Hi Friends!
After some consultation with folk who are much more computer savvy than I, I have decided to move this blog to a new server. I have no idea if I will be able to move the four previous blogs or not, but this site will remain in cyber space for those who want to look back.
Looking forward, the new blog address is unchurchedlesley.wordpress.com.
I am moving it for three reasons:
1. You can post much easier--without creating a gmail account! Your email account will remain completely anonymous too.
2. You can subscribe to the blog so that you will receive an email when a new post is made. You won't have to wonder and periodically check in.
3. I will be notified when a post comment has been made so I can interact with you, my readers!
Thanks for helping me launch into the blogging world and please follow me at the new address. Blessings!
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
May the Circle be Broken
The good Doctor is a bluegrass afficianado. My recollection is it all began with the discovery of a circa 1940's Gibson mandolin in his mom's basement when he was a college student. He fiddled with it a bit but eventually pawned it for $250 so he and I could go on an inexpensive honeymoon to Winter Park. I remember it pained him since it had been in his family for a couple generations, but it was so sweet he was willing to part with it. Now if you know a bit about instruments, the secondary insult added to the injury of loss was this was a colossal rip-off by the retailer! It was probably worth eight times that, but of course, this was before the days of the internet where you could check the value of an item at the drop of a hat. We could have gone on a romantic Mexican vacation with the real value, instead we were in a ski town in early mid-June. We were oblivious to all that then...happy to be a Mr. & Mrs. We fume and pine, twenty-one years later.
About ten years ago he bought a new mandolin, and then a banjo followed soon after. Bluegrass is the dominant music in the house when he is home now.
Now I have a confession to make to my blog community...bluegrass is a bit too earthy for me, if I am honest. I do like Nickel Creek and Alison Krauss, and any song that tells a good story is a keeper. My fifteen year old, LR, he knows how to select a great song and often is introducing me to heartbreakers...he loves a good tale too. He caught the bluegrass bug about threee years ago, took his eight years of violin playing and transferred it to the mandolin--they are actually strung exactly the same. It is a nightly ritual...LR on the mandolin, Hubby on the banjo, BB rather half-heartedly strumming on his guitar. BB is just being charitable with his time...he'd much prefer pounding out a hymn or praise song on the piano, I am pretty sure.
I have a photo of my dad's parents early in their marriage and they were dirt poor...my grandpa barechested in denim overalls, my grandma barefoot in a white cotton dress. The little filling station my grandpa worked at is partially visible in the background. They look young and in love...her arm wrapped about his neck, their hands starting to intertwine. What the picture doesn't tell is that my grandma was a direct product of abject poverty and paternal abandonment. My dad, in the last couple years of his life was very interested in his family history and shared several stories about his parents that helped me understand him anew. Somehow, bluegrass music makes me feel a bit sad...it feels a bit too close to family history. I can't quite work past the conjured mental images of Appalachia, poor dental care, inbreeding, and kissin' cousins. We weren't from this part of the country mind you, but dad's family was outright poor growing up and often didn't know where their next meal was coming from. He genuinely experienced seasons of poverty.
Bluegrass and I have made a truce of sorts..."I won't really object much as long as you spin a good yarn."
I gave the mister a DVD of a memorable bluegrass who's who event called "May the Circle be Unbroken." You may recognize the name--its a song. The words tell the story of a man who has just lost his mother. His haunting reprise is, "Will the circle be unbroken, By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting, In the sky, Lord, in the sky." In other words, "are we all going to just keep dying here...I am ready for real change, Lord...break in and do what only you can do...freshen things up...break the circle of inevitability!"
Now THAT is good bluegrass for this chick...that's theology. For me, a good song is always about the words...not simply lyrics...words.
So it is inventory time, friends. Where are you just moving in circles?
For me, I think I have become a bit too insular in my world. I am grateful God drew my attention to it and moved me to step off my private tour of Trail 'o Round and Round and consider some other possible detours. Here are the questions I am exploring:
Where am I holding hands with my church friends a bit too tightly, focusing inward, rather than pausing to look out...I mean really look? Who do I see on the outskirts of my life that might welcome the opportunity to be my next coffee date?
Who just needs to be looked straight in the eye and greeted in such a way that they not only felt valued as a human being, but they actually were...my twenty-something trash man, an ethnic postman, my mid-life grocery clerk, the latchkey kid on my block, an elderly widower around the corner, or how about that gangly teen that lives right next door?
Isn't it amazing that we can keep interfacing with the same group of service folk--people who literally make their livings serving our community, and we never even know their names? Christ followers ought to be the ultimate people people, I think.
"At the window of my house I looked out through the lattice. I saw among the simple, I noticed among the young men, a youth who lacked judgment. He was going down the street near her corner(a prostitute), walking along in the direction of her house at twilight, as the day was fading, as the dark of night set in." Proverbs 7:6-9
The darkness has set in...who do you see through the lattice of your lives?
About ten years ago he bought a new mandolin, and then a banjo followed soon after. Bluegrass is the dominant music in the house when he is home now.
Now I have a confession to make to my blog community...bluegrass is a bit too earthy for me, if I am honest. I do like Nickel Creek and Alison Krauss, and any song that tells a good story is a keeper. My fifteen year old, LR, he knows how to select a great song and often is introducing me to heartbreakers...he loves a good tale too. He caught the bluegrass bug about threee years ago, took his eight years of violin playing and transferred it to the mandolin--they are actually strung exactly the same. It is a nightly ritual...LR on the mandolin, Hubby on the banjo, BB rather half-heartedly strumming on his guitar. BB is just being charitable with his time...he'd much prefer pounding out a hymn or praise song on the piano, I am pretty sure.
I have a photo of my dad's parents early in their marriage and they were dirt poor...my grandpa barechested in denim overalls, my grandma barefoot in a white cotton dress. The little filling station my grandpa worked at is partially visible in the background. They look young and in love...her arm wrapped about his neck, their hands starting to intertwine. What the picture doesn't tell is that my grandma was a direct product of abject poverty and paternal abandonment. My dad, in the last couple years of his life was very interested in his family history and shared several stories about his parents that helped me understand him anew. Somehow, bluegrass music makes me feel a bit sad...it feels a bit too close to family history. I can't quite work past the conjured mental images of Appalachia, poor dental care, inbreeding, and kissin' cousins. We weren't from this part of the country mind you, but dad's family was outright poor growing up and often didn't know where their next meal was coming from. He genuinely experienced seasons of poverty.
Bluegrass and I have made a truce of sorts..."I won't really object much as long as you spin a good yarn."
I gave the mister a DVD of a memorable bluegrass who's who event called "May the Circle be Unbroken." You may recognize the name--its a song. The words tell the story of a man who has just lost his mother. His haunting reprise is, "Will the circle be unbroken, By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting, In the sky, Lord, in the sky." In other words, "are we all going to just keep dying here...I am ready for real change, Lord...break in and do what only you can do...freshen things up...break the circle of inevitability!"
Now THAT is good bluegrass for this chick...that's theology. For me, a good song is always about the words...not simply lyrics...words.
So it is inventory time, friends. Where are you just moving in circles?
For me, I think I have become a bit too insular in my world. I am grateful God drew my attention to it and moved me to step off my private tour of Trail 'o Round and Round and consider some other possible detours. Here are the questions I am exploring:
Where am I holding hands with my church friends a bit too tightly, focusing inward, rather than pausing to look out...I mean really look? Who do I see on the outskirts of my life that might welcome the opportunity to be my next coffee date?
Who just needs to be looked straight in the eye and greeted in such a way that they not only felt valued as a human being, but they actually were...my twenty-something trash man, an ethnic postman, my mid-life grocery clerk, the latchkey kid on my block, an elderly widower around the corner, or how about that gangly teen that lives right next door?
Isn't it amazing that we can keep interfacing with the same group of service folk--people who literally make their livings serving our community, and we never even know their names? Christ followers ought to be the ultimate people people, I think.
"At the window of my house I looked out through the lattice. I saw among the simple, I noticed among the young men, a youth who lacked judgment. He was going down the street near her corner(a prostitute), walking along in the direction of her house at twilight, as the day was fading, as the dark of night set in." Proverbs 7:6-9
The darkness has set in...who do you see through the lattice of your lives?
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
A Reunion Tour
Don't you just love friendships where you just pick right up where you left off no matter how much time has gone by? Though we haven't lived near one another in three years, its been no hindrance to stay connected to my soul sister, Ericka. We caught-up by phone amidst our respective piles of dirty duds yesterday morning. It had been awhile since we chatted, so we were swapping kid stories, "pray for..." tidbits, and family gossip, if you will.
She shared that she had recently taken her hubby to a concert for his birthday--Rush! Backstage passes, a round of introductions to the band, and a photo with the group--a top shelf b-day for her man. We laughed...a blast from the past, right out of our 80's adolescence. Now I have no idea if Rush has just remained together through the years or if they have re-grouped on tour for their fans. Either way, you gotta love the visual of fortyish plus diehards, now listening with earplugs to preserve their ebbing auditory function, contentedly retrieving pubescent memories, song after song.
The good Doctor and I had a reunion tour of our own this weekend. (God bless my mother who graciously kept the children of the Lord for two whole nights.) We escaped to beautiful Beaver Creek, the aspen leaves in their golden glory, thrilled to have some time alone.
One year ago, almost to the day, we had been on a similar trip in Beaver Creek. My man had just finished a horrifying summer of chemotherapy and radiation for Hodgkins Lymphoma. His hair was about a half inch high and his eyelashes were just starting to grow in again. He was elated to be done with treatment and anxious to get outdoors. It was odd--it was if we had gone from the fading brown of spring with his May diagnosis, to autumn colors. We felt oblivious that there had even been a summer of sunshine, swimming, and picnics. In fact, my sister Amy had come in mid-September to help us through the final weeks of treatment. She and I went on a drive up to Estes Park. As we drove, I was surprised to see in the rocky canyon that some aspen trees were making their regal change to gold. I said with astonishment, "Look! The leaves are changing, sister." Amy just smiled and said, "They always do this time of year." Of course, she was right. We had grown up together in these Colorado mountains, but this year the flow of the seasons was not even on the radar. It had been cancer season for me and mine, sickness time.
We weren't at our hotel long before the good Doctor located a great hike from our hotel over to Beaver Creek village, we just needed to make it up a steep ski slope to hit the trail.
As we hit that same trail this past weekend the reunion tour began.
My mister remembered that "the poisons," as he likes to refer to them, had really effected his cardiac output. The climb up that hill had been tough. I had no recollection of this, likely because I was puffing my own way up the mountain, wondering what the shame was in running a chairlift for a fresh faced cancer survivor and his bride. Oh yeah, I would have played the cancer card in a heartbeat...or rather the good Doctor's cancer card. (I wonder if I technically had some card carrying priveleges...who knows?) Anyhow, we both recalled the significance of the hike because it was really the first time we had lifted up our heads to see beyond what was right in front of us. Treatment was done! No more chemo Mondays or sci-fi radiation masks. No more Taco Bell bean burrito runs or neon orange mac and cheese packets (two of the few things he would eat post-treatment.) No more "Daddy just isn't up to it" or "We need to keep things quiet today." Glad good-bye to life lived in two week increments, living for Sundays when he would perk up again, just in time to return to work for a week, only to start the cycle all over again on Monday.
As we set off on that hike one year ago, the Doctor wanted to just soak up his survival! I, however, felt an ugly cry coming on. I had just been trying to keep my family stable and moving forward, relying on God's love and care for us. And He DID love and care for us, friends. But, it is also true that we had been on something akin to the horrific boat ride from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory--everyone unnerved by the scary sights around each bend, but there is no getting off, and then suddenly, the nightmarish ride just stops. The good Doctor was downright cheery on our hike... just like Willy... all smiles, enjoying the wonders. I was more like Mrs. TV as she exited the boat, disheveled, slightly cross-eyed with anxiety, and barely speaking in complete sentences anymore!
I have thereafter referred to the original hike as the "Trail of Tears." At some point along the way, in the lovely shade of golden aspens, I totally lost it...the chest sobbing, snorting, drooling on the good Doctor's shirt kind of cry. I don't think I cried like that since the weekend of waiting on test results for what kind of cancer he had. I remember my good husband just smiling at me, kissing my forehead, and reminding me that it was all going to be alright. "All right"...as profoundly grateful as I felt that weekend one year ago, I knew we had really just summitted the mountatin of treatment. There was still a long climb down from this terrifying perch, and we were spent in every sense of the word. Getting down was going to be a whole new set of realities.
When my boys were small they would often find a climbing tree or a pile of boulders and I vividly remember them calling for us to help them get down after they had just climbed up. I would walk over close to where they stood in triumph and now unease and call out, "You can do it! If you climb up, you can climb down."
I am so glad God is nothing like me--I really didn't want to hear that line this last year--and I didn't.
Instead, the God of the Universe has been wooing me to rest... take my sweet old time winding down the mountain. There has been no sense of urgency from Him at all...just a quiet waiting for me to pause and ponder the trip we made, the scenery along the way...the revelation of True, profound goodness and mercy overcoming a scheme of the enemy to kill, steal, and destroy my crew. I decided to follow my heart, or rather His heart...I am stepping out of my many do-good activities to simply be wooed by the story He has been telling in my life. It is interesting how we can choose to set up camp on these perches and just try and resume life, isn't it? We want some semblance of "normal" again...whatever that is in our mind's eye. And God willingly allows that for awhile. We learn how to live at a place of extremes instead of venturing into the heart work He has for us. Make no mistake, we love and serve the ultimate drama King, but the focal point of the show is WHO...who is He revealing Himself to be, not the scenery and sets and cast of minor characters that shift and change and so easily distract us from The Story. How easily we become wrapped up in the show to the point we have forgotten who the Star really is!
I have no doubt of this... God LOVES reunion tours...revisiting places of great fear, trepidation, angst, sin, or evil schemes wrought against us. He longs to comfort us in our deepest fears, renounce the power of sin in His name, trample the minions who harass us, and show up the enemy for how utterly powerless he is by comparison. I love how Paul said it in Colossians, "...having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross" (3:15.) LOVE THAT...love Him for that! And, my goodness, that is what healing is...a reunion tour with God in our personal stories, sometimes locked away in our oh so mysterious hearts.
So...one year out from cancer, this is what I know: in His infinite love and kindness, God is wooing me down from that mountain perch to tour the trail I just came up. This time, instead of wearing dark sunglasses and just staring at the ground for each foothold as I did coming up, I will be meandering along with my eyes wide open, revisiting all the scary precipices, Jesus at my side.
Job captures the climb up the mount of difficulty so well, "But if I go to the east, he is not there; if I go to the west, I do not find him. When he is at work in the north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him. But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold." Job 23:8-10
Thank God it has nothing to do with my keen observation skills or orienteering.
So...I should tell you the good Doctor's take on one year out. As we stood on a picturesque log bridge overlooking a multi-hued marsh, my mister, who would happily live outdoors if such a thing were feasible, said he somehow loves this beauty even more now. If it is possible, he has enjoyed any stolen moment out at a stream, hiking up a bluff, winding down a trail, a stroll through our neighborhood at dusk all the more since cancer. He said, "What's new is I just want to love what is behind all this beauty." Hmmmm...the Who.
That really is the only take away, friends. That is the one that I will undoubtedly find this year. Sounds familiar...
"...We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." John 1:14b
Here's to reunion tours...the definitive upside of aging.
She shared that she had recently taken her hubby to a concert for his birthday--Rush! Backstage passes, a round of introductions to the band, and a photo with the group--a top shelf b-day for her man. We laughed...a blast from the past, right out of our 80's adolescence. Now I have no idea if Rush has just remained together through the years or if they have re-grouped on tour for their fans. Either way, you gotta love the visual of fortyish plus diehards, now listening with earplugs to preserve their ebbing auditory function, contentedly retrieving pubescent memories, song after song.
The good Doctor and I had a reunion tour of our own this weekend. (God bless my mother who graciously kept the children of the Lord for two whole nights.) We escaped to beautiful Beaver Creek, the aspen leaves in their golden glory, thrilled to have some time alone.
One year ago, almost to the day, we had been on a similar trip in Beaver Creek. My man had just finished a horrifying summer of chemotherapy and radiation for Hodgkins Lymphoma. His hair was about a half inch high and his eyelashes were just starting to grow in again. He was elated to be done with treatment and anxious to get outdoors. It was odd--it was if we had gone from the fading brown of spring with his May diagnosis, to autumn colors. We felt oblivious that there had even been a summer of sunshine, swimming, and picnics. In fact, my sister Amy had come in mid-September to help us through the final weeks of treatment. She and I went on a drive up to Estes Park. As we drove, I was surprised to see in the rocky canyon that some aspen trees were making their regal change to gold. I said with astonishment, "Look! The leaves are changing, sister." Amy just smiled and said, "They always do this time of year." Of course, she was right. We had grown up together in these Colorado mountains, but this year the flow of the seasons was not even on the radar. It had been cancer season for me and mine, sickness time.
We weren't at our hotel long before the good Doctor located a great hike from our hotel over to Beaver Creek village, we just needed to make it up a steep ski slope to hit the trail.
As we hit that same trail this past weekend the reunion tour began.
My mister remembered that "the poisons," as he likes to refer to them, had really effected his cardiac output. The climb up that hill had been tough. I had no recollection of this, likely because I was puffing my own way up the mountain, wondering what the shame was in running a chairlift for a fresh faced cancer survivor and his bride. Oh yeah, I would have played the cancer card in a heartbeat...or rather the good Doctor's cancer card. (I wonder if I technically had some card carrying priveleges...who knows?) Anyhow, we both recalled the significance of the hike because it was really the first time we had lifted up our heads to see beyond what was right in front of us. Treatment was done! No more chemo Mondays or sci-fi radiation masks. No more Taco Bell bean burrito runs or neon orange mac and cheese packets (two of the few things he would eat post-treatment.) No more "Daddy just isn't up to it" or "We need to keep things quiet today." Glad good-bye to life lived in two week increments, living for Sundays when he would perk up again, just in time to return to work for a week, only to start the cycle all over again on Monday.
As we set off on that hike one year ago, the Doctor wanted to just soak up his survival! I, however, felt an ugly cry coming on. I had just been trying to keep my family stable and moving forward, relying on God's love and care for us. And He DID love and care for us, friends. But, it is also true that we had been on something akin to the horrific boat ride from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory--everyone unnerved by the scary sights around each bend, but there is no getting off, and then suddenly, the nightmarish ride just stops. The good Doctor was downright cheery on our hike... just like Willy... all smiles, enjoying the wonders. I was more like Mrs. TV as she exited the boat, disheveled, slightly cross-eyed with anxiety, and barely speaking in complete sentences anymore!
I have thereafter referred to the original hike as the "Trail of Tears." At some point along the way, in the lovely shade of golden aspens, I totally lost it...the chest sobbing, snorting, drooling on the good Doctor's shirt kind of cry. I don't think I cried like that since the weekend of waiting on test results for what kind of cancer he had. I remember my good husband just smiling at me, kissing my forehead, and reminding me that it was all going to be alright. "All right"...as profoundly grateful as I felt that weekend one year ago, I knew we had really just summitted the mountatin of treatment. There was still a long climb down from this terrifying perch, and we were spent in every sense of the word. Getting down was going to be a whole new set of realities.
When my boys were small they would often find a climbing tree or a pile of boulders and I vividly remember them calling for us to help them get down after they had just climbed up. I would walk over close to where they stood in triumph and now unease and call out, "You can do it! If you climb up, you can climb down."
I am so glad God is nothing like me--I really didn't want to hear that line this last year--and I didn't.
Instead, the God of the Universe has been wooing me to rest... take my sweet old time winding down the mountain. There has been no sense of urgency from Him at all...just a quiet waiting for me to pause and ponder the trip we made, the scenery along the way...the revelation of True, profound goodness and mercy overcoming a scheme of the enemy to kill, steal, and destroy my crew. I decided to follow my heart, or rather His heart...I am stepping out of my many do-good activities to simply be wooed by the story He has been telling in my life. It is interesting how we can choose to set up camp on these perches and just try and resume life, isn't it? We want some semblance of "normal" again...whatever that is in our mind's eye. And God willingly allows that for awhile. We learn how to live at a place of extremes instead of venturing into the heart work He has for us. Make no mistake, we love and serve the ultimate drama King, but the focal point of the show is WHO...who is He revealing Himself to be, not the scenery and sets and cast of minor characters that shift and change and so easily distract us from The Story. How easily we become wrapped up in the show to the point we have forgotten who the Star really is!
I have no doubt of this... God LOVES reunion tours...revisiting places of great fear, trepidation, angst, sin, or evil schemes wrought against us. He longs to comfort us in our deepest fears, renounce the power of sin in His name, trample the minions who harass us, and show up the enemy for how utterly powerless he is by comparison. I love how Paul said it in Colossians, "...having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross" (3:15.) LOVE THAT...love Him for that! And, my goodness, that is what healing is...a reunion tour with God in our personal stories, sometimes locked away in our oh so mysterious hearts.
So...one year out from cancer, this is what I know: in His infinite love and kindness, God is wooing me down from that mountain perch to tour the trail I just came up. This time, instead of wearing dark sunglasses and just staring at the ground for each foothold as I did coming up, I will be meandering along with my eyes wide open, revisiting all the scary precipices, Jesus at my side.
Job captures the climb up the mount of difficulty so well, "But if I go to the east, he is not there; if I go to the west, I do not find him. When he is at work in the north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him. But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold." Job 23:8-10
Thank God it has nothing to do with my keen observation skills or orienteering.
So...I should tell you the good Doctor's take on one year out. As we stood on a picturesque log bridge overlooking a multi-hued marsh, my mister, who would happily live outdoors if such a thing were feasible, said he somehow loves this beauty even more now. If it is possible, he has enjoyed any stolen moment out at a stream, hiking up a bluff, winding down a trail, a stroll through our neighborhood at dusk all the more since cancer. He said, "What's new is I just want to love what is behind all this beauty." Hmmmm...the Who.
That really is the only take away, friends. That is the one that I will undoubtedly find this year. Sounds familiar...
"...We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." John 1:14b
Here's to reunion tours...the definitive upside of aging.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Where I'm from, where I'm at...
My husband and I recently attended a back to school night function for the high school our boys attend. We each had a schedule for one of the boys and for an hour and a half we entertained the school staff with our attempts to find the correct room, remember which hour we should be heading to next, and avoid using the potty so as not to be "late." In five minute increments we got to hear what we might expect for the year and lay eyes on who will be shaping the young minds of our mini-men. The English teacher was a stand out. She had prepared a very clever activity to draw parents into her corner of the market in literature and writing. The students had been given a poem by George Ella Lyon called "Where I'm From." I had never read the poem before, but it instantly drew me in. Lyon uses a series of "I am" statements to reflect her childhood and the things that have shaped who she is today as an author. After studying the poem, the students were asked to write their own reflective magna carta. I say magna carta because there was hardly a dry eye in the house. Parents were instructed to wander through the room and read the poems to locate their child--the name of the student would be on the back of the poem.
As it turned out, the first poem I read was a heartbreaker, "I am divorce, destroyed foundation, and 'You're going to hell with that kind of attitude." No joke...this was one angry, brokenhearted kid. I turned the paper over and recognized the name as one of my son LR's lunch buddies. His parents were no shows and I suppose I felt both relief for them in that, and sadness that they missed an opportunity to see what was lurking in their boy's heart. I eventually found BB's poem which immediately brought both laughter and a knot in my throat..."I am from only white foods..." Yes, as a two year old my BB had gone through a six month period where only white foods were eaten, no matter what else was served. Bananas, cottage cheese, white cheddar, chicken, string cheese, apples with no peels...it was bizarre, but it passed, just as the pediatrician said it would. I read on, "I am from 'Dear Jesus' and Sunday School, I am from hide and seek, and legos on the carpet..." I relished the moment of seeing inside my boys' minds and hearts about their childhood... the poems are real treasures I hope the boys will cough up for posterity at the end of the year.
Three weeks ago, the Doctor (my husband) and I went out for coffee and hashed over my idea for starting a blog with spiritual musings. He was sweet, supportive, and more than encouraging--none of that was surprising. He is super charming that way. The interesting part was when he shifted into the Privcacy Policeman. There was an interrogation of sorts--"What name will you be using? You know you cannot use your real name under any circumstances...the internet is a dangerous place for identity theft. No personal information of any kind. Are you going to share what city you live in? What about the kids names?" On it went... Now, with all due respect to the Doctor, I had done quite a bit of research by this point. Many, many folks use their real names, first and last, and plenty of identifying information on their blogs. Not street address and credit card info, for heaven's sake, but enough to know they are a REAL person. A web log, after all, is a personal diary of sorts. To do this in some cloaked fashion is not really the gal that I am. And, there is actually a code of ethics for blogging with transparency and honesty being foundational. So, we came to an agreement about partial anonymity, and while I think my hubby's assumption that this blog will speak to the masses is flattering, the reality is it is mainly my friends and family that will probably have any interest. Even my kids read the blog last night. My daughter Rosie informed me "it was really good, Mom, except the 'making love to my husband part'..." She raised her eyebrows and made a grimace of sorts. Apparently TMI for a ten year old. This from the sweet girl who will come into the bathroom in the evening when I am dressed for bed and inform me that the Target tank top and sleep shorts I am planning on wearing to bed "is a bit inappropriate." Same eyebrows...no grimace. We must have a variant Quaker gene in the family tree...Lord knows we have plenty of other mutations..it is no stretch to believe an outlying Quaker exists. That leads us back to where I'm from... where you are from...the backdrop to your life today.
Part of any journey is to clearly identify where you are beginning and what you are bringing along. There have been times in my life I have been accutely aware of the cute, matching set of baggage I had in tow. God in His grace and pursuit of my heart has definitely reduced the load, but perhaps it is a wise, instinctual rhythm of life to periodically take stock of our person. So...here is "Where I'm From, Where I'm At." The lock, stock, and barrel.
I am from turquoise skies, shades of violet vistas, crisp, cool mornings, and I am thankful to still be rooted in this my heart's desired home.
I am from a Daddy's tender heart of love and a Mommy's unending deposit... "Jesus, loves me this I know." The all will be well embrace of my father has now passed, yet I am tethered all the more securely to Him who conceived me at the foundations of the earth.
I am from the wonder of tree branches and leaves, unending landscape views, still dark dawns, candlelight coffee, Living Word.
I am from abandonment rescued, deception freed, and Love pursued, purchased, bought, and paid.
I am from books and stories, miraculous intervention, and the counseling, comforting Spirit of I AM. And I am fixed on this--all that I am, somehow caught up in all that He is, for someone other than me, myself, and I. I am searching for a call beyond role and vocation, yet to receive an assignment...wild welcome.
So, friends, where are you from, where are you at?
If you are techie handicapped like myself, to craft your poem, scroll a bit farther down and simply click "Post a Comment." You can do this thing!
As it turned out, the first poem I read was a heartbreaker, "I am divorce, destroyed foundation, and 'You're going to hell with that kind of attitude." No joke...this was one angry, brokenhearted kid. I turned the paper over and recognized the name as one of my son LR's lunch buddies. His parents were no shows and I suppose I felt both relief for them in that, and sadness that they missed an opportunity to see what was lurking in their boy's heart. I eventually found BB's poem which immediately brought both laughter and a knot in my throat..."I am from only white foods..." Yes, as a two year old my BB had gone through a six month period where only white foods were eaten, no matter what else was served. Bananas, cottage cheese, white cheddar, chicken, string cheese, apples with no peels...it was bizarre, but it passed, just as the pediatrician said it would. I read on, "I am from 'Dear Jesus' and Sunday School, I am from hide and seek, and legos on the carpet..." I relished the moment of seeing inside my boys' minds and hearts about their childhood... the poems are real treasures I hope the boys will cough up for posterity at the end of the year.
Three weeks ago, the Doctor (my husband) and I went out for coffee and hashed over my idea for starting a blog with spiritual musings. He was sweet, supportive, and more than encouraging--none of that was surprising. He is super charming that way. The interesting part was when he shifted into the Privcacy Policeman. There was an interrogation of sorts--"What name will you be using? You know you cannot use your real name under any circumstances...the internet is a dangerous place for identity theft. No personal information of any kind. Are you going to share what city you live in? What about the kids names?" On it went... Now, with all due respect to the Doctor, I had done quite a bit of research by this point. Many, many folks use their real names, first and last, and plenty of identifying information on their blogs. Not street address and credit card info, for heaven's sake, but enough to know they are a REAL person. A web log, after all, is a personal diary of sorts. To do this in some cloaked fashion is not really the gal that I am. And, there is actually a code of ethics for blogging with transparency and honesty being foundational. So, we came to an agreement about partial anonymity, and while I think my hubby's assumption that this blog will speak to the masses is flattering, the reality is it is mainly my friends and family that will probably have any interest. Even my kids read the blog last night. My daughter Rosie informed me "it was really good, Mom, except the 'making love to my husband part'..." She raised her eyebrows and made a grimace of sorts. Apparently TMI for a ten year old. This from the sweet girl who will come into the bathroom in the evening when I am dressed for bed and inform me that the Target tank top and sleep shorts I am planning on wearing to bed "is a bit inappropriate." Same eyebrows...no grimace. We must have a variant Quaker gene in the family tree...Lord knows we have plenty of other mutations..it is no stretch to believe an outlying Quaker exists. That leads us back to where I'm from... where you are from...the backdrop to your life today.
Part of any journey is to clearly identify where you are beginning and what you are bringing along. There have been times in my life I have been accutely aware of the cute, matching set of baggage I had in tow. God in His grace and pursuit of my heart has definitely reduced the load, but perhaps it is a wise, instinctual rhythm of life to periodically take stock of our person. So...here is "Where I'm From, Where I'm At." The lock, stock, and barrel.
I am from turquoise skies, shades of violet vistas, crisp, cool mornings, and I am thankful to still be rooted in this my heart's desired home.
I am from a Daddy's tender heart of love and a Mommy's unending deposit... "Jesus, loves me this I know." The all will be well embrace of my father has now passed, yet I am tethered all the more securely to Him who conceived me at the foundations of the earth.
I am from the wonder of tree branches and leaves, unending landscape views, still dark dawns, candlelight coffee, Living Word.
I am from abandonment rescued, deception freed, and Love pursued, purchased, bought, and paid.
I am from books and stories, miraculous intervention, and the counseling, comforting Spirit of I AM. And I am fixed on this--all that I am, somehow caught up in all that He is, for someone other than me, myself, and I. I am searching for a call beyond role and vocation, yet to receive an assignment...wild welcome.
So, friends, where are you from, where are you at?
If you are techie handicapped like myself, to craft your poem, scroll a bit farther down and simply click "Post a Comment." You can do this thing!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
To blog or not to blog...that was the question
I need to own upfront I am no techie. I am one of those chicks who has no interest in learning how to take messages off my cell phone--my inbox has been full since the first week I had a phone. Until this spring, I actually would go into the Verizon store and just ask for the most basic phone they made. "I just want a phone that can make and receive phone calls, nothing more." The twenty-something clerk looked less than amused as she half-heartedly chewed her gum and walked me over to a dank corner where they keep the dinosaur models, for those of us trying to just hold on to the good ol' days. This spring I ventured over to the bells and whistles section when I learned I had an upgrade and my dear husband convinced me it would be handy to check email on a Blackberry. It has been handy, but my email account now has 10,000 emails because I am not good at deleting them. The real reason I crossed the river of technology improvement however, is I have two "teenies" as I affectionately call them. On rare occasions when I feel less than affectionate, I call them other things which I am ashamed to report. The boys are prompt to collect one dollar when this happens, because we do not swear or name call in our family. It's humbling to fall on one's own rules, but there you have it--our family's rather lame attempt at rectifying verbal failure. So...technology is a part of their generation and texting is a mainstay. A Blackberry put me in contact with my boys IN their world. I love that I can text them little comments on occasion or quick questions. My sons are duly impressed I have ventured in, however, my fifteen year old recently told me I use the smiley face option "way too often." Who knew the smiley face options could out you as unhip?
So, I actually had to buy a book to learn about blogs, the quintessential Blogging for Dummies. Yep, perfect fit. For the past three weeks, after my four children were in bed, I have curled up with a cup of goldfish crackers, a bottle of metromint water, and my Barnes & Noble buy, hoping to demystify the blogging world. With the technological hurdle seeming more approachable, I saw a coiuple of questions rise to the surface that I have decided to just answer at the outset.
1. Why am I setting out to do a one year web log?
You should know, I am an absolute romantic at heart. I believe every person on this planet is living out his or her own tailor-made story. Fundamentally, we are doing life as part of a much bigger tale, woven across time, with a very real enemy, Satan, and the ultimate Hero--Jesus Christ. Yep, I believe both of these persons are absolutely real and living and actively engaged in humanity today. I love entering people's stories and ulitmately delighting in what is transcendantly true for all of us as human beings--beyond gender, ethnicity, locale, education, and economics. Human stories are connected in a myriad of ways, even if we believe very different things about life, love, faith, and what it means to be a human being. I will be sharing parts of my story with one central theme at the heart--everything is spiritual. Writing this blog, planning a meal for my family, wiping the hair remnants from the bathtub, making love with my husband, sending a note to a friend, arguing with my kids over their responsibilities, sickness, death, hope, engaging in a battle for something you or I care about...it's all spiritual. My desire is this blog becomes a place to reflect on that commonality and God-willing, perhaps ours perspectives on our own tales can inherently grow more resonant and true with the story we are meant to live.
2. Why is this blog called "un-churched?"
This blog is exploring the idea of what it means to find and experience a dimension of spirituality called "church." I do not believe "church" is a place. I believe the church is people, united and bound in the love and affection of our Creator and His Son, Jesus Christ, through the power and abiding influence of His Spirit living in us, to reveal God to a broken, lost, hurting world. My premise is that it may be time for me to honestly assess my life as a "church lady." Am I simply participating in a comfy subculture where I can high five and slap butts with my Chrisitan friends? Maybe I need to get un-churched to really BE the church again. In other words, a part of this blog is really a year long search to guide my own heart to more resonance with who God created me to be--to live my story. In the next three years I will launch two of my four kiddos into the world. After 17 years of being a stay at home mom and dabbling in the church programming of the past two decades, I am wondering what God has been preparing me for next. I hope this blog helps me sort that out, and perhaps the conversation that happens here can help you sort out where you find yourself in your story too.
I do love words and writing, though my passion has certainly not influenced my skill. Over my 44 years, one thing I have learned quite well is that God is really not so interested in what ability I actually bring to the table, but He just loves it when I show up. So, dear friends, I am here on this blogspot and it really is His spot to move and speak, inspire and challenge. That is what my theology has taught me about His Spirit living in me. So I boldly and humbly commission this blog with this simple prayer from Psalm 45:1: "My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer."
King Jesus, let it be so.
So, I actually had to buy a book to learn about blogs, the quintessential Blogging for Dummies. Yep, perfect fit. For the past three weeks, after my four children were in bed, I have curled up with a cup of goldfish crackers, a bottle of metromint water, and my Barnes & Noble buy, hoping to demystify the blogging world. With the technological hurdle seeming more approachable, I saw a coiuple of questions rise to the surface that I have decided to just answer at the outset.
1. Why am I setting out to do a one year web log?
You should know, I am an absolute romantic at heart. I believe every person on this planet is living out his or her own tailor-made story. Fundamentally, we are doing life as part of a much bigger tale, woven across time, with a very real enemy, Satan, and the ultimate Hero--Jesus Christ. Yep, I believe both of these persons are absolutely real and living and actively engaged in humanity today. I love entering people's stories and ulitmately delighting in what is transcendantly true for all of us as human beings--beyond gender, ethnicity, locale, education, and economics. Human stories are connected in a myriad of ways, even if we believe very different things about life, love, faith, and what it means to be a human being. I will be sharing parts of my story with one central theme at the heart--everything is spiritual. Writing this blog, planning a meal for my family, wiping the hair remnants from the bathtub, making love with my husband, sending a note to a friend, arguing with my kids over their responsibilities, sickness, death, hope, engaging in a battle for something you or I care about...it's all spiritual. My desire is this blog becomes a place to reflect on that commonality and God-willing, perhaps ours perspectives on our own tales can inherently grow more resonant and true with the story we are meant to live.
2. Why is this blog called "un-churched?"
This blog is exploring the idea of what it means to find and experience a dimension of spirituality called "church." I do not believe "church" is a place. I believe the church is people, united and bound in the love and affection of our Creator and His Son, Jesus Christ, through the power and abiding influence of His Spirit living in us, to reveal God to a broken, lost, hurting world. My premise is that it may be time for me to honestly assess my life as a "church lady." Am I simply participating in a comfy subculture where I can high five and slap butts with my Chrisitan friends? Maybe I need to get un-churched to really BE the church again. In other words, a part of this blog is really a year long search to guide my own heart to more resonance with who God created me to be--to live my story. In the next three years I will launch two of my four kiddos into the world. After 17 years of being a stay at home mom and dabbling in the church programming of the past two decades, I am wondering what God has been preparing me for next. I hope this blog helps me sort that out, and perhaps the conversation that happens here can help you sort out where you find yourself in your story too.
I do love words and writing, though my passion has certainly not influenced my skill. Over my 44 years, one thing I have learned quite well is that God is really not so interested in what ability I actually bring to the table, but He just loves it when I show up. So, dear friends, I am here on this blogspot and it really is His spot to move and speak, inspire and challenge. That is what my theology has taught me about His Spirit living in me. So I boldly and humbly commission this blog with this simple prayer from Psalm 45:1: "My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer."
King Jesus, let it be so.
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