Today I got a phone call from a friend.
"This is an odd request, but remember our friends, we told you about, that had the little girl with a brain tumor? She died this week. Today is the funeral but we need someone to stay at the house in case people come by..."
How could I say no? Why would I?
I did not know this little girl, only four, who lost her life this week. I did not know her parents or her baby sister. I had prayed for her since I knew of her back in October of last year.
Today I sat in her house, her living room, surrounded by her toys and pictures, flowers and cards, playing with her dog, for three hours.
She was a happy child. That was clear. As that her parents loved her very much. A draft of the eulogy the parents wrote was lying on the table and I read it.
When I spoke to my mom on the phone, she was stricken, "What can you say about a four year old in a eulogy? They haven't lived yet..."
So I told her what it said and she cried with me. This child had lived. She had taught, she made a place such that her absence will be felt...
I sat in this house, surrounded by the vestiges of her life and I felt cheated that I had only known of her... not actually known her.
My friends called and thanked me profusely, promising a dinner or favor and gratitude. I said if my presence in the house of strangers could grant them some small comfort or absence of worry as they let their child go back to God I needed nor wanted no "payment."
Just the remnant of spirit that I shared in that house was a gift enough.
Heaven is brighter for our loss, I have no doubt. I can't imagine the pain of the people who had held her in their arms, for all the comfort that knowing that brings.
Tonight my prayers are for them.
Showing posts with label Philisophical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philisophical. Show all posts
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Monday, June 23, 2008
Dear Mr. Bird.
It is a strange thing for me to actively dislike someone. It really is. For the most part I try hard to see the good and value in someone. It is my firm belief that everyone has a place and purpose in life. There are students I do not care for, but I still love them and in some ways, like them. They are our future after all and by calling or choice, they are my responsibility. There are some people I enjoy being around more than others, there is no denying that. But it is strange for me to actively dislike.
It is true that I dislike you.
While I do believe you have value as a person, I feel that you are often rude, disrespectful and ignorant of those around you. Often I think you make your own life more difficult by your refusal to really look at a situation before you jump to conclusions or more detrimentally open your mouth. You frequently hurt and offend people. While I do not believe it is your actual intention, I think you mistake being disrespectful for commanding respect. It is funny to me that your counterpart is respected for precisely the opposite reason. He thinks before he speaks and is humble. He fosters true loyalty because of that choice.
The irony in all of this is that I still want to help you. Or more specifically, you ask for my help and I am willing to give it. I wonder if that must bother you. It is frustrating to me to help you, because I don't like you, but i still feel obligated to give it. Probably because I do not think you are beyond help or hope... maybe that is a form of affection?
You said I wouldn't ask someone I liked to ask my permission before entering my room. I only demand that of you because I don't like you. Actually that is true. However, I need to also point out that those I like frequently if not always ask permission anyway... So in some ways it isn't true. You see they show me respect, you only do when you need help.
It is my belief that you value my opinion or at least respect it, or you wouldn't ask it... but you only seem to value or respect me whey you need the help, often when there is no one else who would help you, much less advise you... That in itself is a lack of respect. So on that count, then, we are even and maybe you should keep that in mind too...
It is my sincere hope and nightly prayer (seriously) that you improve on your endeavour to be a better person. Your success or failure is not my responsibility but my help is available. Right now, however, my friendship, is not.
And that's just the way it is.
It is true that I dislike you.
While I do believe you have value as a person, I feel that you are often rude, disrespectful and ignorant of those around you. Often I think you make your own life more difficult by your refusal to really look at a situation before you jump to conclusions or more detrimentally open your mouth. You frequently hurt and offend people. While I do not believe it is your actual intention, I think you mistake being disrespectful for commanding respect. It is funny to me that your counterpart is respected for precisely the opposite reason. He thinks before he speaks and is humble. He fosters true loyalty because of that choice.
The irony in all of this is that I still want to help you. Or more specifically, you ask for my help and I am willing to give it. I wonder if that must bother you. It is frustrating to me to help you, because I don't like you, but i still feel obligated to give it. Probably because I do not think you are beyond help or hope... maybe that is a form of affection?
You said I wouldn't ask someone I liked to ask my permission before entering my room. I only demand that of you because I don't like you. Actually that is true. However, I need to also point out that those I like frequently if not always ask permission anyway... So in some ways it isn't true. You see they show me respect, you only do when you need help.
It is my belief that you value my opinion or at least respect it, or you wouldn't ask it... but you only seem to value or respect me whey you need the help, often when there is no one else who would help you, much less advise you... That in itself is a lack of respect. So on that count, then, we are even and maybe you should keep that in mind too...
It is my sincere hope and nightly prayer (seriously) that you improve on your endeavour to be a better person. Your success or failure is not my responsibility but my help is available. Right now, however, my friendship, is not.
And that's just the way it is.
Monday, June 09, 2008
God and his sense of humor.
So, on Saturday I had a long talk with my therapist. We discussed that I had really had it with someone.
"I don't like him. I have never liked him, but for the past three years I have tried. I think I can stop trying now. It's not like a wish him ill, I just don't like him. If he was on fire and I was standing there drinking tea I'd throw my tea on him. I'm just not sure I'd go to the faucet to fill up the glass for another toss."
My therapist said it was healthy for me to come to these realizations.
Sunday night, the same person came to me. "Sandy, I think I have a real problem with my anger management. Do you think you can help me?"
So now I am counseling this person to help them function better in the camp/professional environment.
Tell me God is laughing his head off somewhere?
"I don't like him. I have never liked him, but for the past three years I have tried. I think I can stop trying now. It's not like a wish him ill, I just don't like him. If he was on fire and I was standing there drinking tea I'd throw my tea on him. I'm just not sure I'd go to the faucet to fill up the glass for another toss."
My therapist said it was healthy for me to come to these realizations.
Sunday night, the same person came to me. "Sandy, I think I have a real problem with my anger management. Do you think you can help me?"
So now I am counseling this person to help them function better in the camp/professional environment.
Tell me God is laughing his head off somewhere?
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Being Mercutio
So, last night I was having a conversation with a friend. I think I may have upset her a bit. Further, I think she thinks this is about being single. And while I can't say this has nothing to do with that, it's not as big a factor as you'd think and there is so much more to it than that.
We were talking and I told her that I had come to the conclusion that I am really not the main character in this life. I am a Mercutio.
He was an important character. People like him, he stands out and is remembered, but it's not his story, it's not about him and he doesn't make it to the big finale.
She said that none of us is the main character, God is, at which point I knew she didn't understand what I was saying at all. Then she asked if I would think I was a main character if I was married. This was another indicator to me that she missed the point. Which isn't really her fault. Her life makes sense, it's working and she is the main character.
I have no idea how this is going to work with Nana at the personal care home. I have no idea how my life is going to work out at all regardless. People around me think I am funny, witty, confidant, together. I'm not even making that up, people have used those four words at me in the past week for several reasons.
And I think about Mercutio. He was dying and no one even knew. He is the most popular character in a play that is not about him. He is only a supporting character and in the end he was not in finale, he was just one of those who were gone.
Now, before anyone calls me about being crazy, suicidal, homicidal or depressed, I'm not. Let's settle that issue now. This was the other thing I was trying to explain to my well intentioned friend. This reality is not as upsetting to me as I thought it would be. Because I also think about Samuel.
There are two books in the bible called Samuel. He is an important figure in biblical literature. But those books were not about him. They were about Daniel, a man after God's own heart. The books were named after him, he mattered, and he served God, but he was the supporting character.
So, I'm okay with that.
We were talking and I told her that I had come to the conclusion that I am really not the main character in this life. I am a Mercutio.
He was an important character. People like him, he stands out and is remembered, but it's not his story, it's not about him and he doesn't make it to the big finale.
She said that none of us is the main character, God is, at which point I knew she didn't understand what I was saying at all. Then she asked if I would think I was a main character if I was married. This was another indicator to me that she missed the point. Which isn't really her fault. Her life makes sense, it's working and she is the main character.
I have no idea how this is going to work with Nana at the personal care home. I have no idea how my life is going to work out at all regardless. People around me think I am funny, witty, confidant, together. I'm not even making that up, people have used those four words at me in the past week for several reasons.
And I think about Mercutio. He was dying and no one even knew. He is the most popular character in a play that is not about him. He is only a supporting character and in the end he was not in finale, he was just one of those who were gone.
Now, before anyone calls me about being crazy, suicidal, homicidal or depressed, I'm not. Let's settle that issue now. This was the other thing I was trying to explain to my well intentioned friend. This reality is not as upsetting to me as I thought it would be. Because I also think about Samuel.
There are two books in the bible called Samuel. He is an important figure in biblical literature. But those books were not about him. They were about Daniel, a man after God's own heart. The books were named after him, he mattered, and he served God, but he was the supporting character.
So, I'm okay with that.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Taking One for the Team
My dad called to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. As we talked a while, he asked me what was wrong. Daddy's always know, I guess. Because I am doing better, I have a lot to be thankful for and I'm being made to see what terrific friends I have in the face of a huge betrayal, but I am not exactly OK, yet. Daddies always know.
So I told him. We talked. Dad said I shouldn't have to work with someone who treated me that way. He said I didn't have to take one for the team this time.
He told me a story about a woman he knows. Her son had several friends growing up. They had sleep overs at her house, she knew their parents, fed them, picked them up from things. As teenagers they broke into her house and robbed her. This happened many years ago and Dad said he could still hear true pain in her voice when she told the story.
The young man who hurt me is an Eagle Scout. I am ashamed to say that, as I don't want his actions to sully the accomplishments and honor of the others that I know that hold that distinction... And the hundreds I don't know who I am confidant are honorable young men. He had eaten at my table, slept on my floor, I had gone to his Eagle ceremony, had dinner with his parents, I had cared for this kid when he was injured.
He is on staff at camp. This year he is going to be the director of a very important new department. Theoretically I won't see him much, but, as the safety officer I will cross paths with him.
Several of the guys have said to forget about it, to focus on the other guys who are wonderful, who love me, and the good things about camp. They are right. That's what I should do, what I will do, what I want to do, but I keep thinking about what Dad said, about taking one for the team.
There is something I could do. I could write a letter, to the head of the people that run camp and explain that I am not comfortable with that person anymore and why. In the past, there have been people who said, "If they come back to camp, I go." I hate those people, and I don't want to be like that. Then I think about what Dad said and taking one for the team. I'm not sure what to do.
This weekend a friend and I talked about how I would react to someone hurting me. We were talking about something that happened to someone else and how they fought back. I said, "If that had been me, I'd have just gone home and felt small, and let it be." and she said she wasn't sure that was true, and then I said, "You don't think I would have just taken it?" and she answered, "Well, if it had been some one else, you would have fought to defend them, but if it was you, just you, maybe you would have just taken it..." Lately I have been working on standing up for myself. Especially with my mom, but more than that.
The question I keep asking is how much is necessary. Is waiting to see what happens, and there may be more that happens that has nothing to do with me, is waiting and/or not doing anything at all "Taking One for the Team." What constitutes standing up for myself that I haven't already done.
How can I be so thankful for so much, be so happy with so much, have so many people who do care about me and I love them for it, love them regardless, and still be hurt enough after forty-eight hours that my dad could hear it in just my voice even though I am sick and my voice sounds funny anyway.
I told my Dad by the time school started on Monday I would be fine. I mean that.
I will be.
So I told him. We talked. Dad said I shouldn't have to work with someone who treated me that way. He said I didn't have to take one for the team this time.
He told me a story about a woman he knows. Her son had several friends growing up. They had sleep overs at her house, she knew their parents, fed them, picked them up from things. As teenagers they broke into her house and robbed her. This happened many years ago and Dad said he could still hear true pain in her voice when she told the story.
The young man who hurt me is an Eagle Scout. I am ashamed to say that, as I don't want his actions to sully the accomplishments and honor of the others that I know that hold that distinction... And the hundreds I don't know who I am confidant are honorable young men. He had eaten at my table, slept on my floor, I had gone to his Eagle ceremony, had dinner with his parents, I had cared for this kid when he was injured.
He is on staff at camp. This year he is going to be the director of a very important new department. Theoretically I won't see him much, but, as the safety officer I will cross paths with him.
Several of the guys have said to forget about it, to focus on the other guys who are wonderful, who love me, and the good things about camp. They are right. That's what I should do, what I will do, what I want to do, but I keep thinking about what Dad said, about taking one for the team.
There is something I could do. I could write a letter, to the head of the people that run camp and explain that I am not comfortable with that person anymore and why. In the past, there have been people who said, "If they come back to camp, I go." I hate those people, and I don't want to be like that. Then I think about what Dad said and taking one for the team. I'm not sure what to do.
This weekend a friend and I talked about how I would react to someone hurting me. We were talking about something that happened to someone else and how they fought back. I said, "If that had been me, I'd have just gone home and felt small, and let it be." and she said she wasn't sure that was true, and then I said, "You don't think I would have just taken it?" and she answered, "Well, if it had been some one else, you would have fought to defend them, but if it was you, just you, maybe you would have just taken it..." Lately I have been working on standing up for myself. Especially with my mom, but more than that.
The question I keep asking is how much is necessary. Is waiting to see what happens, and there may be more that happens that has nothing to do with me, is waiting and/or not doing anything at all "Taking One for the Team." What constitutes standing up for myself that I haven't already done.
How can I be so thankful for so much, be so happy with so much, have so many people who do care about me and I love them for it, love them regardless, and still be hurt enough after forty-eight hours that my dad could hear it in just my voice even though I am sick and my voice sounds funny anyway.
I told my Dad by the time school started on Monday I would be fine. I mean that.
I will be.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Mice, Mayor's and Daylight Savings Time
Yesterday I took the dogs to the kennel/groomer as they had to be there today between 8 and 9 AM for their annual grooming (I may love 'em but they have SO MUCH HAIR!!!) as they can get a bit matted this time of year without a little help. They went last night as there was no way I could get then there in that window this morning, so I simply boarded them so they would be there in the morning (Don't I sound decadent, jaded and spoiled?) The point is, they weren't home last night. It was a bit odd without them and Nana especially was seriously out of whack.
This afternoon, after getting back from all my morning appointments, I happened to notice Roo's water dish in the corner of my room. There was a dead mouse floating in the bowl. EEEP! Poor thing. It's hair was still dry and fluffy above the water, but it was quite dead. Nana saw me throw it away and became obsessed with the issue. She has announced that there is another one, "looking for it's mama," in the living room that apparently has run all over, only when I was not in the room. She's been talking to it all afternoon. I have no idea if that's her way of compensating for the loss of the dogs for the day...
The whole thing made me think of that joke about the mouse that fell into the bowl of cream. The mouse just kept paddling until it churned the cream into butter and then it was able climb out.
Further, I emailed a newer friend today and asked about their business e-mail address. They said it was OK as long as I didn't send anything I wouldn't send to the mayor... or anything a normal person would wouldn't send to a mayor, but I'm definitely not normal so... Poor person, they only just met me and I think they got my number, I am definitely not normal... but they should also be warned, they might be mortified to know what I could send to a mayor considering the X-mas present I gave to Mark, the summer before last (I think there is a blog about that some where back about it, Christmas in July, not for the easily offended).
Lastly, today is the last day of Daylight Savings. It's not that I am sensitive (well, I am, actually, but not about this kind of stuff...) or that it matters, but I so wanted to find that jerk from my WEMT class and point out to him that I was right! And no, it's not just the way of the south, but everyone in America has the new DST time! No, I'm not bitter at all.
Oh and having retrieved the dogs, looking much thinner with all the "dead hair" brushed out, and exhausted for their journey, Nana is admonishing them to swiftly excise the dreaded mouse (oh how soon she forgets the four footed furry thing that was her company all day in the light of her old friends... fickle, fickle old woman.)
Actually this past summer there was this mouse in my clinic and I could not catch it. The Director of the Nature Lodge said smart people get smart mice... now my mice are drowning themselves and hanging out with Nana... does that mean I'm not so smart anymore, suicidal or senile? Who knows. Maybe I should start putting cream in Roo's water dish.
I'm seriously going to revel in that extra hour of sleep (I think I have it coming!) tonight. It might almost make up for having to do children's musical rehearsal tomorrow after church.
Now, should I send this blog to the Mayor?
This afternoon, after getting back from all my morning appointments, I happened to notice Roo's water dish in the corner of my room. There was a dead mouse floating in the bowl. EEEP! Poor thing. It's hair was still dry and fluffy above the water, but it was quite dead. Nana saw me throw it away and became obsessed with the issue. She has announced that there is another one, "looking for it's mama," in the living room that apparently has run all over, only when I was not in the room. She's been talking to it all afternoon. I have no idea if that's her way of compensating for the loss of the dogs for the day...
The whole thing made me think of that joke about the mouse that fell into the bowl of cream. The mouse just kept paddling until it churned the cream into butter and then it was able climb out.
Further, I emailed a newer friend today and asked about their business e-mail address. They said it was OK as long as I didn't send anything I wouldn't send to the mayor... or anything a normal person would wouldn't send to a mayor, but I'm definitely not normal so... Poor person, they only just met me and I think they got my number, I am definitely not normal... but they should also be warned, they might be mortified to know what I could send to a mayor considering the X-mas present I gave to Mark, the summer before last (I think there is a blog about that some where back about it, Christmas in July, not for the easily offended).
Lastly, today is the last day of Daylight Savings. It's not that I am sensitive (well, I am, actually, but not about this kind of stuff...) or that it matters, but I so wanted to find that jerk from my WEMT class and point out to him that I was right! And no, it's not just the way of the south, but everyone in America has the new DST time! No, I'm not bitter at all.
Oh and having retrieved the dogs, looking much thinner with all the "dead hair" brushed out, and exhausted for their journey, Nana is admonishing them to swiftly excise the dreaded mouse (oh how soon she forgets the four footed furry thing that was her company all day in the light of her old friends... fickle, fickle old woman.)
Actually this past summer there was this mouse in my clinic and I could not catch it. The Director of the Nature Lodge said smart people get smart mice... now my mice are drowning themselves and hanging out with Nana... does that mean I'm not so smart anymore, suicidal or senile? Who knows. Maybe I should start putting cream in Roo's water dish.
I'm seriously going to revel in that extra hour of sleep (I think I have it coming!) tonight. It might almost make up for having to do children's musical rehearsal tomorrow after church.
Now, should I send this blog to the Mayor?
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Sabatoge
So today was a long day. I start teaching at 7:20 every morning. I usually get to work at about 6:35. That means I leave home no later than 6:00. I get up anywhere between 5:00 and 5:30.
This morning I woke up at 7:40. Do the math...
I had decided to make lunch for everyone at work. There was to be a big pot of chilly, my "orange soup" and chicken soup. Luckily the first two were done last night and already set up to go...
Then I had an off day... Though a friend of mine pointed out if I laugh this much on a bad day, maybe I don't really know what a bad day is... Maybe there is something flipped in my head? God only knows,
Anyway!
Then I went to work out and I did my cardio and the trainer and I started to talk. We talked for an hour. She has a theory. Not sure how I feel about it. She feels I am not really giving this my everything and that I am sabotaging myself and holding myself back. OK.
I think she is right.
This WEMT thing was a real eye opener for me in some ways. For the most part in my life there is nothing that I want to do that I can't do... But in the class I just couldn't do the things I wanted to do. My head was in the game I had the knowledge, but when push came to shove I couldn't do the physical stuff. It didn't ruin the trip, I'm glad I went, but, well, it was humiliating. They were all so nice and encouraging and supportive, and so many of them were in bad shape as well, and of everyone there I could do the least physically.
So my trainer and I are going to re-evaluate and try again. We are starting over. Friday we are going to redo all my baselines and see where we are. Monday I go back to 2000 calories a day, everyday, no exceptions until I go to see my brother for X-mas.
The questions remains though, as to what I really want and am I ready to get it? I turn 32 in a bit over a month. It should be time already...
This morning I woke up at 7:40. Do the math...
I had decided to make lunch for everyone at work. There was to be a big pot of chilly, my "orange soup" and chicken soup. Luckily the first two were done last night and already set up to go...
Then I had an off day... Though a friend of mine pointed out if I laugh this much on a bad day, maybe I don't really know what a bad day is... Maybe there is something flipped in my head? God only knows,
Anyway!
Then I went to work out and I did my cardio and the trainer and I started to talk. We talked for an hour. She has a theory. Not sure how I feel about it. She feels I am not really giving this my everything and that I am sabotaging myself and holding myself back. OK.
I think she is right.
This WEMT thing was a real eye opener for me in some ways. For the most part in my life there is nothing that I want to do that I can't do... But in the class I just couldn't do the things I wanted to do. My head was in the game I had the knowledge, but when push came to shove I couldn't do the physical stuff. It didn't ruin the trip, I'm glad I went, but, well, it was humiliating. They were all so nice and encouraging and supportive, and so many of them were in bad shape as well, and of everyone there I could do the least physically.
So my trainer and I are going to re-evaluate and try again. We are starting over. Friday we are going to redo all my baselines and see where we are. Monday I go back to 2000 calories a day, everyday, no exceptions until I go to see my brother for X-mas.
The questions remains though, as to what I really want and am I ready to get it? I turn 32 in a bit over a month. It should be time already...
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Not Crazy
It's that stupid ants under my skin thing. I just have to wait this out... Sometimes I'm right and it's important and sometimes I am just nuts. My gut says this one is real, but it usually does.
Does this make my insane?
Why do I have this kind of reaction to things?
The scariest question is whether I was made to do this... Is this premonition ants and skin thing some kind of weird gift? Then why is it wrong sometimes but also sometimes right?
I need to go to bed. I have to work out tomorrow.
Maybe it's just Halloween?
Does this make my insane?
Why do I have this kind of reaction to things?
The scariest question is whether I was made to do this... Is this premonition ants and skin thing some kind of weird gift? Then why is it wrong sometimes but also sometimes right?
I need to go to bed. I have to work out tomorrow.
Maybe it's just Halloween?
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Worlds Colliding
Sometimes it seems like I live in several very separate worlds and they occasionally are at extreme odds with each other.
I have my life in education, medicine, caretaking, church and of course camp and they are very different places inhabited by very different people. All of these worlds are very important to me. They make up so much of who I am in my entire world...
Being here with these awesome people who are rescue workers, fire fighters, ski patrol, EMT's, Paramedics, Instructors, Research fellows, PA's, Truck Drivers, and lots of other things as well, fathers, husbands, friends, family, deacons, local city councilmen, and chefs it is so clear to me that the kind of people who do what we do are so very diverse and yet in so many ways so very similar. These are good people. Their education, religion, background and interests are so different, but we are all here to learn the same thing, how to help others who are a long way from help.
It's late, I'm tired and I imagine that is why I am finding myself rather philosophical...
I look up at this very clear, very cold, very beautiful night sky, the same one I sit in the amphitheater and look up at late at night in the warm summer nights of camp and see the same stars. The world is so very small, in a good way, I think. It feels very safe and warm... Even with all these different worlds colliding...
I have my life in education, medicine, caretaking, church and of course camp and they are very different places inhabited by very different people. All of these worlds are very important to me. They make up so much of who I am in my entire world...
Being here with these awesome people who are rescue workers, fire fighters, ski patrol, EMT's, Paramedics, Instructors, Research fellows, PA's, Truck Drivers, and lots of other things as well, fathers, husbands, friends, family, deacons, local city councilmen, and chefs it is so clear to me that the kind of people who do what we do are so very diverse and yet in so many ways so very similar. These are good people. Their education, religion, background and interests are so different, but we are all here to learn the same thing, how to help others who are a long way from help.
It's late, I'm tired and I imagine that is why I am finding myself rather philosophical...
I look up at this very clear, very cold, very beautiful night sky, the same one I sit in the amphitheater and look up at late at night in the warm summer nights of camp and see the same stars. The world is so very small, in a good way, I think. It feels very safe and warm... Even with all these different worlds colliding...
Monday, October 01, 2007
What a funny little song
But I love it for some reason. It appears in the movie "The Doctor" with William Hurt. He plays a doctor diagnosed with cancer who has to come to face his own humanity and mortality. Elizabeth Perkins is another cancer patient, though terminal, who helps him through it. They dance together on the plains in one scene, just feeling a moment, to this music. The words are even stranger than the melody, but I just love it.
Strange Angels, by Laurie Anderson
They say that heaven is like TV
A perfect little world
that doesn't really need you
And everything there
is made of light
And the days keep going by
Here they come Here they come
Here they come.
Well it was one of those days larger than life
When your friends came to dinner
and they stayed the night
And then they cleaned out the refrigerator -
They ate everything in sight
And then they stayed up in the living room
And they cried all night
Strange angels - singing just for me
Old stories - they're haunting me
This is nothing
like I thought it would be.
Well I was out in my four door
with the top down.
And I looked up and there they were:
Millions of tiny teardrops
just sort of hanging there
And I didn't know whether to laugh or cry
And I said to myself:
What next big sky?
Strange angels - singing just for me
Their spare change falls on top of me
Rain falling Falling all over me
All over me
Strange angels - singing just for me
Old Stories - they're haunting me
Big changes are coming
Here they come
Here they come.
Strange Angels, by Laurie Anderson
They say that heaven is like TV
A perfect little world
that doesn't really need you
And everything there
is made of light
And the days keep going by
Here they come Here they come
Here they come.
Well it was one of those days larger than life
When your friends came to dinner
and they stayed the night
And then they cleaned out the refrigerator -
They ate everything in sight
And then they stayed up in the living room
And they cried all night
Strange angels - singing just for me
Old stories - they're haunting me
This is nothing
like I thought it would be.
Well I was out in my four door
with the top down.
And I looked up and there they were:
Millions of tiny teardrops
just sort of hanging there
And I didn't know whether to laugh or cry
And I said to myself:
What next big sky?
Strange angels - singing just for me
Their spare change falls on top of me
Rain falling Falling all over me
All over me
Strange angels - singing just for me
Old Stories - they're haunting me
Big changes are coming
Here they come
Here they come.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I love this poem and it's totally how I felt today!
Cow
By Selima Hill
I want to be a cow
and not my mother’s daughter.
I want to be a cow
and not in love with you.
I want to feel free to feel calm.
I want to be a cow who never knows
the kind of love you ‘fall in love with’ with;
a queenly cow, with hips as big and sound
as a department store,
a cow the farmer milks on bended knee,
who when she dies will feel dawn
bending over her like lawn to wet her lips.
I want to be a cow,
nothing fancy –
a cargo of grass,
a hammock of soupy milk
whose floating and rocking and dribbling’s undisturbed
by the echo of hooves to the city;
of crunching boots;
of suspicious-looking trailers parked on verges;
of unscrupulous restaurant-owners
who stumble, pink-eyed, from stale beds
into a world of lobsters and warm telephones;
of streamlined Japanese freighters
ironing the night,
heavy with sweet desire like bowls of jam.
The Tibetans have 85 words for states of consciousness.
This dozy cow I want to be has none.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t do housework or worry about her appearance.
She doesn’t roam.
Safe in her fleet
of shorn-white-bowl-like friends,
she needs, and loves, and’s loved by,
only this –
the farm I want to be a cow on too.
Don’t come looking for me.
Don’t come walking out into the bright sunlight
looking for me,
black in your gloves and stockings and sleeves
and large hat.
Don’t call the tractorman.
Don’t call the neighbours.
Don’t make a special fruit-cake for when I come home:
I’m not coming home.
I’m going to be a cowman’s counted cow.
I’m going to be a cow
and you won’t know me.
Source: Astley, Neil (ed.) (2002) Staying Alive: real poems for unreal
times, Tarset: Bloodaxe.
The poetry book this is from, by the way, Staying Alive, totally awesome. It's a book everyone should have. There is another poem in there, called "A Puppy Called Puberty" that is terrific. Hysterical too.
By Selima Hill
I want to be a cow
and not my mother’s daughter.
I want to be a cow
and not in love with you.
I want to feel free to feel calm.
I want to be a cow who never knows
the kind of love you ‘fall in love with’ with;
a queenly cow, with hips as big and sound
as a department store,
a cow the farmer milks on bended knee,
who when she dies will feel dawn
bending over her like lawn to wet her lips.
I want to be a cow,
nothing fancy –
a cargo of grass,
a hammock of soupy milk
whose floating and rocking and dribbling’s undisturbed
by the echo of hooves to the city;
of crunching boots;
of suspicious-looking trailers parked on verges;
of unscrupulous restaurant-owners
who stumble, pink-eyed, from stale beds
into a world of lobsters and warm telephones;
of streamlined Japanese freighters
ironing the night,
heavy with sweet desire like bowls of jam.
The Tibetans have 85 words for states of consciousness.
This dozy cow I want to be has none.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t do housework or worry about her appearance.
She doesn’t roam.
Safe in her fleet
of shorn-white-bowl-like friends,
she needs, and loves, and’s loved by,
only this –
the farm I want to be a cow on too.
Don’t come looking for me.
Don’t come walking out into the bright sunlight
looking for me,
black in your gloves and stockings and sleeves
and large hat.
Don’t call the tractorman.
Don’t call the neighbours.
Don’t make a special fruit-cake for when I come home:
I’m not coming home.
I’m going to be a cowman’s counted cow.
I’m going to be a cow
and you won’t know me.
Source: Astley, Neil (ed.) (2002) Staying Alive: real poems for unreal
times, Tarset: Bloodaxe.
The poetry book this is from, by the way, Staying Alive, totally awesome. It's a book everyone should have. There is another poem in there, called "A Puppy Called Puberty" that is terrific. Hysterical too.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Just a thought.
Sometimes when a door keeps slamming shut in your life, it's not God testing your resolve. It really is him saying no.
I'm just saying.
I'm just saying.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Prodigal
What a word. Prodigal. It evokes such powerful images. The idea of throwing love and protection back in a loved one's face and leaving only to come running back in anguish from the world outside and the ruin we've created to fall forgiven into the arms of the one we rejected.
And yet it is so often abused. The idea that we are all prodigals of God's love and he will take us back does not mean that we get to run away because we know he will take us back. Being the prodigal does not erase the responsibility of what we do, before or after we are forgiven.
It is so frustrating to me when people want to lean on this idea of being the prodigal to erase their poor choices. If a young person runs away from home and does drugs, or commits a crime, or gets pregnant, they can still come home, be forgiven and be loved, but they still have to take responsibility or face the consequences of those actions. Asking for forgiveness is not a way to avoid or run from our actions or their repercussions.
God forgave David for his actions with Bathsheba and for killing her husband. That forgiveness was total and unending. The responsibilities, though, the death of their son, and the knowledge of what they had done, that was still there. The forgiveness is not that the sin is erased from existence, but that we don't have to pay the eternal price for it. The worldly one, we may still and often do still have to.
As a teacher if I always give my students a second chance with no repercussions at all, they never learn responsibility. Further what is the point of trying hard, making a genuine effort, if you can just start over fresh the next day until forever? Seriously.
Grace is a gift. We don't deserve it. We didn't earn it. We can ask for it and receive it. It is a get out of Hell free card. When received genuinely. However it is not a get out of responsibility forever card.
The other part of that is that our hurts and griefs and the sins perpetuated on us by others are not an excuse or pass on the sins we perpetuate on others. Terrible things may have happened to you. You may have done terrible things to others because of that, but, YOU still did those terrible things to someone else. You have to take responsibility for that. Hopefully you will be forgiven on earth (by those you hurt) as you are in heaven (by Jesus and Our Father) but that doesn't mean that those that you hurt have to or can forget what you did to them or that they will or have to kill the fatted calf in your honor. Nor do you get to demand that. This is called accepting responsibility for your actions.
The good news is that God will be with you, to comfort you and guide you through the process and your own grief in your sin. Hopefully he will be there for the ones you sinned against in their healing and forgiveness of you...
There are several people in my life who feel their admission, their repentance and my forgiveness is enough to simply make the pain caused go away and that everything goes back to the way it was. There are reasons, they feel, for what happened, and therefore I am the one who is unreasonable to guard parts of myself from them or to keep parts of my life separate from them now. Several other people in my life have the same problem with others in their life.
At the same time, there are those I have hurt that I wish would forgive me and/or "take me back." Some of them have. Some of them haven't and probably won't. That is my responsibility, burden, to bear because of my sin. God can help me with that...
This has nothing to do with anything specific that has happened lately, just a response of sorts to something I read today.
It does make me thankful for God's forgiveness and most importantly for his Grace.
And yet it is so often abused. The idea that we are all prodigals of God's love and he will take us back does not mean that we get to run away because we know he will take us back. Being the prodigal does not erase the responsibility of what we do, before or after we are forgiven.
It is so frustrating to me when people want to lean on this idea of being the prodigal to erase their poor choices. If a young person runs away from home and does drugs, or commits a crime, or gets pregnant, they can still come home, be forgiven and be loved, but they still have to take responsibility or face the consequences of those actions. Asking for forgiveness is not a way to avoid or run from our actions or their repercussions.
God forgave David for his actions with Bathsheba and for killing her husband. That forgiveness was total and unending. The responsibilities, though, the death of their son, and the knowledge of what they had done, that was still there. The forgiveness is not that the sin is erased from existence, but that we don't have to pay the eternal price for it. The worldly one, we may still and often do still have to.
As a teacher if I always give my students a second chance with no repercussions at all, they never learn responsibility. Further what is the point of trying hard, making a genuine effort, if you can just start over fresh the next day until forever? Seriously.
Grace is a gift. We don't deserve it. We didn't earn it. We can ask for it and receive it. It is a get out of Hell free card. When received genuinely. However it is not a get out of responsibility forever card.
The other part of that is that our hurts and griefs and the sins perpetuated on us by others are not an excuse or pass on the sins we perpetuate on others. Terrible things may have happened to you. You may have done terrible things to others because of that, but, YOU still did those terrible things to someone else. You have to take responsibility for that. Hopefully you will be forgiven on earth (by those you hurt) as you are in heaven (by Jesus and Our Father) but that doesn't mean that those that you hurt have to or can forget what you did to them or that they will or have to kill the fatted calf in your honor. Nor do you get to demand that. This is called accepting responsibility for your actions.
The good news is that God will be with you, to comfort you and guide you through the process and your own grief in your sin. Hopefully he will be there for the ones you sinned against in their healing and forgiveness of you...
There are several people in my life who feel their admission, their repentance and my forgiveness is enough to simply make the pain caused go away and that everything goes back to the way it was. There are reasons, they feel, for what happened, and therefore I am the one who is unreasonable to guard parts of myself from them or to keep parts of my life separate from them now. Several other people in my life have the same problem with others in their life.
At the same time, there are those I have hurt that I wish would forgive me and/or "take me back." Some of them have. Some of them haven't and probably won't. That is my responsibility, burden, to bear because of my sin. God can help me with that...
This has nothing to do with anything specific that has happened lately, just a response of sorts to something I read today.
It does make me thankful for God's forgiveness and most importantly for his Grace.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Baby on my Chest
Babies are a funny thing. At least for me.
When I was a young person I assumed parenthood was in my future. It was a given. Additionally I have always been fascinated by the idea of pregnancy. It just strikes me as being an amazing thing, to hold within you a developing person. What a privilege and responsibility and wonder... Sort of like the heart of teaching, molding a human building from within.
Further, I love children. Not all ages, always, but I really enjoy working with them. I've been told I have a special touch with babies especially. I'll agree I am comfortable with them.
As I got older and marriage and family seemed less of a given I spent less time thinking about it. Also as a teacher, it's amazing how tired you get of children sometimes. It's sort of like spending all the energy required to be a parent all at once in one big burst. Not to say that I didn't still enjoy children, but teaching is an exhausting thing... exhausting in your very soul.
Now, I find myself content to let others around me parent. There are so many other things that I am doing, need to do, want to do, and may be the only person who can do. Still not to say that I don't want to, or wouldn't consider it, just that I am not focused on it. Being responsible for a senior citizen taps a lot of what might have been left after teaching...
But then, I borrow a baby while a friend is in the hospital having her fourth. This warm ball of flesh and hair with big blue eyes and blonde curls curled up on my chest and would not budge. All other arms she refused and she slept on my chest and rested there for hours.
At moments like that, my heart cries out for that reality. ... to hold a baby of my very own.
When I was a young person I assumed parenthood was in my future. It was a given. Additionally I have always been fascinated by the idea of pregnancy. It just strikes me as being an amazing thing, to hold within you a developing person. What a privilege and responsibility and wonder... Sort of like the heart of teaching, molding a human building from within.
Further, I love children. Not all ages, always, but I really enjoy working with them. I've been told I have a special touch with babies especially. I'll agree I am comfortable with them.
As I got older and marriage and family seemed less of a given I spent less time thinking about it. Also as a teacher, it's amazing how tired you get of children sometimes. It's sort of like spending all the energy required to be a parent all at once in one big burst. Not to say that I didn't still enjoy children, but teaching is an exhausting thing... exhausting in your very soul.
Now, I find myself content to let others around me parent. There are so many other things that I am doing, need to do, want to do, and may be the only person who can do. Still not to say that I don't want to, or wouldn't consider it, just that I am not focused on it. Being responsible for a senior citizen taps a lot of what might have been left after teaching...
But then, I borrow a baby while a friend is in the hospital having her fourth. This warm ball of flesh and hair with big blue eyes and blonde curls curled up on my chest and would not budge. All other arms she refused and she slept on my chest and rested there for hours.
At moments like that, my heart cries out for that reality. ... to hold a baby of my very own.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Borrowing Babies
Yes, he e-mailed and we are figuring out when to go out for coffee sometime in the near future. He's very nice, we have a scary amount in common and it's a good thing. Past that, all I am hoping for is an enjoyable afternoon with a nice man in the near future. Seriously. And that's all there is to that.
Anyway.
So my friend, Robin, is having a C-Section tomorrow and plans to be the mother of another beautiful baby girl by 5PM that evening. I will have the joy of keeping her 1, 2, and 4 year olds for the afternoon, evening and night. On Saturday I will turn them over to another friend who will take them for the day on Saturday.
I am looking forward to having them tomorrow. They are angels and adorable and a huge handful and I know that I will love every minute of it.
So tomorrow I have to get my grades done in a hurry so that I can take possession of my delightful borrowed babies!
Anyway.
So my friend, Robin, is having a C-Section tomorrow and plans to be the mother of another beautiful baby girl by 5PM that evening. I will have the joy of keeping her 1, 2, and 4 year olds for the afternoon, evening and night. On Saturday I will turn them over to another friend who will take them for the day on Saturday.
I am looking forward to having them tomorrow. They are angels and adorable and a huge handful and I know that I will love every minute of it.
So tomorrow I have to get my grades done in a hurry so that I can take possession of my delightful borrowed babies!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Two Cent Psychologist on Marriage
Today a friend of mine asked me a serious question.
Question: When do you think is an OK age to get engaged? Or when are you to young? Is there a certain number?
Answer: Yep, I remember that age, that experience, watching all the rings being exchanged around me and thinking “What the heck?” I’ve gone through that wave several times and now there are also the waves of people getting pregnant too. As someone who has neither been engaged or pregnant, I might not be the best to advise on this issue, but the upshot to watching so many is that I have been able to notice a couple things, objectively, of course.
First, engagements always seem to come in waves, and there will be more in your immediate life time. The point being, it’s not just your age group. It just seems to happen that way. I’m not sure if it’s like the original idea that everyone ends up having simultaneously or what, but that’s the way it works. College tends to be ripe with it, especially in the senior year because 1) college is one of the best places to meet people of similar interests and ambitions while working on said similar interests and ambitions (rather than the older model of dating the children of your parent’s friends who had similar socio-economics and culture and all lived in a 100 mile radius) and 2) the idea of being out on your own in the world as a grown up is crippling and so people tend to try to put a “hold” on something. A wedding is a way to not be going out in the world alone. You know?
It’s funny. When I was your age (Oh God, here we go…) I wanted to be married. I looked around at my friends with their boy friends and grand plans and (as much as I actually dislike them) weddings and I thought, “why not me?” and “I’m missing out!” and all the other things girls think when their friends get married, especially their best friends. But here’s the thing. The people that were really ready to get married are still the same people, they are just as happy and it didn’t matter if they were of the older or younger variety (and I have watched both). The ones that were not ready, oddly enough it had nothing to do with their age either. They are just as unhappy. My Dad wasn’t really good and ready to be married until after 20 years of marriage when my mother left him… That’s why he’s so happy with my step mom, but they were both in their mid forties at their wedding. At 31 I find myself thinking I had no clue at 22 what I wanted in life and had no business thinking I should yoke my life to someone else’s. Watching my friend and her husband together almost seven years later, just proves that point to me. And they are the happy ones, I think!
They have shown that all these religious Baptist kids who get married so early so they can legally have sex, are all also getting divorced before they are 30. How terrible is that? Some people think six months is the perfect engagement. Just enough time to plan a wedding. Let me just tell you. These young people often need to be engaged a long time, to really figure this whole thing out and make sure it’s a good idea (and that does not and should not include living together…!) and yet a lot of these older folks just need enough time to send out invitations, because they already know their own minds and are ready.
Engagement (or marriage) should not be about checking a box, or panicking at the thought of being on your own. It’s not even about raising children with someone(and all the parts necessary before that…) it’s about looking at who is running the same race there beside you and is on the same track and whom you won’t mind running next to for the rest of your life (dun dun dun!) I think Josh Harris said something about can you picture them at 60 and does it make you smile...
Honestly with the exception of childbearing being easiest when you are in your early 20’s I see few reasons to be married before the age of 25… You don’t have diabetes (males who are careless with insulin tend to be impotent before they turn 40… though there are drugs for that now…), you are not a missionary (who is going out into the unknown and needs to take a wife with them), you have not been dating this girl for the better part of your life, making this a forgone conclusion (and not a lot of people should really do it that way anyway, but…) and no one has gotten pregnant (thank God!... right?) The girl even told me she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life yet, and that’s a pretty big journey. You’re not sure what you are going to do yet either. None of these are conducive to that leap. I have friends who will tell you that kind of stuff doesn’t matter. That it’s all faith… I’ve heard that a lot. Of the six couples who went with that theory (that I know, anyway), two are divorced, two are miserable (and probably soon to be divorced) and two are “making it work.” I’m English, not math, but those don’t sound like good odds. Did I mention they were all Christians and while not all virgins, all abstained during courtship till wedding day. In that I mean by most religious standards they did it right, but they really didn’t, you know?
It’s not about wanting it or even needing it, it’s about waiting until being engaged and married is the most logical, reasonable course of action.
When my Dad met my step-mom he just knew. And even though I wasn’t thrilled with how fast they were going, it just made sense. No one could argue with that. There’s a couple in my church, he proposed on the third date and they were married two months later. Sounds hokey, but it just made sense. No one was flustered or panicked or trapped. The really great marriages that I have watched (not to say that everyone doesn’t have their rough spots, they do) all worked that way. Really.
The reason I have so much to is that my brother and I were talking about this yesterday. There was a lot of context that I'm not gonna get into (some mine, some his) but the bottom line was that marriage is hard. Good, wonderful, amazing, terrifying, desolating, agonizing... hard work. What boxer goes into a ring with out being prepared, being in shape, knowing their opponent, having a good coach, having the right equipment and knowing that this is what they absolutely and completely want with every part of their being? Not the ones who win, anyway.
I can't answer this question for you, in that I can’t just give you a number. But for what it is worth, that is my two cents.
Spend it wisely.
Question: When do you think is an OK age to get engaged? Or when are you to young? Is there a certain number?
Answer: Yep, I remember that age, that experience, watching all the rings being exchanged around me and thinking “What the heck?” I’ve gone through that wave several times and now there are also the waves of people getting pregnant too. As someone who has neither been engaged or pregnant, I might not be the best to advise on this issue, but the upshot to watching so many is that I have been able to notice a couple things, objectively, of course.
First, engagements always seem to come in waves, and there will be more in your immediate life time. The point being, it’s not just your age group. It just seems to happen that way. I’m not sure if it’s like the original idea that everyone ends up having simultaneously or what, but that’s the way it works. College tends to be ripe with it, especially in the senior year because 1) college is one of the best places to meet people of similar interests and ambitions while working on said similar interests and ambitions (rather than the older model of dating the children of your parent’s friends who had similar socio-economics and culture and all lived in a 100 mile radius) and 2) the idea of being out on your own in the world as a grown up is crippling and so people tend to try to put a “hold” on something. A wedding is a way to not be going out in the world alone. You know?
It’s funny. When I was your age (Oh God, here we go…) I wanted to be married. I looked around at my friends with their boy friends and grand plans and (as much as I actually dislike them) weddings and I thought, “why not me?” and “I’m missing out!” and all the other things girls think when their friends get married, especially their best friends. But here’s the thing. The people that were really ready to get married are still the same people, they are just as happy and it didn’t matter if they were of the older or younger variety (and I have watched both). The ones that were not ready, oddly enough it had nothing to do with their age either. They are just as unhappy. My Dad wasn’t really good and ready to be married until after 20 years of marriage when my mother left him… That’s why he’s so happy with my step mom, but they were both in their mid forties at their wedding. At 31 I find myself thinking I had no clue at 22 what I wanted in life and had no business thinking I should yoke my life to someone else’s. Watching my friend and her husband together almost seven years later, just proves that point to me. And they are the happy ones, I think!
They have shown that all these religious Baptist kids who get married so early so they can legally have sex, are all also getting divorced before they are 30. How terrible is that? Some people think six months is the perfect engagement. Just enough time to plan a wedding. Let me just tell you. These young people often need to be engaged a long time, to really figure this whole thing out and make sure it’s a good idea (and that does not and should not include living together…!) and yet a lot of these older folks just need enough time to send out invitations, because they already know their own minds and are ready.
Engagement (or marriage) should not be about checking a box, or panicking at the thought of being on your own. It’s not even about raising children with someone(and all the parts necessary before that…) it’s about looking at who is running the same race there beside you and is on the same track and whom you won’t mind running next to for the rest of your life (dun dun dun!) I think Josh Harris said something about can you picture them at 60 and does it make you smile...
Honestly with the exception of childbearing being easiest when you are in your early 20’s I see few reasons to be married before the age of 25… You don’t have diabetes (males who are careless with insulin tend to be impotent before they turn 40… though there are drugs for that now…), you are not a missionary (who is going out into the unknown and needs to take a wife with them), you have not been dating this girl for the better part of your life, making this a forgone conclusion (and not a lot of people should really do it that way anyway, but…) and no one has gotten pregnant (thank God!... right?) The girl even told me she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life yet, and that’s a pretty big journey. You’re not sure what you are going to do yet either. None of these are conducive to that leap. I have friends who will tell you that kind of stuff doesn’t matter. That it’s all faith… I’ve heard that a lot. Of the six couples who went with that theory (that I know, anyway), two are divorced, two are miserable (and probably soon to be divorced) and two are “making it work.” I’m English, not math, but those don’t sound like good odds. Did I mention they were all Christians and while not all virgins, all abstained during courtship till wedding day. In that I mean by most religious standards they did it right, but they really didn’t, you know?
It’s not about wanting it or even needing it, it’s about waiting until being engaged and married is the most logical, reasonable course of action.
When my Dad met my step-mom he just knew. And even though I wasn’t thrilled with how fast they were going, it just made sense. No one could argue with that. There’s a couple in my church, he proposed on the third date and they were married two months later. Sounds hokey, but it just made sense. No one was flustered or panicked or trapped. The really great marriages that I have watched (not to say that everyone doesn’t have their rough spots, they do) all worked that way. Really.
The reason I have so much to is that my brother and I were talking about this yesterday. There was a lot of context that I'm not gonna get into (some mine, some his) but the bottom line was that marriage is hard. Good, wonderful, amazing, terrifying, desolating, agonizing... hard work. What boxer goes into a ring with out being prepared, being in shape, knowing their opponent, having a good coach, having the right equipment and knowing that this is what they absolutely and completely want with every part of their being? Not the ones who win, anyway.
I can't answer this question for you, in that I can’t just give you a number. But for what it is worth, that is my two cents.
Spend it wisely.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Hugs
This weekend I went home to visit my Dad in Florida for his birthday. It was a really nice visit. He helped me pick out a laptop as well. He really enjoyed the part where we had everything selected and he got to step back and let me pay for it. He really got a thrill out of it. My brother and I got him a digital picture frame for his birthday. He was happy with that, which is also good.
The best part about the trip was that I got hugged.
Hugs are a singularly interesting things. They accomplish several different things and communicate as much if not more. Lately I’ve been thinking about hugs, about what I feel when I’m hugged, what I like to feel and the really special hugs in my life.
To me the ultimate hug is when you feel comforted, loved, safe and protected all at the same time. That is the true manifestation of being cherished, to me, at least, in the hug. While it is not romantic (I mean I’m not from Kentucky…), that is what I feel when my Dad hugs me. Granted he is my size, which helps, but that is not what it is about. Sometimes when my brother, who is very large, hugs me it is almost like that, but… When my students or camper/staff hug me, as in these adolescents I mentor/teach/care for, I feel gratitude and affection, and it is very nice, but that’s not the same. Some hugs, recent, specific, have been nice, I felt very comforted and loved, but the safe and protected feeling was not strong if at all present.
There was one (well one and then an echo later) hug this summer that felt very safe and protected and comforted, but there was not the time and depth invested yet to feel cherished. I was so hurt and confused at the time, it was more like the wonderfulness of fresh bread after a long hard cold hungry day. I was so desolate, any hug would have felt wonderful, though I also concede the arms were very big and strong and that helped (the food analogy with good bread, versus any bread). So that was a very nice and special hug. I think that hugger has promise…
There was a hug, many years ago, in a different life, that was wonderful, but in hindsight it was something else and I misunderstood. The memory is still nice and I know that there are hugs like that out there because of it.
Then as I said, there are my Dad’s hugs.
I imagine I will know my prince charming when I hug him. I mean there is all the build up and romance of a kiss and I’m sure there will be a clue there too, but the clincher to me would most likely be the hug.
Am I the only one who “collects” memories of hugs? Maybe this is a girl thing, or maybe just a “me” thing.
I read somewhere that women express love through their chests. It cited all the ways that happens, nursing, holding babies, erogenous zones and other more adult concepts. It then also talked about hugs.
I think maybe that is right.
(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((HUG)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
The best part about the trip was that I got hugged.
Hugs are a singularly interesting things. They accomplish several different things and communicate as much if not more. Lately I’ve been thinking about hugs, about what I feel when I’m hugged, what I like to feel and the really special hugs in my life.
To me the ultimate hug is when you feel comforted, loved, safe and protected all at the same time. That is the true manifestation of being cherished, to me, at least, in the hug. While it is not romantic (I mean I’m not from Kentucky…), that is what I feel when my Dad hugs me. Granted he is my size, which helps, but that is not what it is about. Sometimes when my brother, who is very large, hugs me it is almost like that, but… When my students or camper/staff hug me, as in these adolescents I mentor/teach/care for, I feel gratitude and affection, and it is very nice, but that’s not the same. Some hugs, recent, specific, have been nice, I felt very comforted and loved, but the safe and protected feeling was not strong if at all present.
There was one (well one and then an echo later) hug this summer that felt very safe and protected and comforted, but there was not the time and depth invested yet to feel cherished. I was so hurt and confused at the time, it was more like the wonderfulness of fresh bread after a long hard cold hungry day. I was so desolate, any hug would have felt wonderful, though I also concede the arms were very big and strong and that helped (the food analogy with good bread, versus any bread). So that was a very nice and special hug. I think that hugger has promise…
There was a hug, many years ago, in a different life, that was wonderful, but in hindsight it was something else and I misunderstood. The memory is still nice and I know that there are hugs like that out there because of it.
Then as I said, there are my Dad’s hugs.
I imagine I will know my prince charming when I hug him. I mean there is all the build up and romance of a kiss and I’m sure there will be a clue there too, but the clincher to me would most likely be the hug.
Am I the only one who “collects” memories of hugs? Maybe this is a girl thing, or maybe just a “me” thing.
I read somewhere that women express love through their chests. It cited all the ways that happens, nursing, holding babies, erogenous zones and other more adult concepts. It then also talked about hugs.
I think maybe that is right.
(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((HUG)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Pig Tails!
It's Thursday! I like Thursdays. It's staff night off tonight. I only get every other staff night off this summer as I alternate with the other lady here in Med Lodge. This week she took Wednesday and I took Thursday and next week we'll switch. I think I even have a date for next Wednesday, but that's another story for later.
Anyway.
It's Staff Night Off tonight and we are taking the kids to this really neat restaurant that has this thing called the Belly Bomb. It's a Sunday with 20 scoops in it and if you eat it all you get this pink T-Shirt. I don't do the Belly Bomb and I treat too many of the kids in the morning who have to indulge, but this will be the first time I get to go watch the ice cream go in...
We were all so tired last week. I think we pushed ourselves too hard and only now are we starting to catch back up and get the rest we need. I slept seven hours last night. How decadent is that! So today, I am wearing my favorite scrubs. They have a little girl with pigtails all over them. So I wear pig tails too. I've been told by someone who just doesn't understand that I look "ridiculous," but everyone else says adorable. I like it so I don't really care.
Thursday is a good day for pig tails!
I also went shooting on Tuesday. Again, I am "Lovely and Lethal." I've been told I have very nice grouping. I shot 4 out of seven pigeons too with my shot gun. No bruise this year. I fell down some rock stairs trying to go check on an idiot staffer who shall remain nameless who slept in as a temper tantrum protest to reality. My shin still hurts, but it's better.
One staffer called me a Mac Truck on Tuesday, because he thought I wouldn't mind. It was funny to fix that misconception. Why a guy would ever think a woman wouldn't mind that is beyond me.
However, on the flip side I have been hugged so much this week my back is starting to get sore.
Nana is being passive aggressive I think. She isn't taking all her pills regularly or consistently. She decides when she opens the daily compartment that there are too many pills there and so she picks and chooses which ones she will take. We think she bases this concept on their shape and color. We are working on the problem.
Nana also told me that she loves the dogs more than me because they spend more time with her. Then she changed her mind when she realized I was her ride home from the nail salon. Gotta love Nana.
So today I have on Pigtails! Nothing can go wrong, right?
Anyway.
It's Staff Night Off tonight and we are taking the kids to this really neat restaurant that has this thing called the Belly Bomb. It's a Sunday with 20 scoops in it and if you eat it all you get this pink T-Shirt. I don't do the Belly Bomb and I treat too many of the kids in the morning who have to indulge, but this will be the first time I get to go watch the ice cream go in...
We were all so tired last week. I think we pushed ourselves too hard and only now are we starting to catch back up and get the rest we need. I slept seven hours last night. How decadent is that! So today, I am wearing my favorite scrubs. They have a little girl with pigtails all over them. So I wear pig tails too. I've been told by someone who just doesn't understand that I look "ridiculous," but everyone else says adorable. I like it so I don't really care.
Thursday is a good day for pig tails!
I also went shooting on Tuesday. Again, I am "Lovely and Lethal." I've been told I have very nice grouping. I shot 4 out of seven pigeons too with my shot gun. No bruise this year. I fell down some rock stairs trying to go check on an idiot staffer who shall remain nameless who slept in as a temper tantrum protest to reality. My shin still hurts, but it's better.
One staffer called me a Mac Truck on Tuesday, because he thought I wouldn't mind. It was funny to fix that misconception. Why a guy would ever think a woman wouldn't mind that is beyond me.
However, on the flip side I have been hugged so much this week my back is starting to get sore.
Nana is being passive aggressive I think. She isn't taking all her pills regularly or consistently. She decides when she opens the daily compartment that there are too many pills there and so she picks and chooses which ones she will take. We think she bases this concept on their shape and color. We are working on the problem.
Nana also told me that she loves the dogs more than me because they spend more time with her. Then she changed her mind when she realized I was her ride home from the nail salon. Gotta love Nana.
So today I have on Pigtails! Nothing can go wrong, right?
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
The Book of Ruth
This was a paper I wrote in college. I wrote a journal entry from Ruth's perspective on the events of the book of Ruth. I am retyping it as part of my PhD submission, so I thought I would share. Ruth's is one of my favorite stories and I got a really good grade on the assignment. In an odd way I have always felt Ruth's was my story. Nana coming into my life only make that picture more literal. The book of Ruth is only four chapters. If you haven't read it I would highly reccomend it.
I met a man today. His mother came to my family and asked that I be given in marriage. His name is Chilion. He is from Judah. My parents have often told me of the Jews, the people who worship Yahweh. I always thought that they were cold and rigid people, but Chilion is very nice. He talked to me about my family and my chores and was very kind. His brother Mahlon just married Orpah from down the path. She has always been a friend of mine; so I know I will like living with her. Mahlon seems very nice too. Orpah says he treats her well and that is a good sign as to how Chilion will treat me. His mother Naomi is also very nice. She is a widow. Mother says Naomi’s husband died of terrible chest pains. But he was old, so I know my husband should also live a long time, like his father.
Being married to a Jew and living with his family is not so bad. The men don’t seem all that different from Moab men. They don’t really pray much or make sacrifices like I’ve heard people say the Jews do. I asked Chilion if there was anything he wouldn’t eat or any special way I needed to prepare his food for him. He said no. Naomi is the only one who seems particularly religious. She prays every morning and evening, before every meal and lots of other times in between. Sometimes I hear her talking to someone, but there isn’t anyone near her when I look. I asked Chilion about it. He just shrugged his shoulders and said Naomi is an old woman who talks to herself. So I listened to her one day. I thought maybe she was talking to Elimelech, her dead husband, but now I think she was talking to her God. These Jews are strange people. Naomi acts like God is always listening to them and cares how they feel. Wile it would be nice if God, any god, were like that, it seems unlikely. Yet Naomi seems so peaceful all the time. Even though she is a widow and wears mourning clothes, she is not idle. She works hard and patiently. My mother became lazy and whiny when my father died. That was a year ago. Naomi never complains about anything. She is always smiling. I wish I could be that happy.
Chilion died today. Mahlon died two days ago. The plague struck without warning on both of them. They had been healthy and strong before and then their bowels began to bleed and their stomachs churned and rejected all food, even water. Naomi, Orpah and I suffered nothing. We did our best to make the men comfortable and ease their pain. But it was a painful death. Naomi prayed over them constantly, pleading with her God not to take them. I guess Yahweh wasn’t listening.
Word came today that not only is the famine in Judah over, but that crops are flourishing and the store houses are bursting with the abundance. Naomi has said that she will go home. I guess Orpah and I will go with her. There seems little alternative. Food is becoming scarce here. If Naomi has kin that can protect her and care for her, maybe they will protect and care for Orpah and me as well. Maybe we can even find new husbands there! There are too many widows here in Moab.
We told Naomi of our plans to go with her. She kissed us and told us to go back to our families, to find new husbands here. She told us that we had been very kind and she blessed us in the name of Yahweh. Orpah began to weep and begged Naomi to take us with her. I was so moved by Naomi’s blessing that I just stood silently with tears running down my face, unable to speak. Naomi got angry with Orpah. She yelled that there was nothing for us in Judah. She would have no more sons and that the Lord was against her now anyway. Orpah kissed her quickly and left. But something inside me would not let me leave.
Naomi has always been good to me. Never has she spoken harshly to me or harassed me. She had loved her sons dearly, but was not jealous of their wives. Her faithfulness to her family was rivaled only by her faithfulness to her God. Now after having lost her husband and her sons, she said she had lost her God as well. I knew I could not repay her kindness to me by deserting her in her time of greatest sorrow. I told Naomi I would stay. Naomi lifted Orpah as an example and told me to follow Orpah. I knew Naomi only spoke out of hurt and desolation so I remained steadfast in my insistence. I would not leave her. Besides, I wanted to see this Judah that had a merciful and loving God, unlike any other God I had ever known. I wanted to see if the others there were like Naomi. I told her that I would go with her and adopt her ways and that nothing would separate us, not even death. Naomi looked at me for a moment in disbelief. Then she smiled sadly and sighed and said no more and I knew I had won.
On the journey to Judah, Naomi became increasingly bitter. It was as if the aches and pains of the trip were lodging in her brain and in her feet. I said little, but let her ramble. I thought it would be good for her to talk it out with her God. But she didn’t seem to be talking to him anymore, just yelling at him. When we got to Bethlehem Naomi announced to the women sitting in the square that God had dealt harshly with her and to call her Mara instead of Naomi. She stopped praying and lost all interest in her God after that.
We lived in a small shelter on the outskirts of town. Naomi began to act like my mother, weeping and complaining all the time. The first few days women from town brought us grain, but they soon stopped and I knew I had to do something or Naomi and I would go hungry. Naomi didn’t seem to care. It was as if she wanted to die. She cared little for her appearance and no longer did she bustle around the house cheerfully cleaning, her voice uplifted to God.
Then I saw that some young widows were following the reapers in a nearby field, gleaning what little grain that was left behind. In this way they had enough to eat. I told Naomi I was going and for a second she seemed to perk up. I’m not sure why. I gleaned all morning in the hot sun. It’s hard work. If you want to have enough to eat for just one day you must be very vigilant and rarely stop for a break. By midmorning I was tired and thirsty. I had covered two fields besides the one I was on. The first one had yielded little and on the second, some of the men had spoken harshly to me, including one man who made some very scary and suggestive comments to me. The third field however, was much different. The men there were very polite when I asked permission to glean and while I worked none of them bothered me. As I worked I noticed a well dressed man with a kind face come and talk to the men who had given me permission to glean. He was smiling and seemed to radiate the same joy and love that Naomi had before her sons died. After a while he came over and stood in front of me.
I had already learned that Moabite were not highly favored in these parts. Best I can tell, Jews and Moabites are in some way related, but there was some kind of bad break long ago. The men in the last field had made some comments about “incestuous pagans.” I wasn’t sure what this man was going to do for all his kind face and gentle demeanor and so I looked at his feet and waited quietly. He told me that he owned the field. I knew then that his name was Boaz; for I had heard his workers speak fondly of him as they worked. He invited me to glean only in his field and to drink from his well. He promised me that none of his men would touch me or speak harshly to me. I was so surprised. I asked him why he would do this for a “foreigner” like me. He smiled again and told me that everyone had heard of my care and devotion to Naomi. Then he blessed me as Naomi had done.
I thanked him profusely and went back to work. I was very surprised when as the sun reached its zenith, Boaz again stood before me. He invited me to eat lunch with him and his men. He let me dip my bread in his wine. He gave me so much parched grain that I could not eat it all. He didn’t even mind when I asked if I could take my leftovers home to Naomi. Even though I had considered Chilion good and kind, Boaz’s kindness made Chilion seem hard and cruel in comparison. As I continued to glean I noticed that the reapers were dropping an awful lot. I was almost afraid to take as much as they dropped, there was so much. Then I saw one of the workers pull out a handful of grain as he worked and drop it on the ground in front of me. He saw me watching him and he smiled and winked and then did it again. Suddenly I knew Boaz had asked him to put out extra for me. By the end of the day I was able to take a whole ephod of barley home to Naomi. Not to mention the left over parched wheat. There was enough of that so that Naomi and I wouldn’t have to use the barley I had worked so hard for today until at least tomorrow.
As I told Naomi about my day she began to get very excited. When I finished she danced around a bit and then fell to her knees and prayed. When she got up her face was once again the joyful one I remembered. She told me that Yahweh had not forsaken us. She said that Boaz was kin and urged me to glean only in his field. It was wonderful to see Naomi happy again. Even if Boaz was an ogre, I would not have gleaned anywhere else just to keep Naomi happy.
I gleaned in his field all season. His men were always kind, and everyday I ate with the men and Boaz. Naomi and I rarely had to eat what I had gleaned as Boaz continued to give us the leftover parched wheat from lunch each day. Because of this Naomi and I had quite a store by the end of the season. Enough to see us through the winter and then some. We had been truly blessed, as Naomi would say. Besides all that I enjoyed eating with Boaz each day at lunch. He spoke kindly to me and asked after Naomi. When the season was over I missed him greatly.
Then Naomi came to me. She told me that as my only kin now, she felt she should find me a new husband. I was skeptical, but I agreed. She explained to me that Boaz was kin and instructed me to go to the threshing room floor that night. So I spent the day cleaning myself and anointing myself and put on my freshest, cleanest, best clothes. Then I went to the threshing room floor and hid until the men had eaten and fallen asleep. I found Boaz snoring softly in the corner. I carefully uncovered his feet so that he would be awakened by the drafts in the night and lay beyond his feet where it would be clear that my intentions were honorable. I must have fallen asleep because I was startled to hear his hushed voice asking who was there.
I told him who I was and asked his kindness as he was a kinsman. He blessed me again and praised me for not chasing after young men and acting immorally. He told me how everyone had seen that even though I was from Moab, I was a woman of worth. He said he wanted to marry me but that there was a closer kinsman than he. Boaz promised to check into the matter and get back to me. Then he gave me another six measures of barley. I left early in the morning before anyone could see that I had been there and told Naomi everything that had happened.
She told me I would know by tonight whom I would marry. Then she knelt and invited me to kneel with her. She taught me how to pray and introduced me to her God, Yahweh. It was strange. Even though I had never spoken to him before I felt somehow that I knew him. I felt that he had been involved in my life long before this moment. Naomi and I prayed all day on our knees, forgoing lunch and devoting ourselves to our prayer and our God. Then at sunset Boaz came to tell me that we would be married.
We let Naomi name our son, Obed, and she became his nurse. Sometimes is hard to tell who the dear child’s real mother is. Everyday I thank God for this woman who became my mother, the kinsman who became my father and the precious child, our son. God has given me this beautiful life and I will never forsake him.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Thoughts floating in snot…
Yes, I know that is really gross. It’s true, but it’s gross. It’s funny, all the things you think about when you are sick, though. How rational they seem and normal. Then in the morning you think, “what?”
This week I have been sick. Thankfully, I believe it is viral, and while my sides hurt like I had a run in with a bunch of angry 2X4’s from all the coughing, I do feel better today. Whichever face is in the mirror today looks kind of haggard, but its there, so…
Anyway, snotty thoughts. (Some are half dreams, don't judge too harshly!)
If I paid my team teacher $1000 would she grade my papers this week?
Clearly the dogs are eating up my shoes because I can’t find them and the dogs are probably hiding them to use as boats.
If I have a cookie with a glass of milk that counts as dinner with dessert.
Ice cream is as good as hot tea for a sore throat.
Sudafed Shower soothers are a problem with open drains in shower tubs, so I’m gonna take a colander, put the tablet in there and hold it in front of my face and breath while sitting in the shower… however, it is harder to get it wet that way to ephervess, so I will have to periodically dump water over it… (Go ahead, laugh, that’s how I used it).
The glow of the waterless menthol vapor thing from Vicks gives me bad dreams. Its glow is eerie and spooky and satanic, but it’s the only way I could breathe.
My breathing sounds so funny, with pops and squeaks and squeals and at one point I thought maybe there were tiny animals in my snot and they were trying to communicate with me through the racket (I was half asleep, affected by that stupid Vicks light, but yes I thought that.)
If I drink anymore peppermint tea, I think I may actually fart starlight mints…
However, there is nothing to wrap them in; we are out of saran wrap. (Again, it’s that stupid Vicks light!)
I wonder if I went to school, got all my kids sick and they stayed home, if they would give me the day off?
Nana is trying to smother me with her perfume… It’s a plot by all old women… Again, half asleep with the Vicks light on.
I imagine some of these thoughts were induced by the Nyquil as well… Maybe it was the real me coming through? Who knows?
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