Posted by Editormum on 2 September 2010 in
Family Life Okay, this is going to be short, because I am using the last eight minutes of my lunch break to write and post this. But I am SO in love I totally cannot wait to share this information.
I have been reading for a couple of years now about Vibram Five-Fingers “shoes.” My virtual sensei has posted glowing reviews of them on his blog, but I really didn’t see much use for me until two days ago.
Two days ago, I decided to go walking. Not strolling. Brisk, heart-rate-increasing, serious-exercise-pace walking. So I laced on my whatever-they-are cross-trainers and went out. Did nearly two miles in just under half an hour, and enjoyed myself immensely. Got on the scale the next day and was down four pounds — even though I’d treated myself to a Fruitista Freeze at lunch AND a Cappuccino Blast at dinner. So I was like, yeah, this walking thing needs to be part of my life.
Only problem was that I developed an enormous blister on the BOTTOM of my fourth toe. Walking around the office yesterday was excruciating, and today isn’t much better. And I walked a full two miles again last night, with that toe encased in serious layers of gauze and tape, and it still hurt and slowed me down (34 minutes, this time).
So I got to thinking about the Vibram Five-Fingers “un-shoes.” You see, I frequently get those bottom-of-the-toe blisters, because my last two toes bend in and under rather oddly. And I got to thinking, “Gee, I’ll bet VFFs could solve that problem.”
So I went online to see what was out there …. and found that there is a store down the street from my office that carries VFFs. So I stopped in on my lunch hour to try them on and see what I thought.
And what I thought was I HAVE TO HAVE A PAIR OF THESE!
They were the most comfortable things I have ever put on … once I got them on. That part was a bit tricky, especially with my foldy toes. But once they were on. Well, they make my Isotoner slippers feel like lead boots. Really. And the blister? No pain. None. Walked around a little bit, and it was like having on almost nothing. Like the way silk pajamas feel against your skin. Silky, light, outrageously comfortable.
Only problem? They cost $85. I don’t have $85. So, I will have to put them on my wish list and tell everyone I know that they are the only thing I want for Christmas. The. Only. Thing.
Tags: exercise, shoes, VFF, walking, wish list
Posted by Editormum on 29 August 2010 in
Family Life,
True Stories A continuation of yesterday’s thoughts on having strong-willed children.
Those traits can also lead her into situations that will give her a chance to develop a deep-rooted humility and dependence on God.
When you are “strong-willed” and “independent,” it can take some doing for God to teach you the lesson that “there’s a God, and you aren’t Him.” But, of course, that is the first and most important lesson that anyone has to learn. I’m reminded of the story of Job.
Job had it all together. Great family. Great wealth. Great life. Great faith. He was one of those totally, amazingly put-together guys. One of those guys that the rest of go around going, “Wow, I wish was him!” He was so totally, amazingly together that God bragged on how great Job was. And Satan said, “Well, DUH. He has everything and he’s totally protected. You won’t let me so much as make his hair fall out. I’ll lay You any odds that if You would just let me have at him, he’d turn his back on You so fast Your head would spin.” And God said, “You’re on. Just don’t kill him.”
So Satan attacked Job with everything he had. Killed his kids. Destroyed his wealth. Gave him physical pain and illness. Satan hit Job with a couple of atom bombs. A lesser man would have lost his faith. Job’s own wife told him to curse God and die. But what did Job say? “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” That is to say, “Even if God kills me brutally, I will continue to trust Him.” What a strong will!
I’ve hit a few such things in my life. That wreck I mentioned yesterday, for example. I don’t like what it did to me. The aftermath of the injuries, while not readily apparent, is devastating. It would be easy to say, “God didn’t protect me. He let me down. I won’t believe any more.” But my faith is not rooted in circumstances. My faith is rooted in Truth. So I believe. I believe even as I lie, weeping, at my Father’s feet, begging Him to help me understand why this had to be. Begging for strength to carry on just one more day. Strength to live out His love to others, even when I don’t feel very loved myself.
There were other things that were my fault, that led me into deep, dark places where it seemed there was no way out. Where I had to admit, both privately and publicly, that I had royally screwed up, that there was no hiding it, and that I needed help. Deeply humbling experiences. Some of them deeply embarrassing or humiliating. Like the death of my marriage, which ended in divorce. Like the incredible amount of debt I accrued, got mostly paid off, and then re-accrued. Deeply humiliating.
Because a strong will, when not tempered by wisdom, reliance on God, and humility, will lead a person into self-indulgence and foolishness. And when the person is found out, when their failures and foolishness are revealed publicly, when things that they thought were secret were made very, very public, it’s dreadfully humiliating.
That is why I encourage parents of strong-willed, independent children to stick to their guns. To consistently enforce the rules and reinforce the lesson that our choices have consequences. Even the choices that seem trivial. Teach these children to use their strong will to rule themselves with a rod of iron, so that God and life won’t have to.
Guide her and train her in controlling and disciplining her strong will, and you will have a woman of amazing character and strength who will be a credit to your love and encouragement all the days of her life.
That is what my blessed parents did for me. It wasn’t easy. For me or for them. But we made it through. I am grateful that my parents understood their role as parents. That they were not there to be my friends, but that they were there to guide me — to drag me kicking and screaming in protest when necessary — to hold me accountable to the law of sowing and reaping. To teach me that my words, actions, and attitudes have consequences. And I firmly believe that our current friendship is due to the fact that they were willing to forego friendship in my formative years in order to train and guide me.
I trust my parents. Among my peers, that is a pretty radical statement. I don’t know a lot of my friends who can say that about their parents. And I trust them because they were consistently strong with me. They didn’t tolerate back-talk, nasty attitude, or disobedience. But they never made me feel as if I, in and of myself, was a horrible person. I wouldn’t blame them if they had. The number of times I would scream that they were ruining my life. That they were mean. That I hated them.
It would have been so easy, in the face of my rage and my resistance, for them to back down, to throw up their hands in despair and give up on me. Thank God they didn’t. They kept pushing. Kept confronting. Kept teaching. Kept talking. Kept holding me accountable.
Being the parent of a strong-willed child is exhausting. But when you reach the end of the training period and the definition of “parent” changes from “person who is responsible for me” to “person who tried to give me the tools to cope with life” … then, I think, you find the battle worth it. My parents and I did, at least.
And while I am still strong-willed and independent, I don’t think of that as a bad thing. Because my independence is rooted in a desire to please, love, and serve God, and to be a credit to the two who gave their all to help me mature.
It is hard to describe without seeming judgmental, but I don’t think God intended Woman to be a weak, fragile, parasitic thing that cannot fend for itself. Certainly the “Ideal Woman” of Proverbs 31 is no shrinking violet. And if a man is wise enough to find himself such a woman of strong will and admirable character, he is lucky. Such a woman will brave the pits of Hell itself to defend and protect him, so long as he values her and does not try to crush her spirit. In the battle that is life, one wants a warrior by one’s side, not a pet monkey in one’s saddlebags. The one will help you fight; the other has to be carried, protected, and looked after. The one adds to your strength; the other draws from your strength, weakens you.
So rejoice in your “incredibly stubborn, willful and highly intelligent daughter”; train her as God leads and as wisdom directs, and then release her to live a joyful, triumphant, successful life.
Tags: challenges, character, child-rearing, children, Christianity, Family Life, parenting
Posted by Editormum on 28 August 2010 in
Family Life,
Religion,
True Stories My friend Stephanie recently posted on her Facebook page that she “…somehow managed to get an incredibly stubborn, willful and highly intelligent daughter. She makes other kids that I had previously chalked up as ‘stubborn’ look wishy-washy in comparison. Someone please tell me this is a trait that will serve her well later in life! At least one thing is semi-comforting, when she’s decided on a course of action, nothing and nobody will be able to sway her.”
I responded with encouragement (I hope), in the brief format that Facebook allows. But as I mulled over the statement in the days following that exchange, I grew more and more certain that this topic needs to be addressed. Especially in the context of the organization through which Stephanie and I met. So I decided to take my brief response and expand it here — I’m looking at some pretty extensive thoughts, so I’m going to break this into three posts. My original thoughts will appear as quotes.
One thing I’ve noticed is that the parents of these strong-willed children are frequently concerned about the strength of their child’s will. It causes them great anxiety that their child may struggle in life because of the consequences of their stubborn nature. And this is a legitimate fear. So my first desire in responding to Stephanie was to reassure her that her daughter will not ultimately be a failure in life because of her strength of will.
As a grown-up “incredibly stubborn, willful, and highly intelligent daughter,” I can tell you that these traits, if properly channeled, will give your daughter the ability to withstand the most horrific things that life can throw at her. And come out the other side even stronger and more confident than ever.
Stephanie knows a lot about my life. But for readers who are not as familiar, a quick background may be helpful here. My mother used to joke that I was the original strong-willed child. She told me a couple of years ago that I was one of the children whose parents were surveyed for the original edition of Dr. James Dobson’s book The Strong-Willed Child. Mom lived by that book and Dr. Dobson’s equally well-known Dare to Discipline. I would have liked to have a private book-burning, but I wasn’t allowed to play with matches. And mom was smart enough to hide them where I couldn’t find them.
My school years were rocky. I was a great student, unless the subject bored me or the teacher rubbed me the wrong way. Fortunately, the only subject I truly hated and resisted was math. And I got on well with most teachers. So I did okay academically. Socially, I was a misfit. Too prone to speaking my mind, and possessing a singular lack of tact and diplomacy, I hurt people’s feelings without intention. I also didn’t care about my appearance very much. I preferred comfort over style and could not be bothered with makeup or hairstyles that required more than a quick combing. I was a bookworm and preferred a stack of books to a mass of people — though I loved people and wanted them around. I was (and still am) a strange bundle of contradictions.
My young adult years were a little better, if only because mom used her 18 years of full-time motherhood to “sandpaper” some of my roughest edges. And it wasn’t easy for her, God bless her. I resisted and rebelled every step of the way. (But I am so profoundly grateful to her now.)
It was marriage and motherhood that gave me a better perspective on both my mom’s “harsh criticism” of me and of my own failings. That strong will led me into some less than pleasant paths.
Childbirth was the first thing I ever ran up against that I had absolutely no control over. It was humbling. My husband’s abusive behaviour was the second thing that I found uncontrollable — I actually encountered this one first, of course, but it wasn’t until after I gave birth to my first child that I realised that I was never going to be able to control my husband’s temper or his choice of outlook. As a friend of mine said after the divorce when I wailed that I had tried so hard to make him happy, “You cannot make someone happy. Each person has to choose happiness or misery.”
I am convinced that God used my strong will and the indomitable spirit that accompanies it that allowed me to survive nearly five years of intense verbal, emotional, and spiritual abuse. I know that it was that will that finally gave me the courage and strength to leave. To take my children out of a situation in which they were already suffering serious emotional and psychological harm. And to live through the drama of the ten years subsequent to the divorce. To live mostly joyfully and triumphantly. To find the beginnings of healing. To be able to help my children heal.
On 16 July 2005, I met the third completely uncontrollable thing in my life. I was in a car wreck. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I sustained a severe closed-head injury. But because all of my limbs were in working order and I was not bleeding, I did not go to the hospital. It was not until I’d had a horrible headache for six weeks straight that I sought medical assistance for the headache. My poor doctor was so angry with me for not going and having a scan done after the accident. Because without the scan, he had no way of knowing how bad the damage was, or where it was.
But he worked with me to control the headaches, though he warned me that wherever I was at about 18 months after the wreck was where I would stay for the rest of my life. At the 18-month point, I was still fighting frequent, debilitating migraines, severe agoraphobia, a stutter that I’d never had before, memory and cognitive function deficits, and several other issues stemming from that wreck. When I finally accepted that what Doc was telling me might be true and that I might be stuck with these things for the rest of my life, I slid into serious depression. Again, I am convinced that it was God’s grace acting through my strong will that pulled me out of that depression before I succumbed completely to despair.
I know that it is this strong will that has given me the courage to confront my problems head on, insurmountable though many of them seem to be. That is what I mean by coming out the other side stronger and more confident. I know that I can conquer whatever life throws at me — look at what I have already conquered.
But please don’t get the idea that I think I did this all on my own!
I had so many people surrounding me. My parents, my siblings, my friends … I owe them all so much. (The real friends, not the ones who said they were my friends and then dumped me when things got yucky. Those false friends, they made the hurt so very much more hard to bear.)
More than anyone else, God. I clung to God and His promises. I prayed to God. Cried to God. Screamed at God. God was my everything … and continues to be so. I KNOW that I would not have made it without Him, and He continues to sustain and protect me as I continue walking this difficult road that is my life.
My thoughts on strong-willed kids continue in tomorrow’s post.
Tags: challenges, character, child-rearing, children, faith, Family Life, fear, independence, parenting, strong will
Posted by Editormum on 18 August 2010 in
Philosophy,
True Stories I got a good lesson last night in humility, and I’ve been mulling it over ever since. So I’m just going to jot my thoughts down here, in case they are of use to anyone else.
My church has a fundraiser every other year. It’s a Broadway revue with lots of challenging singing and somewhat complex choreography. For a mostly amateur ensemble, the show is technically and vocally challenging. We also have a fabulous director who’s not afraid to push us a bit, but who also knows when to back it down a notch.
Our director is also good about doling out the peaches: the very desirable high-profile parts. He’s fairly even-handed about assigning solos and duets, and creating smaller ensembles within the larger group.
I’ll admit that I was slightly disappointed not to have a solo this year. But there was some relief as well, because my voice has been … problematic … this year, and I don’t want to risk its breaking up mid-solo and wrecking the number. So it was not an envious disappointment, but more the disappointment of my own limitations holding me back. And I still enjoy participating in the production — as long as I can sing, I don’t worry too much about how visible I am.
I was pleasantly surprised last week to be asked to sing in a trio, which will be very nice and will allow me to regain confidence in my voice and the power of technique to overcome my body’s stupidities. But I am straying from my point.
Last night, several of us arrived early to rehearsal. I was sitting quietly in a corner when one of the younger members (I will call her Daisy) came in and began talking with me. She said that she was planning to ask the director if she could have a particular solo. I said, “Oh, I am sorry, but he assigned that at the last rehearsal.” She asked who had gotten it, and then said, “I’ll bet it was Bambi.’ She gets all the good stuff.”
I was shocked, and replied, “But Bambi has a beautiful, strong voice, and she carries the responsibilities well. And several other people have one or two special parts.” But I was thinking: “You have missed at least five rehearsals, and I remember you telling us that you might not get to be in the performance because of a possible school conflict … so why would you think for a minute that the director would give you a leading part? If you aren’t sure you’re going to be in it, and you’re not going to faithfully attend rehearsals, then of course you’re not going to get the lead. The director’s not dumb enough to take that kind of risk!”
And Daisy replied, “Yeah, but it’s not fair for her to have two or three good parts, and I don’t even get one.” A few minutes later, she wandered over to talk to another member of the troupe, and when she said she wanted that solo, that person also told her that it had already been assigned. Again, the pouting, “that’s not fair” attitude.
Now, I chalk a lot of this up to immaturity. Daisy is very young, and I think it takes a lot of experience to accept that not everyone gets to play Juliet. Someone has to be the nameless, faceless peasant in the crowd.
But I was amazed that, after rehearsal, Daisy asked the director point-blank and right in front of everyone if she could have this one solo that she wanted. And when he said that it had already been assigned, she began to protest. He simply said, “I’m sorry, but that is what happens when you miss rehearsals.” Laid out here it sounds rather harsh, but he said it kindly, and not in a rude or hurtful manner.
The whole conversation got me to thinking how insidious and cruel pride can be. I’m sure Daisy didn’t recognize that it was pride that spurred her even to ask for a special part. Especially when two of us had already told her that the part she wanted was taken. (My own rule of thumb is that I will never ask, but I will never say “no.” No matter what hopes and aspirations I may have, it is better to be invited to fulfill them than to ask and be rejected.) I’m also pretty sure that Daisy didn’t realize the naked envy that was revealed by her comment about Bambi. It was not very pretty.
But the other thing that struck me was that her pride got her in the cruel situation of being publicly turned down and having a fault publicly addressed. Pride is cruel. Pride does not just go before a fall, it also leads you directly into the valley of humiliation. And that is a place no one wants to be.
Tags: character, church, envy, fundraising, humiliation, humility, jealousy, pride, Religion
Posted by Editormum on 16 August 2010 in
Religion O God, the King eternal, whose light divides the day from the night and turns the shadow of death into the morning: Drive far from us all wrong desires, incline our hearts to keep your law, and guide our feet into the way of peace; that, having done your will with cheerfulness during the day, we may, when night comes, rejoice to give you thanks; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
This collect from today’s Morning Office (Matins) really resonated with my soul.
I’m at the office today, but my heart’s not in it. The whole “having done Your will with cheerfulness” thing is just not working for me today.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be at home. Not for any particular reason, just … because. But, of course, it is clearly God’s will for me to be here, because nothing prevented my coming to work, and I have a long-standing agreement with my employer to be here from 8 to 5, five days a week. So, since I know God wants me to honor my agreements, and He didn’t intervene in this one today, I know I’m in His will. I’m just not happy about it. Because MY will is to be on a beach somewhere with a book, a big floppy hat, and a tall, cold glass of freshly made iced lemonade.
But, of course, if I’m to practise what I preach, I need to muster some cheerfulness — beach or no beach. As C.S. Lewis would say, I’m “under orders.” The Bible says that I am to give thanks in everything and rejoice evermore. (1 Thessalonians 5:14-18)
It’s hard to be cheerful, to rejoice, to give thanks, when your will is being interfered with, or when you are reaping unpleasant consequences of poor choices. And I am reaping pretty bountifully right now.
Finances are tighter than tight, and both I and the kids are having to cut back on things that we love to do. There’s just not the money to do them. The reasons for the tight finances would fill a book — some are my fault, some are not — but that doesn’t change the reaping.
My house is a mess … and that’s because I will always, very cheerfully, let the housework go in order to do ANYTHING else. With ANYONE. I’m having to learn to make housework as important a demand as, say, feeding the kids … but I’m not exactly feeling cheerful about it.
And I’m tired. Because I chose to stay up late several nights in a row, even though I know that it always makes me draggy for days afterward. And because I haven’t been faithful with my vitamin supplements. Miss a few days of D and B, and I’m in pretty pathetic shape.
Oh well. The nice thing about my faith is that it teaches a second chance. “Repent,” it says, “and pick yourself up and give it another go.” So, here I go … giving it another go. And may God bless my feeble efforts.
I CAN rejoice in the second chance.
I CAN be cheerful about getting to try again.
And I can just keep trying. After all, that is all that God asks. Try. CS Lewis says that if only the will to walk is there, God is pleased with even our stumbles. And I can definitely rejoice in that.
Tags: Bible interpretation, challenges, character, Christianity, faith, Family Life, Religion, stress, Work Life
Posted by Editormum on 2 August 2010 in
True Stories Like today. I went out to my car at lunch time, and put my purse and book on the passenger seat while I sat on the side of the driver’s seat. I happened to glance up at the windshield. It didn’t look right.
There was a strange, black, tombstone-shaped sticker thing in the upper middle of the glass, and I’d never seen it before.
I sat there stupidly for a few seconds, half-in and half-out of the car. But I was puzzled and it took me a minute to figure out that something was missing.
My rearview mirror was gone.
WHAT?! Yeah. I know. So I am frantically looking to see where it is … did I set my purse on it … did it fall on the floor ….
When I couldn’t find it, I got completely out of the car, and there it was, lying in the driver’s seat. I’d come within an ace of sitting on it.
Now, the mirror was fine when I parked the car at the office this morning. So all I can figure is that the glue was weakened by the ridiculous heat-wave we’ve been having, and it decided to let go. Thank goodness it let go at a time when I was not driving!
So of course, when Daddy came home tonight, I asked him what could be done. He sent me over to AutoZone for the glue and said we’d get the fixin’ started.
Only, when I got home with the glue, the directions say that you should attempt repairs only between 45 and 75 degrees Fahrenheit. Are you kidding me?! We won’t have daytime highs under 75 degrees until … oh … mid-October.
I cannot drive without my rearview mirror for three months! I use all my mirrors. Daddy taught me how. He also taught me how to set my mirrors so that I have no blind spot. Now I have this ginormous blind spot and it’s very disconcerting to drive.
So Daddy’s going to see if we can attempt the repair early on Saturday morning. I’ll leave the car at his place Friday night, and he will see if it’s cool enough to try the repairs when he gets done with his early-morning prayers on Saturday.
If not, I’m wondering if duct tape will hold my mirror in place for three months. It won’t be pretty, but it would be better than driving without my mirror.
Tags: automobiles, challenges, driving, humour
Posted by Editormum on 1 July 2010 in
Family Life So, at the moment, it looks like I’m able to manage only one post a week … sort of. That will have to do for the time being, as there is just a lot going on. Though I may come back and fill in some posts about things that have happened in the past week or so … when things calm down. IF they calm down.
Some big accomplishments in our family:
I earned my purple belt last Friday night. This is a really serious achievement for me. When I started karate, I didn’t figure I’d ever get this far. I was thirty-nine years old, 125 pounds overweight, unccordinated, non-sporty, diabetic, had recently had foot surgery, have bad knees and a bad back, have memory problems from a TBI sustained in a car wreck in 2005, was scared of my own shadow, blah, blah, blah. It doesn’t seem to have stopped me as much as I feared it would. I am now forty-one, 70 pounds overweight, and a lot more “sporty” than ever before in my life. I can now actually envision myself earning my black belt … although, Sensei, if you are reading this, the idea of a four- to five-hour test is still pretty unnerving.
My older son earned his First Class rank in Boy Scouts. This is a big deal, because he could not go to the 100-Year Jamboree at the end of this month without achieving that rank. And it was quite a herculean effort, but he did it.
In helping my son reach that goal, I had to stand up to some people. Standing up to people is not my forte. Seriously. I don’t confront. I seethe. Especially if the person needing to be confronted is an authority figure. It’s safer to quietly seethe than to stand up to injustice or incompetence in authority figures. Only this involved my son, and somehow, I’m braver about standing up for my kids than I am for myself. So I did it. Twice. A very big accomplishment for me.
Some major changes in our lives in the last few weeks, too. Not least of which is that we are now pet-owners. My older son has wanted a pet since he could walk, and the opportunity presented itself in conjunction with a Boy Scout merit badge requirement. So my older son is now the VERY VERY proud owner of a Leopard Gecko. My younger son was feeling kind of left out, so I bought him a Betta splendens (a Siamese fighting fish) with a promise that while his brother is at Jamboree, we will reorganize his room to accomodate a slightly larger aquarium. (That gives me some time to save up some money.)
And my church’s biennial fundraiser is in preparation again. Weekly rehearsals from now until August, then twice-weekly rehearsals while we “block” the music, and then a week of nightly rehearsals before our three performances. (Four if you count dress rehearsal, because there’s almost always an audience at dress rehearsal. LOL.)
We’re focusing now on getting Scout Boy off to Jamboree. We have to have his stuff packed and ready for shipping to DC on July 17, so it’s getting close. He will be gone for two full weeks. Wow. When did my baby get to be so grown up?
Tags: Boy Scouts, challenges, Family Life, karate, parenting, pets
Posted by Editormum on 20 June 2010 in
Philosophy,
Religion Usually, I don’t bother much with the manufactured holidays. But this year, I have found Father’s Day to be a compelling topic of thought. So I want to tell my readers about Daddy.
I am fortunate to still have my Daddy. So many of my friends have lost their dads, or their dads are in poor health. My Daddy is still going strong … though I suppose if I were honest I would have to admit that he’s beginning to slow down a bit. Not much. But it’s there.
Daddy is such an amazing man. Where do I begin to describe this wonderful man?
Let me start with his spiritual life. For as far back as I can remember, my Daddy has made his spiritual life a priority. All my life, he has risen at 0500 to spend time reading the Bible and praying. I know, and it is a source of tremendous comfort and peace to me, that my Daddy prays for every single member of his family by name and by specific need, every single day.
Daddy knows that I love books, so he often gives me special gifts of books. Over the years, there have been Bibles, study guides, and devotionals, among many others. But there are two that have pride of place on my bedside table. One is a John MacArthur NRSV Study Bible marked with the daily reading plan that he has used for decades. The other is a copy of Oswald Chambers’s My Utmost for His Highest, with these words written on the flyleaf:
I have prayed for thirty years that each of my children will know Christ personally …. These devotionals are deep, often deceptively so. … I pray that these devotionals will cause you to search the inner recesses of your understanding of your relationship to God … may they bring you to a trust in God, an awareness of the leading of the Holy Spirit, and a friendship with Christ that is immeasurably greater than my own.”
What an amazing, wonderful, awe-full goal for a dad to have for his child! A relationship with the living God that surpasses his own.
When my marriage fell apart, Daddy was there to help me pick up the pieces. He’s even run interference between me and my former husband when situations got unpleasant. He spent hours and hours counseling with us, trying to save the marriage. It broke his heart, I think, that all of the effort was unsuccessful and I was forced to leave. But he has never wavered in his support of me.
And my dad loves my mother with the most unselfish, beautiful love that ever was between man and woman. He has been wholly faithful to her for 45 years of marriage, and has loved her through good times and bad, through illness and through health. He has kept every vow that he made on their wedding day. When mom and I had some rough spots between us, he refused to let us leave the situation with anger between us. He sat as referee and helped us heal our relationship, so that my mother is now my best and most treasured friend.
When I was a teenager and was teased about my name so much that I wanted to change it, Daddy sat down with me and explained how I had gotten my name, and what it meant to him. I have never again wanted to change it, because my Daddy’s words were so beautiful and affirming. When I was younger and boys rejected me and called me ugly, Daddy started taking me on dates and telling me how beautiful I was. We still have a date for lunch on my birthday, every year. He has loved me unconditionally and selflessly all of my life.
He has had faith in me when I had none left. He has hoped for me when I had no will left to hope. He has loved me when I had nothing to give in return. He has encouraged me when I thought there was no reason left to be encouraged. He has lifted me up and wiped my tears and set me back on my feet countless times, and with never an unkind or blaming word — even when I fell down because of my own stupidity.
Above all, and it is the highest praise I can think of to give to him, Daddy has shown me what God’s love is like. It is an ocean with no bottom, no edges, no end. It lifts you and carries you when life is too hard for you. It stands beside you and guides you when you are fighting life’s battles. It offers rest and refreshment to a weary soul. It loves you when you are unlovely, and it affirms your beauty in its beholding eyes. It gives its all and is still willing to give, overflowing and unstoppable. It is a fountain of life, hope, and peace. That is God’s love. And that is my Daddy’s love.
Oh, dear God, thank you for my Daddy.
Tags: Christianity, Daddy, Family Life, Father, Father's Day, kindness, love, Religion
Posted by Editormum on 15 June 2010 in
Philosophy,
Religion,
True Stories Yesterday, I posted about the results of hurry on my gelatin dessert. Today’s post is about a lesson learned while selling curriculum at a local home-school fair. It’s about the mistakes that happen when you’re in a hurry, but it’s also about how quickly and easily a reputation can be destroyed.
I believe that it was Warren Buffett who said, “It can take twenty years to establish a good reputation, and only a moment to destroy it.” We lived the truth of that at this fair.
The “hurry” issue was that we got to the curriculum fair last weekend without a calculator and without the cash box. Now, my mother and I have been doing this for eight years. We have it down to a science. We have checklists. A streamlined setup. A standard patter. We’re practically programmed for this sale. There is absolutely no reason that we should forget the calculator. Much less the cash box. Fortunately, we live only ten minutes from the venue, so it wasn’t — well, shouldn’t have been — a big deal to run back and get the missing stuff.
Except for these two men.
Mom went on the day before the sale opened to set up our booth. She found the place designated for us, laid down our “special” floor. (Lovely inch-thick foam tiles that feel SO much better underfoot than concrete slab. This matters when you are going to be on your feet on that floor for two solid days, a total of 16 to 20 hours.) Set up our tables. Hung our banner. Set up the display boards and literature racks.
The idea was that then we could just bring in our books and samples and set them up the next day without getting all nasty and sweaty. Because it’s bloody hot in Memphis right now, with temps in the 90s and heat indices in the 100s, and the venue for this fair is a large, open area. It’s air-conditioned, but it’s so huge and open that the benefits are minimal.
So we arrive for opening day, ten minutes before the doors are supposed to open to the public. I drop Mom and my sons at the front door with a load of our stuff, and head to find a parking space. Gather up the rest of our stuff and head for our booth. When I get there, all of our stuff is piled higgledy-piggledy in the main aisle, and my mother is on the verge of tears. Apparently, the people who set up the booths accidentally switched our space with the space next to us. We had been placed in the corner booth, and the other people had been placed in an “interior” booth. And a last-minute exhibitor with only one table had been set up next to our booth, in the aisle.
The other people (I’ll call them the X’s) didn’t come in on setup day — X1 arrived early on opening day and began setting up. So the problem wasn’t noticed until X2 arrived and found that he was in the “wrong” booth. He wanted the corner — and was determined to have it. (He had apparently asked for it at registration. But there is no extra charge for the corners, and there are only so many corner booths to hand out, y’know?)
So, even though we had set our booth up on the day designated for setup, and even though BOTH booths already had their special flooring down and half their merchandise out on the tables, and even though customers were beginning to come through wanting to look at product, the booth had to be switched. AND the last-minute exhibitors had to be moved as well … because if they were outside the corner booth, then it wasn’t a corner booth anymore, and their display would block the X’s stuff from being seen.
Instead of waiting until we had cleared our things from the corner booth, X2 started picking up his stuff and moving it. He’s mixing up floor tiles and product from the two booths, and blocking the entrances to both booths, and my mom is trying to keep our stuff separate from theirs and organize the switch. This is where I show up with the news that we don’t have the cash box.
It took us more than twenty minutes to get everything moved, and by the end of it, we were all hot and sweaty. And we’d lost at least six sales opportunities because our stuff was all in a mess and we couldn’t show it to people who came by. And here we are almost an hour into the fair, and we’re just now getting to finish setting up our space — when we’d come a day early and gotten everything ready specifically to avoid this kind of problem. (And then I had to leave my mom and sons to do all the setup while I went back for the cash box and a calculator.)
Now, here’s the thing. The X’s say they are Christians. They are promoting a Christian service. (A service, ironically, that my family has been paying members of for more than 20 years.) And yet they are willing to inconvenience an entire aisle full of exhibitors to demand what they want.
Instead of showing Christ’s self-sacrifice, love, and forgiveness, they demanded their “rights.” Not only that, but they demanded their “rights” at the expense of women and children, and with, clearly, no compunction about the inconvenience caused to all of the other sellers in the area. They made a big fuss about a simple mistake, and caused the organizers of the event no little embarrassment and inconvenience. What a great witness.
They got their “rights,” but I think, somehow, that they missed the bigger opportunity. How much better it would have been for them to have said, “Yes, a mistake was made, but that’s all right. It would cause too much confusion for us to switch now. We’ll stay where we are; don’t worry about it.”
Sure, they lose the prominent end-booth, and maybe they have to swallow their pride. Sure, they have to give up some “rights.” But they don’t lose the respect and loyalty of customers who have been with their organization for two decades. They don’t upset and inconvenience a couple dozen people, and they show everyone around them the kind of attitude that the Lord they claim to serve would have shown.
I’m pretty sure that they realized this after the fact, because they spent the whole rest of the fair trying to make up to us. Both men came and apologized, both kept asking how our sales were going, and tried to make small talk. But they never would have had to do all of that if their rush to claim their “rights” hadn’t gotten them into that position in the first place.
Tags: challenges, character, Christianity, kindness, Religion
Posted by Editormum on 14 June 2010 in
Philosophy,
True Stories My life has been lived in a raging hurry the last few weeks. Catching up at work from a vacation. Running to various doctor appointments. Getting kids ready for, and off to, summer camp. Fighting with the ex. Yard sales. Curriculum fairs. And a multitude of other activities. And it hasn’t ended yet. But that’s a topic for another day.
Today’s topic is a couple of odd things that have happened as a result of my recent perpetual hurry. Just because they are funny stories. And, of course, there’s a lesson in them — because what’s life without a lesson or two?
The first odd thing is small. The dessert that sort of failed. I’m on a low-carb diet, which means that desserts are few and far between. But I’ve found this one dessert that I can have daily to satisfy the sweet tooth without blowing the diet or messing with my blood sugar. It’s a gelatin dessert. Made with tea and cream. It’s very tasty.
So I was making up a large batch the other night, but it was late and I was tired and in a hurry. I mixed the gelatin into the hot tea very thoroughly. But I didn’t mix the cream in thoroughly enough. As became evident when I took one of the dishes out of my lunch bag and my dad said, “What ARE you eating?” Because, instead of looking like a light, lemon-coloured cheesecake, it looked like … well …
Have you ever made chicken stock?
You know how, after you strain the hot stock into a dish and refrigerate it, you get this murky greyish-brown layer of gelatinous stock, with a bright yellowish-white layer of fat on top? Yeah. That’s what my dessert looks like. Unclarified, fat-topped chicken stock. (Still tastes good, though!)
That’s what hurry will get you when you’re mixing cream and gelatin. An unappetizing-looking mess. It still tastes good, but it’s hard to get past the appearances.
Tags: Diet, food, humour, Low-Carb, stress
