A story from the internet about love on Easter
...
It was an Easter Sunday a few years ago when the phone lit up with my mom and dad’s number. We hadn’t spoken in quite some time, me being an abomination and all. I didn’t pick up the phone, let it go to voice mail and then, as the kids were counting their chocolate eggs, peeps and speckled malted-milk eggs, I wandered off to the kitchen to listen to the message. I braced myself against the cold kitchen counter, prepared for another blast of heartbreak, but that’s not at all what I heard. “Kimberly, we miss you, we love you…” were some of the words I heard before the tears of disbelief and joy began to salt my coffee. I took a chance and called back and my mamma answered. ”Kimberly, the first bible verse I was taught to memorize in Sunday school was ‘judge not lest ye be judged’ we miss you, we love you…” and she invited my whole family, actually speaking the name of my wife for the first time, to come to their home, my home for dinner. Love resurrected on Easter!
...
Even when we don't agree, we can still love.
...we can still talk.
...we can still eat together.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Five-Minute Friday: broken
Every Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker hosts this event and picks a word for the day. Participants are to set a timer and write. No editing. Just write.
Today's word: broken
Ready
Set timer
Begin!
...
Broken
I think I qualify. I feel broken lately. My body doesn't seem to be working the way it should. Mal-functioning. Broken. Stiff, sore. Old. Drats. I don't want to be old. Well, maybe I wouldn't mind BEing old so much if I didn't FEEL so old. If I could be strong. Or agile. Or flexible. But I don't like being broken.
Broken relationships - here & there - make me sad. I can see the pain, feel the pain.
Broken resolve. My broken resolve. I don't make New Year's Resolutions, but at times I do resolve to accomplish certain things. I get all gung-ho and fired up about a project. But I am so NOT good at fulfilling, completing, accomplishing what I had resolved to do.
...
I'm a fixer. When things are broken, I want to fix them. But I don't know how to fix my broken muscles & joints, whether to seek medical attention...
I am tempted to try to butt in and fix relationships, but I know I might well make things worse.
And obviously I don't know how to fix my broken "finisher" mechanism - whatever it is that keeps me from carrying through on my resolve.
...
Time's up.
...
But wait! There's more.
Now that I think about it, I realize that my heart is broken. Heavy.
My thoughts are too jumbled and my emotions too raw to be able to express in words yet.
But yes, I'm feeling broken - heart-broken - now that I take a minute to think about it.
Today's word: broken
Ready
Set timer
Begin!
...
Broken
I think I qualify. I feel broken lately. My body doesn't seem to be working the way it should. Mal-functioning. Broken. Stiff, sore. Old. Drats. I don't want to be old. Well, maybe I wouldn't mind BEing old so much if I didn't FEEL so old. If I could be strong. Or agile. Or flexible. But I don't like being broken.
Broken relationships - here & there - make me sad. I can see the pain, feel the pain.
Broken resolve. My broken resolve. I don't make New Year's Resolutions, but at times I do resolve to accomplish certain things. I get all gung-ho and fired up about a project. But I am so NOT good at fulfilling, completing, accomplishing what I had resolved to do.
...
I'm a fixer. When things are broken, I want to fix them. But I don't know how to fix my broken muscles & joints, whether to seek medical attention...
I am tempted to try to butt in and fix relationships, but I know I might well make things worse.
And obviously I don't know how to fix my broken "finisher" mechanism - whatever it is that keeps me from carrying through on my resolve.
...
Time's up.
...
But wait! There's more.
Now that I think about it, I realize that my heart is broken. Heavy.
My thoughts are too jumbled and my emotions too raw to be able to express in words yet.
But yes, I'm feeling broken - heart-broken - now that I take a minute to think about it.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Thankful Thursday
Thankful Thursday
This morning I am feeling thankful for time.
Discretionary time.
Lots of it.
Time to pursue my dream of writing every day.
And so I write.
Pretty much every day.
Lots of times I can't think of anything to write.
I often don't feel creative, but still I write.
Will I ever be famous? Not likely.
Will I ever make any money from writing? Doubtful.
But still I write - because I want to.
And I am thankful.
...
I'm thankful for relatively good health and energy - although I sure do wish my knees would work better!
...
I'm thankful for a man who keeps nudging me out of my comfort zone, but then is patient with my discomfort.
...
I am also thankful that I do not have to live under guilt and condemnation. Been there, done that, still have the scars. The guilt feelings still pop up now & then, but now I have the courage to face the truth - AND to reject the lies.
This morning I am feeling thankful for time.
Discretionary time.
Lots of it.
Time to pursue my dream of writing every day.
And so I write.
Pretty much every day.
Lots of times I can't think of anything to write.
I often don't feel creative, but still I write.
Will I ever be famous? Not likely.
Will I ever make any money from writing? Doubtful.
But still I write - because I want to.
And I am thankful.
...
I'm thankful for relatively good health and energy - although I sure do wish my knees would work better!
...
I'm thankful for a man who keeps nudging me out of my comfort zone, but then is patient with my discomfort.
...
I am also thankful that I do not have to live under guilt and condemnation. Been there, done that, still have the scars. The guilt feelings still pop up now & then, but now I have the courage to face the truth - AND to reject the lies.
Monday, March 25, 2013
The winter of our discontent
Well, not really. We were actually quite content. Quite relaxed. There were only tiny bits of discontent - otherwise known as culture stress. There was/is the bit of lingering discontent because I have not yet captured in writing as many of the moments as I want to. There is the fear, the sadness, that those stories will slip away. That the intensity will fade along with my tropical tan. How sad to see them go. How much I would like to halt the slippage, to slow the fade.
I wanted to write some more people portraits, sketch some more snapshots. My list of subjects is long. Fascinating people. Lovely people. Industrious and innovative people. Precious people. Beautiful people.
...
Important stuff that I wanted to write. But we are back home in America again. The land of the free and the busy.... The land of opportunity. So many opportunities! Way more opportunities than one can possibly grasp.
Schedules fill up. Problems demand solutions. New encounters happen. More writing topics step into the spotlight. Before the memories go too dim and my skin is once again pasty-white, I simply must tell of a few more people and places.
...
The colmado
Particularly in poor neighborhoods, the colmado is the hub of Dominican life - within walking distance and providing the essentials for daily existence. When you don't have transportation, your colmado can be your best friend. Ex-pats are often shocked to discover what all can be obtained at the local colmado - fresh bananas, cold Coca-Cola or Naranja Rica - which is delicious orange juice, all kinds of staples, sugar, coffee, bread, rice, pasta, onions, garlic, candles, canned goods, soap, toilet paper, napkins, big bottles of water and maybe even a chicken. What more could you need? Ooh, and platanitos! I was so happy to find platanitos, those salty fried platano chips that I love so much.
When we lived in the country twenty-three years ago, we depended on our local colmado for fresh produce and daily supplies, so as we were settling in this time, we were thrilled to discover one within walking distance of our new home. Although I regret that I never learned the name of the little grandma who ran our colmado, I did learn to love her. I remember noticing her the first day we went there - a tired-looking little old lady, but on subsequent visits I began to see how beautiful she was. I looked forward to seeing her each time. Selfishly I relished the way her eyes lit up to see me; it made me feel wonderful and special and important. Yes, I know; she was probably just happy to see the wealthy American customers, but my life was made richer by seeing her every few days and I can only hope that we blessed hers as well.
(Late update: When we went back three years later we found her - AND I discovered her name!)
...
Boulangerie Marseilles - a.k.a. the French bakery
Because we did not have internet access at our home, we quickly learned where we could get wi-fi. The French bakery was one of those places where I could connect with my world back home. Happily there were lovely pastries that we could buy to help pay for our free wi-fi. Sometimes we could even get pizza there. Even with lots of fascinating people coming and going, that spot became a haven for me, a little oasis in the sea of raucous noise and activity and cultural overload. I cherished the welcoming smiles of the two lovely ladies who worked there, Michaela,the affectionate French mademoiselle, and Zoila, the young Dominican woman. What dear, precious, wonderful people. I can't help but wonder if I'll ever get to see them again.
...
There were so many. Beautiful precious people - ready to serve us or sell us something everywhere we went. I fondly remember the uniformed wait staff at Vista Mare, the classy resort overlooking the bay, Mariela and Oscar who served us at La Playita, the young waiter at Bahia Azul in Samana who would ask about my husband if I happened to come in alone, and the gregarious young woman who helped us celebrate a momentous birthday at La Taberna Mediterean. I wish I could have found more ways to connect with them and somehow to bless them, but I am grateful to have been privileged to encounter them. And yes, we gave generous tips.
...
Resourcefulness
I fear that we Americans may have misjudged the Dominicans. I remember hearing them referred to as less than stellar - in their intentions or their intelligence - and I am a little embarrassed about such perceptions even while I can understand how they were formed. True, very few of them are well-educated, and yes, they seem to be out to get what they can from any foreigner. But during this time in-country, I guess I began to see them differently.
Early in our time there, we met Michel (Miguel, Michael) of Chez Michel, one of the little tourist shops in Las Galeras. He had a prime location, right on the main corner in town where the moto-taxis lined up awaiting business, but I can only wonder how much money he would make on any given day. He carried a variety of items that sun-seeking tourists might buy, but he also had several paintings around the perimeter of his shop - inside and out - leaning against the walls. Lovely paintings they were - of Playa Rincon and other local beaches. He seemed pleased when I recognized the ones of Playa Rincon. Then I noticed his signature in the corner and asked if he indeed had painted them. He admitted that he had and rather humbly replied "You got to do something" - with the emphasis on SOME thing.
That phrase stuck in my mind for the duration of our time there. "You got to do something." That spoke to me of hustle. Ingenuity. Creativity. Resourcefulness. I thought of Michel's comment when EvaLisa tried to persuade us to let her cook lobster for us. I remembered it when Carmen delivered hot fresh loaves of "pan de coco" to our door early in the mornings before she headed off to work in town. I couldn't help but wonder how early she and her aunt must have gotten up to have the bread baked this early. I thought of Michel when the young women at the beach cafes began fighting over us and our business. "I met them first; I invited them here" after riding to town in the same gua-gua with us. "No, I met them earlier - at the cove." That little spat reminded me of taxi drivers at the airport aggressively trying to get our business.
With my earlier perceptions, I might have been annoyed at them for pestering me and trying to take advantage of me, but now I was seeing them differently. I began to comprehend that "You got to do something" to feed your family. To buy clothes for your kids and maybe shoes for the older ones. To put gas in your motorcycle - if you were lucky enough to have one. To pay the gua-gua driver for a ride so you can get to work. Yes, there were those who begged for money - a few of them - but most of them tried to offer a service. Even the annoying little boys who accompanied us to the blow-hole behind our house, even they had a scheme. Well, first they just flat out asked for money to buy shoes, but when that didn't work, the ring-leader began to sing for us - getting ever louder and more obnoxious. Did he think we would pay for a song and dance? Maybe, but we didn't have any money on us that day. And I have to admit that I was mostly just annoyed with their tugging on my hand and stroking my arm. But was there a spark of ingenuity or maybe desperation?
There were the vendors at all the beaches - renting you a chair and an umbrella for the day, selling hand-woven bracelets and hats and sweet treats, signing you up to go on their boat tour to somewhere exotic for a few hours. Everywhere we went, somebody had a plan, some venture they were trying. As I typed those words, I heard "everybody has a scam" in my head - which is the way we often think. But maybe, just maybe they were simply trying to make ends meet.
I heard Michel's words when Jose Luis came to the swimming pool on Sunday morning with a HUGE lobster that he wanted to sell the Americans. We already knew that he was a hard worker; we saw him trudge down the beach every morning hauling his boat motor on his shoulder and set out into the ocean for a day of fishing. We watched him come in each evening - often with a big catch of squid or mahi-mahi. You gotta' do something - and he did. Every day. And yet... Somehow, for some reason he was willing to take a few minutes one morning to help us out. We were heading to the city that day to try to get a cell phone. He talked to us about the best place to go and what we would need. He helped us catch a ride and he handed us off to the gua-gua driver with instructions to take us to the cell phone office. He was our neighbor and he cared for us even though there was no money in this deal.
There was also the day that Michel helped us out - actually more than once - and refused to accept any money because "you are our clients" - which almost felt more like "you are family."
I remember hearing missionaries talk about falling in love with the people of their adopted country. I don't remember that being true of me before, but something has changed this time. I suppose much of the change is in me; hopefully I am more open and accepting now. Perhaps some of it is because I was not as stressed this time as on some previous visits. Whatever the reason, I have to count this as one of the best parts of my winter. To have learned not only greater respect for the Dominican people, but to really appreciate them and enjoy them... what a gift! My life is so much richer because of them.
...
I think I want to remember Michel's line. It could come in handy even in our culture of ease. Maybe the next time I start to complain about something... Maybe instead of griping about it, maybe I could remember "You gotta' do something." Maybe I could be part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Now there's a novel idea. Or maybe I could start to notice things that need to be done, people who could use a hug. Or a helping hand. Or a generous tip.
...
How about you?
Do you need this reminder?
Is there SOME thing that you gotta' do?
Is there something that you need to do to make your life better?
Or maybe you could do SOME thing that would bless someone else.
You gotta' do something.
I wanted to write some more people portraits, sketch some more snapshots. My list of subjects is long. Fascinating people. Lovely people. Industrious and innovative people. Precious people. Beautiful people.
...
Important stuff that I wanted to write. But we are back home in America again. The land of the free and the busy.... The land of opportunity. So many opportunities! Way more opportunities than one can possibly grasp.
Schedules fill up. Problems demand solutions. New encounters happen. More writing topics step into the spotlight. Before the memories go too dim and my skin is once again pasty-white, I simply must tell of a few more people and places.
...
The colmado
Particularly in poor neighborhoods, the colmado is the hub of Dominican life - within walking distance and providing the essentials for daily existence. When you don't have transportation, your colmado can be your best friend. Ex-pats are often shocked to discover what all can be obtained at the local colmado - fresh bananas, cold Coca-Cola or Naranja Rica - which is delicious orange juice, all kinds of staples, sugar, coffee, bread, rice, pasta, onions, garlic, candles, canned goods, soap, toilet paper, napkins, big bottles of water and maybe even a chicken. What more could you need? Ooh, and platanitos! I was so happy to find platanitos, those salty fried platano chips that I love so much.
When we lived in the country twenty-three years ago, we depended on our local colmado for fresh produce and daily supplies, so as we were settling in this time, we were thrilled to discover one within walking distance of our new home. Although I regret that I never learned the name of the little grandma who ran our colmado, I did learn to love her. I remember noticing her the first day we went there - a tired-looking little old lady, but on subsequent visits I began to see how beautiful she was. I looked forward to seeing her each time. Selfishly I relished the way her eyes lit up to see me; it made me feel wonderful and special and important. Yes, I know; she was probably just happy to see the wealthy American customers, but my life was made richer by seeing her every few days and I can only hope that we blessed hers as well.
(Late update: When we went back three years later we found her - AND I discovered her name!)
...
Boulangerie Marseilles - a.k.a. the French bakery
Because we did not have internet access at our home, we quickly learned where we could get wi-fi. The French bakery was one of those places where I could connect with my world back home. Happily there were lovely pastries that we could buy to help pay for our free wi-fi. Sometimes we could even get pizza there. Even with lots of fascinating people coming and going, that spot became a haven for me, a little oasis in the sea of raucous noise and activity and cultural overload. I cherished the welcoming smiles of the two lovely ladies who worked there, Michaela,the affectionate French mademoiselle, and Zoila, the young Dominican woman. What dear, precious, wonderful people. I can't help but wonder if I'll ever get to see them again.
...
There were so many. Beautiful precious people - ready to serve us or sell us something everywhere we went. I fondly remember the uniformed wait staff at Vista Mare, the classy resort overlooking the bay, Mariela and Oscar who served us at La Playita, the young waiter at Bahia Azul in Samana who would ask about my husband if I happened to come in alone, and the gregarious young woman who helped us celebrate a momentous birthday at La Taberna Mediterean. I wish I could have found more ways to connect with them and somehow to bless them, but I am grateful to have been privileged to encounter them. And yes, we gave generous tips.
...
Resourcefulness
I fear that we Americans may have misjudged the Dominicans. I remember hearing them referred to as less than stellar - in their intentions or their intelligence - and I am a little embarrassed about such perceptions even while I can understand how they were formed. True, very few of them are well-educated, and yes, they seem to be out to get what they can from any foreigner. But during this time in-country, I guess I began to see them differently.
Early in our time there, we met Michel (Miguel, Michael) of Chez Michel, one of the little tourist shops in Las Galeras. He had a prime location, right on the main corner in town where the moto-taxis lined up awaiting business, but I can only wonder how much money he would make on any given day. He carried a variety of items that sun-seeking tourists might buy, but he also had several paintings around the perimeter of his shop - inside and out - leaning against the walls. Lovely paintings they were - of Playa Rincon and other local beaches. He seemed pleased when I recognized the ones of Playa Rincon. Then I noticed his signature in the corner and asked if he indeed had painted them. He admitted that he had and rather humbly replied "You got to do something" - with the emphasis on SOME thing.
That phrase stuck in my mind for the duration of our time there. "You got to do something." That spoke to me of hustle. Ingenuity. Creativity. Resourcefulness. I thought of Michel's comment when EvaLisa tried to persuade us to let her cook lobster for us. I remembered it when Carmen delivered hot fresh loaves of "pan de coco" to our door early in the mornings before she headed off to work in town. I couldn't help but wonder how early she and her aunt must have gotten up to have the bread baked this early. I thought of Michel when the young women at the beach cafes began fighting over us and our business. "I met them first; I invited them here" after riding to town in the same gua-gua with us. "No, I met them earlier - at the cove." That little spat reminded me of taxi drivers at the airport aggressively trying to get our business.
With my earlier perceptions, I might have been annoyed at them for pestering me and trying to take advantage of me, but now I was seeing them differently. I began to comprehend that "You got to do something" to feed your family. To buy clothes for your kids and maybe shoes for the older ones. To put gas in your motorcycle - if you were lucky enough to have one. To pay the gua-gua driver for a ride so you can get to work. Yes, there were those who begged for money - a few of them - but most of them tried to offer a service. Even the annoying little boys who accompanied us to the blow-hole behind our house, even they had a scheme. Well, first they just flat out asked for money to buy shoes, but when that didn't work, the ring-leader began to sing for us - getting ever louder and more obnoxious. Did he think we would pay for a song and dance? Maybe, but we didn't have any money on us that day. And I have to admit that I was mostly just annoyed with their tugging on my hand and stroking my arm. But was there a spark of ingenuity or maybe desperation?
There were the vendors at all the beaches - renting you a chair and an umbrella for the day, selling hand-woven bracelets and hats and sweet treats, signing you up to go on their boat tour to somewhere exotic for a few hours. Everywhere we went, somebody had a plan, some venture they were trying. As I typed those words, I heard "everybody has a scam" in my head - which is the way we often think. But maybe, just maybe they were simply trying to make ends meet.
I heard Michel's words when Jose Luis came to the swimming pool on Sunday morning with a HUGE lobster that he wanted to sell the Americans. We already knew that he was a hard worker; we saw him trudge down the beach every morning hauling his boat motor on his shoulder and set out into the ocean for a day of fishing. We watched him come in each evening - often with a big catch of squid or mahi-mahi. You gotta' do something - and he did. Every day. And yet... Somehow, for some reason he was willing to take a few minutes one morning to help us out. We were heading to the city that day to try to get a cell phone. He talked to us about the best place to go and what we would need. He helped us catch a ride and he handed us off to the gua-gua driver with instructions to take us to the cell phone office. He was our neighbor and he cared for us even though there was no money in this deal.
There was also the day that Michel helped us out - actually more than once - and refused to accept any money because "you are our clients" - which almost felt more like "you are family."
I remember hearing missionaries talk about falling in love with the people of their adopted country. I don't remember that being true of me before, but something has changed this time. I suppose much of the change is in me; hopefully I am more open and accepting now. Perhaps some of it is because I was not as stressed this time as on some previous visits. Whatever the reason, I have to count this as one of the best parts of my winter. To have learned not only greater respect for the Dominican people, but to really appreciate them and enjoy them... what a gift! My life is so much richer because of them.
...
I think I want to remember Michel's line. It could come in handy even in our culture of ease. Maybe the next time I start to complain about something... Maybe instead of griping about it, maybe I could remember "You gotta' do something." Maybe I could be part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Now there's a novel idea. Or maybe I could start to notice things that need to be done, people who could use a hug. Or a helping hand. Or a generous tip.
...
How about you?
Do you need this reminder?
Is there SOME thing that you gotta' do?
Is there something that you need to do to make your life better?
Or maybe you could do SOME thing that would bless someone else.
You gotta' do something.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Five-Minute Friday: remember
Five-Minute Friday
I'm trying something new today: Five-Minute Friday. I've dabbled before, but today I'll try to link it and make it all official. Every Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker hosts this event and picks a word for the day. Participants are to set a timer and write. No editing. Just write.
Today's word: Remember
Ready?
Set timer.
Go!
...
Let's see; I had a whole bunch of ideas. Things I wanted to write about if only I could remember.
I do remember that I wanted to capture this or that feeling, something about this amazing person or that beautiful place, or maybe even that heart-warming encounter and ensuing conversation. Oh, there are so many things to remember - and to try to capture before they fade away like my tropical tan.
There are also some things that I don't need to DO anything with - other than just remember them. Cherish them. Close my eyes and remember the good warm feeling or the gratitude.
But wait! There are other things to remember. Things I'd rather not. Goofs I made. There was that one goof... No, that was a downright faux pas - or however you spell it. Yah, no; those aren't so much fun to remember. Those make me wish that I could learn from them - so that I never do something so stupid again!
Oh, if only I would remember that lesson.
Ahead of time even.
BEFORE I open my mouth.
Come on, brain; remember...
I'm trying something new today: Five-Minute Friday. I've dabbled before, but today I'll try to link it and make it all official. Every Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker hosts this event and picks a word for the day. Participants are to set a timer and write. No editing. Just write.
Today's word: Remember
Ready?
Set timer.
Go!
...
Let's see; I had a whole bunch of ideas. Things I wanted to write about if only I could remember.
I do remember that I wanted to capture this or that feeling, something about this amazing person or that beautiful place, or maybe even that heart-warming encounter and ensuing conversation. Oh, there are so many things to remember - and to try to capture before they fade away like my tropical tan.
There are also some things that I don't need to DO anything with - other than just remember them. Cherish them. Close my eyes and remember the good warm feeling or the gratitude.
But wait! There are other things to remember. Things I'd rather not. Goofs I made. There was that one goof... No, that was a downright faux pas - or however you spell it. Yah, no; those aren't so much fun to remember. Those make me wish that I could learn from them - so that I never do something so stupid again!
Oh, if only I would remember that lesson.
Ahead of time even.
BEFORE I open my mouth.
Come on, brain; remember...
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Assignment: free-write
This is an assignment for my writing class - to spend 15 minutes free-writing without stopping to edit or worrying about whether it makes sense - so please forgive the rambling.
...
Ready... go.
Okay; it’s time to free-write.
I seem to do lots of that. I write and then wonder where it came from or what to do with it. Or I come up with these great ideas of what to do with it, but then I fail to follow through. So I could be thrilled – that I have produced so much stuff. Or I could feel defeated that I have produced so little useful stuff.
Am I becoming schizophrenic?
I am confused for sure – especially when it comes to my writing. I used to feel a sense of purpose in my writing, but now not so much. Wait; is that true? I still feel passionate about writing and about so many topics, and I guess I do have some sense of purpose, but there is also conflict and confusion about what direction to take – or even what side to take.
I want to get free to write.
What do I even mean by that?
The obvious answer would be that I want to get free from fear – about what people will think – but I think there was a different meaning there. I think that I want to get free from the lingo. Having been in church all my life, the church lingo accent is pretty thick. It feels like I don’t know how to talk like normal people – because I’ve mostly talked with church people. I’m tired of that. I want to talk to real people in the real world and I don’t want to be frustrated by my inability to speak their language. Our purpose in the church is not just to talk to other people in the church. Aren’t we supposed to be the church? I’m trying to figure out what the crap it means to be the church, because I’m not so sure I have done a good job of being the church – even though I sure enough could “talk the talk.”
But you know what? I don’t even want to be known as the church. Whoa. Well, sometimes at least. Mostly I want to be known as someone who loves people and helps them where I can. Obviously, my motivation is tied to my identity as a Jesus-follower, but I wish the label weren’t so dang important.
So, yah, I don’t want my writing to be “Christian” – in that I don’t want that to be a descriptor – or do I? Sure, I want to honor God in what I do and I want to point people to Jesus, but I want to break free from the labels and the lingo.
Oh, and another thing. I wish I could quit being such a pompous Pharisee. Yah, yah, I am recovering. But unfortunately I still find myself judging people on externals. I am finally feeling a bit of freedom from letting myself be judged that way, and I sure don’t want to participate in doing that to others.
I wish to be part of a movement that builds people up rather than tearing them down. …
...
...
Ready... go.
Okay; it’s time to free-write.
I seem to do lots of that. I write and then wonder where it came from or what to do with it. Or I come up with these great ideas of what to do with it, but then I fail to follow through. So I could be thrilled – that I have produced so much stuff. Or I could feel defeated that I have produced so little useful stuff.
Am I becoming schizophrenic?
I am confused for sure – especially when it comes to my writing. I used to feel a sense of purpose in my writing, but now not so much. Wait; is that true? I still feel passionate about writing and about so many topics, and I guess I do have some sense of purpose, but there is also conflict and confusion about what direction to take – or even what side to take.
I want to get free to write.
What do I even mean by that?
The obvious answer would be that I want to get free from fear – about what people will think – but I think there was a different meaning there. I think that I want to get free from the lingo. Having been in church all my life, the church lingo accent is pretty thick. It feels like I don’t know how to talk like normal people – because I’ve mostly talked with church people. I’m tired of that. I want to talk to real people in the real world and I don’t want to be frustrated by my inability to speak their language. Our purpose in the church is not just to talk to other people in the church. Aren’t we supposed to be the church? I’m trying to figure out what the crap it means to be the church, because I’m not so sure I have done a good job of being the church – even though I sure enough could “talk the talk.”
But you know what? I don’t even want to be known as the church. Whoa. Well, sometimes at least. Mostly I want to be known as someone who loves people and helps them where I can. Obviously, my motivation is tied to my identity as a Jesus-follower, but I wish the label weren’t so dang important.
So, yah, I don’t want my writing to be “Christian” – in that I don’t want that to be a descriptor – or do I? Sure, I want to honor God in what I do and I want to point people to Jesus, but I want to break free from the labels and the lingo.
Oh, and another thing. I wish I could quit being such a pompous Pharisee. Yah, yah, I am recovering. But unfortunately I still find myself judging people on externals. I am finally feeling a bit of freedom from letting myself be judged that way, and I sure don’t want to participate in doing that to others.
I wish to be part of a movement that builds people up rather than tearing them down. …
...
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Life on the road - 10 months
Location: the Christmas cabin at Hidden Hollows
Outside: Everything is snow-covered & beautiful
Miles traveled: Staying put today
Hubby is: shooting more local landmarks
Unexpected: Duplex burned down while we were gone; remnants were buried this week
Noticed: I'm feeling a bit frustrated about not having any good places to walk.
Made me laugh: Jeff Gordon test drive video
Made me sad: The dry skin is back
Made me drool: Reading the dinner specials on Stacks FB page
Blessings: I can again use my arm which had caused pain for several days.
Reading: The Icarus Deception - by Seth Godin
Watching tonight: West Wing - beginning the series on Netflix
Considering: Writing goals for the next season
Working on: Tribe Writers course
Accomplishments: Hauled another load to thrift store this week; emptied more bins
Lessons: I really can't do it all. Duh.
Agenda: Keep pitching stuff
Looking forward to: a road trip tomorrow and the walking trails getting better soon
Outside: Everything is snow-covered & beautiful
Miles traveled: Staying put today
Hubby is: shooting more local landmarks
Unexpected: Duplex burned down while we were gone; remnants were buried this week
Noticed: I'm feeling a bit frustrated about not having any good places to walk.
Made me laugh: Jeff Gordon test drive video
Made me sad: The dry skin is back
Made me drool: Reading the dinner specials on Stacks FB page
Blessings: I can again use my arm which had caused pain for several days.
Reading: The Icarus Deception - by Seth Godin
Watching tonight: West Wing - beginning the series on Netflix
Considering: Writing goals for the next season
Working on: Tribe Writers course
Accomplishments: Hauled another load to thrift store this week; emptied more bins
Lessons: I really can't do it all. Duh.
Agenda: Keep pitching stuff
Looking forward to: a road trip tomorrow and the walking trails getting better soon
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Tough choices and more than enough
Too much input
A bit overwhelmed
Almost a bit of panic
My FOMO is kicking in
(Yah, that would be my fear of missing out.)
It's all such good stuff. Such interesting and smart people - writers even. I want to get to know them all and learn from them and read their stuff and subscribe to their blogs and buy their books. But I can't keep up. I can't even keep them all straight. I don't have time to read all the good stuff they post, let alone to interact, to comment or join in on discussions. No time to try out their good ideas. No chance to experiment. Not enough energy to take advantage of all the neat opportunities.
...
This online writing class is awesome. In some ways taking a class online is even better than it would be in the classroom. This is one of those ways - all of these wise people from around the globe that we can chat with any time of the day or night. But herein lies part of the problem. If we were sitting in a classroom, maybe I could keep up with the conversation. Maybe. Maybe not.
What to do?
It's not unlike an all-you-can-eat buffet - and those places are frightful for me. Of course I want to try everything, but I cannot possibly digest it all. I'd be miserable if I tried - not to mention how unhealthy it would be - or maybe downright sinful.
So I have to make choices. Tough choices. Agonizing choices. Saying YES to this selection means I have to say NO to several others. And I hate having to say NO - especially to something that I want.
There must be a lesson in here somewhere - or probably several obvious ones that I'm dealing with every day in my work and the rest of my life. Or maybe there's nothing terribly profound or symbolic. Maybe it's just one more symptom of the fast pace that we Americans think is normal.
...
Two months ago I was living in the midst of a very poor neighborhood in the Dominican Republic. In one way, we lived like they did - in that we walked to get our food and we purchased only what we would need for a day or two at a time. Many of them don't have refrigerators but then maybe they don't really need one. Why would they? Leftovers are unheard-of. The concept of stocking up on food ahead of time and storing it away is a strange and foreign one to them.
Last week we returned home to a malfunctioning freezer and had to pitch out a bunch of stinking spoiled food. Food that we had stored away because we had more than we needed. It made me feel a little sick to waste food like this, to throw away more food than they could ever afford to buy in the first place.
Moms used to tell kids to clean their plates because children are starving in Africa. And kids used to suggest "Well, then; send THIS to them!"
So what is the right answer?
What do we do with surplus? The more-than-enough?
I'm smart enough to know that I can't absorb all of the great info available in this course and can't become buddies with all of these creative people. I guess maybe the best I can do is to pace myself, to make strategic use of my fridge... I mean my computer and my internet access. And when I come across some really good morsels, I can even "share" with my friends and my neighbors who might need it. That sounds a whole lot easier then shipping my leftovers to the starving children overseas.
...
So how do you handle your surplus?
Do you make good use of your leftovers?
...
BTW, writing friends, if you're interested in this sumptuous feast, the writing course is again open for new students. I do highly recommend it and I will be there working on bite-sized pieces. I'd love to have you along at the buffet. Jeff Goins is even making one lesson available free so you can get a taste of the goodies that are offered.
A bit overwhelmed
Almost a bit of panic
My FOMO is kicking in
(Yah, that would be my fear of missing out.)
It's all such good stuff. Such interesting and smart people - writers even. I want to get to know them all and learn from them and read their stuff and subscribe to their blogs and buy their books. But I can't keep up. I can't even keep them all straight. I don't have time to read all the good stuff they post, let alone to interact, to comment or join in on discussions. No time to try out their good ideas. No chance to experiment. Not enough energy to take advantage of all the neat opportunities.
...
This online writing class is awesome. In some ways taking a class online is even better than it would be in the classroom. This is one of those ways - all of these wise people from around the globe that we can chat with any time of the day or night. But herein lies part of the problem. If we were sitting in a classroom, maybe I could keep up with the conversation. Maybe. Maybe not.
What to do?
It's not unlike an all-you-can-eat buffet - and those places are frightful for me. Of course I want to try everything, but I cannot possibly digest it all. I'd be miserable if I tried - not to mention how unhealthy it would be - or maybe downright sinful.
So I have to make choices. Tough choices. Agonizing choices. Saying YES to this selection means I have to say NO to several others. And I hate having to say NO - especially to something that I want.
There must be a lesson in here somewhere - or probably several obvious ones that I'm dealing with every day in my work and the rest of my life. Or maybe there's nothing terribly profound or symbolic. Maybe it's just one more symptom of the fast pace that we Americans think is normal.
...
Two months ago I was living in the midst of a very poor neighborhood in the Dominican Republic. In one way, we lived like they did - in that we walked to get our food and we purchased only what we would need for a day or two at a time. Many of them don't have refrigerators but then maybe they don't really need one. Why would they? Leftovers are unheard-of. The concept of stocking up on food ahead of time and storing it away is a strange and foreign one to them.
Last week we returned home to a malfunctioning freezer and had to pitch out a bunch of stinking spoiled food. Food that we had stored away because we had more than we needed. It made me feel a little sick to waste food like this, to throw away more food than they could ever afford to buy in the first place.
Moms used to tell kids to clean their plates because children are starving in Africa. And kids used to suggest "Well, then; send THIS to them!"
So what is the right answer?
What do we do with surplus? The more-than-enough?
I'm smart enough to know that I can't absorb all of the great info available in this course and can't become buddies with all of these creative people. I guess maybe the best I can do is to pace myself, to make strategic use of my fridge... I mean my computer and my internet access. And when I come across some really good morsels, I can even "share" with my friends and my neighbors who might need it. That sounds a whole lot easier then shipping my leftovers to the starving children overseas.
...
So how do you handle your surplus?
Do you make good use of your leftovers?
...
BTW, writing friends, if you're interested in this sumptuous feast, the writing course is again open for new students. I do highly recommend it and I will be there working on bite-sized pieces. I'd love to have you along at the buffet. Jeff Goins is even making one lesson available free so you can get a taste of the goodies that are offered.
Monday, March 11, 2013
To begin again
And so it begins.
Again.
For many, many years I've been saying that I must go through my piles of stuff - to sort and pitch. Unfortunately, I didn't seem to have the skills or enough desire - or something - so my progress was less than dramatic.
Two and a half years ago something changed. Drastically. Specifically the intensity of desire changed. The turning point was when we made a decision to take steps toward selling our place a.s.a.p. Suddenly the pitching project changed from "I need to get my life in order - someday..." to a sense of urgency to get rid of this crap NOW so that we wouldn't have to move it all.
Yes, it helped. Yes, I began to make some real progress. Since then I have let go of LOTS of stuff, I have given away and sold things, I've actually pitched stuff - but there is still way more than I need.
In the last 10 months we have moved twice - into smaller places! In the moving process I continue to pitch. This winter was my first real break from the project in two years - when we spent six weeks in the tropics. Now we are back and I am ready to hit it again.
On one hand, I feel more determined than ever to pare down, to give away, throw away, and get rid of. On the other hand, I am scared - because I know myself too well. I know my tendency to cling to stuff - for good reasons and for silly ones. I am scared about my energy level and my lack of follow-through. But I really, really, really want to be free of the crap - the unnecessary, the redundant, the no-longer-in-style, the almost used up...
The almost used up? What is that about? Well, let me tell you...
I can still hear my grandma say: "Use it up, wear it out; make do or do without." Good advice for some people, but I've been using things up and wearing them out for so long that I'm sick of them - so why can't I finally pitch them?
Yes, I am aware of some of the things that bind me to stuff - and I like to think that awareness is the first step to freedom - but I still so often feel stuck.
But I will do this.
I begin again today. I am hitting it again. Can I make a dramatic difference this time? Can I get rid of huge amounts of stuff? How soon can I have another load ready to go to the thrift store?
What will it take to really do this?
I suppose I need better strategy so I am always trying to learn.
I'd guess that some accountability would be helpful, but am unsure who to ask because it seems like I have probably already exhausted the ranks - not to mention myself.
Encouragement might be nice, so should I beg for some of that?
How about some professional help? Naw, I don't have the money - nor the stomach for that.
So I keep plodding. Hopefully I keep getting better and hopefully I stay energized.
...
Am I the only one facing a huge task?
Am I the only one that is scared about running out of steam?
Am I the only one with stuff to pitch?
Please, please leave a comment if I'm not the only one...
Oops; have I resorted to begging?
Again.
For many, many years I've been saying that I must go through my piles of stuff - to sort and pitch. Unfortunately, I didn't seem to have the skills or enough desire - or something - so my progress was less than dramatic.
Two and a half years ago something changed. Drastically. Specifically the intensity of desire changed. The turning point was when we made a decision to take steps toward selling our place a.s.a.p. Suddenly the pitching project changed from "I need to get my life in order - someday..." to a sense of urgency to get rid of this crap NOW so that we wouldn't have to move it all.
Yes, it helped. Yes, I began to make some real progress. Since then I have let go of LOTS of stuff, I have given away and sold things, I've actually pitched stuff - but there is still way more than I need.
In the last 10 months we have moved twice - into smaller places! In the moving process I continue to pitch. This winter was my first real break from the project in two years - when we spent six weeks in the tropics. Now we are back and I am ready to hit it again.
On one hand, I feel more determined than ever to pare down, to give away, throw away, and get rid of. On the other hand, I am scared - because I know myself too well. I know my tendency to cling to stuff - for good reasons and for silly ones. I am scared about my energy level and my lack of follow-through. But I really, really, really want to be free of the crap - the unnecessary, the redundant, the no-longer-in-style, the almost used up...
The almost used up? What is that about? Well, let me tell you...
I can still hear my grandma say: "Use it up, wear it out; make do or do without." Good advice for some people, but I've been using things up and wearing them out for so long that I'm sick of them - so why can't I finally pitch them?
Yes, I am aware of some of the things that bind me to stuff - and I like to think that awareness is the first step to freedom - but I still so often feel stuck.
But I will do this.
I begin again today. I am hitting it again. Can I make a dramatic difference this time? Can I get rid of huge amounts of stuff? How soon can I have another load ready to go to the thrift store?
What will it take to really do this?
I suppose I need better strategy so I am always trying to learn.
I'd guess that some accountability would be helpful, but am unsure who to ask because it seems like I have probably already exhausted the ranks - not to mention myself.
Encouragement might be nice, so should I beg for some of that?
How about some professional help? Naw, I don't have the money - nor the stomach for that.
So I keep plodding. Hopefully I keep getting better and hopefully I stay energized.
...
Am I the only one facing a huge task?
Am I the only one that is scared about running out of steam?
Am I the only one with stuff to pitch?
Please, please leave a comment if I'm not the only one...
Oops; have I resorted to begging?
Monday, March 4, 2013
Week 6 - the final week: Daily tidbits
Saturday, 2-23-13
The steak Dave was searching for yesterday arrived today so he made a big lunch.
Stacy & I went to the colmado. They didn't have any bananas. Weird.
To Vista Mare for internet, but it wasn't working. Neither did they have bananas.
Made the drive up to El Cabito for dinner and the spectacular view
Finally got a bit of face time with Lina
Sunday, 2-24-13
S & I hung out around the pool & the hammock while Bob took K & D to the airport.
Other guests left today as well so the place got fairly quiet.
Monday, 2-25-13
Nice quiet early morning on the porch - although the sea is rather loud this morning
Hard to believe that we are in the last week already! Bizarre.
Going to Playa Rincon is the big plan for today
The smell of ham cooking & coffee brewing - Mmmmm...
Good day at Playa Rincon - fun to relive memories with Stacy
Tuesday, 2-26-13
February is almost gone!
Leisurely day at the cove
Evening walk on the beach to gaze at the full moon reflecting off the waves
Wednesday, 2-27-13
Independence Day it is.
Parade in Samana, Bob wants to get photos
A stay-at-home day for me
Cleaning & laundry
Finished reading a couple books
Thursday, 2-28-13
Another lovely day in Paradise
The end of February - amazing!
Visit La Playita & Las Galeras one last time
Good-byes begin - French bakery
Cool off in the pool
A lovely evening talking & relaxing
Friday, 3-1-13
The first day of March, the last day at the cove - how can this be?
The end of one journey, preparing for another
Laundry, sorting, packing
More good-byes
Hammock time
Pool time
Out to dinner one last time
Figure out how to fit everything into our suitcases without going over the weight limit
... and so concludes Week Six, the last week of our winter in the tropics.
Such mixed feelings.
What a good time it has been.
What an amazing and beautiful place.
We can't help but wonder if/when we'll be back.
The steak Dave was searching for yesterday arrived today so he made a big lunch.
Stacy & I went to the colmado. They didn't have any bananas. Weird.
To Vista Mare for internet, but it wasn't working. Neither did they have bananas.
Made the drive up to El Cabito for dinner and the spectacular view
Finally got a bit of face time with Lina
Sunday, 2-24-13
S & I hung out around the pool & the hammock while Bob took K & D to the airport.
Other guests left today as well so the place got fairly quiet.
Monday, 2-25-13
Nice quiet early morning on the porch - although the sea is rather loud this morning
Hard to believe that we are in the last week already! Bizarre.
Going to Playa Rincon is the big plan for today
The smell of ham cooking & coffee brewing - Mmmmm...
Good day at Playa Rincon - fun to relive memories with Stacy
Tuesday, 2-26-13
February is almost gone!
Leisurely day at the cove
Evening walk on the beach to gaze at the full moon reflecting off the waves
Wednesday, 2-27-13
Independence Day it is.
Parade in Samana, Bob wants to get photos
A stay-at-home day for me
Cleaning & laundry
Finished reading a couple books
Thursday, 2-28-13
Another lovely day in Paradise
The end of February - amazing!
Visit La Playita & Las Galeras one last time
Good-byes begin - French bakery
Cool off in the pool
A lovely evening talking & relaxing
Friday, 3-1-13
The first day of March, the last day at the cove - how can this be?
The end of one journey, preparing for another
Laundry, sorting, packing
More good-byes
Hammock time
Pool time
Out to dinner one last time
Figure out how to fit everything into our suitcases without going over the weight limit
... and so concludes Week Six, the last week of our winter in the tropics.
Such mixed feelings.
What a good time it has been.
What an amazing and beautiful place.
We can't help but wonder if/when we'll be back.
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