Bits for Sunday, October 7, 2007

I’m a Quaker turned Wesleyan who attends a Baptist Bible study. If you can figure that one out…good for you.

This morning I went to the homecoming service at the church where I spent the first nineteen years of my life. (That would be the Quaker church, in case you’re lost in my multi-denominational loop.) I’d visited a couple of times over the past decade, but this was the first time in more recent years that I had been inside the building, and I was excited to go.

Don’t get me wrong – I love the church I attend on a regular basis. The past decade spent there has been one of growth and learning and teaching and new friendships that I need and love. But there’s something to be said for going home.

Of course there were the moments of vanity leading up to today. I had to go for a “trim ‘n thin” so that my hair wouldn’t be some monstrosity garnering unwanted attention. I pondered buying a new outfit, but given that nearly everything I own has been purchased within the last decade, that seemed an unnecessary purchase. Then there was the laborious poring over the recipe file to decide what dishes to take to the carry-in dinner. I narrowed it down to two and took them both.

But once I put all that aside, I looked forward to seeing people I hadn’t seen for a long time. And even though I was sure some of them would be people I have seen, since for the most part, we all still live in the same general area, I was excited to see them again in that particular environment.

And I did see so many people that I used to spend time with every Sunday. My high school Sunday School teacher, Jamie, was there – and I remembered all the weeks of sitting in her class, learning from her perspective. There were only a couple of us in the class, but she came every week and taught just the two of us. She put up with our “creative” methods of giving Sunday school offering and allowed class to stop so we could giggle when we heard the ushers being bombarded by a deluge of coins falling out of whatever trap we’d constructed that day.

I saw a couple of my fellow nursery worker buddies. Bonnie and I worked together every second Sunday, and Iantha and I covered every fifth Sunday. Some of those kids we used to chase around were old enough to be running the sound booth and working in the nursery themselves – and even playing in the bell choir. I tried not to dwell on what that meant about my age. (I’m not old, you know.)

Until I saw the tables set up for the bell choir, I’d completely forgotten that I used to play in that. I managed the tiny little bells on the end that just received a random note now and then. It was nice to see that now those bells are taken over by other kids who are just about the age I was when I played them.

Some things hadn’t really changed. The ushers still picked on me. For part of the service, I sat with friends I used to sit with 20 years ago, but we’re all much taller now. The red hymnals are still in the racks, and the pew cushion still leaves a little criss-cross pattern in your wrist if you rest your hand on it too long. I remembered the little wooden offering plates and the great big pulpit that easily hides three people.

After the agonizing decision to leave a decade ago, I wrote this: The first Sunday after I left, I visited a Mennonite church where my best friend attends. During the sermon, I looked at the bulletin. The front of it said, “Even the sparrow finds a home.” I flipped it over to look at the back, which had a responsive reading, a reflection, and a prayer on it. The reflection part opened by saying, “When I was a child, our family moved frequently, yet we didn’t change homes – only houses. Home was wherever Mom and Dad were – a place of refuge and safety.” The writer went on to say that everyone needs a home – a spiritual home. The end of the reflection read, “Each time we meet with other believers, there is a very real sense of ‘coming home.’ Home is where God and our brothers and sisters are, a place of refuge and safety.” I became excited as I read, because I felt that these words were God’s promise to me that I would find a new church home.
And I did. And I love that home.

But I also loved coming home. Coming home to the place where I was dedicated as a little baby. The place where I sang my first (and last) solo. The place where I first taught children’s church. The place where I spoke in front of a group for the first time. The place where I went to youth group and survived all the typical crushes and conflicts of such an age. The place where I learned all the songs that taught me the books of the Bible. The place where I learned to pray out loud without giggling. The place where I always dreamed of getting married. (That hasn’t been entirely ruled out at this point.)

Even the sparrow finds a home…and though I have found my new home, visiting my first home and my extended family there was a welcome blessing.

Hitting the Floor

Many years ago, I was driving along in my car, listening to the radio, when the DJ started pondering the seriousness of her own prayer life. She talked about times when she "just prayed" and times when she "hit the floor" and prayed. Those were the times when she was really serious and she wanted to see something conclusive happen in the given situation.

This week has brought about a resurrection of the "hit the floor" kind of prayer for me. You know me...I'm a chatterbox. I talk to God incessantly about most anything and everything. I think He likes that, so I don't really worry about it. But this week has brought the need for the more desperate, serious kind of prayer. The kind that drives me to make lists and read them to God so that I know my thoughts are coherent. The kind that sends me searching to see what changes I need to make to ensure I'm doing all I can to stay on the right path, yet sends me to stillness to make sure I can hear any answers and be free to follow whatever God might have to say.

Last night in particular, I was thinking about something I heard Beth Moore say in this Bible study series of hers that I'm doing. She was talking about the "popular" Prayer of Jabez, and she said that sometimes people ask her about her view of that prayer. She said she thinks it's a great thing to pray - but maybe some people need to start making good use of the territory they have before they ask for more. Good point. Worth pondering.

So that's where I am for this week. Hitting the floor and pondering if I'm making the best use of the territory I've been given before I pray for more.

Happy Friday!

Not only am I NOT Smarter than a 5th Grader...

...I finally gave in and join the wellness program at work. The thing holding me back was the required physical, but I forced myself to get one last week. I was told it would be no big deal. Well of course my blood pressure was up due to office stress prior to going in for the physical. That's something I've come to expect. And then I had to put on a paper shirt. Anything involving paper clothing crosses the "no big deal" line in my mind.

We established that although my father had prostate cancer, I was probably safe from getting that. We established a few other things that I'll spare you for my own dignity's sake.

I dropped off my medical clearance form and picked up my "tracking card" so I can keep track of my exercise. THEN the lady gave me the form that tells what exercise is worth on the point system.

Later that evening I sat down to read it and within 20 seconds, I determined I'm too stupid for the wellness program. I had to have someone in the office explain it to me. I'm not sure I entirely get it. I didn't see a category for "nearly died on the elliptical" or "was almost killed by co-worker in the gym."

So I've decided to work out a deal with Rachel (from my office) every day. I'll tell her what I did and she'll tell me how much it's worth.

Good thing that wasn't my test for employment!

Bits for Sunday, September 30, 2007

It has happened – again. Writer’s block. I love the Sundays when I sit down to write and something just rolls out of my brain and onto the screen and a few minutes later – BOOM! The “bits” are written. And then there are the weeks like this one – where I keep procrastinating for another half hour. I watch another TV show, bake another batch of cookies, visit another blog, go for another walk, hoping that something will trigger an idea in my mind.

Today I have nine dozen (wonderful, I might add) cookies on my kitchen counter and no thoughts rolling through my brain. Then it occurred to me that long ago, I purchased a book for just such an occasion. It’s called Room to Write, and it contains page after page of ideas intended to spark writing during the times of blockage. I paid $6.48 for it, according to the price tag – which is still on the book for some very unBekahlike reason – so I might as well actually open the book and use it!

The prompt said, “Most of us write because we love to read. You have to love words and what they do to you to want to spend so much time wrestling them.” The “assignment” at the bottom of the page said, “Today remember a writer who called you to write.”

Well I don’t remember a particular writer who called me to write, though I certainly gobbled up books at an alarming rate when I was growing up. My parents thought they were saving money by not having cable. They probably spent as much in books over the years as they would have spent on that cable bill!

But if someone were to ask me why I started writing…here’s what I would say.

I loved to write before I could put words on paper. When I was a little girl, I loved to tell stories, and I would tell them to anyone who listened. Grandparents, sisters, parents, unsuspecting passers-by, and when all else failed, a line of baby dolls which I may or may not have bothered to dress for the occasion. And my stories could go on for days. (See how not much changes in my life?) Mom said I skipped from the monumental “first word” status to straight paragraph talk. And though I couldn’t spell words or scribble out letters on paper, I had things to say – so I spoke my stories.

Then I discovered the world of writing – probably in upper elementary school. Just little short stories. Little bits of fiction. Attempts at mirroring the Mandie books or Little House on the Prairie books or any number of Janette Oke books that filled my bookshelves in my bedroom. I remember one of my first “big” attempts at writing was a novel that I never finished – and probably never will finish. It was about a girl named Jensine who lived back in the pioneer days. I remember that she was an orphan, and I remember that for my age and training level, the story line was surprisingly put together.

I dabbled in keeping a journal – a diary, back then. I never succeeded very long because the books I bought were actual diary books that had dated pages, and I felt very limited by that page boundary. Some days I couldn’t squeeze everything I had to say onto the tiny page allotted, and other days, if I couldn’t fill up an entire page, I felt like a failure. (To this day, if I am writing in a workbook of some sort, I will write until every line is filled, whether or not I have something meaningful to say on that line. I hate unused lines.) Once I finally learned about generic blank books, I became extremely disciplined in keeping a daily journal entry. I think I’ve been doing that for almost fifteen years now.

I was in high school when I discovered that I could actually major in writing when I went to college. That appealed to me, as my drive to follow my original career paths of secretarial work, teaching school, or nursing had waned severely. So I enrolled in college as a writing major. I gave very little thought to what I would actually do with that once I finished school. I was just happy to have a major.

My school was blessed with great professors who challenged me (sometimes too much, I used to think) and allowed me to grow as the writer I was – even if what I chose to write didn’t appeal to their tastes. I quickly learned that writing fiction, which is what I thought I wanted to do, was not really my passion. Even more quickly, I learned that poetry was out for me. (That was a rough semester of patience from my professor who gently wrote in my final portfolio, “I don’t think you are first a poet-writer, but you do this well too.” What a kind way of saying “DON’T DO THIS EVER AGAIN!”) In one rather torturous class, I learned that technical writing was not even close to being my gift.

But while there, I learned a craft. I learned how to weave humor and seriousness into the same article. I learned the fine line between teaching and preaching. I learned how to take what I know and mold it into something with personality.

One of the greatest gifts I ever received as a writing student, was a note that a professor tucked inside a portfolio I had to submit at the end of the semester. I don’t even remember which writing class I took that year, but we had to submit a journal entry every time we met for class. The entries went in a rotation of three topics – one about something we’d read (because a good writer always reads), one about the world (because a good writer always observes what is happening in the local world and the larger world), and something about life (because a good writer always finds a way to teach from life experience).

In the flap of the portfolio, she wrote a beautiful note that encouraged and affirmed my chosen path. She told me that I was diligent and gifted and that I was the real deal in a crowd that perhaps held some who were not the real deal. She ended the note by saying, “You know how to persevere. I’m very proud of you.”

I’m pretty sure I cried when I read it. Gaining her approval was one of my highest goals as her student. I don’t share that with you to boast in any way, but to say that this is the note that keeps me writing when I want to quit. Writing is a lot of work. It’s a commitment that I keep every day of my life – either in journaling or blogging or working on things for publication. It takes a lot of time, it’s vulnerable, and sometimes it exposes way too much of my heart. I’ve read back through that college assignment enough to know it really wasn’t my best work ever. But she saw potential in me – and I am determined to make the best use of that potential, even if right now, it’s not my bread-winning job.

So why do I write? I write because block or no block, I can’t breathe if I don’t write. If I try to skip it, I’m miserable. I write because before I could write, I spoke the stories. I write because I have to put onto paper (or screen) the things in my heart. Maybe only 1/8th of it is worth keeping. But I never know when something worth keeping will spill out – so I have to write until my hand hurts – and then later go back and look for the treasures.

Floor Joyces and Fall Decorating

It's been a while since I offered a Kansas update - so here you go! This coming week marks five months since the tornado, and while the "worldwide fascination" of the storm has gone, apparently the gawking hasn't. Lori said that you know it's bad when six year olds say "Oh no - more cameras?"

The Discovery Channel is doing a documentary series on the rebuilding - and even if six year olds are tired of cameras, I'm kind of glad they're doing it because it will give me a chance to see progress from a distance. And Leonardo DiCaprio is hosting it so it can't be all bad on the eyes either! :)

This past weekend was football Homecoming, and my niece was in the court - so that was exciting! One of her best friends was crowned queen, so I was excited for her! (She's a lot of fun.) Apparently not only did the local news out there cover the festivities, but some footage of it made its way to Indiana, because my friend Jenny said to me this week "I saw Lori on TV!" I said, "Lori who?" She said, "YOUR SISTER." Oh! That Lori! I guess she was in full view of the parade route. And I missed it! :(

Construction on their home is coming along - though it seems to me to be very slowly. The basement is done and all sorts of other little projects about which I, not being a construction guru, don't remember the details. Sorry. But yesterday Lori said they were working on the floor joists - or as they call them out there, "floor joyces." That cracked me up. So I guess it's coming along!

Meanwhile they are very busy running around to various places for volleyball games. Senior night was this week and Cassie was honored then. Well, and some other people too.

Back in Bekahland, I'm enjoying some time off work. I came home at noon yesterday and laid down for "just a minute" and woke up an hour later. Apparently I was very tired! I'm just kind of taking it easy - got the fall decorating done - at least for the most part. I washed all the windows and began the weekly ritual cleaning too. I'd planned to scrapbook today, but my Dad called to say he was coming over to finish some Habitat for Bekah projects (caulking on the roof, hauling away tree limbs) so I moved all the icky chores to today's plan so I can be "helpful" to him and will scrapbook tomorrow!

So about this Bachelor...

I really did not intend for my fall lineup to include the Bachelor. I actually didn't even know a new season of the Bachelor was about to start - other than my friend Jenny telling me he was a cutie. (She was right about that!)

BUT....last night when I got home, it just so happened to be coming on, and I was about to try the exercise ball, so I figured why not watch? (I very nearly stopped before I started because try #1 of the exercise ball was done barefoot and I slid straight into the entertainment center due to lack of secure footing. WOOPS!)

So here's my thing. I like this Bachelor more than most, because he seems to be a little more - with it? But these girls! I'm sure that in real life, many of them possess an ounce or two of brain power, but the things they did last night to try to get the first impression rose were, as our secretary would say, beyond the beyond. Showing off your webbed toes? That says "pick me?" Turning into a human pretzel in an evening gown? Singing off key? Sure it makes him remember you, but um....maybe not in the way you wanted him to remember you?

As usual, I was sucked in by the teaser at the end of all the coming attractions this season, including whatever drama eventually brings in the ambulance.

Though it makes me roll my eyes, I guess my fall lineup has officially started.

Bits for Sunday, September 23, 2007

According to the ticker above, Daylight Savings Time ends in forty days. I have now moved into the “Lent mentality.” If I can survive forty days of (whatever I give up any given year), I can survive forty more days of my brain and body being in a different time zone from my posted work hours.

According to my calendar, fall has arrived. And what a beautiful fall day it is! Sunny – and warm enough to keep the summer clothes in circulation for another day.

But I have to admit – I’m kind of ready for fall. NOT ready for raking leaves. Allow me to make that clarification up front. That’s the one part I’m dreading. But I’m ready for all the other excitement that fall brings to my life.

* Fall cleaning. I don’t really do spring cleaning. (I’d blame it on exhaustion brought on by changing into daylight savings, but I didn’t do spring cleaning before that business started, so I guess that won’t work.) But I do feel better after reading on a website that if you’re only going to do one major cleaning a year, fall is the one to do. Yeah. I knew that. That’s why I chose it. And my fall cleaning has begun. This week I cleaned the carpets and reveled in the satisfaction of tossing out murky water. (At least one of you understands that joy, I know.) I knocked down cobwebs and rubbed some orange oil into the wood on the buffet to give it a pick-me-up. The cleaning isn’t done. I’ve got windows to attack with a fury, more cabinets that need pick-me-up attention, and a few tubs waiting to be hauled into the attic.

* The great wardrobe switch. This is still awaiting me, but this is one of my favorite things about season changes. I am convinced that the change of seasons was designed partly for women who are tired of their current clothing selection and need new options without spending money. I love pulling everything out of the closet, sending away the clothes that I’m officially done wearing for life, folding up the rest, packing them away for half a year, and pulling out the alternate season of clothing. I always find things I forget I had, and for at least a month, I feel like I’m wearing brand new clothes every day! Another fabulous part of the great wardrobe switch is finding all the super/extra/final markdowns on clothing and shoes – especially the stuff I staked out at the beginning of the season and now can finally afford once it’s 90% off.

* New decorations. Probably later today I’ll venture into the attic and drag out the tub of fall decorations. I love the oranges and yellows and browns that I tuck into corners here and there to perk up the house. The cats love playing with the newspaper packing while I rearrange the décor. Hey, whatever keeps them out of my decorating is fine with me.

* Fall candles. I have an unhealthy addiction to candles – and some of you know that in the winter, that’s primarily how I heat my house. But even though I burn candles year round, there’s something about the fall candles that I love the most. When Angela lived here with me, we both liked the Yankee candle scent of Harvest. Every year we’d wait for that one to go on sale and then we’d burn it every day – it has an amazing scent. Last night when I was in Wal-Mart (go figure) – I stopped by the candle aisle to see what they’d brought out for the fall and I’m excited to head back after payday to stock up on candles for my candle garden!

* Trip to the apple orchard/pumpkin patch. I wonder if I think apples are only available for purchase in the fall. I rarely buy them except when I make my annual trip to the apple orchard and pumpkin patch. Maybe they’re better when they come straight from the orchard. I’m not sure. But going to the orchard is one of my favorite things to do – choosing the perfect pumpkins for my porch and mini pumpkins and gourds for the table inside. And then of course, the apple selection. And with that comes the making of one of my favorite cakes that my friend Lois gave me the recipe for – this perfect spice cake with bits of apple in it. Slather some whipped cream on top and have a cup of coffee with it – it’s the perfect breakfast, snack, or dessert.

* Colors! Maybe I love fall because I love color and fall has so many of them. Though I detest raking the leaves, I love the beautiful colors that they turn before they give up and fall. I love the colors of the fields before harvest (and may I add – I do not miss the dust of harvest that blew into my bedroom window when I lived at home with my parents).

* And most of all – vacation! Fall is about the only time of year that I feel caught up enough at work to take more than a couple of days off at a time. So even though it’s not an immediate thing – I’m going to look forward to my vacation!

In the meantime – a fond farewell to summer. Yesterday I got a sunburn – probably my last of the year. That’s okay with me. I am pretty sure it gave me a fever, so I’m not anxious for it to hang around too long. I mowed the yard – probably not for the last time, but there are likely not many mowing days ahead of me. This summer has been a good one – one of the best I’ve had in recent years. But I’m excited to welcome fall – which has the potential to be even better!

Life - Perhaps a Return to Normal?

I told Mom yesterday that each year, I virtually lose the months of August and September because it is our busy time at work. One of our busy times, maybe I should say. One day not long ago, I sat up in bed, completely panicking that I'd missed a birthday that happened a month ago. After some hard thinking, I realized I'd not missed it - but I'd just sort of lost all the days that followed it.

But the end of business Friday hopefully marked the end of the madness. Hopefully.

Perhaps now I can sit back and enjoy life a little. Stay home, maybe? I feel like I'm forever yelling to the cats that I'm leaving (as if they care) and I'll be back later. Right now Braeya is sacked out cold on the desk next to the keyboard. She rarely leaves my sight when I'm home - probably in an attempt to remember what I look like!

But the weekend has been a good one. Last night I met Skyepuppy for the first time. When we finally left the restaurant, our very patient waiter asked if we were catching up for the first time in a while. We didn't bother to explain that it was our first meeting - but for me anyway, it just felt like catching up with a long-lost friend. Funny how you feel like you've known your blogger buddies forever!

Today I stayed home most of the day and worked hard on the house. I mowed the yard (Beat the neighbors, thankyouverymuch! Watch, they'll mow tomorrow.) and spent most of the rest of the day working on this great dining room overhaul project. I finished cleaning all the carpets so I can return the cleaner to the people who loaned it to me. I have pretty much all of the furniture moved - with the exception of a couple of things that need swapped around in the guest room, but it doesn't have to be today.

Mom found a "new" desk chair for me at the Rescue Mission. It doesn't precisely match the decor, but it also is in one piece (a plus) and the price was right! (Can't beat five bucks!) So I'm enjoying typing away NOT from a folding chair.

The last load of laundry is in the dryer, breakfast for church is assembled and awaiting its baking in the morning, and I have a headache from a sunburn I managed to acquire today. So I'm just about ready to call it a day - or rather, a night.

Kirk

Today is my nephew's birthday. I think I've blogged about him before, but I couldn't find the post where I thought I would...so I'm not sure.

I was ten when Kirk was born, and I was so excited to have a baby in the family (since I never could convince Mom and Dad to give me a younger sibling!). But at 5:30 in the morning on Sunday, September 18, 1988, our little family gathered in the waiting room at the hospital and heard words that no family ever wants to hear - the baby was gone.

We don't know why God chose to take Kirk to Heaven, but we know that's exactly where he is.

One week after her baby died, my sister sat at the front of the sanctuary where Jeff was the pastor and she talked to all the kids in the church. She wanted to make sure they knew what had happened and that it was okay to be sad or to have questions. She said to them words that still have great meaning to me today as a non-kid:

"I know it's hard for us to understand, and it's probably even harder for all of you to understand what happened. Because I can't explain why it happened. Nobody knows that. I don't understand why we couldn't keep him here and play with him like the other babies. But I want you to know that it's okay to not understand, and it's okay to be sad about it, and it's okay to cry, and it's okay to ask us questions. 'Cause we're really proud of our little boy.

"I want you to remember that Kirk is in Heaven and that Jesus is taking care of him. Someday all of us are going to see him there."

Sorry about the picture quality here - they're scans of a copy of copy...

The only time I held my nephew.

Dad and me watching my other sister hold baby Kirk.

Kirk -
[Nineteen] years ago, I held you for the first and last time. But I have never stopped missing you and wondering what life would have been like had you been able to stay.

I can't wish you back. But I can miss you lots. I'm proud to be your aunt, and I'm thankful you were one of God's special works of art - if even for just such a brief time.

Even though you'd be all grown up now,
You're still my baby boy.
My best nephew.
And I love you.

- Aunt Bekah

(from the end of his scrapbook that I put together last year on his 18th birthday.)

More Lake Pictures

In the post below, I wrote about my trip to the lake yesterday. Here are a few of the pictures I took - not of anything in particular, but just of the scenery.

Bits for Sunday, September 16, 2007

There’s a line in a Little House on the Prairie episode that always bothered me – because I thought it was really bad theology. Not that I base my theology on the lines of television programs, of course, but I’m sure there are those who do, so such lines always make me cringe. Anyway, this line was from the episode titled The Lord is my Shepherd (threw that in there just for those who still like to pick on me for my over-knowledge of Little House episode titles). That was the episode – a two-parter, actually – where Laura’s baby brother dies, and she thinks it’s her fault. This is where the irritating theology comes in. Laura goes to the church to talk to Reverend Alden and he says to her “the closer you are to God, the more likely He is to listen.” She takes that literally and climbs a mountain (which just mysteriously appeared the prairie, you understand) and tries to get God to send back the baby and take her instead.

Yesterday that line came back to me while I sat on a pier, indulging in the sights and sounds that come only from being on the water. While I still find that statement untrue, I think perhaps the reverse of it might just have something. At least for me. The closer I am to God, the more likely I am to listen.
For the last two years, I’ve gone to this particular lake in September with the ladies’ group of a friend's church. This year, the group did another activity in lieu of the lake retreat, and by mid-August, I found myself already missing the God-connection I always get when I go away to that place. So this year, she and I went without her church group. We just picked a Saturday, loaded up my car with all sorts of random “connect with God” tools and headed for the lake.

Each year, I really try to go with an open heart, ready to hear whatever it is God wants to say to me. But this year, I didn’t even have the guidance of the speaker, the music, and the workshops. It was a wide open day, and I had no idea what God might want to do or say. But I did go ready to listen. And somehow, being out in the beauty of creation like that makes it easier for me to do so.

Yesterday was a beautiful day – the perfect blend of sun and clouds. But we’ve not gone quite this late in September before, and it was just a little bit chilly. In fact, toward the end of the day, we received some strange looks from people who walked by and saw us stretched out on lawn chairs, wearing jackets and bundled up under blankets. I suppose it did look strange. But we weren’t there for a tan. We were there to hear water lapping against the pier and hear the strange calls of birds that don’t live in our town, because we don’t have water. We were there to admire the beautiful lake homes and watch the leisurely drifting of the fishing boats, occasionally interrupted by the hurry of a speedboat.


I didn’t have an agenda other than enjoying the day. Part of the time, I just sat on a bench on the pier, wrapped up in my trusty kitten blanket, drinking coffee, eating peanut butter M&Ms and thinking that life doesn’t get much more perfect. I felt the breeze (which sometime bordered on a chilly wind) blowing across the water toward shore and I thought of the verses in Genesis when God was busy creating and the Spirit of God moved upon the waters…and I wondered if it felt anything like that. I squinted in the sun and reflected on the year that had passed since I last sat on that same bench – and realized again that God is good. In the good and the bad, He is good.


I pulled out my rather massive God-journal, and wrote, because no day is complete for me unless it includes some writing. And I love nothing more than to write in a new place – to create a memory of a day when I put pen to paper in a spot besides my desk or my bed or my couch.


Later in the day, I spread out under a tree and read verses, studying a portion of Scripture that I never remember reading before. I put the first words in a brand new journal reserved for a special occasion that I’ve decided has officially arrived, and enjoyed uninterrupted moments alone with God.

God wasn’t any more present at that lake than He would have been on my own property, but for me, there’s something special about going away with the intent of meeting with Him. There’s something wonderful about having a particular place that has never failed to bring about a special meeting with God. There’s something comforting about driving away to a remote location knowing that I will come back refreshed. Because the closer I am to God, the more likely I am to listen.

Exercise

So I've started going to the gym one night a week. I started complaining about my Bricker swing (the underarm fat that looks like a swinging door....) so Rachel from work offered to teach me to work out. I've posted about that once before. I think I've been going for about a month now, and parts of it are getting a little easier.

PARTS.

Last night I felt like Lucy in that I Love Lucy episode where she does the ballet? And she gets her foot stuck in the bar on the wall? That's about how much coordination I had last night. And of all things, Miss Rachel wanted to add to our routine. ADD, I tell you. She says "Oh let's move up one pound on the hand weights." Or "Oh let's do 15 reps instead of 10." And then "Oh, let's try this new thing. It will be good for your lower back." My lower back felt fine.

But the crowning moment was when we tried the stair stepper machine for the first time. That machine is evil. EVIL! Fifteen minutes she wanted me to do. And every 3 or 4, she wanted me to increase the resistance. Well by the height of it, when I was hanging onto the handles of the machine as though they were the tree branch above a cliff into which I was dangling, she said "You can do it, Bek!"

I glared at her and said, You are not my friend. She laughed. I continued: I think I might hate you. You're trying to kill me, aren't you? I'm telling my Mom. Oh wait. I can't cause I'll be dead. Well YOU tell her then.

She just said, "Well at least your mom has unlimited bereavement days." (Office joke is that I stress out about anybody dying because I only get four bereavement days.)

As I was clinging to that stupid machine for dear life during the last minute of my workout, I looked at her and said My hair is wet and I did not just wash it. This is not fun.

But alas, I survived, and we finished our workout on the treadmill - an activity I enjoyed much more than the evil stair stepper. She wanted me to get it rolling to a high speed and then start walking. I said, "Uh, I'll fall off. Maybe I'll start slow and work up to it." I think she just wanted to see me fall off the treadmill.

This had better cure the Bricker swing. That's all I'm saying.

Like...Another Pet Peeve

I few weeks ago, I posted about the overuse of the word "like." Yesterday I observed a second behavior that is overtaking the general human population.

SHUFFLING.

If you are over the age of 80 and want to shuffle, fine. You've earned that right. If you're injured and unable to pick up your feet, fine. You also have earned the right to shuffle.

Yesterday I walked down the sidewalk and I heard this chorus of shuffling rapidly approaching me from behind. I slowed down and this whole crew of girls filed around me, shuffling in their flip flops. I wanted to yell "PICK UP YOUR FEET!!" but I thought better of it since I was headed to the chapel to pray and that didn't seem the perfect prelude.

I don't understand it. Why shuffle? Does it really take that much more energy to pick up your feet just an inch or two?

And now I'm paranoid that I do it too and I don't realize it. I'm very conscious of my walking now.

Just Thoughtlets

Tonight I was out for a walk and as the clouds cleared from the sky, I could see the trails of planes in the sky.

What a difference six years makes.

I thought back to six years ago - as I'm sure you all did at some point today. I thought back to where I was when I first heard the news. I was at work - in a division meeting, actually -and someone from another office came in to tell us that the twin towers had collapsed. I was unaware this nation possessed twin towers and couldn't have begun to tell you where they were located. I didn't grasp the seriousness of any of it until later that morning when I accompanied a friend to the doctor's office and sat in the waiting room, watching TV while she went back into the exam room. For about two hours, I just sat and stared...and wondered what would happen next...and where.

Later that afternoon, I had a dentist appointment, so I spent more time watching TV...and more time wondering. That evening I had a show scheduled (I used to sell stamps/scrapping supplies) - and we decided to go ahead with the show despite the events of the day. I remember stopping at the gas station on the way home and paying only slightly more for gas than we currently pay for it - because every station around here freaked out and I think prices went up to around $4 a gallon.

My parents were on vacation, and I was scared that the whole country would shut down and I'd never see them again.

I watched Oprah this evening and saw some children who faced that very reality that day. Their parents weren't on vacation - but they never saw them again. They were a courageous little bunch...Oprah's guests. They laughed and cried and spoke honestly.

One of the kids said that what happened that day shaped their lives. They all became a little less kid, a little more adult, and much more grateful and determined to honor the lives of those they lost.

And though I didn't lose anyone close to me that day, I know the pain of a life lost too soon. Too unreasonably, it seemed. And those losses have shaped my life too.

My hope is that I won't forget those who passed through my life and out of it all too quickly. I want to remember them as vividly as Oprah's guests remembered their parents who died six years ago. I hope I honor them and the legacies they left behind.

Bits for Sunday, September 9, 2007

I have to begin this by sending out a happy birthday to my Mom. I have to do that because I’m about to talk about her and she can’t be mad at me for it if I start by wishing her a happy birthday. Yesterday was the big day, actually. I think she had a good day despite the downpour that lasted…the whole day.

So I’ve discovered that one of the many things I have in common with my Mom is this tendency to allow one small idea to snowball into a project of mammoth proportions. For example…about twenty years ago, Mom decided that new kitchen linoleum would be in order. (AMEN!) And since things would be torn up anyway, maybe it would be a good time to re-stain the kitchen cabinets. And now that we’re thinking about it – the kitchen really isn’t big enough for parties and family dinners. Why not make a little four foot porch type space off the back where a long table could go? Well, if we’re going to do that, we might as well raise the floor and make it even with the kitchen just to make the best use of the space. And you know – while we’re making this mess, why not just make a whole new room?

And so the new room was born – and we call it that to this very day. Twenty years later, you can hear Mom and Dad talking about sitting in the new room.

Twenty years later, I find that the same thing has happened to me. Not a new room, but a small idea blossoming into something that takes way more time, effort, and money than I originally planned.

For me, it began a couple of Saturdays ago when my original plans were rained out and I was stuck inside the house with way too much HGTV Next Design Star swirling in my head. I stood in the living room, assessing the furniture and mulling over the prospect of rearranging said furniture. I pushed and pulled on a couple of the more-easily-moved pieces and didn’t like anything I tried.

Then I began to toy with the idea of “living” in the dining room. It’s very hard for me to think outside the box, so this took some mental exercise for me – and a couple of phone calls to Mom.

And so began the chain of events that began with a desire to relocate the couch.

* Take the air conditioner out of the window. (A three person event that ended up requiring a BBQ fork to stab and remove pieces of runaway insulation lodged between the window panes.)

* Clean out the closet under the stairs. The goal? To pitch things that haven’t worked for months and I’m not sure why they were still occupying space in my home, to send to the Rescue Mission the items that I’ve cleaned out and put back twice before, and finally, to make a place for the paint cans that were housed in the guest room closet.

* Take the space formerly occupied by the paint cans and make it the new home of spare blankets (for guests, cold nights, or movie extravaganzas).

* Take the trunk formerly occupied by blankets, move it into the guest room closet and fill it with toys for my friends’ kids to play with when they come over. The actual work has been completed to this point. So the points below are an outline for my friends and family, warning them of phone calls to come…

* Call Habitat for Bekah (a.k.a. my parents) and respectfully request their assistance in disassembling the dining room table and hauling it away to the Rescue Mission, thus clearing a gigantic spot in the dining room.

* Make a pan of fudge as a thank you to Habitat for Bekah. (P.S. – can I have the pan back from my last thank you?)

* Brave my way into the attic (fear of mice and spiders gets me every time) and haul down the small dining room table that is being stored in pieces for such a time as this. Attempt to put it together CORRECTLY. Always a challenge. Matt still laughs at me over my first attempt to assemble the table. The legs were a bit…backwards???...when I was done. BUT HEY. IT STILL WORKED.

* Find chairs to go with table. (This detail still being worked out.) Until then, just look at table and say “awww.”

* Borrow steam cleaner to clean as much carpet as is visible at this time.

* Bribe some people with muscles to help me move my buffet from its existing spot to its new home just across the room.

* Steam clean underneath the place where the buffet was until it moved.

* Bake cookies for people with muscles and owners of steam cleaner. Double cookies if muscles and cleaner come from the same household.

* Call Habitat for Bekah to see if I can borrow an extra recliner to place in newly empty corner of the dining room (coupled with a recliner I already own) as a new “sitting area.” This will remain until I eventually save up for overstuffed recliners from a more currant decade.

* Make more fudge for Habitat for Bekah. (Assuming, that is, that the pan has once again been returned.)

* Haul end tables from the master bedroom into the living room to be the new tables on either side of the couch.

* Haul short bookcase from living room and short bookcase from guest room into the master bedroom to replace the tables that were relocated to the living room.

* Haul the elliptical machine into the guest room – since I am principally opposed to exercise equipment in the bedroom.

* Rearrange the guest room for good measure.

* Move everything again because by this time, it’s Christmas and everything has to be moved to accommodate the trees.

And may I mention…did you notice the one thing that never moved?

The couch.

It’s okay. Mom never got new linoleum either. She went for carpet.

Stuff and Things

I thought I would check in with an update of randomness since I've not been very good at rambling endlessly lately. (You're welcome to those of you with tired eyes.)

* I started a new journal last night. I love opening up a brand new blank book. It makes me write a little more neatly and it makes me wonder what sorts of adventures are ahead that will fill up the pages.

* Saturday, I went shopping with my Mom and enjoyed some fantastic retail therapy. You know, I have such shopping willpower, until I shop with her. She can talk me into buying things I'd be too cheap to buy on my own. And (sigh) she's usually right. One time a couple of years ago, she talked me into buying a twenty some dollar skirt. I never spend that much on a skirt. Or a shirt. Or any other single item of clothing. But she insisted I'd get much good use out of it, so I broke down and bought the skirt. It's one of my favorites. Wear it all the time. This time she talked me into $22 shoes. And already I can tell they'll be a staple worth the money.

* School has started again. It's kind of nice to have life about the campus again. It's nice to run into people I've not seen for a while and hear how things went for them over the summer. It's been a very busy couple of weeks here at work as we've been working valiantly to get everything done promptly, but it's been good.

* I don't think I said this before, but I've decided to overhaul my dining room. Right now it's more of a "formal dining space" with a big table and a buffet and all that. But I don't really have big groups of people over, and other than scrap fests, my entire table is rarely used. So a couple of weekends ago when I was stuck at home while it poured outside, I was bitten with the bug that makes me redo a room. I've been scheming and planning ever since. This week I started the first phase of the overhaul, which was to remove a really old air conditioner that I wasn't using anymore. The next phase is to remove the table. That means I'll have to buy a real desk chair so that the dining room chair that I'm using for a desk chair can go away with the table.

* Anyone else out there gearing up for a new season of TV? I said a fond farewell to Army Wives last week - and here in a week or so, the current season of HGTV's Next Design Star will conclude. Then I can get back to the normal set of shows. I must make a list of what will comprise my must-see TV this year.

Well I think that's all for now. Happy Wednesday!

Bits for Sunday, September 2, 2007

My life is nothing if not comical. Some of you have already heard this story, so for the repeat, I apologize. But for the rest of you, well, I hope you get a good laugh!

This past Tuesday, I had an appointment to get my hair overhauled: cut/thinned/shaped/dyed – the whole deal. I wanted to start off the school year not looking like a senior citizen in training.


So after work, I donned the famous purple “hair shirt” and drove to my appointment. At the end of the hair overhaul, she also shaped up my eyebrows a little bit. As I prepared to leave, she told me I still had some wax in my left eyebrow and I’d need to go home and massage my eyebrow with a soapy washcloth to get the rest of the wax out. No problem. I drove home with my waxy eyebrow and prepared to face my evening.



As I tell you this next part, please know that I am not a bad housekeeper. I clean every week, but even the cleanest house occasionally gets an issue, right? Well, this week, my issue was the appearance of at least one flea. My cats are indoor cats all the time, so I know they didn’t start it. And I had carefully combed through their fur and found no trace of fleas. But somewhere a flea got in. And all it takes is one. That one flea, so small it can never be found, will bite me until I look like I have chicken pox. It’s ridiculous. It’s probably been five years since a flea has taken up residence in this house, but of course it picked this week to return.

So my plan, after coming home from my hair overhaul, was to find that stupid flea and kill it. I was convinced that it was upstairs, so my plan was to wash all the bedding, give the cats a flea bath (just in case) and then use the flea fogger overnight to fumigate the upstairs. I came home, with my freshly cut hair randomly sticking to my waxy eyebrow, pulled all the sheets off the bed, and threw them in the washer. I retrieved the flea bath bottle from the closet and cornered Braeya. That went well. I got the flea bath, and she ran away, her back resembling a drowned rat. The attempt with Kaegan didn’t go much better – and all the while, my hair kept sticking to the wax every time I bent over.

The washer cycle ended, so I stopped to move the sheets into the dryer. Sounds simple, doesn’t it?

Not when the top sheet is stuck underneath the agitator. That sucker was not moving. I pushed and pulled and tugged and rested and started all over again. My agitator has threatened to eat clothing before, but usually I can pull it out. Not this time. I tried to see if I could figure out how to remove the agitator, but I couldn’t get anything to budge.

Did I mention this is my only set of sheets that fits my bed?

I laughed. What else could I do? I mean I had a waxy eyebrow, residual flea bath still on my arms, and then my sheets firmly lodged in my washer.

Resigning myself to a night on the couch, I headed to the computer to catch up on life online. I perched on the wooden folding chair that serves as my desk chair (since I’m too cheap to spring for a real one) while chatting online, sending emails, and catching up on blogs. I didn’t move, I didn’t lean over, I didn’t shift in any way. But the next thing I knew, I was on the floor with the back of my head cracking into the hardwood and my toe slicing against something (the nearest I can figure is that it caught the metal strip on my keyboard tray).

My chair broke.

No creaking. No wobbling. No warning. Just BOOM – gone. I sat up, reached up to the keyboard tray and resumed my chatting. What else could I do?

After that, I decided to take care of the waxy eyebrow because I did not need one more mishap. I also made the executive decision to not run the fogger overnight – just in case it would in some way poison the air for the cats and me. That’s all I needed. Paramedics showing up to find a dead girl with a semi-waxy eyebrow, a busted chair, and sheets wrapped up in the agitator – and two cats strewn throughout the house.
The story has a happy ending, though. My hair is no longer gray. My sweet parents came over late Wednesday evening and Dad took apart the insides of the washer to save my sheets. (They were completely sucked up into the agitator AND stuck in whatever is underneath the agitator.)

I used the fogger while I was at work on Wednesday and I think it successfully killed the offending flea. And for now, while at the computer, I’m hanging out on a dining room chair – hoping for the best each time I sit down.

Here’s to hoping the week to come is slightly less eventful!

REBUILDING: Maybe Actually Rebuilding?

Lori wrote earlier and said that we (okay I have nothing to do with it....THEY) have official progress on their home. A location has been secured for sure, for real, for not changing again. There's something about knowing you have an address, even if there's nothing on the lot, that makes it seem a little bit more real. IF they don't have bad weather today (which I hear is a big if) - the construction people will start digging the basement. That is very exciting news!

Cassie is on the volleyball team again this year and last weekend, her team won their first four matches in two games each. That put them in a championship, which they won in three games. I hear they changed their huddle chant from G-H-S (Greensburg High School) to G-P-H-S (Greensburg Portable High School). Love the humor! There are 22 girls on the team - which is excellent - especially considering the size of the school. Lori said at least 20 are in temporary or FEMA housing.

They're continuing to have church in another town and last week, Lori did a children's church during the sermon. Because they're meeting in a school, there's no space for Sunday School, so there's really nothing for the kids at the moment. Lori said a lot of the kids in their church come from outside Greensburg and therefore church is the only way they were directly affected by the tornado. Lori wants to make sure they still feel a part of things despite the changes.

So things are looking up - but it's still a long road and I'm sure they'd still appreciate your prayers!

Scrapping Time

The other day, my friend Sarah (of Flour Child Cupcakes) and a couple other friends from church got together to scrapbook and make cards. Sarah is quite the card maker. I love to get her cards! She was super productive and got her whole stack of Christmas cards made THAT DAY. I'm still cutting mine. :(

Anyway, Sarah also did her very first scrapbook page ever - and I was so proud of her! Here it is:


I picked up these pictures at Wal-Mart tonight (from one of the other girl's cameras, so I'd not seen them yet) and I was shocked at what a large hair day I had for scrapping. Not as big as high school. Nothing tops high school. But for me, lately, this is kinda big hair!

In fact, that reminds me - today I wore it straight (signifying that I actually had time to straighten it instead of getting up so late that to curl it it was the only time option). A student came in to work who hadn't seen me since last spring when he came for his prospective appointment, and he took one look at me and said, "Whoa, you changed your hair." Well it's probably been four colors and six cuts since he was last here. So I said the only logical thing to say, "Well what did it look like then?" He said, "It was wild curly." Hmmmm - musta been another big hair day! He then proceeded to tell me he preferred it curly. I took that under advisement, and then not ten minutes later, Mom and Dad stopped into work and Mom said "I REALLY like your hair today." I can't win.

Bits for Sunday, August 26, 2007

31.

It’s how old I’ll be in a couple of years.

It’s how many days are in seven months out of the year.

It’s approximately how many miles I will live from the nearest Hobby Lobby once they close mine.

It’s soon to be how tall my grass is – in inches – if it doesn’t stop raining enough for me to mow.

It’s how many minutes of my life I’ll never get back after being in LINE at the Wal-Mart yesterday.

Thirty-one minutes in line. My Mom said to me, “Now, are you saying you spent 31 minutes in the store from the time you walked in until the time you walked out?” Oh no, Mama. Thirty-one in line.

I’ve never seen Wal-Mart like this. Not even at Christmas when everyone arrives in unison to cram-shop. There are (I think) twenty two lanes in the store. Plus the self-checkouts. (I am principally opposed to self-checkouts because I believe they put people out of work, and I won’t be a part of that.) Yesterday there were eight lanes open (plus the self-checkouts). Eight of twenty-two. At midnight, that’s not such a big deal. At five in the afternoon on a Saturday when the entire county has converged upon the store – it is a big deal. Every lane was full to the end, sticking out into the main aisle, and starting to back up into clothing.

Keeping my voice at a respectable level, I called my Mom from my perch at the back of the checkout lane to let her know that I would probably die in checkout. Not because of a revolt or anything, but simply from the aging process. Years would come and go, and I’d still be standing there, all for the love of six eggs, a package of shredded cheese, extra wide egg noodles, four chicken breasts, sixteen ounces of sour cream, two pounds of grapes, a loaf of wheat bread, one hundred packets of Sweet N Low, and a fresh package of cardstock. I was buying that for my Christmas cards, but given that I’d be spending Christmas in line, I thought about taking it back and saving five dollars and forty-eight cents.

The man in front of me called his son. His son had gotten in line at the same time the man did – only his son is of the put-people-out-of-work mentality and went through self-checkout. In this case, putting people out of work was smart. The son was done and in the car. The man was stuck in line with me, facing the very real probability of missing his son’s high school graduation, wedding, and the birth of his first three children. Behind me was an elderly woman who told me that she didn’t tell her children she was going to Wal-Mart. Bad move. Much more time and they’d probably need to put her on the missing person’s report.

Being stuck in line for 31 minutes will make you contemplate doing things you wouldn’t ordinarily dream of doing. For example. I stood next to a Starbucks cooler. Just on the other side of the glass were rows of beautiful, creamy, caffeine-laden iced coffees. I considered drinking one and putting the jar back in the cooler. But I didn’t. I also considered dipping into the grapes and saving myself a nickel or six. It was approaching dinner time, you know. But I didn’t. I also considered having the woman behind me save my spot in line while I went to get a hair magazine to pick out my next style. I figured by the time I got out of line, my hair would resemble Rapunzel’s anyway. But I didn’t. The lady behind me probably only looked like a nice old lady. Given the chance, she would have thrown my cart out of line and moved on up herself. When you spend 31 minutes in line, it’s every person for herself.

I firmly believe I picked the slowest cashier. This belief is supported by my observance that a woman who wandered the main aisle looking for the shortest line (as if one existed – HA!) a good ten minutes after I’d been slouching over my cart watching age spots appear on my skin ended up checking out in the line next to me at the same time I stood at the register. I also picked a line with no magazines. That was a travesty. My conscience does keep me from drinking Starbucks and replacing the jar in the cooler or lightening up the bag of grapes with an afternoon snack, but it would not have kept me from catching up on the latest issue of People – and that’s a fact.

My almost-favorite moment? The man in front of me (whose son was about to become a grandfather himself, by this time) had just placed the little order-separator-stick behind his stuff so I could begin to unload my purchases onto the conveyor belt when the manager slid into our row and slapped the Lane Closed sign right behind his order.

I think she sensed a revolt from the looks of intense panic on each face (mine the most) – because she quickly said, “Everyone in line now will be able to stay.” You better believe it Missy. You already took 31 minutes of my life. You don’t want to see me after 62.

But the crowning moment was when the cashier handed me my receipt. At the very top, I read the following: WE VALUE YOUR OPINION! WE WANT TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR SHOPPING EXPERIENCE TODAY AT WAL-MART.

Really? Are you sure about that?

IN RETURN FOR YOUR TIME YOU COULD RECEIVE ONE OF FIVE $1000 WAL-MART SHOPPING CARDS.

How about in return for my time, you’ll replace my sour cream which spoiled, my grapes which rotted, and my bread, which molded ALL WHILE STANDING IN LINE??

Head Fogs, Hard Questions, and Hitting the Road

This land of blogging has a very interesting way of entwining lives. I'm glad Jim and Jaena roped me into it, despite my vehement insistence that I would never do it. In the year or so that I've been on here - I've met new friends and I've become friends with people that were just faces in my world before. And I love that.

Christina and I were talking on the phone one night earlier this week - and we discussed the newest heartbreak in our world of blogging friends. She said it seems so weird to know that the hard stuff has hit our own generation. (This is where we bordered on sounding like little old ladies hunkered down in rocking chairs.) We've been used to hearing our parents talk about all their friends (mostly the old ones) who were sick or hurting. And it's not that the old people deserve to be sick or hurt at all...it's just that those were the people we were used to hearing about.

Now it's not them.

It's us...or at least people our age.

And it's not that we're old (thankyouverymuch) but just that...well...I just don't know what it is. Hence the head fog. And the hard questions of why.

Because my blogging circle is pretty much made up of the same people that all of you already know, I don't usually point you in any direction, because chances are, you've already seen it, heard it, know it. But I know there's a couple of you out there that might not know a few of these amazing people, so I'm passing them on.

Josh and Shelly don't even know who I am - but I remember them from college, and even before that, I remember Josh from high school. He went to the same school as my best friend, and she was a cheerleader...he was a basketball player...so I used to see him play when I watched her cheer. He's just a year older than I am, and yet he's recovering from an accident that his left him paralyzed for...well...we don't know if it's forever or not. Maybe. And I read their blog and am blown away by their faith and their vulnerability and their honesty and their strength...and I still don't understand why one wave in Cancun had to find his neck and break it. And even in not understanding, I can see this whole family allowing God to work through them and my own faith has grown while praying for Josh and reading the words Shelly writes.

And the one that Christina and I talked about this week was Bryson Hummel - a little boy who just a week ago today lost his leg in an accident. He's four. That's a hard thing to wrap my mind around. Bryson's parents went to college with me too - and they are the sweetest people. And to read this blog and see that same mix of faith and hope and strength and fear and honesty - it's so hard. But Beau (Bryson's dad) said something on that blog about times like this being the times when faith hits the road...and suddenly I felt a bit convicted. The things God asks of me in this very minute are really not very hard, especially when stacked up next to the Bucks and the Hummels. But Beau and Nicole are saying things...even in just talking (or rather typing) out loud that are profoundly moving my own faith. You know that has to be God doing His work.

And Bryson has an aunt and uncle - Burke and JoEllen - who have been through a whole lot in the past year. They had triplets and one of the babies died shortly after the premature birth. I'd sit and read (and of course cry) as they talked about the pain of losing Breckin and the joy found in the miracles of the other babies who are growing and defying expectation every day.

It seems weird - Christina and I agreed - to know that people our own age are paralyzed and working through the death of a child and facing a future of a different sort of normal for a child that last week was just like anybody else. This sort of stuff doesn't happen to people we know - and yet all of the sudden it happens a lot to people we know.

But these three families are three of the most amazing families I've ever known. And while I know them mostly through this world of blogging, I'm grateful that they're here to share their stories. God is using them to grow so many other people - and I'm one of them. And God is teaching me to put down the landing gear of my own faith and let it hit the road right alongside them.

So thanks Josh and Shelly...and Burke and JoEllen...and Beau and Nicole...for sharing your paths and for encouraging others.

This is Why Kids Are Born as Little Sleepy Babies

I used to babysit for a living. Back in high school, that is. Back when I had MUCH more energy than I have now. Tonight I revisited those days for just a few hours. I watched my "niece" and "nephew" while their parents went to a school meeting. Savannah is five. Liam is about a year and a half. Pick just one of them, and you'll find more energy than I have in my right arm. Add both of them together, and WOW. You parents...you're my heroes.

The evening was actually very fun, and I would do it all over again...right after I take a nap. But in the space of two hours, I was declared a tree branch (which meant I had to lay on the floor, have a beanbag chair placed on my back, and Savannah "the bird" took flying leaps into "the nest" I supported. When we were done with that, we took turns donning the empty Lego bucket on our heads. When Liam wore it, it came down over his shoulders and he roamed the house, randomly colliding with furniture, walls, you name it. When Savannah wore it, she spent so much time giggling and listening to her voice echo inside that she got the hiccups. When I wore it...well it didn't really fit me. My head's too big. (Phats, don't you dare comment on that.) But she was determined to make it fit, leaving me with some interesting head pains. We tried reading, but Liam kept stealing the books. He also tried ripping my earrings out of my ears. That was lotsa fun.

And then there are the "interesting moments" - like when I looked up in time to see Liam licking the mop. He was not happy when I took it away, but I just didn't think it was the best activity.

Or the moment when Savannah was trying to explain to me how to use the remote to play the DVD (why is it ALWAYS the children who have to explain the electronics to the adults?) and when I pressed the wrong button, she said to me, "You gotta listen to me, girl!" GIRL?? What happened to "Aunt Bekah?"

In the middle of all of that, we took lots of pictures, some of which Savannah insisted upon taking herself. I was trying to teach her to hold the camera still for a second after the flash while it captures...that took several tries. All to get a picture of the princess on the screen. And you can know that I was not about to figure out that remote enough to successfully pause and un-pause.

The evening was so great - nothing beats the hugs and kisses of nieces and nephews. But I have definitely concluded that this is why kids aren't born as toddlers and preschoolers. Parents have to work up to that energy level.

Happy Anniversary and A Little Laugh

A very happy FIFTY-THIRD wedding anniversary to my parents this fine day. Fifty-three years. That's a lotta marriage. Three years ago, the siblingettes and I threw a party for them - hope they're not looking for that this year. :)

I got them (don't tell them if you see them...) the old standby of Cracker Barrel gift cards, because that truly makes them happiest. The cats got them a picture. Technically the cats simply POSED for the picture and I did the work. The cats also submitted a pawprint (their version of a signature) on the matting around the picture. Do you know how much fun it is to corner a cat at six in the morning to get a paw print? And then I had to go around and clean the blue prints on the hardwood floor until the ink had worn off...

In other news...if you need a great Monday laugh, may I suggest that you visit the Hollands' blog? (Link at the left.) Pastor Brian is our youth pastor and he has as great story from this past Friday night. Makes me laugh every time I read it.

Bits for Sunday, August 19, 2007

I sat down to journal last night and before I even started writing, I thought, “This was a nearly perfect day.” Nothing spectacular happened. In five years (or five months) I probably won’t even remember August 18th. But that’s okay because it was still a good day, and good days deserve a celebration.

When I picked up my God Calling devotional, I found this among the thoughts for the day: You know the difference between taking a glad, loving, joy-springing child with you along a way, when the child anticipates each direction, accepts naturally each decision as to each turning – and the child who resists, and, rebellious, has to be forced, even though in its quieter moments it may say ‘Yes, I do want to go with you. I cannot be left alone, but I hate this way.’

Those of you who have kids may understand the difference a little bit better than I do. The only trips the kids in my house take end at the vet’s office, and we all cry the whole way there. (Thankfully it’s not far.) But for those of you with human children, I can imagine that a road trip is a lot more fun when the kids don’t start whining before you’ve left the driveway. Back in the day when I lived at home with my parents, they did a great job of planning stops along the way to the final destination. That helped. I always had a little something to look forward to while waiting for the grand finale.

Unfortunately, I don’t always grant God that same “pleasant traveler” attitude. He plans so many beautiful things along the way and I’m so bent on getting to whatever I think the destination should be that I miss all the scenery along the way.

I’ve been mulling that thought over today and I’ve concluded that this whole week has had good turns in the road. It had its rough parts too, for sure. I think some of you are still laughing about one in particular. And that is okay. I’m laughing too…now. There were other parts of the week that brought along a hurt here or there that I could have done without, but the joy-breaks more than made up for the rough parts.

* Joy was holding a five year old in church and hearing her sing loud and clear in my ear, “Blessed be the name of the Lord…” and knowing that she had no clue what she was saying when she sang “He gives and takes away…my heart will choose to say…blessed be Your name…” but also knowing that those words will come back someday when she is older and needs them.

* Joy was finding a super extra low price sale on clothes going out for the season…and not just any clothes, but the clothes I specifically hoped to find…and not only that, but buying a size smaller than last time!

* Joy was a gentle nudge from God calming me down from a statewide search (since the county clearly failed me) for a new work outfit for tomorrow as He reminded me that my source of strength does not come from clothes or shoes.

* Joy was a phone call from one of my friends…when I would never have expected the phone to ring…but when my heart needed a boost the most.

* Joy was having my friend Rachel agree to take time out of her workout schedule to teach me to use the weight machines at the gym and her encouragement over my puny attempts that one day we’ll both look back on with great laughter.

* Joy was staying home on Friday night and watching a movie of my own choosing and having a good cry. (I know, I know. Stupid chick flicks.)

* Joy was sleeping in until my eyes popped open yesterday morning and looking over an entire day with not a single plan that had to be done at any specific time.

* Joy was realizing last night that if I wanted to make the cheesy potato dish, it was okay to do that just for myself and I didn’t have to have a house full of company to make it legitimate.

* Joy was a successful Google search – just to find out that a face from a long ago time seems to be doing okay.

None of those joyful moments signaled the arrival at any destination, but they were still great moments. And I’m putting it high on my list of things this week to try to NOT be the kid God wants to pitch out of the car for excessive whining and complaining. I’m going to try to enjoy more of the journey and worry less about the destination.

Who Knew?

Last night, one of the girls from the office took me to the gym to teach me how to use the weight machines. I wanted to go before campus filled up with skinny girls who would just stare at me in my baggy t-shirt with a look of "yeah YOU shoulda been in here all summer." Fortunately, last night the gym contained very few people, even though most of them were guys who clearly live there at least on a part time basis.

Despite my worries, I went in and gave it my best shot. It was pathetically puny at best for some of the machines, but on a few, I did pretty well. We ended with a bike ride - where Rachel was mentally in the Tour de France and I was just taking a leisurely stroll through the country. No wonder she's so tiny!

This morning, though, MAMA! I didn't know God put muscles in all those places! WOW! When I started to wash my hair, my shoulders said NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! But if I'm gonna take care of this Bricker swing (flabby arms) I'm going to have to spend more time with the skinnies at the gym, regardless of how humiliating it is.

How Did they DO It?

Last night I was fast asleep when I thought for sure I heard a noise. I did. My phone. Text message. It was Tina, letting me know we were under a tornado warning. Can I just back up and tell those of you who don't know me very well...I FREAK OUT in storms. I'm going to be one of those moms someday who totally scars her kids for life because she can't keep it together in a storm. High on the list of things I want in a husband, behind a willingness to handle the money and an ability to kill spiders is someone who can keep me from hyperventilating in a storm. He doesn't have to like storms. He just has to keep me from losing my mind AND my lunch.

I turned on the TV and found that we were, in fact, under a warning. So I called my Mom. I didn't care that it was 12:15 in the morning. If I was going down, I wasn't going down alone. She had the scanner on and was trying to talk me through the storm.

As I paced randomly throughout the house, looking outside now and then, I began to remember all the things Lori and Jeff said they should have taken/hidden/etc. I started randomly throwing things in my house into safe places and yelling for the cats to maybe REMEMBER their love of the bathtub and get in it. As things started to pick up, I realized I was shoeless - a problem my niece had after the tornado. So I rounded up some shoes and began looking for a safe place. It doesn't exist in my house. I was just gonna hafta fly through the air if it really it.

When the rain and wind started, I looked outside and thought "How in the world did Lori, Jeff, and Cassie live through something ten times this fierce?" My goodness. A whole new respect.

So if you write me today and receive a ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ for a response, you'll know that my lack of sleep caught up with me.

REBUILDING: Back to School

It's been a while since I've given a Kansas update, but tonight, to keep myself occupied while exercising, I talked to Lori for about 45 minutes. So I have the latest and greatest.

School starts tomorrow in Greensburg, and I think it will be an interesting day for them, to say the least. Classes, offices, the library...all of them are in portable trailers. As of today, sidewalks were still being poured and much last minute preparation was underway. Lori said that the elementary school library is stocked with so many books that were donated from all over. (No shelves for them yet, but the books are there!) She also said that tomorrow is an even more important hair day than the first day of school normally would be...because of course the media will show up. :)

She told me that 74% (I think that was the number) of students who were there last year are back - and at the high school level, that number is closer to 98 or 99%. It's easier for high school students to transport themselves if they live far away now, and of course if you've gone all those years to one school, your loyalties are a little stronger.

Transportation is an issue. Those who aren't living in the FEMA trailers in town are commuting from 10-40 miles away, and in addition to coming to Greensburg for school, there are additional travels required for sports practices, which are happening in other towns. I think it will take a while for them to get all that figured out - but eventually they'll get there.

They're still waiting for their own house construction to start, but they're getting along well in their temporary home.

So that's an update in the land of great wind!

Progress

Well even though there are areas of life that consistently fall apart, it's good to see something that moves forward. Today that progress award goes to my precious Burger King.

Yesterday I drove to the far away one just because I couldn't handle another day without a BK French Fry. Roberta was working there. Sad that I know the names of the BK people, but I do. She is temporarily displaced to the far away BK while mine is under construction. I told her I missed her - also sad, but very true.

She told me that the target opening day is September 1 - but maybe, get this, EARLIER!!! Does this ever happen in a construction project? She made my whole day.

So amid my chaos, I count down to BK's new day.

Bits for Sunday, August 12, 2007

Well it’s been an interesting week here in Bekahland. There are weeks that just exude confidence and then there are weeks that just confirm the need to crawl under a rock…or move to Nebraska and start over.

This week was more the second sort of week for me.

You've already read the post about my rather awkward impression with my new boss this past Wednesday. That started my week rolling. (If you haven't read it....just keep scrolling.)

Although I worried that he might be scared of me after that, a couple of days later, he did venture past my door again. This time I was eating my peanut butter and jelly toast sandwich that I have every morning. Great. A few hours later that same day, he wandered by again, this time with his family in tow, showing them all of our offices. I was munching on a cookie that time.
So now I’m pretty sure that he thinks I’m only capable of eating and crying. Kind of like…a baby?

And let’s not forget Friday night. I left work, anxious to get my walking out of the way and settle down for a long evening’s scrap, so I changed from my work clothes to my workout clothes as quickly as I could.

Apparently I changed a little too quickly. About 11:30 that night, when I was getting ready for bed, I discovered my tank top was on backwards. The v-neck was shooting right down my back. Had I only been inside the house that night…no biggie. But of course I’d walked four miles AND made a coffee run when I was done. A coffee run in which I ran into our student worker and her friend. No wonder her friend gave me some weird looks! Who’s the idiot who can’t dress herself correctly?

Yes, there are weeks when to hibernate or move seems preferable to getting up the next day and trying again. At least trying again with the same crowd of people from the day before. And while I generally have a pretty good sense of humor, when dumb moments like this (combined with other dumb moments I’ve blocked out) pile up in a rapid fashion, I lose sight of the humor altogether.

I was looking for something in Ron Mehl’s book God Works the Night Shift, when I found this that I’d underlined on a read-through many months ago. Ron quoted Psalm 40:1, which says, “I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined to me, and heard my cry.” He says, “The Hebrew word for ‘inclined,’ natah, paints a very tender image. It’s the picture of a young child trying to get a busy dad’s attention. The child tugs on Dad’s pants leg and the big man stops everything he’s doing, sets it aside, gets down on one knee, looks his child right in the eyes, and says, ‘Okay, honey, I’m listening. I’m all ears.’ Natah implies a bending down to listen, a focused attention, a willingness to turn aside and hear every word…Everyone in the world might be too busy or too preoccupied to hear my cry for help, weak as it is. But God hears me! God drops His intergalactic agenda and falls to one knee to listen to my words.”

And that is a good thing. On the days when I do dumb things like snot all over a new boss or wear my shirt backwards, or say something I didn’t mean, or worry about something completely preposterous, or have a ridiculous dream that proceeds to make me unable to return to sleep…God cares about that. And He doesn’t think I need to crawl under a rock or move to Nebraska. He just listens. Mops up the tears. Laughs (only at the appropriate time). Sends a hug.

And I like that.

Random Ridiculousness

Wednesday evening, one of my co-workers invited a couple of us over to go swimming in her pool. It was my first swim of the season. I think I'm running behind. Anyway, I'd never been to her house before, but it was VERY nice and the perfect night for swimming. (One of those 400 degree days.) Anyway, she took this picture and when she showed it to me at work the next day, I said, "It kind of looks like I have no lower body and I have this giant prosthetic uni-foot thing going on under the water there." We laughed about it.

Christina, this one's for you - and if you don't understand what I'm talking about, check your email. :) For the rest of you...this is how I know I have a serious scrapbooking problem. I've been buying out all the glue stick sales from the back-to-school bins. I have bought a total of 55 packs (2 sticks per pack) this season, and I'm hoping that will last me through Christmas cards and a little bit of scrapping.

Life at Our House

Kaegan and Braeya sometimes play together. And by that, I mean Kaegan is sitting quietly minding his own business when Braeya attacks him and insists that he participate until she's bored. And she gets bored...well...never.

Last Friday night I was packing for a scrap day on Saturday, and as I worked in the office, Kaegan decided to nap in the suitcase (Skyepuppy...I know you use your suitcases for travel. I use mine to transport stamps and ink pads.) Braeya came in and pounced on Kaegan...and nap time was over. He mostly just sat inside the suitcase while she batted him from the outside.


Later, a very dignified Kaegan took a rest by the bookcases. Yes, his eyes always look this evil in pictures.


Braeya's new favorite sleeping place. Not sure why!

The Nameless Baby

When I was in college, one of my writing professors described the writing process as being similar to giving birth. You conceive an idea and nurture it along and then it's birthed in a book. I was skeptical at the time, but having written a couple of book length works now, I see her point.

Here's my problem. My most recent writing baby is nameless. I have a cheat sheet at home with about 15 titles of books I hope to write...and a book written with no title in sight. It's like having a nine month old kid with no name! So frustrating!

Titles have never been my strong point. In fact, most of what I wrote in college and probably 90% of my published articles were titled by my friends. Perhaps I should track some of those college friends down and tell them to give me a title for this book!

I didn't worry about it for a while. I thought the title would just pop up in a chapter somewhere and I'd know it when I saw it typing out on the screen. That didn't happen. I thought the title might appear in repeated phrases that showed up repeatedly of their own accord throughout the book. It didn't work. I thought it would just mysteriously settle into my brain. Nope.

Do you know how hard it is to write a query letter to pitch a book that has no name?

You know, Chris Rice's "Untitled Hymn" did pretty well on the charts....maybe I should just call this one "Untitled Advent Thoughts" and forget it.