Category: Potpourri

Intersecting circles

teacuppamela.pngAs our friend visited with me in the kitchen yesterday, I was so profoundly touched by the way God uses incidents in people’s lives to touch the body, to move the body and to soften the body of Christ.  She was relating how the life of a fine young man in their church family was facing cancer surgery on Friday.  She had been looking after their little children and was so saddened by the trial this young family faced.   in addition, she was relating how another brother in the body was in grave condition with some sort of blood or intestinal infection that had so suddenly brought him to the brink of death.  I knew of the situation with the first and was so saddened to hear of the second.
I was making cookies… Valentines.  I was lost in thoughts of sadness for my friend – for her family… whose boy died in a tragic auto accident a few years ago.  Her Valentine baby.  He would have been 25 yesterday.  I never forget that boy’s birthday and I will never forget the day he died… the calendar date happened to be our second son’s birthday.  They had been friends as little boys and I knew in my heart that this boy’s death would profoundly affect my boy.  I do not question, and yet I will never understand, God’s decision to take that one home and to not take my boy – though he’d been in innumerable situations that could’ve taken his life compared to the one situation that took that boy’s life.   I see him in the theater of my mind as I reflect on the little boys in the Sunday school class many years ago… then in AWANA together.  Again, many years ago.  But it’s almost like yesterday and I know the mama feels that way, too.  It all goes so fast.

Another friend came by and as we stood there talking, we commented that we both marveled at the number of tragedies, the number of sick and dying – the bizarre cases.  It’s all so tragic and painful to consider. But God – But God who is rich in mercy.

A mail just came through and it was regarding this young man – this young man, the husband of a beautiful wife, the father of two children, a loyal son and a faithful follower of Jesus Christ.  He faces surgery tomorrow at the University of Washington.  I suppose, were I to be facing surgery, that’s just where I’d want to be treated.  It’s amazing to me how the LORD has circles intersect and it’s those intersections that make us aware of the lives those people are touching as well.  They then become part of lives we’re intersecting and the body of Christ is seen in the broader spectrum – all over the world the lives of men and women are being touched because of the pain and plight of one brother.  But it’s not just one brother because the lives touching that life all have stories and circles of their own and each one is dealing with a matter that only the LORD knows and can carry.  In fact on his blog, he relates his love for the brother in the dire condition and though he is facing tremendous challenges ahead, his heart is touched to its core by the plight of the brother.

Interestingly, our friend sent out a second mail for prayer for the one suffering the unknown infection.  Circles.  More intersections.  God is sooooo good.  All the time.

On my desk: today’s mail… there are two envelopes… one is a “thank you” for a wedding gift; and the other, a wedding invitation.  My neighbor, a young mother of a brand new baby drives by my window. New life.  New lives as one.  New hopes and dreams. I pray for them.  I pray God’s tender mercy over each of them for they will no doubt face trials and tragedies of their own.  Sorrow skips no home.
I marveled at the timing of the reciept of the wedding invitation… thinking of some of that family’s history… the groom is the brother of a young man who died three years ago tomorrow.  A tragedy – a sudden, instantaneous loss of a strong, hard working young  man.  Then, I marveled again over the cancer condition and the grave medical concern of the other I described earlier – these no doubt touch the sender of the “thank you” card.  Then I thought of the extended family of the groom to be, for they are in the same body of believers.  More circles.  More lives intersecting.  More intersecting circles.

Pray for Erik… in grave unknown medical condition.
Pray for Andrew… facing surgery for mouth cancer tomorrow (2/16)

And all those who are obviously connected in those circles… circles of grief; circles of joy.  Intersecting circles.

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memories and slices

teacuppamela.pngIn the wintertime, the sun streams in our bedroom window… and it’s beautiful. Often, I’m transported back to another time — in my mind. When the sun streams in I’m reminded of the mornings in the weeks following the birth of Naomi – our ninth child, born on Christmas Day. I recall how I would have her there beside me, all snuggled up warm in the blankets and the glow of the sunshine filled the room. I try to remember the last time I carried her. I cannot. And I cannot remember. I should’ve said: I cannot remember carrying her or I cannot remember the last time I carried her or something like that. It was more than a slip to simply have said: I cannot remember. Truth is, more and more: I cannot remember. And then I see a photograph and a seeming flood of memories wash over me. What a precious gift she was – is.
So, I am trying to look at more photographs lately. I am trying to remember not to forget. But each day has its sweet images, its sweet moments… sweet memories in the making. And much as I’d like to just hang out in the never-never-land of long ago, I know the *be here now* is sweeter. It’s sweeter bcz it’s all those yesterdays that brought about today and were I to have to trade the yesterdays for a few todays, I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t want to give up any todays just to have a moment in the sun. If I did… then, I’d miss the beautiful pictures on the fridge… pictures of me by an artist never before showcased on the fridge gallery: granddaughter pictures. They hang alongside pictures coloured by another amazing artist – a grandson. There is still more art on the… wall… another grandson. Another Sharpie artist. I’ve had one of those before.

I guess that’s the good thing about a bunch of yesterday’s. They’ve taught me a lot. I’m not so surprised about things anymore and don’t fret about them so much, either. I’ve had Sharpie wall art on freshly painted walls before. Now’s not the first time and I’m guessing, not the last, either. So… in a day or so or whenever I get the inclination to do so, I’ll scrub and repaint. For now… it’s just more character for this old house. Wow… if these walls could talk… wait! they do! and they talk a lot!

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mothering from the sidelines

It’s a quiet day here in our home – not much different than any other day.  Oatmeal, dishes, laundry, scrubbing potties, sweeping, mopping and thinking.  I mull over the topics discussed at the monthly “Titus 2” meeting last night.  Like the blast of cold air that makes you gasp when you open the back door on a blustery winter day, I recognize over and over that I’m living in the margin. It’s wide, uncharted territory for me. Out of the game, I watch from the side lines – my mantra over and over:  I can’t believe how fast it all went.  I feel sort of like the Fabio commercial clip Samuel showed me on the computer following last year’s Superbowl game.  “Life comes at ya fast…” and you instantly see a startling image on the screen.  The once dashing man… scary. So, life in the margin.  Life on the sideline.

Women were sharing the benefits of cloth diapering — showing and demonstrating the types of covers and diaper wraps.  And I realized yet another area where if you’re not in the game — if you’re not doing/using/needing it, then, man, are you “Sooooo last year.”  It’s sort of like talking about your favourite record or tape.  If you share what you used to do… You see the youngers sort of glaze over… squinch their eyes and look at you like you’ve just said the moon is made of swiss cheese.  Somehow, last night I mustered up the resolve to keep smiling, keep interested and enthused about the diapers.  I really was fascinated and interested.  Really… I *am* a gramma (and happy to be so, I might add)!
But weird… it was from the sideline.  I felt like I wanted to say… I know about diapering… I do, I do… I think I’ve changed something like a million of them.  Well, it probably seemed like millions at the time.  I can’t really remember being there with the cloth diapers… hands immersed in the toilet wringing out poopy diapers each day.  It wasn’t a problem to me and I didn’t make a big deal about the job or draw attention to the messes of each baby.  And so I guess that’s the difference I saw… I just got the diapers and the gerber plastic pants and the pins… ran them through my hair… pinned the diapers, pulled up the pants and off we went.  It wasn’t a big deal.  Clearly it was the only way I did things—I didn’t know there was another way and clearly didn’t know to wonder if there was one.

So I used the “chinese prefolds” for all the babies – gerber plastic pants for all the babies. Then I had a cast on my left arm when Hannah was a baby—I couldn’t maneuver the pinning (safely).  So, my first paper diapers.  I thought at the time:  Omygoodness, where have I been?  What was I thinking: cloth only… tsk, tsk.   I recall thinking: freedom!  what freedom!  I think I cloth diapered  for the next babies only for the first several months and then back to paper for each of them.  I know, I know… who cares?  Well, if you were to have been there last night and had you seen the sweet mothers discussing the benefits of one type over another and were you to have seen the sweet little babies theses young mothers were nursing and diapering—well, you’d see who cares and why it all mattered.

I know, I was there and saw all that from the sideline.

No, I did not fall off this great big flat earth, nor did I get lost under the avalanche of laundry created over the weekend, nor did I drown in dishwater or a sea of tears when Timothy went back to school… or while watching Kathryn gather, sort and pack for Uganda. The thing about blogging is that it’s sort of like taking out the trash. If you do it, it doesn’t matter all that much to very many people and if you don’t do it, it doesn’t matter all that much to very many people. Either way, the task has little lasting impact.

february is anniversary time and all the other lovey things…

teacuppamela.pngAnd what a sentimental month it always is — this year is no exception!  My-o-my… our Hannah came home, our Timothy came home… Kathryn prepared a lovely breakfast for us… we celebrated at Harrison Hot Springs in Canada and we’re celebrating every day we’ve shared together.  And now… we’re watching the children go in many different directions… no, no weeping over an empty nest (it will likely never happen ~wink!~) but perhaps weeping over the empty womb.
But you know what I keep thinking about?

Yes.  That I cannot fit into my wedding dress.  Isn’t that crazy?  I do not weigh the less than one-hundred-and-twenty pounds I weighed 29 years ago.  One would think that if I think about something so consistently, I would do something about it.   But I didn’t.  And I don’t. And maybe tomorrow I won’t, either.  But you know what? One of these days I will get back on track and do something about it… you know… another go-around on the umpteenth and one diet.
When Hannah was twelve years old, she put on my wedding dress and it fit her.  I wasn’t much older, I suppose, when I wore it in 1978.  ~wink~  It was a Gunne Sax style dress that I made… and it was probably a combination of two or three patterns so that I could accomplish the look I was wanting for the wedding dress.

One thing I’m always glad about:  I’ve never regretted the wedding dress.  Or the pictures. I sure don’t regret the style or that I didn’t look all chic or that I didn’t go for the glamour dress or the dress that needed constant ‘babysitting’ to keep it up.  And wow, I don’t even regret it was a size 5.  I do regret, however, that I am not.  And yes, it was twenty-nine years ago.  And yes, it was eleven children ago.  And yes, it was three grandchildren ago.  And yes, it was… yada, yada, yada… but you know, that doesn’t matter to me today… what matters is that I cannot wear it.  Most things I cannot wear, or consistently cannot wear, I do not keep.  Why would I?  But that dress… that dress is the measure for me.  It’s the measure of what was and what ought to be.

So… I keep it.  Yes, it’s a guilt trap trip, but it’s also a picture for me of the little girl who said, “I do,” twenty nine years ago… she’s not the same little girl anymore—not the same on so many levels.

But she sure dreams of the day when she’ll don the dress and stand before her groom… still saying, I do.

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things never satisfied – post edited 2/6/07

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There are three things that are never satisfied,
yea, four things say not, It is enough:
The grave; and the barren womb;
the earth that is not filled with water;
and the fire that saith not, It is enough.
Proverbs 30.15-16
Month after month, year after year… on the other side of childbearing, I identify with those who watch and wait. And wait. They may think no one can identify… and, sure, no one can truly know the mind and emotion of another – but, identify: yes. And grieve the passing of years and the barren womb.
I read a story of a woman who’d undergone IVF – and for whatever reason, God allowed the outcome. Hmmm. Ethics—the ethics of morality, the morality of ethics. Hmmm.
The mother of twins by c-section. [[[[[[[[ post edited : I AM  SOOOOO SOOORRRRYYYY FOR THE HORRIFIC LINK THAT WAS HERE ALL WEEK.  IF YOU CLICKED IT, I VERY MUCH APOLOGIZE FOR THE HORRIBLE LINK.  THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO ALERTED ME TO IT ]]]]]]]]
So a week before her 67th birthday a woman who’d never borne children before became the mother of twins by c-section.
I marveled over her age. I’m guessing (yes, cynically) that docs in LA must have seen too many natural, undoctored effects of aging or not enough, I’m not sure, and so the woman passed as a 55 year old—I suppose there are women who actually do look many years younger than the number of birthdays they’ve celebrated, but… one would have to wonder.
But, actually, this isn’t about her age or whether the docs had an ethical obligation to deny her or even a moral obligation to question her, though they ought to have. It’s the whole medical science of “reproduction” that I find myself wondering abut and still more about the line and practice… and I marvel.

a glimpse of things to come

(I know… I’m going to change the colour scheme/image here… it’s just a little Valentine’s day indulgence.  It’s actually too much for me.)

teacuppamela.pngSo… Bill Gates says the internet will revolutionize television in the next five years.  If we all get programing devoid of advertising and commentary, who’s going to show us what to buy, what to wear, how to think, where to shop, alert us of hunger or desires we didn’t even consider contemplating?

But wait… consider the tremendous implications… what if advertising was targeted specifically to a particular user/viewer/potential consumer?  What if, through intelligent tracking, a viewer would suddenly only see advertising known to draw him or her in?  What if that viewer/user’s online purchases, preferences obtained through marketing research forms, etc., etc., were used to create an acceptable atmosphere to even the most strident opposition to “commercial television” or, those who, today, advocate *no* regular television viewing (and yet browse the net).

Think of the marketing boon — if advertisers would work outside the Hollywood box, they’d see an incredible untapped market… wow, they might even have to consider the half of the country that doesn’t look, think, act like or even want to be like Hollywood.   It really wouldn’t be so hard… smart things usually aren’t.

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revisting books

teacuppamela.pngI think one of the problems with simply borrowing books from libraries instead of buying copies for our own libraries is that we can’t go back and revisit a chapter or even a meaningful sentence very easily. That, and it’s frowned upon to mark up borrowed books. =o)

So I was browsing book availability (read: eBay, Half and Craig’sList) and a book title popped up – a book I’d read last year and found to be encouraging. Now, the trouble with books I read last year (or, rather, my memory of the content) is that I had had surgery and my consciousness was, early on, altered and therefore, my memory doesn’t serve me right or allow me to bring up specifics. But isn’t it interesting that I do remember all the names of the caregivers, docs and nurses who were attending to me. Well, that’s either good or bad. In most cases it was neither – but in a couple, it was the latter.

So I read a book by Cheri Fuller: The Mom You’re Meant to Be, and just today I came across a “study guide” for that book. I guess I liked the book because it was a reminder to me to make the best of every single day and had specific suggestions for doing so. Anyway… here’s the link for the guide. You’d be helped by having the book – but even if you don’t, her questions are good springboards for your consideration and answers. Here you go.
Week 8, and Chapter 39, in particular, was especially meaningful to me.

You know… one of the most wonderful things I noticed today, along with many accomplishments around here? Ah… it’s nearly 5pm and it’s still light outside. O, the hope of glorious Springtime. Wintertime in the PacificNorthwest is very, very… very… very dim—most days.

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