Show me! Shelly Mann Modern Jazz Performances

Today I was pretty sure I'd be holding a pity party in this letter. My day started off early - at six o'clock getting right on my "To-do" list. 

The first part of that list involved LinkedIn. This is a professional social network community - like FaceBook, but for professionals, and not so fun.

One of the things I keep hearing as I go to all of these networking meetings is how LinkedIn is the "new job search tool" - and how important working it and using it is to finding a job.

Fine. I've had a LinkedIn account for almost two years. It's not a new technology or resource to me. I didn't do much with it in the past, but I did manage to connect with some people from my pre-move away from Arizona days. Now I've been joining different networking groups - and uploading my resume - and seeing who I know out there, and using it to try and find contacts in companies I'd like to work for.

One of the things "they" stress about the LinkedIn community is getting people to "recommend you". It's like an on-line recommendation letter. 

Well - I know there are a lot of clients and collegues out there who think highly of me - and would be more than willing to say kind things about my skills, talents, dedication to getting a job done right, and always looking out for their best interest. 

But are ANY OF THEM ON LINKED IN???? 

Hell no - because this is the cotton industry and computers are still those "new-fangled things you can play solitary on". (I know this isn't really a fair description of everyone, but it IS the way I feel at the moment.)

I also hate how this is like a popularity contest. To see how many people you can get to join "your side" and in essence "vote for you". (yuck)

However, even today - when I am feeling pretty rotten - I am SO MUCH happier than I've been in years. I am getting to do all the things I love. Analyze, learn, synthesize this knowledge into a plan, strategize how I want utilize the information, and best of all BE CREATIVE and appreciated.

Which is NOT to say my clients didn't appreciate all those very aspects of my skills. They did. And I know that. But there were those who did not appreciate these qualities and skills - and spent inordinate amounts of time compressing me into the smallest corner/box they could find to contain me. It was a deadening experience - and I HATED, HATED, HATED IT.

Anyway - so I was feeling all sorry for myself - and not knowing how I was going to cross this hurdle back into positive land ... and suddenly two wonderful things have happen. 

My complaint above is really echoed by the sentiments in these lyrics, 

"Words! Words! I'm so sick of words!
I get words all day through;
First from him, now from you! Is that all you blighters can do?
Don't talk blah-blah-blah;
Show me! Tell me no dreams
Filled with desire. If you're on fire,
Show me! "

Then later on Eliza continues by saying, 

"Sing me no song! Read me no rhyme!
Don't waste my time, Show me!
Don't talk of June, Don't talk of fall!
Don't talk at all! Show me!
Never do I ever want to hear another word.
There isn't one I haven't heard.
Here we are together in what ought to be a dream;
Day one more word and I'll scream!
...

Please don't "expl'ine," Show me! Show me!
Don't wait until wrinkles and lines
Pop out all over my brow,
Show me now!"

Of course, I've edited out the part about love and hugging and all of that - but this pretty clearly expresses my frustration.

Then I got a lovely recommendation on LinkedIn from someone not in the cotton business, but someone who I consulted for on a cotton project. This is what they said, 

"Mit's subject matter knowledge of her industry is unparalleled and she's quick to meet and exceed client expectations, as her communication and interpersonal skills are top-notch." 

Service Category: Technical Expert
Year first hired: 2007

Top Qualities: Personable, Expert, High Integrity"

What a lovely recommendation, eh?

And then just about 40 minutes ago, I got an eMail inquiry from someone at church. It had been passed onto them that I was interested in a specific Medical Technology/Records Management company. AND THEY WORK FOR THE COMPANY!! And they wanted to know if I'd looked a the job opportunities and if there was something I was interested in!

This is the same company that I talked about when I went to the job fair. I've learned a few things about resume design since that first week of unemployment - so I changed around my resume to incorporate those ideas and shot it off to him. Nothing may come from this - but for me, this is God actively SHOWING ME that he's listening and out there.

I know he's not going to make anything easier for me - or happen any quicker for me. But boy did I need that shot of "show me" today.

Finally - in honor of "Food Wednesday" I'll give you the recipe for the OUTSTANDING pork carnitas I made in the crock pot yesterday.

1 crock pot

1-2 lbs country style spare ribs (or you can use a Boston Butt pork roast)

1/2 c. orange juice

1 tsp. cumin

1/4 c. cilantro sprigs

salt/pepper

corn tortillas

Condiments:

cotija cheese

minced cilantro

sliced red onion

avocado sliced or mashed

jalapeño rings 

Generously salt/pepper the pork. Place in crock pot. Add OJ, cumin, cilantro sprigs. Turn on high and cook for six hours. (if you're home, you can move the pieces around from time to time). Both these cuts of meat should produce plenty of cooking liquid. If however, you are concerned - or it starts to dry out - add beer. I would suggest Negra Modelo or Bohemia.

At the end of six hours, meat should be tender, moist and shred-able/cut into chunks-able. Do so - and place in a fry pan that can go into the oven. Put oven on broil and place meat in pan and pan in oven. Watch meat caramelize. Turn so it caramelizes on all sides.

While meat is caramelizing take another small skillet - add tiny bit of fat from crock pot (there should be a lot of juice/drippings in the crock pot) and fry tortillas in pig drippings.

Serve with condiments. 

If you don't have a crock pot, you can do this in the oven or on the stove top. It must be a covered container - and cook on low heat - about 225 in the oven and Med/Low on the stove top. A very low simmer - but no boiling. Time should be just about the same.

It was FABULOUS - and I only have 40 minutes until it's lunch time and I can warm up some more!

Happy Food Wednesday everyone! 

On the Seventh Day

On the seventh day he rested from all his work, and so did Mit. (Genesis 2.2 revised and unusual)

I awoke and thought after church I’d finish a few things around the house. Make the cornbread for the stuffing I’ll take to work on Tuesday for our Thanksgiving lunch. Get the laundry off the guest bed. Do some filing. Attend a meeting – serve dinner for the youth at church again.

Instead – I skipped out on the second service and came home and took a nap. When I woke up – I warmed up some leftovers and read the Sunday paper.

I attended the meeting. Prepped the chili dinner at church – and left it to others to serve it.

I came home, picked up a book, warmed up some Chile Verde for my dinner, and now I’m heading back to that warm and cozy bed. I’ll read a little bit – then return to slumber land.

ps: I really, really, really love corn tortillas. I love them freshly handmade and warm. I love them fried 'till they shatter. I love them sweet and pliable to sop up chile. I have no idea why anyone would like a flour tortilla. They are doughy and ball up in your mouth. They don't have a whole lot of flavor ... unless they're toasted. Still - they do not begin to compare to the sweet and wholesome goodness of stone ground corn masa patted into a golden disk of sweetness.

There are times ...

when I have such an amazing evening or experience - I wish you all lived here with me - so I could share it.

My life is so full - and so many wonderful/nice things happen to me - I almost feel guilty - that there is no one to share these subliminal moments with me. Instead, I'll try to recount them here.

Months ago, I had agreed to cook for/with some friends. The designated night had been canceled/moved twice. Today was the worst day I could imagine to have a social engagement. I have work that's on a deadline and not done. I have made a commitment for tomorrow that I very much want to keep - but cooking tonight puts that in jeopardy. As always I feel guilty for taking time for me - and leaving a project incomplete.

After a stern talk with myself about balance, nourishment, and restoration - I head off for the cooking gig.

When I arrive, I'm slightly "wound-up". A half-hour alone with the host and hostess to share the craziness that is my life - brings me back down to earth's orbit.

With much laughter, wine, and camaraderie, the five of us prepare the meal I've orchestrated.

We sit down to eat. The men sit in silence as the food moves from their plate to their mouths.

Finally one of them says, "I never thought to cook chicken like that. I made this?"

The other just nods his head - and continues to attack his corn on the cob.

In time, kudos are exchanged for the grilled squash and tomato/lemon salad. Dessert of berries and Grand Marnie is the perfect ending.

Throughout the dinner the conversation is spiced with historical, political and social commentary. Bright minds and people surround me.

Leaving for home - the most gorgeous full moon lights my way. I want to call everyone and make sure they see it and share the beauty before me; but once again my cell phone only connects with Mars and not earth.

You may not believe in my God, but I cannot help but be thankful He's in my life and gives me evenings like tonight. Life is amazing. Tonight is luminescent. Even though you are not here to share it, you are in my heart and on my mind.

"greater than three",

Mit

Photo Credit: Mamie

The Rocky Soul of Harnett County

The Senior Pastor at my church is retiring this month. On Friday night they had a shag dancing and a dessert buffet for him – since those are two of his favorite things. I had every intention of being there – and sharing this in the roast, but … work. *sigh* Yep – at the office until 10:00 pm on a Friday night. Because, you know – the world ALWAYS has to go haywire about 3 pm on a Friday afternoon when I’m due to be out of the office for the following week. Anyway – this isn’t about me, or the annoyance that is work. It is about him and it is about me and the state of grace.

The Harnett County boy (as he likes to call himself) came to HUMC about 3 months before I did – and for me, he made it seem like “coming home”. In the beginning I had to listen closely – to make sure I was understanding what this Duke graduate was telling me. Without fail, I’ve always taken away SOMETHING from his sermons.

Here are the 2 most memorable:

One Sunday the scripture and sermon came from the parable about the farmer who is sowing his crop. (Matthew 13:1-23; Mark 4:3-20; Luke 8:4-18 – take your pick)

This has always been one of my most favorite bible stories. Right up there with the pruning of the grape vines. It appeals to the agriculturalist in me. As soon as I realized what the sermon was about I settled in for the familiar story.

Only I couldn’t get comfortable. You see, it was the language thing cropping up – which totally forced me to listen CLOSELY to what he was saying. Normally, you can kind of zone out. Yeah, yah – the farmer goes to sow the seed, and some falls on the path, some falls among thorns, some on rocky soul and some fell on good soul. That was when everything came to a screeching halt for me.

“Did he just say ‘Rocky Soul’?” I asked myself. “How interesting to think of one’s soul as “rocky” and unable to hear the word. I mean – it’s REALLY what the parable is about … but the allegory is about SOIL …” And then it dawned on me. He wasn’t saying ‘SOUL’, he was, in his very best Harnett County diction saying “Ssss-‘ol”. And you know – this parable talks a lot about the Ssss’ol. The rocky Ssss’ol and the good Ssss’ol. Each and every time he mentioned the word, I got a slight giggle.

When the service was over, I shook his hand on my way out of church – and related my audio experience. Without breaking stride he looked at me and said, “Darlin’ if I had to say “soy-el” every time in that sermon, we’d never get out of church. Do you know how long it would take me to pronounce it that way?” I think that’s when my crush first started.

Then about a year ago, the lectionary came from John 2:1-11. This is the story about Jesus performing his first public miracle – and turning water into wine. This too has always been a favorite of mine. Not because it dealt with wine, but because of the vessels that held the wine (story for another day). Anytime this story is discussed, I’m always interested to see if anyone else will have the same viewpoint about the parable as the one that made such an impression on this 6^th grader.

Well, the Harnett County Boy never mentioned the earthenware containers once. Instead, he was focusing on the social implications of running out of wine at a big social event. He went on at length – talking about how it was the custom to serve the best wine at the beginning – then switch to swill after people became less discerning about what they were drinking. Fearing that his Bible Belt congregation wouldn’t grasp the absolute HORROR of running out of wine at a social function, he went on to compare it to … not having enough pig and a pig-pickin’. Or running out of pea-can (yes, yes, they don’t say THAT word correctly either) pie for dessert.

With each further illustration, my warped mind was overcome with giddiness and shock. Unable to keep my thoughts to myself any longer, I leaned over and whispered to my pew mate, “Man – the minute he said, ‘ran out of wine while entertaining’, I was convinced it was a bad deal. The only worse social faux pas I can think of when hosting a dinner party is running out of wine and SCOTCH in the same night!”

Which of course caused the whole pew to chuckle (as even my whispering voice is too loud to be discreet) in the middle of the sermon.

Leaving the service, I again found myself face to face with the Harnett County Boy. “And what pray-tell was so amusing about Jesus obeying his Momma and turning water into wine, young lady?” he asked me with mock sternness.

“Well, you just kept going on and on about the social implications of running out of wine, Jim. Quite frankly – after the second time you mentioned it, I began to think of things WORSE than running out of wine. I finally decided the worst would be to run out of wine AND SCOTCH at the same time!!”

He just shook his head, “It’s clear you weren’t brought up in the tea totaling south my dear . Because few people understand the implications of running out of alcohol, and they’d be horrified to think of serving BOTH at the same meal. BY THE WAY, when’s the next dinner party?” he asked with a big smile.

And that is why l love this Harnett County preacher so much. He has the grace to tease me – yet love me – one of his sheep that doesn’t always keep to the prescribed path - who finds herself with a rocky soul – that will someday be transformed into good soul – by his thoughtful and thought-provoking semons.

I hope your move to quieter pastures – restores your soil, brother Jim. Thank you for being such an inspirational Sheppard.

*shrug*

Dr. Whiny said I was evil tonight. Then he cackled.

I think he's wrong.

Just because I (almost literally) ran into the Pewter Knight ... at one of the warehouse buying clubs two weeks ago when I was buying supplies for a catering gig... looked up from my cart and list, recognized him, looked down, turned around my cart - and left the aisle without acknowledging him - does not make me evil.

Nor am I evil because I almost (BUT DIDN'T) run him over in the parking lot. Come on! ... "I just, uhhh, uhhh, that's it 'I was looking for my cell phone and didn't see him there!' Honestly! Or something like that." I mean, it doesn't really count if you don't look them in the eye, does it?

Or at least that's my story, and I don't care WHO knows. NOTHING could induce me to willingly acknowledge that man!

The Kind of Christian I am

Today in Sunday school, most of the women were gone - they were off on a weekend retreat. So it was me - and "the guys". (Well I wasn't the ONLY woman, but we were definitely the minority).

The man teaching today’s class says that he got to thinking about what separates Methodists from other denominations and so he started looking at the ... err - uhh, "Book of Orders" or some such thing. It's the "tenants" of Methodism. (There are 29 of them. We got through 15 I think)

Anyway ... He started off with the story about what England was like as John Wesley began Methodism. The wool industry was the biggest enterprise in all of England - and urine from citizens was purchased for the dyeing process after wool is spun into yarn.

Methodists, because they didn't drink (back then) were paid a premium (supposedly) for their urine.

OF COURSE, you know me ... I cannot quiet keep it straight when I should just THINK things and not SAY THEM. And so as he took a breath, to start the lesson, out popped,

"Well, I guess that means I'm a 'Piss-poor Methodist' doesn't it?"

There was a moment of stunned silence ...

... then the laughter broke out.

"That's what we love about you. Your honesty, Mit."

And that's what I LOVE my Sunday school class, they get me!

When Playing ...

word games with couples from church ....

perhaps it's not wise to use the word "CLIT" ....

Even if it is worth 14 points.

d'oh!

(and NO, I did not get the points, because it wasn't in the version of the Webster's Dictionary we had at the beach house.)

Yeah, it was kind of embarrassing. I didn't even really think about it much. We were playing Quiddler.

I had the combination card C-L, then an I and a T ... plus the letters for “AT” and another “I” and “A”, I think. IT SUCKED. Of course, all three men knew the word immediately. One of them said, “I don't think we're going to find that in the dictionary, Mit. Besides, it's an abbreviation.” (which aren't allowed)

BUT THE WOMEN!! "What word is that?" "Did you mean "CLOT"? "Why are you turning red??" "It's an abbreviation for WHAT??"

Other than that (actually including that) it was a great weekend.

We got done there about 5:00 pm on Friday. We left RTP at 1:30. I really like the couple I rode down with. We talked (I know - hard to believe) all the way down. This year, because we had the Garmin, we didn't miss the short-cut turn-off, like we did LAST year. The third couple showed up about 6. We went to a local place for dinner that night. I had THE BEST fried oysters and scallops I've had in YEARS. Just barely cooked, moist, crispy. YUM.

Saturday we woke up to RAIN. Hard, driving rain. I got up really early and drank coffee with the men. (They're so nice - and never act weird when I'm around.) Then I made the Basil-Potato Frittata for breakfast. A+ everyone will eat again.

I spent the day revising my draft of "The Flume Tender's Cabin". They all just sat around - and talked and did "stuff". Like grazed all day on our "lunch". A cheese ball, some great onion-creamy-spicy dip (known as “Uncle Allen’s Dip, although there is no Uncle Alan in the group), chips, zucchini bread, grapes, and uhhh - other stuff, I'm sure. (Vodka Tonics)

Late in the afternoon it cleared up a bit - and we had cocktail time on the 3rd floor patio looking out at the ocean. (More Vodka Tonics for me. Ginger and Dickels, Martini’s, white wine for the others.)

For dinner the hosts made Frogmore Stew and red cabbage coleslaw. The Frogmore Stew has shrimp, ears of corn, Kielbasa, and new potatoes in a "boil". (seasoned water)

Then we (they) watched (stupid) ULCA lose to (horrible) Kansas. Of course they were really just killing time before the (very sad) UNC/Memphis game came on. While we waited and while UNC was losing (the whole game) we played Quiddler.

Sunday we got up - had French Toast made from the most AWESOME whole wheat/seeded bread - then cleaned up our rooms/bathrooms - sat around, planned our next outing and came home.

*This writing class is kicking my butt. I am sorry the travelogue has been interrupted. Soon-ish I will be back to posting.

**After I finish the travelogue, I will serialize “The Flume Tender’s Cabin” and post it.

Small Things . Walking . God . Temptation . Pixel or Picture?

Not too long ago I was talking to the Horse. We were discussing my new regime. I told him I was feeling strong – and really happy with the direction my life was moving in currently, except for one small thing. I told him my devotional time with God had been all but abandoned and I didn’t know where I was going to fit it back in. Early mornings are now occupied with exercise – evenings with homework. I’m trying to meet my self-imposed early bedtime. Everything off by 9:30 – lights out by 10:00. So where’s my time to talk with God and listen to Him?

Then, the other week I noticed there was a jar of brightly colored pieces of paper on the counter in front of the changing rooms. I looked at the folded pieces of paper, not knowing what they really were and grabbed one on my way to the Shifting-Sands-of-Time Walking Machine. Opening it up, I discovered it was a Bible verse. Unfortunately not the full scripture, just the verse citation. But it got me to thinking … although I can’t read while I’m on that machine, I can certainly meditate with my head bowed as I watch my feet walk to nowhere. And then inspiration struck. What a perfect place to work on my prayer list. I am coordinated enough I can look briefly at the list – look back down, and spend time talking to God about me and that person.

So, I was giving myself a pat on the back – but a day or two into this I realized something. My prayers feel so hollow. It’s clearly a one sided conversation, me yakking at God. And half the time I don’t know what to say to Him. I mean … “Dear God. Please help my brother continue to be a good father. Please make his job go well. Thank you for his family. Help him to understand Mermaid-girl. Please let Mermaid-girl see you in her life, etc.” I mean – does God really NEED me to point those things out to Him? Or is it more about me being aware of others – and thinking of someone beyond myself. Of course in the back of my mind the words of Elizabeth Gilbert from Eat, Pray, Love keep rolling around. “If you can’t be specific in your prayers, why should God be specific in your life?”

Then Sunday rolled around. In Sunday School we watched a 15 minute video aimed at High Schoolers by Rob Bell. He has a series of lectures call Nooma. The one we watched was Dust. The message was – you’ll be known by the little things you do. And it should be the little things that you focus doing that allow others to see God in your life. It also talked about God believing in ME – the flip side of what we normal hear, US believing in God. What I really focused on was the message about “small things” being the key when others evaluate us and how successful our walk with God is. And I thought to myself, “Mit, you’re not being too successful here. I don’t think other people looking at your life, can see that it’s any different because God is in it.” And that makes me sad. I don’t want to TELL people what God means to me. I want them to SEE God in my life.

Then in Big People’s Church the sermon was on Temptation. How temptation is an attempt at distraction. At allowing ourselves to believe WE should be at the center of things instead of placing God at that center. Again I was convicted. I have thoughts of tempting things that run through my mind. And instead of trying to turn them off, I feed them. A few of them, I even share with others. And how can I be a successful Christian if I’m discussing things that don’t glorify God – or His plans – or His way?

And then I had another discussion – an on-going discussion about “Does your life or interaction with others influenced them? Should it? Why or why not? Does it matter?”

The person I was having this discussion with said, “I know the reason you get so much out of church. It’s because of the social aspect.” I admitted to myself at that point, that if I were to see a report card for my life, I’d have a failing grade. I think the way I’m leading my life, it looks like one little burnt out pixel, instead of contributing to the whole picture glorious picture.

Tomorrow is another day. Another chance. What else can I ask for? Maybe some grace?

*Dies* *Goes to Heaven* *Returns to Heaven on Earth*

I’ve been holding out on you. I’m sorry. But I just wanted to make sure I didn’t jinx anything.

So … remember this post? About me being impulsive and impetuous and leaping before looking? Well – it’s happened again!

I’d promised back then that I was coming to England in March of ’08. (okay, there might have been one or two places where I didn’t write that little piece of information – but I did write about going to meet a friend in Chincoteague.) And later I wrote about what a great trip Chincoteague was. But didn’t mention England anymore. Then my roof developed a natural skylight, remember that? And I was convinced that I shouldn’t go to England. So I quietly tried to back out. Then all the best people came to my house in October … and England was mentioned again. Again I talked about fiscal responsibility.

Then Dr. Esq and I went to dinner. He talked about the things he’d promised himself he’d do – and how there were so many things he hadn’t done. How he kept pushing those things aside, and he wasn’t going to anymore. I mentioned England, he mentioned Italy. Returning from the restaurant we looked at tickets and frequent flyer miles and he decided on the spur of the moment that we should go to England. I told him I was afraid to book anything until I had my passport renewed. He agreed. I got the passport underway, and then, as he thought about it, he realized England was my dream and not his. So he decided to not go.

I told him I understood (and I did), but I was disappointed – but happy – because I’d already committed and now I was going no matter what.

Immediately Dilly and I set about planning our itinerary. It’s still pretty lose. But at this point we know we’re going from her place in London to Edinburgh, Scotland for 3 days where we’ll do some Scotch tasting and exploring. From there – we’ll nip over to Wales to visit the lovely Binooby and fascinating Erica! We return back to London – to tour the Tate British and Modern … and meet up with a bunch of lovely OKC’ers to drink. Sounds like the perfect trip doesn’t it?

And so it came to pass – that I mentioned to a former traveling partner, “I am having a hard time concentrating on getting your pictures and the words to this blog to match ... I have purchased my tickets to England and Dilly and I are scheming like MAD ... about every 10 minutes the plans change!”

His instant response was, “oh man...... I am soooooo jealous. Seeing all of Dilly's recent get together photos really made me wish I could go over there. You are going to have so much fun.”

And because I am a goat, who leaps and thinks later I said, “There's room for an early March b'day boy present .... without family.... jus' saying!!!”

Emailing is so instant .. that in a flash I had a response waiting in my in box, “haha.... just before you wrote that I was contemplating asking if there was room in your suitcase....”

We talked about how I was using frequent flyer points to pay for my airfare – but I was still feeling guilty about going with our current economy. Because he’s such a great friend he reassured me, “The trip is totally worth it, and I can't believe you got tix for just the taxes!”

Of course, I have a big mouth, and shared with Dilly parts of our exchange. To which she replied, "Tell him this: "you loon...sell a couple of prints of your fucking amazing photography prints and buy a plane ticket over here for the week of March 17! those are ORDERS, mister!!" I followed that message with one last one of my own, “She also wrote this: "run up some numbers. he can do this for about very little, because we are being careful of our $$” and added my own little post-script,

“ps: AND .... you're really, really wanted.”

I followed it with an e-mail outlining our proposed schedule, and then there was a phone call where I tried to convince him he REALLY WASN’T RUINING ANYTHING BY JOINING US.

At 4:30, on the phone, he uttered these words to me, “BOOKED”

3/18 Arriving Heathrow 10:55 am

3/23 Departing Heathrow 11:00 am

BLUE IS COMING TO ENGLAND WITH ME!!!

This is going to be the best trip ever! England, Scotland, Wales, Dilly, Blue and all the UK OKC’ers. What an amazing gift! Of course, I get to pass the gift on by helping Blue celebrate this special birthday in style!

I cannot begin to tell you how excited, happy, thrilled I am!

You must know, I see God in every little twist and turn of this whole adventure – and am amazed beyond all belief that he is so good to me.

Now it is far too late, and I leave on a business trip tomorrow night … but I just had to share!

Goodnight everyone! I think I <3 you all!

Maybe Not So Smart and other Minuta

Now that I’m doing the “gym” thing early in the morning my routine has changed. I roll out of bed around 4:45 am, slip on socks, sweatpants, a bra, t-shirt, in the dark of my bedroom, then pad into my bathroom where I brush my teeth and run a brush through my hair. Into the guest room to retrieve my coat and gloves, then into the living room where one light is on – to put on my shoes, grab my keys and head out.

So far it’s been deceptively easy and uncomplicated. I thought I was on the same track this morning.

Until ...

I got ready to leave the locker-room after placing my coat and purse in the locker. As I went to pin my locker key to my pants, I realized my pockets were all bunched up.

Bunched up because ...

I had them on backwards.

*sigh*

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Eight days ago I apparently killed an important brain cell between purchasing glasses on Thursday December 27^th and going to the grocery store on Sunday, December 30^th. It seems my mind has completely blanked out my PIN number for my debit card.

The pin number I’ve had since 1986.

Let’s absorb that for a minute … 22 years, same PIN.

This is a card I use AT LEAST once a week. This number is my life-line. I bank in California. I live in North Carolina. I use my debit card for EVERYTHING. Especially getting cash at the store.

We all know I have problems with numbers. I cannot memorize them well. Certainly not in order. So when I got this card, all those years ago, I memorized the “pattern” of the code – because I was always mixing up the order of the numbers. Now, all I can tell you is the number started in the upper right-hand corner – and ended with two numbers next to each other … somewhere on the second or third line of the keypad.

Someone told me, “Don’t worry. It will, “just come back to you”.

Well, it hasn’t.

THANKFULLY I can also use the “Visa” part and just sign for my purchases – because otherwise I’d be up shit creek the times I’ve tried to use it and NOT THINK ABOUT WHAT THE NUMBER REALLY IS, only to realize I really don't know what the number is!

I have never written down this number … because you should NEVER write down passwords where they can be found. (Plus? Hello! 22 years ago … that’s like 10 different college address moves, 2 different post-college houses in Arizona, moving to California, and then here). I’m sure the original notification of the PIN has long since been boxed, filed and shredded.

SO! Today I had to call the bank and ask them to send me a new PIN. (Dear God. If you are reading this can you please make sure all four digits are the SAME NUMBER!?)

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

It was a quiet weekend.

Had a little excitement on the way home from work Friday night. Our receptionist sold the Nano IPOD she got for Christmas on Facebook’s Marketplace. She was going to meet a strange man, in an unknown place, to make the drop. I said NO WAY and we ended up meeting him at the YMCA. He seemed perfectly lovely and everything went smoothly. But still, I’m glad I was there, and she wasn’t on her own.

Saturday I went to see a bad movie (I’m Not There) with Dr. Esq. I have NO IDEA how it’s received the average rating of 7.8. It has Cate Blanchet, Richard Gere, Kris Kristofferson, and Heath Ledger in it, so I figured it WOULD be good. Purportedly it was about Bob Dylan.

It was so bad, “Mr. Movie” fell asleep about a quarter of the way through. When I realized it was HIM snoring – and not the guy in front of us, I woke him up and said, “we’re out of here!”. No complaints on his end – so we went and had a late dinner. Over dinner we inaugurated some travel plans for March.

Sunday was church. No major snafu’s with my graphics (woo-hoo!), the Sunday school lesson was “Keep Pressing Forward”. Among the points were:

• Be positive towards yourself

• Develop better relationships

• Form better habits

• Embrace the place where you are

Sounds like a familiar theme, doesn’t it? Big People’s Church was about leaving things behind and moving forward in the new year. (I hope God is trying to strengthen my resolve with all these coinciding messages, and is not saying “MIT!! You’re not paying attention to what I’m REALLY trying to tell you! *knock, knock, knock*”)

After church I went to Mr. Guitar’s to see the new digs and had a lovely lunch. He seared a Tuna steak, roasted some green beans, put together an Asian influenced green salad, with fresh fruit for dessert. It was great to catch up and hear about his holidays and what’s going on in his life. I am going to enjoy him living 1.4 miles from me!! (Really it is almost OBSCENE how close our respective abodes are to each other.)

Leaving there mid-afternoon, I drove to the top of the hill, where I have a cell phone signal.

(I have no signal at my house – and it seems like 90% of the places I drive, I lose the signal too.) (and YES, I have a major carrier. People with the SAME carrier have a signal, when I don't as we stand SIDE-BY-SIDE). (I am convinced it is me. It is ok. I hate talking on the phone anyway.)

I made 3 calls from the top of the hill.

Two and a half hours later I drove back down the hill to make dinner!!! Two and a half hours on the phone! For those of you who don't know me … that is an eternity for me to be on the phone.

To those who know – and were the recipients of said calls, I hope you enjoyed them!

(Also – I suspect all 3 people will read this … and I just want you to know – I enjoyed the conversations. It really wasn’t THAT bad. But don't get too use to it.)

By 7:30 last night, I was wishing it was already 9:00 pm. I was so tired! (It was all that talking! I’m sure it had nothing to do with how late I was up Saturday night – or how early I got up Sunday morning.)

I tried to hang tough. I had some writing to do, but just couldn’t think well enough to put words on paper. I crawled into bed, read a few pages of “In a Sunburned Land”, hoping time would fly to nine o'clock and bedtime. It didn’t. I finally gave up and turned the lights out at 8:10 pm.

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How was YOUR weekend?

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Ps: The second semester of my fiction writing class starts next Tuesday. It will be interesting to see how school and working out mesh with each other. I expect my “social time”, will once again, become even more restricted. Rest assured though, I will continue to post, as part of my grade will include my writing journal.

Journeys, Ceremonies, and Rituals

Like many, I dislike New Year resolutions. But I’ve come to accept I’m on a journey this year – and journeys call for a change in routines. They also bring about new rituals and ceremonies. Sometimes the rituals and ceremonies last beyond the journey and sometimes they don’t.

In the book, “eat, pray, love” (that has now infiltrated far too much of my life), Elizabeth Gilbert talks about how she can to hear the voice of God, most clearly, while journaling. She writes about being in Italy – and confronting the twin visitors of Loneliness and Depression, who’d followed her from her home in the US. In a moment of spiritual despair, she pulls out her private journal and writes to God,

“I DO NOT FUCKING BELIEVE IN YOU!!!”

As she puts those words to paper, a quiet voice spoke to her,

“Who are you talking to, then?”

I don’t know about you – but I have a mythical “perfect person” in my life. This person steps in and comforts me in the perfect way when I encounter difficulties. He always knows what to say, which parts of my anger and self-pity to ignore, and pays attention to the right parts of my distress. But I never equated this “perfect person” to God.

Elizabeth Gilbert has this person living in her life too – and at this moment, as she was confronting her lack of belief in God she writes the following words from the “perfect person” to herself,

“I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you ... There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.”

You see, I SAY those words to myself. I READ those words. I SPEAK those words on Sunday – and every day of my life. But I don’t always BELIEVE those words. I don’t believe, because I listen to another voice. This is the voice who convicts me of every misstep and misdeed. He keeps a tally sheet, meticulously detailed of my every transgression, and brings it out at every opportunity demanding I pay homage to the tally. This ritual takes much time and energy. Energy that should be spent on loving myself.

Ms. Gilbert too is forced to pay homage to her tally, which also prevents her from moving forward in her journey. In India she realized, “[Closure] is what I need[ed]. I was sure of it. And I was sure of this too – that the rules of transcendence insist that you will not advance even one inch closer to divinity as long as you cling to even on last seductive thread of blame.” The prayer we’re taught is NOT ‘Give us this day our daily grudge’, … and “you might just as well hang it up and kiss God good-bye if you really need to keep blaming somebody else for your own life’s limitations.”

Wanting to remove blame from her life, she climbs on a roof top and enters into a ritual so she can gain some closure with those people she will never be able to achieve peace with in person. Even though the individuals aren’t physically there, in her spirit she invites them to join her under the stars. Greeting the person, she reviews the relationship, recognizes there is nothing she can do to change the past and offers up forgiveness to each person she felt most hurt by, and then releases them.

After the ceremony, she says it’s not that she no longer thinks about those people who hurt her, but she realized her part in those relationships were over, and she could no longer try and fix them. It was up to her spirit – and theirs, to straighten things out.

When I read this section – I quickly skimmed through it. “Release? Release? Oh I don’t think so!” said my inner demons.

Gilbert points out, “[w]e do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighting us down.”

I however, want to hold onto mine, and hug them close. These negative thoughts are all I know, and in some perverse way, they comfort me. But as I work on other areas of my life; the discipline of writing, of limiting procrastination, of starting an exercise regime, and sticking to an earlier bedtime so I can take advantage of the BEST parts of my day, I realize I cannot wag this old shit around with me and make headway. I’m doing other difficult and scary things, why not one more? After all, I am making these changes for ME. No one else.

But HOW – HOW do I get there? What else must I do to remove the pollution from my “love harbor”. How can I make the area pristine again? And then I get to the end of the book.

While in Bali, she seeks out ten days of solitude. Gathering the last of her strength, she summons all of her warring demons and confused parts of her spirit and tells them, “We’re all here together now guys, all alone. And we’re going to have to work out some kind of deal for how to get along, or else everybody is going to die together, sooner or later.” She remembered the Yogic sages saying all the pain of a human life is caused by words, as well as all the joy. “We create words to define our experience and those words bring attendant emotions that jerk us around like dogs on a leash. We get seduced by our own mantras … and we become monuments to them. (I’m a failure … I’m lonely … I’m a failure … I’m lonely). It took a while for these words to fall away in her self- imposed silence, but once they had, “[e]verything started coming up … everything hateful, everything fearful, … ran across my empty mind.” On the last day, she asked her mind and heart to show her, “everything that is causing you sorrow. Let me see all of it. Don’t hold anything back. One by one, the thoughts and memories of sadness raised their hands, stood up to identify themselves. I looked at each thought, at each unit of sorrow, and I acknowledged its existence and felt (without trying to protect myself from it) it’s horrible pain. And then I would tell that sorrow, ‘It’s OK. I love you. I accept you. Come into my heart now. It’s over.’

When she was done with all of her sorrows, she started in on her anger. She faced each injustice, betrayal, loss, and rage. Those too were invited in and accepted. Last she examined her private shames. “A parade of failures, lies, selfishness, jealousy, and arrogance. But as she tried to welcome these thoughts and feelings in, just as she did the others, ‘they each hesitated at the door, saying, ‘No – you don’t want me in there … don’t you know what I did?’ To each one she’d reassure them, ‘I do want you. Even you. I do. Even you are welcome here. It’s OK. You are forgiven. You are part of me. You can rest now. It’s over.’

At the end of this ceremony she was empty, but there was no more warring going on within herself. In her heart she finally saw her, “own goodness and capacity”. [Her] heart, “wasn’t even nearly full, not even after having taken in and tended all those calamitous urchins of sorrow and anger and shame.” She realized she could have easily received and forgiven even more, as her love for herself was infinite. Plus, she recognized this was not a once in a lifetime ritual, that she would have to keep dealing with these thoughts again and again, until slowly and determinedly she changed her whole life. It would be difficult and exhausting. But the reward was her heart telling her mind, “I love you, I will never leave you, I will always take care of you.”

And so, in this new year of 2008 I am contemplating ceremonies and rituals. Thinking of ways to welcome forgiveness and instill love of myself, in myself.

Love Harbor

Once, not long ago I had a conversation with two different people, about two different things. Then I started reading “Eat, Pray, Love” and now I wonder if maybe they aren’t all wrapped up in each other?

The first conversation was with someone who asked me, “What do you want out of a partner/relationship?” And in my own, analogy driven way, I explained what I really wanted was someone who was a “Safe Harbor”. That I pictured myself as a large ocean going vessel – a merchant ship of some sort – crossing the oceans far and wide. Loving the life of travel, meeting people, visiting new and familiar ports-of-call; collecting interesting stories and artifacts, and not really wanting to be “stationary” in this life. It was important to understand if someone ever shared my life, they knew that I would always be “off and going” and not home for long.

As a steamer, some of the waters I sail through are rough and stormy. In many ways I am equipped to deal with those storms myself and don’t expect anyone to protect me or help me. But sometimes, a really BIG storm will arise, and then, what I need more than anything else, is a “safe harbor”, to pull into and batten down the hatches, until it blows out. But once the storm has passed, my partner needs to realize it’s time for me to take off again, and continue on my journey, but I will always eventually return to him.

The second conversation was with another friend. This friend’s observation was that although I was a “strong person”, it seemed that I had a problem with accepting/recognizing there are “good things” about me. Deeper than that, it appeared in on-going conversations, that I didn’t “love myself” very much.

Even though I was living the “examined life”, I was not willing to share my life with anyone until I felt I had “fixed myself” (as opposed to those people who think that having someone in their lives will “fix them”). But how was I going to reach my goal, if I couldn’t “LOVE MYSELF”?

Of course, I immediately shot back, “And how do you do that? How do you learn to “love yourself” when you feel like there isn’t much “loveable” about you? Or that the “un-loveable” parts must surely outweigh the “good parts”? They had no answer.

I’ve been struggling with the idea of “love” for the last six months. WHAT is love? One of the tenets of my faith is that God, “SO LOVED ME” that he allowed his Son to die, to save me. As a non-parent, this is a difficult concept to grasp. I mean, it’s easy to say you’d die to save someone else … but deep down … could/would you really do it? (and I’m sure if you’re a parent you are saying “of course”. But if you’re not .. maybe you understand my quandary.)

And so again, I ask, “What Is Love?” Is love, “Self-Confidence”? Is it, “Self-Sacrifice”? Is love, “Denial”? Is love, “Giving Away of Yourself”?

I think, love is something that gives me a lot of room, but also knows when to move in close. Love is something that encourages and strengthens “me” – but cannot be the framework I base my worth on. Love cannot be the “bondo” patching all of my holes and self-doubts. (that’s an auto-body reference, btw). I must be structurally sound on my own. True; love can help smooth out some of the places, maybe fill in a ding or a dent, here and there, but it cannot be the bailing wire and duck tape my personal self-worth is based on.

So – how do you promote “loving yourself”?

(Quick digression) I also want to point out that some people reading this might be saying, “What the hell are you talking about, “loving yourself”? These people cannot grasp this struggle, because they just, “like themselves” and this isn’t one of the struggles they face in life. Just as it is hard for me to understand “sacrificial love”, they have an equally hard time understanding how someone would need to work on “self-love”. They’d tell you, “it just IS”. (End digression)

Back to the question – how do you learn something that’s not, “natural to you”? And here’s an answer I’m discovering. Which ties in both “harbors” and “love”. (courtesy “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert).

“… [W]hat you need to learn how to [do is] select your thoughts just the same way you select what clothes you’re gonna wear every day. This is a power you can cultivate. If you want to control things in your life so bad, work on the mind. That’s the only thing you should be trying to control.” “Because if you can’t learn to master your thinking, you’re in deep trouble forever.”

To herself she thinks, “Control your thoughts? Instead of the other way around?” … “This is not about repression and denial. Repression and denial set up elaborate games to pretend that negative thoughts and feelings are not occurring.” “…[I]nstead [try] admitting to the existence of negative thoughts, understanding where they are coming from and why they arrived, and then – with great forgiveness fortitude – dismiss[ing] them.”

She goes on to say, “So I’ve started being vigilant about watching my thoughts all day, and monitoring them. I repeat this vow about 700 times a day: ‘I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore.’ Every time a diminishing thought arises, I repeat the vow. I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore. The first time I heard this, my inner ear perked up at the word ‘harbor’, which is a noun as well as a verb. A harbor, of course, is a place of refuge, a port of entry.”

Further, she writes, “The harbor of my mind is an open bay; the only access to the island of my Self … ”. “This island has been through some wars, it is true, but it is now committed to peace, under a new leader (me) who has instituted new policies to protect the place. And now – let the word go out across the seven seas – there are much, much stricter laws on the books about who may enter this harbor.”

“You may not come here anymore with your hard and abusive thoughts, with your plague ships of thoughts, with your slave ships of thoughts, with your warships of thoughts – all these will be turned away. Likewise, any thoughts that are filled with angry or starving exiles, with malcontents and pamphleteers, … you may not come here anymore. Cannibalistic thoughts, for obvious reasons will no longer be received. Even missionaries will be screened carefully, for sincerity.” “If you can abide by these new laws, my dear thoughts, then you are welcome in my mind – otherwise, I shall turn you back all toward which you came.”

And maybe that’s what “self-love” is … taking control of your thoughts. Recognizing the good ones and the bad ones. Forbidding the bad ones – and those who try to bring them into the harbor, and recognizing the good ones. Nurturing them, protecting them, encouraging them. Maybe once I learn how to love myself – maybe I can trust that I am worthy of good things in my life. That I deserve them and can count on them – and not expect them to disappear when “the real” me makes an appearance.

One final thing I’ll share with you. Ms. Gilbert writes,

“My prayers are becoming more deliberate and specific. It has occurred to me that it’s not so much use to send prayers out to the universe that are low key.” [During meditation] “… I was often dull-witted … tired, confused, and bored, my prayers sounded the same.” “…one morning … I muttered … ‘Oh I dunno what I need … but you must have some ideas … so just do something about it, would you?’”

It was a moment of recognition for herself and she realized, “.. that’s a little lame. You can imagine God regarding that prayer with an arched eyebrow, and sending back this message: ‘Call me again when you decide to get serious about this.’ Of course, God already knows what I need. The question is – do I know? Casting yourself at God’s feet in helpless desperation is all well and good … but ultimately you’re likely to get more out of the experience if you can take some action on your own end.”

So, I, Mit am taking action and being specific.

Some of these steps I’ve told you about: Gaining control over my sleep, setting aside time for writing, starting to exercise. Some I haven’t mentioned until now. I’m taking back my mental harbor. I’m going to learn to love myself. I (with God’s help) am going to banish those thoughts and people who don’t support this process. I’m going to be specific in my prayers and desires to God.

We’ll see where I end up – but it can’t be in any worse place than I’m in now, can it?

Commitment, carrots, compliments, and a 49’er Miner

I had a commitment to attend a holiday party tonight. It’s a party with all my friends. I <3 them a lot. But for some reason I was looking for every reason to not attend. I’m a pro at excuse making; including the following:

• I slept in this morning AND I was still tired

• I didn’t get everything done today, for tomorrow

• I just wanted to be lazy

• I didn’t have my side dish made

I came home from my scheduled auburn/cinnamon supplement and gray extraction process (hair color/cut), convinced I was going to bail on the event. Then I thought of all the people I told I’d be there. And my reason for NOT attending. It’s hard to lie to your Sunday School class – knowing you’ll be looking them in the eye the next morning. The word “hypocrite” comes to mind.

~x~

One of the things I love about cooking is I get to turn people on to food. This is the land of “mushy vegetables” and cream soup. You all know that’s not my style. I always take things I’m pretty sure most people haven’t tried AND will love.

So I made the following dish, it was a hit.

Algerian Carrots

1 lbs. carrots, peeled and cut diagonally into 1/8 inch slices

¼ cup extra virgin Olive Oil (and if you’re going to splurge, this is the place to do it, First Press, High Quality Olive Oil is what you want to use)

2 teaspoons cumin

1 teaspoon brown sugar

2 teaspoons garlic

1 tablespoon lemon juice (I used tangerine, because I had a ½ of a tangerine laying around. You could use lime too.)

2 tablespoons minced Italian Parsley

Kosher salt

Freshly ground pepper corns

Steam the carrots over rapidly boiling water until they are just tender, about 10 minutes. Put them in a bowl. Pour olive oil over them. Add cumin, brown sugar, garlic, lemon juice and parsley. Toss together, season with salt and pepper. Serve.

It was a hit, as was I ... as you'll see below.

~x~

This party is fairly casual. Some people dress up, but it’s by no means a “formal” affair. In a previous life I attended several “black tie” events throughout the year. I don’t have many places to wear those clothes these days – so I take this as an excuse to dress up. Last year I wore a plunging neck black silk jacket with seed pearls, black jet beads, and sliver sequin detailing. This year I wore something from the “dungeon” collection. (Total inside joke. If you don’t get it, don’t worry.) It’s a midnight black strapless pantsuit with a gossamer split overskirt and chiffon wrap. There’s a very discreet band of black sequins under the bust-line. I have a diamond broach that anchors the chiffon wrap, and matching vintage cut crystal clip-on earrings. I thought I looked nice when I left home. When I arrived – well, we’ll just say they were in the middle of the prayer of thanksgiving – and uhh, I might have made a bit of a splash. I received complements. Which is nice AND uncomfortable.

I know – pics or it didn’t happen. : ( Sorry to say there were no cameras. But SOMEDAY, there’ll be a reason for me to be dressed like that again, and I’ll try and get a picture.

~x~

I know I spend a lot of time sounding irritated with my customers. But I really DO love my job – and I have some of the BEST customers, EVER. They are always there for me when I’m out on the road. They’ve housed me in hurricanes, welcomed me into their homes, taken me to church with them, introduced me to their families, and helped me celebrate holidays and my birthday when I’m thousands of miles away from family and friends.

Today a small package arrived in the mail. It was from one of them. Here’s the note enclosed with the gift:

“Merry Christmas Mit!,

I found this little fella at the “flea market”. Immediately thought of you and Josiah! I really thought that he would be neat to sit on your window sill or on your desk and give you some inspiration. Can you imagine what a long, hard trip he had all the way from California to Selma, Alabama in that little cart?

Love M.O.T.O.R & F.O.T.O.R

(Mother of the other Red-head & Father of the other Red-head)

And there, packed away was a 49’er miner ornament. He’s standing in an ore car – holding a pick-ax and piece of quarts with a big old smile on his face. I’m sure any minute he’s going to breakout into “Oh Suzanna, don’t you cry for me, I left Alabama with a Banjo on my knee ..."

So tonight I am reminded of all my blessings and friendships. How important they are, and how the littlest things can carry the biggest meanings.

A “Graphic Saga”

I have no idea why I put myself through this once a month. It seems the service NEVER goes without a glitch. I like to think I’m calm under pressure – and in some cases I am. But I prefer to be prepared than to practice “calm in the midst of a storm”.

Every Tuesday there’s a music, audio, and graphics rehearsal before the service. Not everyone on the graphics team chooses to go. But I do. Religiously. The words for the songs are notoriously never on the slides to match the sheet music and the way the Praise Band sings them. And there’s always some new “something” to be considered. Rehearsals save my butt – and make it easier to deal with all the other last minute “stuff” that pops up.

However, I have been unable to attend a single rehearsal this fall, because of class. Except the October rehearsal. And that was traumatic enough that I seriously thought about giving up being a part of the team.

First the wireless wasn’t working. When I got that up and running, I couldn’t get into the song catalogue because they hadn’t renewed the subscription yet. Of course, they decided to radically change the order of worship that week and the arrangement of the songs.

It . was . frustrating.

And I’m sure they were frustrated with me, because I am not the best sport when my world isn’t well ordered. I figure if I take time out of my schedule to do something … to make sure everything runs smoothly … and makes everyone else look good … then they should make sure it goes smoothly for me too.

This week, I purposely did not put off the graphics to the last minute (like 9:00 pm on Saturday night). So when my computer wouldn’t load the graphic software? I told myself I wasn’t going to panic until 7:00 pm. And even then, I knew there were still options available – to get the job done.

To quote the Praise Band Director (who's also in IT), "We love to watch you panic ... you are so fun, but you always come through in the end." I told him I thought I was the poster child for "World's Worst Christian Attitude" when I have to deal with stuff "on-the-fly" or "at-the-last-moment" at church. He just laughed.

I swear, I think he and God are sadists.

But I got the display problem that was preventing the program from loading worked out – and I was confident as I walked into the final rehearsal this morning.

I was still fine when the Minster decided to insert last minute video. No problem when the Music Director forgot to tell me there's a soloist for the communion song. I make a slide on the fly. Then as we look at the Advent Communion Slides, the minister decides to “edit them” for brevity, plus the font was too small. No problem. I turn on my laptop, fire up PowerPoint (2007 which I haven’t used yet), edit the slides, resize the font (which necessitates creating MORE slides), and then save it to my jump drive and get it inserted into the program on the church computer. I even manage to get the countdown video started EXACTLY five minutes before the service. I pat myself on the back. Everything is ready to go. Dare I say it? It was PERFECT.

Until the freeze.

What is a freeze? It is to stop suddenly and remain motionless; to halt.

Yep, the freakin' mouse FROZE. In the middle of the service. As in the blasted batteries in the mouse DIED, rendering the mouse impotent! And where does it all go haywire? At the beginning of the 3rd song. It takes the whole song and most of the scripture reading before we can find the batteries ... and where are they? Why of course! Up on the stage. 'Cause you know, that's a convenient location when the sound and video is at the BACK of the hall. *sigh*

I got them switched out in time to catch the last verse of the scripture. The video insert for the sermon started PERFECTLY on time … and there were no other problems.

But still … WHAT IS YOUR POINT GOD???

Or did your mouse freeze when you were directing my life this morning? Let’s not let this episode repeat again, m’kay?

A Place Called Home

I attended a church in California – and that was the tag line they used. It was a great church – although I loved it a lot, and I return every trip I get, it never quite felt like “home” to me. Of course – I only lived in that city for two years, and attended that church for maybe a year and a half. It was the perfect place for me to be at that time.

When I moved out here – I knew what church I wanted to attend. Another big “mega-church” with lots of urban ministries. But somehow, that church never seemed to connect with me. It’s true, I was traveling a lot and only showed up once a month, but you’d expect after the sixth months someone would recognize a return visitor. Nope.

Even more frustrating for me was being out on the road and attending all these great churches … big and small – where they were so welcoming. In fact, one of the churches in Memphis still recognizes me TO THIS DAY when I show up there to worship.

In my neighborhood, less than a mile away from my house, is a church of the same denomination I chose to attend as a young child. My Aunt, who’d been out to NC to visit, asked me why I wasn’t attending this church. I’d responded, “Well Aunt Pen-Pen, it’s just too small for me. I don’t think they have anything to offer.” After a year of living here, I stopped one October at this church to purchase a pumpkin for Halloween. The cost of the pumpkin was minimal and I told them to keep the left-over change. You would have thought I’d given the youth a million dollar endowment. The following Sunday I decided to check the church out.

As I walked through the door the Associate Pastor said, “Morning Red! How are you today?” At the end of the service, this woman walked up and asked if I belonged to a Sunday School class. I said no and she said, “Follow me. This class is the best. They use to be the Young Adult Class, and then they made them change their name a few years ago. Now they’re called the Genesis Class. We’ve got all age ranges. You’ll like it.”

And with that, I found, “A place called home.” In the obituary, and at the funeral on Friday, the Genesis Class was mentioned as being “part of the family”. At one point we were asked to stand as a group. Although there was a problem with my vision (something kept leaking out of my eyes and made everything blurry) … it was pretty amazing to see this group of 40+ people who've been part of the class for 30 days to 25 years … stand up and identity themselves from all corners of the sanctuary.

Today in class – we gathered once again as a family. A family in grief, leaning on each other for support. Our new Associate Minister came to talk to us. To help us put a voice to our emotions. We agreed that we cannot hide from the truth. We cannot act like this hasn’t happened. That in the days, months, and years ahead it is important to recall the good times, the funny times. It's imperative we never shy away from talking about Don and our memories. We talked about supporting Kaitlin and her fiancée and Don’s twin brother, along with Linda. That the care-givers need just as much support as those going through the <insert disease/trial/tribulation>. We talked about how Mental Illness, Situational Depression, and Suicide are still avoided in church and how we can do something positive about it … as a class and as a congregation.

I think the best news of the day was when she read this from the “Social Principles”. “A Christian perspective on suicide begins with an affirmation of faith that nothing, including suicide, separates us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39). Therefore, we deplore the condemnation of people who complete suicide, and we consider unjust the stigma that so often falls on surviving family and friends.”

Indeed, HUMC is a place I call home, the Genesis Class is my family.

Deep Waters, Strong Currents, and Riptides

Deep Waters

Whenever I talk about my faith, I feel like I’m wading into deep waters. In my Sunday School class we’ve discussed how “hands-on” God is and isn’t in our lives. You’d think since we all attending the same church we could come to consensus on some basic premises. You would be wrong. Endlessly we seem to examine, “Why do bad things happen to Godly people?”, “What is loving about going through painful ordeals, and is God there, or not?”, “What happens to people who don’t believe as we do?”, and “What happens to people who live a sinful life?”

This week, I’ve really been struggling with first two issues.

Two of my Sunday School class members are fighting cancer. Two years ago we lost another member to cancer. I think it’s human nature to try and put things into perspective. Or to make sense out of a senseless world. I don’t think God “punishes” us by sending death, disease, disorder, and distress to our lives. I also don’t think it’s God’s job to prevent those things from occurring in our lives either.

The more I think about God, the more I go back to the symbolism of parenting. (Not that I am one) … but I assume as a parent you do everything you can to protect your children and give them good things in life. But you can’t protect a child from everything – and you can’t give them everything they desire.

Sometimes you don’t protect them so they’ll learn a lesson. Sometimes there’s no way to protect them. Life happens. It doesn’t mean you love them less. It doesn’t mean you’re not involved in their life. It doesn’t mean you’re not capable. It just means things happen beyond your control.

It’s the same for God. I believe He is sovereign. He made everything and is a part of everything. But part of that sovereignty means that He won’t interrupt the cycle He’s put in motion. His choice to give us Free Will also means we must live with the consequences of our decisions.

Just as parents must relinquish decision making and control of their children’s lives to the child, as he matures, so God allow us to make, and deal, with the decisions we’ve made.

So – back to me.

When I found out about the sudden and unexpected death of the husband to one of the women fighting/living with cancer … it shook me up. I yelled at God. (Yes, even He doesn’t escape the displeasure of the red-head). “What are you doing?” I asked. “Doesn’t she have enough to deal with right now?” Of course, the minute I screamed at Him, I knew better. I knew God didn’t DECIDE it was time for this man to die. I knew God didn’t have a specific PURPOSE behind his death. It was just the capricious nature of life. The life we all live each and every day. But still, I wasn’t very happy about it.

Then I went to the visitation last night.

As I joined the line to sign the guestbook, I saw one of my favorite people. She was standing out of the view of most. Abandoning my place I walked down the hall towards her and we embraced. Somewhere in that hug, words were exchanged and I said, “But it’s not supposed to be one of YOU GUYS dying now!” and then I was engulfed. Big wracking sobs tried to escape from my mouth. But I wouldn’t let them. The force of maintaining control set my whole body to trembling and shaking like an Aspen in a breeze. “Shsss-shhh,” she crooned to me. “It’s alright to cry, Mit, it’s all right.”

But it wasn’t. Or it wasn’t for me. So I stepped out of that embrace and walked down the hall to take care of another piece of business and regain my composure.

Once again under control, I got back in line and carried forth. There were lots of people to see and talk to as I made my way to (it is so hard to type these words) “the widow's” side. A brief hug was all that was required – and indeed all there was time for – in the crush of people. Leaving the room I felt relief and a small sense of pride. I’d done it – and maintained.

Oh, that that was the end of the story. But it’s not.

As I was departing, I met more class members. Members who are part of the “original” group. I stopped to talk. As our words traversed the space between us I realized we were talking about the same event, but from a different result. “What do you mean, “I can’t believe he “chose” this?” I said. “It was a heart attack, wasn’t it? Just a few weeks ago he was talking about chest pains.” Luminous eyes, filled with sadness looked at me. A thin-tiny voice said, “No, that’s not what it was. You don’t know?” I shook my head. “He committed suicide.” The phrase hung there … suspended between us – spectral – with its implication. We talked for just a few more moments and I left.

I drove out to Dr. Esq’s. I drank wine while he cleaned up from his run around the lake. We went to dinner. Calmly I was able to share the new found information and my pain.

Strong Currents

If I liken examining my faith to wading into deep waters, then talking about depression is like talking about carrying out life while treading a strong current. I am no stranger to the mighty force depression can exert on a person and their life. Lifeguards say it doesn’t take much energy to stay afloat while treading water, just as people who’ve never battled depression say it doesn’t take much to end a depressive cycle. I think they’re wrong. It takes all my strength to make it through a day when I’m swept into the current of depression. Sometimes “making it through the day” isn’t even an option. The depression is so swift there is no making headway, much less joining the day. Just breathing in and out, and eating require superhuman effort.

There are things I can do to help stem the tide. Eating properly and getting enough sleep and exercising are all beneficial. Getting out of my head and my house is also good therapy. Counting my blessing (but not beating myself up for being undeserving of them), doing for others (but not to the extent I lose myself), and being involved in activities (in a balanced manner), all help me swim against that strong current, not to mention my on-going constant conversation with God.

Riptide

Failing to do these things is like entering a rip-tip. A tide so strong, all rational thought leaves. No amount of effort can extract me. Panicked and fearful, the only solution seems to be to stop struggling. To stop fighting the current. To just slip below the waves into a silent and calm place where no effort is required. Some might call it giving up. Others would call it surrender.

I have no idea if depression was a factor or not in this instance.

But me, human me, is trying to make sense out of the senseless. How else can I explain why a man who was loved, well-respected, and a child of God, could make this choice? This painful, painful, choice for those of us left behind.

You can’t see a riptide from the shore. I do not know the interior currents in his life. I do not know what waves buoyed him, and which ones crashed over his head. I can see the grief and devastation left in the wake of this riptide and it makes me sad and angry.

Go with the Tide

When you enter a riptide, they tell you to not fight it. Let it carry you until it loses its strength. For me, emotions are also like riptides. I don’t know where they’re going to take me, nor do I know how to navigate them.

Yesterday I received this e-mail from someone in my writing class, “I think that all of us living, experience a rush of past losses when a new loss occurs. It's our opportunity to heal pieces of ourselves. I … [think] .. the people who have passed are giving us the gift to grieve a little more of ourselves and our losses, and so, they are contributing to our healing.” She also said, “You are not a burden to your friends, you are a member of the grieving family. Allowing others to comfort you gives them the gift of having a purpose. We all need to feel like we have a purpose and we all need opportunities to give to others. So allow your friends to give to you.”

Dilly has also offered the same advice about me letting others care for me. She also told me that it’s alright for me to feel the pain of this death. Just because I’m newer to the class doesn’t mean my feelings are less, or less valid.

So … here I am. I’m going to be brave and ride this riptide of emotion. I’m going to let people care for me – and I’m going to tell (a few people) what I’m feeling until this current loses it’s strength.

Desert Recall

Sitting in church today To sing and pray, My mind a million miles away What could I say? Behind the song, the photos flashed My heart on the screen dashed Rodeo arena days in my mind crashed On to me blue-sky memories latched The longing in my eyes compounds Even as my current happiness surrounds Still the tears roll down But I have been found Far away from God in that desert, I fear Yet He was always near Showing me His beauty clear His love so dear Desert landscape brings to recall Horses and mountains, pitchforks and stalls Indian friends and canyon call I was so stupid – I almost had it all The longing in my eyes compounds Even as my current happiness surrounds Still the tears roll down But I have been found The imperative, now I cuss Oh how I fight the thrust Listen, follow, trust, This He says is a must I hang on the coral, admiring those Wrangler butts Swarming bugs of nighttime florescent glare, I duck While the cow, rider and horse cut Downing beers, I was out of luck The longing in my eyes compounds Even as my current happiness surrounds Still the tears roll down But I have been found Caught unaware by the images today I was ready to pray It was as if, at my feet, a challenge He lay On my mind it weigh Saddle blankets wet Horse necks lathered from sweat Curry the hide, pick the hoof, chores I’ll never forget In my memory the pictures were let The longing in my eyes compounds Even as my current happiness surrounds Still the tears roll down But I have been found Cynics and skeptics, I confess There’s nothing I can say to put this to rest Oh come on, what do I profess? Nothing that will pass your test Soap the leather, dally the rope Will this ever be easy? Nope. Still my God gives me hope Maybe that makes me a dope The longing in my eyes compounds Even as my current happiness surrounds Still the tears roll down But I have been found Sitting in church today To sing and pray, My mind a million miles away What can I say?

Lessons to learn, re-learn, and share

The lesson of luggage:

Last night I went to a party. As soon as I walked in 3 of my favorite men immediately greeted me with big smiles, hugs, and outrageously over-the-top compliments. Right behind them came their wives. Eager to say hello – and chat for a few minutes.

It always amazes me these people are so warm and welcoming. That they seem to genuinely adore me – and want to spend time with me. Time spent in their presence is some of the best tonic available.

Quite honestly, I am always amazed people want to be with me and near me – and that they don’t just “tolerate” me. This feeling is a piece of baggage I carry from childhood. It’s horribly battered and worn these days – and just seems to get in the way. I think it’s time to chuck it. I keep kicking it to the curb, but somehow it keep reappearing in my brain. *sigh* Maybe it’s time to donate it to the good will.

You know, luggage usually comes sets.

The other piece I lug around is this amazement when people reject me. On one hand, I’m always ready for the rejection. (see above) On the other-hand, I am always left gape-mouthed when people openly reject me. For the life of me, I cannot fathom why anyone would not want to be my friend. It always takes my breath away to have my offer of friendship rejected. I guess that’s why I can never get rid of the first piece of luggage. These two seem to be a matched set.

The lesson of tug-of-war:

Remember the game of tug-of-war? In between the two teams is a pit of mud. It’s supposed to be fun to tug on the rope and see if you can get the other side to plow through the goo.

I frequently face this tug of war with Godzilla Girl. For some reason I struggle with this relationship. Part of it is because I’m afraid I’ll be drug into a pit I do not have the resources to deal with. Part of it is because I feel like I should be doing more – and doing it cheerfully.

Today was my turn to bring her to church and return her to her living facility. I was dreading this for several reasons. I’ve been hiding out from her because of the two issues listed above, and because of my own impatience. With a heavy heart I arrived to pick her up. And immediately I felt like a heel when her face lit up when she saw me. One the way to church we exchanged some good natured teasing – and I was surprised at home much I was enjoying her company. I had to question myself. Why have I been dreading this encounter? Why have I built up such a pit between the reality and my impressions.

I dunno. But after dropping her off today, I realized she’d won the tug-of-war, and I didn’t even have to go through the pit. Heh.

The lesson of the illustrator:

Today church was all about imagery. No, that wasn’t the topic of the sermons or Sunday School, but it’s what struck me though out the day. In the contemporary service we project graphics behind the words to the songs and the sermon. Today the graphics contained two images I’d discovered last week. Coupled with the words of the songs, I stood there in amazement as I tried to comprehend such a vast God. Such a mighty God – one who can design a universe that looks like this and this:

One who gives me vistas like this:

To take my breath away. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to separate my belief in God from this amazing place He’s created. I don’t really care what you believe or don’t believe. I think He’s an amazing architect and space planner.

The lesson of heart-ache:

As I sat in church today – I was so edified. The music, the people, the love, the message. I was edified and saddened. Saddened to know so many people can’t relate to this experience when they think of church. That their memories of church and religion are so overwhelmingly negative that they chose to never re-visit this alter. Experiences that built walls between them and God, instead of bridges to peace and contentment.

As I was refreshed, encouraged, and ministered too, I felt a wish creep upon me. That I could trade shoes with any of you … that you could sit in my place for a Sunday and feel the rejuvenation and joy I feel every time I enter that sanctuary.

And then my heart-ached.

I know there is no way for me to share the experience – to undo all the preconceived notions and perceptions. The only gift and tool I have are my words and smile. They seem so tiny in face of the challenge.