Just a thought this morning...
I was thinking about and praying about the marathon that I
am running here, wrestling with my flesh and food in
general.. Jesus please deliver me daily and enable
me to run the marathon. Then I thought about that old tale
about the tortoise and the hare. Jesus, let me be like the
tortoise. Then it occurred to me: Jesus didn't make me like
the tortoise. He just didn't! I am not a plodder. I am a
rabbit, a cute, fluffy, sassy bunny that likes to dash about,
exploring and being with other bunnies and other possi-
bilities. Soooooo -- I don't need to be a tortoise, although I
can learn much from him. I need to be a WISE rabbit. The
hare could have gone ahead and run the race and won
handily, but no, he messed around and got distracted. And
eventually lost the race. So here it goes: focus and engage;
don't lose sight of the goal. Run for the finish line. Don't
get distracted. Run fast and well, doing your best. Finish!
Whup that tortoise!
Then live my life....
Sola deo Gloria
Friday, June 28, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Standing? No -- really just propped up.....
I have been overwhelmed by the culture wars going on in our dear country. It seems like daily there are opinions and hate-filled words flying back and forth. The Boy Scouts and the gay agenda, abortion vs. pro-life issues, atheism vs. Christianity, old-earth creationists vs. young-earth creationists, full-quiver vs. feminism..... all of these (and much more) issues press near to my heart as a Christian. I am a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a daughter, a sister, an artist, a church member, a neighbor, a small business owner, a spoiled-dog owner....etc. ad nauseum. But as I ponder so many things and try to keep my head from spinning off into the ozone and worrying myself into an early grave, there comes this still small voice....there in the background, there whispering quietly to me. No, I am not schizophrenic or delusional. At least not yet.
There are many voices that pull at me. Many opinions that slay or affirm me. Most of us are way too peer-oriented. We walk in levels of fear, afraid of what people think of us or afraid of confrontation. I certainly fight this myself. I am sensitive to the spectre of hurting someone's feelings, more so than what people think of me. I do not want someone to hate God because I have offended them and they associate me with Him. God forbid that I be a stumbling block. But in this day, there is precious little that can be said without offending someone. We have been indoctrinated with the mantra that "whatever is right for you, is right." How dare anybody say something that disagrees with my precious-held self? How dare you assault my self-esteem that was so carefully crafted through well-meaning teachers and social systems? Don't you know children are starving all over America and bullies are everywhere? Especially those Christian ones?
All these thoughts have kept me up at nights, praying and wondering at this brave stinking world that we are coming into. Dear God, how can we navigate now? Everything is changing, flipping on its head. The signs have been there for some time, but in the last year or two things are quickly escalating. What was once called good, is now called evil and evil good. And pity the fool that stands up and disagrees. I'm reminded of an album cover from years ago, a Keith Green album....
It shows a "fool" who is not willing to bow to the idolatrous king that is marching by. You can't see the face of the official on the horse right here, but he is spewing anger and hate. The chances of the stander getting by with this are nil. Funny how, even from the back, he exudes peace in the face of trial.
I certainly don't want trials, don't want tribulations, don't want to hurt. But my soul trembles more for my children and my children's children than for me. I'm on the other side of that hill. God has more for me to do, apparently, or I wouldn't still be here. I am a prayer warrior for my loved ones, my friends, my neighbors, my nation. No, not a fancy one who gets up at the crack of dawn and spends hours on my knees. Just a breather. Breathin' all day, breathing prayers out and in, constantly checking my pulse and throwing myself mentally at the foot of the cross. Just an old sinner, with the vestiges of all manner of wickedness crouching at my soul and mind, but a sinner that was mercifully redeemed by God. I am redeemed but still struggle in my flesh. I didn't work myself up to be a good girl. I now laugh at my earlier decades of thinking I was ever "good" on my own. I am old enough, tired enough and aching enough now to see a little clearer -- and understand the blissful joy of what salvation truly is and Who is holding me in the palm of His hand.
I look about at these barbs flying on all sides.
What is truth? There are so many people that consider themselves Christians that do not seem to have any real idea of what the Gospel is. They have embraced some sort of social gospel that is so far removed from the Gospel of Christ that it is barely recognizable. The scriptures are sorely neglected. The truth is pitched out in bits and pieces, carefully chosen for argument's sake, not in context and certainly not in full Biblical context. And it really all gets back to that. God's Word. Opinions fly. Tempers heat. And there's a whole lot of blabbing going on. Ken admonished me a couple of days ago, that I needed to quit worrying and cling to the Word of God, continuing to immerse myself in its truth. There is peace and safety in it. The only peace and safety in this world.
Yesterday as I worked, scraping old walls of their paint and years of layers, a precious song came on, speaking of the love of Christ and what He did for me. He is not just one simple attribute. His love encompasses mercy AND truth and so much more, mysteries that will not unfold in my mind until I am with Him. I trust Him and His Word. I cannot vacillate from that. I pray that I can look through His eyes of love and truth, both. Both! And I pray that when the chariots of political correctness and fear come trucking by, I'll have the courage to stand in peace.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
There are elves in them thar mountains
I did a wicked thing. I bought a rocking chair. Do I NEED a rocking chair? Well, no, not exactly. We have two of them on the front porch, actually three if you include Ken's wicker one. And one in the nursery area that someone gave me. But.... it happened when we went up to Liz' athletic banquet at her college, up in North Georgia. North Georgia is a magical, peaceful place. When you breathe the clean mountain air up there, you get just a tiny bit giddy. Could be from the altitude, but it's not really that much further up.... could be that we are not accustomed to clean air.... or it could be that everywhere you look, you see rolling hills and green trees, birds, little cabins and old homes. It entrances you. So you do impulsive things like: buy one of those pecan rolls like they used to sell at Stuckey's (and eat the whole cotton-pickin' thing); go into a cutesy boutique in town and buy a shirt that costs $35 when your usual M.O. is to frequent the thrift store and buy a $3 one with your spare change; go into a restaurant on the river and throw down $48 for what should be a $15 dinner; and then, the worst, go into a humble and innocent-looking hardware store in said little town and sit down in one of their Amish rockers. Don't do it. There's something strangely Elvish about it. Not talking about Elvis here, people.... Elves. Like in Lord of the Rings. Or like the Ring in Lord of the Rings. My precious. Mm Hmmm. You sit in that thing and it calls to you. You have never been so comfortable sitting in something made of hard wood. The fella in the store encouraged me to go downstairs and sit in all of their Amish chairs. There must have been thirty of them, all different from each other. No factory-made stuff here. He said, "There will be only one that will fit you perfectly." And he was right. It was this quirky-looking rocker made of twigs and sticks. It looked like it might break if you sat in it, but when you did sit in it, it didn't budge a nail. It was just right. Not too short, not too tall. My head fit perfectly at the top and my hinder parts fit like a glove into the seat. Rocking it was natural, not contrived or difficult. I might just die in this chair.
I asked Ken if I could have the rocker. It was on sale, marked down $60 off the original price (it still was not cheap). He simply said, "Save up for it." I said, "OK." He walked next door to another shop, perusing the University of Georgia clothing for babies. Yes, baby clothes. We have two grandbabies and one on the way. Interesting how things change along the way. He had no idea what was about to go down at the hardware store. I didn't either. The hardware dude asked if I wanted to buy the chair. I asked him if they did layaway. He said yes. That was my answer. I had $50 from a little side job I had done, so I plopped that down for a down payment. Liz was with me and that girl should be a CIA agent, she was so locked down. We went home and I remembered the rocker. Since Papa had said I had to save up, I dutifully did that. Magically, through the miracles of technology and debit cards, when we picked up Liz a few weeks later, that rocker was sitting in her dorm apartment. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year (not to mention Happy Birthday, Happy Mother's Day and Happy Hanukkah!)
I asked Ken if I could have the rocker. It was on sale, marked down $60 off the original price (it still was not cheap). He simply said, "Save up for it." I said, "OK." He walked next door to another shop, perusing the University of Georgia clothing for babies. Yes, baby clothes. We have two grandbabies and one on the way. Interesting how things change along the way. He had no idea what was about to go down at the hardware store. I didn't either. The hardware dude asked if I wanted to buy the chair. I asked him if they did layaway. He said yes. That was my answer. I had $50 from a little side job I had done, so I plopped that down for a down payment. Liz was with me and that girl should be a CIA agent, she was so locked down. We went home and I remembered the rocker. Since Papa had said I had to save up, I dutifully did that. Magically, through the miracles of technology and debit cards, when we picked up Liz a few weeks later, that rocker was sitting in her dorm apartment. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year (not to mention Happy Birthday, Happy Mother's Day and Happy Hanukkah!)
Thursday, April 25, 2013
If you trace it back, that's some old DNA right there....
There are way too many cliches about grandbabies. People say that they are the best thing since sliced bread. They are so wonderful, we should have had them first. They are sinless, precious creatures, never meaning to do anything wrong. They are fun -- you don't have to be responsible but they're still yours. They always look like OUR side of the family. Their poop does not stink.
I'm afraid I have to tell you....it's all true.
The weirdest thing about grandbabies is that you look at them and realize that they really are part of you. And your husband. And your daughter-in-love's Mama and Daddy. And the great grandparents (all gozillion of them). It's this DNA strand, going back to Noah and the ark...and then back to Adam and Eve. But in this moment, this life, this baby is our flesh and blood. A miracle, derived from the results of many decisions, passions and the providence of God. If even one of those things were changed, this particular baby would not have been here. Even if the time of day or month changed, this baby would not have been here. One bullet in a centuries-long-ago war could have changed the fact of this baby's existence. God's mysteries puzzle and amaze me. He put this soul here, by the vortex of His hand.
We see a single life and wonder what it is worth. We measure money, fame, influence, abilities, stature.... but we have no clue what the measure of any life is really worth. It is a tapestry, with confusing and twisted threads all bunched up on the one side.....but an amazing picture on the other.
I look into the sweet bunny eyes of my two granddaughters. They have not yet spoken words. They cry a lot, eat a lot, poop a lot..... but in those eyes there are souls, not just babies. They are intricately and delicately made, mysteriously spun from two original strands of DNA, one from Daddy and one from Mama....passed down from the beginning of humanity.
It is a sacred trust. May that be a challenge and a promise to cherish and uphold the fragile gift of life.
I'm afraid I have to tell you....it's all true.
The weirdest thing about grandbabies is that you look at them and realize that they really are part of you. And your husband. And your daughter-in-love's Mama and Daddy. And the great grandparents (all gozillion of them). It's this DNA strand, going back to Noah and the ark...and then back to Adam and Eve. But in this moment, this life, this baby is our flesh and blood. A miracle, derived from the results of many decisions, passions and the providence of God. If even one of those things were changed, this particular baby would not have been here. Even if the time of day or month changed, this baby would not have been here. One bullet in a centuries-long-ago war could have changed the fact of this baby's existence. God's mysteries puzzle and amaze me. He put this soul here, by the vortex of His hand.
We see a single life and wonder what it is worth. We measure money, fame, influence, abilities, stature.... but we have no clue what the measure of any life is really worth. It is a tapestry, with confusing and twisted threads all bunched up on the one side.....but an amazing picture on the other.
I look into the sweet bunny eyes of my two granddaughters. They have not yet spoken words. They cry a lot, eat a lot, poop a lot..... but in those eyes there are souls, not just babies. They are intricately and delicately made, mysteriously spun from two original strands of DNA, one from Daddy and one from Mama....passed down from the beginning of humanity.
It is a sacred trust. May that be a challenge and a promise to cherish and uphold the fragile gift of life.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
No you're wrong -- I love being fat
I really don't like to talk about my weight.
It's way obvious that I have a weight problem. It's virtually the elephant in the room. I'm laughing now. In my lifetime, a few naturally skinny people, or people who are way more disciplined than me have said some pretty incredible things....like, "Rose, you just need to start eating whole grains like brown rice, whole wheat bread, and eating more salads." Okay, just to put that one to rest.... I don't think I have ever bought one bag of white rice or white bread in 31 years of marriage. I love salad and eat it with great gusto. And a few gallons of blue cheese dressing to top it off. Another funny (not so, maybe) is people who will say to me, in a social setting, "Rose, here is some fat-free __________ -- or some sugar-free ____________." This really does make me want to laugh. I have been known to say back: "Now do I look like I eat fat-free or sugar-free stuff, particularly at parties?!!!" And the absolute worst thing that has ever been asked of me goes something like this: "Eh, well, um, Rose..... does Ken still, well, like, you know, wanna be with you, you know, even though you are fat?" There's that texting abbreviation ROFL (which means Rolling On the Floor Laughing). I might have had to do that that day.
I have a crappy metabolism, it is true. But that is not really my problem. If you have a bad metabolism, then you have to make adjustments to get your wheelbarrow back in balance. Apparently, I have not done that (the balance part). It is a fact of nature that if I were to eat air, I would eventually blow away. You don't get this kind of bulk without putting away some groceries. I have made observations, scientific ones, about this subject. We used to breed beautiful Golden Retrievers. One of our Goldens, Bethany, was always eating the house down. She would eat absolutely anything. You could throw a rock in the air and she would try to wolf it down. I believe she ate about twice what her sister, Chloe, consumed. And she was wiry and on the lean side. Chloe, on the other hand, was an easy keeper. She didn't eat that much and was always fat. She also wasn't as hyper as Bethany. They were both gorgeous dogs. A couple of times, they had puppies at the same time. Chloe's box of puppies was a mess. She was sweet and lovey to her pups...but she could not care less whether they were clean or not. Bethany was vigilant. She would clean her pups, then sneak over to Chloe's box and clean her pups too, as well as feed them. My sister, Melanie, says that men like their women the way they like their dogs, and that Brian really, really likes Border Collies. To that I said, yup, Ken likes me to act like a Golden Retriever -- happy, cute and obedient, ha! Two out of three ain't bad. I'll leave it to you to guess which two. We need to write a manual or something....
Back to it. When Ken married me, I was a svelte, tall blonde Bomber. I wore 4 inch Candies and had hair down to my waist. 31 years later, I am a fluffy (what a nice word), tall, artificially-blonde Barrel. Of laughs. That man loves the stuffin' out of me and I cannot believe my luck. I know the truth of God's amazing grace and it carries me every single day. I have known good times and bad, sorrow and unspeakable joy. By the world's estimation, by their outward measurements, I would be a failure. But in God's estimation, I am His, a beggar who was made into a princess.
Meanwhile, while I walk this cracked world, I wrestle with my flesh and my appetite. There have been years that I did not wrestle with it...I just gave in and rested, not worrying about it. There are whole books and websites dedicated to just that, telling you that you should eat to your heart's content and exercise, or not. That would be just dandy, except for several problems..... if you live to be at all old, and not even old.....your body revolts and begins hurting and chafing at the burden on it. And it HURTS, I'm tellin' ya. You lose opportunities of all kinds -- physical ones, spiritual ones, social ones (ah, the injustice) -- because of the extra padding. I'm somewhat oblivious to most of the social ones, but I'm told that they are there. That wouldn't be so bad, except that I have really good news in my heart that might be missed by someone who needs a friend and dismisses me because I'm crowding the sidewalk. Another problem is that, if you are a Christian, the Scripture talks (eeeek, several times) about the sin of gluttony. And it's not good. Now, from my scientific observations about my dogs....I have to come to a conclusion: what is gluttony for one person might not be gluttony for another person. It's just a fact of nature. If Bethany girl had eaten the same amount as Chloe, she would have starved to death. So....point made. Me and Chloe, we're buds.
I don't know how to make this problem (or sin) go away. I had a precious aunt who one day walked in and threw her cigarettes away. Just like that. She never smoked again and never wanted another one. God healed her of her addiction right then and there. I've known alcoholics healed in the same way. But I have never known a glutton healed instantly like that. Dear God, you can start with me! Part of the problem is that food is not a yes or no question. As addictive as cocaine or other drugs are, it's still a yes or no question. With food, it's what? where? when? how much? what do you combine it with? weigh it? measure it? and on and on.
What I want is a heart that understands and listens to my body and WANTS to consume what is right for me and what glorifies God. Sure, I want an instant fix. I want God to just zap me and make me understand and desire that. I may look sedentary, but I'm sort-of hyper and I want a quick fix. God hasn't given me that. I believe He wants me to depend on Him, and not on man's solutions or opinions. I can just say no to drugs or drunkenness.....I can stay faithful to my husband....there are many things that I have consistent victory in, most of them not too hard to navigate. But this.....this is different. At the same time, I do not want to be obsessed with it. I want to walk in God's goodness and freedom. I need this part of my heart changed. I have a rebellious side that does not want to obey....that says, "You can't tell me what to do!" Even though I flourished under a drill-sergeant coach in high school, if given any leeway at all I will deviate from the Program. What is that about? I don't know. But I am and have been asking God. And that....is that.
It's way obvious that I have a weight problem. It's virtually the elephant in the room. I'm laughing now. In my lifetime, a few naturally skinny people, or people who are way more disciplined than me have said some pretty incredible things....like, "Rose, you just need to start eating whole grains like brown rice, whole wheat bread, and eating more salads." Okay, just to put that one to rest.... I don't think I have ever bought one bag of white rice or white bread in 31 years of marriage. I love salad and eat it with great gusto. And a few gallons of blue cheese dressing to top it off. Another funny (not so, maybe) is people who will say to me, in a social setting, "Rose, here is some fat-free __________ -- or some sugar-free ____________." This really does make me want to laugh. I have been known to say back: "Now do I look like I eat fat-free or sugar-free stuff, particularly at parties?!!!" And the absolute worst thing that has ever been asked of me goes something like this: "Eh, well, um, Rose..... does Ken still, well, like, you know, wanna be with you, you know, even though you are fat?" There's that texting abbreviation ROFL (which means Rolling On the Floor Laughing). I might have had to do that that day.
I have a crappy metabolism, it is true. But that is not really my problem. If you have a bad metabolism, then you have to make adjustments to get your wheelbarrow back in balance. Apparently, I have not done that (the balance part). It is a fact of nature that if I were to eat air, I would eventually blow away. You don't get this kind of bulk without putting away some groceries. I have made observations, scientific ones, about this subject. We used to breed beautiful Golden Retrievers. One of our Goldens, Bethany, was always eating the house down. She would eat absolutely anything. You could throw a rock in the air and she would try to wolf it down. I believe she ate about twice what her sister, Chloe, consumed. And she was wiry and on the lean side. Chloe, on the other hand, was an easy keeper. She didn't eat that much and was always fat. She also wasn't as hyper as Bethany. They were both gorgeous dogs. A couple of times, they had puppies at the same time. Chloe's box of puppies was a mess. She was sweet and lovey to her pups...but she could not care less whether they were clean or not. Bethany was vigilant. She would clean her pups, then sneak over to Chloe's box and clean her pups too, as well as feed them. My sister, Melanie, says that men like their women the way they like their dogs, and that Brian really, really likes Border Collies. To that I said, yup, Ken likes me to act like a Golden Retriever -- happy, cute and obedient, ha! Two out of three ain't bad. I'll leave it to you to guess which two. We need to write a manual or something....
Back to it. When Ken married me, I was a svelte, tall blonde Bomber. I wore 4 inch Candies and had hair down to my waist. 31 years later, I am a fluffy (what a nice word), tall, artificially-blonde Barrel. Of laughs. That man loves the stuffin' out of me and I cannot believe my luck. I know the truth of God's amazing grace and it carries me every single day. I have known good times and bad, sorrow and unspeakable joy. By the world's estimation, by their outward measurements, I would be a failure. But in God's estimation, I am His, a beggar who was made into a princess.
Meanwhile, while I walk this cracked world, I wrestle with my flesh and my appetite. There have been years that I did not wrestle with it...I just gave in and rested, not worrying about it. There are whole books and websites dedicated to just that, telling you that you should eat to your heart's content and exercise, or not. That would be just dandy, except for several problems..... if you live to be at all old, and not even old.....your body revolts and begins hurting and chafing at the burden on it. And it HURTS, I'm tellin' ya. You lose opportunities of all kinds -- physical ones, spiritual ones, social ones (ah, the injustice) -- because of the extra padding. I'm somewhat oblivious to most of the social ones, but I'm told that they are there. That wouldn't be so bad, except that I have really good news in my heart that might be missed by someone who needs a friend and dismisses me because I'm crowding the sidewalk. Another problem is that, if you are a Christian, the Scripture talks (eeeek, several times) about the sin of gluttony. And it's not good. Now, from my scientific observations about my dogs....I have to come to a conclusion: what is gluttony for one person might not be gluttony for another person. It's just a fact of nature. If Bethany girl had eaten the same amount as Chloe, she would have starved to death. So....point made. Me and Chloe, we're buds.
I don't know how to make this problem (or sin) go away. I had a precious aunt who one day walked in and threw her cigarettes away. Just like that. She never smoked again and never wanted another one. God healed her of her addiction right then and there. I've known alcoholics healed in the same way. But I have never known a glutton healed instantly like that. Dear God, you can start with me! Part of the problem is that food is not a yes or no question. As addictive as cocaine or other drugs are, it's still a yes or no question. With food, it's what? where? when? how much? what do you combine it with? weigh it? measure it? and on and on.
What I want is a heart that understands and listens to my body and WANTS to consume what is right for me and what glorifies God. Sure, I want an instant fix. I want God to just zap me and make me understand and desire that. I may look sedentary, but I'm sort-of hyper and I want a quick fix. God hasn't given me that. I believe He wants me to depend on Him, and not on man's solutions or opinions. I can just say no to drugs or drunkenness.....I can stay faithful to my husband....there are many things that I have consistent victory in, most of them not too hard to navigate. But this.....this is different. At the same time, I do not want to be obsessed with it. I want to walk in God's goodness and freedom. I need this part of my heart changed. I have a rebellious side that does not want to obey....that says, "You can't tell me what to do!" Even though I flourished under a drill-sergeant coach in high school, if given any leeway at all I will deviate from the Program. What is that about? I don't know. But I am and have been asking God. And that....is that.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Babe, I'll be there sooner than I think.....
Only a couple of weeks ago, I was wondering out loud how wonderful it was that I haven't been sick in a long time. The flu fairies must have heard me. I got sick Monday before last, while I was painting (but of course) and by Tuesday (while I was painting, of course) I was fully-blown sick. It is now a week and a half later and I slept little last night because of all the coughing.
Yeah, I know.... waaaaaaaah. Get over yourself. We've all been sick, and I have been sick before. But this time I was more contemplative about it, ha! Ken happened to have taken off work a few days for our anniversary. He spent those days pampering me, bringing me hot soup and movies. Some vacation?!
I thought about people in my life who have really suffered.....struggling with cancer, a dying spouse, the death of a child, dementia. My Mom's good friend Elaine has deteriorated very far into Parkinson's recently. She called me one day, not too long ago, looking for my Mom. Her sentences were fragmented and she couldn't remember enough to make much conversation. My heart broke for her, as she was very dear to me. I used to enjoy getting her sassy opinions on things. She was smart, funny and wry in her observations. That part of her is gone now, but I remember her and hold those memories as precious parts of my life. She is not physically gone yet, but that is not long in coming. Even though her body is failing, her spirit remains and will go to be with the Lord, where she will see it all clearly and know freedom for the first time.
Our bodies just cave in on themselves, eventually. Some people grow old easily and then die gently, but it is highly unusual. When I was younger, I cringed at the hopelessness of it all. It seemed a travesty, to grow old and lose your function and dignity. People have fought it from the beginning of time. In this day, we cling to the fountain of youth like it's the gross national product. Well, I guess it is.
My body is aging, faster than it would naturally, because I am often bad to it. I eat the cheese instead of the green stuff. I throw caution to the wind way too often. Either way, I am aging. I feel the bones groaning, the elasticity fading. Sometimes getting out of a chair is plain embarrassing.
The world is tainted with sin's fallout. My body is tainted with the same. But I pray that I will not be sorrowful for lost youth. I don't want to gaze back too much. Glance back, yes, be thankful, yes.... but continue to embrace the present, the moments that God gives me and us to savor while we can, and to look forward to any plans He has for our future. Old Dr. Denmark used to say that life is good, even if all you can do is look up to the night sky from a gutter. What a good perspective. Maybe that's why she lived to be 113 years old.
Yeah, I know.... waaaaaaaah. Get over yourself. We've all been sick, and I have been sick before. But this time I was more contemplative about it, ha! Ken happened to have taken off work a few days for our anniversary. He spent those days pampering me, bringing me hot soup and movies. Some vacation?!
I thought about people in my life who have really suffered.....struggling with cancer, a dying spouse, the death of a child, dementia. My Mom's good friend Elaine has deteriorated very far into Parkinson's recently. She called me one day, not too long ago, looking for my Mom. Her sentences were fragmented and she couldn't remember enough to make much conversation. My heart broke for her, as she was very dear to me. I used to enjoy getting her sassy opinions on things. She was smart, funny and wry in her observations. That part of her is gone now, but I remember her and hold those memories as precious parts of my life. She is not physically gone yet, but that is not long in coming. Even though her body is failing, her spirit remains and will go to be with the Lord, where she will see it all clearly and know freedom for the first time.
Our bodies just cave in on themselves, eventually. Some people grow old easily and then die gently, but it is highly unusual. When I was younger, I cringed at the hopelessness of it all. It seemed a travesty, to grow old and lose your function and dignity. People have fought it from the beginning of time. In this day, we cling to the fountain of youth like it's the gross national product. Well, I guess it is.
My body is aging, faster than it would naturally, because I am often bad to it. I eat the cheese instead of the green stuff. I throw caution to the wind way too often. Either way, I am aging. I feel the bones groaning, the elasticity fading. Sometimes getting out of a chair is plain embarrassing.
The world is tainted with sin's fallout. My body is tainted with the same. But I pray that I will not be sorrowful for lost youth. I don't want to gaze back too much. Glance back, yes, be thankful, yes.... but continue to embrace the present, the moments that God gives me and us to savor while we can, and to look forward to any plans He has for our future. Old Dr. Denmark used to say that life is good, even if all you can do is look up to the night sky from a gutter. What a good perspective. Maybe that's why she lived to be 113 years old.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Pansy boys and capable women
I am looking around and I am very concerned. I decided to take a personal straw poll.... over the last few days and weeks, my purpose was to observe boys and young men, to notice their hands. Yes, their hands. Not something I would necessarily notice unless it were my own sons and husband, checking for engine grease or yard dirt, on our way out to dinner or church....and my sons are grown and married now so that's not my jurisdiction anymore. Okay ya'll, if the Apocalypse comes, we're in big trouble. Because honestly, in my week or so of doing this, I didn't see one set of hands that I felt could whup a zombie. I'm a 52-year-old fluffy gal, and I am absolutely certain that I could whup any one of these boys with my hands tied behind my back. Now that is plum scary.
And I am not joking when I say that you young mothers need to wake up and smell the coffee. Yes, we got the vote a billion years ago. Yes, we can be a Senator or run for president or do "anything" we want to. Yes, there are things that have changed for the better since the great Female Emancipation. But I wonder if we have not exchanged freedom for slavery.
My children's pediatrician, Dr. Leila Denmark, who died last year at the ripe old age of 113, reminded me of that ancient adage, "The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world." And that is where we got off track. Women are raising their boys to act like women, and they are raising their girls to act like princesses and soccer stars. Most people are using Hollywood and their peers to get their parenting cues. We really are in big trouble.
I do not have anything against a girl being an athlete. I was a child-to-college athlete, playing softball, running track and playing basketball up into college. My own daughter is a college athlete; thankfully it is helping pay for her tuition. I learned a lot of intestinal fortitude through athletics: how to endure pain and exhaustion, how to go beyond what I thought I was capable of doing....lessons that have helped me immensely in life, particularly in motherhood. The thing that my parents did right through that was that they also encouraged me to be my feminine self. Many of my athletic friends, particularly in college, seemed to want to be a man. Many were looking for approval from their fathers that they were not getting in any other way. There are a lot of issues here that I am not going to talk about now; I am digressing again. My point is.....
MEN.
Our society is turning most everything upside down these days. We were watching the Super Bowl last night and I was struck once again with what has happened to men and women's roles. Any commercial with a family in it, the man is changing the diapers and cooking. And the men are always idiots. The woman is all-wise, all-knowing, and the final authority on pretty much everything. The only one capable of rational thought between the couples is the woman. The man is capable, all right, but only if he is being subservient to the woman. We've all seen this metamorphosis, but it happened so gradually, we just accept it as normal.
We should be raising both our daughters and sons to be multi-faceted people, who are able to do many things. It is plain stupid to raise children that can only work on the computer or that can only cook or that can only do school. I work in a lot of private homes, and it seems to me that most people are not even doing that. They are raising their kids to be parasites whose brains are stuck on a TV or in a computer game. Hardly anything is expected of them and when it is, you see whining, stomping, fuming....and then the request is withdrawn. I have seen 4-year olds screaming at their mothers and teenagers that won't even take out the trash. Sorry folks, but if my 21-year old (much less a 4-year old) screamed at me like that, she'd find her head laying on the floor beside her body. Perhaps that's why she or her brothers never behaved in that manner.
It is a huge responsibility to make sure that they can SURVIVE. Are we forgetting this? Things may not stay the way they have been the last 40-50 years. Your children may have to actually work for their food. What will your sons do if they have to dig a ditch or hoe a row? The girls are probably more capable at this point, because at least they've all been playing soccer. Please forgive my sarcasm.
The boy/man hands I have been seeing are soft, girl-like, and with nails that I'd love to have. But I've got my hands in soap and paint and fun stuff all the time, so that's just envy. I guess I could change that, but I'm too busy living. Many women are afraid, yes, afraid, to let their husbands get involved in the direction of their boys' lives. They don't think their husbands are spiritual enough or that they won't do it right. Then there are husbands who don't act like they want to have anything to do with their sons. But I know men. They give up when they see that nothing they do is acceptable to a woman. It takes some work to get them to trust women again. I hear women saying all the time that their husbands are "just not the leader" in their home. I wonder sometimes what those women would do if the guy really tried. It would be thwarted by her tweaking and yapping. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. So oftentimes it's just easier for Daddy to let her run it. He's sick of trying, 'cause he's not gonna make her happy doing that. Better to just be quiet and turn on the TV.
How do I know these things? Because I've been married to a man for 31 years and I've made a lot of mistakes.
Thankfully, my husband, early on, wanted all of his children to know how to do everything. I am not kidding when I say that Ken would take two-year-olds up on the roof with him. He would hand a five-year-old a hammer or a shovel and happily expect them to get to it. It wasn't mean or harsh, just matter-of-fact. I would protest such things. I would protest 8 year olds who were up in trees, 20-feet up. I would protest them chopping down a 60-foot tree, laying it right down there in the driveway next to the house. I would protest them climbing under people's houses, in 3 feet of mud, to help a friend fix the joists under his house. Ken would not hear of my protesting.
I remember years ago, a friend was concerned because she felt that we worked our kids too hard and that Ken expected too much out of them. I loved her and her family, but when we would get together, I actually felt sorry for her children. They were whiny brats with soft hands, who didn't know how to work and subsequently didn't know how to play. They were, and are, very miserable children. They still live their lives expecting everything and everyone to give them a "yes" to any demand they make. That's not working out so well as adults.
When my kids were playing, they were having a full-out blast. Many a person has commented that the Norton kids really knew how to play (and how to work too). I'm bragging here. If Ken had not pushed the Mommy-unhappiness-button with going past my protests to both expect our kids to work and to also allow them to explore and play, I might not have learned these lessons. But he might have quit, if I had continued my protests. Over time, I have seen other Dads attempt to do the same thing, and the Mom does not realize what she is subtly doing. Eventually he gives up, sometimes sooner than later. All-wise Mother becomes the driver of the bus and she ends up with girly men. And oftentimes, no husband.
Maybe that's what society wants. Apparently that's what it wants. We are left with men who are not capable of being leaders and women who feel they have to take up the mantle. God made us different from each other. Uniquely different. If we choose to sidestep His Word and go our own way, making our trails and our rules based on base affections and whims rather than what He outlined for us, then we are just reaping what we have sown.
Yeah, we can do a lot of things. We women can take over the world in a generation or two. Then we get mealy men and frustrated women. I think about the Middle East and the pendulum that has swung way the other way. But who raised those men? and who perpetuates that lifestyle?
"The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world."
I ask you, who is rocking the cradle?
And I am not joking when I say that you young mothers need to wake up and smell the coffee. Yes, we got the vote a billion years ago. Yes, we can be a Senator or run for president or do "anything" we want to. Yes, there are things that have changed for the better since the great Female Emancipation. But I wonder if we have not exchanged freedom for slavery.
My children's pediatrician, Dr. Leila Denmark, who died last year at the ripe old age of 113, reminded me of that ancient adage, "The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world." And that is where we got off track. Women are raising their boys to act like women, and they are raising their girls to act like princesses and soccer stars. Most people are using Hollywood and their peers to get their parenting cues. We really are in big trouble.
I do not have anything against a girl being an athlete. I was a child-to-college athlete, playing softball, running track and playing basketball up into college. My own daughter is a college athlete; thankfully it is helping pay for her tuition. I learned a lot of intestinal fortitude through athletics: how to endure pain and exhaustion, how to go beyond what I thought I was capable of doing....lessons that have helped me immensely in life, particularly in motherhood. The thing that my parents did right through that was that they also encouraged me to be my feminine self. Many of my athletic friends, particularly in college, seemed to want to be a man. Many were looking for approval from their fathers that they were not getting in any other way. There are a lot of issues here that I am not going to talk about now; I am digressing again. My point is.....
MEN.
Our society is turning most everything upside down these days. We were watching the Super Bowl last night and I was struck once again with what has happened to men and women's roles. Any commercial with a family in it, the man is changing the diapers and cooking. And the men are always idiots. The woman is all-wise, all-knowing, and the final authority on pretty much everything. The only one capable of rational thought between the couples is the woman. The man is capable, all right, but only if he is being subservient to the woman. We've all seen this metamorphosis, but it happened so gradually, we just accept it as normal.
We should be raising both our daughters and sons to be multi-faceted people, who are able to do many things. It is plain stupid to raise children that can only work on the computer or that can only cook or that can only do school. I work in a lot of private homes, and it seems to me that most people are not even doing that. They are raising their kids to be parasites whose brains are stuck on a TV or in a computer game. Hardly anything is expected of them and when it is, you see whining, stomping, fuming....and then the request is withdrawn. I have seen 4-year olds screaming at their mothers and teenagers that won't even take out the trash. Sorry folks, but if my 21-year old (much less a 4-year old) screamed at me like that, she'd find her head laying on the floor beside her body. Perhaps that's why she or her brothers never behaved in that manner.
It is a huge responsibility to make sure that they can SURVIVE. Are we forgetting this? Things may not stay the way they have been the last 40-50 years. Your children may have to actually work for their food. What will your sons do if they have to dig a ditch or hoe a row? The girls are probably more capable at this point, because at least they've all been playing soccer. Please forgive my sarcasm.
The boy/man hands I have been seeing are soft, girl-like, and with nails that I'd love to have. But I've got my hands in soap and paint and fun stuff all the time, so that's just envy. I guess I could change that, but I'm too busy living. Many women are afraid, yes, afraid, to let their husbands get involved in the direction of their boys' lives. They don't think their husbands are spiritual enough or that they won't do it right. Then there are husbands who don't act like they want to have anything to do with their sons. But I know men. They give up when they see that nothing they do is acceptable to a woman. It takes some work to get them to trust women again. I hear women saying all the time that their husbands are "just not the leader" in their home. I wonder sometimes what those women would do if the guy really tried. It would be thwarted by her tweaking and yapping. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. So oftentimes it's just easier for Daddy to let her run it. He's sick of trying, 'cause he's not gonna make her happy doing that. Better to just be quiet and turn on the TV.
How do I know these things? Because I've been married to a man for 31 years and I've made a lot of mistakes.
Thankfully, my husband, early on, wanted all of his children to know how to do everything. I am not kidding when I say that Ken would take two-year-olds up on the roof with him. He would hand a five-year-old a hammer or a shovel and happily expect them to get to it. It wasn't mean or harsh, just matter-of-fact. I would protest such things. I would protest 8 year olds who were up in trees, 20-feet up. I would protest them chopping down a 60-foot tree, laying it right down there in the driveway next to the house. I would protest them climbing under people's houses, in 3 feet of mud, to help a friend fix the joists under his house. Ken would not hear of my protesting.
I remember years ago, a friend was concerned because she felt that we worked our kids too hard and that Ken expected too much out of them. I loved her and her family, but when we would get together, I actually felt sorry for her children. They were whiny brats with soft hands, who didn't know how to work and subsequently didn't know how to play. They were, and are, very miserable children. They still live their lives expecting everything and everyone to give them a "yes" to any demand they make. That's not working out so well as adults.
When my kids were playing, they were having a full-out blast. Many a person has commented that the Norton kids really knew how to play (and how to work too). I'm bragging here. If Ken had not pushed the Mommy-unhappiness-button with going past my protests to both expect our kids to work and to also allow them to explore and play, I might not have learned these lessons. But he might have quit, if I had continued my protests. Over time, I have seen other Dads attempt to do the same thing, and the Mom does not realize what she is subtly doing. Eventually he gives up, sometimes sooner than later. All-wise Mother becomes the driver of the bus and she ends up with girly men. And oftentimes, no husband.
Maybe that's what society wants. Apparently that's what it wants. We are left with men who are not capable of being leaders and women who feel they have to take up the mantle. God made us different from each other. Uniquely different. If we choose to sidestep His Word and go our own way, making our trails and our rules based on base affections and whims rather than what He outlined for us, then we are just reaping what we have sown.
Yeah, we can do a lot of things. We women can take over the world in a generation or two. Then we get mealy men and frustrated women. I think about the Middle East and the pendulum that has swung way the other way. But who raised those men? and who perpetuates that lifestyle?
"The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world."
I ask you, who is rocking the cradle?
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