"I want you to pretend your kitchen has come to life as a person."
Hmmmm... This research study I'm doing is interesting to me. The initial screening questions must have gone deeper into something besides just my cooking habits and how often, where, and when I like to eat out. It is dubbed a "restaurant survey," but I'm still writing about my kitchen, and in an awfully figurative way that requires a level of creative thought and writing which I would think the average person doesn't practice much.
So, anyway, here goes. My personification of my kitchen, discussing herself, and how she would feel if she met my ideal kitchen: (Yep, that was the assignment!)
My kitchen is like an Italian grandmother, having always made something delicious and wanting you to want to eat it. Lots of it. She works hard with real ingredients, in real cookware... stoneware and cast iron and wood that's been lovingly oiled over years of use.
She is not at all precise with a recipe, but only because she doesn't need to be. She knows the best teaspoons are measured in her palm, and that the bread is ready when it "smells ready." She does want everything in its place, however, and "its place" is both practical and lovely, if it is possible for it to be.
My kitchen would be sheepish if she met my ideal kitchen. She might feel a little insecure, but it a fiercely proud way, if she saw the larger, stainless steel stove with six burners instead of her four... with two ovens attempting to shame her one. She would know that these things are far preferable for cooking for a large family--and for the inevitable stragglers that wander in to join them--but she has come to know and love the tools she's been given enough to shy away from coveting her neighbor's anything. So she would blush, and blunder, and turn back to her broth with a chuckle and a sigh.
She'd turn around and give ear once again to her favorite classical music. She loves the strains... going lovely here, and frigtening there, and loud, and soft, and gentle, and grand.
She'll just listen to that for a moment or two, putting aside her brief struggle with discontent, and then she'll reach across the granite to gently take your hand and squeeze. She'll let you know that it is all okay... that the momentary struggle has passed, and that this is, in fact, the best place in the world to be.
Then she'll slice you another piece, slather it thick with butter, and push it deep into your soul with a squeeze and a smile.
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
My Kitchen
I really love my kitchen. I have always loved it as the sort of "social center of the home" that the kitchen inevitably is. But beyond just that comforting, comfortable feeling of a kitchen in general, I really love my kitchen--and all the more so since the "clean sweep" has made it all the way to this room.
So I was thrilled to find that the research survey I'm participating in this weekend has begun by asking me questions about my kitchen... both in technical descriptions and with figurative questions that probe how I feel about the room itself... and how I feel when I'm in it...
I was asked to use all of my senses as I gave a written accompaniment to the video, capturing how I feel about my kitchen and surrounding areas. So, here it is:
There is a bit of a "living circuit" in our home... a circle formed, from the time you walk in the front door, that encompasses the entry hall, the family room, the kitchen, the dining room, and the study. When we have people over, they fill all of these areas, including the spillover to outside on the decks that are off both the kitchen and the family room.
The kitchen is definitely the "social center" of our home. In it, I prepare our meals from healthy, whole foods. I do home baking from freshly milled whole grains... I make healthy chicken and vegetable stocks by boiling the carcasses for at least 24 hours... we drink fermented beverages that we prepare ourselves in our home (kefir, kombucha, homemade yogurt, etc.)... we grow many of our own organic vegetables in our garden...
Our kitchen is always filled with a variety of delicious aromas, mostly driven by what's been baking or cooking on a given day. On this day that I filmed my kitchen for the research survey, there was a chicken stock beginning to boil on the stove. During the filming, the scent of the rich broth began to prick at my nose, as the rolling boil began in earnest. There was the faint hint of banana cake in the air, and the suggestion of tomato and spices from the bruschetta we had eaten earlier.
A friend of mine once said, "I love to eat whatever Laurie sets out on this corner, because it is always good. Whatever is there, I eat it..." The "that corner" of which he spoke is the corner of the center island that is right there when you walk into the kitchen from the hallway or the family room. That ledge is always filled with whatever foods I'm serving, whether a full meal buffet-style, a wide array of appetizers and snacks, or a fun spread of homemade dessert with coffee and tea at the coffee bar.
My counter tops are granite, cold to the touch, but they sport a warm mix of tans and browns and greys that are pleasing and inviting to the eye. There is plenty of room to stand around the outer edges of the island, and people usually congregate there. This leaves me free to navigate through the "galley" that contains the stove and sink, and to continue to prepare and serve food as we visit. I have chosen to fill my kitchen with lots of wrought iron, wood, and stoneware. The overall effect is one of a European winery or bakery, with all the commensurate spice-y smells, and earthy pottery, and vintage cookware.
I ended by including a poem I'd once written, which captures pretty well some dimensions of how I feel about my kitchen, and about provincial decor in general.
I have another friend who is an interior designer at heart--probably since long before she studied it in college many years ago--and she's been after me--since she met me--to paint my wooden cabinets white. I know she is much more knowledgeable than I about the style and fashion and trendiness of it all, but it has been easy to roundly refuse this suggestion. Why? Because I love wood... wooden bowls, wooden utensils, wooden furniture. My kitchen is filled with it, and I love the warmth and homey-ness it adds. So the rich brown of the wooden cabinets is a real pleasure to me.
I think Jane Austen must have been thinking in some measure of the kitchen when she said, "Ah! There is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort" (Emma, Chapter 32, 1815).
So I was thrilled to find that the research survey I'm participating in this weekend has begun by asking me questions about my kitchen... both in technical descriptions and with figurative questions that probe how I feel about the room itself... and how I feel when I'm in it...
I was asked to use all of my senses as I gave a written accompaniment to the video, capturing how I feel about my kitchen and surrounding areas. So, here it is:
There is a bit of a "living circuit" in our home... a circle formed, from the time you walk in the front door, that encompasses the entry hall, the family room, the kitchen, the dining room, and the study. When we have people over, they fill all of these areas, including the spillover to outside on the decks that are off both the kitchen and the family room.
The kitchen is definitely the "social center" of our home. In it, I prepare our meals from healthy, whole foods. I do home baking from freshly milled whole grains... I make healthy chicken and vegetable stocks by boiling the carcasses for at least 24 hours... we drink fermented beverages that we prepare ourselves in our home (kefir, kombucha, homemade yogurt, etc.)... we grow many of our own organic vegetables in our garden...
Our kitchen is always filled with a variety of delicious aromas, mostly driven by what's been baking or cooking on a given day. On this day that I filmed my kitchen for the research survey, there was a chicken stock beginning to boil on the stove. During the filming, the scent of the rich broth began to prick at my nose, as the rolling boil began in earnest. There was the faint hint of banana cake in the air, and the suggestion of tomato and spices from the bruschetta we had eaten earlier.
A friend of mine once said, "I love to eat whatever Laurie sets out on this corner, because it is always good. Whatever is there, I eat it..." The "that corner" of which he spoke is the corner of the center island that is right there when you walk into the kitchen from the hallway or the family room. That ledge is always filled with whatever foods I'm serving, whether a full meal buffet-style, a wide array of appetizers and snacks, or a fun spread of homemade dessert with coffee and tea at the coffee bar.
My counter tops are granite, cold to the touch, but they sport a warm mix of tans and browns and greys that are pleasing and inviting to the eye. There is plenty of room to stand around the outer edges of the island, and people usually congregate there. This leaves me free to navigate through the "galley" that contains the stove and sink, and to continue to prepare and serve food as we visit. I have chosen to fill my kitchen with lots of wrought iron, wood, and stoneware. The overall effect is one of a European winery or bakery, with all the commensurate spice-y smells, and earthy pottery, and vintage cookware.
I ended by including a poem I'd once written, which captures pretty well some dimensions of how I feel about my kitchen, and about provincial decor in general.
I have another friend who is an interior designer at heart--probably since long before she studied it in college many years ago--and she's been after me--since she met me--to paint my wooden cabinets white. I know she is much more knowledgeable than I about the style and fashion and trendiness of it all, but it has been easy to roundly refuse this suggestion. Why? Because I love wood... wooden bowls, wooden utensils, wooden furniture. My kitchen is filled with it, and I love the warmth and homey-ness it adds. So the rich brown of the wooden cabinets is a real pleasure to me.
I think Jane Austen must have been thinking in some measure of the kitchen when she said, "Ah! There is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort" (Emma, Chapter 32, 1815).
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Setting Stakes
I remember reading an article once - years ago when I was a girl - entitled something along the lines of, "A Mom's Advice to Her Daughter Going Off to College." One thing I vaguely recall was something like, "Flossing works. But only if you do it. Like sit-ups, if you quit, the rot sets in." Or perhaps it was vice versa, but you get the idea.
"The rots sets in" quickly, too, I discovered this morning. Every year, when we gather here on the shores of NC for a family reunion, my sister and my father and I go walking early in the mornings before anyone else is up. Our husbands go jogging, and my sister and I take our dogs and our dad and go power walking. Well, that's what we usually do.
This year we did more "walking" and less "power." Why? Because I couldn't handle it... I couldn't keep pace with them, so I slowed them down. My younger sister has always been more sporty than I am, and she continues to work her body to keep it healthy and strong as she approaches forty. My father, although past sixty, has also kept himself extremely fit since his college football days. (He is the kids' official PE teacher, and he works them pretty much to death three days a week.)
Although Dad and I used to walk together every morning, this past year I bowed out in favor of some spiritual, mental, emotional, and practical preparation each weekday morning for the homeschool day ahead. Though this was very good for me in all of those many ways, apparently it wasn't so very good for my body. The "rot" has set in.
And so have about thirty extra pounds. Sometime over the past five years or so, I have slowly gained forty pounds, only ten of which I've managed to take back off. I still weigh about thirty pounds too much, though I'd be content to lose just ten or fifteen more, really. And why is that so difficult? Well, mostly because the things we know we should do in order to stay fit and trim, work, "but only if you do it."
For a variety of reasons I'm sure I'll explore and ponder more deeply as these next weeks go on, I have become a person who doesn't "set stakes in the ground." What do I mean by that? At the homeschool convention we went to, most all of the speakers we heard spoke of acting with purpose and deliberateness. This sort of decisive action has become all but absent in my life. Whether through bad theological teaching, or sound theology improperly understood and applied, or simply the laziness of the flesh, I have become a person who feels that I can't - or shouldn't - determine to do something simply because it should be done, and then set about doing it. This "grace, misunderstood and misapplied" mindset has resulted in a total transformation - and not for the better, either - of the person I tend to naturally be. I am now sometimes paralyzed to act, in ways that I know are good and beneficial and necessary in my life, for fear of being "legalistic" or "missing the grace."
So, whether it is the teaching itself that is just a little bit "off," or just my interpretations of what I think I'm hearing, I am determining to ignore the voices in my head that prevent me from doing so, and to set a few stakes in the ground. One speaker we heard in Richmond spoke of the time early in his life as a father that he vowed, both to God and to his family, "Every day, if (he was) in town and alive, (he was) leading family devotions." I'm sure he missed some days over the years. I'm sure on those days he was grateful for grace. I'm sure he understood that he was not acting in this manner to win God's favor or to earn His love; he simply wanted the blessings and benefits in his family commensurate with being in the Word together on a consistent basis. And I'm sure he got them, in large part because he set the stake in the ground, set the goal, fixed his eyes on the means of grace that would enable this benefit in his and his family's life.
I'm ready to do the same, no matter how many seemingly contradictory messages about "not trying harder" I hear in the meantime. I want to pursue Jesus, yes! I want to know Him more. I know that, "It is God who works in me both to will and to act according to His good purpose" (Philippians 2:13). But I'm ready to cooperate with His work in my heart and in my life with a little decisive action... a little "trying harder," if you will. I need His mercy every moment I fail, and I need it even more every time I succeed, but I'm ready to have it with me as I walk the road of some stakes in the ground.
The first one? I need to get back to some regular physical exercise in my life. This morning revealed to me just how detrimental my neglect of my body has been. I read somewhere about a study demonstrating that regular physical exercise is as effective as anti-depressant medications in treating symptoms of depression. It is no secret that excess weight is more easily controlled with regular exercise, and that people have significantly more energy for the tasks of the day with regular physical activity. Physical exercise reduces stress, the effects of which can be deadly on the body.
So, here's stake #1, established this cloudy Father's Day at the NC shore: Every day that I'm uninjured and alive, I will practice one of the three S's of exercise. Each day will contain either Sixty minutes of intense cardio activity, Sixteen minutes of targeted strength training for a particular part of the body, or Sex (which I will initiate at the end of the day, if one or the other of the other S's didn't happen).
Sounds like a plan... or at least a really great Father's Day gift!
"The rots sets in" quickly, too, I discovered this morning. Every year, when we gather here on the shores of NC for a family reunion, my sister and my father and I go walking early in the mornings before anyone else is up. Our husbands go jogging, and my sister and I take our dogs and our dad and go power walking. Well, that's what we usually do.
This year we did more "walking" and less "power." Why? Because I couldn't handle it... I couldn't keep pace with them, so I slowed them down. My younger sister has always been more sporty than I am, and she continues to work her body to keep it healthy and strong as she approaches forty. My father, although past sixty, has also kept himself extremely fit since his college football days. (He is the kids' official PE teacher, and he works them pretty much to death three days a week.)
Although Dad and I used to walk together every morning, this past year I bowed out in favor of some spiritual, mental, emotional, and practical preparation each weekday morning for the homeschool day ahead. Though this was very good for me in all of those many ways, apparently it wasn't so very good for my body. The "rot" has set in.
And so have about thirty extra pounds. Sometime over the past five years or so, I have slowly gained forty pounds, only ten of which I've managed to take back off. I still weigh about thirty pounds too much, though I'd be content to lose just ten or fifteen more, really. And why is that so difficult? Well, mostly because the things we know we should do in order to stay fit and trim, work, "but only if you do it."
For a variety of reasons I'm sure I'll explore and ponder more deeply as these next weeks go on, I have become a person who doesn't "set stakes in the ground." What do I mean by that? At the homeschool convention we went to, most all of the speakers we heard spoke of acting with purpose and deliberateness. This sort of decisive action has become all but absent in my life. Whether through bad theological teaching, or sound theology improperly understood and applied, or simply the laziness of the flesh, I have become a person who feels that I can't - or shouldn't - determine to do something simply because it should be done, and then set about doing it. This "grace, misunderstood and misapplied" mindset has resulted in a total transformation - and not for the better, either - of the person I tend to naturally be. I am now sometimes paralyzed to act, in ways that I know are good and beneficial and necessary in my life, for fear of being "legalistic" or "missing the grace."
So, whether it is the teaching itself that is just a little bit "off," or just my interpretations of what I think I'm hearing, I am determining to ignore the voices in my head that prevent me from doing so, and to set a few stakes in the ground. One speaker we heard in Richmond spoke of the time early in his life as a father that he vowed, both to God and to his family, "Every day, if (he was) in town and alive, (he was) leading family devotions." I'm sure he missed some days over the years. I'm sure on those days he was grateful for grace. I'm sure he understood that he was not acting in this manner to win God's favor or to earn His love; he simply wanted the blessings and benefits in his family commensurate with being in the Word together on a consistent basis. And I'm sure he got them, in large part because he set the stake in the ground, set the goal, fixed his eyes on the means of grace that would enable this benefit in his and his family's life.
I'm ready to do the same, no matter how many seemingly contradictory messages about "not trying harder" I hear in the meantime. I want to pursue Jesus, yes! I want to know Him more. I know that, "It is God who works in me both to will and to act according to His good purpose" (Philippians 2:13). But I'm ready to cooperate with His work in my heart and in my life with a little decisive action... a little "trying harder," if you will. I need His mercy every moment I fail, and I need it even more every time I succeed, but I'm ready to have it with me as I walk the road of some stakes in the ground.
The first one? I need to get back to some regular physical exercise in my life. This morning revealed to me just how detrimental my neglect of my body has been. I read somewhere about a study demonstrating that regular physical exercise is as effective as anti-depressant medications in treating symptoms of depression. It is no secret that excess weight is more easily controlled with regular exercise, and that people have significantly more energy for the tasks of the day with regular physical activity. Physical exercise reduces stress, the effects of which can be deadly on the body.
So, here's stake #1, established this cloudy Father's Day at the NC shore: Every day that I'm uninjured and alive, I will practice one of the three S's of exercise. Each day will contain either Sixty minutes of intense cardio activity, Sixteen minutes of targeted strength training for a particular part of the body, or Sex (which I will initiate at the end of the day, if one or the other of the other S's didn't happen).
Sounds like a plan... or at least a really great Father's Day gift!
Saturday, May 17, 2008
The Many Versions of Me
I was reading recently--in the newest "Rough Guide"--about America. One of the things they said was this:
And for all of its pride and bluster, the USA can be a land of quiet nuances: snow falling on a country lane in Vermont, cherry trees blooming under Washington memorials, crocodiles swimming through the bayou. You could easily plan a trip that focuses on the out-of-the-way hamlets, remote wilderness, eerie ghost towns, and forgotten byways that are every bit as "American" as its showpiece icons and monuments. Putting aside the sheer size of the place, deciding exactly what version of America you want to see, may be the hardest decision of all.
(You are reading content from The Rough Guide to the USA.)
Reading that has gotten me thinking, and not necessarily about the United States itself. I'm intrigued by that final sentence. "Deciding exactly what version of America you want to see may be the hardest decision of all." I think it is true of people even more than it is of countries.
What exactly do I mean? I don't really know, but I've been noticing something...
Last week I received an email from a friend whom I haven't been able to see for a while. At the end of it, she directed me to her family's blog. (It seems that everyone has a blog these days, and I love keeping up with folks this way. It is especially handy when they are in another state, or even another country, and hopes of actually seeing them anytime soon are rather slim.)
One thing I'm realizing, as I keep my own little "private" blog, is that I often have a desire to let someone know about it. Some particular something I've posted is something I want some particular person to see... the heartening sermon excerpt for the discouraged friend, the fun vacation photos for the distant grandparent, the link to the challenging and thought-provoking website for the youth group leader, even just the daily humdrum of life for those who love us very much and are the only ones who might care to read such things...
This morning, even, as I taught children's church, I had a desire to tell them I would record the scripture memory song I was teaching them and post it on my blog so they could go listen to it during the week and learn it more easily.
The "problem," I'm realizing, is that we have many selves... different personae we adopt for interacting with different folks. It isn't necessarily that we have different selves, per se, so much as that we reserve a view of many of the aspects of our true self for those few who are closest to us... or maybe that we change which dimensions of ourselves we choose to present, depending on the context of the interaction and the persons involved.
This is especially true of someone like me. I am frequently accused of being intimidating. I am often referred to as very intense, very deep, very pensive. Some who know me love this aspect of my personality, and intend it as the highest compliment. Others who know me have broken off friendship with me because it was "just too much," and they want simpler, shallower, "nicer," less exhausting.
And so, even when we consider ourselves to be persons who are very vulnerable, very "real," very willing to share whatever we're dealing with freely and openly, we find ourselves in many relationships that are not on a level that can handle that... or that even want to. There are those--particularly family members whom we rarely see--who don't even understand half of what we're talking about when we're "waxing philosophical." And we don't really "get them," either, or half the choices they make, so we just don't interact on those levels.
"Smiles, everyone, smiles" as the Fantasy Island guy used to say.
And there is, of course, a reason for the age-old adage to "never discuss religion or politics." Those who are relationally savvy keep quiet when the topics may be sensitive, stay mum when the implications of the topics may potentially offend, share certain dimensions of themselves but not others when doing so will keep everyone comfortable and happy. We do so with varying degrees of comfort, and we do so with differing levels of satisfaction and pleasure, but we do it almost unconsciously, without even realizing we're doing it half the time.
And so, the idea of actually publishing your blog and letting people know about it becomes intimidating. If you are open with your true self--all your true "selves"---on your blog, then there are those you know who may read your blog and freak out. And so, a little while after publishing it, you may end up halting discussion of the meaningful or the thought-provoking, and the blog becomes a handy place to share photos and cute stories, but nothing more.
"Deciding exactly what version you want to see may be the hardest decision of all."
That, and deciding exactly what version you want to show.
And for all of its pride and bluster, the USA can be a land of quiet nuances: snow falling on a country lane in Vermont, cherry trees blooming under Washington memorials, crocodiles swimming through the bayou. You could easily plan a trip that focuses on the out-of-the-way hamlets, remote wilderness, eerie ghost towns, and forgotten byways that are every bit as "American" as its showpiece icons and monuments. Putting aside the sheer size of the place, deciding exactly what version of America you want to see, may be the hardest decision of all.
(You are reading content from The Rough Guide to the USA.)
Reading that has gotten me thinking, and not necessarily about the United States itself. I'm intrigued by that final sentence. "Deciding exactly what version of America you want to see may be the hardest decision of all." I think it is true of people even more than it is of countries.
What exactly do I mean? I don't really know, but I've been noticing something...
Last week I received an email from a friend whom I haven't been able to see for a while. At the end of it, she directed me to her family's blog. (It seems that everyone has a blog these days, and I love keeping up with folks this way. It is especially handy when they are in another state, or even another country, and hopes of actually seeing them anytime soon are rather slim.)
One thing I'm realizing, as I keep my own little "private" blog, is that I often have a desire to let someone know about it. Some particular something I've posted is something I want some particular person to see... the heartening sermon excerpt for the discouraged friend, the fun vacation photos for the distant grandparent, the link to the challenging and thought-provoking website for the youth group leader, even just the daily humdrum of life for those who love us very much and are the only ones who might care to read such things...
This morning, even, as I taught children's church, I had a desire to tell them I would record the scripture memory song I was teaching them and post it on my blog so they could go listen to it during the week and learn it more easily.
The "problem," I'm realizing, is that we have many selves... different personae we adopt for interacting with different folks. It isn't necessarily that we have different selves, per se, so much as that we reserve a view of many of the aspects of our true self for those few who are closest to us... or maybe that we change which dimensions of ourselves we choose to present, depending on the context of the interaction and the persons involved.
This is especially true of someone like me. I am frequently accused of being intimidating. I am often referred to as very intense, very deep, very pensive. Some who know me love this aspect of my personality, and intend it as the highest compliment. Others who know me have broken off friendship with me because it was "just too much," and they want simpler, shallower, "nicer," less exhausting.
And so, even when we consider ourselves to be persons who are very vulnerable, very "real," very willing to share whatever we're dealing with freely and openly, we find ourselves in many relationships that are not on a level that can handle that... or that even want to. There are those--particularly family members whom we rarely see--who don't even understand half of what we're talking about when we're "waxing philosophical." And we don't really "get them," either, or half the choices they make, so we just don't interact on those levels.
"Smiles, everyone, smiles" as the Fantasy Island guy used to say.
And there is, of course, a reason for the age-old adage to "never discuss religion or politics." Those who are relationally savvy keep quiet when the topics may be sensitive, stay mum when the implications of the topics may potentially offend, share certain dimensions of themselves but not others when doing so will keep everyone comfortable and happy. We do so with varying degrees of comfort, and we do so with differing levels of satisfaction and pleasure, but we do it almost unconsciously, without even realizing we're doing it half the time.
And so, the idea of actually publishing your blog and letting people know about it becomes intimidating. If you are open with your true self--all your true "selves"---on your blog, then there are those you know who may read your blog and freak out. And so, a little while after publishing it, you may end up halting discussion of the meaningful or the thought-provoking, and the blog becomes a handy place to share photos and cute stories, but nothing more.
"Deciding exactly what version you want to see may be the hardest decision of all."
That, and deciding exactly what version you want to show.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Lost Nerve
A friend of mine literally spoke the words to me today, "Maybe you should do a blog." Little does she know. Little does anyone know. I am not even fully able to be fully free in what I say even now, when I know that NO ONE will ever read the thing except my husband. I can't imagine if I knew there were people--especially people who actually know me--reading it.
My friend was saying to me--rather out of nowhere--that she and her husband were discussing the fact that they think I'm "a bit of a prophetic type personality." Further, she was suggesting that I should be willing to share those "prophetic insights" because the church needs those who are willing to challenge and confront and stir up and make people think.
I'm reminded of Jo's question to her husband Bill in the movie Twister. "Have you lost your nerve?!"
Yes, Jo, I have. I've been burned by one too many "offended" friends who weren't up for the "let's dialogue and wrestle and banter and vent regarding all the dimensions of life and the questions that arise as we seek to live it in Christ" kind of relationship.
In fact, I am currently having a bit of a questioning time in my life regarding friendship, relationship in the Body, the contemporary Evangelical church inAmerica
In general, it seems that people don’t want you to “cross them” in any way, and that means not dialoging together about life in Christ and what it all looks like. (Forget challenging each other... doing the difficult work of prayerfully agonizing over sharing with one another regarding possible “sin” areas observed in each others’ lives!)
I’m not even talking about bemoaning the loss of that kind of relationship, because it is still my sweet and precious experience with a very few faithful treasured friends. I just mean that now, in general, in the contemporary Evangelical church at large, one can’t even try to talk together about normal life things without stepping into someone’s zone of offense. The general mantra is “grace = don’t cross me in any way whatsoever.” Further, almost anything one says might be construed as judgmental, offensive, implying something, or whatever.
In practice, I can't even discuss my own life experience with others. (I'm choosing to _____, after all, so that must mean that I think anyone doing anything differently from me is wrong.) Fill in that first blank with whatever you like... used to be breastfeed; spank; be a stay-at-home-mom; avoid too much sugar, packaged food, television, computer games, vaccines, even fever-reducers... now it is stuff like homeschool; not do the sleepover thing, or - get this - not have naked ("Christian" porn) pictures of myself made to give to my husband. No, I'm not making that up. I actually did recently deal with that last one. I have not, however, chosen to express my opinion that perhaps the practice isn't wise, or that perhaps it doesn't reflect what sex is supposed to be about. I know there's a good chance that I'd be accused of being "judgmental" if I were to do so, so I have said nothing.
I could go on and on about my confusion and frustration in this arena. Suffice it to say that relationships that faithfully exhort one another... women with whom to wrestle and wrangle and grapple and support and challenge and love and help and share... these treasured friends are few and far between and... as a dear friend called me the other day... "rare." ("You are so rare," she told me. "Beautiful and rare and a treasure." I have never felt more special in my life than in that moment. But I digress.)
I have wonderful friendship with my husband, and we talk about everything. And I am developing a really neat friendship with each of my children, which is especially sweet as they get older. But the kind of friends who will listen faithfully and then share faithfully are hard to come by... those who will "think out loud" with me, using all the wisdom, discernment, and biblical support they can muster... who will help me think through the issues... who will wrestle and wrangle and give and take and help me see things from all kinds of angles that I might often miss in my fleshly, self-consumed blindness... who are faithful to listen, and really hear, and then really share...
I call for friends in the Body who will step out of themselves, and take the risk, to share both truth and opinion with me. Who will trust me - and our relationship with each other - enough to risk that. And then who will trust my relationship with the Lord enough to leave me with it, whatever "it" is, and pray for me in it. I want friends who want any and all "think out loud together" feedback I can come up with, and who are willing to give it to me right back. I want to open the Scriptures together and talk about whatever applications I might think I see in whatever the issue is... and I want to hear whatever applications you might think you see, too. I want to walk together, share together, find agreement, find disagreement... all with the respect and freedom and security of biblical love, which "always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres... never fails" (I Cor. 13).
"Better is open rebuke than hidden love. The kisses of an enemy may be profuse, but faithful are the wounds of a friend," (Proverbs 27:5-6).
Maybe I should blog, huh?! I don't know if folks are ready for the musings inside my head to move outside of it...
My friend was saying to me--rather out of nowhere--that she and her husband were discussing the fact that they think I'm "a bit of a prophetic type personality." Further, she was suggesting that I should be willing to share those "prophetic insights" because the church needs those who are willing to challenge and confront and stir up and make people think.
I'm reminded of Jo's question to her husband Bill in the movie Twister. "Have you lost your nerve?!"
Yes, Jo, I have. I've been burned by one too many "offended" friends who weren't up for the "let's dialogue and wrestle and banter and vent regarding all the dimensions of life and the questions that arise as we seek to live it in Christ" kind of relationship.
In fact, I am currently having a bit of a questioning time in my life regarding friendship, relationship in the Body, the contemporary Evangelical church in
In general, it seems that people don’t want you to “cross them” in any way, and that means not dialoging together about life in Christ and what it all looks like. (Forget challenging each other... doing the difficult work of prayerfully agonizing over sharing with one another regarding possible “sin” areas observed in each others’ lives!)
I’m not even talking about bemoaning the loss of that kind of relationship, because it is still my sweet and precious experience with a very few faithful treasured friends. I just mean that now, in general, in the contemporary Evangelical church at large, one can’t even try to talk together about normal life things without stepping into someone’s zone of offense. The general mantra is “grace = don’t cross me in any way whatsoever.” Further, almost anything one says might be construed as judgmental, offensive, implying something, or whatever.
In practice, I can't even discuss my own life experience with others. (I'm choosing to _____, after all, so that must mean that I think anyone doing anything differently from me is wrong.) Fill in that first blank with whatever you like... used to be breastfeed; spank; be a stay-at-home-mom; avoid too much sugar, packaged food, television, computer games, vaccines, even fever-reducers... now it is stuff like homeschool; not do the sleepover thing, or - get this - not have naked ("Christian" porn) pictures of myself made to give to my husband. No, I'm not making that up. I actually did recently deal with that last one. I have not, however, chosen to express my opinion that perhaps the practice isn't wise, or that perhaps it doesn't reflect what sex is supposed to be about. I know there's a good chance that I'd be accused of being "judgmental" if I were to do so, so I have said nothing.
I could go on and on about my confusion and frustration in this arena. Suffice it to say that relationships that faithfully exhort one another... women with whom to wrestle and wrangle and grapple and support and challenge and love and help and share... these treasured friends are few and far between and... as a dear friend called me the other day... "rare." ("You are so rare," she told me. "Beautiful and rare and a treasure." I have never felt more special in my life than in that moment. But I digress.)
I have wonderful friendship with my husband, and we talk about everything. And I am developing a really neat friendship with each of my children, which is especially sweet as they get older. But the kind of friends who will listen faithfully and then share faithfully are hard to come by... those who will "think out loud" with me, using all the wisdom, discernment, and biblical support they can muster... who will help me think through the issues... who will wrestle and wrangle and give and take and help me see things from all kinds of angles that I might often miss in my fleshly, self-consumed blindness... who are faithful to listen, and really hear, and then really share...
I call for friends in the Body who will step out of themselves, and take the risk, to share both truth and opinion with me. Who will trust me - and our relationship with each other - enough to risk that. And then who will trust my relationship with the Lord enough to leave me with it, whatever "it" is, and pray for me in it. I want friends who want any and all "think out loud together" feedback I can come up with, and who are willing to give it to me right back. I want to open the Scriptures together and talk about whatever applications I might think I see in whatever the issue is... and I want to hear whatever applications you might think you see, too. I want to walk together, share together, find agreement, find disagreement... all with the respect and freedom and security of biblical love, which "always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres... never fails" (I Cor. 13).
"Better is open rebuke than hidden love. The kisses of an enemy may be profuse, but faithful are the wounds of a friend," (Proverbs 27:5-6).
Maybe I should blog, huh?! I don't know if folks are ready for the musings inside my head to move outside of it...
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Sixteen Years
Sixteen years ago yesterday, "I promise(d), with God's help, to be your faithful husband, to love and to serve you as Christ commands, as long as we both shall live." There are only a few moments in life that you remember forever, as if they were yesterday, but that is one of them.
And, astonishingly, as the years go by, it only gets better. I never knew that it could, or would, be like that. I used to fear that life would get boring with the same person forever. Or that sex would get routine and dull. Little did I know.
And who knew that "playing house" with a bunch of kids would be so great, either?! It is totally fitting that - in this stage of life - we spent our anniversary today with them. We embarked upon our seventeenth year together in what has been voted "the world's most beautiful theme park" for seventeen consecutive years. And it was beautiful. The perfect breeze blew across the perfect sky. And we ate the perfect picnic lunch which my husband had packed for us... bread, cheese, grapes, carrot sticks, banana bread and homemade "Olivia's Best" cookies... all served with some sparkling Pellegrino and grape juice.
All of this he had gotten up early to prepare, so that I could sleep in.
How did I fall into this merciful union, with this glorious man?! Thank You, Lord, for this wonderful treasure!
And, astonishingly, as the years go by, it only gets better. I never knew that it could, or would, be like that. I used to fear that life would get boring with the same person forever. Or that sex would get routine and dull. Little did I know.
And who knew that "playing house" with a bunch of kids would be so great, either?! It is totally fitting that - in this stage of life - we spent our anniversary today with them. We embarked upon our seventeenth year together in what has been voted "the world's most beautiful theme park" for seventeen consecutive years. And it was beautiful. The perfect breeze blew across the perfect sky. And we ate the perfect picnic lunch which my husband had packed for us... bread, cheese, grapes, carrot sticks, banana bread and homemade "Olivia's Best" cookies... all served with some sparkling Pellegrino and grape juice.
All of this he had gotten up early to prepare, so that I could sleep in.
How did I fall into this merciful union, with this glorious man?! Thank You, Lord, for this wonderful treasure!
Saturday, March 8, 2008
That's Still Me
Yesterday I left my children to a carefully planned-by-me but executed-by-my-parents homeschool day, and my husband whisked me off to a nearby Bed & Breakfast. It was amazing. And I suppose that the thing that most struck me was how "different" was can both seem, away from the pressures of everyday life and work and drudgery. He is so incredible (and so am I!) and yet day-in-and-day-out we are often angry and petty and snippy and grumpy and mean. (Which is the real self, even, actually?!)
Oh, may our children know both of the "real" versions of us!
I think of the Amy Grant song 1974. Such profound lyrics. Such a profound request.
Stay with me. Make it ever new. So time will not undo. As the years go by, how I need to see... That's still me.
Oh, may our children know both of the "real" versions of us!
I think of the Amy Grant song 1974. Such profound lyrics. Such a profound request.
Stay with me. Make it ever new. So time will not undo. As the years go by, how I need to see... That's still me.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Some Holiday
Well, today was the official observation of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday. I have a friend - a real "Southern gentleman" type whom I love - who sends me an email every year discussing the impending celebration of Lee-Jackson-King Day. He's about my age, and I guess he remembers commemorating these three men together (talk about a strange juxtaposition!) for several years here in Virginia in the nineties. Here's the text he sends out:
Dear Friends and Family--
In Virginia, around the third weekend in January, we celebrate the Lee-Jackson-King Holiday--honoring three Americans, two of whom were Virginians. A little bit about those Virginians-
It would seem, however, that he never got the memo that the "Lee-Jackson" part of the holiday has been virtually eliminated. (See here.)
Either way, I've been pondering today the Jackson quote, "You may be whatever you resolve to be." Oh, how I wish it were that simple! If only I could do ANY one thing which I resolve to do with the resolve that I originally intended to bring to bear on the task... let alone being WHATEVER I resolve to be! I resolve to be kind. patient. longsuffering. gentle. not to speak harshly to anyone today. Yeah right.
I have four kids, plus a husband who sometimes drives me as crazy as I drive him. (He loves me as much as I love him, too, though, so all is well!) There are people in my life of whom I could genuinely ask, "With friends like this, who needs enemies?!" I'm in a church full of sinners (myself at the top of the list, of course) and an extended family full of crazies (ditto on the top of that list, too, for I'm sure they'd say the same about me). Living in the midst of all those other people I have to deal with (and - worse - living in my own skin - with myself - 24-7), I can't seem to do or be much of anything that I long to do or be! I long to be sweet and kind and forbearing and loving and patient and peaceful and radiantly joyful. I end up, more often than not, being grumpy and mean and short-tempered and anxious and frenzied and rather harried.
"15 I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. 16And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. 17As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. 18I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. 19For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. 20Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. 21So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. 22For in my inner being I delight in God's law; 23but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members. 24What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? 25Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!
Thanks be to God indeed. Thank you, Lord, for You. Thank You for Your unending, never-failing, ever-pursuing love. In spite of me. Because of me. No one else loves me like that. I am utterly undone.
Even when my MLK, Jr. Day began at 6 am with a near-crash on the computer... followed by six hours of tech-"support"-assisted trouble-shooting of our home computer network... (Sometimes I'd rather have the thick Indian accent of outsourcing than the techno-queen computerized vocal "person" I talked to today!)... Followed by several more hours of cleaning out the school-room closet (my 13-yr. old daughter has lost a very important school book) and the clothes closet in the girls' room (my younger daughters - 7 & 9 - live in a pig sty)... My husband helped with dinner when he got home, which I deeply appreciate, but I know that - just like when my children "help" in the kitchen - it means that the clean-up of the mountain of dishes waiting for me downstairs (he's taken my daughter to orchestra) will take me another hour or so. Especially since I had my son "help" with the clean up when we were done. (I'm hiding out up here and afraid to go down and look at what's awaiting me!)
Anyone who can "resolve" to be whatever good thing he wants to be in the midst of a day like today (or yesterday, or tomorrow, whether mine or yours) and actually achieve it... well, you go ahead and tell yourself you're pulling that off. And I'll tell you the same thing I said earlier: "Yeah, right." But if you're gimping along, clinging to Jesus and His perfection that covers all your muck, then I say we are kindred spirits...
Oops. Time to go meet my daughter and husband who are on their way in downstairs... give 'em a hug and thank them for loving me with so rare a love... So resolved.
And so failed. (Smile.) Instead, I snapped at my husband for his irritation over the state of the kitchen. "Freedom from myself will be the sweetest rest I've ever known..."
Thanks be to God! (Even on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day...)
Dear Friends and Family--
In Virginia, around the third weekend in January, we celebrate the Lee-Jackson-King Holiday--honoring three Americans, two of whom were Virginians. A little bit about those Virginians-
Robert Edward Lee was born on January 19, 1807.
Thomas Jonathan "Stonewall" Jackson was born on January 21, 1824.
These gentlemen were courageous, honorable, erudite and worthy of emulation.
"Human virtue should be equal to human calamity." -- Lee
"You may be whatever you resolve to be." - Jackson
A little bit of Virginian and Southern history... Have a great weekend!
Thomas Jonathan "Stonewall" Jackson was born on January 21, 1824.
These gentlemen were courageous, honorable, erudite and worthy of emulation.
"Human virtue should be equal to human calamity." -- Lee
"You may be whatever you resolve to be." - Jackson
A little bit of Virginian and Southern history... Have a great weekend!
It would seem, however, that he never got the memo that the "Lee-Jackson" part of the holiday has been virtually eliminated. (See here.)
Either way, I've been pondering today the Jackson quote, "You may be whatever you resolve to be." Oh, how I wish it were that simple! If only I could do ANY one thing which I resolve to do with the resolve that I originally intended to bring to bear on the task... let alone being WHATEVER I resolve to be! I resolve to be kind. patient. longsuffering. gentle. not to speak harshly to anyone today. Yeah right.
I have four kids, plus a husband who sometimes drives me as crazy as I drive him. (He loves me as much as I love him, too, though, so all is well!) There are people in my life of whom I could genuinely ask, "With friends like this, who needs enemies?!" I'm in a church full of sinners (myself at the top of the list, of course) and an extended family full of crazies (ditto on the top of that list, too, for I'm sure they'd say the same about me). Living in the midst of all those other people I have to deal with (and - worse - living in my own skin - with myself - 24-7), I can't seem to do or be much of anything that I long to do or be! I long to be sweet and kind and forbearing and loving and patient and peaceful and radiantly joyful. I end up, more often than not, being grumpy and mean and short-tempered and anxious and frenzied and rather harried.
"15 I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. 16And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. 17As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. 18I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. 19For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. 20Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. 21So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. 22For in my inner being I delight in God's law; 23but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members. 24What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? 25Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!
Thanks be to God indeed. Thank you, Lord, for You. Thank You for Your unending, never-failing, ever-pursuing love. In spite of me. Because of me. No one else loves me like that. I am utterly undone.
Even when my MLK, Jr. Day began at 6 am with a near-crash on the computer... followed by six hours of tech-"support"-assisted trouble-shooting of our home computer network... (Sometimes I'd rather have the thick Indian accent of outsourcing than the techno-queen computerized vocal "person" I talked to today!)... Followed by several more hours of cleaning out the school-room closet (my 13-yr. old daughter has lost a very important school book) and the clothes closet in the girls' room (my younger daughters - 7 & 9 - live in a pig sty)... My husband helped with dinner when he got home, which I deeply appreciate, but I know that - just like when my children "help" in the kitchen - it means that the clean-up of the mountain of dishes waiting for me downstairs (he's taken my daughter to orchestra) will take me another hour or so. Especially since I had my son "help" with the clean up when we were done. (I'm hiding out up here and afraid to go down and look at what's awaiting me!)
Anyone who can "resolve" to be whatever good thing he wants to be in the midst of a day like today (or yesterday, or tomorrow, whether mine or yours) and actually achieve it... well, you go ahead and tell yourself you're pulling that off. And I'll tell you the same thing I said earlier: "Yeah, right." But if you're gimping along, clinging to Jesus and His perfection that covers all your muck, then I say we are kindred spirits...
Oops. Time to go meet my daughter and husband who are on their way in downstairs... give 'em a hug and thank them for loving me with so rare a love... So resolved.
And so failed. (Smile.) Instead, I snapped at my husband for his irritation over the state of the kitchen. "Freedom from myself will be the sweetest rest I've ever known..."
Thanks be to God! (Even on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day...)
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Happy Birthday to Me
Well, my "sad little pen-and-ink" journal is again up and running, because it didn't take long to figure out that a personal journal is very different from a personal Blog, however much one is certain that no one else will ever read the latter. When one writes a Blog, one is composing for an audience - even if the audience is anonymous or imaginary. When one writes a journal (or at least when I do), the audience is either one's self or (again, when I do it) the Lord. There I find first person dialogue with the Almighty, with all its honesty and unguardedness. It is indispensable and necessary, and is as important - for me - as reading the Word, or praying, or memorizing Scripture, or gathering together with other believers for encouragement and worship and exhortation and fellowship.
Blogging, however, is not at all necessary. It is not a connection point in one's relationship with the Lord. And it is probably neither fully revelatory nor unguarded. It is simply - for me - one of the expressions of the craft of the written word. Like reading and then wrestling with the ideas that arise thereby, it is a part of the processing of the musing of life. It is true composition at its best. It is an art. And although I'm not necessarily very good at it, it is a noble exercise in its own right. It stretches my brain. It uses my intellect. It forces me to process and organize and make tangible the stream-of-conscious thoughts and random flow of emotions that move through me... to attempt to turn them into something at least remotely intelligible. No matter if no one ever reads them. They are written for you, the hazy and undefined one whom I imagine cares to read my thoughts. (Yeah, right!)
Today, my thoughts are raw and my emotions a little fragile. Today I turned 41. This would not normally bother me in the least, I don't think, but this birthday comes at the end of a year during which I experienced several miscarriages. Four little lives have been created, and yet for one reason or another didn't survive. Why? Who knows. The party line at the OB/GYN office is "old eggs." As we get older (my husband is 40, and I, 41) our chances of a "blighted ovum" increase, and things "just don't come together quite right, genetically" and this is "Mother Nature's way (don't you hate her?) of taking care of a baby that wasn't growing right." All fine and good unless you long for another baby. All a little strange four times in a row. All a little sad, even in light of an (at least limping) understanding of the goodness and sovereignty of God, and even in the midst of (limping) trust and hope and joy in His plans for my life and for our family.
So, today is my birthday, and all it means this time around is that I'm "too old to have another baby." Too old. Old. I don't want to be old. I don't feel old.
And so, alas, today's thoughts are far less noble and aspiring than they could be. I think of an Isaac Watts quote I remember, from Improvements of the Mind: "Once a day... call yourselves to an account what new proposition or truth you have gained, what further confirmation of known truths, and what advances you have made in any part of knowledge." A worthy aspiration, but today is not that day. At least not here on this Blog.
Blogging, however, is not at all necessary. It is not a connection point in one's relationship with the Lord. And it is probably neither fully revelatory nor unguarded. It is simply - for me - one of the expressions of the craft of the written word. Like reading and then wrestling with the ideas that arise thereby, it is a part of the processing of the musing of life. It is true composition at its best. It is an art. And although I'm not necessarily very good at it, it is a noble exercise in its own right. It stretches my brain. It uses my intellect. It forces me to process and organize and make tangible the stream-of-conscious thoughts and random flow of emotions that move through me... to attempt to turn them into something at least remotely intelligible. No matter if no one ever reads them. They are written for you, the hazy and undefined one whom I imagine cares to read my thoughts. (Yeah, right!)
Today, my thoughts are raw and my emotions a little fragile. Today I turned 41. This would not normally bother me in the least, I don't think, but this birthday comes at the end of a year during which I experienced several miscarriages. Four little lives have been created, and yet for one reason or another didn't survive. Why? Who knows. The party line at the OB/GYN office is "old eggs." As we get older (my husband is 40, and I, 41) our chances of a "blighted ovum" increase, and things "just don't come together quite right, genetically" and this is "Mother Nature's way (don't you hate her?) of taking care of a baby that wasn't growing right." All fine and good unless you long for another baby. All a little strange four times in a row. All a little sad, even in light of an (at least limping) understanding of the goodness and sovereignty of God, and even in the midst of (limping) trust and hope and joy in His plans for my life and for our family.
So, today is my birthday, and all it means this time around is that I'm "too old to have another baby." Too old. Old. I don't want to be old. I don't feel old.
And so, alas, today's thoughts are far less noble and aspiring than they could be. I think of an Isaac Watts quote I remember, from Improvements of the Mind: "Once a day... call yourselves to an account what new proposition or truth you have gained, what further confirmation of known truths, and what advances you have made in any part of knowledge." A worthy aspiration, but today is not that day. At least not here on this Blog.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Lost in the Translation
It is amusing to me that I have created a blog. I am not an electronic-medium type. And, who am I to think that anyone would ever want to read anything I have to say? In reality, I think I haven't created this blog for any other soul to read, ever... it is just for me. I don't much care for MySpace, and for reasons beyond the reality of psycho Internet predators who jump on and look for unsuspecting, young, naive victims. It seems to me to be sometimes a bit of a venue for sophomoric meanness and shallow, mindless frivolity. If I were a singer/songwriter trying to "get my stuff out there" or a professor trying to give information to her students or something, maybe. But as a way to communicate or "do relationship"... I don't know, it just isn't my cup of tea.
I have seen many blogs that have some depth and importance to them, however, and I've also seen some that are quite light, but intentionally so, and thereby terribly entertaining. I anticipate that this blog will never be light and entertaining, however, for I am neither. And, if it ever happens to achieve such distinction, it will likely only have depth and importance to me, as I assume I will be the only one ever to read it. Why make it, then?
Well, I suppose that this is a silly little stab in the direction of "modernized communication" for me. I have always kept a journal, but it is a sad little pen-and-ink affair that remains in my (gasp) Daytimer, and has been sorely neglected of late. (Yes, I still have a paper-based, non-electronic calendar where I write down the appointments and meetings that are the skeletons of my days!)
There is something powerful about the handwritten page, for me, as it contains the handwritten word, which is - like it or not - different from the typed word on the typed page. The latter must work hard to overcome a certain emptiness that is just part of its nature. There is no smell to it. There is no tangible feel to it. There is no distinctive penmanship. You don't touch it and breathe it and weep over it, leaving little blotches that will forever mark the poignant pages. And so it is a little cold and detached, in a way that it can't help, but that it must bear nevertheless.
I remember once receiving flowers from my not-yet-husband, delivered from across the miles to the school where I was teaching, and opening the attached card. The very large, sloppy, juvenile handwriting of the florist's assistant jumped out at me, and the essence of my sweetheart--the true author of the message of undying love accompanying the bouquet--was somehow lost in the translation.
Much will be lost in the translation here, I'm sure, but much will be gained in the actual doing of the thing, which is, after all, the point.
I have seen many blogs that have some depth and importance to them, however, and I've also seen some that are quite light, but intentionally so, and thereby terribly entertaining. I anticipate that this blog will never be light and entertaining, however, for I am neither. And, if it ever happens to achieve such distinction, it will likely only have depth and importance to me, as I assume I will be the only one ever to read it. Why make it, then?
Well, I suppose that this is a silly little stab in the direction of "modernized communication" for me. I have always kept a journal, but it is a sad little pen-and-ink affair that remains in my (gasp) Daytimer, and has been sorely neglected of late. (Yes, I still have a paper-based, non-electronic calendar where I write down the appointments and meetings that are the skeletons of my days!)
There is something powerful about the handwritten page, for me, as it contains the handwritten word, which is - like it or not - different from the typed word on the typed page. The latter must work hard to overcome a certain emptiness that is just part of its nature. There is no smell to it. There is no tangible feel to it. There is no distinctive penmanship. You don't touch it and breathe it and weep over it, leaving little blotches that will forever mark the poignant pages. And so it is a little cold and detached, in a way that it can't help, but that it must bear nevertheless.
I remember once receiving flowers from my not-yet-husband, delivered from across the miles to the school where I was teaching, and opening the attached card. The very large, sloppy, juvenile handwriting of the florist's assistant jumped out at me, and the essence of my sweetheart--the true author of the message of undying love accompanying the bouquet--was somehow lost in the translation.
Much will be lost in the translation here, I'm sure, but much will be gained in the actual doing of the thing, which is, after all, the point.
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