This talk is one of my recent favorites. Enjoy.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Begin Again
Blue lights glow lovely and clear—tucked mostly deep within the branches of the tree—amid gold transparent ribbon and paisley ornaments.
I usually leave the tree up well into January. But not this year. Tomorrow the tree comes down.
It's time to say farewell to seasons past.
Move forward into the coming year.
Begin again.
Again.
Happy New Year.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thank you, Third World
My daughter, Lauren, served a proselyting mission in Fiji. At the end of her service I took my other daughter, Sara, with me to bring Lauren home. We spent ten days with the meek of the earth.
After this experience I came to understand the outrageous abundance with which I am daily surrounded. It is easy to forget. Even now I'm having difficulty clearly remembering the emotions I felt at the time. But I woke this morning thinking of a Fijian woman whom Lauren had taught and befriended.
She was near my age. She lived in a shack on a hillside. There were no windows or doors. Fabric was tacked over doorways, hung for privacy when it wasn't pulled back to allow for the breeze or light to come in. With her own hands she had built a primitive gazebo/seating area outdoors from scrap wood. It was shaded in the afternoon and she invited us to sit there while we talked about life and Jesus and my daughter, whom we both loved. It reminded me of when I sit beneath walnut trees in my own yard with friends and family. There were scrap-wood shelves on which she placed potted plants—potted in tin cans and maybe plastic dishes or a few broken ceramic pots. She grew a small garden. While we visited, her twenty-something son scrambled up a coconut tree and brought down fruit for us. Her only other child, a toddler from her second marriage, sat on her lap. This woman was beautiful in every way. Physically, spiritually, personality-wise. She felt very much like a sister to me as we sat together and talked. I wish I could recall her name just now. Lauren knows it.
She was a creative, talented woman who dreamed of being a seamstress. She had no electricity so she sewed things by hand and on a treadle machine which had broken a few months earlier. She wove purses and bags from plant leaves and fibers, then lined them with tropical print fabric. I still use the one she gave me. I gave her a framed photograph of the Savior. She showed me a clipping from a newspaper perhaps five or six years old. It was an advertisement for a sewing instruction book. She could not afford to repair her machine. The parts she needed may not have even been available. There was no hope of buying a new machine either. Buying a sewing machine for her would be like buying a new house for you and I. . . if you or I had no steady income.
It would take far too long for me to explain here why I did not simply buy her everything she needed or send money to her for the rest of her life. You can talk to Lauren about that if you want. My belly aches a little right now thinking about it.
As I write this post I am sitting on the sofa. I glance up at a James Christensen print hanging over the fireplace. I think I paid around twelve-hundred dollars for it. The leather chair in the corner on one side of the fireplace was a steal for about six-hundred at Costco. The custom upholstered chair on the other side of the fireplace was seven-hundred and fifty. The laptop I am typing on was a bargain (with student discount) for eleven-hundred and came with a free printer and a hundred-dollar iTunes coupon. There is hot water coming from the tap when I want it. This morning I will make cranberry sauce in a food processor and later I will drive to my sister's home. In a heated car. On paved roads. For Thanksgiving dinner. I could go on and on. . .
. . . I really wish I could remember her name.
 |
| "Sister Lewis" Fiji 2005 |
After this experience I came to understand the outrageous abundance with which I am daily surrounded. It is easy to forget. Even now I'm having difficulty clearly remembering the emotions I felt at the time. But I woke this morning thinking of a Fijian woman whom Lauren had taught and befriended.
She was near my age. She lived in a shack on a hillside. There were no windows or doors. Fabric was tacked over doorways, hung for privacy when it wasn't pulled back to allow for the breeze or light to come in. With her own hands she had built a primitive gazebo/seating area outdoors from scrap wood. It was shaded in the afternoon and she invited us to sit there while we talked about life and Jesus and my daughter, whom we both loved. It reminded me of when I sit beneath walnut trees in my own yard with friends and family. There were scrap-wood shelves on which she placed potted plants—potted in tin cans and maybe plastic dishes or a few broken ceramic pots. She grew a small garden. While we visited, her twenty-something son scrambled up a coconut tree and brought down fruit for us. Her only other child, a toddler from her second marriage, sat on her lap. This woman was beautiful in every way. Physically, spiritually, personality-wise. She felt very much like a sister to me as we sat together and talked. I wish I could recall her name just now. Lauren knows it.
She was a creative, talented woman who dreamed of being a seamstress. She had no electricity so she sewed things by hand and on a treadle machine which had broken a few months earlier. She wove purses and bags from plant leaves and fibers, then lined them with tropical print fabric. I still use the one she gave me. I gave her a framed photograph of the Savior. She showed me a clipping from a newspaper perhaps five or six years old. It was an advertisement for a sewing instruction book. She could not afford to repair her machine. The parts she needed may not have even been available. There was no hope of buying a new machine either. Buying a sewing machine for her would be like buying a new house for you and I. . . if you or I had no steady income.
It would take far too long for me to explain here why I did not simply buy her everything she needed or send money to her for the rest of her life. You can talk to Lauren about that if you want. My belly aches a little right now thinking about it.
As I write this post I am sitting on the sofa. I glance up at a James Christensen print hanging over the fireplace. I think I paid around twelve-hundred dollars for it. The leather chair in the corner on one side of the fireplace was a steal for about six-hundred at Costco. The custom upholstered chair on the other side of the fireplace was seven-hundred and fifty. The laptop I am typing on was a bargain (with student discount) for eleven-hundred and came with a free printer and a hundred-dollar iTunes coupon. There is hot water coming from the tap when I want it. This morning I will make cranberry sauce in a food processor and later I will drive to my sister's home. In a heated car. On paved roads. For Thanksgiving dinner. I could go on and on. . .
. . . I really wish I could remember her name.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thank you, Feet. Contest
This is giveaway post inspired by my good friend, Dalene, who had her own blog contest recently. You can thank her if you win. Or, if you ARE her (because she is one of a very few people who read this blog) you can thank yourself.
If you want to enter, leave a comment below about why you are thankful for your feet. Include a link or e-mail address.
Feet are under-appreciated. They deserve a little recognition. They deserve a massage.
Which leads to this: The prize is a Foot Massage. By me. From me. For your feet.
I know. It's not a typical giveaway. Maybe you're one of those people who are uncomfortable having your feet touched or you just don't like your feet or think they are ugly. If you are one of those folks, well, try to get over it because this will be really good. If you're just not sure about having a friend massage your feet try to get over that too. It' no big deal. Your feet do a lot of hard work. They deserve a massage.
You may enter the contest through Sunday, November 27th at midnight.
One of those randomizer things will be used to select a winner.
Prize includes: Steaming washcloth cleanse (Like they do in the first-class section of airlines for your hands. Yes, it really happens. I've been there. Twice. By serendipitous upgrade. Except this is for your feet. The airlines don't do feet. At least not on domestic flights.) and foot massage with Bath and Body Works Aromatherapy Tranquil Mint Stress Relief Lotion.
This relaxing foot massage will be delivered on a day of winner's choosing during the first 15 days of December.
I will come to your home or you can stop by mine. Whichever is preferable.
Thank you, feet. You've carried me everywhere I've ever wanted to go. Now, let's go get a pedi!
If you want to enter, leave a comment below about why you are thankful for your feet. Include a link or e-mail address.
Feet are under-appreciated. They deserve a little recognition. They deserve a massage.
Which leads to this: The prize is a Foot Massage. By me. From me. For your feet.
I know. It's not a typical giveaway. Maybe you're one of those people who are uncomfortable having your feet touched or you just don't like your feet or think they are ugly. If you are one of those folks, well, try to get over it because this will be really good. If you're just not sure about having a friend massage your feet try to get over that too. It' no big deal. Your feet do a lot of hard work. They deserve a massage.
You may enter the contest through Sunday, November 27th at midnight.
One of those randomizer things will be used to select a winner.
Prize includes: Steaming washcloth cleanse (Like they do in the first-class section of airlines for your hands. Yes, it really happens. I've been there. Twice. By serendipitous upgrade. Except this is for your feet. The airlines don't do feet. At least not on domestic flights.) and foot massage with Bath and Body Works Aromatherapy Tranquil Mint Stress Relief Lotion.
This relaxing foot massage will be delivered on a day of winner's choosing during the first 15 days of December.
I will come to your home or you can stop by mine. Whichever is preferable.
Thank you, feet. You've carried me everywhere I've ever wanted to go. Now, let's go get a pedi!
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thank you, Quiet
It is 4:45 AM. There is no sound in the house. There is no sound outside.
(Except just now a train whistle in the distance.)
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Thank you, Poop
Yesterday I wrote about God. Today I'm writing about poop. Bear with me. It's all about gratitude.
My daughter, Lauren, paid me a visit yesterday. She and the two littles ("Sunshine" and "Champ") and I went downstairs to visit with my other daughter, Sara, and her husband, Jordan, who live in the basement apartment. After lots of lively conversation about the coming holidays, speculation about whether or not the other sibling might be planning on having a baby anytime soon, here's how the conversation went.
I picked up Champ at his request (arms outstretched in a please pick me up manner.)
Me: I think Champ is poopey.
Lauren: He might be, but he's in a cloth diaper, so it might just smell like poop.
I move my nose toward his bum region then make the familiar visual inspection of said region by pulling a portion of said diaper out and away from said region. Visual and olfactory evidence confirm my suspicion.
Me: It's poop.
I look at Lauren and see the expression on her face. It's the expression of a young mom who gets very little sleep.
Me: I'd LOVE to change his diaper.
Lauren: That's a good idea. Thanks. It's great to have someone else deal with the poop now and then.
Me: (changing diaper) Wow! That's poop alright! It really stinks. (Let your imagination take you there.)
Lauren: I hate poop.
Sara: Me too.
Jordan: Me too.
Me: I LOVE poop. It means there is a healthy bowel in there doing its job! Hurray for poop!
Sara: Only a nurse would say that.
Lauren: Only Nurse Mom would say that. I'm pretty sure there are plenty of nurses who don't like poop.
Me: It's true. There are a lot of nurses who don't like poop.
Lauren: Of course, there could be a lot of nurses who aren't as mature as you are about things like that.
Me: It's probably more the whole "miracle of life thing" for me. A lot of nurses won't go there with poop.
End of conversation. Champ's bum is clean. New diaper applied. Smiles all around. Like I said:
It's all about gratitude.
My daughter, Lauren, paid me a visit yesterday. She and the two littles ("Sunshine" and "Champ") and I went downstairs to visit with my other daughter, Sara, and her husband, Jordan, who live in the basement apartment. After lots of lively conversation about the coming holidays, speculation about whether or not the other sibling might be planning on having a baby anytime soon, here's how the conversation went.
I picked up Champ at his request (arms outstretched in a please pick me up manner.)
Me: I think Champ is poopey.
Lauren: He might be, but he's in a cloth diaper, so it might just smell like poop.
I move my nose toward his bum region then make the familiar visual inspection of said region by pulling a portion of said diaper out and away from said region. Visual and olfactory evidence confirm my suspicion.
Me: It's poop.
I look at Lauren and see the expression on her face. It's the expression of a young mom who gets very little sleep.
Me: I'd LOVE to change his diaper.
Lauren: That's a good idea. Thanks. It's great to have someone else deal with the poop now and then.
Me: (changing diaper) Wow! That's poop alright! It really stinks. (Let your imagination take you there.)
Lauren: I hate poop.
Sara: Me too.
Jordan: Me too.
Me: I LOVE poop. It means there is a healthy bowel in there doing its job! Hurray for poop!
Sara: Only a nurse would say that.
Lauren: Only Nurse Mom would say that. I'm pretty sure there are plenty of nurses who don't like poop.
Me: It's true. There are a lot of nurses who don't like poop.
Lauren: Of course, there could be a lot of nurses who aren't as mature as you are about things like that.
Me: It's probably more the whole "miracle of life thing" for me. A lot of nurses won't go there with poop.
End of conversation. Champ's bum is clean. New diaper applied. Smiles all around. Like I said:
It's all about gratitude.
Thank you, God
A little while ago I had a teeny, tiny experience that changed my life.
How, when and where it happened were as important as the message itself. In fact, the Moment was the Message. (It was so-like-God-to-do-it-that-way.) This may require a disclaimer. We'll see.
I had purchased a rug at my favorite store, TJ Maxx. However, I needed another of the same rug or something similar to fill the space in an L-shaped hallway of my home. The preceding week had been outrageously busy. By the time Sunday rolled around I was exhausted. I'd worked 50+ hours including Saturday. I decided to skip church, take a nap, then head north to a second TJ Maxx where the second rug waited for me.
Throughout my life I have observed the Sabbath by, among other things, not going shopping. [There is the disclaimer. I had a feeling it was coming.] However, on this day I felt no guilt, no shame, no fear of "breaking the Sabbath." I was relaxed, happy, relieved to finally have one day free from any demands on my time. My heart was filled with gratitude for a day of rest. I felt unusually peaceful as I drove in the late afternoon with a spectacular autumn skyline to the west. The sun moved lower in the sky, shown through clouds, cast an amber glow across the valley.
To be perfectly honest, I don't remember what was on my mind when this happened. I only remember that it came out of the blue and knocked me right off whatever thought process had been running in my brain.
It's always difficult to describe these moments of personal revelation or enlightenment. And the message I received was not new. We've all heard this message our entire lives if we are Christian or religious or spiritual in any way. But I had never before KNOWN the truth of it in the way I do now. Again, it is difficult to articulate moments like this, but here is what came:
God has lovingly cared for me and watched over me in EVERY MOMENT of EVERY DAY of my life.
(I rarely use capital letters for emphasis, so this is really big.)
Every moment.
Every day.
Not one second has passed when God was not completely, utterly, intimately aware of me.
Not even a nanosecond. Nothing. No space in the time of my existence has been free of God's presence surrounding me. Not even now as I type this. Not last night while I slept or yesterday while I worked or went to school. Not when I sat at Mama Chu's waiting for take out. Not in the moment I called Lauren to see if I could stop and say hello to the grand babies on my way home. Not when I married the wrong person or when I was a child—alone and frightened in the world.
Never. Not ever.
It seems beautifully, divinely ironic—filled with evidence of the perfect way in which the Holy Spirit works—that this overwhelming and simple message came as I drove to a store. On a Sunday. In a moment of solitude, respite and even joy (if you know how I feel about TJ Maxx.) In my car. Northbound on I-15. I will never be the same.
God lovingly cares for and watches over each of us—everyone, everywhere in every moment.
I am still in awe. Thank you.
 |
| (click on this photo) courtesy of Luke Lewis |
I had purchased a rug at my favorite store, TJ Maxx. However, I needed another of the same rug or something similar to fill the space in an L-shaped hallway of my home. The preceding week had been outrageously busy. By the time Sunday rolled around I was exhausted. I'd worked 50+ hours including Saturday. I decided to skip church, take a nap, then head north to a second TJ Maxx where the second rug waited for me.
Throughout my life I have observed the Sabbath by, among other things, not going shopping. [There is the disclaimer. I had a feeling it was coming.] However, on this day I felt no guilt, no shame, no fear of "breaking the Sabbath." I was relaxed, happy, relieved to finally have one day free from any demands on my time. My heart was filled with gratitude for a day of rest. I felt unusually peaceful as I drove in the late afternoon with a spectacular autumn skyline to the west. The sun moved lower in the sky, shown through clouds, cast an amber glow across the valley.
To be perfectly honest, I don't remember what was on my mind when this happened. I only remember that it came out of the blue and knocked me right off whatever thought process had been running in my brain.
It's always difficult to describe these moments of personal revelation or enlightenment. And the message I received was not new. We've all heard this message our entire lives if we are Christian or religious or spiritual in any way. But I had never before KNOWN the truth of it in the way I do now. Again, it is difficult to articulate moments like this, but here is what came:
God has lovingly cared for me and watched over me in EVERY MOMENT of EVERY DAY of my life.
(I rarely use capital letters for emphasis, so this is really big.)
Every moment.
Every day.
Not one second has passed when God was not completely, utterly, intimately aware of me.
Not even a nanosecond. Nothing. No space in the time of my existence has been free of God's presence surrounding me. Not even now as I type this. Not last night while I slept or yesterday while I worked or went to school. Not when I sat at Mama Chu's waiting for take out. Not in the moment I called Lauren to see if I could stop and say hello to the grand babies on my way home. Not when I married the wrong person or when I was a child—alone and frightened in the world.
Never. Not ever.
God lovingly cares for and watches over each of us—everyone, everywhere in every moment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)