is a pleasant winter event. Taking time during December to send greetings to friends and relatives near and far is a good use of this month when the darkness gives us more time inside. Commemorating the birth of Jesus during these dark days adds a special touch to the winter holidays.
No, Jesus is not the reason for the season. My commitment to Jesus Christ is not measured by how much I spend at the mall. Nor by how many social events I host or attend. Nor by how much fruitcake I make and give away. Not even by how many hours I spend in church either celebrating or preparing to celebrate Christmas. I actually appreciate the shift from saying "Merry Christmas" to "Happy Holidays". Not only do I favor descriptors other than "merry" for the commemoration of the advent of Christ, I think the latter greeting is more appropriate in light of the overwhelmingly secular nature of our winter celebration. Giving our blessing to the excessiveness of the holiday season by referring to the entire frenzied season as "Christ’s mass" is offensive to me as one who seeks to follow that humble carpenter.
So to those of you who will marvel at the miracle of the Incarnation this month, may the season be blessed with warm gatherings and a fresh wonder at the amazing love that prompted that event. To those of you who are more focused on other aspects of the season, I wish you "Happy Holidays." May the lights and the music and, yes, even the shopping bring you good cheer during these dark days.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
The First Empty-Nest Thanksgiving
We went from five around the table last year on Thanksgiving Day to two this year – my husband and me. The kids all found other places to be. One has moved too far away to come home for a 4-day weekend. The other two spent the day with friends. We could have pressured one to stay home but let her go as the others submitted their negative RSVPs. Dave’s extended family is in Florida. Mine is doing Thanksgiving with the "other side" today. I was going to have them here Saturday but my brother and sister-in-law offered to host the event so we’re going there.
This all started to fall into place a couple of weeks ago. That’s good. It helps to have a little notice that a holiday isn’t going to follow its usual pattern in order to bend my mind around it before it arrives.
I asked Dave what we were going to do for Thanksgiving. He suggested cutting firewood. That didn’t set real well with me. Gathering firewood has been a frequent activity lately. It seems that there should be something special to do on a holiday, something that we don’t do on ordinary days.
There are always stories about people who invite intellectually-stimulating guests to join them for Thanksgiving gatherings. I tried to think of all the intellectually-stimulating people I know who wouldn’t be celebrating with family and drew a blank. I thought about the less-than-stimulating people I know who might not have a family gathering but then remembered that hospitality is not exactly my best talent. I envisioned bored people sitting around in our livingroom with nothing to entertain them -- no television for parades or football, no stimulating conversation. Suddenly, the firewood idea started looking better.
We went through the list of possibilities. We’re not particularly interested in parades or football. There are no soup kitchens in the area where we could volunteer. The schedule at the movie theater is only mildly interesting – "Chicken Little" or "Harry Potter". We don’t hunt, although we do have four acres of woods. Cooking a big dinner seemed pointless with a church turkey dinner last Sunday evening and my family gathering on Saturday. Some people from church invited us to join them at a steakhouse 35 miles from home. Stuffing myself with restaurant food didn’t sound all that inviting. Television bores me. Sitting by the fire reading good books bores him. Playing games doesn’t appeal to either of us.
A co-worker told me this week that she and her teenage daughter were going to lounge around in their pajamas all day. That sounded cozy and relaxing. Maybe large family gatherings and turkey dinners on Thanksgiving are over-rated. Still, it seems like the day requires more than sacking out on the couch all day.
We came up with a plan. A tornado ripped through our county last week and did enormous damage along its 12-mile path. Fortunately, there were no deaths and only one serious injury, but 60 houses and 10 businesses and high-voltage towers and wires were strewn across the area. The roads were closed in the area for the rest of the week but opened up to sightseers last Sunday and we joined the gawkers, amazed by the awesome destructive force of nature. It was a spontaneous outing and we didn’t take our camera. We could go back and take pictures today. Then maybe an outing to the theater would round out the day.
We never left the driveway. Nor is the pile of firewood in the back yard significantly higher. We slept late and took naps. I caught up on some reading. We had sliced turkey from the deli on sandwiches for lunch and pot pies from the freezer for supper. I baked a pumpkin pie just because it was Thanksgiving, they're easy (with pie crust from the dairy case) and I wanted to have one in the house.
Thanksgiving seemed like a good day to tromp through the woods and I took some pruners with me to maybe tackle some undergrowth as I went. I ended up rescuing a few trees along the woods side of the yard from vines that were threatening to strangle them. It felt good to be out in the cold doing enough work to end up warm rather than cold. (Maybe I should have signed up for the firewood idea.) We watched part of a movie on the small television in the kitchen. We cleaned out an area in the basement where we’re going to install a small, modified furnace to circulate heat from the outside wood furnace that’s supposed to arrive next week. We talked to family on the phone. We were on the verge of heading out to where the tornado went through but didn’t quite make it out the door. When darkness arrived, an evening at home started to sound better than driving the 25 miles to the movie theater.
This probably sounds like a terrible Thanksgiving to someone with an extroverted personality who thrives on social activity, but it worked for us. It was a good mix of relaxation and accomplishment. We won’t end the week lacking for social interaction.
Like some other parts of the empty nest experience, it’s something that I think I could get used to but perhaps shouldn’t quite yet.
This all started to fall into place a couple of weeks ago. That’s good. It helps to have a little notice that a holiday isn’t going to follow its usual pattern in order to bend my mind around it before it arrives.
I asked Dave what we were going to do for Thanksgiving. He suggested cutting firewood. That didn’t set real well with me. Gathering firewood has been a frequent activity lately. It seems that there should be something special to do on a holiday, something that we don’t do on ordinary days.
There are always stories about people who invite intellectually-stimulating guests to join them for Thanksgiving gatherings. I tried to think of all the intellectually-stimulating people I know who wouldn’t be celebrating with family and drew a blank. I thought about the less-than-stimulating people I know who might not have a family gathering but then remembered that hospitality is not exactly my best talent. I envisioned bored people sitting around in our livingroom with nothing to entertain them -- no television for parades or football, no stimulating conversation. Suddenly, the firewood idea started looking better.
We went through the list of possibilities. We’re not particularly interested in parades or football. There are no soup kitchens in the area where we could volunteer. The schedule at the movie theater is only mildly interesting – "Chicken Little" or "Harry Potter". We don’t hunt, although we do have four acres of woods. Cooking a big dinner seemed pointless with a church turkey dinner last Sunday evening and my family gathering on Saturday. Some people from church invited us to join them at a steakhouse 35 miles from home. Stuffing myself with restaurant food didn’t sound all that inviting. Television bores me. Sitting by the fire reading good books bores him. Playing games doesn’t appeal to either of us.
A co-worker told me this week that she and her teenage daughter were going to lounge around in their pajamas all day. That sounded cozy and relaxing. Maybe large family gatherings and turkey dinners on Thanksgiving are over-rated. Still, it seems like the day requires more than sacking out on the couch all day.
We came up with a plan. A tornado ripped through our county last week and did enormous damage along its 12-mile path. Fortunately, there were no deaths and only one serious injury, but 60 houses and 10 businesses and high-voltage towers and wires were strewn across the area. The roads were closed in the area for the rest of the week but opened up to sightseers last Sunday and we joined the gawkers, amazed by the awesome destructive force of nature. It was a spontaneous outing and we didn’t take our camera. We could go back and take pictures today. Then maybe an outing to the theater would round out the day.
We never left the driveway. Nor is the pile of firewood in the back yard significantly higher. We slept late and took naps. I caught up on some reading. We had sliced turkey from the deli on sandwiches for lunch and pot pies from the freezer for supper. I baked a pumpkin pie just because it was Thanksgiving, they're easy (with pie crust from the dairy case) and I wanted to have one in the house.
Thanksgiving seemed like a good day to tromp through the woods and I took some pruners with me to maybe tackle some undergrowth as I went. I ended up rescuing a few trees along the woods side of the yard from vines that were threatening to strangle them. It felt good to be out in the cold doing enough work to end up warm rather than cold. (Maybe I should have signed up for the firewood idea.) We watched part of a movie on the small television in the kitchen. We cleaned out an area in the basement where we’re going to install a small, modified furnace to circulate heat from the outside wood furnace that’s supposed to arrive next week. We talked to family on the phone. We were on the verge of heading out to where the tornado went through but didn’t quite make it out the door. When darkness arrived, an evening at home started to sound better than driving the 25 miles to the movie theater.
This probably sounds like a terrible Thanksgiving to someone with an extroverted personality who thrives on social activity, but it worked for us. It was a good mix of relaxation and accomplishment. We won’t end the week lacking for social interaction.
Like some other parts of the empty nest experience, it’s something that I think I could get used to but perhaps shouldn’t quite yet.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
On blogging
Last night I was talking to someone who referenced something I had written here. It always startles me when that happens. The internet is a big place. While there are a few internet sites, including some blogs, that include a link to bring you here, it still surprises me when someone who knows me in 'real life' happens across one of those sites and follows the link, particularly when that person is an adult.
The blog that sends the most people here -- The World of Sondra -- is maintained by my college-age daughter. Thus, I'm not quite so surprised if her friends stop past. Besides the conversation I mentioned above, I also chatted with one of those friends last night, a young man whose blog also has a link on my daughter's. I noted that I enjoy his posts. He indicated that he has stopped past here, too. Then there was an awkward pause in our conversation. It seems that neither of us could find anything further to say on the subject of our blogs.
I've participated in internet discussions on topical forums for probably ten years -- eons in computer time. I've developed relationships of various degrees, met some of the people behind the posts in person, shared much with others whom I've never met in 'real life'.
Internet relationships are interesting. They tend to have fewer dimensions than 'real life' relationships. I might know someone's 'hot buttons', how many kids they have, what they're passionate about. I might think they're hilarious or that they whine too much or are too sensitive. I might have a mental picture of them that resides entirely in my imagination if I haven't seen a photo. (There are a couple of people who exist in two forms in my mind -- the person I imagined them to be before I met them personally and the person I now know them to be. When I remember early exchanges with them, I have to go back to the earlier image in order to recall the nature of those exchanges.) If I've seen a photo, I don't have to rely so heavily on my imagination to flesh them out, but I still don't have a complete picture of them.
When I meet someone new in 'real life', I think it's safe to say that most of the information I gather about them in that first exchange comes from my observations rather than their words. I can look into their eyes, observe their facial expressions, check out their personal appearance, their posture, their gestures, etc. and make multiple assessments, many of which will later turn out to be totally erroneous. As I get to know them better, I modify my first impression to more closely match what I continue to learn about them, still using my observation skills as much as listening to the plain meaning of the words they say.
When I meet someone on the internet, all I have is their words. Beyond the plain meaning of those words, there aren't many other things to assess -- spelling skills and sentence structure, maybe. There's not even tone to consider, except for the tone I add to the words as I read. I might be able to say they are skillful at expressing themselves in writing or that I find it hard to follow what they're saying. What does that really tell me about the person behind the words? I may know them very well as internet friends and yet know nothing about what they're like in a social setting. What takes only a few short moments to pick up on in face-to-face exchanges may take much longer to gather via the internet, if it's even possible to detect without personal exposure.
Blogs add a new dimension to the world of internet relationships. Reading a blog is like reading a person's diary. You know what makes them laugh and what makes them cry and what makes them angry. Unlike topic-based internet discussions, you get a broader picture of the person's interests. However, it's a one-way exchange. The blogger pours out their life into the blog. The reader might make a comment now and then, but it's certainly not a two-way street with equal traffic in each direction. Thus, the reader gets to know the writer quite well while the writer is often unaware that the reader is even reading. This can lead to some awkward moments.
Last spring, I watched a ping-pong match while seated next to a young man who had received a college degree the week before and whose blog I read regularly. (We were cheering for opposite teams in the ping-pong match.) I know him as a talented writer dealing with some serious issues in life in ways I admire. He knows me only as 'Marissa's mom' -- after I introduce myself again. So what are we going to talk about? I feel like I know him well and would love to chat with him. But the most I can think to say that wouldn't be 'weird' is, "I enjoy reading your blog." Even that might be too intrusive. Does he really want to know that there's someone the age of his parents reading his blog?
Even when you know someone and are pleased that they would bother to read your blog, it still makes for some awkward moments. Last night I brought up something and my friend said, "I know. You said that in your blog entry." Yes, sure enough, I did. Do I have anything else to say on the subject at all? Or did I totally exhaust my thoughts on the subject in that one post. How inconvenient to have indulged in a monologue and have left myself no resources for a dialog.
It's all right, though. You all, whoever you are, can keep reading. If I didn't want people to read what I write, I'd confine my writing to locked diaries. I just hope you'll overlook the awkwardness if we meet in 'real life' and I realize that you already know my innermost thoughts on some of my favorite topics and find myself struggling for something to say.
The blog that sends the most people here -- The World of Sondra -- is maintained by my college-age daughter. Thus, I'm not quite so surprised if her friends stop past. Besides the conversation I mentioned above, I also chatted with one of those friends last night, a young man whose blog also has a link on my daughter's. I noted that I enjoy his posts. He indicated that he has stopped past here, too. Then there was an awkward pause in our conversation. It seems that neither of us could find anything further to say on the subject of our blogs.
I've participated in internet discussions on topical forums for probably ten years -- eons in computer time. I've developed relationships of various degrees, met some of the people behind the posts in person, shared much with others whom I've never met in 'real life'.
Internet relationships are interesting. They tend to have fewer dimensions than 'real life' relationships. I might know someone's 'hot buttons', how many kids they have, what they're passionate about. I might think they're hilarious or that they whine too much or are too sensitive. I might have a mental picture of them that resides entirely in my imagination if I haven't seen a photo. (There are a couple of people who exist in two forms in my mind -- the person I imagined them to be before I met them personally and the person I now know them to be. When I remember early exchanges with them, I have to go back to the earlier image in order to recall the nature of those exchanges.) If I've seen a photo, I don't have to rely so heavily on my imagination to flesh them out, but I still don't have a complete picture of them.
When I meet someone new in 'real life', I think it's safe to say that most of the information I gather about them in that first exchange comes from my observations rather than their words. I can look into their eyes, observe their facial expressions, check out their personal appearance, their posture, their gestures, etc. and make multiple assessments, many of which will later turn out to be totally erroneous. As I get to know them better, I modify my first impression to more closely match what I continue to learn about them, still using my observation skills as much as listening to the plain meaning of the words they say.
When I meet someone on the internet, all I have is their words. Beyond the plain meaning of those words, there aren't many other things to assess -- spelling skills and sentence structure, maybe. There's not even tone to consider, except for the tone I add to the words as I read. I might be able to say they are skillful at expressing themselves in writing or that I find it hard to follow what they're saying. What does that really tell me about the person behind the words? I may know them very well as internet friends and yet know nothing about what they're like in a social setting. What takes only a few short moments to pick up on in face-to-face exchanges may take much longer to gather via the internet, if it's even possible to detect without personal exposure.
Blogs add a new dimension to the world of internet relationships. Reading a blog is like reading a person's diary. You know what makes them laugh and what makes them cry and what makes them angry. Unlike topic-based internet discussions, you get a broader picture of the person's interests. However, it's a one-way exchange. The blogger pours out their life into the blog. The reader might make a comment now and then, but it's certainly not a two-way street with equal traffic in each direction. Thus, the reader gets to know the writer quite well while the writer is often unaware that the reader is even reading. This can lead to some awkward moments.
Last spring, I watched a ping-pong match while seated next to a young man who had received a college degree the week before and whose blog I read regularly. (We were cheering for opposite teams in the ping-pong match.) I know him as a talented writer dealing with some serious issues in life in ways I admire. He knows me only as 'Marissa's mom' -- after I introduce myself again. So what are we going to talk about? I feel like I know him well and would love to chat with him. But the most I can think to say that wouldn't be 'weird' is, "I enjoy reading your blog." Even that might be too intrusive. Does he really want to know that there's someone the age of his parents reading his blog?
Even when you know someone and are pleased that they would bother to read your blog, it still makes for some awkward moments. Last night I brought up something and my friend said, "I know. You said that in your blog entry." Yes, sure enough, I did. Do I have anything else to say on the subject at all? Or did I totally exhaust my thoughts on the subject in that one post. How inconvenient to have indulged in a monologue and have left myself no resources for a dialog.
It's all right, though. You all, whoever you are, can keep reading. If I didn't want people to read what I write, I'd confine my writing to locked diaries. I just hope you'll overlook the awkwardness if we meet in 'real life' and I realize that you already know my innermost thoughts on some of my favorite topics and find myself struggling for something to say.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Why I go to church
First, I should maybe confess that I am a follower of the teachings of Jesus Christ – a Christian. Since church buildings are designed as places for Christians to gather, it would seem obvious that I would associate myself with a group of other Christians and gather with them in a church most every Sunday (the Lord’s Day). Followers of Jesus Christ have had such gatherings since the day of his resurrection, although Christian church buildings came a little later. And, indeed, I have such an association and I habitually gather with the group twice on Sunday and again on Wednesday evening, as per long-standing tradition.
Being part of a church is not always easy, however. The portrait of Jesus Christ and the God of the universe that I encounter when I attend church sometimes stands in stark contrast to what I find in the Bible – God’s revelation of himself to us. Sometimes the contrast irritates me. Thus, my previous posts concerning going to church without getting angry.
So why do I keep going if I often come away upset about what I encounter in the church? Why do I continue to gather so frequently with people who sometimes blacken the character of God, who sometimes make me ashamed to be associated with them? As someone once asked me, “Why would I continue to go someplace where I am consistently offended?” Why indeed?
There are several reasons:
1. “Lone ranger” Christians are likely to develop a view of God even more skewed than one finds in the church. There is balance to be found in a group of believers. Even when I don’t agree with what I hear at church, the introduction of a different perspective helps me hone my own beliefs and check them against the Holy Scriptures. I need the shaping that the church provides. I need to make myself accountable to a community of believers.
2. The church is my family. These are people who care about me. If I’m in the hospital they’ll come and visit me. When I’m grieving they extend sympathy. When I receive blessings they rejoice with me. Sure, some of them are scallywags. Isn’t that the case in every family? They’re still family.
3. Fellowship. When someone steps through the doors of the church, they are indicating at least some minimal level of interest in spiritual things. The church brings me into intentional contact with such people. I find encouragement along the way as I interact with others who have chosen to live as Christians.
4. Ministry. The church is a place to share my spiritual journey with others and hopefully encourage them in their own walk. Just as my church family ministers to me in my times of joy and grief, I too can minister to others. Perhaps I can encourage someone who is searching for God and having difficulty finding Him. I can weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who are rejoicing.
5. To worship God. I left this for last because I find corporate worship challenging. My most focused worship times occur in solitude. Generally, the only way I can carry worship into the church is to have it begin at home. Still, occasionally I am surprised by a glimpse of heaven even within the church.
As I mentioned in an earlier entry, the author who wrote about going to church without getting angry achieved his lack of ire by finding a church that better matched his worldview. There are several reasons I don’t attempt to do this.
1. There is no perfect church. If there were, I wouldn’t be allowed to join it because then it would no longer be perfect.
2. I am basically in harmony with the official doctrine of the church of which I’m a part, at least more than with other churches around where I live.
3. There’s a possibility that I can be a positive voice in the church, ministering to those who come to church looking for the God of love and instead encounter the misrepresentation of God that I find so irritating. Perhaps when I'm at my best the church is better because I'm part of it.
4. I am not alone. There are more people than I involved in this decision. Leaving the church would mean letting multiple people down.
So I stay and get involved and continue to show up on a regular basis. And I find family and fellowship and a place of ministry. Sometimes I even catch a glimpse of God in the church! It’s a good place to be.
Being part of a church is not always easy, however. The portrait of Jesus Christ and the God of the universe that I encounter when I attend church sometimes stands in stark contrast to what I find in the Bible – God’s revelation of himself to us. Sometimes the contrast irritates me. Thus, my previous posts concerning going to church without getting angry.
So why do I keep going if I often come away upset about what I encounter in the church? Why do I continue to gather so frequently with people who sometimes blacken the character of God, who sometimes make me ashamed to be associated with them? As someone once asked me, “Why would I continue to go someplace where I am consistently offended?” Why indeed?
There are several reasons:
1. “Lone ranger” Christians are likely to develop a view of God even more skewed than one finds in the church. There is balance to be found in a group of believers. Even when I don’t agree with what I hear at church, the introduction of a different perspective helps me hone my own beliefs and check them against the Holy Scriptures. I need the shaping that the church provides. I need to make myself accountable to a community of believers.
2. The church is my family. These are people who care about me. If I’m in the hospital they’ll come and visit me. When I’m grieving they extend sympathy. When I receive blessings they rejoice with me. Sure, some of them are scallywags. Isn’t that the case in every family? They’re still family.
3. Fellowship. When someone steps through the doors of the church, they are indicating at least some minimal level of interest in spiritual things. The church brings me into intentional contact with such people. I find encouragement along the way as I interact with others who have chosen to live as Christians.
4. Ministry. The church is a place to share my spiritual journey with others and hopefully encourage them in their own walk. Just as my church family ministers to me in my times of joy and grief, I too can minister to others. Perhaps I can encourage someone who is searching for God and having difficulty finding Him. I can weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who are rejoicing.
5. To worship God. I left this for last because I find corporate worship challenging. My most focused worship times occur in solitude. Generally, the only way I can carry worship into the church is to have it begin at home. Still, occasionally I am surprised by a glimpse of heaven even within the church.
As I mentioned in an earlier entry, the author who wrote about going to church without getting angry achieved his lack of ire by finding a church that better matched his worldview. There are several reasons I don’t attempt to do this.
1. There is no perfect church. If there were, I wouldn’t be allowed to join it because then it would no longer be perfect.
2. I am basically in harmony with the official doctrine of the church of which I’m a part, at least more than with other churches around where I live.
3. There’s a possibility that I can be a positive voice in the church, ministering to those who come to church looking for the God of love and instead encounter the misrepresentation of God that I find so irritating. Perhaps when I'm at my best the church is better because I'm part of it.
4. I am not alone. There are more people than I involved in this decision. Leaving the church would mean letting multiple people down.
So I stay and get involved and continue to show up on a regular basis. And I find family and fellowship and a place of ministry. Sometimes I even catch a glimpse of God in the church! It’s a good place to be.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Standing on the Threshold
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the questions to which I’m asked to respond. This was initially prompted by a survey administered at my church. There were 160 statements. The five choices on the answer sheet ranged from strongly disagree to strongly agree with the middle option being “no opinion/don’t know”. I chose the middle option for statements concerning the thoughts of other people. (If you want to know what other people think, ask them. I’m not a mind-reader and haven’t interviewed enough people on these topics to make a categoric assessment of what ‘everybody’ thinks. I’m not even sure of my own thinking on some of them.) I also chose it for statements that could be either true or false depending on various factors. Do I like the music in the church services? Yes. And no. Some of it I love (particularly the songs I choose to play). Some of it makes me want to leave and never look back. I have strong opinions about music but they pretty much cancel each other out at church and leave me in the ‘don't know/no opinion’ crowd.
I was sailing through the survey pretty well until I got to the last set of statements, which were obviously designed to test the orthodoxy of my beliefs. The first one that made me balk read: “Prayer works.” ‘Works’? Works for what? Prayer is conversation with God. Does talking to one’s spouse ‘work’? Does talking to the boss ‘work’? Does talking to your children ‘work’? Does talking to God ‘work’? None of those questions can be answered without defining the goal of the conversation. Talking to the boss might not ‘work’ if there’s tension in my marriage and I’m looking for a solution. Talking to my husband doesn’t ‘work’ when I need to clear up a disagreement with a friend. Talking to God doesn’t ‘work’ when my goal is to get my own way. I could neither agree nor disagree with the statement without clarification. Nor could I say that I have no opinion on the subject or that I don’t know whether prayer works. I have definite opinions on what prayer does and does not accomplish. I just need a definition of the word ‘works’. I left the answer sheet blank on that one and six others. There is no good answer to a bad question. If the statement had read, “Prayer is an essential part of my life,” or even, “Prayer makes a difference,” I would have gladly agreed. But I don’t even fully agree with the old adage, “Prayer changes things.” Sometimes prayer doesn’t change anything about a situation except my own view of it. Does that count as changing ‘things’?
After refusing to respond to seven of the statements on the survey on the basis that none of the choices reflected my beliefs, I’ve been noticing other questions that bother me. The one behind the title of this post comes from a Bible study book. It is: ‘How would your life be different if you really surrendered everything to God and sought His ways above your own?” As I considered the question, I heard echoes from other discussion questions. “What would happen if we really prayed?” “What would happen if we really cared about people?” “How would things change if we had our priorities straight?” “What if we really believed in heaven – or hell?”
These questions all assume that we’re standing outside this possible attitude or activity looking in at the possibilities without stepping over the threshold. The ‘correct’ answer generally seems to be that stepping over the threshold would bring amazing improvement to our lives. So ... if surrendering and praying and caring and believing bring such wonderful things, why would we stand outside discussing the possibilities that lie inside? Shouldn’t we be stepping over the threshold and experiencing the glorious results of doing these things? Shouldn’t the question be: “How is your commitment to God changing your life?”
I can see where some steps might take consideration. For example: “What would happen if we truly revealed our hearts to each other?” It might leave us vulnerable to unpleasant attacks. People might not understand us. Or, at the other extreme, it could bring us unity and a closeness we’ve never experienced before. It might be good to weigh the various possibilities before taking the step of transparency. But I think it’s safe to pray, even to “really pray,” without a lot of discussion first.
The odd part is that when the question puts us on the threshold, any answer that casts oneself as standing inside the doorway smacks of arrogance. Example: “What would happen if we really prayed?” Uhm ... I do pray. “Yes, but what would happen if we really prayed?” Uhm ... I do “really pray”. It’s a rare day when I don’t devote part of the morning to intentional communication with God. “But what would happen if we all prayed longer and more fervently?” Uhm... I guess I don’t know. Amazing things happen in my life when I pray. I’m not sure longer or more fervent prayer is what God wants from me, but I can talk to Him about it if you think I should. As to others, I guess the only way to find out what happens when we all pray is to try it and see.
None of these responses are acceptable when the ‘correct’ answer is, God would bless us with astounding results if we really prayed. Claiming to ‘really pray’ without demonstrating such results rings hollow, particularly in light of reports of how God responded to prayers in other times and places.
Still, I would rather wade deep into the experience of being fully surrendered to God and praying and believing than to stand on the threshold and only speculate as to what might be inside, even if the reality when my human frailties get involved doesn’t measure up to the ideal picture being drawn by those who never seem to move past speculation.
I was sailing through the survey pretty well until I got to the last set of statements, which were obviously designed to test the orthodoxy of my beliefs. The first one that made me balk read: “Prayer works.” ‘Works’? Works for what? Prayer is conversation with God. Does talking to one’s spouse ‘work’? Does talking to the boss ‘work’? Does talking to your children ‘work’? Does talking to God ‘work’? None of those questions can be answered without defining the goal of the conversation. Talking to the boss might not ‘work’ if there’s tension in my marriage and I’m looking for a solution. Talking to my husband doesn’t ‘work’ when I need to clear up a disagreement with a friend. Talking to God doesn’t ‘work’ when my goal is to get my own way. I could neither agree nor disagree with the statement without clarification. Nor could I say that I have no opinion on the subject or that I don’t know whether prayer works. I have definite opinions on what prayer does and does not accomplish. I just need a definition of the word ‘works’. I left the answer sheet blank on that one and six others. There is no good answer to a bad question. If the statement had read, “Prayer is an essential part of my life,” or even, “Prayer makes a difference,” I would have gladly agreed. But I don’t even fully agree with the old adage, “Prayer changes things.” Sometimes prayer doesn’t change anything about a situation except my own view of it. Does that count as changing ‘things’?
After refusing to respond to seven of the statements on the survey on the basis that none of the choices reflected my beliefs, I’ve been noticing other questions that bother me. The one behind the title of this post comes from a Bible study book. It is: ‘How would your life be different if you really surrendered everything to God and sought His ways above your own?” As I considered the question, I heard echoes from other discussion questions. “What would happen if we really prayed?” “What would happen if we really cared about people?” “How would things change if we had our priorities straight?” “What if we really believed in heaven – or hell?”
These questions all assume that we’re standing outside this possible attitude or activity looking in at the possibilities without stepping over the threshold. The ‘correct’ answer generally seems to be that stepping over the threshold would bring amazing improvement to our lives. So ... if surrendering and praying and caring and believing bring such wonderful things, why would we stand outside discussing the possibilities that lie inside? Shouldn’t we be stepping over the threshold and experiencing the glorious results of doing these things? Shouldn’t the question be: “How is your commitment to God changing your life?”
I can see where some steps might take consideration. For example: “What would happen if we truly revealed our hearts to each other?” It might leave us vulnerable to unpleasant attacks. People might not understand us. Or, at the other extreme, it could bring us unity and a closeness we’ve never experienced before. It might be good to weigh the various possibilities before taking the step of transparency. But I think it’s safe to pray, even to “really pray,” without a lot of discussion first.
The odd part is that when the question puts us on the threshold, any answer that casts oneself as standing inside the doorway smacks of arrogance. Example: “What would happen if we really prayed?” Uhm ... I do pray. “Yes, but what would happen if we really prayed?” Uhm ... I do “really pray”. It’s a rare day when I don’t devote part of the morning to intentional communication with God. “But what would happen if we all prayed longer and more fervently?” Uhm... I guess I don’t know. Amazing things happen in my life when I pray. I’m not sure longer or more fervent prayer is what God wants from me, but I can talk to Him about it if you think I should. As to others, I guess the only way to find out what happens when we all pray is to try it and see.
None of these responses are acceptable when the ‘correct’ answer is, God would bless us with astounding results if we really prayed. Claiming to ‘really pray’ without demonstrating such results rings hollow, particularly in light of reports of how God responded to prayers in other times and places.
Still, I would rather wade deep into the experience of being fully surrendered to God and praying and believing than to stand on the threshold and only speculate as to what might be inside, even if the reality when my human frailties get involved doesn’t measure up to the ideal picture being drawn by those who never seem to move past speculation.
Monday, October 24, 2005
It's Getting Darker
It was February when I started blogging. That’s a good time of the year for me. Even though it’s still cold and dreary in southern Indiana, I know that spring is on its way.
Now it’s the end of October. The days are getting shorter. The dark days of winter are closing in on us. Worse, the holidays are on their way. Holidays. Holy days. Busy days. Days driven by rules, traditions, and expectations.
Have I mentioned that I’m domestically challenged? I’m a woman with an engineering degree. I can do math. I love maps and exploring new territory with them. I’m a compulsive accountant. I follow written instructions well. I’m always ready to rip open a package stamped “some assembly required” and get started. I have designed and built simple wood shelving units for our house. I can hunt down and eliminate computer bugs. When I worked as an engineer, trouble-shooting electronic circuits was my specialty.
On the other hand, I’m lost in the kitchen. When I’m in large groups of women, I feel like an onion in a petunia patch. They complain of filth in places that look fine to me (prompting me to make a mental note not to allow them into my house, which doesn’t look at all fine to me). They exchange household hints for tasks I didn’t even know were part of housekeeping. They give oral instructions for making the dish of the night and I listen with amazement. Are others actually taking in the information and leaving equipped with the knowledge to duplicate the dish? Assuming that I’d want to make it, I’d need clear, written instructions that detailed every step. The verbal list of ingredients has no meaning for me. Is the person who is handing out the information just making conversation or does she assume I’m capable of hearing and understanding it?
Oh, I can bake well enough if I have to. I can find clear, written instructions for that. But my heart’s not in it. I don’t view it as an art or a pleasure. Cooking is harder. Gravy is beyond me. So is fried chicken. I don’t have a knack for such things. Not for cooking or decorating or fashion or entertaining.
Along come the holidays. Women cook for the holidays. Women decorate for the holidays. Women host gatherings for the holidays. People give gifts during the holidays. I strike out in all those areas, but opting out of holidays is not really an option. Holidays happen.
This first year of the empty nest will surely be different in many respects. Still, sometime in the next few weeks, I’ll likely slip into survival mode: lowering my expectations for routine accomplishment, doing what I have to do for the holidays, plugging away one day at a time, counting the days until normal life resumes in January.
It's not that I won't enjoy seeing friends and family during the holidays. I’ve even invited my extended family here for Thanksgiving and I’ll do my best to prepare a tasty meal for them. I’ll probably try to send Christmas cards and make goodies. I tend to put my actual Christmas shopping off until almost the last day in the evening -- waiting until gift choices must be made and there will be little time for second-guessing those choices before Christmas arrives. There are enjoyable times during all the hustle and bustle, but it tends to be primarily a stressful time for me.
I’ve been trying to post something here once a week. That frequency may go either up or down as the holidays approach, depending on whether blog entries turn out to be one more pressure or a temporary escape from the pressure.
Just thought I'd post a warning.
Now it’s the end of October. The days are getting shorter. The dark days of winter are closing in on us. Worse, the holidays are on their way. Holidays. Holy days. Busy days. Days driven by rules, traditions, and expectations.
Have I mentioned that I’m domestically challenged? I’m a woman with an engineering degree. I can do math. I love maps and exploring new territory with them. I’m a compulsive accountant. I follow written instructions well. I’m always ready to rip open a package stamped “some assembly required” and get started. I have designed and built simple wood shelving units for our house. I can hunt down and eliminate computer bugs. When I worked as an engineer, trouble-shooting electronic circuits was my specialty.
On the other hand, I’m lost in the kitchen. When I’m in large groups of women, I feel like an onion in a petunia patch. They complain of filth in places that look fine to me (prompting me to make a mental note not to allow them into my house, which doesn’t look at all fine to me). They exchange household hints for tasks I didn’t even know were part of housekeeping. They give oral instructions for making the dish of the night and I listen with amazement. Are others actually taking in the information and leaving equipped with the knowledge to duplicate the dish? Assuming that I’d want to make it, I’d need clear, written instructions that detailed every step. The verbal list of ingredients has no meaning for me. Is the person who is handing out the information just making conversation or does she assume I’m capable of hearing and understanding it?
Oh, I can bake well enough if I have to. I can find clear, written instructions for that. But my heart’s not in it. I don’t view it as an art or a pleasure. Cooking is harder. Gravy is beyond me. So is fried chicken. I don’t have a knack for such things. Not for cooking or decorating or fashion or entertaining.
Along come the holidays. Women cook for the holidays. Women decorate for the holidays. Women host gatherings for the holidays. People give gifts during the holidays. I strike out in all those areas, but opting out of holidays is not really an option. Holidays happen.
This first year of the empty nest will surely be different in many respects. Still, sometime in the next few weeks, I’ll likely slip into survival mode: lowering my expectations for routine accomplishment, doing what I have to do for the holidays, plugging away one day at a time, counting the days until normal life resumes in January.
It's not that I won't enjoy seeing friends and family during the holidays. I’ve even invited my extended family here for Thanksgiving and I’ll do my best to prepare a tasty meal for them. I’ll probably try to send Christmas cards and make goodies. I tend to put my actual Christmas shopping off until almost the last day in the evening -- waiting until gift choices must be made and there will be little time for second-guessing those choices before Christmas arrives. There are enjoyable times during all the hustle and bustle, but it tends to be primarily a stressful time for me.
I’ve been trying to post something here once a week. That frequency may go either up or down as the holidays approach, depending on whether blog entries turn out to be one more pressure or a temporary escape from the pressure.
Just thought I'd post a warning.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Left behind
First of all, I apologize if you came here looking for something related to the Left Behind Series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins. This is not it. So far I have not been left behind by the Rapture, at least as far as I know. I do believe in the second coming of Jesus Christ, but I don’t believe there will be anything or anybody left behind after that event* nor that there will be anything secret about it.**
However, this week I did feel like I was being left behind - by technology. My favorite internet community is moving to new software. When I looked at the new environment, I seriously considered whether my ties to the community were strong enough to accept the annoyances of the new software. Maybe it was time to “kick the habit” (and the association of that phrase with addiction is not entirely inapplicable here). As I considered that option, a feeling rose up within me that I recognized as grief. I mourned the good days that would be left behind us, the comradery, the laughter. I had to remind myself that I didn’t have to leave it all behind me. I could simply take another look at the new software and decide to stick around. Even though I had expressed reluctance to make the jump, I certainly hadn’t burned any bridges.
As I watched the community settle into the new software, I soon started to see the advantages that others were seeing. It turned out to be a relatively easy move once I decided I was going to make it. But during the one or two dark days as I watched the inevitable come and wondered whether the move would be made without me, I could identify with people who fight change. It’s frustrating to be hanging on to the old, familiar ways of doing things while others are tossing aside the old and rushing to embrace the new. As I associated myself with the old, negative remarks began to sound personal. It was sort of a “like me, like my dog” mentality. If people show disregard for what I value are they showing disregard for who I am? If the crowd goes rushing over to the new software and leaves me behind crying, “the old is better,”*** does it mean that they don’t care whether I continue to be part of the community? It seemed that all I was seeing was the backs of people leaving me behind. I kept watching to see if anyone was going to turn around to make sure I was keeping up.
I’m a part of this community by choice. The truth is that they can get along without me. I hope that my presence is a positive addition to the community but I know that it would not be a dreadful loss if I were no longer around. That knowledge does not cause me grief. My value is in serving, not in being served. Yet, I caught a glimpse of the grief experienced when people watch the things they value being set aside and wonder whether anyone truly values them. I need to stash away this brief exposure to such grief so that I can recognize it when I see it in others.
Notes:
* But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare. (2 Peter 3:10 NIV)
**Look, he is coming with the clouds,
and every eye will see him,
even those who pierced him (Revelation 1:7 NIV)
*** No one after drinking old wine wants the new, for he says, `The old is better.' " (Luke 5:39 NIV)
However, this week I did feel like I was being left behind - by technology. My favorite internet community is moving to new software. When I looked at the new environment, I seriously considered whether my ties to the community were strong enough to accept the annoyances of the new software. Maybe it was time to “kick the habit” (and the association of that phrase with addiction is not entirely inapplicable here). As I considered that option, a feeling rose up within me that I recognized as grief. I mourned the good days that would be left behind us, the comradery, the laughter. I had to remind myself that I didn’t have to leave it all behind me. I could simply take another look at the new software and decide to stick around. Even though I had expressed reluctance to make the jump, I certainly hadn’t burned any bridges.
As I watched the community settle into the new software, I soon started to see the advantages that others were seeing. It turned out to be a relatively easy move once I decided I was going to make it. But during the one or two dark days as I watched the inevitable come and wondered whether the move would be made without me, I could identify with people who fight change. It’s frustrating to be hanging on to the old, familiar ways of doing things while others are tossing aside the old and rushing to embrace the new. As I associated myself with the old, negative remarks began to sound personal. It was sort of a “like me, like my dog” mentality. If people show disregard for what I value are they showing disregard for who I am? If the crowd goes rushing over to the new software and leaves me behind crying, “the old is better,”*** does it mean that they don’t care whether I continue to be part of the community? It seemed that all I was seeing was the backs of people leaving me behind. I kept watching to see if anyone was going to turn around to make sure I was keeping up.
I’m a part of this community by choice. The truth is that they can get along without me. I hope that my presence is a positive addition to the community but I know that it would not be a dreadful loss if I were no longer around. That knowledge does not cause me grief. My value is in serving, not in being served. Yet, I caught a glimpse of the grief experienced when people watch the things they value being set aside and wonder whether anyone truly values them. I need to stash away this brief exposure to such grief so that I can recognize it when I see it in others.
Notes:
* But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare. (2 Peter 3:10 NIV)
**Look, he is coming with the clouds,
and every eye will see him,
even those who pierced him (Revelation 1:7 NIV)
*** No one after drinking old wine wants the new, for he says, `The old is better.' " (Luke 5:39 NIV)
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Encounters
I attended a ladies retreat this weekend. The organizers included a survey in the packet they gave us. One of the questions was, "What was the highlight of the retreat for you?" I left that question blank. Sharing the scene that popped into my mind would have been of no value in planning future retreats.
It happened in the morning, before the day's activities started. Morning is my "quiet time". I dressed early and, leaving my roommates behind, slipped down to the lobby with my book bag. As people started gathering for the day's activities, I left behind my initial resting place on a sofa in a hall and looked for someplace further from the beaten path.
At the back of the lobby, I found a cozy cluster of unoccupied furniture and settled in once again on the sofa there. A few minutes later, a black man in work clothes, maybe 30 years old, settled into the chair across from me with a cup of coffee. I greeted him with a smile and turned back to my books. I was enjoying what I was doing, but also very aware of my surroundings. I occasionally glanced up and took in the activity around me. I noticed that the man lit a cigarette. Coffee and tobacco. Neither are a part of my life, but I don't particularly mind the smell of either when they're fresh. However, in this case, the hotel circulation system did a good job providing clean air for me and I didn't notice the odor.
A mother and daughter with matching blond curls approached our area. The mother was talking and as she came close enough for me to hear her words, she expressed relief at finding a place to smoke. The man assured her that he didn't mind but wasn't sure about me. He indicated that he had been watching me. I found that interesting since I hadn't observed him observing me while I was observing him. I wasn't sure what information he had gathered in his observation, but apparently he had decided I didn't smoke. I greeted the newcomers and let them know that the smoke wasn't bothering me. The mother took the other chair in the area and told her daughter, who was maybe six, to sit with me on the couch, away from the smoke. I smiled and welcomed her and her teddy bear to the "non-smoking section".
The bear was clad in a wedding dress and as we admired her, the little girl noticed that she had spilled some of her chocolate milk on the dress. For reasons I won't go into, I had a mansize handkerchief in my pocket. I pulled it out and dabbed at the milk, but suggested to the girl that she would need to use water on it. She carefully set down her lidded cup of milk on the coffee table and reached out to take my handkerchief. Before I realized what she had in mind, she showed me a trick that she later explained her daddy had showed her the night before when she dropped some food on her dress. She puckered up a bit of the hanky and wet it with saliva before applying it to the bear's dress again. I suspected that her mother would not be thrilled with the idea of her putting a hanky from a stranger's pocket in her mouth. When she did it a second time, I started trying to think of a way to reclaim my hanky without making a scene. I glanced over to where Mom was sharing her views on smoking with the man: "My Uncle Joe smoked and my cousins smoked . . ." Her curiosity was roused and the little girl carried the bear (and my hanky) over to her mother. I waited to see if she would continue the spit bath and whether the mother would go ballistic, but they simply discussed the nature and source of the stain and then the girl returned to me. I quickly reclaimed my hanky. A little later the girl asked me if she had given back my "towel". I assured her that she had.
Mom shared with me that the little girl was the flower girl for a wedding that day. I turned back to my companion and asked if she had practiced the night before. She had.
It was time for me to go. As I got up I explained that I had been retreating from my retreat and needed to return. Both the man and woman smiled and I was pleased that my little joke amused them. As I walked away, the mother was telling the man about the ring bearer in the wedding.
And that was the highlight of the retreat for me: Sharing a pleasant few moments with strangers, strangers to me and to each other; smiling at smokers; seeing them as people instead of as smokers; making them smile; having a serious conversation with a charming flower girl; being reminded of "spit baths".
I don't spend a lot of time in hotel lobbies and don't often find such pleasant companions when I do. It was a nice contrast to the more structured and proper atmosphere of the retreat.
It happened in the morning, before the day's activities started. Morning is my "quiet time". I dressed early and, leaving my roommates behind, slipped down to the lobby with my book bag. As people started gathering for the day's activities, I left behind my initial resting place on a sofa in a hall and looked for someplace further from the beaten path.
At the back of the lobby, I found a cozy cluster of unoccupied furniture and settled in once again on the sofa there. A few minutes later, a black man in work clothes, maybe 30 years old, settled into the chair across from me with a cup of coffee. I greeted him with a smile and turned back to my books. I was enjoying what I was doing, but also very aware of my surroundings. I occasionally glanced up and took in the activity around me. I noticed that the man lit a cigarette. Coffee and tobacco. Neither are a part of my life, but I don't particularly mind the smell of either when they're fresh. However, in this case, the hotel circulation system did a good job providing clean air for me and I didn't notice the odor.
A mother and daughter with matching blond curls approached our area. The mother was talking and as she came close enough for me to hear her words, she expressed relief at finding a place to smoke. The man assured her that he didn't mind but wasn't sure about me. He indicated that he had been watching me. I found that interesting since I hadn't observed him observing me while I was observing him. I wasn't sure what information he had gathered in his observation, but apparently he had decided I didn't smoke. I greeted the newcomers and let them know that the smoke wasn't bothering me. The mother took the other chair in the area and told her daughter, who was maybe six, to sit with me on the couch, away from the smoke. I smiled and welcomed her and her teddy bear to the "non-smoking section".
The bear was clad in a wedding dress and as we admired her, the little girl noticed that she had spilled some of her chocolate milk on the dress. For reasons I won't go into, I had a mansize handkerchief in my pocket. I pulled it out and dabbed at the milk, but suggested to the girl that she would need to use water on it. She carefully set down her lidded cup of milk on the coffee table and reached out to take my handkerchief. Before I realized what she had in mind, she showed me a trick that she later explained her daddy had showed her the night before when she dropped some food on her dress. She puckered up a bit of the hanky and wet it with saliva before applying it to the bear's dress again. I suspected that her mother would not be thrilled with the idea of her putting a hanky from a stranger's pocket in her mouth. When she did it a second time, I started trying to think of a way to reclaim my hanky without making a scene. I glanced over to where Mom was sharing her views on smoking with the man: "My Uncle Joe smoked and my cousins smoked . . ." Her curiosity was roused and the little girl carried the bear (and my hanky) over to her mother. I waited to see if she would continue the spit bath and whether the mother would go ballistic, but they simply discussed the nature and source of the stain and then the girl returned to me. I quickly reclaimed my hanky. A little later the girl asked me if she had given back my "towel". I assured her that she had.
Mom shared with me that the little girl was the flower girl for a wedding that day. I turned back to my companion and asked if she had practiced the night before. She had.
It was time for me to go. As I got up I explained that I had been retreating from my retreat and needed to return. Both the man and woman smiled and I was pleased that my little joke amused them. As I walked away, the mother was telling the man about the ring bearer in the wedding.
And that was the highlight of the retreat for me: Sharing a pleasant few moments with strangers, strangers to me and to each other; smiling at smokers; seeing them as people instead of as smokers; making them smile; having a serious conversation with a charming flower girl; being reminded of "spit baths".
I don't spend a lot of time in hotel lobbies and don't often find such pleasant companions when I do. It was a nice contrast to the more structured and proper atmosphere of the retreat.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
The empty nest revisited
I see that my “empty nest” post is the one that draws people here via search engines. Maybe it’s time for an update. It has now been five weeks since we packed our youngest child off to college. She’s coming home next weekend for the first time. We visited her last week on her college campus. She seems to be having a great time. We haven’t seen her older brother and sister for seven weeks and three months, respectively. Telephones are nice.
I still miss being involved in the local school system and haven’t found a satisfactory substitute for it. On the other hand, I’m actually updating this blog semi-regularly as well as squeezing a few other projects into my days that had previously been beyond my time budget.
I hope my mixed reaction to the empty nest, particularly rejoicing in the increased freedom to choose how I fill my days, does not bring further grief to the hearts of those who wonder about their purpose in life now that their children no longer need them on a daily basis. The truth is, I fall rather low on the need-to-nourish scale. I once killed a pet rabbit by neglect (and imposed a lifetime ban on myself from ever owning another bunny). The fish in our 10-gallon tank (originally belonging to one of the kids) know about life on the edge. I was always glad the kids were so insistent in their demand for my attention. However, I think that if I had a need to nurture children, I could find plenty of opportunity in volunteer positions.
For me, one of the freeing things about having the kids move on is the realization that I’m no longer responsible for correcting anyone’s behavior. I can make it a life-goal to “live and let live”, to accept people as they are without feeling a need to fix their social skills.
I’m convinced there’s life after kids. It’s a different life, but a good one. As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, there are a myriad of things to fill my days. The biggest challenge is to find ways to maintain the variety of relationships the school brought to me. Internet exchanges are good but I want to be involved in the community where I live. Our rural setting, with only four houses on our stretch of the road, three of which are out of sight from our house, adds to that challenge.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
I still miss being involved in the local school system and haven’t found a satisfactory substitute for it. On the other hand, I’m actually updating this blog semi-regularly as well as squeezing a few other projects into my days that had previously been beyond my time budget.
I hope my mixed reaction to the empty nest, particularly rejoicing in the increased freedom to choose how I fill my days, does not bring further grief to the hearts of those who wonder about their purpose in life now that their children no longer need them on a daily basis. The truth is, I fall rather low on the need-to-nourish scale. I once killed a pet rabbit by neglect (and imposed a lifetime ban on myself from ever owning another bunny). The fish in our 10-gallon tank (originally belonging to one of the kids) know about life on the edge. I was always glad the kids were so insistent in their demand for my attention. However, I think that if I had a need to nurture children, I could find plenty of opportunity in volunteer positions.
For me, one of the freeing things about having the kids move on is the realization that I’m no longer responsible for correcting anyone’s behavior. I can make it a life-goal to “live and let live”, to accept people as they are without feeling a need to fix their social skills.
I’m convinced there’s life after kids. It’s a different life, but a good one. As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, there are a myriad of things to fill my days. The biggest challenge is to find ways to maintain the variety of relationships the school brought to me. Internet exchanges are good but I want to be involved in the community where I live. Our rural setting, with only four houses on our stretch of the road, three of which are out of sight from our house, adds to that challenge.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Whistling in the desert
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.
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 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.
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