And the Weekend Word winner is...

I have NEVER been late posting the Weekend Word winner - but I guess there is a first for everything. I may have made you wait, but congratulations to:

Anonymous: "When an aggressive driver finds himself getting a ticket, it is hard for the others on the road to avoid schadenfreude."

Yeah, it's pretty sweet when that guy in the sports car that flew by you far too closely while going 110 miles per hour is seen with a state trooper sitting behind him as you now speed by. Schadenfreude, sweet, schadenfreude.

See you next week. Thanks to all the entrants. Anonymous: you are free to post an acceptance speech - or not.

Weekend Word 14

Did you miss the Weekend Word Contest last week? Did you lay awake at night longing for the chance to prove your wordsmith skills? Has your heart grown fonder after an oh so brief absence?

Never fear. Weekend Word is here.

Choose a VP, ask Hillary to pretend she's happy for you or start more drilling in Alaska, rub some aloe on your sunburn, and click on the word below. Use that word in a scintillating sentence and type it into the comments section. A winner will be declared on Sunday evening, 8/31, at 10:00 pm est.

schadenfreude

I will not be happy if you lose.

Beyond Obama

Regardless of who you vote for in November, here is a post worth reading. Click here.

Reconcilable Differences

"American voters nearly always elect a president who responds to the flaws they have found in his predecessor. Jimmy Carter was more honest than Richard Nixon; Ronald Reagan tougher than Carter; George H.W. Bush “kinder and gentler” than Reagan; Bill Clinton more in touch than Bush; George W. Bush more morally upright in his personal life than Clinton. In November, whether most voters pull the lever for John McCain or for Barack Obama, they’re likely to get a president who’s more competent than Bush. What’s less certain—but equally important—is whether they’ll get one who can be the uniter that Bush promised to be, rather than the divider he has been."

- Ronald Brownstein

Labor Day

I have decided to get a job. I’m not exactly starving yet, but I need something to do instead of wait. I am assembling a list of possible employers/positions.

1. Starbucks (or any other trendy coffee shop). Pros: get to serve people, love whipped cream. Cons: love whipped cream.

2. School cafeteria. Pros: on the same schedule as the kids. Cons: Hairnet.

3. Receptionist. Pros: get to sit. Cons: have to sit.

4. Waitress. Pros: I have experience. Cons: that experience makes me not want to do it again.

5. Weatherman (person). Pros: will always know when I need to take an umbrella to work. Cons: not sure I could figure out the green screen thing.

6. Car salesman (person). Pros: I love that “new car” smell. Cons: I’m a terrible driver.

7. Olympic athlete. Pros: seems fun. Cons: four more years until I get paid.

8. President of the United States. Pros: I’m not afraid to make speeches. Cons: Don’t have any clothes with a lapel – do you think I could wear my flag pin on my flip flops?

9. Dog sitter. Pros: I like animals. Cons: often forget to feed my own dog.

10. Go back to church work. Pros: I'm crazy about God. Cons: I'm crazy about God.

Well, it’s not like I don’t have options, right?

From french fries to moths - another Jesus sighting

Click here for video of the latest appearance of the Christ. Somewhat better than His face on a Cheetos puff, (and I don't question His choosing to show up at an RV repair shop) but the image looks more like Bruce Lee to me. Kung Fu messages from the grave?

Please post your home remedies

Having absolutely nothing to say today, I will spare you the forced conclusions and canned ideas that are usually produced when I write without inspiration.

Blocked, baby, blocked. I may take a nap or go out for butter brickle ice cream. Yesterday, I bathed the dog, but that didn’t help.

I have a counter on my blog that proves you are reading, but why so silent? I suspect you are far smarter and possess greater wit than I.

I have heard the theories of hiccup ceasing, but will holding my breath or eating spoonfuls of sugar birth creativity? Perhaps I should hang upside down for a while to stretch my diaphragm.

I may need chicken soup for the soul.

The Liberal Conservative Press

I often find myself in conversations where people are accusing the press of being either too liberal or too conservative. Yes, there are differing opinions depending on where you get your news (or what your news outlet tells you about its competition). Today, I read one of the most articulate articles on the press - and author Eric Boehlert doesn't feel the need to label anything. He simply uses the current media frenzy about the alleged tension between Obama and Clinton at the DNC as his proof. If you are interested, it is a great read. You may find the site either too liberal or too conservative, but they hunt for media inconsistencies, on both sides of the fence, pretty fervently.

the DNC

I have plenty of thoughts about the Democratic National Convention, but my perspective of Christians in politics is going through a transformation right now. SO, I will simply post what I consider one of its finest moments so far:

Manhunt

Eek! Summer is almost over. My kids are making the most of their final moments. One of their favorite activities is gathering friends to play Manhunt. Manhunt is a game that requires that you dress like a burglar, wait for the sun to set, go down the street to the kid-loaded cul de sac, and hunt for each other in the dark. The rules and strategies elude me, but the kids seem to understand it all perfectly, and they love it. I think it’s a little like flashlight tag - without the flashlights.

Last night, the boys rallied their two buds, put on their wool caps, and headed down the street to find the other masked men. With school starting in a few days, I have been trying to get us into a decent bedtime routine again, so when my friend Karen dropped them all off (her boys are the aforementioned “buds”) she informed them that someone would be returning in just over an hour to pick everyone up again. Within minutes, my phone was ringing and a protest was mounted.

“One hour is not enough time to play Manhunt, Mom.”

“Mom, school doesn’t start tomorrow, so what’s the big deal?”

“Some of the other players haven’t even shown up yet. We are already getting a late start, so we can’t leave early.”

In between each argument, I told Noah that the timeline was nonnegotiable, but he persisted. I could hear my other son, and the two buds, offering Noah bigger and better ways to dispute our unreasonable demands, and they kept asking him to “see if that works.” In the end, I threatened to pick them up in five minutes, instead of 60, and they relented with a begrudging, “Okay. Goodbye, Mom.” Click.

When I did go to pick them up, an hour later, they regaled me with stories of hiding and excitement and winning. They had a blast, and there was no mention of the killjoy early hour.

Later, after every child was tucked in bed, I was having a discussion with God about an attitude that I know He wants to rid me of. Frankly, it’s a feeling about a person. After a brief back-and-forth with God, I was reminded of Manhunt. Why do I refuse to hunt for the good in this man? Instead, I dwell on what bugs me.

Loving this man is nonnegotiable, no matter how good my arguments against it. I keep pointing out his flaws to “see if that works” but always end up realizing that God is not being a killjoy – He simply wants us all to win.

The Car Ride Home - a study in Mia

Outreach on I-95

For those of you who do not live anywhere near the east coast, we easterners travel something called the I-95 corridor. According to Wikipedia, “Interstate 95 (I-95) is the main highway on the East Coast of the United States, paralleling the Atlantic Ocean from Maine to Florida and serving some of the most populated urban areas in the country, including Boston, New York City, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, D.C., and Miami.” There have been stories about drug busts on our infamous I-95 and, Wikipedia also outlines “Notable Disasters” such as, “In March 1996, an illegal tire dump in the Port Richmond section of Philadelphia caught fire, destroying 22 spans of the Port Richmond viaduct. Although the fire occurred during the overnight hours, it caused major traffic delays within Philadelphia itself, along with the paralleling I-295 and the New Jersey Turnpike in New Jersey. The entire span and its support columns were replaced in an emergency repair project that took nearly 3 months to complete. The property owners were later convicted in both federal and state court.”

If you know I-95, you realize there are other notable disasters – especially if you have traveled between the Carolinas. If you are traveling south, there is the whole South of the Border nonsense, which quite literally may be the tackiest place on earth – and yet 8 million people stop and buy fireworks and eat a taco underneath a giant sombrero each year. If traveling north, you experience what I will call, “Outreach on I-95,” and it includes some of the most fascinating billboards I have ever seen. The plethora of billboards, that invade both sides of the highway, can be separated into three categories:

1) hotel and restaurant advertisements
2) topless bar advertisements
3) Jesus advertisements

Interestingly, the first two types promise comfort, fulfillment and hospitality. The third most often promises hell.

For a short stretch, it was every other billboard. One would simply say, “TOPLESS! TOPLESS! TOPLESS! Next exit” or the poetic, “We dare to bare.” Then the next would say, “It’s your choice! Heaven or HELL! Read John 3:36,” and there were two pictures – one of fluffy white clouds and the other of burning flames. Thankfully, my children were absorbed in a DVD (without any nudity and/or hell) so they did not notice or ask questions – but I was fascinated by this back and forth. It was almost like watching a competition or a volley.

I have no doubt that some well-intentioned churches are upset about the stripper ads and so they prayed and organized and raised funds to combat the problem. In my opinion, they have contributed to it instead, and unwittingly created a boxing match of sorts – one jab following another. The strange thing is, as I traveled along, neither advertising was appealing. The topless bars seemed seedy and pathetic, and Jesus seemed scathing and angry. Pathetic vs. angry.

Given the choice, I’d take the Cracker Barrel. You say, "Collard greens, next exit" and I'm in.

The Car Ride Home - a study in Noah

Post-vacation hues

I suspect that there is a very real disorder called, “Post-vacation blues,” and if there isn’t, we could invent it. One of us should commit a crime, and when the case goes to trial, we could use post-vacation blues syndrome as our defense strategy. Our attorney could say, “Your Honor, my client fully admits to the charges against him (or her – who will volunteer?) but he simply cannot be held responsible for his actions. You see, he was suffering from post-vacation blues syndrome and the defense plans to question several experts on this widely experienced disorder.” One by one, the rest of us could get on the stand and tell stories of mountains of laundry, empty refrigerators, sand in the house, lonely pets starving for attention, piles of mail, overgrown lawns, and the return to regular routines – and how the sudden onset of these stressors, after days of relaxation and fun, make one behave in strange and unpredictable ways. I bet the verdict would be, “NOT guilty.” Surely the members of the jury have gone on vacation once or twice.

I also have post-vacation yellows. In many ways, I’m glad to be home. I like my life and so returning to it is not a bummer. In between the loads of laundry, I went to the grocery store and ran into two friends, visited with my parents who I was happy to see, stopped to see my friend Bob, pet the dog’s tummy, started to return phone calls and emails (some of which were from friends that I adore), and read all the back to school information that came in the mail while we were gone.

Isn’t it funny how you can feel two completely different ways about the same event or situation or circumstance? The hues of life, although sometimes bold and easily recognized, often overlap to create new and muted colors of ambivalence in between. In my case, it’s post-vacation green (blue and yellow) which is actually funny because I have not one dollar to my name after last week.

I love that I do not always have to decide or define everything. Often it is really okay to just acknowledge the intersecting hues and live bathed in them – in the midst of the tension and lack of clarity that they produce. Sure, there are things I know for certain, and those I aim to be and do, but there are other areas of life that are, well, greenish. Sometimes, I am tempted to invent colors so that I can feel decided. It’s crazy, but I want to declare, “RED!” even when it’s more of a brick or sienna or burnt ember. Red is so primary, so definite, so guaranteed. It makes me feel safe when I confine my life within the 8 crayon box, you know? That big ol’ box of 64 is a little frightening.

So, I’m home and I’m green (ish) and I’m questioning what I think I know. It’s good to be back.

You deserve a break today

This blog has officially gone south for vacation. I am a little uptight that it decided to go somewhere without me, but we have been spending an awful lot of time together in a rather small space, so I guess it needed some "ME" time. I packed it some sun screen and watched it drive away.

Even though I will miss it, the blog has assured me it will be returning on Monday, August 25th, bright and early eastern standard time.

Until then,

Wendy xoxo

In the middle

My oldest son, Noah, and I went out for breakfast together yesterday. The other two were with friends, so Noah and I headed to a local haunt called Yanni’s – just the two of us.

Noah starts middle school in a few weeks. He is a great story teller, his language is rich and full of descriptive details. He makes faces that support his humor and I LOVE to be with him. We ordered omelets and toast.

Midway through the meal, we talked about middle school. I have never sent for one of those government sponsored pamphlets on How to Talk to Your Kids about Drugs or anything, I just asked him how he was feeling about a new school, a new grade – about the new.

I remember when I was young, I would have nervousness about new experiences. I didn’t avoid them, but I gave myself little pep talks with every first step. I went to 9 schools in 12 years, so I was often the new kid, and I can still recall the feeling in my stomach on my first day – looking at the entrance doors as if they were a portal to the completely unknown.

Noah is not me. He had one orientation meeting last spring that lasted about 2 hours, but he feels like he knows the layout already. He is eager to meet new people and try out for the basketball team in late fall. He has queried some kids he knows from the higher grades and feels so excited to be a part of what they’ve described. I love it.

As we were finishing up, I looked over the booth at him and said, “You know how much I love you, right? I have all the faith in the world in you, Noah. Always remember who you are and Whose you are, because you are a great kid and you are loved no matter what.”

He made a goofy face, rolled his eyes, and said, “Who doesn’t love Noah?” I let him be a strange and awkward 12 year old boy whose mother had just gone over the line in a diner. We then talked about the MLB scores from the night before.

Our plates clean, I paid the waitress and we got up to leave. An elderly couple was leaving too, and Noah ran ahead to hold the door for them. Then, as we walked silently to the car, he grabbed my neck and hugged me in a headlock all the way.

One of those MUST reads

Take a minute to click here and read about James Hoyt. Be sure to read it all. Hero? Definitely. But at what price?

We were not made to hurt each other.

Thomas Merton on billboards

What about the men who run around the countryside painting signs that say "Jesus saves" and "Prepare to meet God"? Have you ever seen one of them? I have not, but I often try to imagine them, and I wonder what goes on in their minds. Strangely, their signs do not make me think of Jesus, but of them. Or perhaps it is "their Jesus" who gets in the way and makes all thought of Jesus impossible. They wish to force their Jesus upon us, and He is perhaps only a projection of themselves. They seem to be at times threatening the world with judgement and at other times promising it mercy. But are they asking simply to be loved and recognized and valued, for themselves?

In any case, their Jesus is quite different from mine. But because their concept is different, should I reject it with horror, with distaste? If I do, perhaps I reject something in my own self that I no longer recognize to be there. And in any case, if I can tolerate their Jesus then I can accept and love them. Or I can at least conceive of doing so.

Let not their Jesus be a barrier between us, or they will be a barrier between us and Jesus.

- Thomas Merton here

SALSA! evangelism

Every year my husband puts tomato plants in his box gardens. In the spring, it is exciting and hopeful to dig a hole for the small fruitless plants and Steve envisions a bountiful harvest as he tenderly places them into the ground.

The harvest does come, and Steve is psyched, but it is I who must figure out what to do with all these $^&#(*@ tomatoes every August. This year, I am making salsa.

I am experimenting with different recipes because I have become ambitious enough to actually do some canning, but want to discover my signature salsa before I start giving away jars of it at Christmas time. Should I only use the red tomatoes (we have golden ones too)? Should it be a mango or peach variety (we don’t grow either)? Is the cilantro too strong in this one? Red or white onion? What will I call my Mexican masterpiece?

I watched a movie that had salsa dancing in it over the winter. Man, it was cool. The way they moved and how free they looked. It is a very contagious dance that requires some seriously loose hips. People who grew up in white, suburban, evangelical churches usually have stiff hips, but I got up to try it anyway and it felt great.

I want my canned salsa to make people dance. The feeling it gives your tongue should inspire spicy hip action. One dip of the chip and people should yell, “SALSA!” and start shaking their sombreros.

People could come from far and wide to taste the dance inducing condiment and we’d have to widen the driveway. I’d look into hiring bands for the front yard, and the music and laughter would waft through the air as people danced with abandon. Lack of rhythm or dancing attire will be of no consequence, because SALSA! would be a movement that surpassed the superficial.

Soon others would discover that they, too, can make salsa. I will freely give the recipe away and parties would spring up all over the place. The better dancers, instead of insisting on spotlight dances, will happily teach the newbies their moves. Sounds and phrases would include, “I’d rather do this than anything else” and that would included fighting, and foreclosing and fast food. Tomatoes and world peace.

SALSA!

You may need to look up visceral

Many years ago, I took my husband and his brother to a movie called, “The Crying Game.” The film had generated a lot of buzz, and it seemed like my kind of buzz, so even though the guys wanted to see some action flick, they went with me.

I doubt that I am being a spoiler at this point since it came out in 1992 – but if you haven’t seen it and want to, I suggest you don’t read today’s post. It really is a great and interesting film on many levels and you should view it with no expectations or preconceived ideas.

Anyway, for those of you continuing on, (last chance before SPOILER) at the end of the movie the audience discovers that one character, that we truly thought was a woman, is actually a man. It is a shocking and amazing revelation that makes you gasp for air for about 10 whole seconds. I found the moment fascinating and still consider it to be the most visceral response I’ve ever had at the movies. I felt it inside me.

My husband and brother in law were also shocked, but I suspect their gut reaction was different than mine. But I should let them speak for themselves.

Right now in my life I am in the midst of A Waiting Game, and I am experiencing a different kind of buzz. I think I am finally getting to a point where I can be excited about waiting because I have learned that no matter what happens, I can trust God. Even when I don’t get my way (sometimes especially when I don’t get my way) the learning and grace born within me have been irreplaceable, so why not start to live excited about what will happen inside me, regardless of what happens outside me?

I can remember several years ago, when something unexpected and wonderful happened, I was walking around using phrases like, “Isn’t God amazing?” and “I’m just shocked by God’s goodness.” A friend of mine, named Trudy, looked at me with a smile and said, “I am no longer shocked when these things happen, because I’ve learned that’s just how God operates.”

Thankful? Yes. Hopeful? Indeed. Eager? A little. Excitement diarrhea? You bet.

But shocked? Not this time.

Games

I finally got an opportunity to watch the Olympics last night. While I did, I played a game of Dutch Blitz with my daughter. Dutch Blitz is a Pennsylvania Dutch card game that requires quick thinking and quick hands. Just when I was feeling pretty quick, I watched the men’s gymnastic team from China.

WOW! The strength, control and timing required to perform the floor exercises that I witnessed was almost overwhelming. Simply fabulous.

Have you noticed the VISA commercials that are running during these games? They feature different athletes, but always say, “Go World!” at the end. I LOVE these ads.

How psyched were you when that young Korean swimmer, Park Taehwan, (the one that fell into the pool in Athens 2004 and was embarrassingly disqualified) won gold!?!? I cheered and even had a tear as I watched his sense of self be restored and thought of Korea having its first EVER swimming medal. Or how about the Australian boxer whose name is Brad Pitt? He said, of the famous celebrity that shares his name, “He can get another, this is my name.” The USA’s Michael Phelps, raised by a single mother, seems to glide through the water on his way to victory. And, of course, Abhinav Bindra won India's first ever individual gold medal, winning the 10m air rifle event.

But the most profound Olympic moment for me so far, was the hug between the sharp shooters from Georgia and Russia. While their respective countries solve conflict with guns, they used theirs to promote peace.

Go, world, go.

What do you suppose God thinks of the Olympics?

Queen Victoria

If you are a regular blog reader, you probably realize that the Victoria Osteen trial is a bit of news that I could never pass up. As a matter of fact, this post is a real test of my grace-o-meter. First, I realize that I do not know all the facts, but then I consider the other fact that I do not work for Fox News, so there is no need to be fair and balanced. I then ponder how criticism helps anyone, yet I also believe that a good dose of, “wake up, church” is often in order. Decisions, decisions…

I think, in the interest of innocent until proven guilty and “Do not judge”, we should just stick to what we DO know for sure, ok? Let’s look at what BOTH parties agree on.

After Mrs. Osteen discovered a stain on the armrest of her first class seat, she alerted the flight attendants to it and was handed some napkins to remove it. After being handed the napkins, Victoria looked at the flight attendant and said, “It’s not my job.”

I have this little game I play with myself when I get that uneasy feeling in my gut about a church or a well-publicized ministry but do not want to judge. I imagine Mother Teresa’s reaction to being there or seeing it. I used to do it with my own church with the IMAG and fancy décor and deluxe children’s theater. In my mind’s eye, I would always see Mother Teresa not scolding us for those things, but turning and saying, “Tell me what you do outside this facility.”

For Victoria to declare, “It’s not my job,” tells us a lot about her, doesn’t it? Imagine Mother Teresa in the same situation.

When we claim to be followers of Christ, there is always the pesky problem of His words, you know? What if Jesus really meant the things He said – wouldn’t that be something? For instance:

“For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." (Mark 10:45)

The flight attendant is claiming that she has anxiety, hemorrhoids and loss of faith as a result of her encounter with Victoria. I do not know about the physical ailments, but loss of faith I’m inclined to believe. Imagine what would have happened inside the flight attendant’s heart if beautiful, successful, on-TV Mrs. Osteen had taken the napkins and bent down to scrub her armrest in an effort to make the flight attendant’s life a little easier. One small humble and serving gesture would have changed the course of both their lives.

And the Weekend Word winner is...

Well, I think the Weekend Word has seen better days. Summer? Uninteresting? People like their vocabularies as is?

Who knows?

This week's winner, without doubt, is:

Jared: "As I flip through the channels and come across the "god channel", I often wonder if a pukka conversation has ever been aired over that station."

Honorable mention to Kristopher. Thanks for playing, guys. xoxoxo

Weekend Word 14

Well, John Edwards admits an extramarital affair and Victoria Osteen does not apparently ask WWJD? when aboard airplanes, so I thought our Weekend Word would be a gentle and timely reminder for us all.

Pay for your second suitcase, remove the stain from your first class seat, deny paternity and click on the word below. Use said word in an engaging and thought-provoking sentence and post that sentence in the comments section before 10 p.m. est on Sunday. I will then call the National Enquirer and give them a winner.

pukka

And, no, it's not pronounced PUKE-a, although when I see the Osteen's board game, I want to.

Sleeping pale

My mother had major abdominal surgery yesterday. We knew she needed a procedure, but it ended up being more involved than we originally thought. Mia and I sat with my Dad in the waiting room while Mom was in recovery.

The day before, I asked her how she was holding up. She was nervous, but Mom has always been a bit of a weenie, so I listened to her concerns, all the while thinking about the three C-sections I have survived. She would be fine.

The doctors came out and told my Dad that the operation went smoothly, “textbook” was the term they used, and Mom would be asleep for awhile. We grabbed Mia by the hand and headed down to the hospital cafeteria – one of the best I have ever seen – and we had salads for lunch. My daughter talked Grandpa into a chocolate chip cookie as we headed back to the elevators.

Mom had been moved to a room, so we made our way to her new digs, happy to drop off the books and clothes that we were lugging around. We found the right room number, walked past her roommate in Bed #1, looked behind a curtain, and there she was.

I didn’t actually make an audible noise I don’t think, but inside I experienced an emotional hiccup. My mother looked so small, so pale, and she had all kinds of gadgets attached to her. She was still sound asleep, but her breathing was shallow and hindered by the tubes in her nose.

After a quick glance to check my daughter’s reaction (she was helping Grandpa find a place to put Grandma’s suitcase) I looked down at my mother. Her body had experienced a trauma, and I thought of how it was working frantically to heal itself, red blood cells rushing to clot and brain synapses alerting her to pain.

For the very first time, I was shaken into considering what life would be like without my Mom. I would really miss her if anything ever happened to her. Really. I stood there wanting to cry, realizing that I was, in fact, the weenie. I wanted to take away her pain and anxiety, to thank her for being great, to wake her up.

As the minutes ticked by I started to get over the initial shock of it all. I focused on figuring out how to use the TV remote, watched a cooking show with Mia, became perturbed because Mom’s IV drip alarm kept malfunctioning, had a discussion with my Dad about the new book he is reading, and patiently listened to the beautiful sound of my mother’s snore.

Good fortune

I went out for Chinese last night. My friend Diana had a rough day, so we decided to eat Lo Mein. Steve, the kids – we all went. The food was good, the friends were good, the conversation was good, the laughter was really good.

Diana fought cancer this year, and for all intents and purposes, she and God won. Her doctor says her numbers are great, she has a full head of hair, and she is back to work. I think the hard part now is dealing with the post-cancer feelings. She’s been in survival mode for so long, where does all that intensity go now?

Our lives have been busy lately and it was great to see her and great to be seen. I waited on the bench in front of our house because I was eager to see her Mustang turn into the driveway. I smiled and hugged her, and soon the kids were doing the same.

The maitre' de at the restaurant did a whole shtick while delivering the menus. He claimed that after you eat the Amazing Shrimp, you will scream for joy in the parking lot afterwards. Diana decided to test his assertion.

So, after we ate Governor’s Chicken, Amazing Shrimp, Crabmeat Cream Cheese Wontons, and Colossal Shrimp with papaya (yum), we were served our fortune cookies. The Melchior’s are kind of stupid about fortune cookies. We carefully select which one we believe is fated to be ours, then we read them one by one while the rest of the group listens.

Noah read: “You can overcome any obstacle.” I laughed inside as I thought of how my son had hunted down the phone number of the out of town girl he’d met at camp, finally asking her father’s permission (through me) to give her a call.

Steve read: “You love a challenge.” My husband, the consummate salesperson, who thinks “by commission” is the only way to earn a living.

Mia read: “An unexpected surprise awaits you,” which I wondered about quizzically until we came home and discovered one of the cat’s hairballs on the bed.

J.J. read: “You love the nightlife.” Extremely frightening for his mother, but I must admit that if any of my children will ever get arrested – it will be J.J.

Diana, who was thrilled that the cookies were dipped in chocolate, opened hers and grinned. She looked up at me and said, “This you won’t believe. Mine says, ‘God will help you overcome any hardship.’”

Besides the fact that I have never before seen a Chinese fortune that referred to God, I had this feeling in my gut that God loves a coincidence. I’m not saying He planted the fortune, but I think He loved it when she was assured.

We left and returned to my house. I had to leave (another all-nighter with my editor buddy) and so I hugged and kissed her goodbye in the driveway. She wasn’t exactly screaming for joy, but there was definitely a spring in her step that wasn’t there before she experienced Amazing Shrimp and a bit of good fortune.

My cookie? After listening to everyone else read theirs, I eagerly opened mine. They had all been so perfect, so fitting to their possessors. I was sure mine would say something like, “Your book will appear on the NY Times bestseller list for at least a kajillion weeks,” or “Oprah’s Book Club here you come!” or at the very least, “You will lose the extra weight without dieting.” You know, something ideal for ME.

But, alas, my slip of paper read, “You are attracted to ancient Chinese culture.” I'm sure God got a big kick out of that one, too.

Things Philadelphians say

- Bil Keane, Family Circus cartoonist

Dancing with myself

I got another job offer yesterday. Over the past months, churches have been calling to see what I’m thinking about the/my future. The church that called this week is in California, a good church, but here’s what happened…

I could not articulate my current status. ME – usually full of words – had no idea what to say. So, I was honest about it:

“I don’t really know how to articulate what I’m thinking right now, because I’m not sure what I’m thinking. I’m not in distress, mind you, just wordless.” To which the person on the other end of the phone said:

“You’re too valuable to sit and do nothing.”

I considered his statement. NOTHING?? Wow, I hadn’t really seen these past months as doing nothing. Sure, they’ve been the quietest of my life, but quiet does not mean empty. In an effort to receive feedback without defensiveness, I decided to make a quick list, just to evaluate the fullness of my recent months.

1. One day, when the writing was slow and my heart still broken, I turned on some music really loud and danced in my bedroom like I used to when I was 12. I danced with abandon and sang along with full voice. The Rolling Stones, Amy Winehouse, a few tender moments with Simon & Garfunkel…I danced myself to breathlessness.
2. I’ve made tons of new friends including Debbie, the cashier at the grocery store whose husband left her three years ago and she met this other guy but even though he’s really nice she isn’t sure how her children will respond because they are still so hurt by their father but she is having trouble paying for the house by herself so getting married again is a financially wise thing to do and she really does think she loves him because he listens in a way her husband never did and would I please pray?….we talk every Monday because she waits until I arrive to take her break.
3. I originally said I was going to clean out all the closets in the house, but I haven’t done that yet.
4. I read a lot. Early on, I read books about publishing, moved on to periodicals about theology, and ended up in fiction – a luxury genre I haven’t waded through in years. I just finished A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. I spent several days enjoying the author’s gift for words and ideas, his passion for his people, his style and tempo. After finishing, I realized that I had borrowed the book from someone instead of paying Mr. Hosseini for his work. Even though I had read every page, I went out and bought my own copy.
5. When JJ forgot his saxophone or missed the bus or left his Science folder on his bed or dropped his Math homework or lost his thermos or couldn’t find his cleats – Mom was here to rescue. I’ve made lunch all summer too.
6. Diana, my dear friend, struggled with leukemia this year. Guess who had the privilege of driving her to most treatments?
7. I wrote a book.
8. I’ve been all alone. After Steve leaves for work, and the kids go to school, I have been all by myself. Well, me and God. We talk a whole lot. When He’s ready and I’m ready, He’ll give me words.

Thanks for caring, and thanks for the offer, but I’m a busy, busy bee.

I heart Stephen Colbert

"Does everybody see what's happening here? I am not doing something I planned on doing just because of how it might affect someone else. I'm pretty impressed with myself right now....I am deeply moved by me."

Stephen Colbert, on refusing to make fun of columnist Robert Novak's traffic accident because it was discovered he has a brain tumor. The Colbert Report, Aug. 4, 2008

God Cogs - Joining the Resistance

While at children’s camp last week, the speaker created a top ten list of “ways kids can stay pure.” No, he wasn’t specifically talking about sexual purity, he was talking about heart purity – which I’m a big fan of. Naturally, the list made my head want to explode, particularly #5 which was, “Make up your mind to be pure.”

A large part of the reason that I think the church in North America is in the trouble she’s in is that we have taught people to join the Resistance. I have said it before on this blog, but “Where there’s a will there’s a way” is an out and out lie, but we keep teaching some form of it from our pulpits, to our children, and heaven help us, even to our teenagers.

Yesterday, we told ourselves the truth about ourselves (or asked someone else to). Many of the fill-in-the-blank obstacles we face are created by feelings and perceived needs. I feel left out. I need to be in charge. I need you to love me. I feel alone. I need to understand. I feel unimportant. I need to be right.

Most of us struggle with being mastered by our feelings – such as anger, fear, sexual attraction, desire for food, need to look good, rehearsing how victimized we are – you get what I mean here? And here’s the root of the problem since we’re not faking:

WE BELIEVE IN OUR HEART OF HEARTS THAT OUR FEELINGS ARE THERE TO BE SATISFIED. Some of us are better at managing the problem no doubt, but most of us live motivated by what we feel, even if we claim we don’t.

But here’s what I think Jesus wants us to realize: THE PERSON WHO HAPPILY LETS GOD BE GOD ACCEPTS THAT FEELINGS DO NOT NECESSARILY EXIST TO BE FULFILLED.

As a matter of fact, once we get our arms around the truth of it, we understand that the most satisfied among us are those who are not dictated by feelings.

So what, we resist them? We fight them? We stifle them? We deny them? How do we rid ourselves of our “fill in the blank?”

The more we open our lives up to God, and embody His gospel, the more His very Person fills us and permeates our insides, ultimately crowding out the feelings that are an obstacle to kingdom life. He both removes and transforms that which is out of control within us, and one of the fruits of His indwelling presence is self-control. Apart from Him, resistance is a myth.

And what feelings will dominate a life that has been inwardly transformed by Christ? Feelings of love, joy, patience – and the underlying peace associated with these feelings – will begin to mark our lives. Not overnight, but over time.

Not yet awake

I was really tired this weekend – the kind of in your bones tired that makes your arms heavy and your legs slow. I slept more than usual, but when I was awake, I spent a little time reflecting on last week’s camp experience.

Here’s the thing, and "the thing" is coming to me slowly, but this is what I’ve got so far. It is perfectly okay for me to have questions for the church, to force us to think about what in the world we are doing and why. It is not okay for me to ask those questions in an unloving way.

It is sort of my thing to ask questions, right? I honestly love a good question far more than a good answer. But what if I let questioning define me? What if it becomes who I am?

I used to ask the 20somethings that I pastored to ask themselves a simple fill-in-the-blank question:

Who would I be if I weren’t so _________________ ?

Take a second and imagine that someone who knows you well is right near you – a real friend - not the kind that just tells you what you want to hear for fear you won’t like him or her anymore and now imagine yourself asking this person what he or she would change about you if it were possible. Or, if someone is actually in the room - ask - but remember how much the truth hurts before you do such a thing, ok?

Let me help you out with some examples: Wendy, what would you be if you weren’t so IMPULSIVE (on the ledge)…OPINIONATED (which I often mask with the word passionate)….FUNNY (which often covers up my sarcasm).

You get the idea? There’s plethora of answers if you’re honest with yourself: lazy, afraid, self-absorbed, controlling, attention seeking, angry, addicted, sad, gifted…

What I think happens to us is we figure out our obstacles, but then we fall into the next trap. We choose the strategy of resisting these feelings instead of changing or replacing them. This eventually leads a person to ruin, because we simply can’t do it.

Ask yourself the question today. God Cog tomorrow.

And the Weekend Word winner is...

Well, the winner was decided by committee tonight. We finally celebrated Noah's birthday (belatedly) and since his claque is here at the house, we huddled around the laptop and took a vote.

The unanimous winner is:

Militia207 If a claque goes into the woods can you hear them clap ??????

Many thanks to all the participants. Militia207 - we, your claque, applaud you. Acceptance speech expected.

Weekend Word 13

I made it home from camp and promptly fell asleep (even before I managed to shower). My fabulous husband made dinner and now I am catching up on emails and messages that need replies.

If you are new to the Weekend Word Contest, those of us who play each week swear it is the fountain of youth AND are considered far more pretentious by our friends and neighbors than we ever were before. Young and elitist - what could be better than that?

Launder out the camp smell, grab a riding crop, wear an ascot and click on the word below. Mull over the definition, but be sure and use it in an engaging and thrilling sentence before 10 p.m. est on Sunday night. It is then I will read each one in the comments section below and announce the winner.

I refuse to be discouraged with the Weekend Word. Although admirers are few, I am considering hiring some.

claque

And the crowd goes wild...

TGIF

I was rereading some of my posts from the never-ending camp experience, which just happens to be ending today, and I need to be clear.

Yes, I’m still fed up with the fact that we continue to prepare people, even children, to die but we never learn how to live. Yes, I got a new bed, but the mattress has so many holes in the top that the girls saw a few bugs crawl out today (I am sitting on it right now). Yes, I will only eat fruits and vegetables for the next six months. Yes, I want to go home.

And, yes, I want to bring each and every girl with me.

As we have lived together, we have learned about each other. One girl’s father died before she was born and her mom chooses to live with her boyfriend, so my small friend lives with grandma. Another girl, who also lives with grandma, was abandoned by her mom as an infant and her father is a long-haul truck driver. One young girl told me that her parents are getting a divorce, but don’t have enough money to live apart so they just fight all the time. Another girl has one brother in the Marines and one in jail. One little girl has a learning disability and one goes home to eight brothers and sisters.

They are each unique and special and deeply loved by God – and now by me. I have complained about camp, they found respite here. Here’s hoping that questionable theology is outweighed by goodnight hugs, holding hands on scary waterslides, eating unhealthy food together, long bus rides and playing a lot of hairdresser (they were the dressers, I was the hair).

Maybe I’m only half glad it’s Friday.