Favorite things this week

Gingerbread

Rock salt

Finding old friends

Trash bags on sale

Centering prayer

Daughter's coloring

Camera phone

Baked Oatmeal

. . . . how about you?

disaster averted - no children were shot

today an automated call came from the superintendent of my children's school district that a child planned to bring guns to school today, but was averted and arrested. No further details could be told she said.

We were snowed in and school was canceled anyway. When you get a call like that, it is quite chilling. You wonder why things are so unsafe, even among the world of children. You start to list the many reasons why. Video games? Cable tv? The abundance of glorified violence? Lack of proper bonding? No mentors? Dysfunctional families?

Improper spiritual formation? (certainly). From my perspective, of course, I'll end up here because I study this. I see all problems as spiritual ones at their root. And are they not? When we cannot live with each other, or we wish to hurt each other, that is a spiritual problem. It comes out as a criminal problem. It gets met by law enforcement. It becomes punished by what is called justice, but really is largely secular retribution and recompense.

Will this young person be healed? Will he (or she, but we all know this is highly unlikely. Don't boys cry in bullets?) be soon reinstated into loving community, found, and healed? That is his only hope really. Will he find his way because he realizes what grace is, what love is, what forgiveness is? Or will he grow hard and cold? Will he stay lost? Will he stay hateful?

People are scared. It's strange to live in a place that seems safe, but of course is like any other place, normal, which means, American, and therefore chaotic and prone to violence.

I'm glad disaster was averted. I hope no one will hope to copy him on a day when bad weather isn't a factor that changes the day.

My mind is spinning.

trying for the best

Sometimes when you have an opinion, or make an observation... even an incredibly obvious one, you can be crucified for it (socially I mean). Sometimes physically, but not usually, of course, at least not in my country.

You can get maligned.

You have to ask yourself the important question, in those cases. If you can save a person, (or persons) from potential damage, you should try to do it, even if it costs you dearly. Even if its unpopular. Even if the discomfort of the pointing out the obvious will target you for revenge of the inner guilt you rouse in others.

Trying for the best isn't easy or safe. I'm not perfect. I've made mistakes. Like Eve, I been deceived by a serpent or two. In learning from those mistakes I hope to save some lambs from the jaws of some wolves, even wolves in sheep's clothing if that's the case, if at all possible.

This use to really surprise me, even depress me how hard it was to do well, or better. It does not surprise me any more. It's hardest among people you would hope it would be easiest. There you have it!

Spiritual formation is a journey. We have to try to for the best. When we fail we have to keep trying. I FAIL. I must press on.

Disappearing . . .

When I was young sometimes I would get the sense that if I closed my eyes I might completely disappear. I might not just sink into the floor or fade like a vapor-though sometimes I wondered that too-but maybe I wouldn't exist because I was not existing. Was I there if I felt invisible and unnoticed? Was it possible to disappear? Does this speak in some way of how a child absorbs things that are less than loving-neglectful things; or is this more of creativity and how one imagines and gets use to one's metaphysics?

Remembering that, and the potential adult manifestations of those sorts of topics, gets me to thinking about love. It seems it can bring us back, to life. It can make us reappear, maybe something like clapping for Tinkerbell could bring her back to fairy-ness.

But too, I think that disappeared person has to be able to feel that love first too. Those perceptions cannot be too deadened. If one's been under the ice too long and gotten too numb, a quick warm up does not "do the trick". Then the cut off has been too great, though a thaw can happen, rescuers must be patient.

How do we make people reappear?

Loneliness and Love

Loneliness will drive us to do unwise things.

Love will drive us to do very unwise things.

Does it seems a great many people don't take the care to tell of which one is driving them?

The former will condition seems to rarely settle down into one that begins out of the latter condition (love).

The latter condition keeps the former condition from happening at all.

If it weren't for the great gap, and horrifying feeling and condition (both) of loneliness, could we not love so much better and more wholly?

possessing nothing

In reading Tozer, I have enjoyed his take on this "possessing nothing" issue. It can encompass a worldview.

Tozer (in the Pursuit of God) says, "I have everything, but I possess nothing." If this is the perspective, nothing possesses us. We are not "other possessed", but have no chain to anything, and then can be given, or shall we say, released, to God.

I think the image here isn't that of apathy toward things. We may care quite deeply, and engage fully, love fully, even lay our lives down for friends and enemies. The difference I see is that we do not clutch anything.

So, I may love my child, my spouse, my friend, with all my heart, but I know that God gave them to me. They are God's, not mine to clutch. I possess nothing. (I don't contend I have this mastered, but only that I'm beginning to understand this as working as such!)

Your comments are welcome!

Porcupine Traits

Porcupines are SOLITARY creatures.
They live ALONE. They are not like other rodents like mice or squirrels who live together in colonies.

Their spiny quills dislodge into anything they touch and can cause agony, infection, and even death.

With these qualities we would think they would be extinict long ago. But actually they flourish very well.

How?

Simply put, porcupines DANCE.

They flatten their pain inducing quills and two-step.

That's right, dance! It's a delicate balancing act to make things work out, when you have the ability to hurt others.

On cold nights they have even been known to snuggle down together in what is termed as "a prickle".

If these barbed creatures can overcome their prickly tendencies, we humans can learn to get along.

We can be agreeable even when we disagree.

We are porcupines too, but we can all learn to flatten our quills and dance.

SLR camera collection

My husband and I have accumulated 4 SLR cameras at this point. It's funny to be sitting on all this old technology. They are worth very little on ebay.

We both had to buy them during our years in college for Photography class. Tim was given two that belonged to his grandmother. we thought of selling them to get a cheap digital, but they will hardly cover the expense.

I've always loved taking B&W shots with my camera. Our current digital just doesn't do it for me. It's bulky too.

I think the best scenario might be to get a small pocket sized digital, a nice digital SLR, and keep one of the traditional SLRs.

But the big thing is we're rather poor to consider such luxuries, so these are dreams, for now.

un-spooky

Success-

The kids had fun for Halloween. Meaning: After about 20 houses we could be done. It's not a big deal at our house--not hushed up, nor hyped. We carve two pumpkins about a week prior, roast seeds (YUM) and then throw together costumes from the costume bin about 15 min before it's time to go. That's about all the thought and prep. that goes into the night.

Other potential spooky situations seemed averted and turned out positively. Very relieved.

the next crazy thing will be....

the whacky ELECTION! ugh.

My boy wants a beard

Tonight I get to draw a beard on my 8 year old. It's very important that he be an engineer and have a manly beard. It's key to the outfit for Trick-or-treating too because he doesn't really have a fantastic costume. We have to rely on good make-up.

Facial hair is a funny thing. When Nathan couldn't find the word for "mustache" in his language testing this summer, he used hand motions on his lip and said, "It's on a man's lip and it tickles." You can tell his daddy has a beard and mustache and gives kisses. Maybe that's why obtaining a beard is so important. Whatever it is, it helps get candy.

October madness

I've noticed lots of spooky things recently... decorations, clothing, pumpkins, people, surprising turns in conversations...

Our car got egged. I loved it because our car is 16 years old. It's a wonderful piece of junk car. It's beautiful to us because somehow it manages to still run. But it's about as ugly as cars get. The egg didn't really matter. The YOKE was on them really. HA!


It's been madness lately for several big reasons, and several small ones, and several odd ones, and one or two that should stop making my radar, but do.

Besides that, when it's the worst, the good news is, the (so-called) "worst" HAVE gotten less irritating ... practicing the presence of God DOES work.

Will "the madness" stop by Halloween?

hum...
I'll have only to wonder.

God's sufficiency

It seems my most fitful times are all rooted in doubts of God's sufficiency for me.

They often do not appear this way though. They might present as symptoms of just being too stressed out, wanting to pack up and leave, the feeling of losing faith in humanity, of just a proverbial "temper tantrum".

If I let God calm me down, it usually ends up with him sort of asking me some tough questions about where I am placing my trust.

hearing songs in the morning

Seismic forces may have their way

For a while -

So that, my heart quakes

Or my compunction like Tsunamis

Unfurl, or give away my strength,

And too, herald my weakness.


But, I hear your Song

On the open breeze.

Part howl, and crying

Part calling, my name and yours

Together.


Of home beyond the veil,

Making a thirst amid me

So rich and aching

That I sate

Even in aridity

Until your eschaton

A song for Rich Kilmer

Today Deb Perkins our church organist, and a talented musician, played a tribute on the piano to a lovely man Rich Kilmer. It was the Bach/Gounod of Ave Maria. This song is a prayer. For that reason, it is like life itself. There is a bitter sweetness to this piece that stirs my newly aquired compunction. Which I've learn is also what is known (historically) as a "gift of tears"... though I didn't realize it was anything close to a gift (and saw no real use for it until recently). When I am now stirred to compunction, in this case because of the immense beauty, frailty, pain, and reality and sharp, brevity of life and loss, I weep. And now that I am not jolted by those tears, I can be in those moments unencumbered, and enjoy the music; and also realize, though perhaps still with wet eyes, that God is very much in all of reality, in my world and the next one. Even so, in those moments also, "Jesus wept".

Like a prayer, we are like a breath. We come into this world, and there is beauty, and joy, and sadness, and sorrow, bitterness, goodness, vanity, excellence, and excess, dryness ... and then we are gone. The things we have done are then over. It is brief. Our friend Rich, dear Rich, and his sweet, smiling face, and his good nature are gone now, suddenly from us, and this life. And he passes to another.

It was so lovely and fitting of Deb to play a tribute.

To hear what I mean, listen to a rendition of the song on you-tube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMdhEt7J31Y

See you soon, Rich.
We miss you already.

The Blaine Dive of Death

I'm watching tv after reading my text book FOREVER. In a few minutes the showboat, stuntman David Blaine will lower himself five stories on a wire in a stunt called the Dive of Death. Supposedly, he's starved himself, and been sleep deprived too to make it more difficult.

After reading about Medieval Mystics, I associating Dave as a postmodern solipsistic ascetic. Instead of devoting his fasting or hardship to God, he wears himself out for publicity and fame. Instead of identifying himself with Christ in his suffering, David furthers his career with it... or we shall see. . .

Stunt Update: David just jumped 44 feet on a wire then swung around. After an odd camera cut, the announcer informed us he disappeared into the night. The crowd seemed perplexed. An odd display. Maybe I misunderstood his intent and it was planned as the David Blaine "Career Dive of Death," because that was totally a waste to watch. Or perhaps, it just didn't translate to television. A postmodern vapid center I suppose.

things I've loved this week

Italian bread with garlic butter

Palin's new hair (just kidding)

M & M's

My free book from NavPress (how did I get on that list? I hope I get more books! How cool.)

New friends on facebook. I love friends.

Baking chocolate chip cookies

Napping near Pam as she read her homework (Wednesday was fun.)

Helping in my daughter's kindergarten class-very rewarding

Making new friends at my school. Very nice people. I do love that.

Hugs and kisses from my kids and husband. Priceless.

HOW TO: Keeping naked men from chasing the kids in your yard

1. Preemptively--- Keep careful watch of the people in your neighborhood, and if possible know them by name.

2. If you suspect that anyone will remove pants and underwear, carry the cordless phone with you, or buy a clip for your belt loop.

3. Have the police on speed dial. (Remember they won't think of it as a 911 emergency, so input the local phone number.)

4. If the perpetrator ventures into your yard, use the element of surprise and barge out your door yelling at him and waving your phone. (Sometimes they think it's a gun, which is nice.)

5. Flip out! As you yell, act crazy, and yell a lot about calling the cops. (Yes, it's probably just a threat, because they would not get there in time, or bother helping you, perhaps. But, if you sale it hard enough, WITH PASSION, the "perp" will likely believe you.)

6. Be very brave, because children should be protected.

7. This worked for me, but it might not work for you. I don't own a gun. I'm considering a tazer. You may need to consult a professional, or go with your gut.

faltering and learning

If we can learning anything at all... it is that mistakes, errors, suffering, do-overs, all these things, produce character and growth.

Otherwise, we remain like infants in EZ chairs with remote controls. A life of easy, and of ease produces really nothing at all. Nothing much good. Really nothing of eternal value either.

I wonder if the American way of life is too soft, and that in some real way it, and not war, or something else, will be the end of us. What a strange irony. I don't mean the "end of us" in any physical sense, as doomsdays as that sounds, (read: dramatic. People DO love that, though). I mean, on the inside, from which we live. We make our decisions from that spot.

We falter, and then we learn. It's simple really. It's just not very pretty.

Janie asked

(fictionalized)

Janie asked, "Why did he die? God could have saved my brother. . ."

"you miss him"

Janie asks, "Can you help me understand? Of all the people. . . Why does God seem to take the good ones? He had just adopted a little Chinese baby with his wife. They struggled so long to have children. He would have been the best father. . ."

"it feels like a mistake"

Janie asks, "How am I suppose to reconcile the God I know with something so reckless?"

"your heart is broken"

Janie says, "Yes. But I feel like I don't have the right to admit that, not really."

"you have to forgive"

Janie asks, "What? Forgive? Who?"

"God"

Janie asks, "No. God can't be forgiven if he doesn't do wrong. What are you saying?"

"you have to forgive God for braking your heart"

Janie asks, "It's my view of him?"

"It's an offense you perceive and you are stuck"

Janie says, "I know God is good."

"But you don't trust him with your heart, not at the moment."

Janie says, "No, he seems too wild."

"you think he's careless"

Janie says, "Yes."

"he's not."

Janie says, "He doesn't make sense, not lately."

"He doesn't make sense when we want him to, sometimes."

Janie says, "But he is good. I mean, I do know that. I just don't see it sometimes."

"but he is good"

Janie asks, "How can you know?"

"you suffer first"

Janie says, "I don't like the sound of that."

"then you see him for who he really is"

Janie asks, "Does it always have to hurt?"

"yes"

Janies aks, "Then why do it?"

"because then you will be like him"

Things you said about a mission

You said

I was on a dangerous mission.

I was wishing

You hadn't say that.

Later.

But, then again.

I wanted to be very-

Cool.

At the time.


Dangerous,

In all the perilous ways,

you meant.

Not the hip, pop culture ways.

Unless, one counts being

counter-counter-cultural,

before everybody else

figures out how to.


Everyone is starting to think

Life is a movie staring them.

But reality is a story staring God.

How tricky

At the plot's climax

When it turns out

You are not the protagonist

after all.


It's a dangerous mission

To break the bad news

And call it Good News,

Even if it can save some one

From him self

He will probably only

Just hate you

For trashing his movie.

I'm... seriously... almost famous

We're all almost famous. Those mathematical 6 degrees of separation are not too far for any of us. It can be creepy to think of it sometimes.

I shook President Clinton's hand one time, no twice. This was when he visited my university. It was also before the Monica news broke. I started washing my hands more after that media frenzy. The "I know someone that knows someone" thing is really true. We've all been close to greatness, infamy, or something of that sort.

It was super fantastic to read Michael Hyatt's blog yesterday. His "From where I sit" blog is awfully amazing. For those of you unaware or illiterate, Michael is the CEO of the world's most successful Christian publisher Thomas Nelson. Hyatt gave great advice for first time authors (that would be me) so, obviously, I read it. Lo and behold, he listed my agent as one of three noteworthy agent bloggers to read. That's some nice street cred. Surprisingly my thought wasn't to have that feeling like, gosh, gee, I almost know him, (in a weird way).

Instead, I thought about how gracious people can be. Chip MacGregor is a talented, gracious agent who, obviously, takes a few charity cases. I'm working on some cool things, and, sometime soon we're going to see what deals we can swing. No matter what happens, I hope the same graciousness, the same goodness will be imbued into the character of my projects, because that is what matters most to me. All that other "being famous" stuff, or whatever you could try to call it, it's a means to an end that doesn't count for things beyond a short end.

Just today I was reading my Christian Spiritual Direction book assignment for grad class, and it actually said how you introduce yourself shows the self you want to live out of. This is really an attached self, a part of who you are. Mainly this is a false self. The things we have and do are not us at all. It is only the us that can be found in the identity with Christ that becomes the true self. Not a diminished self, but a fully human self, body and spirit.

I am famous, you could say, with Christ, but not almost famous. I'm awash in abounding love.

Weekend Haikus

Gray clouds mummer
Pink petals upraised
A flower wishes



Leafy groundcover
Crawling life mixed in cool earth
Dirt under my nails



Ivy, ferns, beetles
Canopy of outdoor art
Vivacious surfeit

Rain is good for. . .

1) Making cookies

2) Remembering that flowers grow

3) Snuggling under blankets (indoors, obviously)

4) Catching up with old friends (on the phone or in a letter)

5) Eating soup

6) Getting cozy with a good book, and a person at same time preferably

7) Philosophy

8) Looking for rainbows

Today's Afternoon Summer Rain

All the leaves are singing

with tiny drops of rain--

right now.

And the breeze is caressing my hair

as is blows in through the window,

and summer has its way.

The patters and droplets

are punctuating something

just out of reach,

but cool and familiar,

and almost mine.

The puddles are deepening,

and the streets are washing clean.

Things are smelling fresh again and free and light,

as evening approaches.

DEAR CHRISTIAN- YOU MIGHT NEED MEDS IF. . . .

SO, HERE"S THE THING. . .

I've been taking a short break from this wonderful summer weather, enjoying the great outdoors, and playing with my fun kids, and I've been around some blogs lately. I'll be honest, I've been really surprised!

The folks with the Christian worldview (supposedly) have been awfully self-centered and negative. However... to my surprise (and I dare say, my chagrin) the secular folks, (and some former strays from the faith) are down right fun, positive, funny, interesting, and worth reading in general. The first thought to cross my mind was. . . is there an outbreak of clinical depression going on? I'm sensing real discontent, even whining. . . What's with the oppressive tone?

So, listen... .if you're down and troubled, and you need a helping hand. And nothing, no nothing is going right--set up an appoint with your primary care physician. It's nothing to be ashamed of to seek medical treatment and pharmaceutical remedies in times of need. And yes, Jesus will be right with you, too. Doctors are professionals there to help you. Anti-depressants can be that little boost you may need to begin anew.

When your worldview isn't doing the job, you may need some community, and you may also need some meds. Really. It's okay.

self-contempt

What a shock it is to trace back problems social, spiritual, emotional, occupational, or otherwise in and around me, (with myself and others) all the way back to self-contempt. That, or pride, which is rather the a kind of funhouse mirror image are really the main things going on. Both are sin, if you will. The type that is both human (and not making us worthless) but unavoidable, brokenness that cries out to be whole and remedied, and, of course, one always hopes, forgiven. One wants to be spared, even from one's self, if possible, sometimes. But I don't know if we realize this "why" of how we suffer silently, or very loudly, or drag others into our perils and haunts. This odd barb of contempt is just under the skin, but with little, or big, veins into the deep of us, the muscle of our hearts, sometimes hurting and squeezing us.

So, I wonder at the hugeness of it sometimes. The cloud of it, and it's great undoing. I push breathlessly against it, if truth be told, far too much than I have been aware. And much more than I wish too. And I am beginning a journey to untie knots, even if my fingers callous and bleed.

Appraisals

We had our house appraised. In seven years, it's done well.

I've been thinking it doesn't translate to people. It's not really the same on the human level to the stuff of the soul, the whole person. People age, deteriorate, and beyond that on the interior, even with great effort people often don't improve 35%, 45% percent or better in seven years, do they? If they are not trying to get better, my guess is that they indeed depreciate. Like dairy, they "go bad." How much does the human character improve in two years, or five? How much does spiritual formation develop in a normal year for a well-fed, pampered, indulgent American? The church fathers and mothers wrote that suffering and struggle were often helpful for improvement.

Of course it's hard to gauge improvement quantifiably, and I don't really believe it is most important. My point is to say, we can't let our homes of wood and stone out due us, accumulating advantage with time, and getting better with age as we regress in some ways.

How would you appraise yourself, in all honesty? (How would I?) If you had a camera attached on you, unaware for a week, how would viewers appraise you? (I'm thinking about this for me too.)

Etta Marie's intervention - (End of Part 1)

Barry and Jackie filed to the rocky lookout near Etta Marie. She couldn't hear them over the crashing waves. It was her birthday, and 365 stones filled her mason jar.

"Your gig is up Etta," shouted Barry.

Etta whirled around and smiled, bumping her jar over between her outstretched legs. Jackie replaced the pebbles in the jar and sat down. Barry bent down and handed her a wrapped gift. "We know what you've been doing," he said.

"What do you mean?" said Etta Marie gaping at them.

"We know you swallow these all year," said Jackie." Etta pulled in her chin and closed her mouth tight. "We figured it out. . .We're going to stop you. It's not a good idea, Etta," Jackie finished.

"It's just some fiber," Etta laughed. She pressed her hand over the top of the jar. They watched some birds alight from the rocks and circle from the waves to the land.

"No, it's pain," said Barry. "You're not alone, Etta. We love you." Etta Marie looked far out into the water, into the golden sunset.

"I think I have to do this, you two," she sighed.

"Listen," shuttered Barry, "Keep collecting them, I mean, if that makes you feel safe. Then give them to me, and I'll keep them. At the end of a year, we'll take a ride and put them somewhere together."

"We got you this," said Jackie tapping the jar.

Etta Marie fumbled with the wrapping paper until it released a mason jar with hot tamale candies inside. "There are 365 in there," Barry muttered through the side of his mouth. Etta Marie grinned and set down the new jar next to her own jar.

"You're taking care of me," she said

"You've been taking care of us for a while, Etta." said Jackie. Barry nodded and shoved his hands deep into his cutoff shorts.




THE END

Etta Marie, Spiritual Consultant

"Talk me out of giving up church, Etta Maire."

"I thought you said you were 'between churches'?" Etta Marie said glancing toward Jackie. She slouched into the sofa and toyed with her half-empty stemware.

"It's more like I'm between a rock and a hard place," said Jackie. She spread a glob of brie on a piece of bread, and swooped it into her mouth with one athletic motion. "You've been there. I mean, in my situation. You'd give it up, probably, right? You would have too, hiding out down here."

"I'm between Sundays, not between churches."

"You don't go to church down here, at the beach, fibber!" said Jackie through her bread.

"Every day is church, babe," Etta Marie shot back through the echo of her glass as it tipped into her mouth. She laughed, and then slowly wiped her mouth dry on a cloth napkin. "It's not the building, Jackie. It's not the guy at the front of the stadium seating. It's not what you get out of it."

"After a while, it is."

"Well, then maybe you're being selfish."

"Etta, didn't you ever just what to be fed, and think, "What am I doing here?"

"For a while I did, once, yes, but that's what I'm saying. It's not okay. Like I told you at Gilmore House, I was thinking backwards. It's not an Etta Marie world. It's not a Jackie Mayer world," Etta folded her hands and let out air through her nose. "I -- I know that's not so nice to say it like that. I just mean, we're here to minister, not get something. Worship and serve. Love God and love others."

"You're forgetting about growth, learning, and Christian education. The church is suppose to do that. That's the job of the church, of the pastor."

"Not really."

"How can you say that?!" Jackie waved her hands.

"We can find mentors. We can read books. We can be responsible for our own growth. There are ministries and resources for that everywhere. We don't have to be spoon-fed from the pulpit. Plus, disciple-making never happens there very much. It happens life-to-life, in the real world, not at a distance with sermons.

"I don't think too many people at my church care about that, i mean being disciples. That's hard work. It just gets too tough."

"That's why you have to take someone on and disciple her--show her why it matters to grow spiritually. Show someone the reality of a living faith in your Rescuer."

"Etta, Why are you telling me all this? You've been to my church, I thought you would just say, "find a good fit." And what's going on with you? Why are you hiding out down here anyway?"

Etta Marie stood up and stretched and then yawned. The room was pink with sunset. Jackie shook her head and started collecting food wrappings and silverware from the coffee table. Etta Marie moved over to the window where the view of the surf was white and low. The soft sound was muted until she pried open the sliding door. It blotted out the noise of the ceiling fan, soft music, and the conversation still hanging in the room. She crossed her arms and turned to Jackie, as she eyed her jar of stones, resting on the kitchen island.

"The truth is, Jackie, I'm on a Sabbatical, of sorts. I need time to rest, think, learn, and pray. I need quiet too. In every way I need some quiet."

Jackie nodded."You're not going to green light my leaving."

"No." She looked at the floor. "But, you know that they need you there. You know you have to bloom where you are planted."

"Why does the right thing to do always seem like the much harder route? Shouldn't it be 50/50 for the sake of odds? Or 40/60? I'd take that."

"I know."

"I guess you do need a break. You've never given yourself time to get away for a long time." Jackie put the dirty dishes in the sink and leaned on the counter.

"I have to collect some stones too."

"Really?"

"Yep. I've never told anybody this, but every year I collect 365 small stones at the beach. It's like ritual."

"That's cool."

"Not really."

"Why not.

"Never mind."

"What?"

"One secret admission at a time, okay?"

"Um. Okay, weirdo."

"I'll tell you. I just have to work a few things out first."

"It's okay, Etta. Whenever you're ready."

The Adventures of Etta Marie- entry 7

Never underestimate an underdog. When cornered an underdog can surprise you, and turn the tables. Underdogs are counted out usually, so they don't have confidence to render them delusional, like their rivals. What they can have though is heart, and heart can trump ego. Heart is really just guts and drive. It doesn't need ego, it gets by unawares, without celebration, because it is raw courage and strength of spirit bundled, fighting for its life.

Etta Maire always routed for underdogs. Football dynasties, trash-talking champs always rubbed her raw. Not just in sports, but in the everyday places too. The thing that made it right in the end, was the surprise ending--the frequent loser, finally wins.

Did Etta Marie always feel this way? Not really. But, she had seen enough bullying of various kinds to change her philosophy of life a certain way. The day Billy LaBow got a nose bled at kickball when Johnny Sinclair and Benny Staub called him a "whimp" and a "gaywad", punching their fists into his face over and over. Her mouth tasted like a battery. As horrid as it was, she was so glad to not be the object of the fury, not to stand out. Billy was being punished for everything that was weak and inferior in the world, and everyone in 4th grade seemed to know it. No one helped Billy. They all watched. He took the blows, then the kicks. He grabbed a fist of pebbles, the other hand clawed the ground and then quit. He stopped fighting back.

It was a horror. But, they all had a part. Billy's mom took him home, and he never came back to school. Johnny, Benny, Etta, and all the 4th graders had ruined Billy, the underdog. Since then, Etta Marie had kept a special eye out looking for them, trying to spot them, though still too afraid to protect them. That came later in various ways, some big and some small.

Etta Marie goes on vacation

"If you vacation long enough, you don't get the urge to sell your things and relocate," Etta said.

"You might be right. But, have you thought about how you can tie up all your business here for three months?" said Jackie.

They morning light was ambient and golden, and a thick mist covered most of the rooftops. They sipped their coffee from their sixteenth floor perch. Etta Marie nodded and pointed to her trusty laptop. Jackie threw up an eyebrow and took another long sip.

"It's that easy?"

"Well, I have to pawn off my dog walking, but yes, technology is my friend," Etta muttered. "I'm set on going underground, but not off the grid."

"A contradiction of terms!" said Jackie, pounding the arm of her chair.

"Maybe."

"Well, I'm visiting you and you can't stop me. You can't deny me the beach. I am a born sun worshiper."

"You gotta serve somebody! Of course, you can come see me. I don't feel used at all."

"Stop it," Jackie hissed in play.

"Two weeks without friends, and I'll probably crawl out of my skin. You know me. I'll plan beach parties. No worries, Jackie."

"Glad to hear it."

Etta Marie glanced at her jar of stones. There were only 11 left. Time was running out, and it felt like hourglass sands falling into the growing pit in her stomach. She still missed her father. He always smelled of sea winds. His shaggy beard filled with saltiness would brush hard kisses on her cheeks after each afternoon of fishing. he would place a few shells into her hand and his face would wrinkle into laughter and good favor. All those years, and still the pang of grief felt like the throb of a toothache in her middle when she thought of him.

"Hello?"

"What?" said Etta stirring to life.

"You glazed over."

"I think I went on vacation already!"

City Mouse Country Mouse

In the country Etta Marie longed for the excitement and bustle of the the city. Each visit to the publishing house, or to see a play felt like an adventure, but also like she was missing out on something--something that was going on without her while she was gone. Her farmhouse, once the perfect retreat for writing and escaping the world felt cold and lonesome, and far too isolated, so when a rent controlled apartment opportunity opened up, she jumped at the chance to live in the teaming habitat of the Big City.

Now she realized she didn't like people very much. Hoards of People. Also, people in the city avoided each other, although they purposefully lived near each other, or on top of each other. She wished for time away from them, and their noises, and squabbles, and nonsense. Dogs barking; people fighting and yelling at each other, and about their problems; horns, alarms, and sirens going off--it was all so much, and so often. She wondered if she was really a country mouse who like to visit the city, and not a city mouse at all. There was plenty to do, but the time to do it was not there like she thought it would be. When it was, she wanted solitude, more than she wanted to fight crowds, and stand in lines.

It was a paradox, her life. Etta Marie gathered her manuscripts on her lap and continued working, and looked outside to see rain starting to fall against the window. She wasn't quite sure if she had a gypsy heart, or if she was just terribly malcontent, or maybe just had not found her place in the world. In college, she lived in a small town, adjacent to bumpkins; in childhood, she lived far off in the wilds; and she traveled after college around the world. Maybe she was bitten by a kind of bug of wanderlust. One thing was sure, the suburbs were not the answer. Etta Marie grew up in the suburbs, as a teenager, and she never wanted to try that again. Where was the safe place to fall? Of should she keep her bags packed?

Etta Marie grabbed the newspaper and flipped to the classifieds.

Etta Marie and take out

"Every Sunday night I wonder why rich people waste so much money on their pets," said Barry as his slurped down another rice noodle.

"This pays half my rent. Poodles for noodles, Barry. Be happy I'm buying," said Etta Marie.

"If you move in with me, no more park. No more walking in the rain. No more poodles with ribbons. It's because I'm Jewish, right?"

"What?"

"It's because I live by the train?"

"What do they say about housing? Oh yes: Location, location, location."

"Etta! You could ditch this dog job and move in, you know it. I've asked you, what, eight times?"

"It's because I can't stand you, Barry. I can't stand people who are in love with me. Don't you get it?"

He folded the carton around the chop sticks and grimaced. "It's annoying?"

"It's too much."

"It works fine in the movies."

"Yes, it does," she agreed.

Barry flopped his feet on the coffee table, and scratched his stubble. "You really have to be sensible, Etta."

"Get your feet off the table, Barry."

"It would never work, would it?" he groaned.

"Probably not."

"I'll see you next week then."

"Okay. Bring a movie next time," she smiled.

George steals the sport page

Etta Marie's neighbor George steals the sports page, now and then, out of Etta Marie's newspaper before she gets it. he reads it and then uses it from his cat litter box. She can't prove it, but it seems to be true. Why won't he buy his own paper?" she thinks. "Why doesn't he just ask for that section? I'd give it to him. I don't really read the sports page unless I'm very bored, she thinks. Maybe he isn't stealing it. Maybe it's just missing sometimes, but that doesn't make sense either.

Etta Marie sets her alarm for 5:30a.m. and waits for the newspaper. She makes coffee. She blots her eyes with cold compresses. Allergies have taken their toll. She is not a morning person. She hates George with a tiny piece of her heart, but she isn't sure it's warranted, not yet, or ever. God doesn't like this. It's true. She sips coffee, and presses her nose to the door, and her eye to the peep hole. Her breath mists the lens.

Soon the newspaper flops to her doormat, and a moment later, a dark figure rummages through it, delicately, but who? She fumbles with her locks. The thief scoots away, and into the shadows. Etta Marie puts a smooth orange yellow stone in her mouth from the mason jar on her table, and folds it in her tongue. Why is life so strange? She tastes a hint of sand and salt on the stone. She thinks of the beach, of the gulls, of and waves.

She gulps and swallows and starts her day, early.

Etta Marie Swallows Stones- entry 1

Every day Etta Marie swallows one smooth stone. Some people swallow vitamins. Sometimes Etta takes vitamins, with food at breakfast, but this is different. This is neurotic. This habit goes way back, fourteen years, to a 21st birthday. Etta gathered 365 stones to swallow--one for every day--and each and every day she pops one carefully choosen smooth stone, in and holds it in her mouth and thinks for a long time.

She feels it in there, cold and round and smooth, and she wonders about all kind of things about life. She feels its heaviness, and just when the absurdity hits her, she takes a big gulp, and swallows it whole, and goes about her day as usual. Except Etta Marie's days are never usual, because Etta Marie is quite intense.

Welcome to The Adventures of Etta Marie

A bit in the way of explanation . . .

A character came to mind today, Etta Marie, so I'm going to give her some life here, and maybe we'll have some fun together. It's my summer fun, my short story, novella, romp. Or maybe more. . . .


Please comment, advise Etta, join in, and enjoy it. Above all do that!

seeing a person right

. . . when you see a person rightly, you comprehend that they are human. To be human isn't to be material, only material -that is made of clay. It is to be God - breathed into - So, we each have our God-breathed-into-ness about us. We aren't God ourselves, little gods, no, but that spark of something extraordinary is certainly there, and we cannot for a moment pretend that every person doesn't have this outrageous dignity, this divine impairment that separates them from the rest of creation. From the child to the elderly, the poorest of the poor to the rich tycoon, we have equal part God-breath within.

Some would convince us that sin cancels much of this goodness away, and we may falter greatly, or give our selves to evil. This does tarnish things quite a bit. But I contend, if we really see people as God-breathed, we'll see them as God does, with his compassion. God redeems. After he breaths in life, in the creation story, and his two humans muck up the rules, he comes through with redemption right off. He sews them clothes. He covers their shame. He quells their awkward feelings as they hide in the bushes. We may focus on what went wrong, but this is a story of mercy and redemption.

We can only be sub human if we are see a separated from our dignity, the God part of us that was bestowed by gift. We were lifeless, and he animated us, and we became aware. Then we could freely choose to love or to hate him and what he made.

Will we see others right, and rightly?

Great deep sigh

I FINISHED my term at seminary!

What a breath of exhale today. I have all summer with no class. There is plenty to do. A book proposal, catching up on all the housework, and project pushed aside, design clients, but no academic and reading datelines. That hangs over one's head. So, the great deep sigh of relief is so nice today. The colors are brighter, the sky is clear, and the rain has washed the debris away to a fresher day.


AHHHhhh

Describer and reconciler

I don't think we have to go around convincing people we are right and they are wrong. Even if we really truly feel this is so. I don't think we have to act like it's a battle, even if a really is one. The fact is, if a it is a battle, it is one were it is the strangest kind. It is one were we hope to never hurt our "enemy" (not our enemy at all.) We hope they come and join us. It is Red Rover. Have you played Red Rover?

I think rather than preach, I will describe. I will vision-cast. I will see the future better. I will see it better, because in this Light and with this Love, it is better. From here, the view looks really great. I can see from the mountain. I can see the distant shore. I will describe the land, and the hope, and the Master, and his tender hands, and the way he holds my hands in his.

The points and the counter-points drone on in long debates, but the descriptions of the beautiful Eastern lands, make the eyes shine, the skin flush, and the breath quicken. It's not that the facts aren't important, but it is the faith lived out, seen in community, touched into the life of the truth thirsty, that makes any bit of real difference. We must, as reconcilers, be matching the Reality of the Living Water within, with the parched earth of the hurting world (our neighbors) nearest us.

Orientation to the Divine

"Worship is the submission of all our nature to God. It is the quickening of conscience by his holiness; the nourishment of mind with his truth; the purifying of the imagination by his beauty; the opening of the heart to his love; the surrender of will to his purpose--and of this gathered up in adoration most selfless emotion of which our nature is capable and therefore the chief remedy of that self-centeredness which is our original sin and the source of all actual sin." -William Temple

Answering a question --

A question from Cole -

Cole asks: "Lisa, I go to college with friends and classmates that think Christianity is arrogant because it makes an exclusive claim on truth. Any ideas how I share Jesus with them when they are sure reject me for this reason?"

Hi Cole! Thanks for writing. First it's important to realize that the idea of neutral ground is a myth. Everyone believes their ideas about reality, or truth, are not false ideas, or they wouldn't believe them. If they are willing to say someone else's ideas are arrogant, that means they are claiming a superior way themselves. They believe in a preferable path, and this is arrogant too. Everyone does the same sort of thing. Kindly pointing out that we all have a belief preference may help to level out the playing field a little when you are trying to state what your position is. It's okay to have an opinion. They will (probably) realize this.

What sharing your faith (Christian apologetics) boils down to is something more than just preaching and defending the Good News. Humans are in rebellion against God in their hearts. The bible points this out in the narrative story of God's interaction with people. Many thirst for something missing --which is the missing reconciliation with God. They long for peace, but also many are in opposition to God. And some (basically) hate him. We have to know this when we talk to people who don't believe. Spiritually it boils down to submission, doing things God's way....for you and for those opposed to God. Submission is never easy-- and not very cool in a society that prizes freedom, independence, and choice. Paradoxically, it is God's authority that brings comfort, clarity, and relief.

I want to encourage you to really love your friends who believe and those who don't. Bit by bit, you can introduce a worldview to them that includes God as the centerpiece. Some may reject you, (they killed Jesus after all) but others may see that your centered life and reality makes sense and is real, and not just for you. It's a blessing to see your love for Jesus, Cole.

God, Authority, the Bible--all the big stuff

For Christianity, The Bible makes claims about God. The Bible is both human written and just as much, a book made by God. It is not that the claims are true just because the Bible says so, I think, but because they are true the Bible says them. The Bible is so powerful because it says so much about God, but it does so in a very objective way. Yes, we may see it through our experiences, and people may misinterpret it, but it has authority, not for what it is, but for who is in it and behind it. Without it and therefore God, as a backbone of our reality as we submit to a Creator God, Christianity is mainly reduced to something sort of trite. Maybe it is then more or less about culture, or being good, or experience, or tradition. These aren't very compelling forces for coming under Lordship, and they have little to do with what changed the world in the first century A.D. For believers in Jesus of the Bible, the message of Jesus, is a message of belief and reconciliation with God. It is a message of love, and devotion to God with heart, soul, mind, and strength. If we concede on these points, then the fuel is spent. We have something rather empty.

Sometimes we like to have our reference point be ourselves, like our choices, and authority begin through perspective, which is really an impossible starting point. The lure and promise of modernity (we are still living in the gasps of it after all) was really the autonomous human--apart from God--saved by reason. Life then is choices, human directed, not God directed. In large part, modernity won the day. Christianity tried to meet it on its terms, and forgot about starting with God as authority.

The beauty of Theology sometimes missed by point-by-point systematics (Christianity's attempt at heading off modernity) is the narrative type which the CREATION-FALL-REDEMPTION-CONSUMMATION story that runs through the scriptures, like a stream.

This is another glorious thing about the Bible--Theology... and YES--experience, as we take in God through the story he tells us through it.

the flu and talks with God

It's amazing how the flu can cloud your head and you forget what wellness felt like once.

I thought I had run a head of the flu this year, barely escaped it, and then it caught me by the tip of my toe and felled me.

I don't suppose sleep is so sweet until that first good rest on the night we are well. I have been contemplating rest and what that means. . . in every sense. Mind... body . . .soul . . .(spirit) There is a giving up to do for it.

We forget about that. We want to demand for rest. Originally we come to the table, with two fists, in a kind of picket, with grievances. We barter. We deserve it. Then we beg. Finally we give in. Then we get it after-all.

I suppose I got sick in order to rest. I just didn't know it. I sleep and sleep. I have to. But my mind has to slow down too, and my expectations.

I think God is saying, "What are you thinking? Have you been trying to out do me?"

And I'm saying, " I guess I have..."

and he's just laughing... not in a mean way... just laughing because he knows this is my schtick. Just wave of the hand, and a chuckle that goes along with that kind of laugh, until I come to my senses. We're just walking. Just walking.

He says, "I'm in no hurry with you.'

And I'm saying... "I'm beginning to figure that out."

And He says, like he's got all day, "Okay, let's go."

So I get up, pick up my stuff to get ready, and he says,

"No, just leave that. . ."

Blessed

Blessed is the word coming out in much of my "lectio" readings. How I may be blessed, that God wants this for me, or how it tend to elude me... I am blessed. My God has made me thus. It is when I live in this and abide in this I see myself as such.

Opening up

Like petals of a flower we open to the possibilities of God changing us as we show ourselves to him, and in the same way our hearts can be open to others. This susceptibility both reveals who we really are and exposes us in our fragility. We are --Just flowers where the bees can get in, and all else. Are aren't the rocks we hope to be, strong, sure, immovable. We are after all organic. We can grow and change. WE can give ourselves over and be made new.

Meaning

All things being equal, if this is truth, then what is truth?

When values have become mutually equal you reach something. . .

Not equal value, but ironically, meaninglessness.

To find meaning it seems you need an assertion.

A truth assertion.

But of course more than that, you need the real reality.

Creator

Chaos comes out of order

Once clean dishes pile up -- dirty

Dust accumulates -- on clear counter tops

But we never find it happens the other way around.

Order does not come out of chaos. We never witness that.

Clothing does not come out folded from the tumble dryer.

We force that assumption. By forcing it, we create it.

We create it. We order it. Then chaos comes.

Short lecture worth seeing

"http://video.stumbleupon.com/?s=ithct48cqw&i=ufcchmyxqsuj9vwsemax"
Above should be a link of Randy Pausch reprising his Last Lecture. It is a short and potent lesson and legacy he leaves for his children and for the world from which he will soon leave.

Knowing

Knowing what we believe must always be preceded by asking "What is real?" If what is real is up for grabs so is everything we believe. First we have to discern how we can best know how to find out what is real. Do we do this from a movable point or a fixed point? It may workout the same way for finding a store in a multi-floor shopping plaza. Does the store exist at all? How can we know? How would we find it?

Can we know anything at all?

Yes.

Not everything, but more than we've been "de-constructing".

On becoming a Hero or a Villain

It's coming to me that if we attempt to meet our own ends or be self-satisfied those ends find us to eventually be the villain of our own story, and far worse--the greater story. But on the other hand when we make our lives about what is outside our selves, about others, about the greater good, or greatest good, God, and so on, we become the hero of both stories.

So many times we look at the means rather than the end. We think of happiness as the end, for instance. Some of us do. I have. Various means are sought to find that end. Isn't it odd that it is the pursuit of happiness, the journey, which brings the reward? But it is. We may think that is a gyp, but life is about growing wise, not about constant amusement, no matter what TV tells us.

It is the virtue, the noble things, the selfless things that when pursued bring a lasting contentment no quantity of money could ever buy this, and no other thing can bring it to us. (Seldom are the rich content by just richness alone. Momentarily are they happy. The poorest countries have the lowest suicide rates and the richest have the highest says the research.) The good traits aren't pursued as much as grown into along the way and fulfilled when our minds have been righted by goodness and we get better at goodness toward others. The pursuit can right us or make us all wrong. From the inside out. Indeed, I think our hearts--our true hearts are revealed from the journey, by what we turn into and what contents us or turns us one day malcontent. By a sort of path we become Frodo or Gollum.

Where do we look for our satisfaction? Do we look toward the material? Money, houses, clothes, cars, thrilling vacations, fine food, wine, women, song. Do we look in status or prestige of some kind? Climbing corporate rungs, education degrees, political advancements, accolades. These falter and crumble.

It is in spite of these and beyond them where we may become the heroes of the greater story, which will in turn grant that our story come out best in the end. It doesn't work the other way around. Trying so hard to get our story right while neglecting the greater story of greater good, the story God is writing, clouds our destiny, and may make an antagonist of each one of us. Slowly, before we are wiser. God wants the players, if you don't mind, to love his children--the other players. In every story there are villains, but take care that you aren't one of them.

Short Review of U2 3D, the movie experience

I saw U2 3D in the IMAX in Harrisburg on Saturday with my husband. I thought it might be like watching a documentary complete with a narrator and behind the scenes footage, but was happily surprised it was really like being at a real concert with value added features of up-close views and flying graphics-- and no ringing in your ears for days afterwards. They played about 20 songs and if you enjoy rock and roll with driving guitar riffs, a good drum core to it, and firm backbone bass with a haunting tenor lead vocal you'll like it. This music uncharacteristically isn't about the typic sex, drugs, and violence of just about all the other rock and roll bands since God knows when and you might like it too-- or you might not. U2 is famous for writing songs about unity, love, and peace. Bono regularly uses in fame and platform to promote causes to end poverty, 3rd world indebtedness, war, disease and injustice. He probably has a Jesus complex, but I think it's endearing, even noble, if you don't end up growing tired of it. It's lasted 27 plus years now.

You can see more about it all at u2.com.

This is a really thrilling and unique movie and concert 3D experience. If you get a chance to see and hear it for yourself, I doubt you'll be disappointed.

The view from first week

Well, Wednesday will, for the next 15 weeks, be the day I feel very bedraggled. The one - two punch of intense graduate educate and commuter driving 177.2 miles (total) on a Monday and Tuesday evening apparently hits me Wednesday a.m. officially, and by 7:15, I feel out-of-my body exhausted, crazy, grouchy, or worse. But, on the positive side, I do love what I'm learning, I have great friends and professors at school, and I think all things considered it will be a wonderful time of growth, challenge, insight, intrigue, and more.

I'll try to keep you posted on the "more" part.

School starts Monday / prayer in the foyer

I have to say I don't like to drive at night. I'm a bit scared right now.

I'd like prayer for my Monday and Tuesday night drives to night classes in school term, if you would.

It should be an exciting time of school, but I want to tell you I'm nervous about the workload and the driving. I won't get home until 11 p.m. on Monday nights, and so by Wednesdays, I could be quite worn down.

Today, it was so sweet. A friend just heard my concerned at right before I walked out the church doors to get in our vehicle, she said, "Let's just pray right now." And this was really nice. It's great to feel loved like that. And I know God likes that type of thing. People just drop their route and they put their arm around youand ask for help. I think he smiles about that.

So, in that theme. How can I pray for you?
Leave a comment here, or go to my website and email me, if you want it to be private. I will lift YOU up.

Becoming known

Wild and scratched in the underbrush

Heart racing, fur matted in blood

I wait

For you.

I see patches of you.

And what is most wounded will in time

Come out and want to be seen, at first.

Then held and learned of, slowly,

And then known and loved,

Fully.

And I may see your eyes unblinking for the first time

In clear day.


And then, when courage has filled me, I’ll ask, in some way, the same of you.

Relaxed and unguarded

What would it take to be completely unguarded with another person? Relaxed. Fists down. It's a level of intimacy that's rare to find, hard to maintain, even easy to dismiss at first, but once you land there in that soft place, all the air comes out of your lungs. (The big exhale you didn't realize you really needed, because you didn't realize just how long or strangely you've been holding your breath). The tension eases from your limbs and you feel like yourself, maybe for the first time. Or you feel like your best self.

It takes an amazing amount of trust to even image this would be a good idea, because when you deeply relax and let go, you expose yourself to being mortally wounded. Just one well placed strike will kill you, or disfigure you beyond recognition, and some of us don't look the same because of this. And of course you expose yourself to being mortally loved from this same thing, which is why if it ever happens, if the chance truly comes along -- it's worth it.

Somehow, it is.

link to the Prince

I'm very excited because one of my most beloved tales is coming to life on May 16- Prince Caspian. It is the 3rd book (or 4th depending on your series) in the Chronicles of Narnia series. These books do even get better with perspective I think. It's hard for me to read them to my daughter without tearing up as I read about Aslan. The Lion DOES get bigger as we get older.

It's regrettable the film makers didn't start filming this story right away after the Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe. (I image they had to wait for commercial success first) but the children are sort of a bit too old. They should only be a year old, and the actor playing Lucy has aged what looks like 3-4 years. Before she was the picture of innocence and as cute as a button, now she's a "tween" . . . and the actor playing Peter is mannish, but all in all I think it'll be great anyway. These characters also appear in the book The Last Battle... but (again) the film folks should have had the sense to film this story already, or they'll have to feature these "children's" children in the roles.

(hope this link I'm trying to set up works, but if not it's at disney.go.com/disneypictures/narnia/)

taking a question

answering your questions --

Marcy commented and asked, "A lot of times when I pray it feels like I'm just talking to myself not God. How can I make praying more meaningful and fulfilling?"

That is a really great comment Marcy, and a common feeling. Except for maybe in the early stages of walking with God when we are more passionate, our prayer life goes through periods of dryness and can feel lifeless, or even pointless at times. It's hard to feel God is listening especially when you have committed things to prayer and felt they have been overlooked or ignored by God.

I believe when our prayer life is seeming lifeless God is calling us into deeper intimacy with him. As Ruth Burton mentions in her book "Sacred Rhythms", it is then when God wants to spiritually "replant" us like root-bound plants. He wants to put us into larger pots so we may grow and stretch our roots into richer, deeper soil to know him better. We have the opportunity to move from just communication to richer communion with God. Don't worry, you aren't different from others on their spiritual journey. The longing in your heart is the call of the Good Shepherd. The sheep know his voice. Something inside them wants to follow that beautiful voice, even when the way seems arid sometimes. They long for the greener, lusher pastures and a walk that feels closer to the Shepherd again. You want that too, Marcy. That is very good.

There are various ways to make our prayer lives more meaningful but we don't have to go to great lengths to accomplish it, and remember, God, as always, looks at our heart. We're not jumping through hoops to get his attention. We should take a heart inventory. Is our heart cold? Is it earnestly seeking him? We don't have to come before God in prayer the same way each time, but it helps to routinely set aside time to really focus on our relationship with the One who loves us best.

Sometimes we must merely start by praying for the desire to love him more and the willingness to "be indifferent to everything else but him". Also as we enter prayer times we can start by readjusting our mindset by truly quieting ourselves first before we pray. For several minutes try to enjoy some genuine solitude. Also try at times to meditate on several scripture verses as a prelude before you enter into prayer. You may want to dwell on verses in Psalms. Maybe you can offer up several minutes of praise and worship first as you begin to reveal to God your devotion, and then move into the rest of your prayer time. For me personally, this has been a joy. I wish I wouldn't forget to this this as much as I do!

Blessings to you Marcy, and the rest of you as you desire to love God more and commune with him. Thanks  for the question. Keep them coming.

Happy New Year.

Moving the BLOG and calling it "my thoughts"

I finally transferred my electronic stuff over to this location. Now I'm hoping this format makes it a bit easier for interaction, and a bit smoother for me to keep up with updates.

My regular ethoughts by email are hard to send out as people change their emails, put on hardy spam filters, and and everything else, so this may work better.

Check back for new posts coming very soon.

I'm looking forward to hearing from you.