There's a popular worship song a lot of you may have heard of and/or sung lately - it's called Breathe (written by Michael W. Smith?), and it starts out:
This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence, living in me
At 4:30am this morning I was reminded just how literally dependent I am on God for everything, even my next breath. At 4:30 this morning I woke up having an asthma attack. (Thank you nasty fall cold.) Lest you think this is a regular occurrence, the last time I remember this happening was the first time it happened - I was 12 years old.
It was a very sobering reminder that although for the most part my asthma is well managed and rarely causes me even discomfort let alone danger, I am living with a condition that could potentially kill me. We are all dependent on God for everything, including our next breath. I just have reason to be more acutely aware of it from time to time.
After I stopped panicking and very sensibly went downstairs to grab my inhaler - I lay in bed for a while wide awake, waiting for the pressure in my lungs to ease. I remembered a teaching I'd recently heard - on John 10:10 - "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full"
The person giving the teaching suggested that sometimes this may work itself out in a literal way - Satan would like us dead, if he could manage it, that we might no longer trouble him. Many times we as Christians think of this verse as more metaphorical (well of course, Satan wants to steal my peace of mind, kill my joy, and destroy my witness - thereby rendering me ineffective in the kingdom). And that is still true. But I know there have been times in my life (at least a good handful) where God has snatched my life (or my children's lives) out of the jaws of danger. As a tiny 2 week old baby, in the hospital with a lung infection from a milk allergy - as a 12 year old with severe bronchitis needing to be rushed to the hospital to be put in a oxygen tent - as a young working woman having my little economy car smashed into by a huge pickup truck running the red light - in pre-term labor with my first child and the cord was wrapped around his neck - as a young mother being rushed to the hospital because allergies overwhelmed my body and brought on a severe asthma attack.
And those are just the times I KNOW about. How many other countless times has God rescued me, my husband, or children from UNSEEN danger?
It's an awesome, incomprehensible thought that Satan considers little 'ole cream puff me an
Enemy of the State who needs to be done away with.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
God's small surprises
Last night, at the end of a very long and busy 5 days crammed full of things-to-do, I sat at the computer drinking some tea and researching random things on Google. Yes, this is one way eggheads like me relax. There's always at least half a dozen questions swirling through my brain on any given day, and sometimes I like to just sit down and satisfy my curiosity.
Well, the first time anyone meets our kitten, Simba, the first thing they remark on is his large paws. I thought it was cute and kind of unique but EVERYONE who meets him always says the same thing, "Wow, look at those BIG PAWS!" Simba has what's known as polydactyly - he's a 6 toed cat. After hearing maybe a dozen or more people (everyone from the vet's staff, to the Jehovah's Witness ladies who rang the bell one day) say this first thing, I decided to research it some more.
What I learned was fascinating, and an amazing bit of synchronicity....
Ordinary house cats have 18 toes - 5 on each front paw, 4 on each back paw (that was a revelation right there, I had no idea it was different). Polydactyl cats have extra toes, up to 7 on their front paws and 6 on their back ones, with many variations in between. It's a genetic mutation, but not usually a harmful one, just unusual. Out of curiosity I examined Simba's feet more closely - turns out he has 3 paws with 6 toes, and 1 with 5 - (I keep re-counting the ones on that back foot but I keep coming up with 5).
Polydactyl cats are known variously as Hemingway cats, mitten cats, boxer cats, thumb cats, and 6 finger cats. They called Simba a Hemingway cat the first time I took him to the vet - I'd vaguely heard of the term, but never considered what was meant by it. Evidently Hemingway was very fond of cats, and his first cat, given to him by a sailor, was a polydactyl cat (guess those extra toes come in handy on deck).
So, if you've been reading my post lately you know that I've been missing my dad a lot this month, as I always do around this time of year, because his birthday was in October. And because he was from Wales (South Wales, specifically), the Welsh are Celts, and originally All Hallow's Eve was part of Samhain, an important Celtic festival. Everywhere I turn in October I have reminders of him. And now, it seems, I have a year-long reminder of him.
Because I learned that polydactyl cats are also called Cardi-cats. Seems that Cardiganshire, South Wales is home to an overabundance of many-toed cats, so much so that they have taken on the name of their birthplace.
God saw fit to send me a Welsh cat - how cool is that?
Well, the first time anyone meets our kitten, Simba, the first thing they remark on is his large paws. I thought it was cute and kind of unique but EVERYONE who meets him always says the same thing, "Wow, look at those BIG PAWS!" Simba has what's known as polydactyly - he's a 6 toed cat. After hearing maybe a dozen or more people (everyone from the vet's staff, to the Jehovah's Witness ladies who rang the bell one day) say this first thing, I decided to research it some more.
What I learned was fascinating, and an amazing bit of synchronicity....
Ordinary house cats have 18 toes - 5 on each front paw, 4 on each back paw (that was a revelation right there, I had no idea it was different). Polydactyl cats have extra toes, up to 7 on their front paws and 6 on their back ones, with many variations in between. It's a genetic mutation, but not usually a harmful one, just unusual. Out of curiosity I examined Simba's feet more closely - turns out he has 3 paws with 6 toes, and 1 with 5 - (I keep re-counting the ones on that back foot but I keep coming up with 5).
Polydactyl cats are known variously as Hemingway cats, mitten cats, boxer cats, thumb cats, and 6 finger cats. They called Simba a Hemingway cat the first time I took him to the vet - I'd vaguely heard of the term, but never considered what was meant by it. Evidently Hemingway was very fond of cats, and his first cat, given to him by a sailor, was a polydactyl cat (guess those extra toes come in handy on deck).
So, if you've been reading my post lately you know that I've been missing my dad a lot this month, as I always do around this time of year, because his birthday was in October. And because he was from Wales (South Wales, specifically), the Welsh are Celts, and originally All Hallow's Eve was part of Samhain, an important Celtic festival. Everywhere I turn in October I have reminders of him. And now, it seems, I have a year-long reminder of him.
Because I learned that polydactyl cats are also called Cardi-cats. Seems that Cardiganshire, South Wales is home to an overabundance of many-toed cats, so much so that they have taken on the name of their birthplace.
God saw fit to send me a Welsh cat - how cool is that?
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Be still and know....still?
I am having one of those weeks where my to-do list is so long I have no idea how I'm going to get it all done. Every time I turn around I remember one more thing I forgot to put on it. I'm multitasking in ways I usually don't even try to (in fact, I'm squeezing this posting in while I munch breakfast before I dash off to take the cat to the vet).
In the middle of all this craziness I wonder.....what is God thinking while I'm down here running around like a chicken with no head? "Be still and know that I am God" is one of my favorite verses, and one that God has been impressing on me and my friend D lately as really important. Only, what about those days when being still is absolutely impossible? Those days where, though I have not actively overcommitted myself - still I have been handed an impossible schedule by the circumstances around me. What then?
Where can I go or what can I do to center down and commune with God-who-is-within-me when it's absolutely all I can do just to get it all DONE? Those days where I feel like the Mommy Machine. Please hold, your task will be accomplished in the order it was received.
Aaaaaaagh!
Some days I really hate our modern, busy, suburban lifestyle. How do you all handle this sort of craziness?
In the middle of all this craziness I wonder.....what is God thinking while I'm down here running around like a chicken with no head? "Be still and know that I am God" is one of my favorite verses, and one that God has been impressing on me and my friend D lately as really important. Only, what about those days when being still is absolutely impossible? Those days where, though I have not actively overcommitted myself - still I have been handed an impossible schedule by the circumstances around me. What then?
Where can I go or what can I do to center down and commune with God-who-is-within-me when it's absolutely all I can do just to get it all DONE? Those days where I feel like the Mommy Machine. Please hold, your task will be accomplished in the order it was received.
Aaaaaaagh!
Some days I really hate our modern, busy, suburban lifestyle. How do you all handle this sort of craziness?
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Night owls unite!
I am so NOT a morning person.
People who are larks (morning people) probably think I'm just lazy. No, not lazy, sleep deprived. And I'm tired (no pun intended) of being discriminated against. In every other area of life and society we work very hard to stamp out discrimination wherever it rears its ugly head. So why is it that morning people got to decide how society should be run? Obviously before the discovery of electricity and the invention of the light bulb, there was a practical reason for it. And in an agrarian society getting up early serves a useful purpose. Of course, they went to bed shortly after supper. I could get up early too if I was allowed to do that.
If I had my druthers, I would go to bed at 1am and get up at 9am. Meetings would not be scheduled before noon. The workday would be 11am to 7pm. (I worked exactly that schedule one winter in a department store and it was great except I couldn't get my errands done because all the other businesses worked an 8-5 day.)
My normal weekday starts at 7am. It really should start at 6am so I don't have to rush around, but 7 is the best I can do. This gives me an hour and 15 minutes to get myself showered and dressed, 2 children dressed and fed, 1 child dressed/bundled up w/ breakfast snack in hand, 2 lunches made, 2 backpacks packed, and all of us out to the bus stop in time. Oh, and did I mention that the KIDS are not morning people either? It's genetic, it seems.
It seems not to matter when they, or I get to bed - the season, the weather, daylight savings time or not. We are not larks, we are night owls. Incidentally, their grandparents are night owls too. It's quite normal when we are visiting that we will stay up and talk till midnight or later, and then everyone gets up at a nice reasonable 8:30 or 9am the next day.
When I was in college this was a very useful thing. I got to socialize with my friends, and did my work after they were asleep (and it was quiet, no distractions). An afternoon nap between my last class and dinner and I was raring to go again.
But schools run on a lark's schedule. Brian is a teacher, and 2 of the kids are in school. By Friday morning, we all feel like we could sleep for 12 hours straight.
I think us night owls need to stage a revolt. For one week ( a month even better) let's run everything on OUR body clock's schedule for a change. See how all you larks do staying up till midnight, and how many cups of coffee it takes to keep you functioning. Hmmm? Bet you'll be singing us owls a different tune then...
People who are larks (morning people) probably think I'm just lazy. No, not lazy, sleep deprived. And I'm tired (no pun intended) of being discriminated against. In every other area of life and society we work very hard to stamp out discrimination wherever it rears its ugly head. So why is it that morning people got to decide how society should be run? Obviously before the discovery of electricity and the invention of the light bulb, there was a practical reason for it. And in an agrarian society getting up early serves a useful purpose. Of course, they went to bed shortly after supper. I could get up early too if I was allowed to do that.
If I had my druthers, I would go to bed at 1am and get up at 9am. Meetings would not be scheduled before noon. The workday would be 11am to 7pm. (I worked exactly that schedule one winter in a department store and it was great except I couldn't get my errands done because all the other businesses worked an 8-5 day.)
My normal weekday starts at 7am. It really should start at 6am so I don't have to rush around, but 7 is the best I can do. This gives me an hour and 15 minutes to get myself showered and dressed, 2 children dressed and fed, 1 child dressed/bundled up w/ breakfast snack in hand, 2 lunches made, 2 backpacks packed, and all of us out to the bus stop in time. Oh, and did I mention that the KIDS are not morning people either? It's genetic, it seems.
It seems not to matter when they, or I get to bed - the season, the weather, daylight savings time or not. We are not larks, we are night owls. Incidentally, their grandparents are night owls too. It's quite normal when we are visiting that we will stay up and talk till midnight or later, and then everyone gets up at a nice reasonable 8:30 or 9am the next day.
When I was in college this was a very useful thing. I got to socialize with my friends, and did my work after they were asleep (and it was quiet, no distractions). An afternoon nap between my last class and dinner and I was raring to go again.
But schools run on a lark's schedule. Brian is a teacher, and 2 of the kids are in school. By Friday morning, we all feel like we could sleep for 12 hours straight.
I think us night owls need to stage a revolt. For one week ( a month even better) let's run everything on OUR body clock's schedule for a change. See how all you larks do staying up till midnight, and how many cups of coffee it takes to keep you functioning. Hmmm? Bet you'll be singing us owls a different tune then...
Sunday, October 19, 2008
October musings
I almost didn't write this post. The ideas contained in it are a part of that very deepest part of myself - the ones I don't usually share because I'm afraid people will run away screaming (or, at the very least, brand me a heretic.)
Every October, I become a little bit pagan.
Come again? I thought you were a Christian. Well, I am. I think it has something to do with my heritage and the fact that I've always felt somewhat displaced in my time. Many people who've met me have referred to me as an "old soul". I've read all kinds of stuff about genetic memory and such. Whatever the reason, I think it's that this time of year - October, fall, Halloween - speaks to that part of my heritage which I rarely think about on a conscious level.
My dad was Welsh, born in Wales and emigrated to America when he was 4 years old. I'm 1/4 Scottish on my mom's side. Both the Welsh and the Scots are Celtic peoples. And the Celts had a different, more mystical and magical way of looking at the world. Even the ones who were Christians.
American Christians may celebrate or pointedly ignore the celebration of Halloween. Regardless of which they choose, they are not really celebrating or ignoring the real festival. The real festival was All Hallow's Eve - originally a festival of remembrance for the dead, the end of the old year and the harvest, and the beginning of the new year and winter. It was part of the festival of Samhain (pronounces Sow' en) - one of the 4 great festivals of the Celtic year. the Celts believed that Samhain, and All Hallow's Eve in particular, were a time when the veil between the living and the dead, the "real" world and the world of the spirits - was thin.
I suppose it could all be in my imagination, but you know what? I believe there may be some truth to it. That there is something truly significant about this time of year - that it should be a time of reverence and remembrance. Perhaps it's no coincidence that fall is also the culmination of the Jewish year - the Feast of Tabernacles, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement). Maybe it's just me, but I've always felt like fall was the start of the new year, not January.
Anyway, I've been feeling the pull of this season even more since my dad died 3 years ago. A very deep part of me *wants* there to be a time when we all remember our loved ones who have gone on before us. Yes, I know the church has All Saints Day, but even there they lean more towards remembering the "official" saints. Of course, it doesn't help that my dad's birthday was in October, and my mom's still is. But it feels like more than just missing him because we would have celebrated his birthday. A very deep part of me (that refuses to be squelched or ignored any longer) feels like it would be perfectly appropriate to build a big bonfire and dance around it under the stars, thanking God for a good year, saying prayers for the year ahead, remembering my loved ones and praying for protection from evil spirits.
Call me crazy, but every October since my dad passed away, I feel his presence near in a way that doesn't happen at any other time. I feel a need to mark the time of All Hallow's Eve, not just with dressing up my kids for trick-or-treating, but to mark it as a day of remembrance for my loved ones gone on before. And at this time of year only, I feel that gossamer thread that connects me to the many generations before me - I feel it, like a living breathing entity. And I wonder about their lives. Were they noblemen or peasants, farmers or tradesmen, rich or poor, pagan or Christian, Druid or priest?
And I dig out all my Celtic music to listen to at this time of year. I like it at any time, but in October when I listen to it I feel that connection with my ancestors. Though they had no iPods, no electric instruments, no synthesizers - but only whatever instruments could be made by hand (mostly stringed instruments and drums) they would have marked this time of the year with songs and dances. I turn the music up, and the drumbeat echoes through my heart, it pounds in my blood, and my feet take up the steps as though guided by an ancient knowledge.
I dance for joy in thanks to God, I dance to remember those who have gone before.
I want to dance under the stars.
Every October, I become a little bit pagan.
Come again? I thought you were a Christian. Well, I am. I think it has something to do with my heritage and the fact that I've always felt somewhat displaced in my time. Many people who've met me have referred to me as an "old soul". I've read all kinds of stuff about genetic memory and such. Whatever the reason, I think it's that this time of year - October, fall, Halloween - speaks to that part of my heritage which I rarely think about on a conscious level.
My dad was Welsh, born in Wales and emigrated to America when he was 4 years old. I'm 1/4 Scottish on my mom's side. Both the Welsh and the Scots are Celtic peoples. And the Celts had a different, more mystical and magical way of looking at the world. Even the ones who were Christians.
American Christians may celebrate or pointedly ignore the celebration of Halloween. Regardless of which they choose, they are not really celebrating or ignoring the real festival. The real festival was All Hallow's Eve - originally a festival of remembrance for the dead, the end of the old year and the harvest, and the beginning of the new year and winter. It was part of the festival of Samhain (pronounces Sow' en) - one of the 4 great festivals of the Celtic year. the Celts believed that Samhain, and All Hallow's Eve in particular, were a time when the veil between the living and the dead, the "real" world and the world of the spirits - was thin.
I suppose it could all be in my imagination, but you know what? I believe there may be some truth to it. That there is something truly significant about this time of year - that it should be a time of reverence and remembrance. Perhaps it's no coincidence that fall is also the culmination of the Jewish year - the Feast of Tabernacles, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement). Maybe it's just me, but I've always felt like fall was the start of the new year, not January.
Anyway, I've been feeling the pull of this season even more since my dad died 3 years ago. A very deep part of me *wants* there to be a time when we all remember our loved ones who have gone on before us. Yes, I know the church has All Saints Day, but even there they lean more towards remembering the "official" saints. Of course, it doesn't help that my dad's birthday was in October, and my mom's still is. But it feels like more than just missing him because we would have celebrated his birthday. A very deep part of me (that refuses to be squelched or ignored any longer) feels like it would be perfectly appropriate to build a big bonfire and dance around it under the stars, thanking God for a good year, saying prayers for the year ahead, remembering my loved ones and praying for protection from evil spirits.
Call me crazy, but every October since my dad passed away, I feel his presence near in a way that doesn't happen at any other time. I feel a need to mark the time of All Hallow's Eve, not just with dressing up my kids for trick-or-treating, but to mark it as a day of remembrance for my loved ones gone on before. And at this time of year only, I feel that gossamer thread that connects me to the many generations before me - I feel it, like a living breathing entity. And I wonder about their lives. Were they noblemen or peasants, farmers or tradesmen, rich or poor, pagan or Christian, Druid or priest?
And I dig out all my Celtic music to listen to at this time of year. I like it at any time, but in October when I listen to it I feel that connection with my ancestors. Though they had no iPods, no electric instruments, no synthesizers - but only whatever instruments could be made by hand (mostly stringed instruments and drums) they would have marked this time of the year with songs and dances. I turn the music up, and the drumbeat echoes through my heart, it pounds in my blood, and my feet take up the steps as though guided by an ancient knowledge.
I dance for joy in thanks to God, I dance to remember those who have gone before.
I want to dance under the stars.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Prayer answered and an amusing observation
I'd been trying to ignore my worry over Simba's first vet visit. Though he seemed healthy, I know that feline HIV and feline leukemia are silent, deadly killers of cats of all ages. I was secretly scared out of my socks that my kids' first pet experience would be a lesson in loss.
Since we adopted our new kitty on a Saturday, I knew that his first vet visit would have to wait until (I thought) Tuesday, because of the holiday. Before we brought him home, they suggested we buy some Advantage flea control and apply it because all shelter animals could possibly have fleas. They were not sure, however, if he was old enough. Well, with all the scares about babies and toddlers being accidentally overdosed on cold meds, I certainly didn't want to accidentally overdose my kitten - whose behavior I don't know well enough to know when it's not normal. So I held off on it. But Monday morning I was brushing him, and I saw it....AAAACK! A spot that moved - oh, no - he did have fleas!
Rather panicked now, over both the house and the cat, I called the vet's office hoping maybe they had some sort of emergency hotline (hey, the pediatrician does so it was worth a check.) To my utter relief, a real person answered the phone, and they were open, and I could bring him in that afternoon.
I took him in, hoping for the best news, mentally preparing for the worst. And guess what? Amazingly, though he was in the shelter for 4 days and who knows where before that, he's healthy! All his tests were clean, all his little internal organs healthy. Those few pesky fleas were the only thing wrong. (Thank you, God.)
BIG sigh of relief! He got his flea treatment, and last night Chris and Charlotte got to be fascinated and amused while we gave the cat a good flea combing. Oh, what a happy cat he was! At one point, while combing his tummy, he went so boneless with pleasure he would let me move his legs all around to reach everywhere and didn't once try to claw us.
What was hysterical was last night, while I was simultaneously trying to wash all our bedding and Brian was vacuuming AND we were trying to get dinner on - the 2 oldest were whining about being hungry and the little one was underfoot crying..... but the CAT had used the litterbox, fed himSELF, and was now snoozing contentedly underneath the computer desk.
And I was worried that the cat would be too much trouble....hmmmm.
Since we adopted our new kitty on a Saturday, I knew that his first vet visit would have to wait until (I thought) Tuesday, because of the holiday. Before we brought him home, they suggested we buy some Advantage flea control and apply it because all shelter animals could possibly have fleas. They were not sure, however, if he was old enough. Well, with all the scares about babies and toddlers being accidentally overdosed on cold meds, I certainly didn't want to accidentally overdose my kitten - whose behavior I don't know well enough to know when it's not normal. So I held off on it. But Monday morning I was brushing him, and I saw it....AAAACK! A spot that moved - oh, no - he did have fleas!
Rather panicked now, over both the house and the cat, I called the vet's office hoping maybe they had some sort of emergency hotline (hey, the pediatrician does so it was worth a check.) To my utter relief, a real person answered the phone, and they were open, and I could bring him in that afternoon.
I took him in, hoping for the best news, mentally preparing for the worst. And guess what? Amazingly, though he was in the shelter for 4 days and who knows where before that, he's healthy! All his tests were clean, all his little internal organs healthy. Those few pesky fleas were the only thing wrong. (Thank you, God.)
BIG sigh of relief! He got his flea treatment, and last night Chris and Charlotte got to be fascinated and amused while we gave the cat a good flea combing. Oh, what a happy cat he was! At one point, while combing his tummy, he went so boneless with pleasure he would let me move his legs all around to reach everywhere and didn't once try to claw us.
What was hysterical was last night, while I was simultaneously trying to wash all our bedding and Brian was vacuuming AND we were trying to get dinner on - the 2 oldest were whining about being hungry and the little one was underfoot crying..... but the CAT had used the litterbox, fed himSELF, and was now snoozing contentedly underneath the computer desk.
And I was worried that the cat would be too much trouble....hmmmm.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Our latest addition
Well....
I've finally gone and done it. Despite any misgivings and the fact that I'm probably 9 kinds of crazy for adding one more thing to the mix that is the insanity of my life, on Saturday we went to the Prince William Animal Shelter and adopted this little cutie.
My 5 year old daughter has been begging for a kitten for about a year now. Never having been allowed to indulge my desire for a furry creature when I was little, I really wanted to let her have the experience - but not maybe just yet. I wasn't sure I was ready to have one more living thing needing my (always distractable) attention.
But Saturday morning I woke up with the overwhelming feeling that there was a kitty cat at the shelter waiting for us to come get him or her. I piled the oldest two into the car and we raced against time to get down to the shelter before they closed (I'd spent the morning waiting for Brian to finish dealing with taking the car for inspection and figuring out how/if it would pass - long story, but it left us with only 15 minutes to look at the animals). Somehow I knew that "our cat" would know us. And I was right.
When we went into the cat room we were immediately drawn to this little guy. He was in a bottom corner cage, and as soon as we started looking interested in him, he started pouncing and playing with his bedding as if to say "Oh, pick me! Pick me! Look how cute I am - love me, love me pet me pet me take me home!" He was purring like a little outboard motor the whole time we were holding him and passing him around - which the lady at the shelter told us was a good sign that he would do well in our busy household.
Looking into his beautiful baby blues I just couldn't even think about leaving without him. Our cat had found us. He's 8 weeks old, and has an unusual feature - he's a six toed cat. Each of his paws has six toes. It gives him these adorable giant paws that look too big for him.
So.... we've been spending the weekend getting accustomed to each other. We spent the whole first day trying to figure out what his name should be. (If you have a cat, you know that you don't name a cat, you discover it's name.) The kids couldn't agree - Chris wanted Sneaker (cause he's sneaky) and Charlotte wanted Simba. Our new kitty's "official" name then, is Simba Sneaker Smith. But we call him Simba, or Kitty, or Cat, or a dozen other endearments and he's okay with that.
After a long afternoon of playing with an oh-so-excited little girl, Simba curled up to sleep inside Charlotte's little pop-up play tent, all snuggled up with the stuffed animals, pillows, and blankets. In fact, we couldn't find him for a while - he looked like one of the stuffed animals!
I'll have to call the vet on Tuesday to set up his first checkup, and the mom in me is slightly apprehensive of what we'll learn. I pray Simba is as healthy as he seems, and that he can live to be an old patriarch cat with us. This is a big leap of faith for me. I'm trusting that God led us to a cat that can be with us for a long time. But if for some reason it leads to a object lesson for my children on dealing with life, and death, well... it will be hard, but we'll get through it.
I wasn't sure how Simba would take to us - us novice cat owners (or staff, as cats prefer). I was just as perplexed what to do when he woke up at 5am meowing at our bedroom door, as I have been when my children have woken up crying for no reason I could figure out. We let him in, to see what he would do, and after getting some love and scritches from both of us he did the most amazing thing. He ran his paws through my hair, to make himself a little nest, and snuggled up purring right behind my head. I couldn't quite sleep, but I couldn't bear to move him. I felt so loved, that he trusted me that much, the first night he was home.
As one of my favorite author's SARK has said, "Cats are angels with fur."
Indeed.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Underneath the mask
My friend D and I had an enlightening conversation today. We have those kind a lot. In addition to being my friend, she's my spiritual mentor, sounding board, encourager, and mirror. Only instead of reflecting back to me what the world sees, she somehow manages to reflect back to me my true self. The one that's been hiding under this mask I erected so long ago. The one I sometimes wonder if I've forgotten how to be.
So, while I've been going about the rest of my day I've been trying to remember those things that have always been a part of me (the good, the bad, and the silly). Here's what I've remembered so far (organized in no particular order.....)
1. I love books. I love to read. I would choose reading a book over most any other leisure activity and have spent many happy hours lost in a book. If I have an addiction, it's books - love to read them, collect them, talk about them, borrow and share them.
2. Following that train of thought, I love to learn. I am a brain, an intellectual, and I revel in it. I soak up information like a sponge soaks up water, and I have a very good memory for all sorts of (many times unrelated) subjects, facts, trivia, and useful data.
3. I am, however, a very big scatterbrain. It would seem I have so much information stored up there in my head that I am constantly losing and misplacing it. (My palm pilot is not a status symbol, it is a necessity - I used to keep forgetting my calendar)
4. I am right brained. I'm very creative, great at brainstorming - putting together all the bibs and bobs of information in my head in new and unique ways to come up with solutions. Just please don't ask me to balance the checkbook or organize a file system.
5. My creative, disorganized right-brainedness makes it nearly impossible for me to do anything in a logical fashion. I usually end up doing things as they occur to me, otherwise I get distracted. I've cleaned closets and done laundry at midnight if it suited my schedule.
6. I am a night owl. I can pretend to be a lark (early riser) if necessary, but I am not one naturally. I do not get up any earlier than I have to. I don't care what the Proverbs 31 woman does. I think better at night, always have.
7. I have terrible sense of direction. It's gotten better (out of necessity) and now I am able to read a map if I get lost. But I still get lost very easily, and please don't tell me give me any compass directions unless you happen to be holding a compass. I drive by landmarks and road signs.
8. I like comfortable clothing. When I spend my days chasing after children, cleaning messes, running errands, and doing housework I like to be comfortable. You will usually find me clean, presentable, and (often) matching - but I do not have an effortless sense of style. The only way I can look "put together" is if I bought it together, to wear together as an outfit.
9. I like color in my world. I like to wear bright or pastel colored clothing. I like color in my house - I don't like plain white (or cream, or eggshell) walls. I don't like "neutral" clothing (black, white, navy, beige) All those "classic" clothes that they (that nebulous "they") keep telling a woman to stock her closet with. I like broomstick skirts and peasant blouses, ruffles, frills, and lace. I like girly clothes. When I dress up, I like to really dress up.
10. I prefer going barefoot (whenever possible) over the most stylish shoes you can buy. Flip flops are my friends. In the winter, the shoes are the first thing to go the minute I walk in the door. I don't care if they're Manolo Blahniks - if they hurt my feet, I won't wear 'em.
11. I like to play my music loud, sing at the top of my lungs, and dance when I'm happy.
12. I don't mind doing hard work, but I hate being bored. I was a secretary for 3 years - it was the worst job I ever had because after I'd learned all my tasks, I was bored. This makes housework a challenge. My iPod is my friend.
13. I love to cook and bake, but please don't ask me to plan/time/manage a big holiday meal. I haven't the foggiest clue how to have everything ready all at the same time and before everyone is grumpy with hunger.
14. I have a very goofy sense of humor, and when I really get going I get fits of the giggles.
15. It takes me a long time to master any new physical skills - roller skating, riding a bicycle, driving a car. But once I learn them, I'm usually pretty good (except for when my natural klutziness kicks in)
16. I'm not naturally graceful. I have to work really hard to do anything gracefully. When I'm running around multitasking I'll inevitably drop something, knock something over, or walk into something. And since I'm fair-skinned and bruise easily people are always saying "What did you do to yourself?" And I never remember "Oh, walked into something again, I suppose...."
17. I'm a great renaissance woman. Since I learn easily I know all sorts of skills in all sorts of areas - I know a little bit about a lot. I'm not a sous chef, but I can make a lot of tasty soups casseroles, and stir fries. I'm not a professional baker, but I can make a very tasty chocolate cake or chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I have enough of a green thumb to keep my houseplants alive (and plant a garden, if I ever get around to it). I can sew some, cross-stitch, do needlepoint and latch-hook. I'm a decent photographer and modest scrapbooker. I've done all sorts of artsy-crafty things and can draw some and paint some. I'm not a virtuoso, but I'm a good singer and have played various instruments at different points in my life. I'm not a carpenter but I can manage a hammer, saw, and screwdriver (with some good directions).
18. I am not mechanically inclined. If I can't figure it out intuitively, I can't do it. Please do not ask me to fix my car, the computer, the plumbing, or any appliance. That is my husband's gift, and he does it admirably.
Those were some of the things running around my head this evening... one last one for tonight..
19. I like sleep. I can keep myself awake past my sleepy-point if I have to, or take care of a child in the middle of the night. But I can no longer manage on 5 hours of sleep a night like I did during all 4 years of college. I need 8 hours worth, preferably all in a row.
G' night...
So, while I've been going about the rest of my day I've been trying to remember those things that have always been a part of me (the good, the bad, and the silly). Here's what I've remembered so far (organized in no particular order.....)
1. I love books. I love to read. I would choose reading a book over most any other leisure activity and have spent many happy hours lost in a book. If I have an addiction, it's books - love to read them, collect them, talk about them, borrow and share them.
2. Following that train of thought, I love to learn. I am a brain, an intellectual, and I revel in it. I soak up information like a sponge soaks up water, and I have a very good memory for all sorts of (many times unrelated) subjects, facts, trivia, and useful data.
3. I am, however, a very big scatterbrain. It would seem I have so much information stored up there in my head that I am constantly losing and misplacing it. (My palm pilot is not a status symbol, it is a necessity - I used to keep forgetting my calendar)
4. I am right brained. I'm very creative, great at brainstorming - putting together all the bibs and bobs of information in my head in new and unique ways to come up with solutions. Just please don't ask me to balance the checkbook or organize a file system.
5. My creative, disorganized right-brainedness makes it nearly impossible for me to do anything in a logical fashion. I usually end up doing things as they occur to me, otherwise I get distracted. I've cleaned closets and done laundry at midnight if it suited my schedule.
6. I am a night owl. I can pretend to be a lark (early riser) if necessary, but I am not one naturally. I do not get up any earlier than I have to. I don't care what the Proverbs 31 woman does. I think better at night, always have.
7. I have terrible sense of direction. It's gotten better (out of necessity) and now I am able to read a map if I get lost. But I still get lost very easily, and please don't tell me give me any compass directions unless you happen to be holding a compass. I drive by landmarks and road signs.
8. I like comfortable clothing. When I spend my days chasing after children, cleaning messes, running errands, and doing housework I like to be comfortable. You will usually find me clean, presentable, and (often) matching - but I do not have an effortless sense of style. The only way I can look "put together" is if I bought it together, to wear together as an outfit.
9. I like color in my world. I like to wear bright or pastel colored clothing. I like color in my house - I don't like plain white (or cream, or eggshell) walls. I don't like "neutral" clothing (black, white, navy, beige) All those "classic" clothes that they (that nebulous "they") keep telling a woman to stock her closet with. I like broomstick skirts and peasant blouses, ruffles, frills, and lace. I like girly clothes. When I dress up, I like to really dress up.
10. I prefer going barefoot (whenever possible) over the most stylish shoes you can buy. Flip flops are my friends. In the winter, the shoes are the first thing to go the minute I walk in the door. I don't care if they're Manolo Blahniks - if they hurt my feet, I won't wear 'em.
11. I like to play my music loud, sing at the top of my lungs, and dance when I'm happy.
12. I don't mind doing hard work, but I hate being bored. I was a secretary for 3 years - it was the worst job I ever had because after I'd learned all my tasks, I was bored. This makes housework a challenge. My iPod is my friend.
13. I love to cook and bake, but please don't ask me to plan/time/manage a big holiday meal. I haven't the foggiest clue how to have everything ready all at the same time and before everyone is grumpy with hunger.
14. I have a very goofy sense of humor, and when I really get going I get fits of the giggles.
15. It takes me a long time to master any new physical skills - roller skating, riding a bicycle, driving a car. But once I learn them, I'm usually pretty good (except for when my natural klutziness kicks in)
16. I'm not naturally graceful. I have to work really hard to do anything gracefully. When I'm running around multitasking I'll inevitably drop something, knock something over, or walk into something. And since I'm fair-skinned and bruise easily people are always saying "What did you do to yourself?" And I never remember "Oh, walked into something again, I suppose...."
17. I'm a great renaissance woman. Since I learn easily I know all sorts of skills in all sorts of areas - I know a little bit about a lot. I'm not a sous chef, but I can make a lot of tasty soups casseroles, and stir fries. I'm not a professional baker, but I can make a very tasty chocolate cake or chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I have enough of a green thumb to keep my houseplants alive (and plant a garden, if I ever get around to it). I can sew some, cross-stitch, do needlepoint and latch-hook. I'm a decent photographer and modest scrapbooker. I've done all sorts of artsy-crafty things and can draw some and paint some. I'm not a virtuoso, but I'm a good singer and have played various instruments at different points in my life. I'm not a carpenter but I can manage a hammer, saw, and screwdriver (with some good directions).
18. I am not mechanically inclined. If I can't figure it out intuitively, I can't do it. Please do not ask me to fix my car, the computer, the plumbing, or any appliance. That is my husband's gift, and he does it admirably.
Those were some of the things running around my head this evening... one last one for tonight..
19. I like sleep. I can keep myself awake past my sleepy-point if I have to, or take care of a child in the middle of the night. But I can no longer manage on 5 hours of sleep a night like I did during all 4 years of college. I need 8 hours worth, preferably all in a row.
G' night...
Friday, October 3, 2008
Did Houdini's mother feel like this?
I'm so tired.
I could fall asleep right now with my head down on the keyboard.
Every mother of young children gets tired like this sometimes. But not every mother of young children has a 2 year old son who could be the reincarnation of Houdini. Or maybe he's a monkey in the disguise of a boy. I don't know.
I've been trying to figure out why no matter when I go to bed, by suppertime I'm ready to sleep for 10 hours. I've been trying to figure out why even though I'm no longer nursing, I've been craving, buying, and consuming every carb I can get my hands on.
A few minutes ago, I finally figured it out. Little monkey boy had gone upstairs, and was suddenly Too Quiet. So I did the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs to see what he was up to. He was up to the top of his brother's nightstand, holding a toy alarm clock and jumping with glee!
It was at this point I realized I've been doing the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs probably up to 50 times a day. That doesn't include all the various reaching, grabbing, carrying, and rescuing from various precarious situations that take place without dashing up the stairs. You know, the garbage can rescue, the fragile item rescue, the what's in your mouth rescue, the precarious climb rescue, etc., etc.
And now, possibly as of today, I can no longer contain him..... anywhere. He can, if he chooses, climb out of his crib. That makes his arsenal complete. He was already able to climb out of his high chair, wiggle out of his stroller (yes, with the seatbelt on), climb over the baby gate (lest you think I hadn't tried that), and escape his playpen. He can (and will) climb anything he can can a toe hold on - all the chairs, all the beds, the back of the couch, the hutch, the bookshelf, the toilet, the sink, the windowsill. He hasn't tried to climb the entertainment center yet, but it's only a matter of time.
And he can take apart most anything he sets his mind to. I found him sucking on a battery once, not because we leave them lying around, but because we recently had several power outages and he managed to figure out how to take the flashlight *apart* to get to them. He has figured out how to take a socket protector out of the wall, how to open a closed door, how to unlatch the window. Fortunately he has not figured out how to open the childproof locks on the dangerous things - at least, not yet.
This child is the very epitome of don't leave your child unattended for even a second. While I've been in the very same room with him I've had to remove an amazing array of things from his mouth. In addition to the battery, I've removed play doh, assorted old food, coins, beads, stickers, small lincoln logs, game pieces, marbles, rocks! (we were camping), dirt, sand, soap, old coffee grounds he scrounged from the garbage, and innumerable bits and pieces of various things he's bitten off with his sharp little teeth. Once he nearly gave me a heart attack when he managed to put an old PUSH PIN that some ding-a-ling left lying around by our bus stop in his mouth! Lest you think I'm careless, to the best of my knowledge the only thing he actually *swallowed* was a few bits from a red fringed mylar balloon that fringed off all over the house. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry over the red glittery poop!
Sooooo.....needless to say, I'm using a lot of extra energy on all that sprinting around the house to keep him out of harm's way. Maybe he'll grow up to be an engineer, or a physicist, or a stunt man.
In the meantime, I've been wondering if I could invent and patent a human sized hamster ball. I think it would go over great for other parents of little Houdini's, don't you?
I could fall asleep right now with my head down on the keyboard.
Every mother of young children gets tired like this sometimes. But not every mother of young children has a 2 year old son who could be the reincarnation of Houdini. Or maybe he's a monkey in the disguise of a boy. I don't know.
I've been trying to figure out why no matter when I go to bed, by suppertime I'm ready to sleep for 10 hours. I've been trying to figure out why even though I'm no longer nursing, I've been craving, buying, and consuming every carb I can get my hands on.
A few minutes ago, I finally figured it out. Little monkey boy had gone upstairs, and was suddenly Too Quiet. So I did the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs to see what he was up to. He was up to the top of his brother's nightstand, holding a toy alarm clock and jumping with glee!
It was at this point I realized I've been doing the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs probably up to 50 times a day. That doesn't include all the various reaching, grabbing, carrying, and rescuing from various precarious situations that take place without dashing up the stairs. You know, the garbage can rescue, the fragile item rescue, the what's in your mouth rescue, the precarious climb rescue, etc., etc.
And now, possibly as of today, I can no longer contain him..... anywhere. He can, if he chooses, climb out of his crib. That makes his arsenal complete. He was already able to climb out of his high chair, wiggle out of his stroller (yes, with the seatbelt on), climb over the baby gate (lest you think I hadn't tried that), and escape his playpen. He can (and will) climb anything he can can a toe hold on - all the chairs, all the beds, the back of the couch, the hutch, the bookshelf, the toilet, the sink, the windowsill. He hasn't tried to climb the entertainment center yet, but it's only a matter of time.
And he can take apart most anything he sets his mind to. I found him sucking on a battery once, not because we leave them lying around, but because we recently had several power outages and he managed to figure out how to take the flashlight *apart* to get to them. He has figured out how to take a socket protector out of the wall, how to open a closed door, how to unlatch the window. Fortunately he has not figured out how to open the childproof locks on the dangerous things - at least, not yet.
This child is the very epitome of don't leave your child unattended for even a second. While I've been in the very same room with him I've had to remove an amazing array of things from his mouth. In addition to the battery, I've removed play doh, assorted old food, coins, beads, stickers, small lincoln logs, game pieces, marbles, rocks! (we were camping), dirt, sand, soap, old coffee grounds he scrounged from the garbage, and innumerable bits and pieces of various things he's bitten off with his sharp little teeth. Once he nearly gave me a heart attack when he managed to put an old PUSH PIN that some ding-a-ling left lying around by our bus stop in his mouth! Lest you think I'm careless, to the best of my knowledge the only thing he actually *swallowed* was a few bits from a red fringed mylar balloon that fringed off all over the house. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry over the red glittery poop!
Sooooo.....needless to say, I'm using a lot of extra energy on all that sprinting around the house to keep him out of harm's way. Maybe he'll grow up to be an engineer, or a physicist, or a stunt man.
In the meantime, I've been wondering if I could invent and patent a human sized hamster ball. I think it would go over great for other parents of little Houdini's, don't you?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Well, I really should....
....do an awful lot of things, but right now I just don't feel like it.
I should:
1. Go to the grocery store and pick up a bunch of dinner stuff for the week, but I do have one emergency backup meal left in the house.
2. Drive over to the post office and mail the property tax payments (a lovely little thing we have in VA, one on each car), but the lady I called today said as long as they're postmarked by the 6th, I'm good - and it's so much easier for hubby to take it on his way to work.
3. Write an e-mail to my son's teacher unravelling the mystery of why he thought it would be a good idea to start mixing containers of paint together during her explanation of the day's project (understanding the mind of a child with autism is a constant challenge).
4. Do about a bazillion loads of laundry (well, it feels that way).
5. Unload and reload the dishwasher so I don't have to do it while trying to simultaneously help my son with his homework, keep his sister from bugging him, and keeping his little brother from "helping" me.
6. Work on sorting the summer clothes out of the kids' dressers so I don't have to keep jamming the clothes they're actually wearing in on top of the shorts and stuff.
But the sky just darkened, and a storm is rolling in, and my energy just drained out onto the floor, and I have to go to the bus stop in an hour to pick up the kids and maybe it's okay for mommy to take a break.
I should:
1. Go to the grocery store and pick up a bunch of dinner stuff for the week, but I do have one emergency backup meal left in the house.
2. Drive over to the post office and mail the property tax payments (a lovely little thing we have in VA, one on each car), but the lady I called today said as long as they're postmarked by the 6th, I'm good - and it's so much easier for hubby to take it on his way to work.
3. Write an e-mail to my son's teacher unravelling the mystery of why he thought it would be a good idea to start mixing containers of paint together during her explanation of the day's project (understanding the mind of a child with autism is a constant challenge).
4. Do about a bazillion loads of laundry (well, it feels that way).
5. Unload and reload the dishwasher so I don't have to do it while trying to simultaneously help my son with his homework, keep his sister from bugging him, and keeping his little brother from "helping" me.
6. Work on sorting the summer clothes out of the kids' dressers so I don't have to keep jamming the clothes they're actually wearing in on top of the shorts and stuff.
But the sky just darkened, and a storm is rolling in, and my energy just drained out onto the floor, and I have to go to the bus stop in an hour to pick up the kids and maybe it's okay for mommy to take a break.
Toothpicks and tissue paper
Or, I could post on something else entirely...told you I had a lot of ideas bouncing around up there.
So. Our church does not have its own building. We are (as of this summer) a completely mobile church. We hold our Sunday worship service in a middle school auditorium, with all the pros and cons that entails. (Pros - we *have* a place to worship, it has seats and a stage and a large parking lot......Cons - the seats are bolted to the floor, the stage is the only place for the band to set up, and we are no longer allowed to store all our equipment, and so rely on an ancient truck to move it all every weekend)
All that to say - here is what our stage design crew did this weekend.
(Note, I'm terrible at links, so look for the post titled "The reality behind the scenes")
Anyway - the basic idea was that there would be a giant red heart on the back stage curtain, and during just the right moment of one of the worship songs, the curtain would open to reveal a white chiffon cross draped on the back wall (strategically lit). Well, we spent a good part of the previous Friday evening pinning the heart together out of (guess what?) hula hoops, pool noodles, and fabric - don't laugh too hard, it worked didn't it? Then we spent the next entire Friday evening sorting, measuring, and rolling all our cloth onto bolts for easy reference for upcoming worship designs. Late to bed and up early Saturday morning to set everything up on the stage - hang the white chiffon from the back wall, get the red heart pinned to the curtain, find and set up the lights that were to shine on the chiffon cross. (And figure out how to work gaffer clips, and not poke our fingers with safety pins.)
Well, somewhere in the middle of all *this* madness, we learned that both the truck and the stage crew were locked into the compound where the truck is parked. Seems that a solar powered code box was malfunctioning and kept re-setting the passcode because of it being an overcast day. And while we were waiting for that to be sorted out, the producer informs us that the MediaShout program has crashed and the the tech team will be loading the screen elements (song lyrics and such) manually.
Oh, and about 50 people (many of them leaders) from our congregation were at a retreat that weekend.
So....with the band wondering when their equipment would arrive and all of our nerves fraying we managed to finally finish our setup.
Sunday morning - we arrive at 7:30 AM to learn that more chaos has ensued. The band is having equipment problems due to a shortened setup time, the tech guy who was supposed to help up with our lights hadn't shown up yet (turned out his alarm clock didn't go off), the pastor told us he was going to have to preach on a wing and a prayer - he'd been at the retreat for part of the weekend. The time he'd allotted for prep time was spent nursing his bride (they've been married 12 weeks) through a horrid flu.
All that to say this..... it is obvious to anyone, humanly speaking - we were woefully unprepared. But this leadership team is a group of powerful prayer warriors. We prayed before our pre-service, and prayed during it for the main service. And during that prayer, our pastor reminded us that even if the computer shut down, the lights went off, the band's instruments wouldn't play and the worship leader had to stand on stage leading worship with a flashlight in her hand - God would still show up, and we would still worship Him.
And we knew it to be true.
While I was praying during worship, that those who came would be touched by the Holy Spirit, God spoke to my heart....toothpicks and tissue paper.
"What? God, was that you? What?"
Basically God reminded me that everything we create, for worship or otherwise, it's all toothpicks and tissue paper if He's not in it. Everything, every work of our frail human hands, is toothpicks and tissue paper compared to what God has done.
Wow.
Incidentally, it was one of the most Spirit-led worship services we've ever had....funny how God works sometimes.
So. Our church does not have its own building. We are (as of this summer) a completely mobile church. We hold our Sunday worship service in a middle school auditorium, with all the pros and cons that entails. (Pros - we *have* a place to worship, it has seats and a stage and a large parking lot......Cons - the seats are bolted to the floor, the stage is the only place for the band to set up, and we are no longer allowed to store all our equipment, and so rely on an ancient truck to move it all every weekend)
All that to say - here is what our stage design crew did this weekend.
(Note, I'm terrible at links, so look for the post titled "The reality behind the scenes")
Anyway - the basic idea was that there would be a giant red heart on the back stage curtain, and during just the right moment of one of the worship songs, the curtain would open to reveal a white chiffon cross draped on the back wall (strategically lit). Well, we spent a good part of the previous Friday evening pinning the heart together out of (guess what?) hula hoops, pool noodles, and fabric - don't laugh too hard, it worked didn't it? Then we spent the next entire Friday evening sorting, measuring, and rolling all our cloth onto bolts for easy reference for upcoming worship designs. Late to bed and up early Saturday morning to set everything up on the stage - hang the white chiffon from the back wall, get the red heart pinned to the curtain, find and set up the lights that were to shine on the chiffon cross. (And figure out how to work gaffer clips, and not poke our fingers with safety pins.)
Well, somewhere in the middle of all *this* madness, we learned that both the truck and the stage crew were locked into the compound where the truck is parked. Seems that a solar powered code box was malfunctioning and kept re-setting the passcode because of it being an overcast day. And while we were waiting for that to be sorted out, the producer informs us that the MediaShout program has crashed and the the tech team will be loading the screen elements (song lyrics and such) manually.
Oh, and about 50 people (many of them leaders) from our congregation were at a retreat that weekend.
So....with the band wondering when their equipment would arrive and all of our nerves fraying we managed to finally finish our setup.
Sunday morning - we arrive at 7:30 AM to learn that more chaos has ensued. The band is having equipment problems due to a shortened setup time, the tech guy who was supposed to help up with our lights hadn't shown up yet (turned out his alarm clock didn't go off), the pastor told us he was going to have to preach on a wing and a prayer - he'd been at the retreat for part of the weekend. The time he'd allotted for prep time was spent nursing his bride (they've been married 12 weeks) through a horrid flu.
All that to say this..... it is obvious to anyone, humanly speaking - we were woefully unprepared. But this leadership team is a group of powerful prayer warriors. We prayed before our pre-service, and prayed during it for the main service. And during that prayer, our pastor reminded us that even if the computer shut down, the lights went off, the band's instruments wouldn't play and the worship leader had to stand on stage leading worship with a flashlight in her hand - God would still show up, and we would still worship Him.
And we knew it to be true.
While I was praying during worship, that those who came would be touched by the Holy Spirit, God spoke to my heart....toothpicks and tissue paper.
"What? God, was that you? What?"
Basically God reminded me that everything we create, for worship or otherwise, it's all toothpicks and tissue paper if He's not in it. Everything, every work of our frail human hands, is toothpicks and tissue paper compared to what God has done.
Wow.
Incidentally, it was one of the most Spirit-led worship services we've ever had....funny how God works sometimes.
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