Time Travel

The pianist strikes the opening chord and words appear on the overhead screen. My breath catches; my heart swells; tears of recognition sting my eyes. 

This song is a portal to a place in time past—a place cemented in my mind. The place is unchanging as time pulls me farther and farther away. This is a place where my grandpa plays the piano in a little chapel amidst the pine trees. He plays for the sheer joy of it—all alone except for the audience of his God. Except I’m there too, drawn by the notes rising through the mountain morning air, but he doesn’t see me. Grandpa’s presence, especially Grandpa’s presence at the piano, seems as constant as the stars. It is no trouble at all for me to recall the words to the melodies he plays in his boisterous way. They come as naturally as the names of any of my boisterous family members. Those same family members sing every time we gather no matter the occasion. My past self sneaks in to listen. I am in college and possess all the vitality and curiosity of a young adult unsure of her future and simultaneously excited for it to arrive.

And now it has arrived. I stand among hundreds of women on a Monday night, in this future. We sing the familiar words and that is all it takes for me to be transported back in time through the portal of an unassuming hymn. Ambushed by the music, I’m powerless to stop the tears as they well up and roll down my face. Here I am, standing next to my daughter in this good future, marveling at the path I took to get here and grateful for the blessings generously strewn along the way. I look back on my past self with wistful tenderness. I ask her to hug Grandpa, to sit a minute longer in the back of that little chapel, receiving that timeless truth sent ahead to me by the song’s author and strengthened by those who entrusted it to me by repeating it often enough that I can sing it entirely from memory.

I carry the song forward into the future again. I look down at the blonde head of my daughter as she sings. I wonder, will it one day transport her as it did me?

I can’t read the future but I can sing the song and hope. 

I know not why God’s wondrous grace to me he hath made known, nor why, unworthy, Christ in love, redeemed me for His own. But I know Whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I’ve committed unto Him against that day.

the least of these

For the past few years Val and Elaine have helped me make what we call "homeless bags." We go buy a bunch of things that may be usefull to someone living on the streets, pack them into ziplock bags and then put them into our van. That way we'll be ready to hand one over to whoever we come across. 

We saw a guy yesterday on our way to Smart & Final. "Aw man," I bemoaned, "we're out of homeless bags."

We drove on and turned into the parking lot. 

"So?" Elaine said, "we could still buy him something at the store and take it to him." 

I said nothing. I didn't really feel like it. I had a system, and it was true that system was down due to my lack of oversight, but I didn't feel like going out of my way. It wasn't part of my plan for that day. So I'm fine with doing God's will only when it fits into my will? Is that it? I think that's it. Crud.

"Yeah," Val agreed, "let's get him something. Probably like water and a snack like chips or something."

"I don't know..." I said doubtfully, searching for reasons why giving something to a homeless man in broad daylight wasn't a good idea. Nevermind that it was JESUS' idea. "We'd have to drive around again out of our way to head the right way past him." I protested weakly. Am I really doing this? Trying to talk my kids OUT of being Christlike?!?

They regarded me curiously. Elaine spoke, "Mom. We could just go park on the parking lot side and walk up and hand it to him and not be on the street side." Yes, children, apparently you do need to refresh my memory on how cars work. 

Ugh. Even more of a personal investment and interaction. Walking up and talking instead of handing something out the window as we drive past.

We went into the store and got our things. Val tugged my arm in the check-out line. "Gift cards! We could get him a gift card, that way he can buy exactly what he needs instead of us guessing the wrong thing."

Okay fine. We got the giftcards (there were two homeless guys, working different parts of the same corner.)

I pulled the van into a parking space near the man and got out. I hate awkward situations even with people I know. This wasn't at all comfortable for me or something I'm a natural at. (As if God only asks us to do things we're comfortable with - hah.) Many of my family memebers live for this kind of conversation, but I don't. 

I smiled and held out my hand, "Hi! I'm beck. We've seen you here a couple of times." He shook my hand. His name is Ryan. I held out the gift card. "I hope this helps." He thanked me.

Next time we drive by Ryan I hope I'll have a better attitude and a more willing spirit. Thanks, kids.

Sewdone

I bought a sewing machine last spring. Last week I finally attended the class to teach me the basics. It was informative. There is so much information still to learn! It's fun to be at the beginning of a learning curve. I like to learn. (I like to learn the things I pick to learn.)

Thus far I've sewn a skirt and some curtains to cover up the cat litter box housed under the bathroom sink.

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I hate being misunderstood. I sometimes think that when someone appears to misunderstand me, that it's a failure on my part to explain properly. However some people probably will never "understand" in the way I'd like them to no matter how explicitly I explain. This is sometimes maddening. This is something I struggle to let go of. I can't change other people nor should I be able to! Their opinion is their business; no sense in letting it ruin my day (or evening, or hour.)

Things happened today that I thought I could safely bring to a group I regularly meet with tonight. I shared what was going on and was stunned to hear their take on the situation; they didn't seem to share my opinion that it was a big deal! Part of me never wants to return and part of me says, so what, people will think what they think. I know what's true and so does God and why can't that be enough? I guess maybe the disappointment was that I had an expectation that they would support and pray for me. It's really been messing with my head, though, because now I'm questioning myself, wondering if maybe I'm overreacting? I really don't think I am - and neither do the other adults in the situation!

I don't know. I just want to be free of the constant mulling over my brain is doing. Turn it over. Let it go. Keep on acting how I choose to act and let it be okay for the ladies who I see once a week to think and believe whatever they want. I just hate being misunderstood, if I was. If I wasn't then I'm even more mad.

I feel like I don't become truly angry about very much, but this situation had to do with my daughter and I feel my responses were completely appropriate and justified.

Alright fine, God. Take it. I don't want it. I hoped writing would help.

Eyes to see

H, cheerful: I can't wait to be dead.

Me, trying to exude a calm curiosity: How come?

H, happily: Because then I will see God!

K, trying to comprehend why someone can't wait to be dead: God?!

H, matter-of-fact: Yeah, you know, the one who loves me?

Scenarios

Last night I saw the moon rise and it was stunning. Giant, golden, gorgeous and low on the horizon against a dark blue sky. In that first moment I want to call up everyone I know who might care, "You guys! The MOON! Go look RIGHT NOW!" But I don't because who does that (well, me, but only if it's really REALLY picturesque.) After I mentally run through the list of anyone who may be in a position to stop what they're doing and gaze at the moon, I wish for a camera and a hill and no city lights and while I'm at it some really great trees to silhouette¹ against it, etc., etc.. Instead, I kept driving, craning my neck for another glance whenever I could.

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This morning I saw the moon set. It startled me even more awake than I already wasn't - giant, pearly and glowing against a soft blue sky. I took a horrible picture with my horrible phone² from my horrible kitchen window. Then I called for everyone in the house to come see. (The moon, not my picture.) But here, you can see the picture, since you probably missed it this morning. It's three trillion times better in person, I assure you.

My bad, this is not from the kitchen window. This is taken from the window above the piano keyboard.

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I'm reading Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words and as a result am becoming even more acutely aware that I majored in biology and not journalism. Boy do editors have a lot to remember. I enjoy writing and words as a means to an end, which is the expression of ideas. I'm not so terribly concerned about grammar and spelling as long as the person I'm communicating with (a lot of the time the person is only me) can readily understand the idea/meaning/concept. I've gotten much sloppier in my old age and as the amount of reading I'm doing has decreased. Also, my ideas are less clear and more muddy in my brain. This may be due to children stealing my brain cells or lack of practice or both.

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Sometimes I feel like the avocado seeds I'm trying to grow. For almost four weeks they've sat in cups of water on my window sill, each one suspended by three toothpicks. I top off the water and wait expectantly. "Any day now!" I think optimistically as I inspect the almost-completely-unchanged seed. It looks a little grungier - sort of bruised and cracked in spots. Certainly not capable of pushing life out of it.

But I have hope because I have seen it happen before.

Sometimes I feel like I go through periods of enormous internal growth but nothing becomes visible externally for quite a while. I know I've changed. I FEEL changed. But I don't LOOK changed to other people. I wish I could force it. I wish I could burst forth into a glorious fruit-producing tree overnight and people would oooh and aaah and come sit in my shade and want to know my secret³. I wish that just seeing where I want to be was enough to get me there. I wish that the process wouldn't take so long or require so much, sometimes. I wish to jump ahead and enjoy the fruits without very much labor.

I wish I had a more mature perspective.

Proverbs has a verse about this: "There is profit in all hard work, but endless talk leads only to poverty."

Right. Thanks, Proverbs. I think I'd rather listen to Leviticus on this one: "You must not do any work at all! This is a permanent law for you, and it must be observed from generation to generation wherever you live." (Isn't that the most lovely Bible verse you've ever seen? [Talk about picking and choosing parts of the Bible to fit personal tastes!])

Then there's the verse I love to hate in Galatians: "So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up."

I have actually quoted this verse to a Christian counselor along with the somewhat martyr-like, self-centered exclamation, "I am SO tired of doing good. I'm just DONE! How much longer do I have to do good? Can I stop yet? I mean seriously. Where's my harvest of blessing?!" I can't remember the reply I got that day but today I remind myself that inner change is change and it is a blessing. Harvests don't have to be external to count. I have a MUCH better relationship with myself today than I did five months ago. Eventually, at just the right time, others will experience a much better relationship with me, too. I really hope it's sooner than later but for now I'm content to work on what I know I need to do and trust that the process will lead to healing and whole relationships outside of me as well. 

I have hope because I have seen it happen before. 

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¹I just spelled that correctly the first time for what I believe may be the first time in my entire life.
²But don't you fear! I'll be getting an iPhone 5 tomorrow!
³The secret is... there isn't one!

I (don't) get it.

"I don't get it."

Val says this to me sometimes, in conversation. She's earnestly trying to understand something and I'm just as earnestly trying to explain but sometimes I can't explain adequately and we have to accept that she doesn't get it, for now. And that's okay. Experience and time and growth will teach and make sense out of what doesn't make sense to her now. I trust and know this but it's difficult for her to grasp. She wants to know. And if she wants to, why can't she? I know how she feels.

The last time I remember her saying this to me was as I tried to explain and why and how a heart attack happens.

"I don't get it," she said, "why can't the person know when it happens? How come some people live and some people die?" To her this seems incredibly unjust. To me, too.

I could see her working through the concepts I gave her -- thinking and reasoning... maybe trying to find a way to guarantee heart attack prevention in herself or people she loves. I do that, too, on more levels than just heart attacks.

I explained what I know about human bodies and that a heart attack can happen from a combination of things that can be controlled and sometimes a heart attack can happen because of something outside our control, even when we're doing the best we can. Even when we're doing it "right." Bodies can break. Some bodies are born broken. They aren't always fixed. This is a difficult truth for her to understand. It is for me, too.

She had a hole in her heart when she was born. I forgot to tell her that. She doesn't have it, now, and I am thankful. I was thankful before, too. It seemed nothing at all compared to Trisomy 18, which seemed briefly possible.

Life is a gift however it's handed to us.

But I still don't get it.

I feel like Val, sometimes, when I talk with someone who is more emotionally whole and healthy than I am. My sponsor and other friends in recovery, mostly. Some people go to my church and some go to other churches and some I see at my weekly 12-step group. A completely fascinating bunch of people. (I think maybe I'm easily fascinated by people.)

They answer my fumbling, awkward questions and talk and open their heart and share experiential truth that makes them practically SHINE with peace and love and grace and acceptance. It's what drew me to them in the first place. And I dutifully listen and sometimes take notes but a lot of the time, especially initially, I sat there feeling confused and slightly stupid.

"I don't get it. How come? Why? I don't get it." I felt dull and thick-headed."Can't the person just know when they're going to hurt and prevent it? Why do so many people hurt?"

I want what these strong, grounded, loving people have. I want to be like them. I want to listen and hopefully learn.

They smiled and encouraged and didn't judge and returned my calls and listened to my words and didn't try and fix me and listened reflectively, again and again and again. They continue to answer my questions and not once have made me feel stupid for asking the same thing or for being in the same situation again and again and again. (I've made myself feel stupid.)

I can see my progress, though. Today, this minute, I LIKE myself. I like me, beck, who I am right now. I've stopped judging myself constantly. (!!) I've learned so much about me and I've accepted it and I've taken different actions than I used to. Actions that sometimes lead to... serenity! Now? Well, more than there used to be.

My current struggle has to do with feeling and experiencing a personal connection to a loving Higher Power. I struggle with God. I know a lot but I haven't experienced a lot, personally. I love to listen to people with a strong, healthy connection to God. I love to hear how God works in the lives of people I know and I love to read about God working in the lives of people I don't know.

I'm starting to experience more. I'm starting to make progress and SEE progress. I'm learning to trust. I'm learning to be grateful for a power outside of me, who restores me to sanity and provides all I need.

I still don't get it, a lot of the time. And that's okay. Experience and time and growth will teach and make sense out of what doesn't make sense to me now. If the apostle Paul can learn to be content, I suppose that means it's possible for me, too. In the meantime, I have ample opportunity to practice trust.

Bruxism

I went to the dentist on Tuesday and learned that jaw clenching (by itself, some people grind their teeth as well) is a thing. I don't grind my teeth but it's very probable that I clench my teeth tightly while I sleep. A few teeth seem to be unreasonably sensitive and there are no cavities. My jaw has clicked for as long as I can remember (which I think can be caused or worsened by braces) and sometimes is stiff.

Apparently if this goes on long enough it can result in CRACKED MOLARS. The receptionist at the dental office explained that she's cracked four molars due to clenching her teeth while she sleeps. Four! Four teeth cracked by the force of one's own jaw muscle!

They recommended wearing a custom mouth guard at night which I am quite willing to do. (Cracked! Molars!)

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It has been brought to my attention that talking quickly does not make a person appear credible. This is rather unfortunate but I'm glad to have the knowledge. Most people I speak with probably don't doubt my credibility, but this is good information to have and apply to interactions with anyone. I gleaned this tip from a intriguing book I'm reading: It's Not All About "Me": Ten Techniques For Building Quick Rapport With Anyone. The author was the lead trainer for social engineering and interpersonal skills in the FBI. This is the first book I've read that comes with a warning, which is as follows: Warning - the content in this book is so effective that we warn the reader to think carefully how it is used. We do not endorse or condone the use of these skills in malicious ways.

It's a very, very interesting book. I've been putting myself opposite him in each of the examples he gives of interaction with strangers and I think I'd do pretty well in keeping personal information that I don't wish to share to myself. (I actually have two specific responses ready to go if someone ever asks me information I'm uncomfortable sharing.) I've also found that some of the things he mentions are things that I do already when building or strengthening a relationship that's important to me. So that's cool.

When interacting with new acquaintances or strangers, though, now I know to consciously make an effort to slow down my rate of speech if I want to be influential.

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Before today I did not know that "Methuselah" means "when he dies; it will come." What will come? Why, the flood, of course. Methuselah's father, Enoch had a close relationship with God and prophesied God's judgement of the world (according to Jude 1:14-15.) I like knowing what names mean and this was a new one for me.

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Crap writing is crap. I want to write more so that there may be less crap to wade through, over time.

Love

Love (III)
- George Herbert

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
     Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
   From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
     If I lack'd any thing.

"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
     Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? ah my dear,
     I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
     "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
     Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
    "My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
   So I did sit and eat.

Life and death

I started writing this on Friday and have come back to it a few times since then. It's likely written more for me than to anyone else. 

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Today has been excruciatingly difficult for me, emotionally. My codependency, this "disease" as some people call it, results in me neglecting myself on every level - physical, emotional, spiritual. On difficult days this is something I'm increasingly aware of. This habit is not healthy and it is very, very, very familiar. Neglecting myself doesn't work for me or anyone, ultimately, and so I am intentionally doing what I can to take care of myself instead. It's a slow-going process.

I sometimes wish there was a way to feel awful, sucky feelings without it sucking so awfully much. I hate feeling awful, sucky feelings. I've tried not to be human and not to have human needs or feelings for a long time.

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On page 207 of "Codependents' Guide To The Twelve Steps" by Melody Beattie, Bill Wilson (the original writer of the steps) is quoted as saying, "...but obviously you can't transmit something you haven't got."

Obviously! And it IS obvious but I forget. I sometimes think I can just parent carefully enough and then my children will end up emotionally mature, somehow. Or that they can be at peace and secure in who they are. Or that they will have good and balanced boundaries and develop healthy patterns of self-care.

Quite simply, I canNOT transmit something I haven't got! There's so much I want to transmit to my children (and to others) and the way I get it is through looking at my own issues and recovering myself. Only after I do that am I really going to be any true help to someone who struggles similarly. I've heard it likened to putting your own oxygen mask on before helping anyone else get theirs secured.

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One of the best parts of recovery, for me, is the process of strengthening my relationship with God. It's been tough going, sometimes. I've had many misconceptions about God and I'm happy to report that God isn't the slightest bit insecure about my misconceptions of him. He just goes on being who He is and I'm slowly beginning to trust Him to be who He is.

I've read the entire Bible at least once, possibly more than once, and certain parts of it hundreds and hundreds of times. (Not so) amazingly, I'm still learning new things!

This year BSF groups are studying Genesis. The second chapter talks about the trees at the center of the garden of evil. Easy. I've known this almost all my life. The tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Then God tells Adam and Eve not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil because if they do, they'll die. I never thought about that tree as being a "tree of death" but that's what it is. Tree of life and tree of death. Eat from this one and do not eat from that one. This one (and the others) are good for you but that one isn't. And God told them ahead of time, before anything happened!

So they meet the serpent and eat the fruit from the tree of death. Turns out they didn't die immediately but their choice to believe the serpent and ignore God's warning resulted in separation from God.

When I read this story as a child, a part of me always thought that God was punishing them or being excessively harsh. Kind of like he jumped up and began throwing curses at them. "You ate from that tree? Well, I'll show YOU. First of all, get out. Now you have to suffer and work harder and eventually you'll die." A lot of space is given to the consequences of Adam and Eve's choice, but he had warned them, beforehand. He knew what was good for them and what wasn't and enjoyed a relationship with them. He told them the truth about that tree of death and then through their choices they experienced the truth about that tree. He loved them; that's why he told them ahead of time what they could trust to be true.

For some reason this was a moderate breakthrough for me.

God tells me the truth, too. He asks me to trust him, too. He does not force his will on me; he invites me to walk in his will because he loves me. The things that happen to me are not punishment for me messing up somehow. Because of Jesus, God is with me all the time because he wants to be and because he loves me.

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I am so glad that the 12-step program is a spiritual one. I'm not sure it could be as successful if it wasn't.

Change and pain

These are two things I've been thinking about over the past few days. Many people recognize the first part of the serenity prayer but I find it so much more specifically encouraging in it's entirety.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace. Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it: trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to Your will. So that I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.

 - Reinhold Niebuhr -

This next quote talks about pain and I was reminded of it in relation to asking God for things I want and then freely expressing my emotions and feelings to Him.

If we run from God, if we turn from God in the pain, we forfeit any prospect of finding hope, comfort, or meaning in it. If we run to Him in our desperation and grief we open ourselves up to all the resources of heaven, including the ways this battle can equip us with a compassion, an empathy, a perspective, and a grace that only those who've felt life's deepest wounds can know. We can choose. We can let pain make us a victim, or a wounded healer for a wounded world.

- Ron Hutchcraft -

I shall not want.

Hurriedly written yesterday during Wonder Pets and Pinky Dinky Doo. Not quite how I want it yet, but that fits with the topic. =)

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"But when will I get what I want?" Elaine asked during a loud, tearful post-nap meltdown. I gently reiterated the available snacks. All of them displeased her. The wails resumed. She wanted a snack, and only the snack SHE wanted.

Boy can I relate. I feel as though I've been asking God that question every day, lately: "but when will I get what I want?"

Today, for example. Today has been a horrible day. Nothing has gone how I wanted (little things, bigger things, biggest things) and many of the things I feel aren't too much to ask. I feel like giving up. I feel like stopping everything altogether because what's the point? Nothing's going how I want. It seems like nothing I do or say matters. I try and try and try... and it still feels as though I'm sliding backwards - losing ground. When do I get what I want?! Shouldn't I, at least SOME of the time?

 Elaine continued her lamentations. I sighed. Waking her up from a nap I didn't want her to take was also something I hadn't wanted to do. I opened my arms to her and she willingly settled on my lap, still explaining how much she wished and hoped and wanted to have the forbidden snacks and demonstrating her sorrow at not being able to have them. Just the thought would bring a whole set of fresh tears. Oh the tears and frustration and energy spent when things don't go how we want.

I rubbed her back and pondered the similarities between her current attitude toward me and mine toward God.

She had some options, like I do. She can change her wants, trust, be satisfied with what's available to her, or she can continue to be miserable. 

I thought about God, my loving Father, knowing my needs better than I do.

I thought about what I want and what I think I need and how strongly my feelings are wrapped up in that.

Elaine was falling back asleep on my lap. She needed the sleep and (against my wishes!) she needed it now. My presence had calmed her enough to get what she really needed. She needed sleep more than the snack she wanted.

I have an app on my phone that displays the verse of the day. Today's verse is Psalm 84:10, "Better a day in Your courts than a thousand anywhere else. I would rather be at the door of the house of my God than to live in the tents of wicked people."

It reminds me of the last verse of Psalm 73, "But as for me how good it is to be near God! I have made the Sovereign Lord my shelter, and I will tell everyone about the wonderful things you do."

Also Psalm 131, "I don't concern myself with matters too great or awesome for me. But I have stilled and quieted myself, just as a small child is quiet with its mother."

Whether or not my day goes how I want (I did not want the girls to take naps!) or even if I get what I think I need or not (I "needed" a quiet evening, with kids asleep early!) something I always have and always need is God's presence and because of Emmanuel I can always have it.

So tonight, instead of relaxing and listening to podcasts while knitting... I'll be walking to see the ducks at dusk with two happy, rested girls. It's what I want.

Feelings

So when you express your feelings, particularly those less-desirable, yucky, dark feelings that you've tried to deny and ignore and repress? Turns out new feelings (usually more enjoyable ones) come to take their place!

And by "you" I entirely mean "me."

I've been (and still am) so terrified of feeling my feelings. I don't even know how to begin to process them most of the time.

But I'm learning, slowly.

Being honest with myself about my feelings is hard for me. Not judging myself and my feelings is even more difficult.

Faith

This content is actually from October 21, 2011 and has just been sitting around waiting for me to do something with it since then.

Here's a prayer from Elaine that I had the privilege of overhearing. She did different voices for herself and God, too. =)

"Dear God, I don't want to be scared.

It's ok, [Elaine]. I'm God. I love you.

Oh ok. Thank you, God."

Music

Val wakes up early and cheerfully. Elaine and I wake up slowly and are prone to grouchiness.

This morning Val stood by my pillow and whispered, "Mommy! I heard someone playing beautiful music."

I hadn't heard anything (though I'm sure she had) and because I'm only slightly better at controlling my grouchiness than Elaine, I asked Val about the music. She sang a little of it for me and then concluded, "It's nice to hear music in the morning, Mommy."

I agreed and asked what her favorite kind of music was, hoping she'd talk for a while and I could eke out a few more minutes of sleep. Her reply was prompt and her request, sincere.

"Amazing Grace. Mommy, will you play that for me while I eat breakfast?"

And that's why I was playing and singing Amazing Grace for an audience of one (and then a grouchy second one) at 6:30 am.

As my sleepy brain directed my hands in a clunky version of the hymn, my heart suddenly smiled to recall the countless times I awoke to the sound of my grandpa playing beautiful music during the early morning hours of my college years.

Val doesn't remember her great-grandpa but I'm so glad they share the belief that it's nice to hear music in the morning.

Bible

I'd like to share a wonderfully descriptive quote about the Bible. I didn't read it in context (I hope to have the time to do that, some day) but instead read it on a blog that's authored by one of my high school Bible teachers. He's still teaching Bible and English Literature (oops or maybe just Bible, now) and has compiled stories from his experiences in the classroom. I've enjoyed reading his blog and also enjoy the challenge of trying to sort out which pseudonym belongs to which of my classmates.

Here's the quote, taken from Frank Schaeffer's (yes, son of Francis Schaeffer) book Sham Pearls for Real Swine:

“The Bible is a dangerous, uncivilized, abrasive, raw, complicated, aggressive, scandalous, and offensive book. The Bible is the literature of God, and literature, as every book burner knows, is dangerous. The Bible is the drama of God; it is God’s Hamlet, Canterbury Tales, and Wuthering Heights. The Bible is, among other things, about God, men, women, sex, lies, truth, sin, goodness, fornication, adultery, murder, childbearing, virgins, whores, blasphemy, prayer, wine, food, history, nature, poetry, rape, love, salvation, damnation, temptation, and angels. Today the Bible is widely studied but rarely read. If the Bible were a film, it would be R-rated in some parts, X-rated in others. The Bible is not middle class. The Bible is not ‘nice.’”

 Yes. Totally.

And because I also love Mr. Anderson's commentary on the quote... here's a link to his post. If you're interested in this kind of thing, do yourself a favor and go read it!

Teaching Bible...and Not Making It into a Sterile Snoozefest

Makes me wish I had him for Bible class all three of the years I was at that school instead of just one, because I've certainly had my share of sterile snoozefests - at school AND in church.

Oxygen

Elaine is going through this adorable phase in which she narrates her actions in the third person. It goes something like this:

"The sweetie loves her Mommy!" Elaine flings her arms wide and hugs me. She then walks to Superman and announces, "the sweetie loves her Daddy!" and hugs him, too.

Later on I heard things like, "...and then she ATTACKED the dragon [Elaine makes vicious stabbing motions] and it was dead and HOORAY and they were safe and went to the castle and went to bed."

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I observed a teddy bear getting an x-ray (presumably) in our play area, earlier. The bench to our  keyboard was turned upside-down and the bear rested on the underside of the seat. Val balanced a magna-doodle on the bench stand, positioned over the bear, and drew what the x-ray camera "saw." It looked like a teddy bear. I watched to see if the poor bear had anything unusual going on with its bone structure or if there was anything depicted in its stomach or intestines but the x-ray technicians were distracted by a suddenly urgent need to administer shots and band-aids to the long-suffering bear.

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Speaking of the keyboard that isn't really ours but belongs to my parents... I wish I played it more often. If I had time and money I'd begin taking lessons again. I miss making music. (I also miss having a grand piano just down the hall from my bedroom, which is a large motivator in one's desire to make music. The piano, not the bedroom.) I need regular doses of music, which is something I've forgotten far too frequently.

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For a whopping TWO days in a row, I have walked TWO miles. Celebrate! I think the absolutely gorgeous weather had something to do with it, as well as an increasing awareness of my need to take care of myself. I hear that taking care of one's self can really be effective in combating depression and anxiety. Novel concept!

I've really been stuck on this whole idea that someone ELSE is SUPPOSED to take care of me and I have a long list of just how that is supposed to happen. If Superman would only ________. All Superman has to do is ________ and everything will be great! I wish Superman would just _______. Seriously, how hard would it be for Superman to _______?! Here's the formula: If this, that, or the other person would do this, this and this, THEN I can be okay, but until they do... I can't be okay, and therefore will remain miserable.

I vacillate (there's that word again!) between that and another highly erroneous idea that I am completely fine and I'll manage ALL on my OWN, and I do NOT need ANY help, thank you very much... because to risk asking for the help that I desperately need and then not get it? Might just be more than I could bear. So instead I "protect" myself and try to appear as though I'm doing just fine and suffer immensely all by myself instead. Denial's a pretty powerful force.

This 12-step group I keep harping about has slowly begun to open my eyes to a whole new concept. I can take care of myself. I can take care of myself?!? I can take care of myself! Lots of times taking care of myself means asking for help, and this is a learned skill (both the asking and the knowing what to ask for.) I can also ask God (the higher power of my understanding!) for help, and you know what? He answers me. He particularly seems to delight in answering me in ways I hadn't even planned for him to answer, which is precisely His point, I think. I'm part of HIS plan, not the other way around. In fact, taking care of myself (to the best of my ability and resources, which DO include other, willing people, at times) really is the best thing for everyone because until I'm taken care of how on earth can I consistently and effectively meet the needs of the people who rely and depend on me? Loving your neighbor as yourself is God's second greatest command... and this is pretty difficult to do if you don't love yourself at all and actually kind of hate yourself at times. My needs are just as valid and important as the needs of anyone else. Strange but true!

HP

One of my most-valued memories of my dad from my childhood is this:

He bought a new Bible, and then spent the next few days painstakingly going through every page of his old one in order to copy over all his notes/highlights/underlines to the new one. I've been thinking of buying a new Bible. My current one is paperback and falling apart rapidly (already packing-taped the spine.)

Also, when he's unable to recall any helpful part of a specific scripture reference (which is rare) he'll assure you that it's found "on the left page, right-hand column, near the bottom" (or similar) in his Bible. I find myself doing that, too, always mentally, if not verbally. It's comforting to know that even though I can't turn to it right this second, I know the verse's location well enough to remember its position on the page. As an adult I know that kind of knowledge doesn't happen on accident. I'm grateful both my parents have made knowing their Bibles a priority, and that I was exposed to their examples as I grew up.

12 step groups can't be worked without a higher power, and I'm thankful my parents lived relationships with God. Turns out my higher power is the same one.

Trials at church

Scene: getting ready for church this morning.

Val: Why do we go to church today?

Superman: Because it's Sunday and we go to church on Sunday. Don't you like going to church and seeing your teacher and playing with your friends and making crafts?

Val, sighing: Yeah, I do, but sometimes mommies and daddies bring their mean kids to church.

Enslaved

*THUNK*

That's the sound of this article hitting home in my stubborn, proud little heart.

Why does life have to be so hard? Oh yeah, because I bring it on myself.

My attitude has SUCKED lately. I'm whiney and resentful and have a list as long as my arm as to why I deserve to feel and be that way (#1 - I'm SICK!) but the truth is, it's making us all just that much more miserable and I need to just get over myself already and accept my current reality.

Make the best of it, bloom where I'm planted, make lemonade, whatever. All those things I never really practiced doing because I was too busy trying to control things so life WOULDN'T suck.

*grumble*

BSF is kicking my butt and we've only done the first chapter in Isaiah. Hooray. Oops, I mean, hoo-raaaaaaay! I get to die to myself even MORE! Just what I've always wanted. All sarcasm aside, it is what I've always wanted, I just thought/hoped/wished it could somehow happen in a way that I'd get to keep my favorite little parts of myself. You know, those comforting bad habits, those things you've always turned to escape and feel better. Those perfectly harmless little things that are so easy to justify and reason your way into keeping around...

Those things that keep me from any sort of real, deep, fulfilling relationship with my creator. Yeah. Those things. Crap.

It's scary doing new stuff, you know? Turning new corners for the first time, even if it's corners you WANT to be turning. I feel like an Israelite, stomping around in the desert (and being completely cared for) petulantly demanding to return to Egypt where life was "good" and at least I knew what/when I'd eat next. The minor (major!) detail being that Egypt = SLAVERY. Oh, but slavery is so comfortable and familiar when it's all you've ever known. Thank goodness for a God who loves me enough to drag me out of what I'd rather be doing.

*sigh*

Dog theology

What're you looking at, Mommy?

I was just trying to see what Tesla was watching in the backyard.

I think she is looking for dogs.

Oh really? I think she saw a squirrel.

We don't have any dogs. One died and one went to live at someone else's house.

Yeah.

Does that make you sad?

Yes, I'm sad.

You are sad Jackson died?

Yes, I'm very sad. I miss him. I wish he didn't die.

Do everyone that falls out of trucks dies?

No, not everyone that falls out of a truck dies, but Jackson was hurt so much that he didn't get better and then he died.

Oh. But he has a new friend to play with, named... GOD!

Really?

Yes! And that can make him happy!

(She came up with this all on her own. We haven't even talked about death and people and heaven all that much, let alone DOGS.)