Ah, yes. The middle school years. Those years of Hello Kitty, slam books, rainbows and unicorns, blue eyeshadow, and fashion fads. I have to admit, it wasn't all bad. But in the same way that the Grand Canyon was fashioned by years of water running through the rock, so my spirit was fashioned by the spiritual warfare going on around and inside me - mostly in the form of teasing. Now it is perhaps true that I was a very sensitive kid, and others got teased too. But as my friend D likes to say, the mind can't take a joke. It didn't much matter to me then that they were kids, or that they just joking. It hurt me. A lot. Exactly how much I am only now discovering years later as I try to remove (with God's help) the layers of the masks I erected to protect myself from it.
(An aside: this part is really hard to write, I keep finding myself doing *anything* to avoid it)
Ok, so how best to explain. Well, for starters, I'm a shy extrovert with a people pleasing complex. Which means I like to be around lots of people, I like to be liked, but I can be very socially awkward around people I don't know or those who intimidate me. Now stick that mental picture into a small town middle school environment and you'll begin to understand. And to fill in your mental gaps I'll add that in 5th and 6th grade I went through my pre-growth spurt chub phase, puberty was not cooperating with me, I had to start wearing glasses in 6th grade, was no good at sports, and needed braces (but didn't get them then for reasons waaay too long to go into.) Oh, and I had a propensity for sticking my foot in my mouth on a regular basis by uttering things with double meanings that I was too naive to recognize. Erk.
Getting the picture? Good, because I've hidden away the evidence. Suffice to say I was pretty much the epitome of the geeky wallflower and I took refuge in my books, my few close friends, my family, and my church. Only, even church wasn't always a refuge because many of those same dynamics were going on in my youth group. So I spent a great deal of time reading, daydreaming, and trying to not make waves. In retrospect I'm realizing I succeeded a little too well.
There were a few highlights. In 6th grade I found a new best friend, Carolyn (except her family moved at the end of the year cause her dad was military). And I went on my first camping trip with the 6th grade class, where I learned that I love camping. My folks were not "camping" people so they had never taken me. The love of camping would end up becoming very important in my life later on.
Stay tuned for Part 2, Late Middle School....fade out on a Barry Manilow song.....
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Life of Beth=:) (Chapter 4 - The First Cruel Blow and The Battle Begins in Earnest
If you remember a couple posts back I talked about how I was having a wonderful summer and spent most of it with my best friend, Laura. One thing you need to know about me. Although I am an extrovert, I tend to have only a few really deep relationships at a time. Laura was my friend, but really, she was more like the sister I'd always wanted (my friends with siblings always thought I was crazy to want siblings). Her mom practically adopted me into the family. Her younger sister and brother even liked me. We were together all the time that summer.
And then one ordinary day, Laura said she had something really important to tell me. Her father had been promoted and the family would be moving. By the end of the summer. To Washington. "Oh", said I, "You mean D.C.?" (thinking that was not so far, we lived in PA). "No," she says, "Washington STATE."
Ohhhhhhh....my little 8 year old heart had just slid down into my stomach and stayed there like a lead weight. My Very Best Friend was moving as far away as she could move and still be in the country. I wasn't just devastated; I was numb. We were still together all the time for the rest of the time we had, but it was a bittersweet elation. Almost like when you know that someone is dying and these are your last days with them. Yeah, I know, it sounds really maudlin and dramatic but that's how I felt.
We promised to write each other all the time, and actually did. Laura and I kept a regular correspondence through all our school years right up until we left for college, and even a bit in college. But I only actually saw her in person twice after the Bentleys moved. They came back to visit once when Laura and I were in middle school (8th grade, I think). And once again, when we were in late high school or early college. That was it. Now that we have email and such, I keep thinking I should look her up again. Maybe someday I will...
So I went into 3rd grade, absent one best friend. And with the new classroom system, these 30 or so kids were now my classmates for life. I got put into the top section, and my 3rd grade year was not too bad, but I was very lonely.
In 4th grade, I was determined to Get Involved. A lot of my friends had started playing an instrument at the end of 3rd grade and joined the band beginning of 4th. Not wanting to be left out, I begged and pleaded with my folks; they got me a flute for Christmas and I started lessons, and joined the band when I could play well enough. Of course, I'd overlooked one thing. I was setting myself up BIG time for the torment which was to come.
You see, since I was awkward and shy, I was already a geek. Then I got put in the top section, and became a smart geek. Then I joined the band and became that epitome of the teased, a Smart Band Geek. More's the pity for me. (At least now I have the consolation of my husband who was also a Smart Band Geek and understands me!)
Of course it was all over the day the 4th grade girls started to become fashion conscious. I had a love of comfortable clothes, and if they fit, who cared what they looked like? At the time I was crazy about those Garanimals matching knit top and pant sets. So crazy about them, that I wore them long past my end of 3rd grade growth spurt. You see what's coming, don't you? Yeah....
The summer before 5th grade, my mom and I went on a whirlwind shopping trip. It seems the "in" girls had to wear jeans. I had never owned a pair up till that point. I hated them - most uncomfortable things on the planet when you're short with no waist. It was 1978, on the leading edge of the designer jeans craze....(fade out dancing to "Le Freak".)
And then one ordinary day, Laura said she had something really important to tell me. Her father had been promoted and the family would be moving. By the end of the summer. To Washington. "Oh", said I, "You mean D.C.?" (thinking that was not so far, we lived in PA). "No," she says, "Washington STATE."
Ohhhhhhh....my little 8 year old heart had just slid down into my stomach and stayed there like a lead weight. My Very Best Friend was moving as far away as she could move and still be in the country. I wasn't just devastated; I was numb. We were still together all the time for the rest of the time we had, but it was a bittersweet elation. Almost like when you know that someone is dying and these are your last days with them. Yeah, I know, it sounds really maudlin and dramatic but that's how I felt.
We promised to write each other all the time, and actually did. Laura and I kept a regular correspondence through all our school years right up until we left for college, and even a bit in college. But I only actually saw her in person twice after the Bentleys moved. They came back to visit once when Laura and I were in middle school (8th grade, I think). And once again, when we were in late high school or early college. That was it. Now that we have email and such, I keep thinking I should look her up again. Maybe someday I will...
So I went into 3rd grade, absent one best friend. And with the new classroom system, these 30 or so kids were now my classmates for life. I got put into the top section, and my 3rd grade year was not too bad, but I was very lonely.
In 4th grade, I was determined to Get Involved. A lot of my friends had started playing an instrument at the end of 3rd grade and joined the band beginning of 4th. Not wanting to be left out, I begged and pleaded with my folks; they got me a flute for Christmas and I started lessons, and joined the band when I could play well enough. Of course, I'd overlooked one thing. I was setting myself up BIG time for the torment which was to come.
You see, since I was awkward and shy, I was already a geek. Then I got put in the top section, and became a smart geek. Then I joined the band and became that epitome of the teased, a Smart Band Geek. More's the pity for me. (At least now I have the consolation of my husband who was also a Smart Band Geek and understands me!)
Of course it was all over the day the 4th grade girls started to become fashion conscious. I had a love of comfortable clothes, and if they fit, who cared what they looked like? At the time I was crazy about those Garanimals matching knit top and pant sets. So crazy about them, that I wore them long past my end of 3rd grade growth spurt. You see what's coming, don't you? Yeah....
The summer before 5th grade, my mom and I went on a whirlwind shopping trip. It seems the "in" girls had to wear jeans. I had never owned a pair up till that point. I hated them - most uncomfortable things on the planet when you're short with no waist. It was 1978, on the leading edge of the designer jeans craze....(fade out dancing to "Le Freak".)
Life of Beth=:) (Chapter 3 - Plunged Into Battle Without a Horse
So there I was, eight years old, newly saved, totally clueless, walking home from the last day of VBS. And do you know what happened on the way home? I stepped in dog poo. In my new sandals. And my mom is really OCD about germs.
Now, I was merely annoyed. I was still excited to tell my mother what had happened to me. Instead, I got hustled hopping through the house to wash my foot and fumigate my shoe. I kept trying to share with her, but all I got was a running diatribe about rude neighbors and their evil dogs. By the time I was cleaned up and my mother's ruffled feathers settled, most of the wind was gone from my sails.
My parents did listen eventually to my story, but their reaction seemed to be more one of "Just humor her, she's a kid" than "Praise God!" In fact, I think they were rather puzzled. After all, I'd been baptized. Wasn't I already a Christian? What's all this "saved" stuff about? The whole concept seemed totally foreign to them.
I was baffled and let down, to say the very least. My VBS teachers had made such a fuss over me, made it out to be a Really Big Deal, what I'd done. A little nonplussed, I settled back into my "normal" life. Little did I know that my life was now on a collision course with the cosmic battle of the ages, the war for the souls of mankind.
You see, God is no respecter of persons. I made a conscious choice. I understood what I was saying (as much as a kid can). I prayed that simple prayer, and suddenly from that moment in time, I belonged to God - transaction complete. It has taken me a lifetime to understand that Satan is no respecter of persons either. God wasn't the only one who took me seriously, as I was shortly to learn....
Now, I was merely annoyed. I was still excited to tell my mother what had happened to me. Instead, I got hustled hopping through the house to wash my foot and fumigate my shoe. I kept trying to share with her, but all I got was a running diatribe about rude neighbors and their evil dogs. By the time I was cleaned up and my mother's ruffled feathers settled, most of the wind was gone from my sails.
My parents did listen eventually to my story, but their reaction seemed to be more one of "Just humor her, she's a kid" than "Praise God!" In fact, I think they were rather puzzled. After all, I'd been baptized. Wasn't I already a Christian? What's all this "saved" stuff about? The whole concept seemed totally foreign to them.
I was baffled and let down, to say the very least. My VBS teachers had made such a fuss over me, made it out to be a Really Big Deal, what I'd done. A little nonplussed, I settled back into my "normal" life. Little did I know that my life was now on a collision course with the cosmic battle of the ages, the war for the souls of mankind.
You see, God is no respecter of persons. I made a conscious choice. I understood what I was saying (as much as a kid can). I prayed that simple prayer, and suddenly from that moment in time, I belonged to God - transaction complete. It has taken me a lifetime to understand that Satan is no respecter of persons either. God wasn't the only one who took me seriously, as I was shortly to learn....
Suffer the little children
I love to read Jon Acuff's Stuff Christians Like blog. (If I ever figure out how to put a link to it I will). He recently addressed what (from the 120+ comments) turned out to be a real hot button issue - the running argument about whether or not children should worship with adults in "big church" (or main service, or whatever you want to call it).
Because I have three young children myself, I was fascinated by all the opinions voiced. But I would propose that the question is much deeper than a Sunday morning logistics issue. I believe there has been a quiet cultural shift going on right underneath our noses. I've been pondering this one for some time, probably starting about 6 years ago.
Six years ago, we had just our oldest son, Christopher. He was 2, and he basically went with me everywhere it was possible to take him. Grocery store, post office, doctor's appointments, Brian's school concerts, restaurants (on the rare occasion we ate out) - Chris was my little sidekick. Of course, when you bring a baby or toddler with you everywhere, you eventually run into the inevitable "little one emergencies". Diaper changes, feeding times (and Chris was nursing), runny noses, and miscellaneous messes - all must be taken care of in a timely manner or you will have a squalling child to deal with. I was on the receiving end of a lot of dirty looks. Even more so now when I take all 3 children with me.
America is supposedly a child friendly nation. "Supposedly!" you say. Why don't you know there are high chairs and booster seats and changing tables and kid-friendly accommodations in public places throughout our nation. Yes, this is true. I am referring to the attitude of the general public, not the facilities.
One of the big arguments people had against children in church was that they are a distraction. Other folks argued, well, how will they learn to NOT be a distraction if they are not part of it. Good point!
I think our nation's tolerance of little children learning to behave has gone WAY down. I certainly agree that my children should behave in public places, church included. But they are still children, and they will sometimes get hungry, tired, cranky, or sick, and will act like children. People used to just accept this. In the days when children did go everywhere with their parents, passers-by would see a cranky child and perhaps exchange sympathetic glances with the parent, or even (God forbid) HELP them. Offer a tissue, a snack, to help the mother find a restroom, carry her bags, whatever. Now, people look on and think "Wow! What a horrible parent" and walk on by.
Lest you think I am merely imagining this, or am overreacting, I offer you a comparison. In the summer of 2002, when Chris was 2 1/2, our family along with Brian's whole family went to France for 10 days for his brother's wedding. My sister-in-law is French, and her whole family is still in France. Well, we were very nervous about the whole thing - the plane ride, a foreign country, different food, etc. Oh, and Chris is autistic, but we didn't know it at the time. We just knew that he was very sensitive to schedule changes and different environments and lots of noise and chaos.
To our absolute and delighted surprise, it was a wonderful experience! The French people were *so* gracious to us. We bumbling, lost Americans, who mangled their language and didn't know their culture. High chairs, booster seats, sleeping accommodations, special food - they helped us find all of it, even in our pidgin French. And when Chris was unhappy, people around us went out their way to make happy faces and kitchie-coo and whatever they could to try to cheer him up. They accepted his presence as normal and they doted on him.
There were six (yes, six) LITTLE children in the wedding party itself. I'm talking under age 7. Chris was one of them. In France, the children are the ones in the wedding party. The nieces and nephews of the bride and groom help carry the bride's train, and hold baskets of flowers, and process down the aisle. And sit through the whole (long) wedding Mass. At if they whisper or wander, well...they're children. That's what children do.
I don't remember us getting one dirty look for bringing our child with us. Actually in France, even the *dogs* are welcome in many places! We ate in many a cafe where the people next to us had their little dog in a lap or under the table, and it was normal. Hmmm.....a culture of people who love children and dogs, even when it wouldn't seem convenient.
I just keep wondering if we Americans don't have it backwards....
Because I have three young children myself, I was fascinated by all the opinions voiced. But I would propose that the question is much deeper than a Sunday morning logistics issue. I believe there has been a quiet cultural shift going on right underneath our noses. I've been pondering this one for some time, probably starting about 6 years ago.
Six years ago, we had just our oldest son, Christopher. He was 2, and he basically went with me everywhere it was possible to take him. Grocery store, post office, doctor's appointments, Brian's school concerts, restaurants (on the rare occasion we ate out) - Chris was my little sidekick. Of course, when you bring a baby or toddler with you everywhere, you eventually run into the inevitable "little one emergencies". Diaper changes, feeding times (and Chris was nursing), runny noses, and miscellaneous messes - all must be taken care of in a timely manner or you will have a squalling child to deal with. I was on the receiving end of a lot of dirty looks. Even more so now when I take all 3 children with me.
America is supposedly a child friendly nation. "Supposedly!" you say. Why don't you know there are high chairs and booster seats and changing tables and kid-friendly accommodations in public places throughout our nation. Yes, this is true. I am referring to the attitude of the general public, not the facilities.
One of the big arguments people had against children in church was that they are a distraction. Other folks argued, well, how will they learn to NOT be a distraction if they are not part of it. Good point!
I think our nation's tolerance of little children learning to behave has gone WAY down. I certainly agree that my children should behave in public places, church included. But they are still children, and they will sometimes get hungry, tired, cranky, or sick, and will act like children. People used to just accept this. In the days when children did go everywhere with their parents, passers-by would see a cranky child and perhaps exchange sympathetic glances with the parent, or even (God forbid) HELP them. Offer a tissue, a snack, to help the mother find a restroom, carry her bags, whatever. Now, people look on and think "Wow! What a horrible parent" and walk on by.
Lest you think I am merely imagining this, or am overreacting, I offer you a comparison. In the summer of 2002, when Chris was 2 1/2, our family along with Brian's whole family went to France for 10 days for his brother's wedding. My sister-in-law is French, and her whole family is still in France. Well, we were very nervous about the whole thing - the plane ride, a foreign country, different food, etc. Oh, and Chris is autistic, but we didn't know it at the time. We just knew that he was very sensitive to schedule changes and different environments and lots of noise and chaos.
To our absolute and delighted surprise, it was a wonderful experience! The French people were *so* gracious to us. We bumbling, lost Americans, who mangled their language and didn't know their culture. High chairs, booster seats, sleeping accommodations, special food - they helped us find all of it, even in our pidgin French. And when Chris was unhappy, people around us went out their way to make happy faces and kitchie-coo and whatever they could to try to cheer him up. They accepted his presence as normal and they doted on him.
There were six (yes, six) LITTLE children in the wedding party itself. I'm talking under age 7. Chris was one of them. In France, the children are the ones in the wedding party. The nieces and nephews of the bride and groom help carry the bride's train, and hold baskets of flowers, and process down the aisle. And sit through the whole (long) wedding Mass. At if they whisper or wander, well...they're children. That's what children do.
I don't remember us getting one dirty look for bringing our child with us. Actually in France, even the *dogs* are welcome in many places! We ate in many a cafe where the people next to us had their little dog in a lap or under the table, and it was normal. Hmmm.....a culture of people who love children and dogs, even when it wouldn't seem convenient.
I just keep wondering if we Americans don't have it backwards....
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Life of Beth=:) (Chapter 2 - Saved by a Schoolbus)
Between the end of my 2nd grade year and the beginning of my 3rd a lot of big changes took place in my young life. From kindergarten through 2nd grade, students were placed into their homerooms on a more or less random basis. Each of my homeroom classes in those grades had children of all different learning levels, and the mix of kids changed from year to year. In 3rd grade, when they consolidated all the elementary kids into one school (there had been 3) they sorted us out by ability. Little did I know then that from that point on I would be taking most of my classes with pretty much the same 30 or so kids until I graduated. Small town schools - gotta love 'em.
I had always had a small group of neighborhood friends to hang out with when I was very young, but in 2nd grade I gained a Best Friend. There is nothing like your very first best friend (at least, if you're a girl - maybe it's different for guys). Her name was Laura Bentley and her family lived on the next street up from mine, just down the alley. Her mom and my mom were friends, so we girls got to hang out a lot at each other's houses. Laura is the one who taught me how to climb the tree in my front yard, and we spent most of that summer up in it (to my parents' everlasting worry). We shared a love of magic tricks and even put on a magic show for our friends and families. Laura's mom made us beautiful magician's capes out of 2 old curtains. Life was very, very good that summer.
Now our church did not do VBS (Vacation Bible School -for those not in the know) programs in the summertime. But somehow my mom got wind of a group who was going to be doing a VBS program right in our neighborhood, at the other end of our street. Evidently some church group had gotten hold of an old school bus and was driving it around to the different neighborhoods over the course of the summer and inviting nearby neighborhood kids to come. It sounded like fun, and I'd never been before, so my mom signed me up.
I guess there must have been a handful of us who showed up. Every day that week I walked down to the other end of my street to sit in my small VBS class on the old yellow school bus. It was very much like my Sunday school class at church. We learned Bible stories about Jesus and did crafts and learned songs and had a snack. But there was one thing that was *very* different from my Sunday school class.
On the last day, they outlined for us the Plan of Salvation. Now, I didn't know it was called that, at the time. I'd only just turned eight. But I remember very clearly being puzzled, intrigued, and horrified all at the same time. Remember I'd been going to Sunday school faithfully for 2 full years now, singing in the choir. I had *never* heard of this before.
(an aside: It took me years to figure out the details, but I would make an educated guess that the VBS people were some flavor of Baptist. I grew up Methodist, and our church at least was very big on doing works for God. In retrospect, I must thank God for sending these good folks my way, as it probably would have been many years more until I heard this message.)
Though I wish they had not been quite so hellfire and brimstone about it, they outlined their message very simply. (Note: they must have been well taught - I just tried to outline it here and was failing miserably. Google "bible.org plan of salvation" if you want a good and thorough explanation).
Anyway, so I was utterly terrified of dying and going to hell (I don't recommend the fire and brimstone approach for children!) I mean, I was a pretty good kid who never made trouble. That even I wasn't good enough really floored me (yeah, I know, the pride thing - but come on, I was eight!) So right then and there I prayed the Prayer of Salvation. (Please Google that one too, I'm not even going to attempt it.)
I had always had a small group of neighborhood friends to hang out with when I was very young, but in 2nd grade I gained a Best Friend. There is nothing like your very first best friend (at least, if you're a girl - maybe it's different for guys). Her name was Laura Bentley and her family lived on the next street up from mine, just down the alley. Her mom and my mom were friends, so we girls got to hang out a lot at each other's houses. Laura is the one who taught me how to climb the tree in my front yard, and we spent most of that summer up in it (to my parents' everlasting worry). We shared a love of magic tricks and even put on a magic show for our friends and families. Laura's mom made us beautiful magician's capes out of 2 old curtains. Life was very, very good that summer.
Now our church did not do VBS (Vacation Bible School -for those not in the know) programs in the summertime. But somehow my mom got wind of a group who was going to be doing a VBS program right in our neighborhood, at the other end of our street. Evidently some church group had gotten hold of an old school bus and was driving it around to the different neighborhoods over the course of the summer and inviting nearby neighborhood kids to come. It sounded like fun, and I'd never been before, so my mom signed me up.
I guess there must have been a handful of us who showed up. Every day that week I walked down to the other end of my street to sit in my small VBS class on the old yellow school bus. It was very much like my Sunday school class at church. We learned Bible stories about Jesus and did crafts and learned songs and had a snack. But there was one thing that was *very* different from my Sunday school class.
On the last day, they outlined for us the Plan of Salvation. Now, I didn't know it was called that, at the time. I'd only just turned eight. But I remember very clearly being puzzled, intrigued, and horrified all at the same time. Remember I'd been going to Sunday school faithfully for 2 full years now, singing in the choir. I had *never* heard of this before.
(an aside: It took me years to figure out the details, but I would make an educated guess that the VBS people were some flavor of Baptist. I grew up Methodist, and our church at least was very big on doing works for God. In retrospect, I must thank God for sending these good folks my way, as it probably would have been many years more until I heard this message.)
Though I wish they had not been quite so hellfire and brimstone about it, they outlined their message very simply. (Note: they must have been well taught - I just tried to outline it here and was failing miserably. Google "bible.org plan of salvation" if you want a good and thorough explanation).
Anyway, so I was utterly terrified of dying and going to hell (I don't recommend the fire and brimstone approach for children!) I mean, I was a pretty good kid who never made trouble. That even I wasn't good enough really floored me (yeah, I know, the pride thing - but come on, I was eight!) So right then and there I prayed the Prayer of Salvation. (Please Google that one too, I'm not even going to attempt it.)
Life of Beth=:) (Chapter One)
(An aside: My husband loves the Monty Python movie "Life of Brian" and his name is Brian. In that vein, and because sometimes my life has felt like a Monty Python routine, I present, Life of Beth=:) Please no lawsuits for copyright defamation....)
I don't ever remember a time when I did not believe in God. That may sound odd, arrogant, or simplistic, but it's the truth, insofar as my memories of my little girl self can process.
My parents started taking me to the Methodist church that they belonged to when I was just a tiny baby. They, and pretty much all of my extended family, believed that going to church was What One Did. Two of my uncles (Uncle William and Uncle Glynn) were ministers. In fact, my Uncle William baptized me in a small ceremony in my parents' living room. I don't remember this, but have been told the story so often. I would have asked him to tell me about it personally, but Uncle William died of cancer when I was about two.
My very early childhood was pleasant and unremarkable. And as an only child of older parents (Mom was 39 and Dad 43 when I was born) it was pretty calm too. I was a happy little girl, if rather shy. I played with friends in my neighborhood, enjoyed school when I started going, loved my parents, and liked just doing normal family things. My folks' quiet, traditional Christian faith infused every part of my early life. I simply accepted that God was. Without thought, as naturally as breathing, there was no question or angst about it - God was Creator; we went to church to worship and learn about Him.
When I was old enough to attend Sunday school (age 6) I enjoyed it. I liked learning the Bible stories, singing the songs, making new friends, and earning my attendance pin (I still have it somewhere).
At that time in my church there were choirs for every age group, from little ones all the way to adults. Shortly after starting Sunday school, our teacher recommended a few of my friends and I join the Cherub choir (that was the littlest ones, ages 6-10 or something like that). It sounded like fun, so I started going to choir practice every Thursday night with my friend, Wendy. Our moms switched off driving us, but we usually went together.
And so went my life from birth to age 7 or 8 - American suburbia is the early 70's - like a Norman Rockwell painting. School, church, choir, friends, family, holidays - the days and seasons of my early childhood passed so gently that most of my early memories are a hazy watercolor wash.
Unbeknown to me , God had things in mind that would shortly change some of the colors with which I painted my little world.
I don't ever remember a time when I did not believe in God. That may sound odd, arrogant, or simplistic, but it's the truth, insofar as my memories of my little girl self can process.
My parents started taking me to the Methodist church that they belonged to when I was just a tiny baby. They, and pretty much all of my extended family, believed that going to church was What One Did. Two of my uncles (Uncle William and Uncle Glynn) were ministers. In fact, my Uncle William baptized me in a small ceremony in my parents' living room. I don't remember this, but have been told the story so often. I would have asked him to tell me about it personally, but Uncle William died of cancer when I was about two.
My very early childhood was pleasant and unremarkable. And as an only child of older parents (Mom was 39 and Dad 43 when I was born) it was pretty calm too. I was a happy little girl, if rather shy. I played with friends in my neighborhood, enjoyed school when I started going, loved my parents, and liked just doing normal family things. My folks' quiet, traditional Christian faith infused every part of my early life. I simply accepted that God was. Without thought, as naturally as breathing, there was no question or angst about it - God was Creator; we went to church to worship and learn about Him.
When I was old enough to attend Sunday school (age 6) I enjoyed it. I liked learning the Bible stories, singing the songs, making new friends, and earning my attendance pin (I still have it somewhere).
At that time in my church there were choirs for every age group, from little ones all the way to adults. Shortly after starting Sunday school, our teacher recommended a few of my friends and I join the Cherub choir (that was the littlest ones, ages 6-10 or something like that). It sounded like fun, so I started going to choir practice every Thursday night with my friend, Wendy. Our moms switched off driving us, but we usually went together.
And so went my life from birth to age 7 or 8 - American suburbia is the early 70's - like a Norman Rockwell painting. School, church, choir, friends, family, holidays - the days and seasons of my early childhood passed so gently that most of my early memories are a hazy watercolor wash.
Unbeknown to me , God had things in mind that would shortly change some of the colors with which I painted my little world.
3 AM
It's ironic (and fitting, I suppose) that it's the middle of the night and since I can't sleep, I'm writing this. Just goes to show if you put God off, He'll wake you up in the middle of the night. You see, God has been whispering in my ear that I should be putting words to this for over a year now (since April 2007) and this is me finally getting started.
Started on what, you ask? The story of my Christian journey - the whole thing, in as much detail as I can remember. Part of the reason I've put it off is I can't see why anyone would be interested in reading about it. I have no spectacular conversion story, no Damascus road visions, no drastic turns in the path that is my life.
But for what it's worth, here's
Chapter One...
Started on what, you ask? The story of my Christian journey - the whole thing, in as much detail as I can remember. Part of the reason I've put it off is I can't see why anyone would be interested in reading about it. I have no spectacular conversion story, no Damascus road visions, no drastic turns in the path that is my life.
But for what it's worth, here's
Chapter One...
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Taking Myself to Task(s)
I've been so busy this week I haven't been able to blog as much as I wanted to. What was I doing all week? A task I loathe that couldn't wait any longer - sorting through *all* my children's clothes to weed out what no longer fit, what could be passed down to a sibling, and what should be passed on to others. I've been putting it off for, well - about 7 years now (my oldest is 8).
Since my daughter's bedroom was starting to resemble the back room of Goodwill, I decided this task really needed to be finished before school starts. Charlotte has the smallest bedroom - you would not believe how much clothing can live in the corner of an 8 x 8 room. Really, it defies the law of conservation of matter. I would swear that the clothing multiplied as I began sorting it.
Anyway, I had lots of time to think while doing this. What I began to wonder is why does everyone have certain tasks that they like, and certain ones that they hate? And why does there seem to be no rhyme or reason to it? I started thinking about my list of task likes and dislikes and could not figure out *why* I like or dislike any in particular over the other. I would say that I'm just lazy, except that doesn't explain it either.
Check it out and you'll see what I mean:
Tasks I like
1. Sorting and doing laundry
2. Washing dishes by hand
3. Loading the dishwasher
4. Cleaning toilets
5. Shopping for anything but groceries
6. Cooking
7. Any kind of creative task (sewing, decorating)
Tasks I dislike
1. Folding and putting away clean laundry
2. Drying and putting dishes away
3. Unloading the dishwasher
4. Cleaning the rest of the bathroom
5. Grocery shopping
6. Cleaning the kitchen after cooking
7. Any kind of task that makes me sneeze (vacuuming, dusting, sweeping, sorting - did
I mention I'm highly allergic to dust?)
Now I ask you - what sort of sense does this make? Where and when did I develop these odd preferences? How on earth is it that I enjoy getting the laundry clean but hate putting it away? Why do I hate grocery shopping but love to cook?
The only connecting factor I can come up with is I seem to like tasks that are either creative (cooking, shopping, crafty tasks which challenge my brain) or meditative (I can just turn my brain off and think of other things - laundry and washing dishes).
The tasks I hate make me use my brain in a logical, spatial-relations sort of way (figuring out where on earth to *fit* the clean clothes, clean dishes, and groceries). Of course I imagine anyone would hate tasks that made them sneeze!
Sometimes life has a way of working some of these things out. My husband likes (or at least doesn't hate) many of the tasks I hate. Now if I could just afford to hire a personal organizer I'd be all set.
Since my daughter's bedroom was starting to resemble the back room of Goodwill, I decided this task really needed to be finished before school starts. Charlotte has the smallest bedroom - you would not believe how much clothing can live in the corner of an 8 x 8 room. Really, it defies the law of conservation of matter. I would swear that the clothing multiplied as I began sorting it.
Anyway, I had lots of time to think while doing this. What I began to wonder is why does everyone have certain tasks that they like, and certain ones that they hate? And why does there seem to be no rhyme or reason to it? I started thinking about my list of task likes and dislikes and could not figure out *why* I like or dislike any in particular over the other. I would say that I'm just lazy, except that doesn't explain it either.
Check it out and you'll see what I mean:
Tasks I like
1. Sorting and doing laundry
2. Washing dishes by hand
3. Loading the dishwasher
4. Cleaning toilets
5. Shopping for anything but groceries
6. Cooking
7. Any kind of creative task (sewing, decorating)
Tasks I dislike
1. Folding and putting away clean laundry
2. Drying and putting dishes away
3. Unloading the dishwasher
4. Cleaning the rest of the bathroom
5. Grocery shopping
6. Cleaning the kitchen after cooking
7. Any kind of task that makes me sneeze (vacuuming, dusting, sweeping, sorting - did
I mention I'm highly allergic to dust?)
Now I ask you - what sort of sense does this make? Where and when did I develop these odd preferences? How on earth is it that I enjoy getting the laundry clean but hate putting it away? Why do I hate grocery shopping but love to cook?
The only connecting factor I can come up with is I seem to like tasks that are either creative (cooking, shopping, crafty tasks which challenge my brain) or meditative (I can just turn my brain off and think of other things - laundry and washing dishes).
The tasks I hate make me use my brain in a logical, spatial-relations sort of way (figuring out where on earth to *fit* the clean clothes, clean dishes, and groceries). Of course I imagine anyone would hate tasks that made them sneeze!
Sometimes life has a way of working some of these things out. My husband likes (or at least doesn't hate) many of the tasks I hate. Now if I could just afford to hire a personal organizer I'd be all set.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Somebody unplug my computer...
so I can go to sleep! I have to say, in my defense, your honor - it's D's fault. She's the one who said I HAD to get on Facebook and have a blog. So for the past hour or so I've had my eyes glued to my computer screen - playing with fun Facebook applications and browsing for funny blogs to read.
Let's see - I spent at least an hour trying to figure out how 2 of the applications worked (after finding some kind soul who wrote a tutorial, I figured out one, and partially figured out the other). And then I went looking specifically for funny mom blogs. Don't ask me why, but reading about the ups and downs of other moms out there (even though I don't know them personally) is a very comforting thing.
And now I am writing when I should be sleeping. I guess my brain figures it deserves a break after yesterday's massive sorting session (and you thought sorting was a mindless task, ha ha!). Actually we did other very necessary work today - we went to Stuff Mart to look at some form of containers or storage to hold the things I sorted.
I keep saying it and it's true - the person who built our townhouse obviously expected people who travel very lightly through life to live here. Each of our 3 bedrooms has one (count it, one) SMALL closet. Oh, and World's Skinniest Linen Closet lives behind our bedroom door. And that... is IT. Obviously the home builder expected that the person residing in each bedroom would have a personal shopper who made sure that only perfectly matched, timeless, color-coordinated clothing would be stored in the closet. That's about the only way that space would be enough. One week's worth of outfits x four seasons. Oh, and since we have 3 kids, the boys share a room - and that one tiny closet.
Since we plan to be in this house for some time yet, my husband and I have been brainstorming the best, most efficient way to utilize the space we have. Eventually we'll come to a workable solution, but in the meantime - I am (quite literally) up to my ears in the stacks and piles of every age and stage clothing. With each piece of clothing figuring out who outgrew it, who will grow into it, are we done with it completely, is it school or play clothing, and what season is it? Aaaaaargh!
This doesn't even include those mysterious pieces like odd socks and shoes and gloves and hats that had gloves but you don't know where they went. It's almost enough to make me want to go back to the day when people only *had* 2 or 3 outfits - 1 or 2 for everyday and 1 for Sunday best.
Well, it's really time for me to go to bed now - cause I need to get up early and start it all again!
Let's see - I spent at least an hour trying to figure out how 2 of the applications worked (after finding some kind soul who wrote a tutorial, I figured out one, and partially figured out the other). And then I went looking specifically for funny mom blogs. Don't ask me why, but reading about the ups and downs of other moms out there (even though I don't know them personally) is a very comforting thing.
And now I am writing when I should be sleeping. I guess my brain figures it deserves a break after yesterday's massive sorting session (and you thought sorting was a mindless task, ha ha!). Actually we did other very necessary work today - we went to Stuff Mart to look at some form of containers or storage to hold the things I sorted.
I keep saying it and it's true - the person who built our townhouse obviously expected people who travel very lightly through life to live here. Each of our 3 bedrooms has one (count it, one) SMALL closet. Oh, and World's Skinniest Linen Closet lives behind our bedroom door. And that... is IT. Obviously the home builder expected that the person residing in each bedroom would have a personal shopper who made sure that only perfectly matched, timeless, color-coordinated clothing would be stored in the closet. That's about the only way that space would be enough. One week's worth of outfits x four seasons. Oh, and since we have 3 kids, the boys share a room - and that one tiny closet.
Since we plan to be in this house for some time yet, my husband and I have been brainstorming the best, most efficient way to utilize the space we have. Eventually we'll come to a workable solution, but in the meantime - I am (quite literally) up to my ears in the stacks and piles of every age and stage clothing. With each piece of clothing figuring out who outgrew it, who will grow into it, are we done with it completely, is it school or play clothing, and what season is it? Aaaaaargh!
This doesn't even include those mysterious pieces like odd socks and shoes and gloves and hats that had gloves but you don't know where they went. It's almost enough to make me want to go back to the day when people only *had* 2 or 3 outfits - 1 or 2 for everyday and 1 for Sunday best.
Well, it's really time for me to go to bed now - cause I need to get up early and start it all again!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Trying to not be like Jonah
My friend D and I like to joke that God keeps adding verses to the Bible when we're not looking. Today was one of those days for me. I decided to actually get up early (before my kiddos came clambering down the stairs) and look up a good daily Bible site and read. The chosen OT text for the day was Jonah. God has a habit of bringing me back to the same portions of Scripture over and over - as if to say "I'm gonna keep doing this until you *get* it."
So I'm perusing the (now very familiar) story, when a particular verse jumps up and bites me on the nose. It is Jonah 2:8
"Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs."
Ouch.
A lot of the Old Testament is God dealing with the Israelites and their tendency to forget their all powerful YWVH and go running after the gods (idols) of their pagan neighbors. These particular gods were actual, physical statues or trinkets that the people kept in their homes and made little family shrines for the folks in their households. Now, it gets confusing for me sometimes, having grown up in America - raised in a family with a tradition of church attendance (and several ministers) to identify those things in my life that God considers idols.
So what is an idol? By definition (Free Online Dictionary):
1. The image of a god used as an object of worship
2. An object of excessive devotion or admiration
The first part of that definition really does not cause me a problem. But the second part? Hmmm....where do I start?
Time for some mental and spiritual housecleaning, I think...
So I'm perusing the (now very familiar) story, when a particular verse jumps up and bites me on the nose. It is Jonah 2:8
"Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs."
Ouch.
A lot of the Old Testament is God dealing with the Israelites and their tendency to forget their all powerful YWVH and go running after the gods (idols) of their pagan neighbors. These particular gods were actual, physical statues or trinkets that the people kept in their homes and made little family shrines for the folks in their households. Now, it gets confusing for me sometimes, having grown up in America - raised in a family with a tradition of church attendance (and several ministers) to identify those things in my life that God considers idols.
So what is an idol? By definition (Free Online Dictionary):
1. The image of a god used as an object of worship
2. An object of excessive devotion or admiration
The first part of that definition really does not cause me a problem. But the second part? Hmmm....where do I start?
Time for some mental and spiritual housecleaning, I think...
Sunday, July 13, 2008
I think too much
And my friend D is laughing as she read the title. I never know what to do when my brain starts running circles around itself. Those who know me know very well how I like to analyze everything to death. I also do a lot of stream of consciousness thinking - you know, the sort where I manage to logically follow a train of thought in my head and get from socks to black holes in 6 steps or less, but trying to explain it to someone else fails utterly.
My spiritual journey unfolds like that sometimes. Right now I've got bits and pieces of thoughts, experiences, roles, groups, and ministries all playing tag in my head. Except I don't know who's It - and I'm trying to listen for God's still small voice to help me sort it out....silence.
Maybe a good night's sleep with unravel my thoughts.....
My spiritual journey unfolds like that sometimes. Right now I've got bits and pieces of thoughts, experiences, roles, groups, and ministries all playing tag in my head. Except I don't know who's It - and I'm trying to listen for God's still small voice to help me sort it out....silence.
Maybe a good night's sleep with unravel my thoughts.....
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
A word for my metaphor
I always come back from my camp week with my head full of too many ideas to capture easily on paper. One of the ideas that has been rattling around in there for about 6 months to a year is the idea of me trying to fit all the puzzle pieces of my life together.
In my life right now I have all these little worlds that seem completely unconnected with each other, and yet they are all an important part of my life. I have been talking to my husband and a few close friends about how I've been trying to make sense of how all these different worlds connect within me - wife, mother, friend, prayer group friend, church member - plus a few roles that defy definition. Because pondering is one of the things I do best, I've been pondering how on earth all these pieces fit together in a coherent whole (yes, these OCD tendencies do keep coming around to bite me on the butt).
So I've been telling people that I'm looking for my missing puzzle piece that will bring all these worlds together. (Overlooking the idea that there is no reason they should have to fit together.) Anyway, a friend who is a pastor (and the director of the camp I just got back from) finally gave me a word that fit this metaphor I've been pondering.
He came up with the idea to have the kids to a group project of a mosaic. Went and made a sturdy frame, got real ceramic tiles and mortar, drew up a picture and set them to work. He explained that he has come to believe that life (and our faith journey, and community) is not a puzzle, but a mosaic. In a puzzle, all the pieces fit together exactly, and only one piece fits any given space. In a mosaic, the pieces do not fit exactly, but all together, they do work.
I've been using the wrong metaphor all this time. If I look at all my little worlds, my roles, especially the ones defying definition, as a mosaic instead of a puzzle - suddenly I can see that they do all work together. I have to stop putting both God, and myself, in a box.
In my life right now I have all these little worlds that seem completely unconnected with each other, and yet they are all an important part of my life. I have been talking to my husband and a few close friends about how I've been trying to make sense of how all these different worlds connect within me - wife, mother, friend, prayer group friend, church member - plus a few roles that defy definition. Because pondering is one of the things I do best, I've been pondering how on earth all these pieces fit together in a coherent whole (yes, these OCD tendencies do keep coming around to bite me on the butt).
So I've been telling people that I'm looking for my missing puzzle piece that will bring all these worlds together. (Overlooking the idea that there is no reason they should have to fit together.) Anyway, a friend who is a pastor (and the director of the camp I just got back from) finally gave me a word that fit this metaphor I've been pondering.
He came up with the idea to have the kids to a group project of a mosaic. Went and made a sturdy frame, got real ceramic tiles and mortar, drew up a picture and set them to work. He explained that he has come to believe that life (and our faith journey, and community) is not a puzzle, but a mosaic. In a puzzle, all the pieces fit together exactly, and only one piece fits any given space. In a mosaic, the pieces do not fit exactly, but all together, they do work.
I've been using the wrong metaphor all this time. If I look at all my little worlds, my roles, especially the ones defying definition, as a mosaic instead of a puzzle - suddenly I can see that they do all work together. I have to stop putting both God, and myself, in a box.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Coming back down off the mountain
So I got back from camp on Saturday afternoon. We had an awesome great week with our bunch of junior high kids. Coming back from camp, coming back down (literally and figuratively) off the mountaintop is really hard for me. Being a mom of 3 little kids, at home I'm always Mom/And - Mom and wife, Mom and friend, Mom and church member. At camp, even though I still have a position of authority, I get to be just me. This year, especially, because of an issue that God has been dealing with me on - the issue of removing the mask and really being me - I had an exceptionally good week.
Since our theme was XPress yourself each counselor was to share some personal expression of faith at the worship circle that first night. After a pitched battle with myself over how vulnerable I would let myself be, I decided that I needed to be obedient to God's calling me to unmask myself that week. I knew that if I held back then, it would set the tone for the whole week. I had a last minute inspiration to read a journal entry I had written a couple months ago about a turning point in my spiritual journey. I'm not sure how much the kids got out of it, but I was very moved when a friend on staff said it really touched something in him.
That moment gave me the courage to leave the mask off for the rest of the week. For the first time in years I was able to be my real, silly, goofy self and let loose and play again. And amazingly, everybody still liked me! In fact, many people said they liked me better. Wow - that was so powerful for me. I think one of the best moments was when I was hitting a volleyball around with some of the kids and counselors in front of the dining hall. At one point I reached way back to set the ball, tripped over a rock and went sprawling flat on my back in front of everyone. And instead of being mortified I laughed so hard I couldn't talk. At that moment I felt the joy bursting out of me and the shackles breaking and falling off. It was so freeing...
The challenge for me now is to figure out how to keep that mask off at home. To find ways to be my true self back in my normal surroundings. I'm seriously considering going out and buying a volleyball.
Since our theme was XPress yourself each counselor was to share some personal expression of faith at the worship circle that first night. After a pitched battle with myself over how vulnerable I would let myself be, I decided that I needed to be obedient to God's calling me to unmask myself that week. I knew that if I held back then, it would set the tone for the whole week. I had a last minute inspiration to read a journal entry I had written a couple months ago about a turning point in my spiritual journey. I'm not sure how much the kids got out of it, but I was very moved when a friend on staff said it really touched something in him.
That moment gave me the courage to leave the mask off for the rest of the week. For the first time in years I was able to be my real, silly, goofy self and let loose and play again. And amazingly, everybody still liked me! In fact, many people said they liked me better. Wow - that was so powerful for me. I think one of the best moments was when I was hitting a volleyball around with some of the kids and counselors in front of the dining hall. At one point I reached way back to set the ball, tripped over a rock and went sprawling flat on my back in front of everyone. And instead of being mortified I laughed so hard I couldn't talk. At that moment I felt the joy bursting out of me and the shackles breaking and falling off. It was so freeing...
The challenge for me now is to figure out how to keep that mask off at home. To find ways to be my true self back in my normal surroundings. I'm seriously considering going out and buying a volleyball.
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