It's not the days, it's the moments

Last Thursday my wife and I woke up with busy days spreading before us. We were unaware that my wife's 83 year old mom had been in Emergency during the night and on her way out to her car, had not seen a curb and tumbled, fracturing bones and hitting her head. It was the moment, the phone call that changed everything. It changed what was to happen that day, the days to come, the prospect of rehabilitation centers and nursing homes. 

It isn't days that change our lives. It's a misstep off a curb in the early hours of the morning that changed the direction of lives. We can fool ourselves into believing that we are masters of our fates and controllers of our destinies, but we are a step away from being exposed as a fraud.

OCD...really?

I have CDO. It's like OCD but with the letters in alphabetical order, like they're supposed to be.

A renewable energy source

Hope is a renewable energy source. Every morning when I wake up, I am given another opportunity to change, realize, love, ________ (fill in the blank).

It may be renewable, but it is up to me to decide if it is sustainable. I can wake up and start living the dream, or (more likely) I pass it on to the next day. When I stumble, when I become discouraged, I tell myself that it will be better tomorrow, and in doing so I use hope to mitigate my defeat, to let myself off the hook. 

In my life, hope may be renewable, but there comes a time when my mornings run out, and I am unable to defer my deficits.

Cheating the piper

I was talking to someone the other day who was frustrated that he wasn't able to reach his goals because of some choices that he had made. I stated that we all had to settle up our accounts in life, that we didn't get anything for free. The person agreed with me.

As I thought more about it I wondered about all of those who looked like they had gotten away with it, that they had cheated the piper. It appeared that they could make it all the way to death without having to settle accounts for the wrongs in their life.

If one believes in an afterlife, which I do, then I think scores are settled there for sure. The frustration would be that it is to late to make amends. That is what Marley's ghost was telling Scrooge in Dicken's "A Christmas Carol". Turn before it is too late. For Marley it was too late.

As I thought through the concept, I realized that the lucky ones are the ones who are able to wake up and realize the impact of their decisions while they still have the time to do things different. 

I worked with a kids many years ago who was excited that he had passed a drug test, even though he had used that week. I told him that I felt sorry for him. I saw confusion in his drug-hazed eyes. He had gotten away with it. He had cheated the odds. He was the winner! What was wrong with me.

We never ever get away with "it". I feel fortunate when I am able to see the impact of my poorer choices. It may not feel very good at the time, but it gives me the chance to make other choices and to seek redemption.

When you can't edit

I experienced one of the dangers of making comments on the internet. Once you click "accept" you give up your right to edit.

I visited a friend's caringbridge site. In my comment on the guest-book I included the word "here" instead of "hear". I clicked the "accept" button without seeing the error, and waived my right to retraction in perpetuity.

It bugged me for a minute, but I had to let it go. I couldn't change it. I had to accept that for me, being viewed as a fool was conditional. There are things I am willing to be thought a fool for.  It doesn't include my spelling ability.

Compassionate eating

This arrived in my inbox today. I stared at it in wonder as I contemplated its meaning. Okay, if I get this straight, I can devour to help another child not go hungry. Is it just me or is there a disconnect somewhere here?

One of the joys of capitalism is that businesses send out incentives to drive traffic their direction. I am not faulting Famous Dave's. They are a great restaurant, and they aren't the only one to use their products to benefit others. I have a problem with the concept of providing gifts for those who give.  Giving should be its own gift. This ad however seems to march up to the edge and JUMP over. Is this the corporate equivalent to the injunction from our parents to "Clean your plate! Don't you know there are starving children in Africa?"

"Hey waitress, could you bring another rack of ribs? Damn Buddy, have some mo'. Eat up!  We're stuffin' ourselves to feed them hungry kids so they don't have to be hungry no mo'!"

Forever mine?

On Sunday we sang the song "Amazing Grace/My Chains Are Gone. It takes the original song of Amazing Grace and tags on an additional part. It ends with the "but God who called me here below, will be forever mine...will be forever mine...you are forever mine.

In our culture, I don't know if I agree with the phrasing of that song. Can God be "mine?" Can I own Him? I wonder in this culture that needs to possess things, if it would have been better to say that "I will forever be His. He owns me if I let him. I don't think it works the other way around. I don't bring out MY God and show Him to the world. I look at where God is moving and ask to join him.

Sharin' the seed

I have a rekindled love. Pistachio nuts. I have found a variety at a local grocer that sells the nuts with 50% less sodium. I love them.

Today when I was cracking one open, my tongue traced the seed and found a divot in it. The other side of the shell was a little fuzzy. I pulled it away from my mouth and discovered a worm tucked nicely in the shell. It looked deceased. It also appears that it had filled it's belly on the green sweet meat of the nut before it expired.

I threw the offending nut away and pondered whether I would eat any more. I decided that it didn't put me off. I took out another nut shelled it and ate it. I've eaten worse.

Years ago a company that produced dried seed products was shut down because cockroach parts were found in the commodity. One of the people I talked to about it said "the product was good. Who cares if there were cockroach parts in it. We never got sick, did we?"

Signs of Fall

"Fall is in the air. You can smell it." "Look, the leaves are changing!" These are signs of Fall and most look to those indicators to herald the emergence of Fall

For me there is a much more dependable sign. I know Fall has arrived when I see my first smashed pumpkin lying on the road in pieces. I don' t know what it is about this time of year, but there must be a powerful force that activates in the heart of some to pelt a pumpkin. I mean, you don't see summer veggies carelessly flung. I don't see watermelon, apples, peas, green beans, or other produce lying in tatters on the roadway.

Today I know it's Fall because I have seen and I believe!

The 30 pound predicament

In the last six months I have lost thirty pound. I feel better, clothes fit better and my knees don't scream quite as loud when I walk up stairs. I could lose more, but I feel good about the loss I have achieved. 

I lost pounds about ten years ago. I was warned that I have Impaired Glucose Tolerance and was moving towards diabetes. That scared me enough to get me moving and I lost 30 pounds. 

I remember the day ten years ago when responding to some deep emotional pain I said "%&*S@, I don't care. I started eating carelessly and desperately. In a short amount of time I was back to where I had started, and then some. And it has stayed that way for the last ten years.

In my growing awareness of the needs of the world and looking at my own voracious consumer response, I am working to cut back on my consumption. My body is a testament for my own consumption response. Want equalled need.

At 30 pounds I have stalled again. I think it is a combination of several things. One is that it may be an indication that I have reached the outside edge of my self concept at this time. My brain is saying "this far and no further."

The other possibility is that I am spiritually obese. I have been receiving a lot of input from people I look to as mentors. I have things I want to follow, but lethargically I let the days slip by without action. Spiritually I am taking in, but I have not been exercising, spiritually speaking. 

I don't feel I am in the same place I was ten years ago. There has been healing and while I find myself meeting more of my wants than I would like, there is more control, and less insatiable need. I am in the process of assessing where I am, where I've stalled, and how to get going again.

Save me Centro!

Last night I went grocery shopping and when faced with not seeing the product my wife had asked for, I called her up. Through our conversation I was directed to the right item.

This morning I went out on a walk. A block down the street I realized I had forgotten my cell phone. My wife hadn't left yet, so my first thought was, I'll just call her and have her bring it to me on my walk as she would be driving by me.

Call...with what? 

I think I might have dependency issues!

Captured bird

Movement caught my eye up in the rafters of the Valle Hermoso Convention Center. I stared at where I had seen movement. I saw a tiny bird in the steel beams. It flew in random flight patterns around the ceiling, looking for a way back to the outside.

I felt sad that a life would end in starvation and a meaningless death. I moved my thinking to other thoughts.

There were sporadic chirps and an occasional chirp which brought my thinking back to the little bird.

The next morning it was flying into the windows on the stairs and trying to get out. But it was useless. I descended the stairs and used the bathroom.

On my way back to my sleeping pad, there were a few girls out of their sleeping room. They said they were out in the hall because there was a bird flying around their room. I got a towel and in a few minutes had trapped the frightened little animal in the towel. It's tiny black head poking out of the white terry-cloth. It's eyes stared at me. It looked terrified.

I took it downstairs, out the door and shook the towel out as a flutter of feathers headed to the sky, free to forage for food another day.

What I can (never) do

This week the Olympics have consumed our national psyche. Stories emerge about the incredible sacrifices made to get to this point. We see hard bodies that define muscles so precisely so that it wouldn't look much different if we peeled away skin. And these amazing hard bodies do amazing things. And we celebrate the winners. Very quickly those who don't place, lose their place in the story.

I was raised with two beliefs. One was that we in our family were special, that we didn't occupy ourselves with the pursuits of the common folks. Our existence was on a higher plane. The other tenant was that strong, well-muscled men were a cut above the rest. So when I see male athletes standing on the podium receiving accolades for their accomplishment, I have a tendency to feel despondent. I can feel I don’t measure up and I should. I know it isn’t rational. I know the fallacies that lurks behind that thinking. But like a riptide, it has the tendency to set me adrift for a while.

One of the things that helps me find the sand under my feet is this. The Olympics are well-defined arenas to showcase one or several athletic skills that the athletes have been honing for years. Cast in that setting, it looks pretty impressive. In fact, they are really impressive and I do not want to diminish their achievements. But we don’t know how they function after they leave the arena, what goes through their minds when no one is aware. I don’t know that they are better people because of what they have achieved on the world stage. They are simply people who have exhibited a single dimensional skill divorced from a multidimensional life.

And while their awards are well deserved, that is not a basis for the measurement of the worth of a life.

34 passenger van

There are different names for things between here and Mexico. For example, in our country, we have 15 passenger vans... except it is difficult to insure them and people are concerned about the safety of the vans. Studies have shown that 15 passenger vans are three times as likely to roll over in a crash. So we use them less and less here. And few are insuring them.

In Mexico, you can refer to what we call "15 passenger van", by a new name; the "34 passenger van". After kids camp each day, the kids waited patiently while they took their turn getting in the van. The way it worked is like this:

In the very back, there was enough room for five children to stand up between the back seat and the back doors. Then because the back seat stretched the width of the van five children could sit on the seat, which they did. Then another five children sat on their laps which equalled ten. The two middle seats could only hold four children, and with children sitting on laps, that equaled eight times two which is 16. Then there were two children sitting in the front seat and two more on an office swivel chair placed on the floorboards between the driver and the passenger seat.

Regardless of how light the spirits were inside the van, it did nothing to take the load off the springs.

They might have been able to fit another child in the driver's seat, but safety is important!

Watching Rambo in Spanish

It was late at the convention center in Valle Hermoso. Most of the team had gone to play soccer at an outdoor stadium. I was in a mental set thinking about the relationships we had with the many children who showed up. As usual, the person who supervised the building was sitting on a van seat bench propped up in an alcove of the lobby. A TV, balanced on a low table,  was blaring as he stared mesmerized by the glowing screen.

At one point, he looks away from the screen and smiles at me. 

"Rambo" he says, with a toothy smile. I walk over to his area and for a few minutes we watch the TV. 

"Which Rambo?" I ask.

"Tres"  He smiles and turn back to the TV.

I nod my head.

I watch more. The heros, the good, the bad, they are all speaking Spanish. It all looks very foreign, until the guns come out. The guns don't speak Spanish. They speak with the authority of brute force and need no additional interpreting. 

As the guns fire, the keeper of the Convention Center settles deeper in the van bench seat and watches with admiration, the tough action figure, mete out justice to the nare-do-wells.  And in that the keeper and I need no other language for common understanding.

Primal peek-a-boo

A woman was dragged down to the water's edge,  towed by a large bounding Labrador Retriever. She was laughing and gripped the leash tighter. Dog saw ducks and whatever control the woman had was lost as the dog plunged into the water, unhanded leash dancing across the rocks and into the water.

The lab headed straight for a female duck with her ducklings swimming behind her. As the dog neared the ducks, the female duck flapped and splashed and moved away from the ducklings. The dog instinctively headed toward the adult female as the ducklings went towards deeper water.

Within a very short time the lab lost interest, realizing that she was going to get no nearer to the prize, turned around and headed back towards shore. The leash trailed behind and was dragged up on the beach when she got out of the water and shook her fur dry.

In a space of a few minutes, the natural world was laid bare. Animals do what they do to survive in the world. Leashes only give us the illusion that we have tamed nature and is subservient to our control. But every now and then, nature reveals its truer essence.

Play with me

My attention was drawn to five geese angrily paddling away from the shoreline. Following them was the head of a black labrador Retriever.

It became apparent that the dog had no interest in the geese. A white plastic ball floating by the geese was engulfed by black jaws. The head turned and headed back to shore.

Climbing out of the water, he dropped the ball on the stones and shook the water from his glossy black fur. He picked up the ball and with his head down and full of purpose, walked up to where my feet were. He shook again and dropped the ball two feet from my toes. He looked at me. He nudged the ball closer to me, his head down, his eyes watching me intently.

I leaned over and picked up the ball. The lab's head shot up and his haunches tightened as he anticipated the throw. I threw it into the water. Water joyfully parted as the black hulk lunged away from the shore. 

Once again the head purposely navigated to the ball. It was snatched in his jaws and his nose once more headed toward shore. 

We did one more round before he lost interest and wandered off to find his owner.

This dog did not judge my character. He didn't worry what I looked like or what my morals were. His only concern..."Can you throw the ball?' 

Killing the potato

I am micro-waving a small red potato. Sounds coming from the potato in the microwave sound like screams of pain. It is actually a little disconcerting.

But I don't think it will stop me from eating it.

Just a joke?

I read this joke on a widget I have on my computer. I found myself laughing, quite amused by the joke, delivered by Jay Leno.

Beijing skies are so polluted that Chinese authorities are planning emergency measures for the Olympics. For example, protesters will now only be run over with hybrid tanks.

I was going to print it up and put it on my door to share with others at work. I was going to put a picture of one of the dissidents standing in front of a row of tanks he was staring down along with the joke. As I was finding the picture of that in Google, other pictures of the dead bodies of dissidents who had paid for their protest with their life emerged as well. 

As I saw those pictures, the joke stopped being funny. I was sick to my stomach at the cruelty of a government that would run over demonstrators who were protesting the lack of freedom that others in other countries have. It felt like it cheapened the lives of those students.

There is nothing funny about repressive governments. I think Jay Leno was attempting to show that not much has changed in the Chinese government other than public relations. I think we do a disservice to the dissidents when we reduce the cost of their lives to a punch line.

When we make a joke of of this are we helping call attention to the plight of many in the world? Or are we creating humor out of horror, so we don't have to be so appalled by it?

Ain't I special...NOT

I was talking with a student in my office. While we were talking the lights flickered and then went out...in the hall. All the electrical equipment was still operational in my room! I looked out into the darkened corridor and I started feeling special, maybe even blessed. Here I was in the only office spared the indignity of a power outage. 

I stood up and went out into the hall. While the halls were dark, many other classrooms and offices were lit up. I started feeling the pain of let-down, that I wasn't THAT special. I found out that only half of the power in the building had been affected. I was forced to see myself more realistically. I may need therapy.

Being there

This weekend we had a party celebrating my wife's 50th birthday. Unbeknownst to her many of her good friends were invited. (A few were missed, because of her husband's poor attention to detail). As people kept showing up, my wife's jaw would drop and she would become a little teary, and she would express "Oh my goodness!" She stated at the end of the night that she had had a WONDERFUL time, and that it was so good to see all who were able to come over.

The internet has been a wonderful connection tool, but there is one thing it really can't do. It can't create presence. We can get stuff, but even the nicest stuff pales in comparison to relationship.

I think we only have a limited understanding of how powerful our presence is. Every person's presence for the party indicated that they were there sacrificially to celebrate the life of a person. They weren't there for gain or advantage. They were there simply to celebrate. And more than words, it was communicated by physically walking through the door. 

In showing up communication transcended words, which are so clumsy anyway.

The gift and the curse!

One thing I noticed in Mexico is, all a person had to do to gain some friends was drop a soccer ball on the ground. Before the second bounce it would be whisked away and chasing ensued. Boys and sometimes girls would kick and dribble the ball around with their feet. You could tell the ones that worked on moves. They had skills.

Games were played in the convention center, at a local stadium, or anywhere there were people, a soccer ball and a little room. What amazed me is that a stray ball would land in a pile or a project. Items would go flying everywhere, but no one seemed really bothered by it. They just threw the ball back where a foot stopped it and redirected down the field toward the other team's delineated goal. Middle aged men with sizable guts on them, their shirts sweat-soaked ran like 15 year olds.

I commented to someone that it seems like soccer naturally brings people together. I got an odd look from him and he proceeded to share with me, the dark side of the sport. He talked about assassinations that occurred for errors in the game, and the fierce rivalry that surrounded the game.

I guess it brings people together and then as the competition heats up, makes enemies of people. It may be said that there is no friendly game of soccer after a certain amount of playing time has elapsed. It's rivalry.

Home is where the stove is

We stayed at a convention center for the week we were in Valle Hermosa. It was a bare floor and a lot of leaks when it rained. There were no cooking facilities so adaptation was critical. The most important need was a stove and oven.

And what stove was brought? The stove right out of the missionary's house. It was a kitchen stove they bought from Ikea in Dallas a year and a half before. A propane tank was hooked up to it and it served up the grub, just like at home. 

Not quite the portability of the camp stoves that many use camping in our northern climes, but when you have more time than money, willing manpower, and some ingenuity, anything is possible. 

And where there is willingness to be flexible, love and memories to share, it can feel just like home.

The wonder of southern lights

One thing I have longed for in my life is a chance to see the Northern Lights. I have looked with wonder at the pictures of the phenomenon.  Hopefully one day I will be able to see them.

But I did see a phenomenon that occurred the last day of kids camp. And I will never forget it.

The last night of kids camp in Mexico any child who wanted to sleep over could. At the final total we had over 100 children from age 6 to 17. There was a program for the parents who showed up with bedrolls for their child's sleep-over experience. After the program the parents left the auditorium, and the kids lost their interest in the movie that was showing for them. Kicking soccer balls and chasing each other was far more fascinating.

At a certain point the Mexican leaders started the process of getting the children to lay down and go to sleep. Of course only a small handful were complying. One of the leaders was walking around with a bullhorn and requesting that the children start settling down. It was about as effective as starting a fire with a single match in a thunderstorm.

One of the leaders came over and asked us to shut off all the lights so the children could go to bed. We used the "bad idea" argument, but to no avail. We went upstairs and within seconds the entire auditorium was plunged into darkness. From that moment and continuing on for about five minutes was almost deafening shrieking from the children.  It was hard to tell if they were having fun or overcome with terror.

The megaphone continued to bleat out bedtime instructions. We were standing on the balcony peering through the darkness to shapeless forms below.The request came up that we should crack open the glow sticks that we brought with us for the camp children. The rationale was that this would allow the children to have a night-light for falling asleep.

We gave our best "really bad idea" speech, but it went unheeded. We just pushed back our EBT (estimated bed time) from 1:30AM to 3AM.

In the pitch black I could see a blue glow, then orange. Yellow popped up and red arrived. The glowing started magnifying and growing. More colors filled the black void below us. Some of the colors sped across

 the room, others flew through the expanse, to lie still for a minute and then move again. Everywhere below colors moved in random patterns. It tool my breath away. The beauty of the colors, knowing that they each represented a child was stunning.

The scene lasted for about 40 minutes. I stood on the balcony enrapt with wonder at the sight below me.

When the leadership realized that the children were not going to sleep, some one walked around the main floor, collecting them in a shopping bag that leaked glowing light through the plastic.

Soon afterwards it became increasingly quiet and children nestled in their blankets. Many dropped off to sleep. I stood there for a long time, savoring the sight I had just witnessed. The pictures taken of the experience only caught a miniscule fraction of the wonder.

If we had had our way in not allowing the glow sticks, wonder would not have erupted in that place leaving a trail of enraptured witnesses. Color would not have come alive.

Overripe

Yesterday I was going to throw some overripe bananas out. My wife told me to stop, that she was going to make banana bread. I was grateful that they could be used.

When we were in Mexico banana bread was brought as a treat for the Mexican leadership. They were gobbled it down, until someone showed them some of the overripe bananas they had to make the next batch. As soon as the Mexicans saw the bananas, they spit out their mouthfuls of banana bread and tried to trick some unsuspecting Mexicans who didn't know what it was made of to try it. If someone "bit", so to speak, the others would point out with glee the overripe bananas, and they in turn would spit it out.

Several days later, I was invited to eat "barbacoa", which is a meat made out of beef cheek and tongue. They ate it with relish. when I described it to some on the team, there were a few who looked a little disgusted.

It is all what we have been sensitized by our culture to  comprehend what we should put in our mouth and what we shouldn't.

Self portrait

On the last day of camp in Mexico we had to draw a likeness of ourself and place it on a large board that held other children's likeness as well.

I think the one I did looks a lot like me. What do you think?

Mattress competition

I was on the stage of the convention center talking to someone. I heard the sound of cheering and looked up to the area we were sleeping in and saw people running, jumping on the floor and standing up further down the way.

In investigating the phenomenon it turned out that someone had donated their mattress to the cause and they were seeing who could slide the furthest. Of course they had markers (flip-flops) for the farthest male slide and female slide. Even some of the older adults and Mexican leaders got in the action. There were some super-competitors who would not let the activity go, until they had traveled the farthest.

One example in many where we think a crazy thought, perform it and then use it as a measuring tool for determining rank and status among our peers.

Unthinkingly like Jesus

Wednesday night at dinner I took my plate back for seconds, unaware that the cooks had just enough food to go around once. As I showed up at the cooking area, Jovita, one of the ladies who have served us, in Mexico, through the ministry of cooking, looked up, saw me coming, and deftly flicked the beans from her plate back into the pot that had cooked the beans. I attempted to say that I didn’t need a second helping, but seeing as how English doesn’t go so far when the other only speaks Spanish, she smiled at me and spooned that last of the beans onto my plate.

I was moved by her testimony of selflessness without even thinking about it. It was embedded into the nature of her service.

God whispers His nature to us through others and if you don’t pay attention, you could miss hearing his voice altogether.

The little things

One of the adventures of Mexico is eating the food and drinking the water. On different days various members of our team would be out of commission with gastro-intestinal issues. The bathrooms which may have been a little disgusting now was the only room one wanted to be in.

It is amazing to me that things that you can't even see can hurt you so badly. As the team members went down, others were analyzing the possible causes.  It was never really known, but one theory was that in pouring ice into the drinking coolers, some of the condensation from the outside of the ice bag poured in as well, contaminating the rest of the water. At other times the outside of the bag was so dirty they sprayed it off from the water hose, and that could have leaked into the water.

Overall, there were many ways the critters could be ingested. It just is, once you had it, even though you couldn't see it, you knew it. 

And you had strong motivation to purge yourself of it.

If they aren't asking...

One thing that I am struggling to learn is a simple concept. "If they aren't asking, they don't want to know.

After my many years as a therapist, I find that I struggle with not attempting to fix what someone else doesn't want fixed or doesn't see a need to fix. As a therapist I was paid, either by the client to confront their reluctance, or confronting a client as a representative of a third party payer. 

I can be prepared to answer questions, but if they aren't asking, it is a pretty clear directive that they don't want to know. It has been a struggle, but I find it freeing when I rest in that statement.

Jesus the super-hero

In our country Jesus is looked at by many as a personal assistant. He may be considered a personal savior, a personal get out of jail free card, a personal financial advisor and personal health care advisor. 

In Valle Hermosa Jesus appeared to be a super-hero tough enough to kick the devil's butt. In the expression of the people we were with in Mexico, Jesus protected them from bullies. We watched through mime how the devil was creeping around to destroy people. When the Jesus figure showed up, he would push the devil away from the person he was delivering. If it got physical, the Jesus actor would get physical back and push the devil around When the devil got pushed around, the audience would cheer and applaud, almost like Jesus had made a move in the WWF.

I think what we see in Jesus is what we think we need help with.

Love is in the coloring

At the camp in Mexico one of the activities we did with the children was snacks. On the second day there was a girl in attendance named "Jama". She had been interacting with the other children just fine. As soon as snack was over, plates were collected and coloring pages an crayons were distributed to the snack tables. 

The children all grabbed for the bowls with the crayons and started working on their sheet. "Jama" attempted to take some color crayons as well but the bowl was pulled away from her. She sat back in her seat and refused to take any crayons. Her eyes became incredibly sad and you could see her spirit leaking out of her, leaving her body deflated.

I tried to get her to take some crayons. She refused. She didn't look angry or spiteful. She looked sad and wounded. It looked like things being pulled away from her was a common occurrence and it was easier for her not to want.

I sat down next to her and started coloring her picture. It took her a minute before she picked up a crayon and started coloring another part of the picture. We completed the picture together. While she colored, you could see her spirit rise and her sadness evaporate. By the time the picture was completed, an energetic glow emanated from her. Later in the day, before she left the camp, she came running up to me and hugged my neck.

Sometimes love has to make the first move to affirm a hurting heart. Sometimes love picks up a crayon and starts to color the picture, until another feels encouraged enough to join in.

5 years and counting!

Today is a great day. It was five years ago that my wife discovered the lump that changed our lives. Today at her oncology physical she was officially declared a 5 year survivor. That is so good to hear.  She was also told that she doesn't have to come back for a year. 

My wife turns 50 this month and it is not a time of dread about getting older. It is a time to celebrate! Each day is a day to celebrate!

Truth in advertising

The last day of kids camp, we ran out of food halfway through feeding everyone in attendance. The churches provided sandwiches for the children who attended the camp, their parents, and the staff that had been working with the kids. There were a few of the staff people who hadn't eaten. We were told that the kitchen staff had gone out and purchased 60 hamburgers that would be arriving shortly. After many days of different food, that sounded appetizing. The bags arrived in medium brown bags with grease stains on the outside. I have to admit I was excited.

I asked for one and I got a hamburger wrapped in paper. I unwrapped it and looked at it. It had a large bun, with lettuce, mayonnaise, ... and a medium width slice of ham. I did a double take. No juices flowing down my chin, no ground beef to chomp into. Ham.  After my initial let down, it tasted fairly good. They were not kidding. It was a hamburger.

But I have to say I am worried. The night before, we went out for hot dogs.

Sounds the same in any language

Friday night in Mexico we attended a "youth rally" put on by a local church. They had a kickin' band that got the crowds moving. I looked around and noticed that "youth" was a relative word. There were a few youths there,but there were also a lot of older people. 

A quasi-"mime" troop get up and performed a drama where the Devil was trying to get a soul. When Jesus kicks the Devil's butt, the Devil ran out of the auditorium screaming, clipping my left side as he ran by. I have to say it was a little unnerving to almost being run over by the Devil.

A pastor got up and started preaching. He started slow, reasonable, but then he started to pick it up. He went softer and softer, and just when you were straining to hear him he started shouting and wagging his finger at the crowd.

I couldn't understand a word of what he was preaching as it was all in Spanish. But I have sat under preachers like him. The intent of his message crystal clear.

What puzzles me is the belief of these preachers, that the louder one shouts, the greater the impact for God. What I have found through that style of preaching is that it creates "emotions junkies", jonesing for another hit of Jesus passion. It creates an addictive pattern of needing to recreate the feeling one had at the service where the pastor was screaming. 

The cycle consists of an unsustainable Jesus high, followed by a drop in fervor over the next few days, moving to a failure to live up to the high standards set for following Jesus, which then leads to shame, guilt, and fear and a desperate need to get another fix from the screaming pastor. And the pastor seems more than willing to supply it. 

I guess it's nice to be needed.

One hot mike!

The women who were going to lead the singing and dancing at the opening part of the kids camp were waiting around for the sound system to get up and running. One of the men gave her the microphone and another switched the power on. The woman holding the microphone squealed and threw it to the floor. Another person attempted to pick it up. He dropped it as well. He looked around and found an extra shirt lying around and wrapped the mike in it.

She tenuously took the mike from the man's hand and went ahead with the program. At one point she held the mike too close to her lips, her head shot back with a squeal. She kept hold of the mike and the dance step, not missing a beat.

After it was over two men went to look at the system to figure out what was happening. One of the men laid his hands on a part of the sound board, uttered a cry and fell on his back, hands trembling in the air like a drunk with the DTs.

In examining the problem, what was revealed was that they had no grounding of the system. Anytime they attempted to use a component of the sound system they got shocked.

Adding a ground to the wiring solved the problem and we made it through the rest of the week without even one electrocution.

Getting back from Mexico

I'm back. It has been a week of not being able to access my normal communication tools. It is glorious and strange being back. Life was so different where we stayed.

We worked in Valle Hermosa, a town just south of the Texas border not far from Harlingen, Texas. Our job was to assist the local Mexican churches there as they put on a kids camp. The original estimate was 600 kids. We ended up with a little over two hundred which was far more manageable for our staff to handle.

Our group consisted of 17 people who represented Salem Covenant Church in New Brighton. Some in high school, some just out of high school and a few "older" adults.

The trip was amazing. The people there were poor by American standards, and didn't have the amenities we have back here in Minnesota. The area is covered with a fine Mexican dust, that turns to stubborn tightfisted mud in the rain showers. The water and some of the food can make you sick.

But the love, the joy, the graciousness of the Mexican community we served with was overwhelming. Their giving and loving made the hardships inconsequential. It was infectious like a holy disease. All you could do is submit to it, or walk away.

They are not perfect people. Far from it. But the love and the joy expressed covered a lot of imperfections.

I am back at work now. I feel caught between two worlds. There is a sense of a larger picture, an expanding group of friends, and love growing in more than one location. I learned a lot during this trip and the blogs to be forthcoming hopefully will reflect some of the things I learned from this trip.

Missing just one thing

I have been reading a book called "Infidel" by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. In one of the chapters she talked about how the clerics kept people in line by placing the fear of going to hell in them. It was amazingly similar to some of my experiences in the evangelical church.

I have known people who are consumed with passionately making sure that people are "saved" from hell. They make a big show of being concerned about the eternal welfare of others. Their lives are devoted to it.

A definition of Hell that I agree with is "anyplace" that is seperated from God, or devoid of God, and consequently devoid of love.

It has been my observation that those who people I described above are ones that are living in hell. They torture themselves and others. They don't appear loving. They are motivated by fear. They feel fear and they pass it on to others.  You can smell it in them and you can see it in the faces of others around them. Love is not in them.

There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love.

Things I don't understand 2

I don't understand why we are so willing to share our joys with others, but we keep our sadness and pain to ourselves, while we suffer alone. It may be because we are afraid to face who are really our friends.

The people we hide

I was joking around with the waiter the way I always had. We poked good natured fun at each other. Then something triggered inside him and he started talking about the difficulties that he had faced in the last few years.

He talked about the pain that he felt and the goodness of people in his life. I'm not sure I understand why he chose this time to speak his mind. Perhaps he felt safe enough to talk. 

It was a great reminder that everyone has a story. In our fun, we can easily cross lines and injure people. Or we can be a healing presence to others. We have no idea the impact we have on another or the story they are hiding.

My lying heart!

I saw a bumper sticker that read "I love Jesus, it's his followers I can't stand." The charge is that they are hypocrites, not living up to the words of Jesus.

I was at a church that would be considered "emergent". The setting was very different than most "churches". When participants were given the opportunity to speak, one woman got up and requested prayer for all the churches that were so judgmental.

In following Jesus, ideology, or any other teacher, I listen to the teachings. From the teachings I interpret. If I am unsure, I lean on those around me of who I perceived as of like mind. I have a sincere desire to get things right. Once there is revelation or interpretation, I tend to incorporate that into my life. Then I attempt to make sure those around me “get it right” as well.

But my heart lies to me! I want to believe in my own sincerity in my thoughts and intentions. I am a good man on a good course. I believe I am following the tenets of the ideology. A sense of pride, a sense of “I see the light” settles in and I believe I am on the path to the promised land!

As an example, I have been looking for practical ways to reduce my impact on our environment. I have worked hard to get my home garbage output down, as well as making sure what ends up in the land fill biodegrades as much as possible.

Just the other day I needed to obtain a stool sample of my dog from a deposit in the front yard. I was looking for a plastic spoon so I wouldn't soil one of my stainless spoons. The visual of using a spoon that had canine fecal matter on it at one time was not a image I relish recalling. I found a box plastic forks. Since I needed a spoon I put the box back. A recycling symbol caught my eye on the corner of the box. It encouraged recycling the box. Obviously not the forks! The package touted using less plastic in their product. I shook my head at their pitiable gesture. I reasoned that their packaging would disintegrate in the landfill far before their product would, and wasn't that pathetic!

I found a plastic spoon and took it out in the front yard where I retrieved a stool sample, put it in a disposable plastic Ziploc sandwich bag and sealed it up to take it to the vet clinic. After my self-righteous mental rant, it dawned on me that I might be a "green" hypocrite. I certainly wasn't doing any better than that company I was judging so harshly. I WAS judging their intentions much more severely than I was my own. I was creating plastic non-biodegradable waste for my own convenience.

Words of wisdom for all of us hypocrites out there… you know who you are! 'Fess up.

"Don't pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It's easy to see a smudge on your neighbor's face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, 'Let me wash your face for you,' when your own face is distorted by contempt? It's this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor

Challenges and more challenges

Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

Here is the short blog. 

There a lot of things that happened this weekend that we didn't predict. I can spend time worrying about life, but it is the unpredicted events that can throw us off kilter. It may be a blessing that we don't see these things coming, because I think we would be much more tempted to check out on life. The admonition to not worry about the future makes sense, because it keeps us from getting paralyzed today, instead of celebrating it.

The long blog if you care to read it.

We were going up to watch our son run in Grandma's marathon. I was going to drop my wife off and pick her up at work on our way out of town. She ends up at a different location where she needs her car. She also doesn't feel well. One of my other sons who is joining us, isn't getting off work until "sometime between 4 and 5PM". I take the dog out in the early afternoon and her stool is an odd color, and she is throwing up the water she has just ingested. I am concerned and take a stool sample to our vet. The vet clinic said there were no parasites, but the color of the stool is concerning and that the dog should be checked out because it could be life threatening. They say I can't bring her in to the vet because it so close to the end of their day. I need to bring the dog in to the Emergency vet ho$pital. The dog continues to produce scary looking stools but presents with happy-go-lucky dogface.

Deep breath!

My wife is feeling better we decide to go for it. We reserved a room in Moose Lake that night. We get a call asking if we could bring my son's fiancé's sister up. We say yes, as long as the dog's exam isn't serious. My wife gets home, we pack up the car, drive down, pick up my son, head to the vet clinic where we are told that the dog looks okay, but keep an eye on her. We call fiancé's sister to say we are heading north so we have a seat in our car if she still wants it. She does. The phone rings. My wife's mother has taken a bad fall and is at the hospital. We put together contingencies, but my wife's sister was in town and is graciously willing to stay at the hospital. We were still heading north.We meet in a Cub parking lot and fiancé's sister gets in. The good thing is because it is so late in the afternoon the out-of-town traffic was pretty light. Delivered fiancé's sister where she needs to be and head back to hotel. All goes well checking in. Dog produced another icky stool but seems perky and energetic.

Deep breath!

The next day starts pretty normally. The dog seems to have new life and is ready for life's adventures de-jour. Sis-in-law calls to say there is no surgery scheduled for my mother-in-law.  We find our party at mile marker 19 of Grandma's marathon. Traffic is lighter than expected. We watch a person go by and cheer for him, before realizing that that was not our son! Oops! Our son bounds by shortly after. We make no mistake this time. The dog hasn't eaten anything for 20 hours and is wanting to explore and challenge everything. The end of the marathon, my son did an outstanding 3:59:11 minutes on the marathon. We all celebrate, my son limps around. We go out to eat. Call comes in that mother-in-law is still not in surgery and she hasn't eaten all day. We head back home with the idea of dropping my wife off at her parent's home and she borrow a car. I drop her off, drop my son off, go to the vet hospital where I am told the dog looks like she is doing okay. Dog and I head home.

Cleansing breath!

At the end of the weekend it was good. We were able to affirm our love for our son by being spectators for a challenging task of his. There were challenges to overcome, and we overcame them and had a good weekend. I think knowing what would have to take place we might have been sorely tempted to just stay home... but I'm glad we didn't.

Things I don't understand 1

I don't understand why, if we are supposed to present a professional image at work and asked to wear a certain type of clothing, why is it that if management wants to treat you they offer to let you wear less professional looking clothes.

What happened to the image they wanted to uphold?

Random acts of bananas

For the last class period in my Interpersonal Relations class, students can bring in food to share. I came upon the brilliant idea to bring in bunches of bananas. They are good for you, already prepared and neatly wrapped for individual consumption.

I over-estimated the amount that would be consumed so I had quite a few left over. I decided to personally randomly distribute them among my co-workers. I decided not to give anyone an explanation, but just offer them.

There were many looks of confusion about why I was passing out bananas and why I was offering it to them. Most of them took a banana and thanked me.

The lack of explanation caused a level of suspicion but I think there was an acceptance of the gift on the quality of my character. They may have realized that I wouldn't intentionally hurt them. But you could see them attempting to understand what had just gone on.

Very few asked me why I was giving them out, but I think that all enjoyed the banana.

One of my co-workers blogged about being on the other side of the random act. I thought it would be fun to link that blog to this.

What to do when a co-worker offers you a banana.

Freed from greed

Apple just announced the next generation of iPhone. With all the new features, I found myself in full blown lust mode. I WANTED IT. I NEEDED IT. I found myself teetering on the irrational side trying to find a way to get it.

And then I stopped. I am working on being content with where I am and what I have. Rob Bell, in his book "Sex God" says that freedom is living without all the things you want and being content with that. I agree with that statement. I am free when I am not driven by the greed of possession.

When I was in the throws of lust, the promise was that this item would make my life complete. If I put it in that way, I see the absurdity of that statement. OF COURSE THE IPHONE WILL NOT COMPLETE ME!  ( sorry for going all Jerry McGuire on you) If an iPhone is all it takes to complete me, then what does that say about my worth as an human being or a spiritual being?

I will be content in my nice and functional cell phone and accept that I am loved by God and in that I will be content...and free.

Replacing

Tick, tick, tick comes the rhythmic song of my walking shoes on the path. There is something loose and it makes a ticking or popping noise everytime the shoe flexes.

I don't hear it when my iPod is on, but in the silence the refrain comes through loud and clear.

I am heading to Mexico in a few weeks and my goal was to use them there. Instantly I thought, I must replace them.  My second thought was "why"? Why do I need new shoes. Just because there is a little flaw in the shoe, does that mean that I need a new pair?

I have been socialized to believe that if something doesn't work perfectly, it should be replaced.

... Why?

Paying for beauty

I went backpacking last weekend. We started after a deluge flooded the area we were walking in. The rivers were overflowing their banks, making lakes across the path and in some places, washing the path away. The power of water and the residue of the massive rainfall was spectacular. Little creeks were now raging rivers. The roar of the water was breathtaking. It created obstacles, but the overall effect was a fierce form of beauty.

The bugs were worse than I EVER have experienced before. They flew around my face, bounced between my face and my glasses, flying into my eyes. And then there were the bites. They were relentless. You couldn't stand still. My son built a fire and the choice as stand away from the smoke and be ravaged by the bugs, or stand in the smoke and tear up.

I started thinking about beauty and pain. There is a price exacted for viewing beauty, like an admission fee. Maybe the more we are willing to pay, the more beauty we are permitted to see. Remembering my friend, Nancy, her beauty radiated in proportion to the direness of her condition. I was able to see more of her beauty as I was willing to enter into the sadness of her loss.

Now a week and a half later I struggle to refrain from scratching my bites, I think back on the beauty I saw. Was it worth it? I think it was. I wouldn't have seen the beauty if it wasn't for the obstacles.

I see real beauty when I am willing to experience the pain that goes along with it.

Fragile

It is always sad to walk after a big storm. After the hail several weeks ago in my walk I was amazed and saddened by all the dead animals. Baby birds lie on the ground discarded from the nest. Small rodents sprawled along the path lying where they were hit by hail.

I am so fragile, but I don't feel it. I feel in control of myself. All the biological and psychological systems are working adequately and I am able to function reasonably well. I move through life with the confident belief that I am indestructible. 

Little bird carcasses remind me of forces that could tear me apart. It can come into my life from out of the blue, like hail.

Remembered!

 "Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for a child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on my hand. (Isaiah 49:15-16)

It is comforting to know that I am not forgotten, that God has written my name on his hand. For all the people in the world that God has not forgotten, he must have REALLY big hands!

Message from an earthworm

In my "everything is beautiful" mood I have found myself bending down (a movement that is getting harder as I get older) to pick up earthworms off the asphalt and toss them back into the dirt where they accomplish their job of turning earth. Truth be told, I play favorites. I don't do that for slugs. It is sad to see how many worms die on the asphalt when the moisture evaporates.

I found a rather large earthworm about halfway across the walking path. I bent over to pick it up. It twisted and writhed to escape my grasp. I made a few more attempts and then gave up. Who am I to deny a creature it's own destruction when it seems so bent on it.

The worm made me reflect on my own life and my own willingness to seek self destructive behaviors. I look at my eating patterns and see  my bent towards destruction. I look at my unwillingness to get adequate exercise and how it has hurt me. Like the worm I have twisted and writhed getting out of activities that could help me.

Hopefully I am changing, and unlike the earthworm, I am attempting to submit to forces that can move me out of destructive paths. 

Better to seek forgiveness

I have observed a man who lives by the motto "Better to seek forgiveness, than ask for permission." He uses this in all of his interactions with organizations and relationships. When he works with organizations he has had a little success. Where the tragedy occurs is in his relationships with people. He treats them the same. He bulldozes them and then attempts to apologize. It is so ineffective, because it makes those around him, who may have been hurt by him, more hurt and less willing to listen. 

And the coup-de-grace is when people turn away from him, he blames them for their struggle to forgive and move past it. 

Hearing God's voice

As I was walking and meditating on an encounter with someone with whom I have struggled, I believe I heard God say that it was time to seek healing. The rest of the walk was setting up a plan for achieving that healing.

I told my wife about the voice and my plan to enact healing. My wife promptly stated that she didn't think it was a good idea. With her words I became confused because I was sure I had heard God speak to me. I was frustrated by her response. We e-mailed back and forth and I told her that I wouldn't be a spiritual bully, and she told me that if God was speaking, she wouldn't stand in the way. 

I felt even more confused. How can God say contradictory information to different people? I decided to not act until I got more information. For a number of days, I didn't hear any voice telling me what to do. I became a little frustrated with God for his silence.

On my walk later on that week I told God so. I told him I thought it was unfair to tell people different things and create conflict where there didn't have to be any. There was silence for a while and then God, in a vision, took me to a room. In this room the person I was struggling with was on his face before God, as was I. God bent over the other person and said to him, "Stand, my child. Come with me"

Outraged, I stood and shouted "Aren't you aware of how this man has hurt me? You are going to usher this person in to your presence, knowing the pain that he has caused?!"

God gently turned his eyes to me. In a quiet voice he whispered "Are you unaware of how YOU have hurt me? What is this to you? I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion! You worry about your relationship with me, and I will worry about my relationship with you and the billions of others who are in relationship with me. Your words don't sound generous at all."

I started out the week looking for an avenue of healing another and my ability to be an instrument of that healing. God showed me that I was not ready for invoking healing on another, because I was listening with a self serving ear and not with the ears of God.

Speak and your servant will attempt to listen better. Thank you God for those around me that help define your voice more clearly than I am capable of hearing on my own.

An uncomfortable observation

I was taking my daughter up to a volleyball tournament. She had friends in the back seat with her. 

My car has a moonroof skylight that has shades that cover them when the sun is too hot. One of the girls started playing with it. My daughter said, "Don't play with that. If it snaps open my dad will get angry."

Later in the trip one of the girls didn't cap her drink. My daughter once again said "Put the cap on, if it spills, my dad will get mad."

As I listened, I became uncomfortable seeing myself through my daughter's eyes. I felt sad that she saw me as a person who uses anger to get his way.

I really don't like to think of myself that way, but my daughter's perception is her perception. That is how she sees me. I need to accept it and if I don't like it, find a way to change it.

Our luxury

My wife and I go to bagels on Sunday morning. It has become a ritual for us. Normally I get an omlet and cheese bagel. As I have increased my calorie consciousness I have started checking out the different calorie counts at places I frequent. 

I discovered that the bagel sandwich I normally ordered had close to 500 calories which takes a chunk out a 1500 calorie day. I thought about what I wanted to do about it. Do I just eat it and take the hit? Do I not eat anything there?

I decided to eat half of the bagel and throw the other half away. When I did throw it away, it felt so excessively American. I felt bad. I have the freedom of choice as to what I will do with excess food. Better for my diet. It doesn't help the starving. 

The trouble with food choices is that our portion sizes are SO out of whack! We want the best value for our meal, which translates into bigger portions. We aren't too concerned about calories. We feel ripped off if we get smaller portions. 

What is hard to consider is that some in the world are just hoping to be able to afford enough food to survive another day.

Throwing out the half a bagel or eating it wouldn't have changed the plight of the starving. But the tragedy is that the food I threw out could have fed a starving child, and that is haunting me! And sometimes it's good to be haunted if it leads to greater awareness and change.