more animals
sometimes I haz it.
Friday, January 30, 2009
HGTV Friday 5
will smama's got this one, from the RevGalBlogPals:
As some of you may know I am in the midst of my first home purchase. It is a new-build and so some of the fun was picking out upgrades and major decor items to my taste rather than walking into a previously owned home that needed to be upgraded room by room (pink and teal tiles in the bathroom, anyone?). As much as decorating is not my thing, I did try to embrace the moment because just how many times do you get to have a do-over on kitchen cabinets/floors/countertops?
And so, my questions to you this fine Friday involve your home past, present or future...
1) If you could, what room in the place you are currently living would you redo first?
2) What is the most hideous feature/color/decor item you have ever seen in a home?
3) What feature do you most covet? Do you have it? If not, is it within reach?
4) Your kitchen - love it or hate it? Why?
5) Here is $10,000 and you HAVE to spend it on the place you are living now. What do you do?
BONUS: Why do you think there was such a surplus of ugly bathroom tile colors showcased in all homes built from the 1950's right through the early 80's?
As some of you may know I am in the midst of my first home purchase. It is a new-build and so some of the fun was picking out upgrades and major decor items to my taste rather than walking into a previously owned home that needed to be upgraded room by room (pink and teal tiles in the bathroom, anyone?). As much as decorating is not my thing, I did try to embrace the moment because just how many times do you get to have a do-over on kitchen cabinets/floors/countertops?
And so, my questions to you this fine Friday involve your home past, present or future...
1) If you could, what room in the place you are currently living would you redo first?
The master bedroom and bath. It's small and awkward. I'd tear down the wall between the master bedroom and the smaller guest room, competely redo and enlarge the bathroom, and create a master suite with decent size closets and room for both the dresser and the chest of drawers. Alas, it's a rental house!
2) What is the most hideous feature/color/decor item you have ever seen in a home?
Well, it *could* have been the avocado dryer or the fake woodgrain carpet. But I really think it was the purple sink in the tiny bathroom with the pink plastic (yes, plastic--with little white swirls) tile.
3) What feature do you most covet? Do you have it? If not, is it within reach?
I want a decent office with great built-in bookcases and storage, and also a guitar room for Ben. If I can get the time and accept the compromise, I think there's a major purge ahead for us and I've got the freestanding cabinets and salvaged maple door to make a great workspace for me. Ben's on his own! ;)
4) Your kitchen - love it or hate it? Why?
It's okay. Hate that the original dial is off the oven, so I have to guess what temperature I'm setting it to. Love that there is almost enough cabinet space and counterspace.
5) Here is $10,000 and you HAVE to spend it on the place you are living now. What do you do?
Master bath, no question. Even without moving the wall, there are some persistent leaks that I suspect won't be fixed until we move out and the floor can be torn up. So I'd do that first. Or bribe someone at Extreme Makover: Home Edition to redo the whole thing!
BONUS: Why do you think there was such a surplus of ugly bathroom tile colors showcased in all homes built from the 1950's right through the early 80's?
I'm afraid the French may be right. We had institutionally bad taste. Although we had in one parsonage, turquoise counters, with the chrome strip and the nails poling out to snag your clothes. It really wouldn't have been too bad, even could have been cheery, without the dark wood cabinets. Give me a bright and clean-looking kitchen any day!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Small Graces for Wednesday
1: this post, which made me cry, but in a good way
2: knowing that I'm alone while I weep and read blogs--a little dignity preserved
3: tomorrow's my day off
4: leftover Chinese food for supper
5: helping friends do something good.
2: knowing that I'm alone while I weep and read blogs--a little dignity preserved
3: tomorrow's my day off
4: leftover Chinese food for supper
5: helping friends do something good.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Grace in Small Things for Monday
1: a potential "Mamma Mia" sing-a-long and sleepover. Yes, I'm older than that, but it's going to be fun.
2: the smell of homemade spaghetti sauce
3: tv shows I can watch online (now, if only Fox had all the episodes of "Fringe" available.
4: Duke basketball
5: warm fuzzy fleece blankets.
2: the smell of homemade spaghetti sauce
3: tv shows I can watch online (now, if only Fox had all the episodes of "Fringe" available.
4: Duke basketball
5: warm fuzzy fleece blankets.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Ben as a child
My husband, who has cerebral palsy, received a box in the mail from his mom the other day. In the box, we found some little mementos from his childhood and some special pictures.
Prior to this, we had only one picture of Ben with his dog, Razz, who died Ben's senior year of high school. Razz was a special dog, a stray who adopted Ben's family, and he looked after Ben. Ben says he was extremely protective, and would warn off anyone who came too close unless they were family or very close friends.
Also, there were some pictures of Ben's oldest brother, Ron. Ron was 18 years older than Ben, and Ben idolized him. Ron died when Ben was twelve. Ben's about two in this picture; it's the first one I've seen of Ben so young, and so fragile.
Prior to this, we had only one picture of Ben with his dog, Razz, who died Ben's senior year of high school. Razz was a special dog, a stray who adopted Ben's family, and he looked after Ben. Ben says he was extremely protective, and would warn off anyone who came too close unless they were family or very close friends.
Also, there were some pictures of Ben's oldest brother, Ron. Ron was 18 years older than Ben, and Ben idolized him. Ron died when Ben was twelve. Ben's about two in this picture; it's the first one I've seen of Ben so young, and so fragile.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Cabin Fever Friday Five
Singing Owl poses this F5:
Wow...that doesn't happen here on the Crystal Coast. But we did spend 5 days trapped in Virginia Beach with no power following Huuricane Isabel some years ago. Even had a wedding in the middle of it. So here are some thoughts from sunny-coastal-land:
1: Time to dust off the board games and coloring books. Seriously. You can regress and be silly, or you can produce a work of art to brighten things up.
2: I'm a crafter, so time cooped up at home is project time. Scrapbook. Crochet. Paint. Do whatever seems like fun.
3: We do have grey days. I tend to want to wear a lot of reds--somehow that cheers me up. Maybe add red accessories to the house?
4: We eat well when we're stuck inside. I bake cookies, make stew, and there's a mean cheddar-beer bread recipe in one of the old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that's guaranteed to perk us up.
5: When it's below freezing, which is rare, the WonderMutt can't stay out all day, as he is accustomed to. So we have lots of extra play time and cuddle time. Puppy kisses always cheer me up!
Bonus: snow pics!
Sorry for the late posting! My daughter's car won't start, and I just returned from driving her to work. I think she made need a block heater. Speaking of that...
Here in snow country we are settled in to what is a very long stretch of potentially boring days. The holidays are over. It is a very long time till we will get outside on a regular basis. The snow that seemed so beautiful at first is now dirty and the snow banks are piling up. Our vehicles are all the same shade of brownish grey, but if we go to the car wash our doors will freeze shut. People get grumpy. Of course, not everyone lives in a cold climate, but even in warmer places the days till springtime can get long. Help! Please give us five suggestions for combating cabin fever and staying cheerful in our monochromatic world?
Wow...that doesn't happen here on the Crystal Coast. But we did spend 5 days trapped in Virginia Beach with no power following Huuricane Isabel some years ago. Even had a wedding in the middle of it. So here are some thoughts from sunny-coastal-land:
1: Time to dust off the board games and coloring books. Seriously. You can regress and be silly, or you can produce a work of art to brighten things up.
2: I'm a crafter, so time cooped up at home is project time. Scrapbook. Crochet. Paint. Do whatever seems like fun.
3: We do have grey days. I tend to want to wear a lot of reds--somehow that cheers me up. Maybe add red accessories to the house?
4: We eat well when we're stuck inside. I bake cookies, make stew, and there's a mean cheddar-beer bread recipe in one of the old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that's guaranteed to perk us up.
5: When it's below freezing, which is rare, the WonderMutt can't stay out all day, as he is accustomed to. So we have lots of extra play time and cuddle time. Puppy kisses always cheer me up!
Bonus: snow pics!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I like snow again, for the moment
At least, the WonderMutt likes snow.
Run, little dog! Run! (He had to be encouraged to go back behind the building and do what he had to do)
Now what?
Shake it off, big dog! (Yes, he calls himself "big dog". He's tough.)
His foots were cold. (Yes, he calls them foots. Deal with it!)
Bonus! A view from the front steps about 3:30 this afternoon.
Run, little dog! Run! (He had to be encouraged to go back behind the building and do what he had to do)
Now what?
Shake it off, big dog! (Yes, he calls himself "big dog". He's tough.)
His foots were cold. (Yes, he calls them foots. Deal with it!)
Bonus! A view from the front steps about 3:30 this afternoon.
When I don't love snow
when they close the bridges and we're not both on the same side.
It's snowing again in Beaufort, and it's piling up pretty quickly now that the temperature is below freezing, unlike this morning's more optimistic snow that fell beautifully and melted away.
And Ben is in a caravan with his youth group, returning from a ski trip.
Not only does he have to drive through the deepest snow to get home, he can't get all the way home.
The police have closed the high-rise bridges.
So he's going to have another night in the company of his youth group, whichever generous soul will take him in. And some of his kids won't be able to get home, because they live across the other high-rise bridge in town.
When any one of the bridges is closed, there's always another. But for them all to be closed means that those kids on the island and us here between the rivers are stuck.
They have a member on the police force whom they can call when they get close and see what needs to be done, so no one's panicked yet. As catastrophes go, it's minor. Arrangements can be made, and grace will be extended. This so rarely happens, and I really LOVE snow and am trying to enjoy it.
But I was kind of counting on him coming home tonight.
UPDATE: he's home! It was a little like skating on the downhill side of the big bridge, and I wouldn't have done it if I'd known what it was really like...but we're all home and safe, with no real plans to go anywhere tomorrow until things clear up.
It's snowing again in Beaufort, and it's piling up pretty quickly now that the temperature is below freezing, unlike this morning's more optimistic snow that fell beautifully and melted away.
And Ben is in a caravan with his youth group, returning from a ski trip.
Not only does he have to drive through the deepest snow to get home, he can't get all the way home.
The police have closed the high-rise bridges.
So he's going to have another night in the company of his youth group, whichever generous soul will take him in. And some of his kids won't be able to get home, because they live across the other high-rise bridge in town.
When any one of the bridges is closed, there's always another. But for them all to be closed means that those kids on the island and us here between the rivers are stuck.
They have a member on the police force whom they can call when they get close and see what needs to be done, so no one's panicked yet. As catastrophes go, it's minor. Arrangements can be made, and grace will be extended. This so rarely happens, and I really LOVE snow and am trying to enjoy it.
But I was kind of counting on him coming home tonight.
UPDATE: he's home! It was a little like skating on the downhill side of the big bridge, and I wouldn't have done it if I'd known what it was really like...but we're all home and safe, with no real plans to go anywhere tomorrow until things clear up.
Musings on Blogs and Privacy, Or the Lack Thereof
Blogs are inherently public.
Mostly.
I am a member of a private blog with several other people. That's as much as I'll tell you about that. It doesn't appear in my profile, and you won't find it by searching for it (thanks, Google!). What is said there stays there, unless one of the members shares it outside our virtual space. Even there, most of us maintain some degree of anonymity, although if you tried hard enough, you could probably figure out who we are.
That's easy in the case of this blog. I made a decision early on that this would be an exercise in transparency, that while I would not come right out and share my full name, that one could figure it out pretty easily. My email address is in my profile. I put a link to this blog in my email signature 2 years ago. My church's name appears in the blog. And I talk about people I know here.
One thing I do is try not to name anyone without their permission, generally speaking. I haven't named my parents, although I've mentioned them by relationship from time to time. Exceptional One's photos are posted by permission from her parents, and you'll not find a mention of her last name: their very reasonable stipulations, which I follow, without hesitation. As I told her mother when I asked, "no" is always an acceptable answer. And I know that they read my blog, at least my sister, father, and an aunt do.
I'm in a sort of bloggy limbo: it's easy enough to find out who I am, but I don't use my full name. Close enough though, since my first name is Anne and I blog as RevAnne. I've chosen not to opt for total anonymity as so many others do, because I mean for this blog to be a place for story-sharing and relationship-building. There is a link to this blog from our church's website, come to think of it. It's definitely a very loosely-kept secret, if at all.
And so when I blog here, sometimes I am careful about what and how I say things. Other times I am less so, knowing that part of who I am is someone who needs to express frustration and be dramatic from time to time. I've been comfortable with this policy until fairly recently. Last year, a blogger who was a pastor was disciplined over something he said online. It was a "privacy" issue, he was told, although he had permission to publish what he did. It was basically a prayer request, and a reflection on the bravery and faith of a family in crisis. It was pastoral, and loving, and invited us into a relationship with this family. Admittedly, it was at a remove, but even so, there was nothing inherently objectionable to the subjects in the post. Someone else got upset for them, and it all snowballed out of control.
Another clergy blogger recently has lost a position and left their denomination with great anger and hurt because of how they were treated (note the gender-neutral and grammatically incorrect pronouns here!). That story continues to be shared on their blog, which allows others to provide an alternative model of Christian community to someone who has been abused by the traditional structures.
I guess what I'm saying it that it's all about relationships. In keeping this blog, I open my life to relationships with others. It's not quite full disclosure, but it's not far off. And I invite comments and dialogue. I've "met" new people online I'd never have known otherwise, and would love to meet face to face: fascinating men and women, with amazing stories to tell about their own lives and experiences. This is a gift to me, and I enjoy it a great deal.
But I'm starting to get nervous about being a pastor who blogs.
Posting sermons is fine, but in a climate of judicatory suspicion over this means of communication, it's hard to feel comfortable about sharing my life. My posts about health concerns and medical issues could be used against me by a conference anxious about its own rising health care costs (our health insurance is self-funded, and pastors are, by and large, an unhealthy bunch). If I blog about an interaction with a parishioner, they might get offended, or someone else on their behalf, or because I blogged about person A and not person B. (Which is why I don't, much.)
It's not the church's blog, although I welcome church members to read it. It's not the conference's blog, although I know from time to time one of my colleagues has come across it, and they too are welcome.
It is no one's words but mine. No one is responsible for them but me. And I take that responsibility seriously. But when other pastors have had their words used against them, I'm feeling more anxious and less transparent than I'd like. And that was the point for me: for this to be my place, where I can be me.
A real human being.
A pastor, yes, but a still-flawed person, experiencing growing pains as I mature spiritually.
A student who hopes to never stop learning.
A wife and daughter, sister and niece, a friend...
Not perfect. Not even close.
But I'm living, and learning, and trying, and loving.
This is supposed to be a safe place for me to do that. I don't want to lose it, but I do feel a little threatened. A little less like putting myself out there.
And isn't that a shame?
Mostly.
I am a member of a private blog with several other people. That's as much as I'll tell you about that. It doesn't appear in my profile, and you won't find it by searching for it (thanks, Google!). What is said there stays there, unless one of the members shares it outside our virtual space. Even there, most of us maintain some degree of anonymity, although if you tried hard enough, you could probably figure out who we are.
That's easy in the case of this blog. I made a decision early on that this would be an exercise in transparency, that while I would not come right out and share my full name, that one could figure it out pretty easily. My email address is in my profile. I put a link to this blog in my email signature 2 years ago. My church's name appears in the blog. And I talk about people I know here.
One thing I do is try not to name anyone without their permission, generally speaking. I haven't named my parents, although I've mentioned them by relationship from time to time. Exceptional One's photos are posted by permission from her parents, and you'll not find a mention of her last name: their very reasonable stipulations, which I follow, without hesitation. As I told her mother when I asked, "no" is always an acceptable answer. And I know that they read my blog, at least my sister, father, and an aunt do.
I'm in a sort of bloggy limbo: it's easy enough to find out who I am, but I don't use my full name. Close enough though, since my first name is Anne and I blog as RevAnne. I've chosen not to opt for total anonymity as so many others do, because I mean for this blog to be a place for story-sharing and relationship-building. There is a link to this blog from our church's website, come to think of it. It's definitely a very loosely-kept secret, if at all.
And so when I blog here, sometimes I am careful about what and how I say things. Other times I am less so, knowing that part of who I am is someone who needs to express frustration and be dramatic from time to time. I've been comfortable with this policy until fairly recently. Last year, a blogger who was a pastor was disciplined over something he said online. It was a "privacy" issue, he was told, although he had permission to publish what he did. It was basically a prayer request, and a reflection on the bravery and faith of a family in crisis. It was pastoral, and loving, and invited us into a relationship with this family. Admittedly, it was at a remove, but even so, there was nothing inherently objectionable to the subjects in the post. Someone else got upset for them, and it all snowballed out of control.
Another clergy blogger recently has lost a position and left their denomination with great anger and hurt because of how they were treated (note the gender-neutral and grammatically incorrect pronouns here!). That story continues to be shared on their blog, which allows others to provide an alternative model of Christian community to someone who has been abused by the traditional structures.
I guess what I'm saying it that it's all about relationships. In keeping this blog, I open my life to relationships with others. It's not quite full disclosure, but it's not far off. And I invite comments and dialogue. I've "met" new people online I'd never have known otherwise, and would love to meet face to face: fascinating men and women, with amazing stories to tell about their own lives and experiences. This is a gift to me, and I enjoy it a great deal.
But I'm starting to get nervous about being a pastor who blogs.
Posting sermons is fine, but in a climate of judicatory suspicion over this means of communication, it's hard to feel comfortable about sharing my life. My posts about health concerns and medical issues could be used against me by a conference anxious about its own rising health care costs (our health insurance is self-funded, and pastors are, by and large, an unhealthy bunch). If I blog about an interaction with a parishioner, they might get offended, or someone else on their behalf, or because I blogged about person A and not person B. (Which is why I don't, much.)
It's not the church's blog, although I welcome church members to read it. It's not the conference's blog, although I know from time to time one of my colleagues has come across it, and they too are welcome.
It is no one's words but mine. No one is responsible for them but me. And I take that responsibility seriously. But when other pastors have had their words used against them, I'm feeling more anxious and less transparent than I'd like. And that was the point for me: for this to be my place, where I can be me.
A real human being.
A pastor, yes, but a still-flawed person, experiencing growing pains as I mature spiritually.
A student who hopes to never stop learning.
A wife and daughter, sister and niece, a friend...
Not perfect. Not even close.
But I'm living, and learning, and trying, and loving.
This is supposed to be a safe place for me to do that. I don't want to lose it, but I do feel a little threatened. A little less like putting myself out there.
And isn't that a shame?
Monday, January 19, 2009
A stepping off the edge Poetry Party
Christine at Abbey of the Arts invites us to think about this image and stepping off the edge, the moment when we find our wings. Here's the picture:
stepping off the edge
rushing wind, freefalling, fly
on these new-born wings
was it faith or fear
that drove me to leap, to live
to let go, to love
no terra firma
buoyed only by air and hope
laughing soaring free
Saturday, January 17, 2009
My Across-the-Pond Doppelganger
I got an email this week requesting that I do a wedding...except it was someone I'd never talked to, and it was in Great Britain somewhere. And I have no plans to go to Britain (although I am starting to think that I should).
So I replied to all parties (there was a cc in there) and long story short, I've heard back from the person who was meant to be doing the ceremony.
Similarities:
* her email's almost the same as mine, expect mine ends in .com and hers ends in .co.uk
* she has a blog, here on Blogger, no less
* she's also a minister
* she's also married to a minister
How cool is that?
So go visit AnneDroid at Get Out of Jail Free. I'm going to think seriously about that trip overseas.
So I replied to all parties (there was a cc in there) and long story short, I've heard back from the person who was meant to be doing the ceremony.
Similarities:
* her email's almost the same as mine, expect mine ends in .com and hers ends in .co.uk
* she has a blog, here on Blogger, no less
* she's also a minister
* she's also married to a minister
How cool is that?
So go visit AnneDroid at Get Out of Jail Free. I'm going to think seriously about that trip overseas.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Take Me, Baby, or Leave Me
Inspired by the song from "Rent", Songbird offers this Friday 5:
I require chocolate on a regular basis. I'll provide it for myself. I'll even share. But time must be made for the chocolate, or things can get ugly.
I am most comfortable knowing who is in charge, and that they take that role seriously. Otherwise, even when I don't mean to, I tend to want to fill that leadership gap. Good thing I'm taking a class this summer on Collaborative Leadership.
I generally play well with others, and I never run with scissors.
I am easily frustrated and need a safe place to vent sometimes. And then I get over it.
I am an extrovert, and very loyal. I need to interact with people--a lot--or I start to look for ways to distract myself. Sometimes great creative insights come from those distractions, but usually, I'm just playing games on the computer.
Whether it's new friends or new loves or new employers, what are five things people should know about you?
I require chocolate on a regular basis. I'll provide it for myself. I'll even share. But time must be made for the chocolate, or things can get ugly.
I am most comfortable knowing who is in charge, and that they take that role seriously. Otherwise, even when I don't mean to, I tend to want to fill that leadership gap. Good thing I'm taking a class this summer on Collaborative Leadership.
I generally play well with others, and I never run with scissors.
I am easily frustrated and need a safe place to vent sometimes. And then I get over it.
I am an extrovert, and very loyal. I need to interact with people--a lot--or I start to look for ways to distract myself. Sometimes great creative insights come from those distractions, but usually, I'm just playing games on the computer.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Look What I Got!
Hot Cup Lutheran shared this valentine-y blog Friend Award with me!
I feel so special. Backatcha, HC!
Here's the "legalese":
"These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."
So, I'm sharing this with:
DogBlogger of Dog and God
Wyldth1ng of Wyld's Q&A
and a special group of women I share a blog with at an undisclosed location.
Thanks, ya'll. Glad to know ya!
Grace in Small Things for today
Hmmm...
1: icanhascheezburger.com
2: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
3: drycleaners who will clean pastor's robes and stoles overnight
4: the view from the top of the high-rise bridge
5: my truck
1: icanhascheezburger.com
2: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
3: drycleaners who will clean pastor's robes and stoles overnight
4: the view from the top of the high-rise bridge
5: my truck
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
I'm such a big girl!
I have posted before about my needle phobia and hypnotherapy.
Today I finally volunteered (to my doc's surprise; I think I finally got my point across last year) to take the injectable drug I've been avoiding for a year and a half. She really was surprised; when she mentioned it, it was in a dismissive, "and-you're-still-not-interested-in-this-of-course" tone, entirely reasonable given my history with her (the finger stick left me shaking; all the techs in the lab cried with me during the blood draw).
But today was really different.
I was a little anxious, and I caught myself several times trying to get worried and stressed out of habit more than anything else. But I knew things were different when I couldn't get too worked up about the finger stick. And it barely hurt. It always hurt before. A lot. More than they said it should. This one I barely felt. And I always have bruises on my fingertips that last for days...I can't feel it tonight. And when it came time to go to the lab, I give them my arm like I've never had any trouble. I didn't say, "you have to take it from my hand because I'm a hard stick." I didn't even think, "you've only got a couple of shots at fiding a vein before I flip out." I just pulled up my sleeve, stuck my arm out, and and let the tech do her thing.
And it worked! I barely felt the stick, she got it in the vein the first try, and unlike previous times I've had blood drawn for tests, I couldn't feel the needle after the initial jab. I've always felt the needle or the little plasic catheter in my arm right up until the draw was done and they took it out. And I've always been a very hard stick: for several years, I've had them take blood from the back of my hand rather than fish around in my arm, which was just excruciating.
My phobia was never about pain. It never had anything to do with whether or not a shot or a stick hurt. But I'm starting to realize that my unreasonable anxiety did make it hurt worse, which then added to the discomfort and ramped up the stress. I have always had a hard time with shots, and the last ten years or so, it's been ridiculous: crying, shaking, full-blown anxiety attacks. When I realized that I was turning down a drug that could help me be healthier because I was afraid to take it, I knew I had to do something, and I finally did.
The needle phobia stems from an incident I witnessed as a child, as near as we can tell. My mother and I can't quite get our stories straight, but we're agreed that something scared me terribly when I was little. I think I saw another child have a seizure or something in response to a shot. And every time I got anxious about a needle, I reverted back to being that scared, confused little girl. Today I acted like a grown-up. I heard the anxious thoughts, but I didn't let them take over.
And tomorrow morning, I'm going to give myself a shot. At least for the next month, I'm going to do that twice a day. I can do it. I'm a big girl!
update 01/14/09: I did it...I gave myself the shot this morning. I wasted about 30 minutes fooling around before I realized I was looking for excuses not to do it...and then I did it. I suspect that unless you've had this level of anxiety over something, this post sounds self-indulgent and childish. But this is a major accomplishment for me, and I am very pleased!
Today I finally volunteered (to my doc's surprise; I think I finally got my point across last year) to take the injectable drug I've been avoiding for a year and a half. She really was surprised; when she mentioned it, it was in a dismissive, "and-you're-still-not-interested-in-this-of-course" tone, entirely reasonable given my history with her (the finger stick left me shaking; all the techs in the lab cried with me during the blood draw).
But today was really different.
I was a little anxious, and I caught myself several times trying to get worried and stressed out of habit more than anything else. But I knew things were different when I couldn't get too worked up about the finger stick. And it barely hurt. It always hurt before. A lot. More than they said it should. This one I barely felt. And I always have bruises on my fingertips that last for days...I can't feel it tonight. And when it came time to go to the lab, I give them my arm like I've never had any trouble. I didn't say, "you have to take it from my hand because I'm a hard stick." I didn't even think, "you've only got a couple of shots at fiding a vein before I flip out." I just pulled up my sleeve, stuck my arm out, and and let the tech do her thing.
And it worked! I barely felt the stick, she got it in the vein the first try, and unlike previous times I've had blood drawn for tests, I couldn't feel the needle after the initial jab. I've always felt the needle or the little plasic catheter in my arm right up until the draw was done and they took it out. And I've always been a very hard stick: for several years, I've had them take blood from the back of my hand rather than fish around in my arm, which was just excruciating.
My phobia was never about pain. It never had anything to do with whether or not a shot or a stick hurt. But I'm starting to realize that my unreasonable anxiety did make it hurt worse, which then added to the discomfort and ramped up the stress. I have always had a hard time with shots, and the last ten years or so, it's been ridiculous: crying, shaking, full-blown anxiety attacks. When I realized that I was turning down a drug that could help me be healthier because I was afraid to take it, I knew I had to do something, and I finally did.
The needle phobia stems from an incident I witnessed as a child, as near as we can tell. My mother and I can't quite get our stories straight, but we're agreed that something scared me terribly when I was little. I think I saw another child have a seizure or something in response to a shot. And every time I got anxious about a needle, I reverted back to being that scared, confused little girl. Today I acted like a grown-up. I heard the anxious thoughts, but I didn't let them take over.
And tomorrow morning, I'm going to give myself a shot. At least for the next month, I'm going to do that twice a day. I can do it. I'm a big girl!
update 01/14/09: I did it...I gave myself the shot this morning. I wasted about 30 minutes fooling around before I realized I was looking for excuses not to do it...and then I did it. I suspect that unless you've had this level of anxiety over something, this post sounds self-indulgent and childish. But this is a major accomplishment for me, and I am very pleased!
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Five Graces
Hmmm...haven't posted one of these in a while:
1: afternoon naps in my recliner
2: wetsuit socks so I can kayak in winter/spring
3: diet Coke (minimal guilt caffeine, yay!)
4: this video:
5: my "new" camera (just like my old Nikon N75 except without power supply problems)
1: afternoon naps in my recliner
2: wetsuit socks so I can kayak in winter/spring
3: diet Coke (minimal guilt caffeine, yay!)
4: this video:
5: my "new" camera (just like my old Nikon N75 except without power supply problems)
Friday, January 9, 2009
Pancakes Friday Five
From Sophia at RevGalBlogPals:
1. Scratch or mix? Buttermilk or plain?
2. Pure and simple, or with additions cooked in?
3. For breakfast or for dinner?
4. Preferred syrup or other topping? How about the best side dish?
5. Favorite pancake restaurant?
Bonus: Any tasty recipes out there, for pancakes or other special breakfast dishes? Bring 'em on!
Last week Sally gave us a beautiful, spiritually reflective Friday Five, so it's time for something light and fluffy (literally). It's inspired by the fact that as I write this my dear spouse TechnoGuy, with the assistance of daughter Ladybug, is making a batch of chocolate chip pancakes with two Christmas presents. One is the Knott's Berry Farm mix which came along with jam, boysenberry syrup, and biscuit mix from my aunt (we ended up with two sets, since my parents passed theirs on to avoid sweet and carb-y temptation). The other is the large size Black and Decker electric skillet he was thrilled that I got him online -- our trusty wedding present normal size one still works at going on 20 years, but the Teflon is getting worn, and he wanted more cooking space. So pull up a chair to the kitchen table and tell us all about your pancake preferences.
1. Scratch or mix? Buttermilk or plain?
Scratch and plain for me!
2. Pure and simple, or with additions cooked in?
First, I add vanilla and cinnamon to the batter, and sometimes orange juice (although that's best with French toast). And I'm fond of chocolate chips, pecans, and bananas added in--any or all!
3. For breakfast or for dinner?
Yes. Or lunch. Or a snack.
4. Preferred syrup or other topping? How about the best side dish?
Depends on what's in it. I like regular pancake syrup okay, but I don't really like maple. Boysenberry is great. I also use berry jam or peanut butter, especially on leftovers. Some pancakes don't need anything but a light dusting of powdered sugar.
5. Favorite pancake restaurant?
The Beaufort Cafe, a local place that makes great pancakes and waffles.
Bonus: Any tasty recipes out there, for pancakes or other special breakfast dishes? Bring 'em on!
I use the tried and true recipe from the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook--the red & white plaid one. I don't measure my add-ins, and I always rest the batter 10-15 minutes (at least) before I start cooking my 'cakes.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Short on sleep
Living in this community, we tend to get relaxed about how safe we are. We know our neighbors and generally look out for one another. We know when an unfamiliar car is in a driveway (one neighbor asked who was visiting with me after th truck had been in our driveway for a week or two, back when it was an extra vehicle). It's a dog friendly neighborhood, which has pluses and minuses...no one notices a barking dog all that much, good if the WonderMutt spots a cat he wants to get to, but not so much interested when the neighborhood hounds get wound up. Too much crying "wolf", I suppose. And it's an older neighborhood, so we're usually the last house with lights on...no one's up to notice anything unusual at night.
We had gotten lax about things like being sure the windows were locked, we locked the vehicles at night, even occasionally forgetting to lock the back door (which turned out okay when we were out of town and gave the cat-sitter the wrong key, but won't happen again). I say "had" because Tuesday night, while the front of the house was dark and we were getting ready for bed, we heard what sounded like someone trying to open one of the doors.
They were both locked, so the first thing I did was check what kind of mischief the furry kids might have gotten into. The spooky Boo cat was with me, and the WonderMutt was in the bed, so I started to get nervous. I turned on the outside lights, and then started checking all the windows. After a few minutes, the neighborhood dogs cranked up, and I decided to call the police, using the non-mergency number, to ask them to cruise through the area once or twice overnight.
Have to say, we've got good police here in Beaufort. In just a few minutes, there was a knock at the door, which set the dog off. They looked around the house and didn't see anything, and said they'd keep an eye on things throughout the night.
I still feel safe here...as long as there are no strange noises. The dogs started barking a few minutes ago and a car alarm went off, and my heart started to beat faster. So I guess I don't, so much, feel as safe as I did. I haven't been sleeping well the last few nights, I think because I'm listening in my sleep for something to happen. And I have to wonder, too, did I hear what I thought I heard? Is there anything to this?
We've agreed that if anything else happens in the neighborhood, or if I continue to feel a little uncomfortable, we'll take some simple and fairly inexpensive precautions, some things we'd have done before now if we owned instead of rented the house, since we haven't wanted to bother the landlord with little things (even when we're paying), knowing that there have been some major repairs, and there are still some significant problems.
It was probably nothing. It might have been someone looking for an easy chance to grab some food and maybe the computer. There are lots of houses in the community that are empty at least part of the year, so you'd expect some opportunistic break-ins. There's no one in the neighborhood who likes to party late, so I don't think it's someone who just tried the wrong door, something that happened from time to time when I lived in bigger cities. But it was probably nothing--some other noise that I mistook. Even so, I'm a little spooked.
We had gotten lax about things like being sure the windows were locked, we locked the vehicles at night, even occasionally forgetting to lock the back door (which turned out okay when we were out of town and gave the cat-sitter the wrong key, but won't happen again). I say "had" because Tuesday night, while the front of the house was dark and we were getting ready for bed, we heard what sounded like someone trying to open one of the doors.
They were both locked, so the first thing I did was check what kind of mischief the furry kids might have gotten into. The spooky Boo cat was with me, and the WonderMutt was in the bed, so I started to get nervous. I turned on the outside lights, and then started checking all the windows. After a few minutes, the neighborhood dogs cranked up, and I decided to call the police, using the non-mergency number, to ask them to cruise through the area once or twice overnight.
Have to say, we've got good police here in Beaufort. In just a few minutes, there was a knock at the door, which set the dog off. They looked around the house and didn't see anything, and said they'd keep an eye on things throughout the night.
I still feel safe here...as long as there are no strange noises. The dogs started barking a few minutes ago and a car alarm went off, and my heart started to beat faster. So I guess I don't, so much, feel as safe as I did. I haven't been sleeping well the last few nights, I think because I'm listening in my sleep for something to happen. And I have to wonder, too, did I hear what I thought I heard? Is there anything to this?
We've agreed that if anything else happens in the neighborhood, or if I continue to feel a little uncomfortable, we'll take some simple and fairly inexpensive precautions, some things we'd have done before now if we owned instead of rented the house, since we haven't wanted to bother the landlord with little things (even when we're paying), knowing that there have been some major repairs, and there are still some significant problems.
It was probably nothing. It might have been someone looking for an easy chance to grab some food and maybe the computer. There are lots of houses in the community that are empty at least part of the year, so you'd expect some opportunistic break-ins. There's no one in the neighborhood who likes to party late, so I don't think it's someone who just tried the wrong door, something that happened from time to time when I lived in bigger cities. But it was probably nothing--some other noise that I mistook. Even so, I'm a little spooked.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Poetry Party Epiphanies Edition
It's time for an Abbey of the Arts Invitation to Poetry!
Christine offers this image for contemplation. Not sure how I get there from here:
It all seemed so fast:
The angel spoke,
Joseph welcomed,
Bethlehem beckoned,
the Baby came.
Shepherds visited,
Time to catch her breath!
Then foreign magi
Herod's wrath
flight to Egypt.
The child grew
and grew strange.
"My Father's House"?
A wedding
A baptism
Three years of wandering
Then the Cross and the Tomb.
How time must have flown for Mary.
Where was her baby boy?
Where was the young man,
speaking in the temple?
What would become of God's Promise?
How could he be dead?
The longest weekend, ever,
until Sabbath ended
and new life began.
Light dawned,
Love lived,
Mary pondered to herself:
"I knew it all along."
Christine offers this image for contemplation. Not sure how I get there from here:
It all seemed so fast:
The angel spoke,
Joseph welcomed,
Bethlehem beckoned,
the Baby came.
Shepherds visited,
Time to catch her breath!
Then foreign magi
Herod's wrath
flight to Egypt.
The child grew
and grew strange.
"My Father's House"?
A wedding
A baptism
Three years of wandering
Then the Cross and the Tomb.
How time must have flown for Mary.
Where was her baby boy?
Where was the young man,
speaking in the temple?
What would become of God's Promise?
How could he be dead?
The longest weekend, ever,
until Sabbath ended
and new life began.
Light dawned,
Love lived,
Mary pondered to herself:
"I knew it all along."
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Sermon: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
Matt 2:1-12
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.’ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
“And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.” ’
Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’ When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Remember the movie “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”? It must have been on TV a dozen times in December. I could summarize it briefly and say it’s about the misadventures of a businessman trying to get home to his family for Christmas despite weather and a persistent pest who accompanies him…but that’s not enough really. It might help to remind you that it stars Steve Martin and John Candy…and it’s about a long series of stages of a journey both to a physical location, and a certain warmth of heart.
Ben and I took a bit of a journey this fall when we traveled to a friend’s mountain house for vacation. We had directions, and we recognized most of the landmarks, but perhaps because we were so excited to be on the trip, it seemed like it took forever. We got past Raleigh and thought, “we’re getting closer.” We exited I-40 at Winston-Salem and thought, “are we there yet?” We passed through towns and cities of varying size and got to Boone: “We must be almost there.”
At Banner Elk we started looking for the last landmark, and we knew we were just a mile or so away…until we looked at the last line of the directions: “the road up the mountain is steep, and the last switchback can be a challenge. Just put your foot down and you’ll be fine.”
It was a challenge…that’s putting it mildly. And we did indeed figure out that accelerating up the steep slope was the only way we’d make it. We got stuck, but only for a moment, and then we were at our destination, the end of our journey. It was hard work, it took a long time, to go to that place we’d never been and have the great time there that we wouldn’t have had otherwise.
I think that must be part of what makes a trip into a journey. Living here in Beaufort, I would almost never call a trip to the grocery store a journey. To begin with, it’s only a mile or so from my house. And unless you count trying to turn left onto 70 a challenge (and sometimes it really it), there’s very little hardship to it. I don’t even think of longer trips, like my trip to Virginia Beach last week, as a journey. I’m familiar with the route, I know where I want to stop (I usually get coffee at the McDonald’s in Hertford, and there’s a 7-11 in Chesapeake, the first one I pass. I love 7-11!), and there’s very little mystery associated with it at all.
It is challenge and mystery that make a journey, I suspect. Steve Martin started out on a trip in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” but wound up on a journey. Ben and I left to take a trip, but the unfamiliar route and steep roads made it into a journey. It was a journey for us the first time we came to Beaufort; we’d never been here before I was appointed to Ann Street. Ben had been to Morehead City but hadn’t crossed the bridge, and so the last few miles of that first trip were filled with the unknown, with anticipation and no little anxiety about what it would be like.
For most of us, our journey of faith is that way. We have a vague idea of where we want to be going, but we’re not too clear on the landmarks. Some stretches are familiar ground, and on others we wonder how on earth anyone ever makes it. And when you get somewhere good, you can rest awhile, but there’s always somewhere else to go. As Aslan calls to the Pevensies in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we’re called to go “further up and further in.” That’s our journey: we start out on a life of faith, some of us as children, others as adults. For much of the time, we have others with us to act as guides and to draw the occasional maps. For some of the time, we are simply on automatic pilot, and everything seems to go well—until there’s a bump in the road.
Which is basically what happened to the wise men. There’s not much we really know about them. Although we sing “We Three Kings”, it’s more likely that they were magi—wise men, teachers—than royalty. They were astrologers, seekers of wisdom in the stars, and they had seen such a star in the heavens! The same star that led the shepherds from the fields outside Bethlehem to the manger of that over-full inn. The same star foretold by angels. The same star some say returned this December in the rare alignment of Venus, Jupiter, and the Moon. That star, a lodestar, calling them to follow.
We don’t even know how many they were, just that they brought three gifts: gold, fit for a king; frankincense, used in worship in the Temple; and myrrh, used to prepare bodies for burial. Over the millennia, as we’ve sought to add context to the story, the tradition has grown up that there were three kings to go with the three kingly gifts. We don’t really know where they were from; some evidence suggests they were Persian practitioners of Zoroastrianism, but tradition has given us the names of Gaspar, Balthazar, and Melchior and they are often depicted as if one were from Africa, one from an Arab nation, and another from the Orient. We don’t even know how they traveled; camels make frequent appearances in nativity scenes, but one children’s story I’ve read depicts Jesus as a toddler, running into the house, calling for his mother to see the “elephunks”, too.
And then there’s the question of when they came. Because we celebrate Epiphany on the 6th of January, we sort of have the impression that the wise men came more or less immediately after Jesus’ birth and wandered into the stable minutes after the shepherds’ departure. This can’t be the case, though, because they find Jesus not in the manger, but in a house, and we know that Jesus was more like two years old. Even more than who and when, though, the question I’ve always wanted answered is “why?”
Why would these men travel so far to see the child-king of a relatively insignificant, oppressed people? What was the significance of the “King of the Jews” to these wise men? What in their wisdom prompted them to undertake the journey to go see this new king? For journey it must have been. Over mountains and deserts, through foreign lands where they didn’t know the language, until they arrived, not in the destination they might have expected: Jerusalem, the capital city of Israel. Instead, at the end, they wind up in the little village of Bethlehem, outside the city gates. Their journey must have been full of challenge and mystery, and ultimately they were changed by what they saw.
We could spend our lives wondering what it was about the toddler Jesus that prompted these wise men to come and pay him homage, acknowledging him as one with power and authority. We could ponder how they might have known, what truths the star might have told them, what their relationship to Jesus was thereafter. It is, however, our own relationship with Jesus, our own journey, that really concerns us. From the wise men we learn that he was the King of the Jews, with power and authority. In their recognition of him, the wise men leave open a door for the Gentiles to know Jesus, and to embark on our own journeys of faith.
And in knowing Jesus, we come to learn that the bumps in the road—like the one the wise men met in Herod, the ones that come in all our lives—are when we learn that we’re not alone, that even on the longest journey through completely unknown territory, we have the company of God in the love of Christ and fellowship of the Holy Spirit. In the birth of the Savior, something changed in how we know God, and it was a profound enough change that it was felt not only in Israel, the heart of God’s people, but by those wise men many miles away.
It’s not often we think about the lengths involved in the journeys of our lives and faith. We can travel in planes, trains, and automobiles, but Mary and Joseph traveled on foot to Bethlehem. The wise men traveled long distances to Jerusalem and then to Bethlehem to meet Jesus. And just after the wise men left Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they take a journey of their own, to Egypt to flee Herod’s wrath. Jesus himself begins his ministry, a three-year journey around his native land, one that leads to the cross, but doesn’t end there. And we have our own journeys, through paths that wind through family and school, careers and marriage, sickness and health, boom markets and recessions.
The change comes with the coming of the Messiah, who would not be the king of the Jews in the way that was expected, but rather, King of our hearts and lives. Christ’s coming marks a major change in the way we travel through our lives: where once people might have felt alone, now we know that we do not journey alone. I think perhaps those wise men had the first inkling, the first Epiphany, the first Aha! moment in which they became aware that there would be no more unaccompanied journeys, no more wandering alone in the dark for those who know Jesus.
I come back, again and again, to Jesus’ names. “Jesus”, according to Matthew, means “he will save his people from his sins.” “Emmanuel” means “God with us.” I think of sin as those things which separate us from God, cause us to “miss the mark” of living as God intends. When we do those things, we could be said to be going off the map. Jesus’ coming means that we don’t lose the map, don’t lose God, don’t lose the presence of love and grace in our lives. We can return, repent, and know that in fact our sins are forgiven, and God’s love is always with us. We may miss the mark from time to time, but we are never alone in our journey.
Christmas “officially” ends with Epiphany. Some people will remember older family members talking about “old Christmas” or remembering traditions about it. A wonderful lady I knew in Pricetown didn’t change her bedsheets from Christmas Day to January 6, Old Christmas. It was a big deal to her.
For us, though, Epiphany marks not an end, but a new beginning: in the wise men’s journey and encounter with Jesus, our own lives and journeys are foretold. And to steal a phrase from Brian McLaren, a noted author and speaker, everything must change in his wake. Foreign kings from wealthy nations will bow to the infant king of an oppressed people. A sense that God is distant and disconnected can give way to a new reality: God is always with us.
Our Christian year starts with Advent, with the longing for Christ’s coming, once and again. From Advent we move to the 12 days of the Christmas season, when we rejoice in the coming of the Savior. Epiphany marks a move to what is unfortunately called “Ordinary Time”. But this time is anything but ordinary. In our two periods of Ordinary Time, from Christmas to Ash Wednesday and from Pentecost until Advent, we have time to enjoy the journey, to see where it takes us, to learn to sense Christ accompanying us wherever we go and whatever we go through.
Like the wise men, we set out on faith, knowing that something important awaits us. They found Jesus at the end of their journey. For us, meeting Jesus is just a beginning, when we set out in faith to know God and to be known by God, to love and be loved, to receive mercy and learn to offer it. The Epiphany was an end to the Magi’s journey, but for us it’s another beginning. And if we need it, there will be another, and another, and another, in the endless and matchless grace of God.
In Jesus, God is with us. Always. Thanks be to God.
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.’ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
“And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.” ’
Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’ When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Remember the movie “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”? It must have been on TV a dozen times in December. I could summarize it briefly and say it’s about the misadventures of a businessman trying to get home to his family for Christmas despite weather and a persistent pest who accompanies him…but that’s not enough really. It might help to remind you that it stars Steve Martin and John Candy…and it’s about a long series of stages of a journey both to a physical location, and a certain warmth of heart.
Ben and I took a bit of a journey this fall when we traveled to a friend’s mountain house for vacation. We had directions, and we recognized most of the landmarks, but perhaps because we were so excited to be on the trip, it seemed like it took forever. We got past Raleigh and thought, “we’re getting closer.” We exited I-40 at Winston-Salem and thought, “are we there yet?” We passed through towns and cities of varying size and got to Boone: “We must be almost there.”
At Banner Elk we started looking for the last landmark, and we knew we were just a mile or so away…until we looked at the last line of the directions: “the road up the mountain is steep, and the last switchback can be a challenge. Just put your foot down and you’ll be fine.”
It was a challenge…that’s putting it mildly. And we did indeed figure out that accelerating up the steep slope was the only way we’d make it. We got stuck, but only for a moment, and then we were at our destination, the end of our journey. It was hard work, it took a long time, to go to that place we’d never been and have the great time there that we wouldn’t have had otherwise.
I think that must be part of what makes a trip into a journey. Living here in Beaufort, I would almost never call a trip to the grocery store a journey. To begin with, it’s only a mile or so from my house. And unless you count trying to turn left onto 70 a challenge (and sometimes it really it), there’s very little hardship to it. I don’t even think of longer trips, like my trip to Virginia Beach last week, as a journey. I’m familiar with the route, I know where I want to stop (I usually get coffee at the McDonald’s in Hertford, and there’s a 7-11 in Chesapeake, the first one I pass. I love 7-11!), and there’s very little mystery associated with it at all.
It is challenge and mystery that make a journey, I suspect. Steve Martin started out on a trip in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” but wound up on a journey. Ben and I left to take a trip, but the unfamiliar route and steep roads made it into a journey. It was a journey for us the first time we came to Beaufort; we’d never been here before I was appointed to Ann Street. Ben had been to Morehead City but hadn’t crossed the bridge, and so the last few miles of that first trip were filled with the unknown, with anticipation and no little anxiety about what it would be like.
For most of us, our journey of faith is that way. We have a vague idea of where we want to be going, but we’re not too clear on the landmarks. Some stretches are familiar ground, and on others we wonder how on earth anyone ever makes it. And when you get somewhere good, you can rest awhile, but there’s always somewhere else to go. As Aslan calls to the Pevensies in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we’re called to go “further up and further in.” That’s our journey: we start out on a life of faith, some of us as children, others as adults. For much of the time, we have others with us to act as guides and to draw the occasional maps. For some of the time, we are simply on automatic pilot, and everything seems to go well—until there’s a bump in the road.
Which is basically what happened to the wise men. There’s not much we really know about them. Although we sing “We Three Kings”, it’s more likely that they were magi—wise men, teachers—than royalty. They were astrologers, seekers of wisdom in the stars, and they had seen such a star in the heavens! The same star that led the shepherds from the fields outside Bethlehem to the manger of that over-full inn. The same star foretold by angels. The same star some say returned this December in the rare alignment of Venus, Jupiter, and the Moon. That star, a lodestar, calling them to follow.
We don’t even know how many they were, just that they brought three gifts: gold, fit for a king; frankincense, used in worship in the Temple; and myrrh, used to prepare bodies for burial. Over the millennia, as we’ve sought to add context to the story, the tradition has grown up that there were three kings to go with the three kingly gifts. We don’t really know where they were from; some evidence suggests they were Persian practitioners of Zoroastrianism, but tradition has given us the names of Gaspar, Balthazar, and Melchior and they are often depicted as if one were from Africa, one from an Arab nation, and another from the Orient. We don’t even know how they traveled; camels make frequent appearances in nativity scenes, but one children’s story I’ve read depicts Jesus as a toddler, running into the house, calling for his mother to see the “elephunks”, too.
And then there’s the question of when they came. Because we celebrate Epiphany on the 6th of January, we sort of have the impression that the wise men came more or less immediately after Jesus’ birth and wandered into the stable minutes after the shepherds’ departure. This can’t be the case, though, because they find Jesus not in the manger, but in a house, and we know that Jesus was more like two years old. Even more than who and when, though, the question I’ve always wanted answered is “why?”
Why would these men travel so far to see the child-king of a relatively insignificant, oppressed people? What was the significance of the “King of the Jews” to these wise men? What in their wisdom prompted them to undertake the journey to go see this new king? For journey it must have been. Over mountains and deserts, through foreign lands where they didn’t know the language, until they arrived, not in the destination they might have expected: Jerusalem, the capital city of Israel. Instead, at the end, they wind up in the little village of Bethlehem, outside the city gates. Their journey must have been full of challenge and mystery, and ultimately they were changed by what they saw.
We could spend our lives wondering what it was about the toddler Jesus that prompted these wise men to come and pay him homage, acknowledging him as one with power and authority. We could ponder how they might have known, what truths the star might have told them, what their relationship to Jesus was thereafter. It is, however, our own relationship with Jesus, our own journey, that really concerns us. From the wise men we learn that he was the King of the Jews, with power and authority. In their recognition of him, the wise men leave open a door for the Gentiles to know Jesus, and to embark on our own journeys of faith.
And in knowing Jesus, we come to learn that the bumps in the road—like the one the wise men met in Herod, the ones that come in all our lives—are when we learn that we’re not alone, that even on the longest journey through completely unknown territory, we have the company of God in the love of Christ and fellowship of the Holy Spirit. In the birth of the Savior, something changed in how we know God, and it was a profound enough change that it was felt not only in Israel, the heart of God’s people, but by those wise men many miles away.
It’s not often we think about the lengths involved in the journeys of our lives and faith. We can travel in planes, trains, and automobiles, but Mary and Joseph traveled on foot to Bethlehem. The wise men traveled long distances to Jerusalem and then to Bethlehem to meet Jesus. And just after the wise men left Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they take a journey of their own, to Egypt to flee Herod’s wrath. Jesus himself begins his ministry, a three-year journey around his native land, one that leads to the cross, but doesn’t end there. And we have our own journeys, through paths that wind through family and school, careers and marriage, sickness and health, boom markets and recessions.
The change comes with the coming of the Messiah, who would not be the king of the Jews in the way that was expected, but rather, King of our hearts and lives. Christ’s coming marks a major change in the way we travel through our lives: where once people might have felt alone, now we know that we do not journey alone. I think perhaps those wise men had the first inkling, the first Epiphany, the first Aha! moment in which they became aware that there would be no more unaccompanied journeys, no more wandering alone in the dark for those who know Jesus.
I come back, again and again, to Jesus’ names. “Jesus”, according to Matthew, means “he will save his people from his sins.” “Emmanuel” means “God with us.” I think of sin as those things which separate us from God, cause us to “miss the mark” of living as God intends. When we do those things, we could be said to be going off the map. Jesus’ coming means that we don’t lose the map, don’t lose God, don’t lose the presence of love and grace in our lives. We can return, repent, and know that in fact our sins are forgiven, and God’s love is always with us. We may miss the mark from time to time, but we are never alone in our journey.
Christmas “officially” ends with Epiphany. Some people will remember older family members talking about “old Christmas” or remembering traditions about it. A wonderful lady I knew in Pricetown didn’t change her bedsheets from Christmas Day to January 6, Old Christmas. It was a big deal to her.
For us, though, Epiphany marks not an end, but a new beginning: in the wise men’s journey and encounter with Jesus, our own lives and journeys are foretold. And to steal a phrase from Brian McLaren, a noted author and speaker, everything must change in his wake. Foreign kings from wealthy nations will bow to the infant king of an oppressed people. A sense that God is distant and disconnected can give way to a new reality: God is always with us.
Our Christian year starts with Advent, with the longing for Christ’s coming, once and again. From Advent we move to the 12 days of the Christmas season, when we rejoice in the coming of the Savior. Epiphany marks a move to what is unfortunately called “Ordinary Time”. But this time is anything but ordinary. In our two periods of Ordinary Time, from Christmas to Ash Wednesday and from Pentecost until Advent, we have time to enjoy the journey, to see where it takes us, to learn to sense Christ accompanying us wherever we go and whatever we go through.
Like the wise men, we set out on faith, knowing that something important awaits us. They found Jesus at the end of their journey. For us, meeting Jesus is just a beginning, when we set out in faith to know God and to be known by God, to love and be loved, to receive mercy and learn to offer it. The Epiphany was an end to the Magi’s journey, but for us it’s another beginning. And if we need it, there will be another, and another, and another, in the endless and matchless grace of God.
In Jesus, God is with us. Always. Thanks be to God.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Beginnings and Endings Friday Five
An F5 offered by Sally:
First list five things that you remember/ treasure from 2008
1: Getting to know my DMin cabal
2: Spending a little more time with Exceptional One
3: Giving myself freedom and permission to do creative things
4: My truck! I love my truck!
5: Taking up kayaking, so I spend more time on the water
Then list five things that you are looking forward to in 2009
1: Working on the Arts Festival and learning stories about Ann Street and Beaufort
2: The birth of Exceptional Two
3: Kayaking and long walks
4: Taking (even) better care of myself physically, emotionally, spiritually
5: Continuing to make friends in every setting I find myself.
And for my own offering of encouragement, I leave you this:
This Celtic Mandala represents life, noting how days and years turn from one to another. As we have stepped from 2008 into 2009 some of us look back with joy and others with saddness; probably most of us with a mixture of the two.
As we look back we may come to understand how God has worked in and through us in joy and saddness. how we have grown against what may seem impossible odds. As we look forward we may do so with expectation, and we may do so with fear and trembling. As we look back and forward in New Years liminality I offer you this simple yet I hope profound Friday Five in two parts:
First list five things that you remember/ treasure from 2008
1: Getting to know my DMin cabal
2: Spending a little more time with Exceptional One
3: Giving myself freedom and permission to do creative things
4: My truck! I love my truck!
5: Taking up kayaking, so I spend more time on the water
Then list five things that you are looking forward to in 2009
1: Working on the Arts Festival and learning stories about Ann Street and Beaufort
2: The birth of Exceptional Two
3: Kayaking and long walks
4: Taking (even) better care of myself physically, emotionally, spiritually
5: Continuing to make friends in every setting I find myself.
As you read one anothers blogs today I challenge you to leave a word of encouragement and pause to pray for each member of Revgals as we step into a New Year. I leave you this New Year Blessing from the Iona Community:
We stand to face the future:
God behind us in the past
Christ before us; the way ahead;
Christ beside us in this moment;
Christ beneath us in our weakness;
Christ above to shield us-
beneath the shadow of his wings we are safe;
Christ between us to bind us in the unity of his love;
Christ in us equipping us with his all sufficient grace.
Thus armed and guided, and protected we face the new year.
Now we arise and go forth on the journey before us,
knowing that, where Christ leads, life is a journey home.
Therefore we travel in faith, in hope, and in love,
in the name of the Father/ Mother, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
May the blessing of God
be upon us
all this year
and into eternity. Amen.
And for my own offering of encouragement, I leave you this:
My life has been long, and believing that life loves the liver of it, I have dared to try many things, sometimes trembling, but believing still...
I have made many mistakes and no doubt will make more before I die. When I have seen pain, when I have found that my ineptness has caused displeasure, I have learned to accept my responsibility and forgive myself first, then to apologize to anyone injured by my misreckoning. Since I cannot un-live history, and repentance is all I can offer God, I have hopes that my sincere apologies were accepted.
You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them. Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud. Do not complain. Make every effort to change things you do not like. If you cannot make a change, change the way you have been thinking. You might find a new solution...
Be certain that you do not die without doing something wonderful for humanity.
I gave birth to one child, a son, but I have thousands of daughters. You are Black and White, Jewish and Muslim, Asian, Spanish-speaking, Native American and Aleut. You are fat and thin and pretty and plain, gay and straight, educated and unlettered, and I am speaking to you all. Here is my offering to you.
Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Good Reads, the first
I may try to make this a regular feature, but for now, I just want to share some books I've been reading and really enjoying.
First, there's The Daily Coyote, from the author of the blog of the same name. I've been getting my Charlie fix daily for months now, thanks to the great photography of Shreve Stockton, and I've loved reading the book. At the age of 10 days, Charlie the coyote came into Shreve's life--the book is the story of how they made a life together. Shreve slips in some observations of spirituality and the occasional church sign from the Methodist church in town, which amuses me no end.
I'm in the middle of my second reading of Barbara Brown Taylor's Leaving Church. The first time I was reading a copy loaned to me by a friend, and it quickly became apparent that I needed to read it more slowly, and with pen in hand. Taylor's account of her struggle to be the perfect priest leads her out of the local church and into a broader understanding of who God is, and what it really means to be human. In so doing, she communicates her own pain and joy and conflict with honesty and integrity, and opens up our image of what God and service and spirituality are.
And last, Maya Angelou's Letter to My Daughter. This book was another loaner, and so I haven't rushed through it with pen in hand to highlight my favorite bits, but it's on my wishlist. She offers advice and affection to all of her daughters: not the flesh and blood girl she never had, but to all of us who live and love and questions. She recounts trauma in her life as it shaped her emotions and outlooks unflinchingly, but without brutality and without apology. From her chapter on Coretta Scott King:
"Painful awe" describes my response to this book fairly well. I've read it with deep appreciation and respect, and found much to ponder and enrich my life.
So there are some brief thoughts on these books. So much of what I read is junk, mind candy, just for fun, but I've enjoyed delving a little deeper with these three.
Got suggestions for good reads? Please let me know in the comments.
First, there's The Daily Coyote, from the author of the blog of the same name. I've been getting my Charlie fix daily for months now, thanks to the great photography of Shreve Stockton, and I've loved reading the book. At the age of 10 days, Charlie the coyote came into Shreve's life--the book is the story of how they made a life together. Shreve slips in some observations of spirituality and the occasional church sign from the Methodist church in town, which amuses me no end.
I'm in the middle of my second reading of Barbara Brown Taylor's Leaving Church. The first time I was reading a copy loaned to me by a friend, and it quickly became apparent that I needed to read it more slowly, and with pen in hand. Taylor's account of her struggle to be the perfect priest leads her out of the local church and into a broader understanding of who God is, and what it really means to be human. In so doing, she communicates her own pain and joy and conflict with honesty and integrity, and opens up our image of what God and service and spirituality are.
And last, Maya Angelou's Letter to My Daughter. This book was another loaner, and so I haven't rushed through it with pen in hand to highlight my favorite bits, but it's on my wishlist. She offers advice and affection to all of her daughters: not the flesh and blood girl she never had, but to all of us who live and love and questions. She recounts trauma in her life as it shaped her emotions and outlooks unflinchingly, but without brutality and without apology. From her chapter on Coretta Scott King:
I am besieged with painful awe at the vacuum left by the dead. Where did she go? Where is he now? Are they, as the poet James Weldon Johnson said, “resting in the bosom of Jesus”? If so, what about my Jewish loves, my Japanese dears, and my Muslim darlings. Into whose bosom are they cuddled?
I find relief from the questions only when I conceded that I am not obliged to know everything. I remind myself it is sufficient to know what I know, and that what I know, may not always be true.
"Painful awe" describes my response to this book fairly well. I've read it with deep appreciation and respect, and found much to ponder and enrich my life.
So there are some brief thoughts on these books. So much of what I read is junk, mind candy, just for fun, but I've enjoyed delving a little deeper with these three.
Got suggestions for good reads? Please let me know in the comments.
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