Thinking about Grandma

My grandma is being moved to an assisted living home tomorrow. She's going to the same place my other grandma lived when she got old enough and my great-aunt Nellie, as well. I feel like it's our family's official assisted living home.

The problem is, when you take someone to a place like that to live, you know that it means they may not live much longer. Or at least, the life they live is not going to be anything like the life they've had for all their years beforehand. My grandma is making the passage to the next stage of her oldness, where she's still my grandma-- she still has stories to tell, still complains about the same things, still looks like herself-- but she's starting to not be completely herself. She's not all the way there when I visit, when I see her, when I look in her eyes. She slipping away and she won't be here for too much longer.

That's okay, because she's had a long life, raised her kids, watched her grandkids grow up; she's lived. And it's not okay because she's my grandma and has been for my entire life, and life will feel very different when she's not anymore. A piece will be missing, a person who matters will be only memories, no longer tangible, hugable, kissable, visible. And I know grandmas always go away eventually, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Remembering...

There's this poem that's been stuck in my brain for several weeks now. It's a poem that my grandpa read to me when I was about eight or nine years old. He told me that every time he read this poem, it reminded him of me. This is the first poem I can remember liking. I didn't read poetry much when I was a kid, but when grandpa died, I got a couple of his poetry books which are treasures to me. And I write a lot of poetry now; maybe I wouldn't have started writing poetry if my grandpa hadn't shared this poem with me. I don't know.

Daffodils
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed-- and gazed-- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Freedom for Egypt!

Today, I watched a Frontline episode online about the revolution in Egypt. Initial reaction: no one in the U.S. would ever do anything like that because we don't care about anything. We aren't passionate enough about any issue to walk into the streets, risking injury or death to demand that things change. Is there anything happening in our country right now that would be worth protesting on a large scale? Maybe not. We aren't experiencing dictatorship or a mass genocide. We don't necessarily have to fear our own police force or the military.

But what about the role we play in the world around us? Over and over again, different peoples have proved to the world that revolution is possible simply through non-violent protest. People gain their freedom and bring down dictators by marching through the streets, using their words, telling their neighbors and friends, letting the police beat them, kill them, arrest them. And then they come back day after day, using the power of their words and the power of their numbers- without violence- and they win. Persistent, determined, courageous non-violent protests move mountains and change the world we live in.

So why do we as a nation stand by and watch as our government sends out tanks and bombs and guns to nations across the world when we think they have problems that we should fix? Why do we send thousands of troops to shoot at people instead of sending thousands of pacifists to join the suppressed in their cries for freedom? When a nation is crying out for help because they are being tormented by a dictator, why don't join hands with them in protesting, in organizing movements, in starting their own revolutions? What's our obsession with guns?

How do we help a nation of people who are suffering by dropping bombs on them? And if the purpose of our presence in any given nation is not to help the suffering, then why are we there at all?

My New Life Adventure

Really, it's more of my husband's life adventure. This is how it started a year ago:

We were saving up money and looking at houses. House prices were low, and we got an invitation in the mail for an informational meeting about home loans. We went to the meeting, and said, dude, we should look at houses. So we looked around, found one house that interested us, looked at it with a realtor, got pre-approved for a loan, and didn't buy it. There weren't any other houses that we liked, so we stopped looking.

After several months, we both realized that we weren't supposed to buy a house at that time, but it had been extremely educational to go through the process of almost buying a house. Now we knew much more about what it took to make it happen, where as before we had known nothing. And gradually, we both began realizing that buying a house wasn't actually one of our highest priorities. There were so many positive things about continuing to rent.

So that left us wondering what we were going to do with all the money we saved up as our "house money."

Well, not too long after, my husband began thinking about the possibilities for his career. He likes being an electrician, but he didn't want to keep working in the construction industry for his entire life. So he started thinking and looking at the possibilities. He felt like he needed to change what he was doing some time in the near future. I began getting ready, getting excited, and getting anxious for a time of transition in our life: the possibility of new jobs, new town, new home, anything.

Then my husband realized a few months ago that he was really hating his job. It was making him downright miserable at times. He started seriously contemplating leaving his job and looking for something else. He thought and prayed and spent a lot of time listening. And he clearly heard God tell him that it was okay to leave, it was time to leave, he didn't have to stay at his job. But he kept praying about it, thinking about, didn't want to act rashly. And he still got the same message over again: it's time to leave. So he put in his two weeks notice at work and started looking at job postings online.

After looking at job postings for several days, it became clear that there were very few jobs available for people with his license, and the few openings that were potentials were in Portland, which is the last place either of us wants to work or live. But this really didn't get either of us down because God had made it clear that he was supposed to quit, so there had to be something else waiting for us in the right time and the right place. So my husband started thinking, praying, and listening again. And he realized that he wants to go to college. He felt confident that this was God's idea and not his own because my husband hates school. He already did college once, and it was not fun. But he was feeling this urge, this drive, this ambition to do it, to go to a university and get a bachelor's degree. He kept thinking and it kept feeling right.

This past Friday, my husband and I talked to an admissions counselor at Western Oregon University about enrolling for spring term and majoring in Information Systems, minoring in Computer Science. He has only a few weeks to get all the proper paperwork, applications and such ready to be able to start school on March 28th. It's a good thing he doesn't have a job because otherwise there's no way he'd have the time to get everything ready and done.

So, we found a way to use some of our "house money." We still have to wait and see how we're going to pay our bills while he's going to school, but we're really not worried about it. God keeps giving us answers, keeps showing us the next step on the path. So we'll see later on how the bills are going to get paid for the next two years.

What an adventure!

Jury Duty

I just served on a jury that convicted a man of four separate charges including selling marijuana. This man has a fiancé and a toddler at home. He has a job and supports and his family. And now he’s probably going to jail. The jury’s verdict on whether or not he was selling marijuana was not unanimous. I was one of the jurors that voted not guilty on two of the charges.

However, I also volunteered to be the presiding juror. So when the jury finally came to the point where they had a strong enough majority to reach a verdict on all four counts, I marked guilty in four places, signed at the bottom of the verdict, carried this paper into the courtroom, handed it to the clerk, and verified for the judge that this was indeed our verdict and that two of the verdicts were unanimous, while two were not.

And the defendant sobbed with his head in his hands.

We went back into the jury room to verify for the judge the count of guilty and not guilty votes for each verdict. And one woman in the room, who had changed her vote earlier that morning, asked if she could change her vote back to not guilty. After we had already handed in our verdict, heard the judge read it out loud in the courtroom, and watched the defendant break down into tears, one juror admitted to having doubts about a guilty verdict. Her one vote, had she stuck with her original feelings, would have been enough to cause a mistrial on two of the charges.

But she waited to voice her doubts until it was too late, and there was nothing we could do. I don’t know how I managed, but I didn’t shed a tear until I got back home.

Just think about it. You know you want to...

Have you ever found yourself chowing down on a piece of greasy, crunchy, salty, breaded buffalo wing, chicken tender, or chicken nugget and wondering, “Why does breaded chicken taste so good?”

Breaded chicken can undeniably be called the best food invention since sliced bread or pre-sliced cheese or even crispy sliced pickles! And it’s not even sliced!

But is breaded chicken actually a product of human ingenuity, or is breadedness the way nature intended for a chicken to be? This is one of the important and consuming questions of our age. What does it matter which came first, the chicken or the egg? What should really be tugging at your brain cells is this: were chickens truly created, in the beginning, in the form we now consider the domestic feathered chicken, or were they in fact amazingly different than the modern day chicken that lives in our modern day farms?

Perhaps the farm-bred chicken that has legs, wings, breasts and a beak is nothing like its ancient ancestor, is nothing at all like it was created to be, has in fact rebelled from the path that God set it on in the beginning. Have you ever considered the possibility that chickens were in fact created in the first days as multi-sized and various shaped, small pieces of meat and bone (or no bone) coated in crispy, salty, savory breading and deep fried in grease?

If this thought has ever crossed your mind, my new book is for you. This is a thinking man’s book. If you don’t think about the origins of the domestic chicken, this book is not for you. If you don’t think about how good your food would taste if all of it were breaded and deep-fried, this book is not for you. If you are not a thinking man, don’t even bother trying to read it!

For the rest of you chicken tender lovers, check it out. Coming to all the right book stores very soon:

The Rebellion and Evolution of the Chicken: The Journey From Deep-Fried Perfection to a Fallen Feathered Future

*Authors note: This book doesn't actually exist.

My parents are leaving Silverton.

My parents are moving this weekend; they're leaving Silverton and moving to Keizer. I feel like I shouldn't really care so much, but I really do care a lot. I'm upset, I'm sad, I'm mourning a loss in my life.

I don't know if I'm really going to miss the house that I lived in with my parents for 13 years. Yes, there are plenty of memories there, so many crucial moments in my life that happened within those walls. But the town itself is so much more a part of who I am.

I can mark so many moments in my life by age and place, almost all of it in Silverton.

Five years old: We start going to Silverton Friends Church. We drive every week from Salem to Silverton to worship with a congregation that becomes like our extended family. These people become to me like my aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins. They are the people who know me and love me the most in the whole world.

Nine years old: I start going to Silverton Christian School. It’s at our church, so it already feels like home. It’s not perfect, and sometimes I wish I wasn’t there, but it’s small, it’s safe, and it’s familiar.

Ten years old: We finally move to Silverton. We’re home all the way now. Everything in my life fits together in one neat package: home, school, church, and friends, all in Silverton.

Skip a few years down the road past middle school and high school. I’m going to school dances and singing in the choir. I write for the school paper, and I get my first job at the library. I graduate from high school and start planning my future.

Even the beginning of my future starts in Silverton.

Twenty-three years old: My boyfriend takes me to the park so we can take pictures. As we’re walking through the park, he stops me on the bridge across Silver Creek, gets down on his knees, and asks me if I will marry him. I cry, I say yes, I hold him, and I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire life.


Still twenty-three years old: February 3^rd, 2007, Craig and I get married at the Assembly of God church across from my high school and just a few blocks away from the house where I’ve lived with my parents for thirteen years. Now that I’m married, I’ll live in Albany, but I can always come home to Silverton, to my parents’ house, to all the people and places that have been my life.

Except now my parents are moving.

What is holiness?

Words of Charles Marsh, taken from the book, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything by David Dark.

If only holiness were measured by the volume of our incessant chatter, we would be universally praised as the most holy nation on earth. But in our fretful, theatrical piety, we have come to mistake noisiness for holiness, and we have presumed to know, with a clarity and certitude that not even the angels dared claim, the divine will for the world. We have organized our needs with the confidence that God is on our side, now and always, whether we feed the poor or corral them into ghettos.

To a nation filled with intense religious fervor, the Hebrew prophet Amos said: You are not the holy people you imagine yourselves to be. Though the land is filled with festivals and assemblies, with songs and melodies, and with so much pious talk, these are not the sounds and sights that are pleasing to the Lord. "Take away from me the noise of your congregations," Amos says, "you who have turned justice into poison."

One day I met up with a very content and peaceful tree...

If I could be more like you—

Graciously flexible

With every gust of wind

With every drop of rain

Yet stubbornly confident

Being in your right and proper place

Knowing where you should be

Here

And when you should be

Now

And never being elsewhere

Future or past

Near or far

And always

Faithfully

Growing, changing

Aging without complaint

And somehow always willing

To let go

Of that which is finished

And patiently trusting

That which is yet to come

Will come

In the right and proper time

No need to rush

No need to worry

No need at all

A wise man once said...

Faith without works, like it or not, isn't faith to begin with. And what we do, practically speaking, might be accompanied by occasional explanation when it's requested. But the work, if you like, is faith enough. Witness enough too. The only witness, actually. Witness isn't a personal profession of faith. Actions speak, and profession, at best, merely elaborates on actions, explaining the why and the how. We need not add how strongly we believe in God.

We're doing what we believe, and we're not doing what we don't.

-- David Dark, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything

Here's the Rub...

I’m struggling with Christmas. It’s all about celebrating Jesus, about Jesus being born and Jesus being God and Jesus saving us and saving the whole world.

And we celebrate Jesus— we remember his birth, his life, his death, his resurrection— by making Christmas wish lists, buying hundreds of dollars of presents for family and friends, wrapping it all up in fancy paper and bows, spending hours opening up the paper and bows only to see the exact items that we specifically asked for on our wish lists. And then we top it all off by eating lots of rich, fatty, sugary food that makes us feel sick and bloated and guilty.

I’m struggling because I want the gifts and food and all day family party just as much as the next person. It feels good, it feels familiar, it feels like Christmas. It’s how it’s always been and how it’s supposed to be. I like making a Christmas list and getting what I want. I like eating too much food because it tastes good. I like spending all day with my family doing fun things.

But what does it have to do with Jesus? Why do we do all these things and then say that Jesus is the reason for the season. It seems to me we’re lying, plain and simple. We don’t spend all that money on Jesus —we spend it on buying luxury items for people who already have plenty. We spend it on buying food that would feed twice as many people. We spend it on Christmas trees and ornaments and lights and garlands and wrapping paper and cards. What does this have to do with Jesus?

Why can’t we just be honest with ourselves and admit that actually remembering Jesus would kind of suck because it would mean giving away our things instead of getting new things. It would mean spending time with strangers who have nothing instead of spending a whole day with our family and friends. It would mean feeding the starving instead of stuffing our own faces. And you have to admit, that would really suck. I don’t like that; you don’t like that. So we don’t do that. We don’t celebrate Christmas because we love Jesus. We celebrate Christmas because it feels good.

And I’m not quite sure what we’re supposed to do with that. Inserting a short prayer, the story of Jesus or some group Christmas caroling doesn’t really change the focus much. It’s just what we do so we can say that Jesus was the reason for our celebration. It’s just what we do to appease our conscience when that little small voice inside tells us that something about Christmas isn’t quite right.

If the story of the Grinch came true and all of it was gone—the trees, the lights, the gifts, the food—would we still be celebrating? Would the Grinch be able to hear our joyful songs ringing through the air on Christmas morning? Would we still have the spirit of Christmas in our hearts without all of the physical symbols of Christmas present?

I’m really not so sure.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Rejoice!

God sends a Word:

A Word to remind us

Of the love we once knew,

Of the freedom we once lived in,

Of the joy with which we sang.

God sends a Word:

A Word to renew

What has long been forgotten,

To rebuild in our hearts

The true and ancient love

That has crumbled and fallen away.

God sends a Word:

A Word to restore us

To our own true selves,

To a deep understanding

Of our place in eternity,

Of our place in His heart.

God sends a Word:

A Word to change everything.

Hear the Word and rejoice!

All Is Well - A medieval winter lullaby

One by one

Each leaf will fall

The earth will embrace us

One and all

Each bloom will drop

The tree grow bare

All becomes still

As winter draws near

A mist rolls in

And all will sleep

Our breathing is soft

Our slumber is deep

We rest, we dream

We find our peace

In earth’s sweet embrace

Our woes we release

All are sleeping

No more weeping

Resting, waiting

All is well

In earth’s embrace

There’s no more fleeing

Rest and wait

All will be well

The gray skies may

Be dark as night

But hope is not fleeting

Nor out of sight

While storms are brewing

Wars are fought

But deep in our dreams

These storms reach us not

All are sleeping

No more weeping

Resting, waiting

All is well

In earth’s embrace

There’s no more fleeing

Rest and wait

All will be well

When the glorious

Morning is here

The storm will be over

All will be clear

As we awake

From our sleep

We’ll gather our loved ones

Safely to keep

All are sleeping

No more weeping

Resting, waiting

All is well

In earth’s embrace

There’s no more fleeing

Rest and wait

All will be well

A Much Needed Reminder This Christmas Season...

I found a list of statistics in a book that I'm reading that reminded me of my blessings, my responsibilities, my priorities, my values, and my weaknesses. I felt like it mattered even more to be reminded of reality like this at Christmas time when so much of our energy and time goes to buying gifts and making wish lists, planning menus and cooking feasts, putting up decorations and stringing the twinkle lights. It's all about crowded malls and doorbuster sales, sparkling candles and decadent desserts, Christmas wrap and the season's hottest toys.

But what does it all look like in light of reality?

• One billion people in the world do not have access to clean water, while the average American uses four hundred to six hundred liters of water a day.
• Forty percent of people in the world lack basic sanitation, while forty-nine million diapers are used and thrown away in America every day.
• By far, most of the people in the world do not own a car. One-third of American families own three cars.

These are just a few of the numerous statistics out there about how the world really works, about how people live their lives, about all the things that other people don't have and will never have because we have it all. There's nothing left for the impoverished of the world to have, no resources, no extra dollars sitting around, waiting for the unfortunate poor to claim them. The United States of America makes up less than five percent of the world's population. This five percent of all people has twenty percent of all the world's wealth.

Shouldn't knowing these things change how we do Christmas, change how we do life every day, change how we feel about what we have?

* information borrowed from Jesus Wants To Save Christians by Rob Bell and Don Golden

Love Is Not A Fight

The following is a song that stops me in my tracks every time I hear it. It grabs me and makes me listen, makes me think, sometimes makes me cry. If we're not willing to fight for love, what are we willing to fight for? 

Love Is Not A Fight

By Warren Barfield

Love is not a place

To come and go as we please

It's a house we enter in

Then commit to never leave

So lock the door behind you

Throw away the key

We'll work it out together

Let it bring us to our knees

Love is a shelter in a raging storm

Love is peace in the middle of a war

And if we try to leave, may God send angels to guard the door

No, love is not a fight, but it's something worth fighting for

To some, love is a word

That they can fall into

But when they're falling out

Keeping that word is hard to do

Love is a shelter in a raging storm

Love is peace in the middle of a war

And if we try to leave, may God send angels to guard the door

No, love is not a fight, but it's something worth fighting for

Love will come to save us

If we'll only call

He will ask nothing from us

But demand we give our all

Love is a shelter in a raging storm

Love is peace in the middle of a war

And if we try to leave, may God send angels to guard the door

No, love is not a fight, but it's something worth fighting for

I will fight for you

Would you fight for me?

It's worth fighting for

Being here, being now...

Why is it that the human mind constantly wanders away from the present, from the current moment into the near future, far future, possible future. It's so hard, sometimes seemingly impossible, to stay present, to be here.

Instead, I look at my place in life right now and wish for something different. When I live in an apartment, I wish for a house. When I live only with my husband, I wish for children. When I work in a school, I wish to go back to school. When I have spare time to be quiet, I look for more ways to fill my time. I’m not good at being quiet anymore. I’m not good at being by myself anymore. I’m not good at committing, at practicing, at being devoted to whatever is going on in my life.

I want to be more present, more centered on what is here and now. But I’m scared—I’m scared of being by myself; I’m scared of my thoughts; I’m scared of my weaknesses; I’m scared of my true emotions. How do I sit down and make it happen? How do I find a way to love being with myself? What are the distractions for, really? What do they do for me? They empty me, dull my mind, my thoughts, cover up the other noises in my head and in my heart. What am I missing in the midst of my television shows and internet surfing and dance music? What am I trying to miss? What will happen if I stop, if I just let myself see what is really going on, let it all out, let go? What happens?

And then what does a modern day person do with their time if they are not surfing the web, watching TV and listening to noise of some kind hours upon hours every day? How do I spend that time? How do I not spend that time, but rather just soak in that time? I don’t even know where to start. I think I used to. It didn’t always feel like this. I think I knew what to do with the silence, with the space, with the extra moments that stretch into extra hours. I faintly remember it feeling right, feeling peaceful, feeling comfortable. But now it just feels frightening. I’m frightened, but I want to be alive, more alive than I’m letting myself be right now. I want to be whole, balanced, well, content and at peace. Where is this place I’m searching for? Will I find it if I search my heart? Will I find it in stillness, in meditation, in contemplation? Will I find it within myself to love myself and love being myself?

Right here, right now. This is all I need.

Always so eager to jump to the next step in my life, my feet barely make contact with the patch of life I’m hovering in right now. I’m going to miss it if I don’t pay enough attention. I’m going to pass by opportunities, blessings, connections, and special memories. I won’t ever have a chance to live this moment over again, so I have to be here in a solid, firm, and tangible way. I have to stop trying so hard to find out what’s coming because what I have right now is what I need.

Where I’m at, who I’m with, and what I’m doing matter here and now. Those things are satisfying, important, crucial, meaningful, sometimes simply delightful. The smiles I’m blessed with every day, the conversations I have with my friends and family, a hug and a kiss from my husband, a new thought that pops into my head, a walk through my neighborhood with the wind whipping through my hair, beautiful bird song greeting me at unexpected moments, every moment precious, every moment the moment I need.

I don’t need tomorrow yet. I don’t need next year yet. I’m here, and I’m happy.

It does make a difference

I listened to something today that really hit me in the face with the reality of how I see the world around me. There are things or people that I judge, ridicule, criticize, mock, or view with complete indifference. And it's just straight up ignorance every time. You can't do those things if you actually know the person or the facts. You can't hate somebody if you actually know them, see them for who they truly are, because really we're all the same. I have to change how I think. It really does make a difference.

Change

I want to

I need to

It makes a difference

Who I am

What I think

What I see

Change

From indifference

To caring

From sarcasm

To sincerity

From criticism

To mercy

From ridicule

To empathy

I have to

Change

You can't keep your eyes closed all the time.

Lately, I've been crying about things more than usual. But I think it's a good thing. I feel like I'm more open right now, more vulnerable, maybe more honest and willing to face the things that hurt.

Life goes by

Keeps moving

Keeps changing

And all you can do

Is hold on really tight

Hold on

To anything that seems

Almost secure

And then

You close your eyes

Preparing for the loop

The flip you knew was coming

And then you open up

And hit the next

The one you weren’t expecting

You forgot to close your eyes

So you saw

Life, pain

Everything you’ve been avoiding

And you couldn’t help

But cry

Memories of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is so different now than it was when I was young. Some things are hard to describe though, hard to remember from so many years back.

The house rings with joyful sounds of family gathered together. I love just being here with so many cousins and my aunts and uncles and my four siblings. And all the hugs, genuine, happy, it’s-wonderful-to-see you hugs that you can look forward to every year. Big, cheerful Uncle Jim hugs, warm Aunt Judy hugs, Grandpa hugs that smell just like Grandpa should. Every person here loving me, smothering me in their warm, true love.

Finally we all sit down to our meal, two tables to fit everyone. And Grandpa sits at the head of the table, says a prayer, watches all of his children and grandchildren with his eyes sparkling, almost in tears any time his whole family is gathered close. Grandpa has so much tender love in his face every Thanksgiving.

And sitting there eating with my family, everything feels warm, inside and out. It’s safe, it’s secure. Everything embraces me: familiar faces, familiar smells, everything is just as it should be, and I can be just who I am.

Grandma’s food is pretty much perfect in every way. The smell of slow-cooked deliciousness fresh from the kitchen comes to the table to fill the whole house; every bite filled with just enough moistness, savory seasoning, tartness, textures that melt in the mouth. Grandma’s love is in this food, all cooked carefully, expertly, with a lifetime of practice. It’s delicious, Grandma, it’s amazing.

I’m enveloped in laughter, conversation, joking and teasing. I don’t have to participate in it; I can just drink it all in, be taken in by the joy of being with family. I can bathe in the comfort of the sounds and sights and smells. My role is listening, smiling, watching, wishing it would continue forever.