A new way to go green

Remember when you were a kid and you thought you could change a red traffic light to green with your mind? If you were deprived of this fantasy, there's still hope. Someone (?) has spent time and energy to teach you how to turn all your favorite red traffic lights green faster. The how-to comes complete with photos and step by step instructions that insist that you get out of your car and closely examine the roadway beneath you, all to shorten the 15 seconds that you currently wait. Click here.

Why do people always ruin perfectly good fantasies by telling you how things really work?

Rearview June 2008

I’ve been a blogger for only two months now. If you are even newer to the blog than I am, never fear. At the end of each month I do a little look back (okay, I did it once before) for fun, and offer apologies where necessary. Here’s June 2008 in review:

My obsession with women’s undergarments is hopefully over, although I make no guarantees. My admiration for sports bras may linger for some time. And please forgive me if I intimated that missionaries are a hoax. I have a new favorite one from Bulgaria. Check out her blog.

Diana got a beautiful report from the oncologist! We are no longer getting away with two pieces of cheese, but it’s a small price to pay for REMISSION.

I’m sorry, Mr. Kinkade. I cannot go so far as to say that I’ve seen the light, but since Amy Nielson loves you, and I LOVE Amy Nielson, perhaps we have a future together. Perhaps.

Admittedly, I have been out of sorts. Part of it is that I am still getting over the fact that some of my favorite people moved away this month. Miss you, dear friends. The ham you gave us is long gone, but we are still tripping over your absence - especially while on the toilet.

My son is not getting so upset at baseball tournaments and I have stopped wearing my tie-dyed shorts to the games. I wonder if the two are connected? Inch by inch, my children and I are learning together, but we have totally sworn off fried foods - too afraid to mistakenly eat a deity.

I have turned in my Church Whisperer ID card. The chaps were too cumbersome and I am learning that people respond far better to grace than to getting a spur in the hindquarters. That said, I still wish Jesus would just give His bride a good kick in the a** - just one little undeniable reminder that we do not exist for ourselves. (Sorry, Mom! I’ll power wash my mouth).

The kids are home on summer break (love it!) and my Dad is in Bulgaria (yes, with my favorite writer/missionary). He is a great example of a genuine Christian. No bullhorn, just love and Jesus. That’s it.

I have failed to leash my dog, but I think it would be smokin’ to hear Amy Winehouse sing the National Anthem. Or Mia. Or Wayne. Actually, they may make the perfect trio.

And although I have not yet decided to defenestrate the Weekend Word Contest, I am lachrymose due to dwindling participation. Perhaps the humidity in the east has left us all hugger-mugger, but I dream of Cockaigne where hundreds enter comments and your husband is uxorious.

Ah, words. THANK YOU for reading them.

Love God.

Love each other.

Go Phillies.

And the Weekend Word winner is...

SLOW week, but GREAT entries. Thanks!

This week, however, the winner's sentence resonated with me, because I have been looking at my TOTALLY messy house and then at my baseball playing children and thinking that we need to get some priorities straight this week. So, for her entry and her reminder, this week's winner is:

Mrs. Fitz: I'm afraid I'm giving my children the impression that life in the summer is like that of Cockaigne, but really isn't that what a childhood summer should be!?

Yes, Mrs. Fitz. That's what childhood summer should be.

Offering hope to those offering hope

Weekend Word 8

Our final word for June. I struggled with the word this week, wanting one that would be a challenge, yet fun. I picked one that I just learned myself.

RULES: None. You may want to click the word below and use it in a sentence then post it in the comments section - but these are not rules - just guidelines for participation. Be forewarned, there are no rules for judging either. Even my husband is getting frustrated with my choices (he often posts as Anonymous) but he should have known he was embracing a world that makes little sense when he married me.

Cockaigne

Best of ruleless luck. Winner posted on Sunday at 10 p.m. est.

Rejected Crayons

via firey electromagnetic destroyosaurs

God Cogs - More CHANGE than even Obama offers

After yesterday’s post, I received three emails asking me about this cooperation business and about how God works. SO – I have decided to start a new group of posts entitled, “God Cogs” that attempt to articulate this living by the Spirit that I talk about. They’ll pop up every once in a while.

I do find it interesting, though, that so many people see God’s ways as subjective, which offers us another piece of evidence to support the self-centeredness of humankind (as if we needed any more).

Our prayers are a good indication of how we view God and not just how often we pray, but when and how. I think there are many people who view prayer as a speech, or a bailing bucket (you know – what you grab when the ship is sinking) or a quick way to get a shot of good karma. Then there are the prayers that include, “Thy will be done” but go on to tell God what His will actually is.

OK – so our first God cog is to realize that God can and will actually change our minds about things. When I say change, I mean it in the most exciting sense. Not only can God change our ideas about Him and the world and ourselves, but He can actually CHANGE our minds – to the point where our thought PROCESSES are different. In other words, life needn’t be just a continual battle, fighting against my inclination to be self-centered and conflicted, but I can actually have a different mind - the mind of Christ – and God does all the work.

The Bible, in a book called Romans, says it like this: "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."

How do we begin to cooperate with God's work - this transforming? What is our part?

Let’s just start today with opening our mind up to POSSIBILITIES. I think we have become a little jaded in our culture. We sort of throw up our hands and feel helpless when we look at the world or look at ourselves. But that’s why Jesus kept talking about a kingdom. You know those movies that have some sort of knight love story going on? There is always a castle and a kingdom that surrounds it, and each kingdom has a community and a way of life. So it is with God’s kingdom. There is a realm where peace, genuine mutual love and joy exists. And I dare to believe that when Jesus prayed, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” He was blatantly telling us that the kingdom is possible here and now.

God can and wants to change my mind. I want my mind changed, too. So, in cooperation, I will open my mind to kingdom possibilities and I will dare to consider that God has the ability and power to change possibilities into realities. God will build faith, I just give Him a permit to do it in me.

Maybe today’s prayer can be different than the norm. How about, “Help me, God, to see things the way You do. Show me the possibilities. I am open to being changed. Amen.”

Controlling, the ideal companion of perfectionistic

Ah, flunking Calculus

I had a dream last night that my blog was chasing me through a dark alley saying, “You’re late with your posts! You’re late with your posts!” It’s like the high school stress dreams that we all have experienced – you know, where you get onto the bus naked, or it’s the end of the semester but you didn’t realize you had signed up for Calculus, so you never went to class and now you’ll never graduate. Ah, the subconscious.

I sometimes have a big problem being perfect. I try and I try, but as hard as I work at it, I cannot seem to reach the level of perfection that my subconscious mind insists upon. So, I used to handle life in two cycles. First, there was the “kill myself trying” phase. This stage usually included a diet, the reading of great works of literature, excessive use of Spray n’ Wash on the kids’ laundry, making all my husband’s favorite meals (which was in direct violation of the diet), and being on time. The other cycle was called, “take it or leave it this is who I am and you’d better just suck it up and deal with your own crap and leave me alone.” This stage was less people-friendly, involved French fries and People Magazine, but it allowed me to dig a deeper hole so that I’d have to try even harder when I cycled back around. Ah, neurosis.

When I inventory my subconscious in an attempt to discover where the need to be perfect came from, some of it is a product of growing up in the church. There was all this talk about behaviors, with a pinch of “by the Spirit” thrown in, but there was never anyone who clearly articulated how it all happened inside a life. So, I knew the catch phrases, but I did not personally understand what they meant.

Many years of tripping later, I have learned there is a third option. There is a place between striving and rebellion called living by the Spirit and it negates the other two because perfection is not required – cooperation is. The more I open my life up to God and cooperate with His work in me, the less I feel the need to perfect a person I was never made to be in the first place.

Ah, relief.

Things Philadelphians say

"Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everybody else."

- Margaret Mead, anthropologist

My cousin Wayne

Only a very few understand what it means to grow up as an alliteration. Wendy Wicks does - and so does Wayne Wicks. This is my cousin who I am crazy about. Yes, he is one of the Canadians.

Sweet dreams, Mia

After my book is wildly successful, I think I may write a children’s bedtime story. It will be a book that helps Western children learn about other children all over the world. It will be colorful and inviting and will use words like kidnap and rape and sex slaves and beatings and lynched and bullets and child militia. Parents may have to explain a few things.

I got up this morning and read this article entitled, “Kids’ lives are nightmares in unstable nations, UNICEF reports.” Please do not say one word about the liberal media, because if only half of this article is true, Christians should weep. The reality of human trafficking has made my heart so distressed today. Just imagine if someone really did use those words in a bedtime story for our children, we would be outraged and worry about them having bad dreams. Yet for some children, it is their REAL LIFE.

I am once again challenged by my privilege and the things that I spend my time thinking about. Years ago, the church staff that I was a part of was encouraged to read leadership books, and I distinctly remember one saying, “Leadership is simply exercising influence.” I am profoundly moved to consider how I exercise my influence, how the church exercises her influence and how my nation exercises its influence. Jesus deeply cares about these children. Do I?

I imagine reading such a bedtime story to my daughter and having her look up at me afterwards and say, “Mommy? Why aren’t grown-ups helping these kids?” And I realize that the thing that I have to explain is me.

Reverse Graffiti

This video reminded me so much of what God does. Have a look.

Christians can stop buying bras

Check out this article. Apparently, the "lost tribe" that, yes, even made it on to this blog, is a hoax.

p.s. apparently SPORTS BRAS may be still important.

Move over, Hannah Montana

My daughter Mia has started to write songs. She has a little journal that she carries with her and when an idea strikes her, she writes it right down. Mia is eight-years old, but I am often intrigued with her lyrics. Here is one from this week:

Hi.
I am weak.
I am what I discover
and I'm not using it.
I am.
What I am saying is that
I did not know what to do with me.
So, I discovered I am useful
and I knew what to do and
I am happy today.

Now, this may be complete nepotism, but what an interesting idea, huh?

Restless in your skin? Perhaps you need to let God show you what you were made to do.

What are these people smokin'?

Still thinking about Amy Winehouse, but check this out (click here). Have you ever seen anything so nuts?

Smokin' love

Confession: I LOVE Amy Winehouse. Well, her music, that is. Check out this video. See if you don’t just find yourself converted too.



A news story broke yesterday because the singer has been hospitalized in London for over a week. Her father spoke to the press and said that doctors discovered that Amy has emphysema. The 24-year old has only 70% lung capacity because of smoking crack cocaine and cigarettes. She has been warned that her career and life are in jeopardy if she doesn’t get it together.

When I worked in the inner city I knew a man who was addicted to crack cocaine. I can remember being fascinated when he qualified to receive long term disability payments from the government because his lungs would no longer function properly. I couldn’t figure out how to feel about my tax dollars caring for someone who has created so much of his own misery.

I have a friend named Christi who is a missionary in Rwanda. I saw her family just after they returned from visiting her in Africa. We talked about her work there and how difficult it is to manage the needs all around her. Again, the questions of compassion came up. What does it mean to care? Is there a point when you give up on someone? Is there a place for tough love? Is compassion more about the giver than the receiver or both? Should I care for people just because Jesus told me to and let Him sort out the other stuff?

If you are now wondering what I am smoking, please know that I understand the concept of personal responsibility – I try to instill it into my children. Yet, even if someone masterminds their own demise, aren’t they still a person worthy of care? Maybe caring for hard-to-love or hard-to-understand people is far more about me learning that I’m not the center of the universe anyway. What if, just as the Scripture refers to entertaining angels unaware (Hebrews 13:2), God's messengers are sometimes disguised as crack addicts?

Thoughts?

And the Weekend Word winner is...

I actually wish I could declare more than one winner this week, but, alas, even I have standards to live and play by. So, the lone winner of the Weekend Word 7 Contest is:

kim: "While she toweled off in the bathroom with "Old Glory", Steve defenestrated his wife's tie-dyed shorts without a thought to the lachrymosity it would produce."

A daring move to use TWO Weekend Words in a single sentence, yet make complete and amusing sense. Bravo!

Feel free to write a tearful acceptance speech in the Comments section. Or not.

Weekend Word 7

I am starting to believe that someday our little Weekend Word Contest will be bigger than the National Spelling Bee. What do you think? Can't you just see us all sitting and thinking live on ESPN? Blogging as a sport...

Here's the big deal: Watch Finding Nemo, put down the cheesesteak, and click on the word below. Use it in a wickedly clever sentence (or not so wickedly clever if you don't feel like it) and post that sentence in the comments section. Sunday at 10 p.m. est, I will post the name of one lucky winner. Believe it or not, there is a strategy. Just ask Todd. And yet, perhaps this week I am actually hunting for literary finery. This week's word is:

defenestrate

Wordsmiths ahoy!

Things Philadelphians say

"Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

- Benjamin Franklin, 1706-1790

Yet another rant, but a patriotic one

We are bound to talk politics this year due to the fact that we are electing a new President. I was wary of diving right in, but then again, I figured I might as well just offend the core of who we are first, then we can discuss candidates later.

The hoopla during the recent primary season about American flag lapel pins is still amusing me. Just yesterday, when I got out of the shower, I realized that I had failed to grab a clean towel and ran to the pile of as-yet-unfolded laundry that lives in my bedroom. The first towel I saw was one of our pool towels that looks like an American flag. As I patted off the water, I wondered if it is a crime to dry my rear with Old Glory.

Now don’t get mad. I know how blessed I am to live in America and I really do appreciate the sacrifices that American soldiers have made to insure our safety. I have wept as mothers found out their sons died in battle. Sometimes, when I hear our National Anthem, and I think about our fight for Independence, I do feel that tenacity that we believe marks the American spirit.

But, as hard as it is for we evangelicals to grasp, being an American and being a Christian are two very different things. As a matter of fact, the two ideas are often at odds with each other. I do not want to pledge allegiance to a flag, I pledge allegiance to God and His kingdom come. When we sing, “God Bless America” I wonder why we feel so entitled. Does God really prefer us over the rest of the world? C’mon.

I recently read a very interesting quote. The writer wants to meet George W. Bush. "A lot of what I want to talk to him about is faith. Because I try not to judge, but I really don’t understand the notion of a pro-capitalist, pro-death, pro-war Christian. To me, that just seems like a vegetarian who eats a burger" (Moby).

I hear all the arguments about “freeing the people of Iraq from an evil regime,” as if that makes what we have done seem righteous. Once again, though, I consider Jesus. He was born and lived under one of the most abusive and oppressive governments in all of history – both the Romans and His own Jewish leaders. Consider how Herod ordered the murders of all male infants under two years of age - talk about a terrorist! Did Jesus come to earth, spend His time training an army, and “compassionately” free people from an abusive system with violence? No, He gave them a glimpse of how to change the whole world from the inside out, not take up arms to produce a fleeting change in His little piece of real estate. Compassionate violence is like a priest with a girlfriend (okay, bad example, but I couldn’t think of anything as good as the vegetarian/burger thing).

Jesus obviously thought His own personal safety was a secondary notion to promoting peace, because He died as a result of His ideals. That may be the problem here too. What if we're too scared to be peaceful? What if our allegiance to the flag is really the way we hide our fear? “America, strong and true!” If we’re not the strongest, we may get hurt, right? Nobody wants to get hurt. “Live the American dream!” Nobody wants their way of life to get hurt. “Canada: America’s hat!” Nobody wants to be the underdog.

Nobody but Jesus.

How stupid can we get and what does it mean for the world?

I want to encourage you to click and read an article by Nicholas Carr entitled, Is Google Making Us Stupid?, published in the Atlantic Magazine. One snippet:

"Over the past few years I’ve had an uncomfortable sense that someone, or something, has been tinkering with my brain, remapping the neural circuitry, reprogramming the memory. My mind isn’t going—so far as I can tell—but it’s changing. I’m not thinking the way I used to think."

The whole article is a fascinating look at what is happening to the way we process information and think it through. After you read it, do what I did and ask yourself how this trend affects whatever it is you do. As a writer, it has profound ramifications for how and what I do, but how about you? Whether you are a mother of teenagers or a teacher or a pastor or anyone who tries to communicate with another person in any setting, this is a great article to have a look at.

Mow me over

On Tuesday evening, my friend Karen and I were sitting in the family room solving all the world’s problems when another one came right to my doorstep. Karen’s boys and my boys were playing baseball in the front yard, so when I first heard the knock at the door, I thought one of our sons was either goofing around or had locked himself out. When I opened it to find a man in shorts and a T-shirt, with his hands on his hips, and all the boys staring from the yard, my first thought was that they had hit a homerun – right into a passing car window. Little did I know that it was me who was in trouble.

We have a Golden Retriever named Sunny. To impress upon you how attached this dog is to me would be futile, her overzealous sense of loyalty must be witnessed. She is a kind and friendly dog, but doesn’t usually venture far from my side.

The dog had gone out with the boys and wandered into the next door neighbor’s front yard while they played. It is not unusual for Sunny to be out with the boys and her minimal roaming is not a problem, the neighbors love Sunny, too. I quickly discovered that the gentleman now standing at the door had been cutting the grass of the across-the-street neighbor and saw our dog.

He crossed the street, called to Sunny (who was not near the road) and walked up to our house. He told me how he had seen the dog in the neighbor’s yard and brought her home. I, of course, said, “Thank you,” and acknowledged that I wasn’t even aware that Sunny was outside. That is when he said, “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

He then began a lengthy discourse on what could have happened. He used phrases like, “these children would have cried for weeks,” and “lying dead on the street,” and “irresponsible dog ownership” and I half expected him to whip out a slide show presentation of maimed canines. Once again, I thanked him for his insights, but assured him that Sunny never wanders near the street and is fairly used to being outside with us all – unfettered.

My response upset him even more. He stood on the walkway for many minutes and repeated his perspective at least three times, getting more and more agitated with each rant. When he took a breath, I responded graciously once again, until he began his fourth diatribe. By this time, the boys were staring at me nervously and Karen had come to the door as backup (she’s a good friend, but I don’t know if she ever studied martial arts). I raised my hands in the air in protest and said, “I appreciate your bringing the dog home. I hear your point, but there is no need to shame me.”

He pointed to his head and replied, “Yes, I need to shame you, because I don’t think it’s sinking in.” At this point his color was reddening and I started to feel even more uncomfortable than I already did since Steve was not at home, so I thanked him one last time and asked him nicely to leave. He started to walk away, but kept taking verbal jabs at us, and finally went to reclaim his lawnmower that he had left in our driveway.

The experience made me think about times in my life when I decide to let myself get anxious and overwhelmed by what could happen. You know, the endless, “What if?” questions that can plague your mind and spirit even though none of your circumstances point in that direction? As embarrassing as this is to admit, years ago I went through a phase of, “What if Steve leaves me?” after two of our good friends abandoned their marriage, but only one saw it coming. I spent time and energy pondering the possibilities, instead of letting Steve assure me that all was well between us and always will be. I asked him what-if questions and speculated about his feelings and started to wonder if I really knew him. I wasn’t really suspicious of Steve, but I was afraid and shocked by what had happened to the friends we knew and loved, and it took some time to sort that out inside myself. I was plagued with what-ifs, until God reminded me of what is.

After I gave it more thought, I realized that the man may have lost a dog at one point. Perhaps he had a Golden Retriever that ran into the street, so he is anxious for all other dogs to be safe. We never really know what is behind someone’s words and behaviors, and it is hard in the heat of the moment to mentally review all the possibilities. Our best response is always grace.

But for today, let God remind both you and me just WHAT IS:

Romans 8:28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Philippians 4:6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

Proverbs 3:5&6 Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

Taking a stand

Heard this morning that the Phillies were releasing 500 more Standing Room Only tickets for the 1:00 game against the Red Sox today - SOOOO - I packed up the kids, broke every speed limit in Pennsylvania, and purchased tickets about 45 seconds before they were completely sold out!! Even though our beloved Phillies lost, and the kids began to rethink/regret the "standing" part of Standing Room Only just before the 7th inning, we had a great time. I am in love with my children and I'm a fan of the Phillies. Great summer day.

Rainbow Contrition

If you’ve arrived at my blog today looking for something sweet – like a rainbow with a Care Bear atop it – be forewarned that you have landed in the epicenter of a Wendy rant. Hold on tight.

Unless you get your news from the Cartoon Network, you are most likely aware that the California Supreme Court recently overturned a ban on gay marriage. Gay and lesbian couples began going to courthouses at 5 p.m. Monday to exchange vows.

I saw this video yesterday of a Christian hanging around outside the Yolo County courthouse, complete with a “LOVE JESUS” T-shirt on, protesting the civil ceremonies. It’s only 1:25 long, so have a look at it and then come back here.

We can discuss same sex marriage another day, because today the real issue for me is why Christians do not seem to grasp the concept that when we claim to love Jesus, this love insists that we love others – and by others I mean others – even people who think and live differently.

Jesus Himself gave us SO many chances to get this – He modeled it and told stories about it and sermonized about it. All those parables about lost things being pursued of out love and transformed in response to GRACE were not just opportunities for Him to express His creativity. No, He was clearly showing us the way to live and relate to people.

For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him (John 3:17). Saved = Restored. Restored to what God originally intended – what He dreamed – for His people. As uncomfortable as people are with the phrase, “Saved,” I seriously doubt anyone would say there is nothing to be saved from. The things that humankind is capable of! But God envisioned peace and wholeness, kindness and mercy, patience and unity, so He is saving the world through Jesus. If only we’d cooperate – especially those of us who bear His name on our chests and His presence in our hearts.

Apologetics and Fruit

jesusandmo.net

Howard's End

I almost burned the house down yesterday. Okay, that’s a little dramatic, but I did leave a pot on the stove, with the burner on high, while I went across town to watch my husband’s softball game. I had this brilliant idea that I would make chicken soup, but ended up with a petrified fowl carcass and a kitchen that still smells like some sort of bizarre voodoo ritual took place in it.

When I forget things like boiling stock pots, I become frightened about how I will be when I’m older. If I can’t remember the small stuff now (not that a house fire is small) will I even know my name then?

In my twenties, I did a brief stint as an Adult Day Care worker. Most of the residents were Alzheimer patients whose spouses needed help or a few hours of relief, so the patients would come and spend the day with us. I clearly remember one gentleman named Howard who had been a missionary before his dementia struck. Other folks who lived there told me stories of his character, his care for people, and his stellar record in the past. I, however, knew Howard to be a lecherous old man who said perverse things and exhibited no self-control. It was not his own fault for his illness had taken up the space where Howard used to be.

I can remember some of my coworkers commenting about Howard, somewhat marginalizing his faith and life as a missionary, saying things like, “When your mind goes, everyone discovers what was really inside you but you pretended wasn’t.”

I knew another Howard growing up. He was my pastor when I was a teenager. After I went away to college, I learned that he had developed Pick’s Disease and the dementia that accompanies it. When he died about six years ago, I attended his funeral and listened as his son described his final days. Even though his father no longer knew who his friends were or the places he had lived and worked or the family he had loved, Howard had continued to search the Scriptures every day, and the only two words that he still remembered and uttered were, “love” and “Jesus.” That’s it.

Sitting at the funeral, I was struck by the notion that if everything that I think, feel or imagine was laid bare for the world to see, I would surely be committed to a far more secure facility than an Adult Day Care.

I have no idea what the “Parable of the Howards” actually means, but one thing is certain, as I grow older and forget the chicken pots and perhaps my name, I want to spend my time insuring that I do remember the essentials. I want to know God so intimately, so deeply, that He is all that’s left to define me in the end. Even today, I want Him to take up the space where Wendy used to be.

Love and Jesus. That’s it.

Father's Day Secrets

Post Secret is really worth checking out this week, because it displays Father's Day secrets. It is a site where people send in secrets on postcards - the creator calls it an on-going art project. Amazing how honest people are when they know they are safe from exposure. Make sure you take the time to look. Click here.

Papa was a rollin' stone

Growing up with a Canadian father only means two things for certain. First, you will have to rely on someone else to teach you the proper way to pronounce words like garage, municipal and diaper. Secondly, you will watch a lot of ice hockey on TV. The other things, like performing an opera in the vegetable garden, raising 150 chickens in a suburban neighborhood and never having a bedtime, are not so much about having a Canadian father as they are about having my Canadian father.

My father is a wonderful man. He is gifted and fun and intelligent. Open to new ideas, my Dad has always been an adventurer, willing to go and try and dare. He raised his daughters to be upright and fair, but not shrinking violets.

My Dad is a psychologist. He is a patient listener and a consistently caring man, so it is no surprise that I can vividly remember the first time I ever saw my father lose his temper. It was, and is, a rare occurrence. Back in 1977, Dad had a red Honda Civic hatchback. One afternoon, as we drove along on a road close to home, we hit a big pothole, and the hubcap flew off and rolled away. Dad pulled the car to the side of the road (it was not a busy road), and we jumped out to hunt for our missing wheel cover. After hunting on the embankment for less than a minute, a car came flying down the road going far faster than the speed limit. Without any time to react, the driver saw my 10 year old presence on the side of the road at the exact moment he hit the pothole, and he lost control of his car, swerving and squealing his tires. The car just barely missed hitting me, and it probably would have if I hadn’t ran up into a stranger’s yard to save my skin.

When the car came to a stop, we saw a teenage boy, white from fear, in the driver’s seat. I stood there, my own heart beating rapidly too, and watched my father walk to the car, reach his hand in, grab the young man by the shirt, and, yes, pull the driver out of the car through the window. My Dad did not hit him or anything, but in a matter of seconds, this young man knew just how much ice hockey my dad watched AND how important I was to my father.

I laugh at the story now, but one thing is very true. Besides the two times (another story for another day) he almost assaulted other people, my father was intentional about modeling how to live. I grew up knowing I was important, I was heard, and I was always worth his time and energy. As a matter of fact, I have often told my father that the ways that he loved me pointed me to a healthy and clear understanding of how God loves me.

On this post-Father’s Day day, it might be a good idea to recognize how profoundly our fathers shaped our understanding of God. On a level that we may not even understand, our dads gave us clues about a Heavenly Father. If your dad was withholding with his praise and affection, you may view God as the Great Task Master in the Sky. If your dad traveled for business all the time, perhaps you see God as a distant, never-available type with a pen protector in his chest pocket. If your dad was overly permissive, never giving you healthy boundaries to help you feel safe, you may wonder if God even cares at all or rebel against any of His guidelines that help us live in peace.

So, as your cleaning the grill today after feeding your dad yesterday, take a second to honestly reflect on your father - not with the intent to criticize – but in order to better understand why you respond to God the way you do.

Just to clear things up a little, Jesus said, “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"

In other words, no matter how your father loved you – well or badly – how much more God wants for you! How he longs to provide you with good! He would really love to prove your misconceptions about Him wrong, and I dare you to let Him.

And, to Fred: Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Thank you for being an intentional father. Thank you for vegetable garden operas that taught me to be free and not to be concerned if the neighbors thought I was crazy. Thank you for your pursuing and tenacious love. The shirt I gave you this year does not come close to repaying the gift you have given me.

And the Weekend Word winner is...

WOWEEE!! TEN, count 'em, TEN entries and ONE plug for the Weekend Word contest. I am feeling rather lachrymose because of the sheer thrill of it all.

So, with the same unbias and completely judicious decision-making that I always employ, I declare this week's winner to be:

TODD = "Just the thought of participating again in the weekend work contest has a lachrymose effect on me, knowing my predestined fate at the hand of an unjust blogger."

Guess I proved him wrong, huh? Or was I blatantly manipulated by reverse psychology? Ah, but if I realize I've been manipulated, have I really been? So many questions, only one blog.

Thanks to all 10 of you. Consider yourselves kissed on the lips.

Book Reading

Had a book reading tonight. It was hosted by another Wendy (you can never go wrong with a Wendy). Good food, good people, all happily jammed in together. Many thanks to those who attended - even those like Karen who looked, but couldn't find. I LOVE you for trying, my faithful friend.

It topped off a week for me of thinking about feedback - giving and receiving. I found so much about what people said about my book tonight to be encouraging and yet there were moments when I realized how challenging real communication is. Do we ever fully understand what another person means, or do we simply assume we do?

Weekend Word 6

I will not be deterred by the seeming failure of the Weekend Word Contest (yes, that was a shameless guilt trip designed to pull upon your heart strings and compel you to participate).

RULES: Grab your scuba gear and dive for barracuda. Click on the yellow word below, discover it's meaning, look at yourself in the mirror and say it aloud several times, feeling it on your tongue. Once you have mastered both the word and the facial expression it demands, use it in a sentence and put that sentence in the Comments section.

The winner will be declared on Sunday, June 15, at 10:00 p.m. est. Would a cash prize get you to play? No, then I'd win every week.

lachrymose

I will shed many tears of joy if you win.

No more teacher's dirty looks

Last day of school for the Melchior’s. It is only a half day, but we are having the entire 6th grade over for a last-day-of-school pool party this afternoon, so it turns into a full day.

I always love it when my kids are home for the summer. Parents keep telling me that they don’t know what they’ll do and how they can’t wait for school to start again, but I always look forward to being with my kids. I really like them and their company.

Yesterday, I got a call from a mother upset about something one of my sons had done. It was a great opportunity for me to practice “receiving feedback” like we talked about in yesterday’s post. I tried to listen without being defensive (hard!) and really heard her concerns. I hung up and hunted my son down.

After Steve and I spoke with him (and his siblings who witnessed the event), we came to understand that it wasn’t as cut and dry as the other mother thought. These things never are, are they? Eventually, we dug down to the bottom of the issue to understand not just the incident, but what is actually happening relationally that invites problems.

Later, I was thinking about the inflammatory nature of language. Yesterday’s post was about receiving feedback, but the way we GIVE it is just as important. As much as I love words, and my whole life is about word choice right now as I work on the book, I still find myself using language in my everyday conversations that is not helpful.

Ephesians 4 says, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” And the other killer in Philippians 2, “Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe.”

I took a quick mental survey of everything I said yesterday. You know, kind of like when you’re keeping a food journal when on a diet and you write down even that one pretzel rod so that you can evaluate how much you are really eating. It is a shocking exercise to write down everything you say in a day. Did everything I said yesterday build someone up? Now you try.

I suspect this talk business is most difficult in crisis situations, when we are prone to show our true colors. LOVE is so much about action, but it is profoundly about words as well.

Yuo go defore me

We watched Noah finish 6th grade last night. The evening was called the “6th Grade Farewell” and there was a tear-jerking slide show at the end with pictures of the students from kindergarten until last week. Noah grew up right before my eyes.

One girl in his class was presented with an award for an essay she had written about growing up with dyslexia. The essay was so honest that I had a lump in my throat. She confessed what it was like to have a learning disability that switched everything around – letters, numbers and words reversed and out of order. She admitted how it felt to be different, but she ended her story with how much she appreciated when friends pointed out the mistakes in her writing - so that she could improve.

I sat there absorbing the lesson. How difficult it is to be corrected, isn’t it? Or criticized? It is such an uncomfortable thing, and the fact that most us of get defensive (whether on the outside or inside) is not surprising. This 6th grade girl, however, has decided to so recognize her need that feedback is welcome, even appreciated.

I receive feedback today differently than I did even one year ago. Being humbled is such a painful, but profitable, experience - yet so hard to grasp when it’s happening. Why is this? Our propensity to internally evaluate how everything and everyone affect how we feel, without recognizing the potential benefits of criticism, stunts our opportunity to grow. I know I can be so self-focused.

In Philippians it says, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.”

This “way of Jesus” is so radically counter-cultural, it feels like living with dyslexia. How in the world are we supposed to see everything in reverse or in a way that opposes our natural inclinations? Sometimes, when I put others first, or let people reveal my blind spots, it feels so out of order – the temptation to satisfy my own desires or to utilize my defense mechanisms, seems like the right way to handle life.

Just like the young essay winner, there is a need to be recognized. Fact is, the world has gotten so far away from God and His ways, that we now have a learning disability. We no longer see things the way they really are – the way they were originally written – and we are all out of order. What we see, as plain as day, is often very mixed up, and we don’t even know it.

I admit I have spiritual dyslexia. I often get things turned around or do the opposite of what is right. Sometimes it’s because I simply do not see it clearly and, at other times, it is because I have refused and refuted the feedback that would help me see life for real – letters and meaning and other people in the right order. God often uses feedback to get me straightened out, teaching me to read myself and others once again, clearing up my vision. Now, if only my ears would consistently work.

Great question

Card Carrying Member of the Whisperers Club

In 1998, Robert Redford directed a film called, The Horse Whisperer. According to Wikipedia, “a horse whisperer is a horse trainer who adopts a sympathetic view of the motives, needs, and desires of the horse, based on natural horsemanship and modern equine psychology. The term goes back to the early nineteenth century when an Irish horseman, Daniel Sullivan, made a name for himself in England by rehabilitating horses that had become vicious and intractable due to abuse or accidental trauma.”

I have decided to become a church whisperer.















Really. I’m almost finished my book, and I think I’d be decent at it. I certainly have a sympathetic view of the motives, needs, and desires of the church, based on natural churchmanship (I was one of the finest churchmen – even though I am technically a girl). The placard hanging outside my office could say:

Wendy Melchior
Church Whisperer
Rehabilitator of churches
that have become vicious and intractable.

I bet I’d be busy. And, sure, click here for the definition of intractable. Sheesh, how’d you graduate from high school? (I peeked, too).

Disdain for Christians is prevalent, and although we churchgoers like to call it “persecution,” some of the bad feelings have been earned. Some Christians have behaved in ways that have gotten them excused from the dinner table. We need a whisperer, or at the very least, a long moment in the time out chair.

Interestingly, people are ticked at the church, but still like Jesus, and I think I know at least one reason why. As much as I love her, the church is preoccupied with herself, but Jesus was always interested in others. I’ve worked for the church, and in recent months, I have had the fascinating opportunity to visit lots of different ones. In both instances, I have been struck by the enormous amount of energy and time spent to meet her own needs, to satisfy her clientele, to preserve her traditions and to fulfill a charge that she was never given in the first place.

Jesus was preoccupied in a completely different way – and it had very little to do with singing, stained glass and flashy children’s programs. He cared for marginalized people, He met their needs and He listened to outsiders.

I may actually need to keep scouring the Help Wanted ads, because I suspect we already have a Whisperer. He says, “Shhhhh, quiet down now, girl. Relax. Don’t fight it, just put this bit in your mouth and listen for a while.”

Darn, I was kinda diggin’ the chaps.

It’s an elite club, really: Horse Whisperer. Ghost Whisperer. Dog Whisperer. Church Whisperer. Oh, and there’s the Cart Whisperer. Click below.

Who said fried foods were bad for you?

You MUST see this. Seriously. Click here.

thanks, Susan Isaacs, for the post.

Things Philadelphians say

"I can't work completely out of my imagination. I must put my foot in a bit of truth; and then I can fly free."

-Andrew Wyeth, American painter

Right here in River City and other places we've got trouble

Last week, someone made a comment (in a post) that I was weird – even for me. Today will probably not help resurrect my previously sparkling reputation either.

The pictures you are looking at are of the back of a pair of shorts that I have owned for 15 years. I love these shorts. They were a lot smaller when I bought them, but they have made it through pregnancies and picnics and vacations and yard work. If I were able, I would add these shorts to Maria Von Trapps’ list of favorite things. But I refuse to sew them.

Last week, I wore these shorts to a baseball game, and my three girlfriends started to mastermind a plan - one could jump me, the other hold me down, while the other quickly stitched. One of them suggested I write my Weekend Word on the back of my underwear, then at least the hole would serve some purpose, but I would rather tie dye my underwear to match then repair these babies. It took a long time for my shorts to get this bad, and it just seems that any quick fix would not honor the shorts and their efforts to stay together. The split started as something so small, barely visible, but over time has become gaping.

I can never seem to do things the right way. Sometimes this is by design, but there are other moments when I find myself in places and look back to mentally retrace my steps in an effort to figure out when I made the turn to end up here.

I am learning, however, to stop pretending to be surprised at trouble. Really. Now, if a car hits mine from behind, while I am sitting still waiting for the traffic light to change, that is unexpected trouble. But when relationships disintegrate or addictions are exposed or communities are at war, I find it amusing that we act shocked in an effort to seem innocent. There are always plenty of signs on the path to real trouble, sometimes barely visible, but they are there.

It’s a process - when we give ourselves to the things we ought not. It is a series of decisions and choices, over time, before we are actually wallowing in crap. Even when it seems we are “taking the plunge” into something crazy, there was something that happened mentally and emotionally beforehand that allows us to fall of the edge of the world. Slowly, inch by inch, we give our families or integrity or faith away, until we finally recognize that real trouble has arrived. Really, now, things do not crumble in one day.

I may sew my shorts today, even though it took a lot of painstaking effort to get them looking so ruined. I may also spend some time looking for the signs on my path, examining my life for little openings that could end up being gaping holes unless I get out a needle and thread.

There's no crying in baseball

My boys play baseball. To be sure that you understand the magnitude of that statement, let me fully explain. They play spring baseball, then summer travel baseball, moving on to fall ball, and then indoor winter baseball workouts that slightly overlap with spring baseball.

J.J. has started a new thing this year that we are just starting to sort out. He is a good solid player who usually finds some way to get on base, but he has decided to be injured every game. Now, he is profoundly skinny, so at first I thought he was getting banged around while stealing home or tagging a runner at third, and I think that is partly true. But, when a pattern began to emerge, I realized the problem was not his skin and bones.

Saturday night I sat and talked with a lovely woman. She is physically lovely, she is emotionally lovely. She has been through a lot in recent years, ever since her husband, who was successfully climbing the corporate ladder, came home and announced, “I’m leaving. I have out-grown you.”

Now, I know this man, her ex-husband. He is a nice man and I like him, but I have always been struck by his increasing bravado. I have caught myself watching him quizzically, wondering why, with all his success, he still needs to prove himself. I like him just fine without all the veneer.

One of the cautionary techniques I use, when I am tempted to look at people too critically, is to try and find myself in whatever is itching me about them. So, I stopped my heart from going too far into critique mode, and I asked myself, “Do I believe my own hype?”

Isn’t that a great question? Think about it. One of the most frightening things about success and/or failure is the temptation to believe our own hype, and once we believe it, we have to maintain it.

The labels we give ourselves – writer, educator, entrepreneur, pastor, coach, doctor, athlete, musician, counselor, engineer, loser – and the adjectives we choose – creative, smart, motivated, artistic, logical, nurturing, successful, addicted, funny, persistent, amiable, sick – all end up being definitions that need defending. We believe our own hype.

When I think I am the Big Dog, then I must bark loudly. When I admit that my family has fat genes, then I do not need to exercise. When I am a great baseball player, I must feign injury on a faulty play, because to admit a simple error threatens my athleticism.

People (spouses, friends, families) do not out-grow one another. Everyone has beautiful adjectives and ugly ones and life together is moving through all of our individual and collective definitions – both the ones based on truth and the complete fantasies – and sticking with each other. And those who recognize the complete genius of being humbled from time to time, may even allow others to correct, tweak and subtract from their hype, letting God, and people who love them, slowly chip away at the veneer.

For J.J., it’s a phase, one that mom and dad and his coaches will help him work through. Besides, he can get away with a lot because he’s 10 and terribly cute. For the rest of us, some growing up, instead of growing out, may be in order.

And the Weekend Word winner is...

Well, someone hit a homerun this week. #1 I love Wii. #2 I have a 6th grader #3 Nothing is more hugger-mugger than an all-nighter with teenagers.

Jared wins!! His entry, "I got the biggest kick out of seeing a 6th grade student in a hugger-mugger this morning when his father picked him up from our lock-in at the church. I don't know if he even knew his name. (That's the effect of an all night Wii party.)" is a stroke of genius and fun.

Thanks to the participants. Yes, Jared, we will expect an acceptance speech. Something like this:

Weekend Word 5

Time to re-evaluate our weekly routine. Perhaps I've been too hard on you, my choices too challenging. Ok, weenies, I'll go easy on you this week.

Rules: Brush oil on the kabobs, enter the fountain of youth, and use the word below in a sentence. Display your mastery of our language by posting your sentence in the comments section below. On Sunday evening, at 10 pm est, the envelope containing the name of the winner will come to my home via armored car. After the retina scan, I will obtain said envelope, open it and post the name of the lucky duck who, yes, can give a long and tearful acceptance speech in Sunday's comments. Click this word:

hugger-mugger

Have at it writers!

Things Philadelphians say

"These are my new shoes. They're good shoes. They won't make you rich like me, they won't make you rebound like me, they definitely won't make you handsome like me. They'll only make you have shoes like me. That's it."

-Charles Barkley

Agent Contest

As long as the three million of you promise to participate in the Weekend Word contest this week, I will tell you about another fun contest you may want to check out. My agent, Rachelle Gardner, has a blog and she is having a writing contest. A complete story in 100 words or less. Short, fun, and challenging. She provides a photo as a prompt.

Oh, and if you stop by, say GLOWING things about me. Use words like "immense talent" and "not the least bit neurotic" and "I have a network of thousands that will read Wendy's book" - you know, the basics.

CLICK HERE

I would love it if one of you won.

No need to call a HOTLINE

At the risk of my three readers thinking that I have fallen into a depression (I haven’t), I am going to add to this week's somber tone by doing a gratuitous, sappy and emotional post about friendship and moving away. Please cue the violin player now. Something by Rachmaninoff.

I know a family that, quite literally, lives down the street. I am desperately in love with these people and they are moving away next week. Not just away, far away. They are moving to a place where cacti actually grow outside!

Hear me out. It’s not as if I see them everyday. I don’t even talk to them everyday. They are busy and we are busy. But, up until next week, I always knew they were there.

Yesterday morning, I got up very early and headed for the bathroom – the same place everyone goes when they first get up, unless they have older pets. I sat down to pee in my sleepy, out of sorts state, and remembered that my friends were moving away. I cried and cried and used far more than the one square of toilet paper my mother always told me to.

I won’t bore you by dictating the countless conversations (even screaming matches) we’ve had. I will not list all the things we’ve borrowed from one another and forgot to give back. I cannot even begin to translate all the things we’ve learned from each other. Suffice it to say, they are in my system and under my skin.

When God cements people together it is no joke. Real, live, breathing community – the place where you are loved and challenged and healed – is like a deep and endless gift. Sometimes it feels great and at other times it hurts like hell, but I have been blessed to have it with these great people.

Ed, Vickie, Kristopher and Kelsey: You will be missed. And even though you are far away, every time I pee, I will think of you.

Funny that its nemesis is a serpent

Obama?

Upping the Ante

Yesterday, I told you I was out of sorts. That is still true, but I discovered something very interesting. I looked up the origin of the phrase “out of sorts” because I realized that even though I know how I feel, I don’t know why.

There are several theories about where the phrase came from, but one of the more probable explanations is that it has something to do with playing cards. A pack that hadn’t been shuffled was said to be out of sort and not suitable for playing with.

Of course, being the pastor type, I immediately thought of the fabulous sermon illustration here. “Open your Bibles to the book of James. Consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds, because if your deck does not get shuffled from time to time, you will end up out of sorts.” Sheer genius.

I am not much of a card player. My cousin’s son (my second cousin? once removed? I can never figure that out) keeps inviting me to play poker with him on Facebook, but I doubt I’d fare very well. I like Pinochle, but I hardly ever play and must be reminded of the rules every time I do. Gertrude, my maternal grandmother, was an avid Bridge player, but she never taught me and then she died.

I am, however, a betting girl. I don’t actually do it with cash, but I almost always have little wagers going on with myself or I say to my husband and kids, “Wanna bet?”

If I were to wager on my current mood, I would bet that something is going on with me, something more than just a bad day. I have no idea what it is yet, but being out of sorts is kind of exciting, isn’t it? Beyond the funk and distress, after the questions and searching, past the fear and angst, there is the thrill of being different as a result of it all. As corny as it sounds, when my life feels wrong, God always shows me a new way to be.

Does God do the shuffling so that I will see? You ask a great question. I don’t know. There is evidence that proves He reaches His long arm out of the sky and plays Tonka toys with our lives and there is evidence that insists that He set the world (and His plan) in motion and does not intervene.

But, just in case it's the long arm thing, “Hey, God? It's Your turn. Go fish.”

I'm going for it!

via bits of life

Snob Kabob

You know those moments when God deals with your inner brat? I remember one time when I was verbally abusing Thomas Kinkade, painter of light, in front of my friend and his wife. I used words like “corny” and “cheesy” and generally acted as if I had a Picasso above my mantle. Naturally, the first time I was invited to their home, I learned that she was a Kinkade enthusiast in a matter of seconds. His framed prints were hanging in almost every room. I stood in the middle of all those streams of light and felt like each one was skewering me. My friend teased me about it for years, but never in front of his wife.

I used to have conversations with another friend, Ed, about these elitist tendencies of mine. I would look at him and say, “Who really wears chartreuse pants?” to which Ed would calmly reply, “That’s why there are vanilla and chocolate and 29 other Baskin-Robbins flavors,” as if chartreuse was a perfectly normal color and it could be served on a sugar cone.

The word “tolerance” has become a bad word for some Christians. Unfortunately, it has become associated with selling out, or failing to defend truth in the midst of a truthless culture. I’d like us to reconsider.

Christians should be the most tolerant people in the room. We should not only endure the screaming child on the airplane with patience but we should be the best listeners on the planet. I do not mean the kind of listening that includes thinking of a rebuttal while the other person is still talking. No, I’m talking about the kind of deep listening that hears what people are both saying and not saying, the kind of listening that leads to understanding.

One of my favorite pastor buddies sent me a fascinating quote that I’d like to share with you. My friend is reading Doug Padgitt's book, "A Christianity Worth Believing.” Here is what he offered me:

"That goodness extends into our integration with other people. Because each of us is connected to God, we are connected to each other as well. Christians like to talk about community, yet the dualistic assumptions surrounding our theology make it almost impossible for us to experience true community. As long as we hold on to 'us' and 'them' categories of seeing the world, we live behind a barricade that prevents us from joining in with God and others in real and meaningful ways. And it doesn't really matter who we decide 'them' is- the non-Christians, the sinners, the liberals, the conservatives, the Jews, the Catholics, that weird church on the other side of town. Division is division, no matter how righteous we want to make it sound."

Our insistence on defining and categorizing may just break God’s heart. I also suspect it leads to defending, which further separates us from one another. Jesus just may have meant the things He said about judging those who look, think, and live differently. WOW - what if He actually planned to change the world using love?

We have an inner brat. I think God wants to take a stab at it because it's a little tough to tolerate.