Happy Easter 04/07/2012
 
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Simply Beautiful 03/20/2012
 
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The Fire Alarm 03/18/2012
 
Spring is a time of travel for my family. At least it is for the kids and I. Alexander must stay at home with his nose to the old grindstone so that he can earn enough money for the rest of us to travel. I know this sounds like an arrangement in which he gets the short end of the stick but his side has its advantages, such as three quiet days which involve evenings devoted to his own leisure. On the other end of the deal, my end, is debate season. Being a debate mom has its rewards but with the commitment comes traveling out of town to various debate tournaments throughout the state and, I will point out, California is a large state.

As I've mentioned before, I am a creature of habit and as such creatures are want to do I always stay, if possible, in the same hotel in each city. Not liking to travel, I always choose the same name brand of lodging so I can be in surroundings that are somewhat familiar and pretend that I'm not really traveling at all. The hotels I stay in are both budget friendly and quiet, a winning combination. However, into our second season of travel we experienced our first peace-breaking incident. 


In the latest hours of a March night, just before the wee hours of the morning, we were awakened by an alarm. I knew immediately that this horrible blaring sound, accompanied by a flashing blue light in our room, was a fire alarm. When one of the kids asked why the alarm clock was going off at 2:30AM I realized that homeshchoolers do not get the enjoyment of the occasional fire drill complete with alarms and instructions on leaving the school calmly. My first thought after waking was, "I hope this is a false alarm because I'm too tired to run for my life." My next thought was, "We're on the second floor, which way is the stairway?" followed by, "I wish I had paid attention to the emergency exit map posted inside our room door."


I could hear the stomping of feet as other guest were awakened and thought I heard people running. At this time, because I was still hoping this was a false alarm, I looked out the peep hole in the door and couldn't see anybody running, or smoke billowing, or flames emerging menacingly from door ways. Thus far into the incident I had no reason to be motivated by panic. Within a minute the alarm had stopped and this boosted my hope that there was no danger after all. I then went to the window to see if there were any signs of fire outside the building. Nothing. Within the next minute, however, I could see reflected in the windows of the building across the street red and blue flashing lights which I hoped were not for us as they implied a serious situation. In a moment a firetruck came into view and turned into the hotel driveway. I watched until the firemen who walked into the lobby were out of view. As I lay back down in bed I gave instructions to young Alexandra to stay in the window and keep watch. If the firemen walked back to the truck and drove away we could all go back to sleep; but, if they ran back to the truck for hoses we would have to put our shoes on. Another minute passed and the firemen drove away, leaving us to what remained of our night's sleep.


In the morning, as we passed through the hotel lobby on our way to meet our day, I inquired with the lady behind the front desk about the night's excitement and was told that a hotel guest was smoking in a non-smoking room. Really, now that's a sensitive alarm. She was very apologetic and I said something about it being quite all right and off we went, glad that the fire alarm had been a false alarm. Those really are the best kinds of alarms I feel. 


It seems every time I turn on the news I hear alarms of some kind: looming financial disaster, trouble in the middle east, future famine. These are troubled times we live in; I doubt anyone would disagree. Unfortunately I have failed to notice any fire escapes or even signs telling me where to find an escape. I can hope that, like the hotel alarm, the alarms sounded in the nightly news are also false. They probably aren't but they can test our hearts and show where we have placed our hope, whether it is in man or in God.

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Today is Christmas in Russia and so I post this news story which I found to be heartwarming.
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A New Start 01/02/2012
 
I am not one to set resolutions at the new year. This is because I know myself too well. I know that I will not carry through on my weak determinations at losing ten pounds or walking a mile every day. However, after reflecting on my faults during Advent, the start of a new year seems the perfect time for a fresh start at reforming myself. Years ago when I was dating my chemistry student husband-to-be he explained to me the Law of Entropy over a cup of Denny's coffee. That was the only date we could afford in those college days and with unlimited refills we drank a lot of coffee. He told me that everything seeks its lowest energy potential. Perhaps his wording was a little different but since then I have thought of this law as order seeking disorder. I see this law at work in everything from the linen closet to the back yard. Everything takes work to maintain and my life is no different. Without diligence in guarding my mind, my heart, and my time, my life easily and naturally slides into chaos. So, after taking spiritual inventory during December, January is a good time to tidy up and de-clutter myself.

De-cluttering oneself is especially difficult when one's mind is cluttered. "Cluttered" may be a bit generous in my case of late. Disheveled is closer to the mark. So, my aspiration this year is to become a more organized person; the focus of which is to be mentally organized. Of course, writing things in my weekly planner and actually looking at it on occasion will help too. There is also the issue of having a place for everything so everything can be in its place, but without a desk of my own, my papers and such will remain migratory for the time being and this issue must wait its turn for resolution. In the mean time, I will continue daydreaming of a small roll top desk. 

Returning to the issue at hand, my mind, I think of the words of The Revelation to St. John, "Do the works you did at first." True, Christ was speaking of returning to one's first love, but the principle of restoration applies to this need also. Back in the day when my mind was young and fresh and focus powers came easily I did a great deal of reading. I also enjoyed the same kinds of diversions I do now but I could afford them then. Now I must wean myself from the time eaters because I have less time in my account to spend. Not only that, but time passes more quickly than it once did. The perspective of time changes as we age, but I can write about that another time. Returning to those earlier habits may prove more difficult than I might hope because I simply have more things I must do and think about now.

Nevertheless, I will take the plunge and dust off that book that sits on my nightstand. I think it's called The Odyssey or something like that. Perhaps you know of it. It's about this guy who wants to get back home. I can relate to the poor fellow because I want the same thing. I have a memory of this peaceful, well-ordered place of comfort and productivity and I want to return there. That's what the ongoing restoration of life is about, continually getting back home where we ought to be and undoing the ever active entropy by pressing on and reordering our lives after God that we might be eye to eye, heart to heart, and toe to toe with him. Organization of mind and a reordering of priorities may seem merely practical activities but in the big picture they can have an eternal impact.
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Stress on Earth 12/19/2011
 
Concerning the displacing of Advent and the subsequent abandonment of Christmas:

Every December I hear people express grievance over the ever earlier Christmas displays in stores. One might expect such a gold mine of a holiday to be marketed early but I have no complaint here. My complaint regards the misuse of Christmas by Christians. The world may do as it pleases and not concern me, but the doings of my own family warrant at least an opinion. My opinion on this matter is that many of those who bemoan the commercialization of Christmas themselves follow the marketing schedule set by Madison Avenue in favor the liturgical calendar established by the Church. Save for churches of the catholic tradition, there has ceased to be a distinction between Advent and the Christmas season which begins on December 25th and continues for twelve days. (I personally know how easy it is to follow the secular "liturgical year.") Many Christians abandon Advent, a season of fasting and penance, for a month of unashamed gluttony. Now here I am not entirely guiltless as I did serve friends coffee and Christmas cookies just last week. Mea Culpa. By the second day of Christmas, many people are so Christmased out that many Christmas trees are already seen discarded along alley ways, mental gears are shifted, and the remaining Christmas season is abandoned.

Another familiar complaint I hear is that Christ is being squeezed out of Christmas and we must labor to keep him in that holy day. The irony here which both humors and grieves me is that Christ is always present in Christ's Mass, yet many of those in the evangelical tradition from whom said complaint if voiced would perish the thought of attending a Mass whether it be on Christmas or any other day. So the questions becomes, who is being left out of Christmas? It is not Christ, I think. 

The way Christmas is celebrated in the United States, one might think the angels appeared to the shepherds saying, "Stress on earth and good shopping to those on whom good credit rests." Were Christmas about worshipping the incarnate Christ instead of having all our cookies baked and Advent were a preparation for the festival instead of a time to shop, shop, shop, then perhaps, just perhaps, a great deal of stress and money might be saved. Perhaps efforts to make Christmas special would cease to be stressful because we would find that Christmas is special in itself without the all the adornments. Maybe, just maybe if we bring ourselves to ChristMas then the day would restore our spirits rather than fray our nerves. Perhaps we would find rest in offering to him the Christmas gift he desires: our worship. And in return, we would receive the gift he offers to us: his presence.
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Along with everyone else on the globe I am on Facebook. I first joined the world of social networking a couple years ago when my brother stopped by for coffee. As we chatted he recommended Facebook to me as a way of keeping in the loop. Everyone, he assured me, was on Facebook. That turned out to be nearly true. For years now I have been on the far end of the grapevine and news has a way of trickling out before it gets to me. This is, in part, due to my failure to probe the willing reservoirs of knowledge and gossip of those recognized as being "in the know." So, at his recommendation I signed up for an account and, amazingly, within a day's time, I had received a surprising number of friend requests from relatives, friends,  and acquaintances who apparently used some sort of internet magic to learn of my new web presence. And so the fun began. Because of Facebook I learned of a cousin's illness and that another cousin had left the country. (No, he didn't flee the law, he left to study abroad.) To this day I still might have been unaware of these things because, as I've already stated, news often trickles out before it reaches me.

I have been happily interacting with friends online through Facebook and have been quite contented to "like" their posts, play games in which they are my neighbors, and make an occasional post myself; but, I have now received an invitation to move to a new neighborhood called Google+. I am still exploring the new neighborhood and a friend of mine who is up on such things has been giving me quite a case for the superiority of Google+ over Facebook. The finer points of his argument , I confess, are lost on me because the real point of a social network is friends, and until my friends make the move,  Google+ will be for me an UNsocial network. But this brings me to the real issue of online social networking, the issue being that online networking is fundamentally unsocial, whatever pleasant names might be given to it.  Sure, it has its benefits. I did, after all, learn that my cousin was across the Atlantic, not across town. It also allows us to conveniently communicate with people we might never again see face to face. I enjoy viewing their pictures and feeling the distance  between us is not so great. Please don't misunderstand me. I am not anti-social networking and have no plans to disengage myself from such activities. So, what then is unsocial about socializing in this way? Disconnect...and no, that was not meant to be ironic.

There's a difference between the news feed and the prayer chain. The news feed contains snippets of information and that is fine as far as it goes, but how far does it really go?  I read the Facebook news feed and see distance or a disconnect between what people post and what is really happening in their lives. The same is true of my own Facebook posts and I am not referring to the truthfulness of content posted. One might post about an extraordinary shrimp dinner but rarely does one post about heartache over a failing marriage or worry over a straying child. Those sorts of things are shared not online but with one's true social network.

Only my Social Network (if I may give that modern designation to something that has existed since the dawn of man) knows those things that bring me joy...and the things that burden my heart. By social network I do not mean Facebook any other internet gathering place. I mean the people that are with us on the mountain tops and in the trenches. They're the people who saw us through life's trials, who celebrated our joys and grieved our sorrows. They're the same people who pitched in when we were remodeling the house...one of them even shed his blood helping us. They're the ones we see every week. We work with them and worship with them. We leave our kids with them and take theirs in return. They're the ones who can be counted on to pray not gossip, who are quick to offer help not advice. They're the ones who bring by a meal when there's a death in the family and when there's a birth too. They also stop by on occasion out of the blue in full assurance of receiving a cup of coffee. I love my social network. They are the real thing, the relationships a social network can enhance but never replace.
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Sometime last week I wrote five letters in a day.  I later reflected about each of the people I had written to and the relationship I have with each one. Were they collected in a room only two of them would have something in common and that is because they are mother and daughter. Now that I think of it, it might be great fun to gather random friends for a conversation. I wonder what I might learn about each as they get to know each other. But I digress. 

Of my five letter recipients, one I do not personally know. She is a pen pal I collected over at the Fountain Pen Network. I may not know her, as we have never personally met, but through her letters I like her. My second recipient is a pen pal I actually know. We met years ago and since a recent crossing of paths we have seen each other regularly. I have very much enjoyed developing a friendship with her and lately letter writing has aided that development.

Recipient number three...well he is a body I never thought I would write to. In fact, he is a body I have thought very little about at all. He is something of a long lost uncle, not lost in the strict sense of lost, as the family could have contacted him if we wanted to, but lost, rather, through a family rift.  Unfortunately, for years now he has been estranged  from the family through every fault and effort of his own. I was just a kid when his shenanigans rent the family fabric and though the other aunts and uncles have quite sore feelings toward him even to this day, I never harbored hard feelings. I have kept in touch with his daughter over the years and when I learned of his wife's passing I knew it was time to write a letter. The letter was short and sympathetic to his loss...just the polite sort of letter one sends under such circumstances, but it was contact. I do not know what will come of it but I have hopes that now that he has lost his partner in crime he will seek reconciliation with his family. I do not know if I hope too much but I do know that because I made the effort of a letter I will not look back one day and wonder, "What if?"

The last two recipients are mother and daughter. Like recipient number two, recipient number four is a friend I met years ago. For the last six years we have seen each other annually at family camp where I enjoy our visits and watching her daughter grow. At the last camp we decided we would write letters to each other as we both appreciate the nearly lost art. In her last letter she told me that her seven year old daughter keeps my letters saying they are like letters from the Queen. Maybe the sealing wax elevates my letters to royal status. Naturally, I could not resist writing to my young friend so that she could have her very own "letter from the Queen." I used my nicest cursive which she probably will not be able to read yet because I did not want her letter to be any less queenly than her mother's. I mailed it in a cheery envelope I made just for her complete with butterfly liner and sealing wax. I hope she enjoys it just as much as she enjoys her mother's letters. I also hope that she will learn the joy of letter writing and that when she is grown she will continue the tradition with friends of her own.
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Picture
I opened the front door in answer to the ringing bell. Looking down I saw two small children who I thought must be from the house on the corner. The older child, a girl, must have been about six years old. Her younger brother was likely two years her junior. "We made pictures and we're selling them for 25 cents!" the girl announced. She was so confident her pictures would be in demand she didn't even ask me if I'd like to buy one, rather, she assumed I would. "Let me get a quarter," I said. Maybe her mom told her I couldn't resist her charm or maybe kids just have an instinct for for which grown-ups will easily yield to their will, but as she must have anticipated, I was an easy sell. Fifty cents later I had not two but three pictures for my refrigerator. I got a special deal on the third painting. The incident fits into the category, The Little Things, and like so many other little things along the way, it made my day.
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With living comes joy, suffering, pleasure, and pain. I am learning, perhaps a little late, that when a person goes through an experience that matters to them, they don't want to go through it alone. They want someone to take notice, to care. I have concluded that in these times It is better to do or to say something rather than nothing. If in doubt, send a card. When I look back on my own troubles and joys I may not remember who didn't call or who didn't come, but I do remember the small acts of kindness. I remember the call, the card, or the plant; especially the ones that came unexpectedly from a remote aquaintance or a distant cousin.  I remember the wedding gifts received or the cake brought to the door when we had a death in the family. I remember the pleasure of receiving a birthday card in the mail or the message on the answering machine from a friend saying she had prayed for me that morning. Let's save that message to play back every morning, shall we? Perhaps it is from these experiences, these people who have touched my life, that I have learned the importance of the small things. In my own joy and suffering, pleasure and pain, I received kindness. In thankfulness, I want to go and do likewise because it really does matter.
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