CHOCOLATE COVERED PRETZELS, I THINK

Today a client came in - an older lady with drawn on reddish colored eyebrows that matched her thin, wispy reddish clown-like colored hair.  Her hair cast against her translucently ghostly white skin, made her appear almost like a caricature drawn by a street artist - features distorted and magnified for dramatic purposes.  She was a sweet lady who brings in bags of documents and binders, afraid to throw things away, yet wanting to be organized.  I sifted through stacks of papers, determining what to shred for her and what to organize.  I'm not sure why her family doesn't help her with this, but instead she brings it in for us to take care of.  It's so easy to want to help her despite whether it's my job or not, as she is so thankful and grateful.  In tow today was a Walmart bag with two previously used bakery carry out containers (like the kind you would buy muffins in).  She had brought goodies for us to show her appreciation.  Now, I have a bit of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder - self diagnosed!) and have struggled all my life to eat things made by people who I don't really know or know anything about their cleanliness level.  I took one look at the recycled store bought muffin container that housed her various and assorted white and chocolate dipped pretzels and knew without tasting them what they would taste like.  The first thought in my head, this the last day of February was, "Well, most people don't make chocolate covered pretzels except at Christmas time.  This is not good - these are probably from December."  My bravery kicked in and I smiled as I opened up the old muffin container and laid back the plastic wrap that loosely draped the pretzels.  Which to try - white or chocolate?  I chose chocolate.  As I raised it to my mouth to take a bite I smelled an old smell.  A stale smell.  A, "I have outlived my shelf life" smell and look.  Did that stop me totally?  NO!  I took a bite.  WOW!!  The taste sensation was well, YUCKY   I could smell it as I chewed the bite willing myself to swallow, yet fearing if I did food poisoning would ensue at the speed of light.  I spit out the bite and threw the remaining pretzel from my hand into the trash.  Note to self, "Yet another reason not to get old - you start not realizing there is an expired state of homemade Christmas goodies and February 28th is past that date!!  AND, if I regift using egg cartons or old cereal boxes, muffins containers or the likes thereof when I am old, I want my daughter to immediately place me in a nursing home."

PLASTIC, CARDBOARD, GLASS

I loved kindergarten.  There were so many cool things to do - the sand box table (elevated sand at waist level - wow!), the mini library, this really cool low mushy chair, oodles of construction paper, napping mats, carpet squares for story time, big huge letters hung around the room with pictures of things signifying that letter.  One of the best parts of kindergarten was snack time.  A member of the cafeteria staff would wheel in a cart with three milk choices - chocolate, white (whole milk in that era) and strawberry.  I never picked white.  Usually it was chocolate, but once in awhile I would mix it up and choose strawberry.  In the 60's and 70's in schools milk came in small pint or half-pint cardboard containers.  In fact, most milk even outside of the kindergarten classroom, was sold in cardboard half gallons - usually a twin pack.  Plastic did not reign the world as we know it now.  I loved cardboard milk containers, mostly because when you poured them into a glass there were no plastic particles floating toxically in your glass.  I have a plastic pint container of 2% milk I use in my coffee.  Every morning when I unscrew the lid to pour some in my coffee there are small plastic flakes that make their way into my cup.  I hate that!  I tried this week to remember when they quit making milk in cardboard containers - 2 half gallons joined together.  Though they still use cardboardish containers for soy milk, cream and lactose free milk.  Why do I really care about the whole milk container thing, I don't know.  I really don't drink milk ever, except a bit in my coffee (it's my attempt to use less half & half).  Pop (northerners version ) or soda (the southern way) or coke (an eastern generic grouping of all carbonated beverages) also has taken on a metamorphosis in the container it is housed in.  When I was growing up pop was typically bought (though there were aluminum or metal cans of some type) in carrying cases of 8 glass bottles.  The bottles were returnable.  They were taken back by each soft drink company, sterilized and refilled.  There is nothing like the taste of a cold pop drank straight out of a glass bottle.  In fact, there used to be pop machines that dispensed small glass bottles of pop.  My grandparents had such a machine at their country store.  I'm not a beer drinker (not morally opposed, just don't like the taste), but those that are tell me beer is better served ice cold out of a glass bottle.  My favorite beverage is a carbonated juice called IZZE.  Now I have tried IZZE out of the aluminum can and out of the glass bottle.  There is no comparison.  Glass makes it taste clearer and colder.  I'm not sure why they ever stopped selling pop in glass bottles.  I would think better for the environment would be reusable glass bottles which don't leach a metal taste into the beverage.  It was a bit of a pain in the ass to take back the returnable glass bottles, but I wish they'd bring them back, along with cardboard milk containers.  Metal tasting pop and plastic droppings just don't seem too healthy!

URGENT VS IMPORTANT

Which do you think should get first place in life -  urgent things or important things?  By definition urgent means - pressing, immediate, screaming for attention.  That gives the connotation of a police car, lights flashing, siren roaring, speeding through an intersection.  Something is happening NOW and it needs immediate attention.  Important says - of value, enduring, deep, lasting, of significance, prominence, priceless.  It gives the image of my grandmother's one hundred year old rocking chair that sits in my living room.   Something of value that needs prominence.   I have battled urgent over important all my life.  It's been an on-going battle to not succumb to the screams of the urgent things (which have wanted my attention), to the exclusion of the important things (which need significance & value from me).  Writing this blog has been a study in urgent vs. important.  For five months I chose, with single mindedness, to make writing important.  It has deep value to me.  In spite of the events of my life (and there have been a lot, just read earlier posts), I cradled the importance of writing.  I guarded it and nurtured it.  Recent events have screamed for my attention - dating, marriage, combining households, changing jobs, an endless supply of business decisions, new family relationships, trips, etc...  I folded to the urgent over the important.  My craft that I love, the thoughts that I let out, the expression of words on a page got crowded out.  I found myself saying, "After we complete this.  Next week will slow down.  After I get my office more organized after combining household belongings."  The list went on and on.  One day I woke up and the gnawing sensation in my soul that had been quietly speaking the importance and value of writing was now wanting its place of significance it once had.  I had once again in life said "uncle" to the urgent!!  Time to reorganize my determination to live this half of my life differently than the first - time to stay to what is vitally important to me.  It was time to not veer from what my soul knew was important - my design, what was valuable.  I pulled my vehicle back on the road, so to speak, and started again to build, protect and give prominence to those things that are of great and lasting value, which bring significance, which deserve prominence and dedication daily.  A compass correction has occurred.

HYBRID CARS AND HOLIER THAN THOU'S

I live in a state where it is still legal to talk on your cell phone while driving.  Maybe it won't always be that way, but presently there is no law against it.  Is it smart, wise or road savvy - questionable.   It is also very subjective to say that some people are better equipped personality and driving skill wise to handle adding another task to the driving mix.  Now who then would like to become the judge of that:) Is self nomination too pretenuous on my part to nominate myself for that position?   Seriously there are tests to determine personality types, IQ, educational placement markers, and Vogue even has a test to find out whether you really love the person you're with.  Shouldn't there be another test given through the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to decide competency of driving and talking on the cell phone?  Today on my way home from work I was talking to my friend.  Glancing (really looking good I might add) behind me there is a car about 3 car lengths back.  His lane and my lane merged coming up to the stoplight.  I pulled ahead with considerable space between us.  As he came closer to me I could see him over exaggerating the motion of talking on a cell phone with his hand to his ear and then taking it down and shaking his fist at me.  He repeated this thespian act following me to the entrance ramp to the highway I was entering.  I waved to him at one point as he continued his gesturing with his hand the universal sign for a phone - thumb to ear and pinkie to mouth.  I continued to shake my head in laughter and tell my girlfriend what the guy behind me was doing.  Upon closer investigation I surmissed that it really was not my driving, as I had not pulled in front of him dangerously or recklessly, but rather based on the small hybrid car he drove and how he physically looked, he was just morally opposed to talking on the cell phone while driving.  My initial reaction was laughter but as I pen these words I am compelled to hope that his deep seated anger of cell phone talking drivers stems from more than a hybrid car-earth loving-hemp wearing position he seemed to hold.  But, maybe he or someone he loved dearly had an accident or even a death due to cell phone usage while driving.  I'm not sure - it's just a theory I came up with to give him grace for his ridiculous behaviour.  My next thought was I wished I had a bull horn attached to my car as I would have said the following to him, "Please Mister, I not only talk on the phone while I drive, but have actually changed my clothes while driving.  On top of that I used aeresol hairspray this morning too - widing the hole in the ozone and possibly contributing to global warming. Oh, and last night....I was too tired to clean out the three cans of tomato products I used to make lasagna and place them in the recyclables.  Instead I threw them in the trash.  What exactly do you think of me now Mr. Hybrid?" 

DATES TO REMEMBER

For those of you blogites out there who have quit logging onto this blog because you kept checking it daily and realized I had become firstly, a slacker breaking my 130 day run.  And secondly, I became totally absent from expressing mind boggling, earth moving and soul changing thoughts.  My daughter informed me tonight that I needed to dedicate a post to confessions of an errant blog poster and beg for your forgiveness.  I asked who "your" encompassed and she responded with, "the faithful one, Maude".  There are things in my life that I can remember in generalities.  I can remember the time frame, but maybe not the exact date or day of the week or sometimes the exact year.  Is that a sign of aging or that certain events don't warrant those types of minute mental postings?  There are other things in my life that I can remember with the utmost clarity - the date, the day of the week, the weather conditions, what I thought at that moment, and can clearly feel it all over again when I recall it.  Five dates stand in extreme bold yellow highlighting in my heart and mind.  First, the birth of my daughter, my only child, on July 24, 1987.  It was a hot day with high humidity and I panicked in labor stating, "It's ok!  I'll just stay fat forever.  I don't want to give birth!"   July 24th in 1987 was a Friday and it was then my beautiful and sparky daughter entered my world.  Next, I can remember Tuesday, November 2nd, 2000.  You might think I readily remember that date because of the greatly contested presidential election between George W. Bush and Al Gore.  No, for me it's the night that started an eight year journey of cancer for my ex-husband.  It's the day I heard a surgeon call me into a small room from a waiting room of people to tell me he had removed what he could but there remained still a considerable amount of cancer.  Vividly I recall March 12, 1999 as the day my family doctor called with the results of some tests and let me know I had full blown Type I diabetes from a virus that had attacked my pancreas.  Most recently I remember Tuesday, December 28th, 2010 as my first date post-divorce from an E-harmony.com matching.  It was a day that changed my life from that day forward.  From that December 28th date it led to the most remarkable day of my life - Friday, January 28th, 2011.  The day I stood in the city clerk's office next to this man I passionately loved and said "I Do" to a life of love, passion, laughter, playfulness, soul connection, shared interests, intellectual stimulation and magical physical attraction.    And thus, those last and most recent dates directly correspond to my absence from blogging - though just a bit of a sabbatical.  I'm back - just mark the date:)

SHOULD I?

Recently I went to Savannah, Georgia to meet my new husband's father and his significant other for the first time.  I usually pack fairly lightly when I travel.  Checking bags slows me down getting here to there and I hate waiting in the baggage claim watching circling luggage, silently praying that mine will show up and not have my underwear hanging from the sides after the airport security does their random bag checks.  And, since I am a person of minimalism anyway, how much stuff do I really need!  Even my toiletry bag is rather sparse with only; deodorant, toothbrush, wrinkle cream (a must if you are over forty but unfortunately the airlines have this 3 ounce liquid rule which keeps me from bringing my 50 gallon drum I slather myself up with daily) toothpaste (Tom's if you must know), a comb, hairspray, perfume, eyeliner, mascara, brow pencil , lipliner and lipstick.  That's it.  Ok, maybe Q-tips too:)  In my purse you will find another lip liner and three or four tubes of lipstick.  I am a frequent reapplier of lip liner and lipstick throughout the day.  The second night we were visiting we went to a fairly famous and well-known restaurant in Savannah called, The Pirate's House.  It has a deep history in its building, and the food was quite good as well.  Having eaten a great meal (and way too much I might add), I excused myself to the bathroom.  The bathrooms were actually quite amazing with two hammered copper sinks and beautiful tiled floors and walls.  Amazingly enough I found myself alone in this magnificent bathroom.  The hammered copper sinks were surrounded by a beautiful granite counter top with a center hole for disposal of your trash.  I placed my purse on the counter and proceeded to dig around its general messiness for my lipliner and my favorite tube of lipstick.  After securing both, I laid them on the counter for a brief moment.  As soon as my hand removed itself from them I watched in horror as my lipliner quickly rolled into the granite cutout for the trash.  I tried to catch it quickly but I was too slow as I heard it hit the trash below.  Now, I had a dilemma.  I did not have another lipliner in my purse.   And, I am fully and completely addicted to lipliner and lipstick.  If there were support groups for people with my addiction, I would have to stand in the group's circle and say, "Hi, my name is Lynn and I am addicted to lipliner and all things lip related."  For me not to wear lipliner I feel like some do if they were to go out in public without their bra on - NAKED!!!  What was I going to do?  I looked around toward the door exiting the bathroom.  No one had entered since I had been in the bathroom.  Was I going to try to reach my hand down through the trash to find my lipliner?  If I did and someone walked in, would I explain and would they react with horror that I was shoulder high in a public trashcan just to find a $7 lipliner pencil?  I quickly figured out that I could not reach my hand down through the hole where the trash was and get any further than 6 inches into the trash.  My deduction was that the the weight of the lipliner had caused it to fall to the bottom of the trash.  Still no one entered the bathroom.  I finagled how to remove the trash container from underneath the hole in the granite counter top.  I started laughing at the absurdity of it all - me riffling through the trash openly in front of the sinks.  My OCD was starting to kick in at full speed as my hand touched something wet in the trash.  UGH!!!  This was not working as I had still not encountered the lipliner yet in my bobbing for makeup attempt.  I stopped and looked around again.  No one still.  Wow!  I am desperate now and feeling that I may be caught at any given moment, and yet my addiction drives me deeper still.  In a wild move to find the lip liner fast, I dumped the entire contents of the trash across the tiled bathroom floor and got down on my hands and knees and began sifting through it.  With a bit of paranoia, I glanced toward the door and then back to the mess I had created on this beautiful bathroom floor.  I was getting a bit grossed out as I thought about what may be on these pieces of paper towel.  That was it. I could not find it.  I stood and perused the strewn mayhem from a standing position.  Where in the hell was that lip liner?!  I had gone through every piece of trash but could not find it.  My heart rate increased a bit thinking if someone walked in at that moment and saw what I had done no amount of explaining would have worked to convince them I was a normal person!!  I quickly picked up the contents of the quite large trash container and threw them back into the trash can and then slide the container neatly back underneath the granite opening.  All that work, all those germs, all that mess and still no lip liner.  I again laughed wondering now what my family back at the table must be thinking I was doing in the bathroom taking this long.  Thoroughly convinced that I had encountered ecoli or Asian flu germs in the trash I washed my hands 3 separate times in the hottest water I could stand and used several swipes under the auto soap dispenser for each hand washing round.  Still alone in the bathroom I laughed out loud again at what it was to be Lynn and the depths I would go for an addiction. 

TIME PASSAGES

I turned around today.  Not literally in a physical sense, but an ethereal sort of way to see where I have traveled from the past year and half.  So many changes in my life that when I paused to take stock of them I shook my head and marveled at how change flew at me like a car on a video game screen.  How had I maneuvered this massive amount of outward and inward change?  What had I determined to do different in these days post-divorce?  How was I living out my desires, my passions, my hunger to live totally different than the first half of my life?  What had I done to face realities post-divorce, live free of baggage, celebrate who I really was, to let go of the past and walk forward, to truly trust God for what I lacked, what my soul longed for and be deliberate in each day?   For the first time in my life I felt like myself, like the Lynn I was inside.  It was a soul settling feeling and completely freeing to make choices based on me and not others or what I thought I needed to do to not rock the boat or put the universe into full orbital spin.  I have always loved myself, who I was and moved through life with a sense of confidence but this was beyond that.  I felt true to who I was without reservations.  It was exhilarating, invigorating and energizing to live this way.  Even in my dark periods post-divorce, I had a sense of coming into who I was and it created passion in my life.  There is part of you when you get a divorce, even one that is needed, that wonders how you will find your way again.  How you will let go of familiar and same and safe even if it was hard and painful to live that way.  I wondered what my life would evolve into over time.  I wanted time to move a bit faster and about the time I quit caring if it moved fast or slow or at all, it moved:)

SWEATPANTS

Let's be clear on one thing, my opinions are not necessarily endorsed by those of blogspot.com.  In fact, my views and opinions probably aren't endorsed, backed or supported by the majority period.  And in this case, not by the majority of sweatpant loving wearing people who roam the earth.  I take a bit of an issue with sweatpants.  I don't really like them:)  Oh, don't get me wrong, I wear them to run in and the occasional lounge wear inside my home when comfort trumps fashion or I am hiding, relaxing or frigidly cold.  Some years ago a phenomena took place in the world of sweatpants.  No, no it wasn't the breakaway sweatpants for professional basketball players.  No, it wasn't the onslaught of yoga pants that could double as palooza pants and were typically donned by middle aged gray haired mother earth women.  It was the word emblazoned across the butt sweat pant hysteria that swept the nation.  Now I realize I am a middle aged woman, and my goal is not necessarily to advertise my posterior (I'm merely trying to keep mine from falling into the ocean depths) to the known world.  I do not want  bright yellow or pink words such as "HOTTIE", "IN MOTION", "SEXY", or my all time favorite, "YOU COULD ADVERTISE HERE" anywhere near my hiney.  This trend of butt printing was single handedly the greatest marketing ploy ever created to increase sweatpant sales and revive a dying screen printing industry in the continental US (I heard that in a game show once).  There are several more reasons why I hate sweatpants.  They scream a loud message (much like a dog whistle to dogs) that says, "I am either too fat to fit into regular pants or wearing pull up pants saves time that I can more fully contribute to society as a whole.":)  When I was young there was not a lot of choices in style or color within the sweatpant family.  It seems there was gym issued gray, a strange sort of navy blue and basic black.  Color and fashion have collided with sweatpants these days.  I especially like (sarcastic if you can't tell) those sweat suit outfits that women in their 70's wear - a bit of velour, glitter, and embroidery of a butterfly showcased against a bright Florida flamingo color.   Yet another frightening display of sweatpants comes from men whose better body days are behind them.  And, so is their crack which shows slightly as the gray "Hanes" sweats hang precariously low below their bellies.  While in Hawaii a few years back we were driving through the center of the Big Island to Kona.  We stopped at a park and sitting at a picnic bench were park workers taking a break.  Facing the car was the rear end of a large Samoan man with sweatpants on.  Ok, well they were partly on anyways!   I couldn't stop laughing and actually snapped a picture after I zoomed in on the crack and flesh that poured out of the sweatpants.   I haven't scrap booked that picture yet!   So for all you sweat pant wearing folk out there, I salute you for your contribution and desire for a zipperless world where elastic rules.

HOW DO YOU KNOW?

How do we come to know certain things in life?  I mean really, there is not enough classroom or instructional time to learn everything we need to know - to navigate with knowledge all of life.  Sitting in my boss's office today we touched on this subject matter in relation to the information we both need to know to do what we do.  There is though, no possible human way to know it all.  There is just way too much stuff to possibly keep it all contained in the front of the mind filing cabinet.  I've somewhat always adhered to a more laid back and free-spirited way of approaching situations of the unknown or those in the lacking knowledge category.  It's simple for me - I learn something when I need to know how to do.  Especially do I adopt that system of discovery when there is just too much to understand all at once.  My boss and I agreed that we both utilize that attainment of knowledge system readily and it keeps us from being overwhelmed.  I then thought about how we ultimately come to hold and know what we know.  How do I know what I know?   Who taught me all of it?  How much was taught and how much was just caught by observing, being thrown in situations or by doing it wrong?  Go further even than that.  How do I know certain things clear through to my soul and spirit?  How do I know I love someone?  How do I know that God, even though at times silent, knows every square inch of my mind, heart, soul, spirit and body?  How do I know that tomorrow the sun will come up?  How do I know what direction to take in life?  How do I know when something or someone is right for me - that it's my path specifically?  How do I know how to navigate directions with little effort?  How do I know how to engage other people and get them to open up to me?  How do I know how to put up a light or fix a toilet?  How do I know that there is a new season in my life?  How do I know when it's time to leave a job, follow a dream, push myself, let go, grieve, trust my heart?  There is a lot to know in life.  There is a lot that comes through our lives that we have no reference point to, no directions we can follow, no manual or how-to.  How do I know what I know?  How do you know what you know?  I love the line in the movie Rudy where Rudy goes to see Father Hesberg and asks him the tough questions of life.  I love the Father's response, "I know one thing.  There is a God and I am not him."  I love that line.  It's true.  There is no way to know everything.  And, there is no way to know how we collectively come to know knowledge or how to do things or how we sense things or how to navigate through life.  I like that I don't have to know it all at once.  I subscribe totally to situational how to knowedness.   It allows me to travel lightly and constantly cycle in new information and knowledge as I need to know it.  How did I know how to set a blog?  I didn't, but learned it as it became important and necessary for me to do so.  When I needed and wanted to know I researched and fiddled and figured it out.  I asked my mom when I was a kid,  "Mom, how will I know who to marry?"  She replied, "You'll just know."  I hated that response to my question at the time.   All these years later I have come to know in learning, in knowledge, in careers, in relationships I do just know. Hunger, curiosity, desperation and desire are all reasons that drive me to know something. Then, what to do with what I know:) 

INDEPENDENCE DAYS

If you've ever watched the show, "Malcolm In The Middle" you might know the theme song, "Boss of Me" by They Might Be Giants.  I can identify with the words of the chorus....You're Not The Boss Of Me Now!   Someone mentioned to me recently about my strong independent ways and whether they are a result of the life I had to live or my personality.  Immediately my mind went to kindergarten.  Unfortunately I would like to say that because of circumstances in my adult life, I became that way.  It's not true or even remotely accurate though.  What my life circumstances created was the ability to survive, even live and move forward, despite what was placed on my shoulders because of my strong and independent personality.  I'm thankful looking back that God gave me that personality because without it, I don't know if I would have survived or been as relatively whole as I am (that might be subjective too!).  There is no documentation to prove it, but I might have exited my mother's womb without a cry, possibly wide awake and wanting to do it myself:)  When I got to kindergarten I had a clear sense of what should be and set to making it that way.  There was a play kitchen in the classroom and during play time I commanded its space.  I also commanded everyone who wanted to play in it:)  I could read at age 4 so when I went to kindergarten and they passed out our first report card, I opened mine up and read all the teacher comments on conduct, etc.  Reading the comments I noted that my teacher, Mrs. Holloway (a very proper, orderly and cool handed teacher), had written that I was sometimes bossy.  What!   Me?  I can remember feeling a bit hurt by that at 5 years old and wondering why she would have said that.  How was orchestrating a whole kitchen and the activities that occurred in it with such efficiency and excellence being bossy?  Giving the report card to my parents I saw a smile cross both of their faces.  There wasn't any scolding, or really conversation regarding what she wrote.  I am thoroughly convinced that my parents, clearly seeing my personality bent, knew it would do no good.  They merely smiled in acknowledgement and understanding of what Mrs. Holloway had said.  On the day my parents dropped me off at college, my dad unsure of his emotions of losing his last daughter, on his exit from my dorm room stated, "Lynn, don't boss your roommate around.":)  I have taken personality tests through the years, while a teenager and in my adult life either in a church setting or through corporate trainings.  There is a similar thread in all the tests I have taken - independent and strong - choleric.  There is a thread of strong, decisive, independently free spiritedness that propels most things that I do and who I am.  It is what has allowed me to move forward when others would not have been able to.  It is what allows me to live without fear totally crippling me despite circumstances that have been daunting at times.  It is also what allows me to truly believe anything can be done - even if I don't know how to do it presently there is a way.  BTW, on the kitchen thing - if you came to my house I would most definitely let you play with me in the kitchen and wouldn't even boss you around - now that's progress!!

I PRESENT TO YOU THE CLASS OF 1984

I graduated high school in 1984.  It was the era of the big hair, music like "The Cars" and "Huey Lewis & The News", styles that ranged from punk to alligatored logo preppy.  I was 17 years old when I graduated from high school.  The world is wide open to you at 17.  I was full of myself, my perceived vat of knowledge and a boat load of dreams.  What do you really know at 17?  What vast experiences of life have you really weathered?  What view of the world have you garnered from living life both in joy and in deep times of sorrow?  What do you really have to say to others that has been forged in real life experiences?  Some time ago I was rifling through my filing cabinet, you know supposedly cleaning it out but getting side tracked with each treasure I uncovered that I didn't know I had.  In a file folder was a large stack of things I had written in my youth - poems, thoughts, etc... some were assignments for school and some were just things I felt and thought.  There it was - double spaced typewritten on a Selectric typewriter with water marked paper turning a bit yellow.  The corrections using white out still showing clearly.  I laughed out loud as I started to read it - the speech I wrote and delivered at my high school commencement.  As I read it I tried to remember what I might have been thinking 27 years ago as I wrote "Successful Failures".  Why, I thought to myself, did I write on how to fail in a positive way?  What massive failures had I really had up to that point in my life - I didn't get grand champion on the swim suit I had made and modeled for 4-H, the young man that I loved had married another, I got a D in computer programming, I had to wear braces for 4 years.  What volume of failings had I racked up to that day in May, 1984 as I stood before my 200 classmates to deliver a speech written by a green horn in life?  There were references to the era - Ronald Reagan, etc...  I smiled of an era long gone.  But, as I read the words penned by me without wisdom of life behind me, I realized I had failed many times from that day to where I stood now at age 44.  Maybe that speech was like the movie, "Back To The Future" and I was actually coming back from the future to 1984 to tell my young self how to handle failing at experiences that would come my way through the years.  The line that jumped off the double-spaced pages was, "We can be marked not by how we fail, but by what we do when we fail."  I liked the comma in that sentence as it showed me and King David from the Bible, and the Apostle Paul and my Uncle John and maybe you, that there is a choice to be made after missing the mark. That I am measured by earth and ultimately, by God, not by what I failed at, but how I lived after the comma, after the failure, the mistake, the wrong decision, the sin.   Ladies and gentleman, I now present to you the 2011 Class of Comma Living.

A LATE BLOOMER

Someone told me recently, "You must have had guys chasing you in high school as you are beautiful."  I laughed and stated, "No!  My sister Diane, yes.  Me, no.  I was a very late bloomer."   In fact, to be honest, I bloomed probably around age 29-30.  You know of my late physical development from my blog of my bust size in 7th grade at 27 inches.  I really wasn't beautiful in high school, didn't have a full sense of who I was (although I doubt any teenager really does) and did not fully come into my own style until I was an adult.  It took me some years to get my stride down.  Age does not bother me in many ways.  I love the fact that as I have aged I have gotten somewhat better looking (ok that is subjective but compared to 10th grade - YES!), more confident in who I am and what I bring to the world I am in-to those I love-to what I put my hand to, at how I view life and others, how I see God differently from a view of grace and love.  I was not the girl who was ever nominated for homecoming queen (that would again be my sister Diane and possibly Jeanne too).  I was not the girl who had a date every weekend (that would most definitely have been my sister Diane).  I was a tomboy growing up and, in some regards, even though I am all woman, still am simple and unadorned without many accessories or much make-up.  I am more comfortable in a pair of jeans than a dress and, too much time in front of a mirror gets on my nerves:)  I thought about that this week in light of what that person commented to me about my appearance.  It may have been a good thing I blossomed late in life.  It caused me to concentrate on thinking and developing the inner Lynn which contributed to making me strong, free spirited and confident.  I also lived in a marriage where rarely in twenty-five years did I hear the affirmation of "you're beautiful".  Once again for those years I had to foster other things in my life.  I've heard those words "you're beautiful" in recent years from different people in my life and, at times, total strangers.  But, most recently I have been hearing it a great deal.  It at first seemed foreign to my ears.  Unbelievable that someone would really see me in that way.  That they would see with their eyes what is beautiful to them and then express it.  I suppose in large ways I see my physical appearance second to how I see my mind and spirit and, combined with being a late bloomer and not hearing physical affirmations for so many years, it totally amazes me to hear such words of "you're absolutely stunningly beautiful".  That person who said that to me also said they wanted to keep saying it till I believed them.  There is still some lingering unbelief:)

LIVING BLESSINGS

I just got done lifting weights for about 40 minutes.  My philosophy probably differs from that of a trainer or weight lifter.  I lift and do reps until I cannot raise my arm in that pattern one more time.  Then usually I repeat the whole circuit at least 2 times.  I'm just trying to exhaust the muscle (and myself!) and keep perpetual aging gravity at bay:)  Today was no different as I lifted.  My mind wandered purposefully to my overflowing heart of thankfulness that I could lift weights - that my body would allow me the energy and stamina to do it - that I could enjoy one of my loves . . . exercise.  There was a time in my life where getting off the floor or getting dressed was all the mental and physical energy my body could maneuver.  Yesterday I ran 4 miles.  I am not overly fast.  My goal is not to break records, but just to have the privilege of breathing the air, moving my legs and feeling the results of nature and exercise combined.  There was a time in my life where I could not run.  Never is there a day when I do any form of exercise that I do not thank God profusely for the ability and gift of it in my life.  I am very cognizant each and every time I hold a weight, pedal a bike, run the miles, do crunches and push ups, or just walk without having to talk myself through it, of the blessing of movement and joy that it brings me.  During those years that took away my ability to move freely, to push myself, to experience nature, or the exhaustion of physical exercise that leaves you with a feeling of unbridled joy & accomplishment, I struggled over the loss of that love in my life.  This morning as I finished exhausting a muscle group, I had pure joy and contentment coursing through me.  I also paused to thank God for the gift of movement and that I get to experience and participate in something that I love.  I purposefully do not forget what it was like to not have the ability to participate in running, biking, lifting weights, walking, moving freely.  Not forgetting makes having it all the more sweeter.  I love when my legs or arms or abs burn and hurt - it's a reminder that I can and do!

TALL MAN IN SHORT ROBE

One of my girlfriends and I decided to go to a day spa (courtesy of our bosses) for a massage.  We were both looking forward to the massage experience together while enjoying each other's company and a rousing round of laughter woven in the day.  I love massages and the body and mental relaxation that occurs.   Deciding to meet each other at the spa, I arrived first.  Sitting in the lobby waiting on my friend, they called my name.  I expressed to them that I was waiting on my friend. The spa employee assured me that they would bring her back as soon as she got there.  Not having ever been to this particular spa for a massage, I follow the employee down the very dark candlelit hallway where she hands me a robe and tells me to go into the dressing room and remove all my clothing (some of you non-massage people are already squirming to think of being buck naked on a table with a stranger rubbing oil on your skin and plying your muscles into soft puddles of goo!).  I oblige her, as me and nudity (see post on ironing in the nude) co-exist quite easily together.  She then leads me to a small room.  Inside the room are two small love seats, subdued lighting and more candles with soft "Yanni" music playing in the background.  "This," she says, "is the relaxation room where you can let your mind slow down and soak your feet in a warm basin of water."  I'm feeling slightly uncomfortable at this point.  Sitting across from me in this room is a man.  To me it seems odd to be sitting in a room in darkness with a man I don't know, both us naked underneath the robes we are wearing.  As I sit down on the loveseat I notice that this man is extremely tall.  He had to be well over 6' tall.  I, on the other hand, am 5'5".  My eyes now fully adjusted to the dimly lit room, realize that the robes they have given us are no doubt a one size fits all type of deal (much like hospital gowns!).  The robe on me literally wraps around me twice and comes down to mid-calf.  This is not the case for the gentleman.  His robe (seated) barely hits the middle of his thighs.  I am now privy to seeing completely up his robe as his ginormous legs and angle in which he has to sit to get his feet into the basin, create a sort of telescope for me to clearly view his man parts. It is now all I can do to not start laughing out loud at the hilarity of the whole situation.  Inside I am wondering where my friend is, why I am in this room with this man, why he cannot notice that his robe is too short or feel air on his nether regions.  Ten more minutes pass and an employee finally returns to take "tall man in short robe" (the Indian name I have silently given him in my head while whimsically entertaining myself over the view) from the room.  As he stands to leave he puts on the spa issued flip flops to follow her.  I clasp my hand over my mouth as I note how short that robe is on him, but also that the spa issued flip flops must be one size for men and one size for women.  His feet are also huge and his entire portion of his heel is not on the flip flop, but hanging strangely off the back.  There was something rising from the depths of me that was going to burst forth in laughter at the sight of "tall man in short robe" exiting the room, robe barely covering his ass, flip flops that appear to be about 5 sizes to small and him carrying his glass of wine with him to the next room.  As soon as the door shut behind them I broke out into laughter - the image of what I saw burned onto my retinas. I got way more than just a massage  - WAY MORE!

HOW ARE YOU?

I'm not a fan of the phrase, "How are you?".  It is one of the many over used and under meant sentences we use in our culture.  Think of the times you are in the bank, the gas station, a store in the mall, a restaurant, work, even at church and someone asks you, "How are you?".  In Americanese it's paramount to saying "Hi".  Flippantly it can roll off our tongues without a thought of really wanting to know how someone is.  Have you ever tried to be gut wrenching honest when asked that question just to see how the questioner will respond (knowing they are really only expecting a good, great or ok response)?   I've tried that a time or two to those who want to pose that question with what appears to be a great deal of non-caring insincerity.  It has taken a few back:)   It could just be my way of thinking, my desire to be purposeful in living life that causes me to NOT ask that question casually, but expectedly, wanting to know truly how the person is.  My comeback to a response of "good or ok" is, "Really?  What's making it good or what's making it merely ok?"  That causes some to stop and realize that the question was asked in sincerity and that I do care.  I've heard some amazing responses from that second question - confessions of truth, relief that they can be honest of how they are really feeling, comfort that someone took time to look a little further into their words and their world.  There have been times I too have been asked that "how are you" question and I have responded, "Well, are you sure you really want to know?" :)   I love questions.  I'm sure it is directly linked to my questing mind and spirit, my love of people and my desire to leave someone better than I found them.  There are big things in life that create huge tsunami's, but mostly I believe life is small waves - small touches that slowly over time impact others.  Those small things like a sincere "how are you" give people value and make them feel that someone truly cares.  Today as you move about your world and bump into others around you, why not try saying, "How are you?" with sincerity.  It's actually quite an ice breaker which can open up a world of conversation and a way to touch the life of someone.  BTW:  How are you today?

PIANO PALSY

I have played piano since I was about 7 years old.  Being the third child of three girls I was expected to do what they did - take piano lessons.  It was an era of raising kids where "finding your child's real self and fostering it" wasn't the theme of parenting.  The theme of parenting was actually "teach discipline and responsibility through any and all avenues of pain, practice, responsibility and discipline".  Piano lessons was that avenue for the Cherry girls.  Actually I didn't mind taking piano lessons for 10 years (you'd think with that many years of lessons I would be like a concert pianist!) except for my piano teacher, Mrs. Hess.  She would sometimes sing along with the music I was playing in this disturbing warbly old lady voice.  Other times, she would grab my hands in frustration as invariably I did not follow the music exactly like it was written much of the time - I improvised a bit here and there:)  I greatly hated much of the music she taught.  But, the worst part of piano lessons was when it came time for either her recitals or the local piano contest.  Both forums required memorization of the piece performed.  I was horrible at that.  I could play easily from music in front of me, but struggled to memorize an entire piece from Bach or Beethoven.  I hated, and that is really not a strong enough word to describe what I felt, playing a piano solo from memory.  At piano contest you were judged by a panel of judges on how well you played both in memorizing the piece perfectly and interpretation of dynamics, etc...  Even as I type I can feel the dread that would come over me as they called my name from the judge's table.  All eyes in the room tuned in on me as I walked across the room to hand the judges a copy of the music I was performing.  Sitting down on the piano bench after slightly adjusting it to the right distance to fit my arm and upper body height, I started my "memorized" piece.  Don't get me wrong, I played piano at church and school for choirs, vocal groups, etc, but HATED playing piano solos.  I was an accompanist not a solo performer and knew it.  I was operating outside of my giftedness and comfort level.  My mind went blank sitting there.  There was not one note that flashed upon my big screened Lynn mind.  Panic ensued at a rate that caused the pumping of blood through my heart to make it feel as though it would burst from my non-existent chest.  "Breathe, breathe, think Lynn, think!".  I started in as the first measure unfolded on the screen in my mind but the measures were not coming on the screen fast enough.  Oh no, between the conversation I was having, the inability to remember fully one measure to the next, all eyes staring at me, the judges furiously writing comments at the judge's table, my heart beating so loud and fast that those on the first row no doubt heard it.  My legs, now independent from the rest of my body, began to take on this other earthly swaying all on their own.  Oh, I don't mean they were moving in sync with the music I was playing - you know a sort of expression of feeling music and living in the moment.  No, they were spasmodically swinging wildly from side to side as terror coursed through every vein in my body.  It was as if all nervous thoughts, fears and energy collided into the muscles of my legs and like an alien, took over.  I could instantly feel the stares intensify not only from my horrible job of reciting this piece from memory, but now from this out of body alien take-over of my legs.  My only hope was just to get to the last measure and be put out of my misery as soon as possible.  The last measure came up on my mind's screen and I, without much interpretation left in me, played the final note.  I stood from the piano to a room of pity clapping and waited for the judge's final score (much like an Olympic skater who fell during their triple toe jump during their long program).  Honestly I didn't care what I scored or if I even scored.  I was relieved and horrified all at the same time.  As the scores were posted on the wall outside of the room a few minutes later I didn't rush to check them.  To this day I don't know what I scored on that piano palsy number I bumbled through.  I can't imagine it was good though.  It would be years and years later, during my then father-in-law's ordination service, when having to play a solo version of "The Lord's Prayer", the piano palsy legs returned.  You would think while playing "The Lord's Prayer" that the Lord would deliver me from piano leg palsy, wouldn't you?   

IN FLIGHT

For those of you who tune into this blog you may have noticed it’s been silent for over a week.  I took some well needed time off from regular life for a season.  In doing so, I also took some time off from writing.  I have gotten several emails stating that you all were wondering where I was and were missing reading what I think and write daily.  Why, I don’t know!  Right now I am on a plane flying home from Las Vegas.  Oh yes, the city that never sleeps.  I have been there before but it was under totally different circumstances.   I played the slot machines a time or two and won $35.00.  Big winner indeed:)  Gambling just doesn’t really do much for me.  I don’t quite see the point.  I walked the strip, went to the malls, watched the droves of people, fought off street promoters, laughed hysterically, ate more food than I ever eat, enjoyed the company of friends, saw a show “Chriss Angel”-the magician (2 thumbs down on that show!), messed myself up with a three hour time difference, got very little sleep every day, relaxed my mind and my body, did something that has not been a part of my past, and I did it all spur of the moment.   I laughed as my friend drove me to the airport after work, dropped me off and I headed off on an adventure of a lifetime.  Once in flight I smiled again at how deliberate my thinking has been about wanting the second half of my life to be totally different than the first half.  Well, I thought to myself, this is most definitely different- out of the ordinary.  Actually I don’t really care for Las Vegas.  I don’t love crowds or mindless activity.  But, much like the “Seinfeld” episode where George Costanza decides to do everything opposite of what he normally does and finds success, so did I.  For those of you who read this and know me, you are smiling and saying, “Lynn, only you would go to Vegas on a whim!”   I feel in flight to this new life that I want.  It’s an amazing feeling in my soul and spirit to just let loose - to quit trying to please everyone or live in the pattern that I have lived.  This week has been such a spectacular experience in setting a new course, living richly, feeling passionate, seizing the moments.  I am in extreme gratefulness to God for hearing my heart’s cry and delivering it in a way I would have never, ever imagined.  I feel humbled and undeserving and yet awed at His generosity toward making my spirit be in flight.  I was in Vegas baby!  Vegas:)

LOVE IN BOUNDLESS MEASURES

Today I said to my dear friend, "I am at the bottom of a pit with a magnifying glass."  She laughed at my choice of mind stopping descriptive terms for where I am.  But, she also responded with great compassion and encouragement for temporary pit dwelling and its necessity, much like a colon cleanse, for the soul-spirit-mind-and heart.  Parking my short bus on God's great love recently, I have been uncovering, dissecting and then embracing it without fully understanding or figuring it all out - trying to undo years of defining it which I suppose has limited me knowing it or experiencing it fully.  To define something limits it to what I can think and know.  I cannot think or know God's love from human bound eyes.  And, what I can has an end, a beginning and an end, it has boundaries as that's how I, as a human, view everything.  I have used the word "boundless" as an over exaggeration in referring to young children's energy.  But we all know, raising our own kids or being around them, they eventually run out of steam - at the table with food in their mouths, laid out in the bathtub, in the car, on the floor, in their beds.  They are not boundless.  But God's love is boundless - not bound by human expectations, limits, definitions, reasoning, or comprehension.  Today, in my pit dwelling, I literally called out God's love audibly to focus on it and not my surroundings in the pit - not anger, nor hurt, or disappointment, or unmet expectations, struggle, or grief.  Sitting over the heat vent after a run tonight I turned to Eugene Peterson's The Message Bible, asking God to give me something tangible, His voice to know of His great love which overrides and eclipses everything both in heaven and earth.  This is where I turned, Jeremiah 31:35-37ish (that version doesn't follow verses exactly) subtitled, If This Ordered Cosmos Ever Fell To Pieces.  It says this:

God's Message, from the God who lights up the day with sun and brightens

the night with moon and stars, who whips the ocean

into billowy froth, whose name is God-of-the-Angel-Armies:

If this ordered cosmos ever fell to pieces,

fell into chaos before me - GOD'S DECREE -

Then and only then might Israel fall apart

and disappear as a nation before me.

GOD'S MESSAGE:

If the skies could be measured with a yardstick

and the earth explored to its core,

Then and only then would I turn my back on Israel,

disgusted with all they've done.  GOD'S DECREE.



I am a connected and a grafted part of Israel, His example of God's nature in loving mankind.  HA, I said out loud as I read those words!!  That is never.  Never was God saying could He stop loving.  It is not His nature.  Ever.  Ever also includes when I am in the pit with a magnifying glass.  He is wanting to love me through letting it loose and only caring of His Great love, not the hurt or disappointment, a life of struggle, my own expectations of myself, uncertainty before me or grief that wants to eat me alive.  Trying to unleash my grip of a lifetime to hold what my humanness can of God's love, which ultimately probably is very little of it.  Make sense?

DON'T TAKE ME TO THE RACES

There are certain products, shows, styles that I have really liked over the years.  You know, stuff and or things that you just enjoy.  We all like to think that what we think is good or funny or entertaining or flattering on us is the same for others.  I'm finding that is not true, even though I feel I have stellar taste:)  It happened again to me yesterday.  I have a handful of things that I love.  One of them is one of the two fragrances that I like to wear.  It's a smell that smells, what I imagine anyway, my personality would smell like if you could bottle it.  Some of you are now laughing hysterically at that thought and saying something like, "Wow!  Who would ever buy that!" (I agree with you!).  I wear only two fragrances - 360 by Perry Ellis and Ralph Lauren's Polo Sport.  In fact, they are so distinctively me that I have people (those I know and perfect strangers) comment to me that they love the way I smell - what am I wearing?  My Polo Sport bottle has been empty for a few weeks now.  I searched for it in the store where I normally get it and have not been able to find it.  So, yesterday I searched the web for it.  What I found out alarmed me - Ralph Lauren is pulling that fragrance even though it's been one of its best sellers since its inception in 1996.  WHAT!  It's happening again.  It would seem that products I come to love get pulled from the market or the store I shop in.  You may not want to take me to the horse races:)  I will now have to buy a case (and take out a home equity line of credit to do so) of Polo Sport through the internet just to last me the rest of my natural life as it defines, smell wise anyway, who I am.  It happened too with coffee about a year ago.  I only like good, smooth bodied coffee brewed strong.  I have tried many brands over the years, but Christopher Bean roasts some great coffee.  Their Jamaican Me Crazy and Winter Wonderland are my two favorite flavors.  I used to be able to buy them in a local grocery store where I live until a year ago when they quit carrying that line of coffee.  Why I say?  Why?  Again I turned to the internet to find my caffeinated addiction.  I now have to order it by the case every few months.  Before you think it's just me that loves this coffee, I have now gotten my boss addicted to it and, at the last several Cherry gatherings, I brought the coffee (I hate my mom's coffee).  The crowd loved it and asked for more.  I'm wondering who Ralph Lauren and Christopher Bean polled to come to their marketing determination.  They didn't poll me.  I can assure you of that!  I think most people find favorites of things and don't like when they disappear.  Remember when Coke pulled regular Coke and, with a stupid marketing strategy, deployed New Coke.  Some things don't need improvement, remarketing or removal from the market.  Unfortunately it never seems to be the things I favor:)   There have been a few TV shows over the years that I thought were great that soon disappeared.  One was years ago, a show called, "Crime Story" (ok, I also liked Mickey Spillane's "Mike Hammer").  It was a great show with some great characters in it, set back in the 1960's with, you guessed it - cops and crime.  I thought it was more original and creative than most shows with a similar story line.  Obviously I wasn't polled on it and must have been one of the few viewers that tuned in to watch it weekly.  In more recent times, I fell in love with the American version of the British show, "Kath and Kim".  I loved who they cast in the show and thought it was humorous and different.  My love of it only kept it on the air for one season!  Today I went to lunch with my daughter after which we were in a store.  I was riffling through the rack of pants and pure panic rose up in me.  Pulling a pair, that from the waist looked like something I would like, I removed them from the rack and was visibly shaken.  From the knees to the ankle they were skinny pants - UGH!  Why, I cried in my head?  Why?  Fighting terror I quickly pushed through all the pants looking to see if all normal width legs were now absent from all pants.  I could only find several "normal" pairs.  Would I have to stock pile normal legged pants (much like Noah did with the animals on the ark) till the flood of skinny legged pant styles relent?  I am going to need a shelf in my basement to store my stockpiles of my favorites soon.  My daughter said something interesting today.  Walking out of the restaurant a John Mayer song was playing.  She said, "That's new John Mayer, isn't it?".  "Yes," I said.  She commented that she used to listen to new music all the time, but she must be getting older as she likes what she likes and doesn't necessarily care to look through new artists and music like she used to.  Preferences reign even if you are 23 too.  If you are ever out and about and run across Ralph Lauren's Polo Sport or Christopher Bean coffee you can think of me, try for yourself the goodness that they both are, or buy it as a gift that clearly says LYNN! 

BY DESIGN

When I was a kid Christmas was a magical time.  Every family has their own set of things that create specialness at the holidays.  For me, it was that palpable sense on Christmas morning of anticipation - food being prepared, a trip to grandmas awaited, presents being opened, Christmas music, goodies eaten only once a year, a different spirit-feel-tempo, a deep river of contentment overflowing its banks.  On Christmas morning the year I was seven, magic indeed happened.  Snow blanketed the ground that year and cold wrapped its strong grip in the air.  My mom, two sisters and I were warm in the house on Christmas morn.  Mom was readying for the day in the kitchen and we as kids were, well brimming with excitement not even remotely containable.  My dad had gone out to either hunt or attend to some chores.  As he walked in the kitchen from the wintry cold, he called us to him, "Girls!  Girls!  Come here.  I have something to show you!", he said with excitement.  We came running to find our dad holding a beautiful small dove he had somehow caught.  It was magnificent - a dove bird on Christmas morning in our house.  Christmas music was playing, the smells of delicious foods filled the air, the flocked Christmas tree stood twinkling and a Christmas bird rested in my father's hands.  We oohed and aahed over it, gently touching it as it tried to do what any bird wants to do by design of its creator - fly.  In the flurry of excitement the bird flew loose of my father's hands and began a full and harried flight through the house frantically attempting to find sky and trees.  My mother's screams echoed as that beautiful Christmas bird went nuts being boundaried and not free to be itself in its natural world - in the design its maker had purposed for it.  The bird was finally captured and it was released back outside where it immediately flew away - free to be a wild bird.  Watching television recently I was listening to a preacher who shared from the text of Exodus 35:35 - the scripture where it talks about all the craftsman who used their talents to build the tabernacle during Moses' era.  He talked that morning of God's design for us - to operate fully in our creativeness, in the way He purposed us to flourish and find fulfillment.  How often I get frustrated - you get frustrated - when we can't operate in that design, can't figure it out, don't think we are allowed, can't walk by faith in what it takes to perform or function at our highest capacity - our God given design.  We are like that bird sometimes - baffled, beat down, not fully understanding God's great desire for us to know His heart's design for us, by expectations of others or responsibilities - unable or unwilling to be wide open to operate fully in the design of our maker.  When that bird got free to flourish in its God-given design, it flew, it soared.  The blueprint and intention of God is for us to know fully and thrive in His unique architecture for each of us.  Fly by design.

THE EVE OF ALL THINGS

It was a very odd day today - Christmas Eve.  I procrastinated my Christmas shopping till this morning, and then in an hour and half completed all I needed.  I went through the day disconnected for some reason.  I willed myself to get out of the way of what this time of year is focused on - not the birth of Lynn:)  I looked around the store and wondered if anyone else had some of the same thoughts I did.  Had their life changed radically this year?  Were they trying to move on but life seemed in slow gear?  I felt not totally at ease in gliding through Christmas this year.  My ex husband has a girlfriend it seems.  Really I am glad for him.  I want him to have love and fulfillment.  Yet, I struggle with it because he seemingly is experiencing love at some level and I seem to be unable to during this season of my life.  My frustration mounted as the day wore on.  This is a day to be shared not only with kids, extended family, friends, but someone special you love.  I thought about Jesus while I was sitting in the 10 p.m. Christmas Eve service (as well I should be thinking of Him!).  I wondered what it was like to be the Son of God and be born less than what you are.  To know that He was taking the slow route so that He could connect to mankind, to heal our hearts, to make us whole.  Jesus, the Son of God, probably was not thrilled over the mechanism that brought Himself to man, but was willing to because of this great big God love He has for us.  I wanted my life to move faster but God saw fit to have it be in slow gear.  Sometimes we look at salvation as a one time event, and it is - sort of.  But salvation also involves making us whole, healing our hearts.  Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve are the only two days of the year where the day before the day we say eve.  Jesus is all about eves because He is always working His healing, His touch to make me whole and will show up tomorrow and continue His love relationship with me designed to make me whole.  Everyday is the eve of something for God.  Everyday is.  When God is set against the backdrop of my humanity He is magnificently showcased.  The contradiction of who I am and who He is shows clearly and powerfully all He is.  He really is the Eve of all things - always working, always present into the next day where He once again showcases Himself against my humanity.  Christmas is all about God becoming less so He could make us whole - giving us a piece of Himself.  Powerful.

THE WAY OUT OF THE WAY OF THE MENNONITE - 12 STEPS OF DISCOVERY AND RECOVERY (part 2)

During last night's post we covered and discovered 7 of the 12 steps in The Way Of The Mennonite that create bondage and perpetuate its grip.  Lest you think I am only picking on Mennonites, please know that all of human kind struggles to break free from bondage which comes to different people in different forms.  Leaving off last night with step seven which is that love and affirmation in the Way of the Mennonite is behavior based. My dear friend, a former Mennonite, declared this phrase to me recently, "Don't drink the Mennonite Kool -Aid!"  Funny!  She also tells me I would have never made it in the Mennonite world - too big of a questing and questioning spirit.  We begin  where we left off.  8) We worship at the altar of all things carbohydrateish - noodles, mashed potatoes, corn, bread/rolls, stuffing along with a bevy of sweet breads, cinnamon rolls, pies, whoopie pies, cakes, cookies and other sugary comforting goodies complete the totally remastered food pyramid.  Life is easier to bear in bondage if you are filled with carbohydrates.  You are then too sluggish to run from our people group.  9)  Activity means success.  Doing over being always.  10)  Pleasing others is another form of service.  Deny self.  Saying no to what others ask of you is not an option.  Serve others, no matter what.  11)  We know what is best. Don't think too much.  Questioning always leads somewhere that is not good.  Don't rock the boat.  12)  Benefit Haystack Suppers (and the selling of quilts) are what we do for the those in need.  Nothing serves up charity and compassion better than cracker piles served on a paper plate:)   I close with these quotes, "I know but one freedom, and that is the freedom of the mind."   And as Henry David Thoreau said, "All good things are wild, and free."

THE WAY OUT OF THE WAY OF THE MENNONITE -12 STEPS OF DISCOVERY AND RECOVERY (part I)

There are two people in my world whom I dearly love.  Both are Mennonite by birthright.  Though they are not necessarily connected by choice any longer in belonging to the people group referred to as Mennonites, in lifestyle or worship.  But, I have found there is something in them both that I refer to as The Way Of The Mennonite.  Thankfully both have a great sense of humor about everything including themselves and can see what I tease them about.  These 12 steps of discovery and recovery were penned on restaurant table paper as I sat and listened to my friend talk of bondage.  In order to access the hard emotions attached to part of these discovery and recovery issues I have chosen a light hearted approach.  What I have heard from both these whom I love, is that part of these discovery steps were a bit hard to uncover as it is so much a part of their thinking, living and decision making process that at first they were somewhat unaware of what bondage the Way Of The Mennonite had them in.  As Austin Powers so notably said, "Freedom baby!".  And more powerfully yet is Jesus' statement, "So if the Son sets you free you will be free indeed."  Bondage is not Jesus' way, but mans.  This will no doubt be a two-part mini series on The Way Out Of The Way Of The Mennonite, so tune in late tomorrow night for the conclusion:)   There is an overriding principle on top of these 12 discoveries of bondage and that is; independent thought is selfish.  Those four words are the hinge that keeps the Way of the Mennonite perpetuated in all twelve of these bondage points.  It's why it is very, very difficult to think through these thoughts and to grapple with truth because that involves independent thought and possibly action.  So we begin.  1) We pride ourselves on not having pride.  Pride is independently selfish and draws attention to self.  Self is not ok in packs or herds.  We will tell you that we are not full of self or pride in case you can't see it on your own.   2)  Guilt is the ticket to heaven - always feeling a bit bad that you didn't do enough, didn't do for others more, didn't go without more, didn't deny self more, that you have done better or gotten more tasks accomplished which is a definer of who you are and is vital to motivate you to do more. Please ride the hamster guilt wheel.  3) Keeping up appearances is imperative and paramount in life. Forget how you feel, it only matters how it appears you are.  What you feel is totally irrelevant (& selfish) and your own needs are wrong.  Self-denial is a marker of righteousness.  Did you hear that, self-denial is a marker of righteousness and God smiles on that.   4) We are a non-confrontational people/religious sect.  Wrong is wrong, but I won't tell you it's wrong. I also won't admit being or doing wrong until caught. We are a waveless group, sort of non-swimmers who want the waters to be calm at all times, at all cost, even to our own huge detriment.  5)  If you can't bake, you can't be Mennonite.  Pure and simple.  You are a failure and less than if you buy your baked goods or fail to make from scratch a bounty of signature Mennonite goodies.  You cannot operate in the Way of the Mennonite with a bucket of KFC.  No, you must get the skillet out and fry that chicken yourself.  Boughten pie is a form of blasphemy.  6)  Make peace at all costs - in the world at large, peace over war.  In your family and inside yourself make peace no matter the cost.  Make peace, but don't make love:)  7) We strongly believe God mandates behavior based love and affirmation.  You want to be accepted, part of the herd, then you must live in the Way of the Mennonite.  If your behavior does not follow our mandates, both spoken and inferred, then we will not love or affirm you, let alone your choices.  Move over Pharisees the Mennonites are here!   If in reading this you are struck by an uncomfortable feeling or a familiar wave of bondage you just might be in the discovery phase.  Which when fully acknowledged, embraced and let loose of becomes RECOVERY!   Join us tomorrow for steps 8-12 where we will talk about haystacks and all things carbohydrateish.  

A MUSICAL MYSTERY

Certain things in life hold a power that really defy total explanation or sometimes complete definition.  There are words and phrases that can capture part of the depth of it, but it still leaves a portion of the power, the intimacy that it holds, uncaptured by language alone.  Four things hold that undefinable explanation and power for me; smells, nature, music and love. Those things possess the ability to bring a powerful memory to vivid life-to full living color, to see things within their presence that you couldn't without them, to experience a time-a place-a moment all over again, to hear the voice of God more clearly, to be more with Love than you are without it, to feel something so big and yet so small and personal that it just can't be boundaried with human words alone.  Music is a powerful force.  It is debatable what style of music does what to certain people.  Preference is always subjective.  But music has sway - the ability to speak to a part of us that no other medium can.  Music, since its inception, created a way for people as an avenue to express, to feel, to communicate a message with notes, chords and rhythm, speed, syle and variations.  Music is amazing to me, much like nature is.  It holds similar potency.  How can certain notes, combinations of them, rhythms, and patterns evoke a feeling, a thought, allow us to create, communicate something in our spirits, tell a complete story, heal us, move our hearts or even free us?  There is a bit of mystery in music.  I think God uses music a great deal.  It's recorded in scripture of the many, many times music was used for victory, celebration, expression, declaration, worship or just reflection.  So, without a doubt God created it as a route to experience something undefinable with just words alone - something only an instrument, a note can speak.  Music is also so intimate and personal that it is interpreted by each listener or creator of it a bit differently for what their soul needs at that moment.  Strings hold that mastery for me.  The give and take of strings, the rise and fall of their combinations speak and soothe me like probably no other.  The beautiful freedom of an acoustic guitar, simple and unadorned, pull my heart without fail in ways that I can't articulate.  Other times, the loud rhythms and fast combinations of electric guitars, drums, and voices mysteriously make me want to move from the inside out - setting all of me free.  Things created by God are always too big, too wild, too intricate to box and wall in with complete explanation.  Music is a spirit, soul, mind, emotion and body experience.  I cannot explain totally its power, its majesty, its delight to the center of me, what it creates within me.  But, I think in music is hidden a bit of mystery only known totally by its originator, God.  Music is a language all its own and I have always loved when it speaks to me.  I still do:)

S H E C O U L D G O A L L T H E W A Y! (said in Howard Cosell's voice)

I am in good shape for a woman in her middle forties.  I'm not saying that in and of itself is a guarantee for living long, I just love exercise.  My intensity with exercise stems not just from my personality, but the fact that for a few years when I was very ill I couldn't do this thing that I love.  Now I can again and I count it a gift to be able to move and to push myself physically - a daily reminder of God's gift back to me.  If you have some exercise knowledge then you know (and if you are Big D, my daughter, or those that subscribe to the < 2 leg lifts a day exercise protocol then you might learn something here) something called muscle confusion or tricking (not the term for what a prostitute does either!).  The premise is that if you do the same exercise at the same intensity every day your muscles don't get maximized, they know what to expect.  So, to mix it up and "confuse" them, forcing them work harder and change shape, you have to change duration and intensity along with throwing in different types of exercise.  Some days I run harder and shorter distances, and other days I run slower and more miles.  Once in awhile I run a couple of miles and then walk a fast mile or two just to mix it up a bit.  But several times a week I throw in weights and specific muscle concentrations.  Being "relentless", as someone once told me I was, I love to shove myself over the edge from time to time - it's actually fun for me.  One night I did 150 squats and then 100 kick box moves on each leg along with weights for my upper body.  What a feeling of exhilaration that lasted for several days when I couldn't sit comfortably on my padded office chair without a grimace or two - which was most entertaining for my office comrade.  I conquered something though with that pain which left me feeling a bit like Rocky Balboa (more like the aging Rocky in Rocky XXII).  Yesterday I lifted weights - not heavy ones, maybe 15-20 pounds.  Same weight I normally use, but I took my normal reps to the third power, two complete routines of it.  Running tonight holding my arms in that 90 degree angle hurt so bad I actually said "ouch" multiple times on the four mile route.  Just sitting here typing this my pectoral muscles are whimpering a bit.  Oh don't feel sorry for me, I love it!  It's also always been a great way to work things out of my mind and spirit.  Even now my dear 2 leg lift a day friend is shaking her head saying, "Why Lynn?  Why would anyone do that to themselves?".   Some people drink 2 pots of coffee a day, or smoke weed, drink a six pack a day, eat fast food or gray colored meatloaf every day for lunch, or possibly log onto porn daily.  Others, like myself and a group of exercise junkies, love to feel the pain of pushing yourself just past comfortable.  Oh, I also did 150 crunches yesterday just to feel the burn, confuse the muscles and leave a bit of a lasting imprint for the next day.  Mission accomplished and now I'm ready for bed.  I'm exhausted :)