ID tags

This evening I had an interesting conversation about how people are so insulated from others in the world physically that they create elaborate virtual personal identities. These may range in scale from their specialized mobile phone ringtone to websites or blogs painstakingly designed all about them, or their vanity car tags and stickers that scream “THIS IS ME!!” Have we all grown out of the practice of interfacing with humans? **(warning of approaching rant)** One of the more annoying things that drives me nuts is the instant messaging on phones that distracts many of the dear -22 crowd from doing the jobs they are being paid for, or driving down the road, or sitting in a room with extended family. Their thumbtyped conversation takes precendence over all these things. They do not need to be social physically because they are doing it within the safety zone of cyberspace. I feel like an old bitty saying these things, but it underscore the egocentric nature of some of the younger crowd that I know. I was the most recently annoyed when the LIFEGAURD at the pool was too busy typing on his mobile to watch the pool patrons he was being paid to oversee.

Some of the most successful things on the market these days are things that need to be customized to be used. The ipod is a good example of this. The medium is the message- literally. Of course Apple does a fantastic job branding it- and it is now ubiquitous as are the accessories that point out who you are- not just the playlist. (What does your carrier look like?) No one wants to look the same as their chum (if you ever physically see them- you see their “branding” via computer screen.) This is such a departure from the cookie-cutter uniformity of the 50’s and early 60’s. I make no judgment of this- only to note that this customization seems an attempt by individuals to answer the “who am I?” in a virtual and material way through customization or personalization. People can recreate who they are- through their STUFF. People still desire community- as shown through the massively multiplayer online games, the solidarity behind a brand (Mac vs. PC), or their connection to an organization. The thing is, there are few in my generation who would pledge allegiance to the civic or church organizations that my parent’s generation did. Is there a fear of looking to dorky, or campy or “do-goody?”

This tangent has a destination- namely is this generation valuing how they look on their myspace page more how they contribute positively in the physical world? Are the opinions of their online community more important to them then their contribution to society generally speaking? It is no mistake that I post this on a blog… It is the modern day soap box or diary. Indeed I chose a design that I felt was suitable to the image I wished to portray, I chose images to populate the site, it is an originally work and really no different than what I describe above. I really don’t care too much who views my musings. I will not derive my “self-worth” from how others respond (or don’t) to my posts. This is so because I know who I am in Christ and a blog is simply a more convenient, albeit less private form of a journal.

Acts of Service

While soaking in some of my husband's love this line came to me...


We are all like little “sonflowers”- every loving act given to us, like rain, emboldens and fortifies us to reach closer to the Son.

God works it all out- he is so good. We have a few members of a band staying with us for the next few days. As always we are blessed as we open our home. Tonight at church I was watching a woman in front of me just reach out and love on 2 homeless women who were staying at the shelter our church was providing. Tearfully I was praising God for her love, and for the fact that these women made it to the service to rock out with the band while they stayed here. I can’t imagine not having a home… Every day I walk around this house of ours in wonder at how God has provided for our growing family.

This week in the local paper there was an article about a Girl Scout troop that meets with their moms in the penitentiary. Every Saturday the girls run to their moms that can’t tuck them in at night, or make sure that they have eaten right but meet and do crafts and have a snack. I love that they can have a semi-normal thing like meeting once a week for scouting within an otherwise bare and hostile environment. I was so saddened to hear that the son of a close friend of my husband’s family violated parole and is now serving a sentence for the next 7 years. His son will be 15 when he is released… What a tragedy. I hope he can make a way to continue his relationship with his family.

2nd year past

Another year was survived with the memory of our heaven-resident child. I sensed the date rather then knew it. It was a physical memory. 2 years have past. Though I didn't realize the date I felt a deep sadness. This year a bit easier than last, as the cliché regarding time goes. It is a raw pain, however, and comes up at unexpected and often inconvenient times. I am often surprised by the depth of pain… One tends to think that after a period of time the pain would net be as acute. Perhaps it is that it is not as persistent. One day I shall meet her. The children speak of her several times a week. Interesting the effect of lose of a sibling on those left in this reality. Our family has discussed the advantage of being the first to meet her and would we recognize her? Of course God, the God of details, has all that worked out for us and it is comforting to know that we do not have to be plagued by worries as the writer queried "Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven?" In the scripture it says that we will have new bodies in heaven. They also ask whether she will look like an adult or remain a baby. Leave it to children to wonder about things that can only be dreamt as no eye has seen those wonders.

I ponder if the reason I can't seem to name the dear one in my womb is because of the name that still haunt my thoughts as the "best" one I could think of. Today I am at 26 weeks. There is now a good chance of survival now, even if she were to arrive today. Amazing grace. That I am here in this way. Prayer has carried me here. Prayers whispered on the lips of children, spilled forth from cracked old lady’s lipsticked lips, prayers spoken in the clipped way of men uncomfortable with praying aloud about such intimacies, and moaned by my husband’s and my aching hearts.

Possibilities

A different scent has invaded the air so different from snow- spring! This spring for me, as a previous spring 8 years ago, holds a great deal of significance. There is a striking difference in me during the shared season separated by years. I am such a different person since my first borns. I am grateful that I am not the same after almost a decade! I think I have a bit more knowledge, am a bit more wise, know my shortcomings much better, am more humbled more frequently. And I have love. Lots more love. Praise God for that. Praise God for my dear husband without whom I would feel lost and who loves me in all of my many seasons. I feel like with love in my heart all things are possible. Matthew 19:26 . I feel like I am actually able to receive and give. I love love!

Spring and I are in synch with each other. As my body ceases to successfully conceal the little life within it so do the trees also shed any appearance of finality, but rather take on a look of significance and anticipation- a new beginning. Buds are blushing and swelling on the ends of branches, promising to burst forth at a time in the future. While these appearances promise and look ahead to a time in the future I am also aware of the importance of staying in the present. There are so many things that involve my presence in the present! I am also aware of how radically everything could change with a baby in the house after such a long period of time with older children. I pray that God is sowing seeds of patience and forbearance in my heart for that time of transition. I think specifically of our youngest and her status and enjoyment in being the baby of the house. I think also of one of our dear ones so concerned that this new sister may not resemble her. How exciting to see the plans that God has for our family!

The Show Must Go On

Detour
Left
The stage is over there
Quick
We must make the 4th Act (the 4th Act? Why so many Acts! How many more?)
If we are not present the show cannot go on


Exit
Missed
The orchestra whines on
Deafening
Stop. Silence fills the darkness (SILENT? Is that even possible?)
A single violin screeches, s c r e a m s

Passenger
Captive
Now a dramatic pause,
Mask On
Back at the 2nd Act (Hadn’t we progressed to the 4th? Where is the program?!)
Meaningless dialog

Lights
Blinding
Darken stage, house lights up
Bewilderment
Spotlights turn hot on our faces (Now wait just a minute here!! ME?)
Waiting for direction

4 Way Stop
Indecision
What are we to do now?
Direction?
Forced ad lib., symantical errors (what are my lines!??)
What Act are we in?

snow...

It is ironic that after my last post (my perennial distraction of gardens and spring) it snowed almost 18 inches! HA! This morning as I drove away from the house my children were noticing how glittery and sparkling the snow was. Everything in its season has a beauty unique to it.

The day after the dump came on the East Coast the kids (of course) could not wait to get out in it. After the initial drama of getting 5 kids ready for arctic conditions it was fun to watch them wade through snow that came past their knees. One of our sweet ones is sort of a snowman fanatic, so before she even left the door she was out with her carrots, sticks for arms and prunes for eyes. Finally the new sleds were put to use after waiting in the dry garage since Christmas. Unfortunately, the snow was so high they hardly had a chance to use them to their satisfaction. Hot chocolate and grilled cheese was enjoyed by all- especially by those manly shovelers who worked a great deal that day.

One benefit to snow is the incredible illumination that goes on indoors in the mornings from all the reflected light. It reminds me of the bible verse: Psalm 51:7 Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Mornings after snows when the sun approaches the horizon and goes on to break through in glorious rays- initially rainbow colored this part of the year- is a treat. It makes the cold mornings feel like a special treat.

Speaking of sun, I noticed how much longer it dallies in the sky before retiring for the night. I have to admit how much I benefit from even and extra 15 minutes! I feel so much more energized!

almost planting time...

Like a pioneer woman from the days of old, I am so happy to finally have a bit of land. We have a modest (mortgaged) piece of land here and the idea of spring has got me pretty excited. There are just so many planting opportunities! All the plants that I have looked at longingly I now have an opportunity to become friends with! Yipee!! I would like to plant a prayer garden. (Given that the frost date is less then a month from my due date it may take a great deal of prayer to put ANY such garden in!) HA! Being pregnant and contemplating a garden are redundant. Both anticipate blooms birthing and the need for nurture. Anyway, I am trying to get my list of biblical plants, plants that remind me of my savior and those that are sentimental to me since they were sentimental to family members. My grandmother always had clematis. Deep purple. The purple reminds me of Christ’s majesty. My grandmother was Catholic and Polish and took her religion seriously. I wonder what our conversations would look like if we spoke today. Would we talk about Christ? Do we really share His Spirit? I wonder about the mystery behind Catholicism. The Virgin Mary in particular and her place in Catholicism is so interesting to me. Evidently she was very special to my Aunt Joanne, my Godmother. I wonder why? I never asked. At her death I was asked to lay roses in the niche where the statue of Mary was. I remember feeling confused- why to Mary? Anyway roses will also be included- both for the memory of my Aunt and Grandmother, but also since it reminds me of the crown of thorns, and the entrance of sin into the world in the Garden. I wonder what species of beautiful flower friends I will never meet since the Curse took hold. I imagine that many were displaced as the thorns encroached upon their territory. I will also plant some sort of orchid. Orchids are indigenous on every continent of our blue planet- reminding me of God’s handicraft and that flower serving to testify to its creator. Also I would plant it as my wish for all people to know Him personally. Who knows? Their curiosity could start with just one flower. Other things I plan to plant- Israelites: onions and leeks (flowering) to remind me of their example of humanity. That we always wish for what we can’t have, but that God will provide what we need always. I have no idea where to find hyssop- but it is mentioned in a few key places, especially when Jesus is given sour wine on the end of a hyssop branch at the crucifixion. Thistle, bitter herbs or some sort, bleeding heart, fig, lilies, and butterfly bush will be included and “son” flowers will be sprinkled throughout since I adore them. I like the way sunflowers remind us to keep our eye on the “son” and a heavenly perspective even as we are rooted to the earth. All of creation truly testifies to our great Creator and Sustainer. I love that gardening is a way for me to meditate of Him. Of course it has its frustrations, among them pestilence, dirt, sweat, (sometimes) blood, never enough time or money to do it the way I want, and sometimes even tears…

Ishangi Family African Dancers

Today we went to see the Ishangi Family African Dancers. Wonderful experience! Uplifting in every sense of the word! Generations of tradition were represented on stage- from a 12 month old (who saw no reason to not sleep during tons of drumming) to a grandmother. The children in the audience responded so well to the good advice of the sage woman, who instructed them to live their life purposefully everyday and dedicate it to God. Their voices were musical as they explained their dances; their drum beats hypnotizing, and their words so encouraging to the group of rapt 5-8 year olds. My daughters were intrigued by their movements and their outfits. I loved to see that the forms their bodies took in dance were so similar to (East) Indian dances and American Indian dances. Drumming really brings out that ancient, base emotion, completely rooting one in the moment that is played.

Here is a song that they taught us:

KYE KYE KULE


Chorus:
Kye Kye Kule

Leader:
Kye Kye Kofisa

Chorus:
Kye Kye Kofisa

Leader:
Kofisa Langa

Chorus:
Kofisa Langa

Leader:
Langa Tsi Langa

Chrous:
Langa Tsi Langa

Leader:
Kum Alele

Chorus:
Kum Alele (Repeat)

Kye Kye Kule is a popular children's play song, chanted by young people from Ghana to Zaire. Children form a circle with one child in the middle. The child in the middle performs some physical movement that the other children copy. The child in the middle changes the movement as he starts the entire song over again. The child does movements standing, and then changes to floor movements. When he does the last movement on the floor, he jumps to his feet and the last child to get up will be the next one to lead the group. The purpose of the game is to teach leadership and the ability to take instructions, or follow an example.

You will see the ISHANGI children touch their hands to their head, shoulders, stomach, and then waist. Their dance says, "Almighty God, please give us strength for our heads, clothes for our shoulders, food for our tummies, and we will dance for you."

Sick One

Over warm from sickness
Hair silky on my cheek
Clinging to me we
Rock, rock, rock, and rock
Nighttime sounds far
From our cocooned microcosm
Cushioned among pillows and soft light

Your eyes are shiny from fever
Your cheeks painfully sweet in their pink heat
Tiny hands limp in exhaustion
Be gone! I scold the sickness within you
I praise God for the time to be
Chosen for this
To hold, to love, to be here

Not flesh of my flesh
But surely heart of my heart
So mature despite your stature
Dearest little one I delight in you
I pray you understand as time goes on
My commitment forever to you
Heart of my heart

CrazyMakers

There is a book that I read once called The Artist’s Way. The book is wonderful aid to those of us who make our living and our life creating things. It contains wonderful information that I would highly recommend to anyone who needs to have access to their right brains left consistently in an “on” position. There are tools and suggestions on how to stay in the habit of making art, staying creative, and generally doing one’s life work as we artsy-fartsy ladies and gents are compelled to do.

In this book the author describes someone that many of us have in our lives. Often (and unfortunately) there may be MORE than just one of these persons. These special people are described as Crazy-Makers. Tranquil moments of peace, quiet, objectivity and creativity quite simply are not possible in the general vicinity of such individuals. These people are often blocked creatives themselves, and are basically miserable. Perhaps it is that they try and distribute their own misery as a way to lighten their load? I can only imagine the myriad of reasons we become what we become- there are many motivations and reasons, and choices that are made. Indeed, there is a certain sadness I feel for such individuals, praying often for their safety and salvation, and that they may find joy and truth in their life. To my great disadvantage I am caught in the Wheel-o’-craziness when the Crazy-Makers in my life choose to commence the insanity. Certainly there are physical or psychological barricades that might be erected at the bugle call… but I have yet to find them. Since extracting myself is impossible, I have only the choices of how I will react when the Wheel rolls perilously into my path. Since as a former democrat I can’t bring myself to own a handgun, and as a Christian there is no way that I could USE a hand gun it is not an option.

I think I have discovered why people play violent video games.

a tender shoot
breaks
the soil as it ascends
tenacious

tender warmth it seeks
gentleness
droplets of rain
nourishment

north wind descends
screeches
flattens the delicate
shock


no roots to hold
fragile
Yellow leaves
withers

Sisterhood of Women

I have always loved women. Little girls, big girls, moms, women whose grey strands show the fruit of their labors-- I love them all. I feel so privileged to know so many amazing women. I am surrounded by a treasury of gifted, beautiful women.

I love to hear the stories of women as they struggle toward womanhood through being a wife or becoming a mother or a caretaker. The beauty of these stories often comes in the similarities that the stories have with one another. A recurring theme is often digested better when given in little parts. One needs to think on them, condense and distill them. There are truths to be learned. It is encouraging to know that the path of a woman is not one that is lonely or solitary, but is rich with the footsteps of those who have traveled before us and that travel next to us. These shared experiences are not lost on me and I crave to write them down, carve them in stone so they are not lost to the next generation as they start on their path. I am often rewarded to hear the stories of those who came before me, met the obstacles that I now meet, and with a practiced and wise word advise me on how to overcome. The hard-won gems of wisdom that are passed down to me, the blessed listener. I gather them together in the vault of my mind, a treasury to be shared with others or accessed myself in times of need.

We are so blessed to be women! To bear burdens, and cares, to bear fruit and bare breasts! When I was pregnant for the first time I wondered at the amazing role I had come upon- to bear precious lives; to be entrusted with such an amazing treasure- LIFE! Just after I gave birth, a woman came to keep me company over that first week of new-mom frenzy. She held out her arms as smiling she said “Welcome to the Sisterhood of Mothers!” She gave a name to the connectedness I felt driving home with my bundles of joy- sisterhood of mothers. This sisterhood is a sustaining force for me. I long to corral all the lone moms out there not connected to her sisters battling it on her on! Come forth! God did not intend us to be Lone Rangerette. We need to hear each other’s stories. We need to hear what God has done for us again and again.

That God would allow me to help in a small part of His creation- the joy! the privilege! He also allowed me the benefit of identifying with the sisterhood of those who lost a child also. Both experiences- of bringing forth lusty life and of quietly letting life slip away within the darkness of my womb- are precious treasures to me. They are gems that I would never barter away for all gleaming, twinkling ones in the world. Some gems of wisdom are cut with edges that bite into one’s skin and leave lasting marks. I grasp them all the same. I am grateful for both experiences. It only adds to my story. One that I hope to pass down and pass on that someone else not stumble on their path.

If not for my dh I am not sure I would have such a thing as a blog. (Even the word leaves something to be desired- it sounds more like a body function, or something one might stumble upon on a hike that a thing that one would contribute to by design.) They seem to be a thing that might threaten to devour the few minutes that I enjoy in a semi-state of solitude or peace. However, here I am, drawn to this gluttonous thing, wondering who (besides dh) may ever read this, and then what would I care to share to the general world?

Of course blogging about blogging must certainly be frowned upon. And so begins a bit of revelation... in a different post.

Some days a beautiful flower can change everything... sometimes that is all a person needs: a thing of beauty to contemplate, a moment to breath in the blessings around us.

It can change everything- for the better.

Just for you...

I create such a thing as a Blog. Yikes!