Reading Challenge

Periodically one of my friends posts something online about taking part in a reading challenge. Such a challenge typically involves coming up with a list of books to read in a given period of time. There was a time I would have embraced so worthy a goal, but these days it sends me running in the opposite direction. You see, I don't like failure. Avoiding situations in which its occurrence is predestined is one of my basic guiding principles.

Still, I do believe in the value of reading, and by "reading" I mean "reading books." I worry that in our headline-driven, Twitter-dominated society, human beings, myself included, are losing the ability to concentrate on complex ideas for extended periods of time. I also miss the joy I used to take in getting lost in a good book. So last year I created my own reading challenge, which goes something like this: "Pick out a book and read it." 

You think I'm joking. I'm not. Right now, it's the best I can do. And for the most part, it's working for me. I've read more books over the last year than I've read over the last five years. I'm not going to tell you how many books that actually is.

Recently, though, I seem to have hit a snag. I have tried one book and another and nothing has grabbed me. So I finally did the obvious thing: I asked my daughter for a suggestion. She readily obliged, and I started the book she gave me a few nights ago night. At this writing I am ten chapters in.

The book is The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, one of Caitlin's favorite YA (Young Adult) authors. I am impressed. The story is engaging, and so is the first person narrator. But one of the things I am most appreciating is the style. For me style is as important as story. When it comes right down to it, plot lines can be reduced to a few essential arcs. People are born. They die. Along the way they do stuff. The greatness of a book is in the telling, in the ability to memorably and freshly cut to the truth of a situation in a way that makes you say, "Yes, that is exactly it." I am seeing this characteristic in abundance in The Fault in Our Stars. I am also meeting characters who are real and likable and intelligent. The book does not come across as one written for teenagers. It is devoid of clichés. It is a book about the human condition, and that is something that has no age limit. Here is an example that I think can be understood and appreciated without context or comment.

"She didn't want to dump a blind guy," I said. He nodded, the tears not like tears so much as a quiet metronome--steady, endless.

"She said she couldn't handle it," he told me. "I'm about to lose my eyesight and she can't handle it."

I was thinking about the word handle, and all the unholdable things that get handled. "I'm sorry," I said.

He wiped his sopping face with a sleeve. Behind his glasses, Isaac's eyes seemed so big that everything else on his face kind of disappeared and it was just these disembodied floating eyes staring at me--one real, one glass. "It's unacceptable," he told me. "It's totally unacceptable."

"Well, to be fair," I said, "I mean, she probably can't handle it. Neither can you, but she doesn't have to handle it. And you do."

"I kept saying 'always' to her today, 'always always always,' and she just kept talking over me and not saying it back. It was like I was already gone, you know? 'Always' was a promise! How can you just break the promise?"

"Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them," I said.

Isaac shot me a look. "Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway. Don't you believe in true love?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have an answer. But I thought that if true love did exist, that was a pretty good definition of it.

There's a lot more where that came from. I think I'll get back to reading. And when I'm done I'll ask a girl named Caitlin what my next book should be. 

A New Blog

Several weeks ago, one of my online Lutheran friends launched a new blog. It is distinctive in that it is written by women, for women. The result is promising, and I encourage you to check out Sister, Daughter, Mother, Wife. You might recognize the author of today's installment.

Rethinking Worship

This is one of the best things I have read on worship in a long time.

"Many congregations lose the Divine Service in what turns into little more than a performance. Other congregations, on the other hand, take a functionalistic view. As long as there is an organist, six or seven hymns we all like, and a liturgy, we’re fine.

Can I just say that neither attitude, it seems to me, really upholds the Divine Service and the gifts Christ gives in it?"

Read the rest here.

First Day of May

It was a race this morning to see who could find and post it first. Phillip won. That's okay with me because we're in this together and for the first time in a long time, it feels like a new beginning. Thank you, dear Father in heaven, for this and all the days you so graciously give.

And the light between us
Which we could not quite extinguish
Which we see at dawn
Burns on

First day of May
Things are beginning
Our side is winning
Hip hip hooray
Made in the shade
Deep in the shadow
Down by the meadow
Lie in my arms

And the moon will rise
Before our very eyes
We will rise too
I'll be with you
It's a rite of spring
A horizontal thing
The sweetest sort of dance
Hidden in among the plants

Ha ha ha ha
People are laughing
Children are singing
Come join the dance

And the walls around us
Which we kept at such a cost
When we turned around
Came tumbling down

Ha ha ha ha
She can't stop laughing
He can't stop singing
First day of May

 

She's Like the Wind

For those of you who also follow my daughter's blog, she has changed her URL. Yes, again. :-) You can now find her at the edge of everywhere (in my estimation a very good place to be, seeing as how you'll be running into a girl named Caitlin there). Link below.

edge-of-everywhere.blogspot.com

We have a winner!

For months now a certain young woman of our household has been weighing the pros and cons of several institutions of higher learning that have been vying for her matriculation. As of yesterday, we have a victor. Come August, Caitlin will be enrolling at Truman State University!

The wonderful thing about this is that Truman has mostly been Caitlin's preference all along. It is known for rigorous liberal arts, is academically strong, is on the smallish side as colleges go (6,000 students), economical by today's standards (out-of-state cost around $22,000/year), and is in the quiet town of Kirksville, Missouri (population about 17,000). It is appealing geographically (we can drive there in seven hours.) There is a Lutheran campus center and an LCMS church in town that picks up the students for worship on Sunday. Truman advertises itself as the most selective public institution in Missouri and is consistently on various national "best" lists. Throughout Caitlin's search Truman has been the most communicative and attentive, reaching out to her repeatedly with phone calls, mailings, and personal messages, including from the Director of Admissions. Truman was first in line with a clear and competitive scholarship and financial aid package, and we were tempted to have Caitlin accept it before now. But mindful of the importance of this decision, and knowing Caitlin had until May 1 to accept, we advised her to wait and watch to see if there might be something else forthcoming from one of the other schools she was considering that would put them ahead. And, of course, we prayed that the way would be made clear.

In sum, there has been nothing from any other school to surpass the offer from Truman, and a few weeks ago Caitlin received notice that they had enhanced their original offer to the tune of another $1000/year. Woo-hoo! We are thrilled, and Caitlin is so relieved to finally have some closure and to be able to start making concrete plans. Here we go again with number two and all the excitement mixed with sadness that that entails for Caitlin's parents. This week we are getting a taste of what life will be like in the fall with only me and Phillip, Evan and Grandma in the house (Caitlin is visiting friends). I'm not liking it much, but I am overjoyed for my daughter. Truman State University, a tip of the hat to you for appreciating the mind and heart of this young woman and for going to work to reel her in. We are looking forward to the next four years.

 Grim Hall, Caitlin's first choice of dorm.

 Downtown Kirksville

GO BULLDOGS!

Mega-Rehearsal!

I wish I could get close enough to capture faces, but I am usually chained to the piano. The expressions of joy, concentration, and faithfulness on people's faces are sights to behold. One lady who plays brass, rings bells, and sings with the choir in our congregation was there Tuesday night as long as Cantor (6:00-9:00). To everyone attending Holy Week services, give your faithful musicians an extra pat on the back this week. Even better, send chocolate. And pray for them, that they may have strength and health and protection from the attacks of Satan, who likes nothing better than to go after pastors and musicians right before Christmas and Easter. God bless you as we enter the Great Three Days, and soli Deo gloria!

 Rehearsing "Christ is Risen, He is Risen Indeed."

 Our wonderful choir and director.

Our "oboe" player for Good Friday.  

"You part the waters like this."

Why I Love Holy Week

There are many reasons, of course. But one big one is the lack of ambiguity. From one day to the next, I don't have to think about what to do because it's already decided. I don't have to wonder what it all means because I already know. The focus is clear, the to-do list pre-determined, and there is nothing left for me but to submit. It's like Sunday, writ large. Liturgy, how I love thee!

"Go to dark Gethsemane,

All who feel the tempter's pow'r;

Your Redeemer's conflict see,

Watch with Him one bitter hour;

Turn not from His griefs away;

Learn from Jesus Christ to pray."

Lutheran Service Book 436, Stanza 1

Le Saintes Femmes au Tombeau

William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905)

A 10-Year-Old and a Gentleman

We went to the mall yesterday, our first time since moving to Oklahoma. Mall shopping is a rare event for this family, something only done when the neighborhood stores do not suffice (read: every couple of years). On this trip we were shopping for several items for Caitlin, who will be attending a prom next week, and for Evan, who needs something decent to wear for Easter. (He is down to sweats and a few pairs of almost outgrown pants.) We had fun! It's a nice mall and it wasn't too crowded yesterday. We ate Dippin' Dots for the first time ever. There was a Dillard's! (I don't think I've been in a Dillard's since we left Texas.) I was reminded how much more there is out there than just what Kohl's and Target carry.

I was also reminded that more is not always better. As we finished our shopping and were retracing our steps to leave the mall, I noticed that Evan was keeping his head turned sideways, avoiding looking to his right. He explained, "There are ladies in their underwear, Mom. They shouldn't be in the mall. There are children here." I looked over to see--what else?--the Victoria's Secret boutique.

Indeed, Evan. There are children in the mall. And some of them have more sense than the "grownups."

Bada Bing

Yesterday, while making lunch.

Evan: "Mom, sometimes I feel sorry for you. You work so hard."

Me: "It's okay, Evan. It's what moms do. It's why we appreciate getting pampered on Mother's Day."

Evan: "What's 'pampered'?"

Caitlin: "It's what you are right now."

Humility

Evan: "I'm nervous about my Good Friday solo. I don't know if I can sing all alone without the piano. What if I make a mistake and embarrass myself?"

Caitlin: "Of course you can do it, Evan. Trevor did it when he was younger. I did it, too. If we can do it, you can do it. You're just as good a singer as we were at your age."

Evan: "Really? Mom says I'm better."

Maybe this is why there's a plastic pirate in my suitcase.

It's one of the little pieces of the past still scattered around my house that I can't bring myself to get rid of.

I found it years ago, tucked in a side pocket. I remember when it was purchased. It was part of a set I bought at a chess tournament in which Trevor was competing. At the time Evan was a baby in a stroller. How many chess tournaments I dragged him and his sister to! We would hang out in hotel lobbies or malls or libraries while Trevor played, and I would do my best to occupy the non-chess players for the day. I don't know what happened to the rest of this set, but somewhere along the way this lone guy ended up in my suitcase. For years now that's where he has remained, a symbol of a time long past. He has gone on lots of trips with me over the years. I forget about him between trips, but when I go to pack I reach into the pocket and there he still is, and somehow there is comfort in his being, and remaining, there. I think he may stay there always, and some day accompany me when I pay a visit to Evan and his wife and children.

But for now, like the author of "The Last One," I will treasure these days of still having a boy who, even in his ten-year-old bigness, wants to crawl up on my lap, put his arms around my neck, lay his head on my shoulder, and whisper in my ear, "I love you so much, Mom." He's not quite grown up yet, Mr. Pirate Man. And somewhere inside him there will always be that little boy who repeatedly dropped you from his stroller and reached his arms up to me, begging to be lifted out. Together, we'll hold on to the memory.

Repeating History

Right now in history Evan and I are studying the seventeenth century. Our text is Susan Wise Bauer's The Story of the World: History for the Classical Child. Several days ago we read about Oliver Cromwell and the Puritan Revolution. One passage left us laughing so robustly that Evan demanded it be read again and again:

Now that Parliament had been dissolved by force, Cromwell and his army generals appointed a new Parliament, made up of 139 men "fearing God and of approved fidelity and honesty." This Parliament became known as the Barebones Parliament, after one of its members, a Puritan minister named Praise-God Barebones."

Sounds like something out of Spongebob Squarepants, doesn't it? No wonder Evan loved it.

The experience of reading alongside my child, laughing and learning with him, is one of the best things about homeschooling. I knew about Oliver Cromwell. But reading about him again with Evan, I learned some things (such as the fact above) that I never knew before. More important, as I revisited that period of history, I was struck by how familiar it all sounded. Consider this passage, just a few paragraphs after the one quoted above:

Cromwell still called England a commonwealth, but now it was being ruled by his own hand-picked men, not by the people of England. Six months later, this Nominated Assembly of men loyal to Cromwell passed a new bill. This bill announced, "Parliament now gives all of its powers to Oliver Cromwell, to act on behalf of the people of England!" 

Oliver Cromwell had become the new king of England.

He was never called "king." Instead, he was given the title Lord Protector of England. And he was supposed to call Parliament every two years and listen to what the members of Parliament advised him to do.

But Cromwell certainly seemed like a king. He moved his family into the royal palace. The ceremony to make him Lord Protector looked an awful lot like a coronation ceremony. His advisors often called him "Your Highness." And when Parliament refused to do exactly what he said, he scolded its members, telling them that he spoke for God and that they were opposing God Himself when they opposed the Lord Protector. "I undertook this government in the simplicity of my heart and as before God . . . to do the part of an honest man," he explained. "I speak for God and not for men." When Parliament continued to oppose Cromwell, he announced, "I think . . . that it is not for the profit of [England], nor for [the] common and public good, for you to continue here any longer. And therefore I do declare unto you, that I do dissolve this Parliament." 

No doubt you have heard the Santayana quote that those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it. More and more, I think that even those who do know history are doomed to repeat it. The older I get the more it seems that there are a few basic storylines that repeatedly play themselves out on the human stage, whether on the world level or in our little, everyday lives. Still, I think it's important to study history. But maybe the point of doing so is not because we realistically have much hope of affecting it, but so that we can better understand our place in it. And what is that place? I am beginning to think it is nothing more than to hold on for dear life as God tries, time and again, to show us the hopelessness of trusting in rulers, or institutions, or learning, or money, or even dear loved ones, more than in Him and His love for us. We have to function within the framework of all of those things. But our nature is to make each of them into little gods that we turn to as sources of meaning and progress for our lives. I know I keep doing that and I don't know how to stop myself. But reading stories from history that remind me of the futility of such misplaced faith tends to put the brakes on, at least for a time. 

Something Has Changed

Thirty years ago one of my favorite things to do was to take a piece of literature and pick it apart in that way that so many high school students despise. It was what led me to follow up my music studies with undergraduate and graduate degrees in literature. For a number of years I put those English degrees to good use, teaching first high school, then college English, and sometimes I even stumbled on students who seemed to enjoy the subject as much as I did. But the longer I taught English the more discouraged I became at the shocking unpreparedness of many of my students as well as the socio-political agenda that seems to drive many college English departments. I ultimately left English teaching behind and returned to my first love, music. 

For the last ten to fifteen years I have worked much more in the musical than the literary realm, and the older I get, the more I think I want it to stay this way. These days when I read I just want to read. I have little desire for the sort of close, analytical approach I learned in my English classes. It's hard enough just to read! I also can't help wondering whether something has changed in me beyond the length of my attention span. There is something about literary analysis that seems inherently destructive. That is not to say there isn't value in it for the deep understanding and appreciation of a work. Sometimes to truly understand something one must take it apart. But I think I may be at a time in my life when I am much more interested in building up than in tearing down. And music is about nothing if not building. Whether it's the practicing, or the composing (which I don't do), or the putting together of all the parts within an ensemble, the goal is synthesis, the creation of something beautiful. In literary analysis, all the effort is in the opposite direction, towards taking apart rather than creating.

Maybe that's why I have also continued to blog. Even if I didn't have the few of you reading that I do, I would still get the satisfaction of creating something, however small. Maybe one of these days I'll write something bigger than a blog post, or maybe I'll learn a new musical skill. Then again, maybe I'll just do more cooking. . . .

Spring Fever

"Don't you know what that is? It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want--oh, you don't quite know what it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! It seems to you that mainly what you want is to get away; get away from the same old tedious things you're so used to seeing and so tired of, and set something new. That is the idea; you want to go and be a wanderer; you want to go wandering far away to strange countries where everything is mysterious and wonderful and romantic. And if you can't do that, you'll put up with considerable less; you'll go anywhere you CAN go, just so as to get away, and be thankful of the chance, too."

--Tom Sawyer, Detective, "An Invitation for Tom and Huck" by Mark Twain

Sweet

Today at church, Evan and I shared one of those moments. You know the kind I'm talking about--when you're so full of Jesus that you think you might just burst.  I hugged him and he leaned his head on my shoulder and I whispered, "Isn't church great?" He smiled and nodded and then replied, "When I was little, like about three years old, I didn't understand church. I didn't know what to do and I just waited for it to be over. But now I get it."

Like I said. Sweet. :-)

Anything But Facebook Update

I am doing well on my Facebook diet, but I had a little help this week. I finally succeeded in getting HP to send a box to our current address (rather than our previous one--took three attempts) so that I could send my laptop for warranty service. That means I now have to beg, borrow or steal from others to get computer access. Additionally, I spent most of the week on the road. First, Phillip and I managed a 27th anniversary getaway. Second, I went to Nebraska to pick up Trevor for spring break. Somewhere along the way I also picked up a cold. Welcome, spring!

So, here's my random thought for the day. I noticed during one of my Facebook visits (hey, I'm dieting, not fasting) that the internet (or at least my corner of it) was alive with chatter about the death of someone whose name I don't want to include here. It was a name I didn't recognize so had to look up, at which point I found myself wondering why? Why do so many of my Christian friends feel the need to mark the death of such a disturbed individual? (The person in question called himself a Christian but did some horrendous things, supposedly in the name of Christianity.) Wouldn't it be better to let his passing go unremarked rather than draw attention to it? It is a question I have asked myself at other times. Whether it's starlets behaving badly or preachers teaching falsely, it sometimes seems that we give these people a lot more of our time and attention than they deserve. I wonder what would happen if we utterly ignored them and spent the time saved on promoting and participating in those things we find to be more edifying, focusing on building up the true and the good rather than bemoaning the bad. Probably nothing would change in the world at large. But maybe our own lives would be the better for it. That would be something.

Smarter, Nicer People

The kind of reading discussed in this article used to account for the majority of my reading. It doesn't anymore, unfortunately. I am trying to rediscover the reader I once was, but it is hard. I find it difficult to shift from the fast-paced, scanning type of reading I primarily do online to the chew-and-digest-every-word type of reading I used to do all the time as lover of literature. These days when I do the latter type of reading, I have to consciously work at not skipping chunks of text and at soaking in the words the way I once did rather than merely extracting meaning from them. One of the nice things about a book, as pointed out in the article, is that there are no hyperlinks to turn your attention away from the page you're on (and no ads or Facebook notifications). It's just that page and nothing else. And if you turn off your phone and step away from your computer you might even get through that one page without a real world interruption. At the very least, the probability of doing so will increase. And as the link suggests, you will likely walk away a better human being.

Speaking of which, I think I'll close the laptop and read another chapter of The Little Prince. 

Some people sing in the shower. . . .

. . . I write. If only someone had invented a shower-friendly laptop, I would have surely been famous by now. ;-)

Thoroughly Modern Millie

A few weeks ago I started attending rehearsals for the local high school production of Thoroughly Modern Millie. I am serving as rehearsal accompanist right now and will play in the pit orchestra during the show's run in early April. Today we had our first rehearsal at the Performing Arts Center in downtown Broken Arrow, Oklahoma (no garden variety auditorium for this highly rated music program). It's an impressive facility! 

The Performing Arts Center was built by and for the school district but also serves as the venue for non-school productions and guest performers. Later this week my daughter Caitlin and I will be attending a concert and master class there featuring Kristin Chenoweth (original Broadway cast of Wicked), a Broken Arrow native.

Chenoweth's appearance will benefit local arts and education. I don't think it's her first time to make a significant contribution to the folks back home.

But back to rehearsal. I'm very glad I have been given the opportunity to participate in this production. So far I am quite impressed with the talent of the cast and the effort going into bringing this Millie to the stage. Here's my home away from home for the next few weeks.

I have to admit it leaves a little to be desired. (My fellow musicians will understand what in the picture below. For those who don't, the music rack was not big enough to support my book, which kept falling off or flopping over. Luckily, when the music director arrived, he found a free-standing music stand for me, which we put behind the piano for my book. A bit of a reach to turn pages, but a vast improvement over the original setup.)

Meanwhile, just a few steps away, there was this. Sigh. I guess that's show business!

A Taste of Immanuel

For those who are interested in what Okies do on Transfiguration, here's a sampling. I really like my new church.






Communion Sequence, Transfiguration Sunday from Cheryl on Vimeo.

My Sweet Boy

"I love you so much, Mom. I promise I'll never leave you. When I go to college, I'll stay in town. By that time you and Dad will be getting elderly and will need help with the chores."

Said amid tears while brushing his teeth last night. I just love this kid (even if he thinks the fifties are elderly). I didn't tell him there is a good chance he will feel different in eight years. :*)

Schola Cantorum Rehearsal

And in the "what I did today that mattered way more than Facebook" department, here are a few videos from our Schola Cantorum practice. Probably of interest only to you church music types. The first one is a favorite warm-up of this age group (first-fifth grade). It combines stretching and posture awareness with working on developing a unified head tone. The eager beaver who tends to try too hard by oversinging and jumping in when it's not his turn is, yes, my offspring. The second video shows the Cantor kinesthetically teaching the concept of terraced dynamics. The kids loved it.


Fold in the middle! from Cheryl on Vimeo.


Learning About Dynamics from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Anything But Facebook, Day 2

Don't worry--I'm not going to torture you, Chinese water style, with forty days of this. But a Day 2 report seemed in order. Here's what I discovered. Limiting what I look at on Facebook is not hard. Breaking the habit of looking at Facebook repeatedly throughout the day is. I created my "Close Friends" group (those 200 or so people I decided to keep track of), and that's all I've looked at yesterday and today. But the fact that there is not as much to look at as before has not curtailed my desire to look. I can only hope that the decreasing supply of my drug of choice (There's nothing new! Go do something else!) will eventually lead to a decreasing craving for it. Here's hoping. Otherwise, I may have to take more drastic measures. . . .

It's Called Volunteering, Not Employment

The definition of volunteering seems to have changed.

Yesterday I took Caitlin to the library to drop off a volunteer application. She is seriously considering a future in library science and would like to get more experience behind the scenes in a real library. She would also like to use her skills to contribute to her new community. While we were at the library, not five minutes went by before she was helping a patron find a book. It seems to come naturally to her: books lead to Caitlin, and Caitlin leads to books.

When the manager of the library came out from the back room to take Caitlin's application, her first question was, "How many hours do you need?" Caitlin paused, slightly confused. And then it dawned on me. The manager was assuming that Caitlin needed to fulfill a school requirement. It's common these days that high school students have to log service hours in order to graduate. I stepped in.

"Oh, she doesn't need the hours. We're homeschoolers. She's doing this because she wants to."

I thought that's what volunteering was all about: doing something because you want to serve, not because you expect to get something out of it. Silly me.

Anything But Facebook

A little over a year ago, in frustration over the 2012 election result, I decided to intentionally focus my attention away from politics and onto other, more edifying things. For a while I blogged about the things I was doing instead of politics, calling it the Anything But Politics Challenge. I think it's time to do that again, only this time not with politics, but with Facebook. I am still paying less attention to politics than I used to, and I think that has had a positive effect on my frame of mind. When something tends to cause more frustration and restlessness than not, it is time to reconsider its place in your life. So tomorrow, Ash Wednesday, I am kicking off my Anything But Facebook Challenge. It will coincide with the season of Lent, but I am not looking at it as giving up Facebook for Lent. In the first place, I am not going to totally give up Facebook. In the second place, I am hoping that at the end of my ABF Challenge I will find that I don't immediately revert to my previous ways. I would like this to be a permanent life change.

I joined Facebook in August of 2008. For a while it was just this thing that I didn't understand, a place I existed in name only because I never signed into my account. Over time I started spending more time "there." It was fun. It was often informative and sometimes intellectually stimulating. I liked having a place other than my blog to share things, especially things that seemed unworthy of blog posts. I reconnected with some people that I had lost track of, including the maid of honor from my wedding.

But over the years Facebook has become too important to me. And in the last few years, especially, it has become an escape. When day-to-day life becomes a source of increasing pain and confusion, it is nice to have a place to run to, a place where affirmation comes easily and where you feel like you have a bunch more friends than you do in real life. It is nice to have something to do when you can't find the energy or motivation to dive into the day. "I only have 15 minutes until _______. That's not enough time to do anything meaningful. I think I'll check Facebook." Before you know it, you're checking Facebook twenty times a day. Imagine if all those little 15-minute blocks were invested in other pursuits.

So here's my plan. I am not going cold turkey. There are people I want to keep tabs on. But, with apologies to my 500+ Facebook friends, I don't need to keep tabs on everyone. If I miss something, I have a feeling I'll survive until such time as I really need to know what I missed. So I am going to whittle that list of 500 friends down to the small group I actually tend to interact with regularly and with whom I truly desire to keep in touch. I am not going to unfriend anyone but instead will go from reading my news feed to reading a custom group. Into that group will go family, local friends, long-distance friends who are dear to me, and a few Facebook friends with whom my relationship exists only online but whom I have typically found to be a positive influence on my day. It's looking like the number in the group might be around 200, although I would like it to be even lower. For Lent I will only be checking in on that group, plus a couple of other private groups to which I belong. I also plan to limit my own posting to sharing links to my blog or videos plus no more than one other "share" per day.

I know. It doesn't seem like I'm giving up all that much. Shows you how high my Facebook usage has been if this is what cutting back looks like!

As with the Anything But Politics Challenge, I will do some blogging about the things that I am doing instead of Facebook. I don't know if I will blog every day. I would like to but am not sure I can keep it up for forty days.

I'm hoping that in addition to making more room in my life for things that matter, this Facebook diet will benefit my reading life. I used to be an English major. I ate books for breakfast. But between parenting and aging and life, I have trouble reading in depth anymore. I think Facebook bears a large share of the blame. Facebook trains the eyes and brain to scan, not read. I have found myself reading longer texts as if they were Facebook. It is very difficult for me to read every word of a blog post or newspaper article, and I think it's because I am so used to scanning that it is hard slow down and digest every word. Not only my reading but my attention in general has been affected, as I find it hard to concentrate for long on anything.

If you would like to join me in the Anything But Facebook Challenge, comment here and write a similar post on your blog. We'll do it together and keep each other accountable. (I like that idea better than this one.)

Win-Win

For a time when we lived in Illinois we had a subscription to the Chicago Tribune. We got fed up with that paper and discontinued it years ago. When we moved to Oklahoma we inherited the previous occupants' subscription to the Tulsa World. It has been helpful in getting to know our community, and my mom in particular seems to enjoy it. So when the subscription recently ran out, we renewed it. My mom is getting her crossword, Evan enjoys the funnies, and I am cutting coupons again. Plus, having a paper makes this possible:


Willard Gets the Paper from Cheryl on Vimeo.


Also, it's nice to have decent rubber bands again!

The Harsh Reality

"Mom, something just hit me."

"What, Evan?"

"Well, by the time we get all these boxes unpacked, we're going to be ready to move again."

 Thanks for pointing that out, honey. Not sure I would have thought of it otherwise. ;-)

The current state of our garage, not much different from a month ago. 

One week ago today . . .

. . . Caitlin and I were sitting in a ballroom at Southern Illinois University-Edwardsville, listening to presentations on financial aid, study abroad, and the honors program. Midway through the morning, Caitlin had her interview for the Meridian Scholarship. She wrote about the whole experience on her blog if you want to read a little more. I don't have much to add, except for this:

When we first arrived we were given name tags and a table assignment. When we went to our table, however, it was already full. We went back to registration to ask for instructions and were told that the table assignments didn't matter and that we should sit in any available seats. So we found a table with some room. Later that day, after all the students had left and it was just parents remaining, the parents took a little time getting to know each other. It turned out that all four of us at that table were there because our assigned tables had been full. As we conversed a little more, it also turned out that we were all homeschoolers! But wait, it gets better. The gentleman to the right of me was the son of an LCMS pastor. The young woman to my left, not a parent but a current Meridian Scholar who had been sent to hostess our table, was also Lutheran (ELCA), with a sister engaged to be married to a young man entering the St. Louis Seminary (LCMS) this fall.

We had such a wonderful lunch together. When we said goodbye I wanted to ask for everyone's contact info, but I didn't. I hope that if all our kids end up at SIUE we will meet again.

Go ahead and try to tell me this was a chance encounter. I dare you.

Cause for Celebration

Evan fell in the creek at the park yesterday.

He didn't cry.

He walked home in wet clothes.

When he got home, he calmly showed me the hole in his pants. He said, "I took a risk, Mom."

I smiled and gave him a thumbs up. For a highly sensitive child who is averse to risk-taking and prone to worry, holes and dirt are badges of honor.

Words, Words, Words

It happened again.

Someone, somewhere on the internet, used a word someone else didn't like.

I don't know the particulars of the situation. What I do know is that the situation was discussed at length elsewhere online, and the person-in-question's discernment and integrity questioned, without any mention of an attempt to approach him about his use of the word or to inform him that it had hurt someone.

I find this both sad and disturbing: sad because I love the written word but increasingly see the futility of much of it online; and disturbing because this could have easily happened to me. I didn't know the word at issue had become politically incorrect. In fact, I saw it used in print today, by a distinguished and respected scholar and columnist. I guess he didn't get the memo either.

I say this could happen to me. Actually, it has happened to me. I am not going to share particulars either of the current example or my past one, because I don't wish to get into debates about individual words. But what I would like to suggest is that if a word offends you, there are helpful and unhelpful ways to respond. If you sincerely believe the word to be offensive to a large number of people, you can go to the person who used it and, for his own good, suggest that he not use the word. In this case you would actually be doing him a favor. Maybe he will heed your advice; maybe he will not. But at that point you have done what you can, and it is time to drop it. If you want to appeal to the general public to avoid the word, by all means, do so. But make the focus of your appeal the word, and not the person or people who used it. Here's how you do that. Instead of rolling your eyes and asking what kind of clueless, insensitive dummy uses that word, issue a carefully considered and earnest plea about why you find the word objectionable and why you would appreciate people avoiding it. ("I saw the word _____ in print today. This word bothers me because . . . .")

Or, alternatively, you can choose to overlook. For my own part, I do this a lot. I have come to realize that I am more sensitive than most people about language. I think it is in part because I grew up in a home where words were frequently used as weapons. I compare it to having an allergy. I was exposed to great amounts of second-hand smoke growing up, and now I can't stand to be around cigarette smoke and have an immediate and strong allergic reaction whenever I am. In the same way, I grew up among frequent uses of profane and vulgar and just mean talk. I now have no tolerance for it, and I realize that this is my own issue. For me, "cra*" is vulgar, but for many people it doesn't seem to be. I can't abide the acronym "OM*" because to me it is nothing short of taking the Lord's name in vain. But I also realize that many people who use that expression don't hear it as such. I have expressed my opinion to my family and, whether or not they agree with me, they respect my position and in love don't use that phrase (and others) around me. If I see or hear the expression elsewhere I look the other way and remind myself that it is probably not the intent of the speaker or writer to break the Second Commandment or to offend anyone. If I choose to be offended, that is my problem.

I would like to think that it is still possible to have fruitful discussions online about things that matter. I increasingly doubt that to be the case. But maybe if more of us gave more thought to both our word choices and our reactions to them, we would come a little closer to the mark.

She's Back

And she has three posts so far. Go say hello, and encourage her to keep going.

north-north-west

Leaving Sodom

Oh, yeah. I have this thing. It's called a blog. :-)

I do hope to get back to more regular posting soon. And I hope when I do you're all still here. But for today, in lieu of my own currently non-linear thinking, I'd like to share a few blog posts I recently read. They are similar in that they both address the question of difficult times and how to get through them. The first post is not Christian or even spiritual (except for the suggestion to read an Eckhart Tolle book--you can disregard that) but has what I think are solid strategies for surviving the rough stretches. My family has gone through one of those rough stretches recently, and it was prolonged, including the illnesses and deaths of my husband's parents and several other beloved people, my mother's injuries and illness, my husband's job loss, financial challenges, family separation necessitated by job change, and the pain of broken relationships. At one point in our journey a dear friend and wise woman told my husband, "Expect blessing." Her words have proven prophetic as these days I wake up and pinch myself at all the things that are going right. Sometimes I worry about what is coming. Surely these days aren't going to last forever. But what is the sense in worrying about that time in the future when life will take another downturn? I am trying to enjoy the blessings of today as I leave yesterday behind and refrain from obsessing about tomorrow. I found this article, entitled "Eight Things to Remember When Everything Goes Wrong," to have some excellent suggestions on how to do that. Thanks to my friend Melody for linking it. Here are a few key sentences:

"Sometimes life closes doors because it's time to move forward."
"Don't allow your scars to hold you hostage."
"Rarely do people do things because of you. They do things because of them."
"The best thing you can do is to keep going."
"Don't let a hard lesson harden your heart."

Now, that's all very well and good, isn't it? But how do you move forward when you feel paralyzed? How do you quit living in your scars? How do you keep going when you want to give up? How do you not put a fence around your heart in an effort to prevent its being injured again?

Short answer: you don't. You can't escape the past. You can't escape the bad things that have happened to you and the people who have wronged you. And you can't escape your own sin. But it's okay, because you don't have to. You don't have to rescue yourself because there is One who has already done so:

"In this fight we are far from alone. We did not leave Sodom on our own initiative, our own will-power. Christ climbed over the city walls to rescue us, and then climbed back over, carrying us upon his shoulders. He bore us up into the mountains, and now, and always, never leaves our side. He knows the past fires that still burn in our chest, so he never tires of dousing those flames with the waters of baptism, daily drenching us with that divine dew. Sodom’s foolish ways he roots out to replace with the wisdom that comes from above, speaking his word over and over into us, to create new hearts and new minds within us, fashioned after his own, heart and minds devoted to higher things." - Chad Bird 

Read the full post here.   

Signs

I grew up in The South, but I have always resisted the generalization that Southerners are friendlier or more hospitable than people in other parts of the country. I tend to resist sweeping generalizations as a general rule (haha), but in the twenty years we lived in Illinois, I also met enough generous, warm, and welcoming people to belie the notion that Northerners are cold. Still, as I think about our icy, snowy drive from Illinois to Oklahoma a few weeks ago, something stands out. I don't know if it would have happened in Illinois, at least not in Chicago. Right before we crossed into Oklahoma, at a travel plaza located where Oklahoma, Missouri, and Kansas converge, we had to stop for gas. My elderly mother also needed a restroom break, which necessitated her getting out of the car and navigating an icy parking lot with her walker. As I helped her out of the car, a rather big, burly farmer stopped his truck and got out. "Could you use some help?" he asked. I told him I would appreciate it. He got on one side of my mom as I got on the other, and together we walked her all the way into the store. I know if she had slipped he would have not let her hit the ground.

But that's not the end of the story. After we finished our business in the store and came out, a woman who had just pulled up offered the very same assistance. Granted, my 18-year-old and 10-year-old were in the car and could have been drafted to help. But instead in both cases complete strangers stepped in.

It was a remarkable and symbolic welcome to our new state. Even so, the first night we spent in our new house, I didn't sleep much. I sat up and cried and thought about the place we had left and couldn't get the memories to leave me in peace. But with each day that passes, another act of kindness has made me feel more at home here. That incident at the Oklahoma border seems to have been a sign of things to come.

I am reminded of when we moved from Texas to Illinois 20 years ago. That move was filled with uncertainty. I had lived in Texas my entire life and now we were going to Illinois so that my husband could be a full-time church worker. What in the world were we thinking? On the first morning of our drive, as we crossed from Texas into Arkansas, we were greeted by a rainbow. We took it as a sign that God would bless our way forward.

I don't know if these things are indeed signs or if I am seeing in them what I want to see. But I do know that God always blesses His children. So I cling to the sign that I know is true, that of the cross made over me, my husband, and our children in our baptisms. And that is no overgeneralization.

Why I'm Not Posting Much

Last week

Today

Please tell me you can see progress, even if you can't.

Toto, we aren't in Illinois anymore.

The polar vortex picked us up and dropped us down in Oklahoma. Or so it seemed. We have no internet yet. I am posting from my phone. More soon!

Moving Day

I started out to write a Facebook status, but it got too long, so here's a blog post instead.

Today was moving day! Yesterday the majority of our house was packed. Also yesterday Phillip, Trevor, and our dog headed out. Today the moving van showed up around 9:00. It was a full day of nonstop packing, moving, and cleaning, and by 5:00 (I think) the van had left, fully loaded. Wow. Earlier in the day a friend picked up Evan and took him on a play date for the afternoon. Today of all days it was a great help to provide him with something else to do. But more important, it was a chance for the two Evans to say a final goodbye. Evan and his friend Evan first became friends when they were in preschool together. Although they have never gotten to see each other as often as I'm sure they would like, there is something special between the two of them. They have just always clicked. Thank you to my friend Anne for this parting gift of one more play date. I think your dropping my Evan off for the last time made everything real to me in a way that nothing to this point, not even the empty house, did. :-(

Since our beds are on their way to Oklahoma and it is late and we are exhausted, we are checked in to a hotel for the night. We will not be driving away until tomorrow--there are still some loose ends to take care of in the morning. But we got a great deal on a room, had some pizza, and will soon go to bed and try to get a good night's sleep. My mom has been a real trooper today. In another example of God's good timing, if we had sold the house and tried to move any sooner, I don't think she would have been as ready for this trip as she now is.

We will take two days to drive. Monday morning the van shows up and the whole thing plays out in reverse. I think the drive will actually be relaxing. Just sitting in a car instead of running this way and that, tending to this detail and that one, wondering if I'm going to remember the next thing I need to do. I can handle that!

There's No Place Like Home

Fourteen years ago today we closed on our house in the southwest burbs and Phillip carried me across the threshold to begin our Chicagoland adventure. In a few days we will leave this place for good. Ironically, the person who took the picture below fourteen years ago ended up being our real estate agent for the sale of our house this year. He wasn't a realtor back in 1999 but a friend, and he has remained one throughout our time here. How fitting that when we drive away we will leave our keys with him.

Our time in this house has always been, uh, shall we say, a bit complicated. It was definitely one of those love-hate relationships! We are not fixer-uppers and it turned out there was a lot about our new home that needed fixing up. Still, we learned to love her. Our children have spent the majority of their childhood years within these walls. Phillip and I have both lived here longer than in any other house our entire lives. Fourteen years adds up to a lot of memories. Those memories come with small print identifying the time and the place, and it is hard to leave the place behind without feeling as though you are also in some part letting go of the memory.

In another bit of symmetry, we are leaving Illinois a little over 20 years after coming here, and we are heading back to our southern roots. Leaving Texas was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I had a 10-month old baby and my father was very ill. Taking that baby and kissing his grandpa goodbye to move 900 miles away just about ripped my heart out. My dad died less than a year after we left Texas. But I know that coming to Illinois was the right thing at that time. I will never forget our first Christmas Eve at Trinity Lutheran in Peoria. Leaving midnight mass in an historic downtown church to a gently falling snow made this Texas girl feel like a character in a storybook. How fitting that as I write this, a New Year's Eve snow of 4-8 inches is predicted. Thank you, Old Man Winter. We'll miss you, too. And forever and ever I will look back on our Illinois story sort of like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz:

"But it wasn't a dream. It was a place. And you and you and you . . . and you were there. . . . and I remember some of it wasn't very nice, but most of it was beautiful--but just the same all I kept saying to everybody was 'I want to go home,' and they sent me home!"

Home, of course, is where your people are, and for us Illinois has been home for a very long time. Still, I do sort of feel like we're leaving the Emerald City to go back to Kansas (or in our case, Oklahoma), and I am very much looking forward to a quieter, simpler, slower, less technicolor life with all my dear ones gathered round. I pray wherever you are that you, too, wake up to a lovely, promising new year. See you in 2014!

"Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass." - Psalm 37:5

Last Walk

Today Phillip, Trevor, Caitlin and I took one final walk together in Illinois. Evan decided to stay home, which turned out to be a good thing, because this was almost a two-hour walk. We covered most of the ground we have trod for 14 years now, heading first to a park and then to a nature preserve not far from our house. We took Willard, our dog, with us. Willard is the third of our dogs to walk these paths (the first was Giselle, who came with us from Texas, and the second was Shiloh, who lived all of her nine years in Illinois).

Have you ever watched Survivor? We haven't watched it for some years now, but we used to. Toward the end of each season, the last few, remaining survivors take a final walk on which they stop, in turn, at torches representing the already eliminated players. At each torch they share a few words of remembrance about that player. We decided to spend our last walk in the Chicago suburbs similarly, pausing at favorite stops as we reviewed our time here. We spent the first half of our walk on the years 2000-2005, and the second half on 2006-2011. We ran out of time for 2012 and 2013 but decided that was a good thing since those years are still quite fresh (in some cases, too fresh). It was fitting that we had our two adult children on this farewell walk, as they were with us when we came to Chicago. We kicked off our northern Illinois adventure with a seven and four-year-old; we leave it with a twenty-one, eighteen, and ten-year-old. 

The pond.

Walking to the trout farm.

At the trout farm.

Heading back.

With the one who doesn't let me fall.

Home--for about one more week.

Christmas Day 2013

 Yay! Dad is home!

  I gave him a 23 and Me kit. (Caitlin looks like she is mad. She is not.)

That's a Wii U. That's a happy Evan.

 Thanks, Dad.

Willard, captive.

What every church worker needs: "The Art of Stress-Free Productivity." 

Thanks, Caitlin!

New Magic School Bus book from big sis.

I got a Keurig coffeemaker! (Thanks, honey!)

Phillip modeling the wrapping paper.

Father and daughter.

We had a joyous Christmas reunion. Phillip got home at about 4:00 Christmas Day. We enjoyed wassail and appetizers (shrimp, cheese and crackers) and then sat down for present opening (thank you to Evan for the chocolates, Trevor for the necklace, Caitlin for the gloves, and Mom for the slippers!) Then we chowed down on strip steaks, asparagus, and apple pie a la mode. Hard to believe this is our last Christmas in this house. One week from today the packers come. Two weeks from today we will be in our new home. I am practicing relaxation breathing, trying to enjoy one more day of Christmas before I turn to intense moving prep. Merry Christmas to all my readers! Thank you for your concern, interest, and prayers throughout the year. I hope that from time to time something I have written has provided you with a measure of encouragement or insight. I am humbled that you take the time to read. God bless you on this Feast of St. Stephen and throughout all the twelve days of Christmas and beyond!

On Flying

I have had to take a few more plane trips than usual this past year. It seems to be getting easier. When I was young I had no fear of air travel. I think I can pinpoint when that started to change. At the time I was pregnant with my first child and teaching high school English. I was also helping out the school's choir as a piano accompanist. When they took a trip to a choral festival in Colorado, I was invited to go along. The return flight was one of the scariest I have ever experienced: extreme, bumpy turbulence with roller-coaster style ups and downs. Many of the students seemed oblivious, but I remember catching the eye of the choir director. He was nervous, too. I was never so glad to get off a plane.

Between that flight and becoming a mommy, my fear of flying got progressively worse for many years, to the point that if I knew I was going to fly I would ask the doctor to prescribe a medicinal aid. But in the last year it seems my fear has lessened slightly. Let me emphasize the word slightly. I am still a very nervous flyer. I experienced it again a few days ago flying to and from Oklahoma for our house-hunting weekend. I try very hard to hide my fear from the 10-year-old sitting next to me. But as soon as the plane starts to taxi I start to pray, and I pray until we're in the air and many more times during the rest of the flight. I think the root of my fear is the sense of powerlessness that comes with flying. I like to be in control. When you're on a plane, there is no control. You are at the mercy of the machine and the guy piloting it (not to mention the weather and the other people on the plane). There is nothing to do but sit, hope, wait, and pray until you are once again on solid ground.

I had the thought while flying this week that I could learn something about life from how I feel when I fly. You see, I have this silly notion that in my everyday life I'm in control--that I can do it without God. Whether it's attending to my various vocations or attending to my own salvation, I fall into the trap of thinking I can manage things myself. Once in a while my life's plane takes a nauseating dive and I remember how powerless I am. But when smooth sailing returns I again start thinking to myself, "I've got this."

But I don't have this, any more than I have the power to keep a real plane from crashing. I don't want to go through life with white knuckles, clutching the arm rests, stomach churning in fear at each little bump. But if I were to spend my days as I spend my time on planes, in fervent, unceasing prayer, maybe I would be able to relax and enjoy the view a little more often.