August 16, 2010

• Someday soon I am going to write a nice topical blog that actually has a title and goes somewhere definite with its thoughts.  But until then, my life seems to be a clutter of things that I want to share.  Sometimes it’s a bunch of random nonsense, niggling away at my peace of mind until I write about it.

   

  (I have noticed in my browsing of Xanga that a lot of bloggers have quit updating.  A lot of them end in 2009 sometime.  Maybe they just eventually cover a lot of the things they care about and then quit writing. )

   

  The narrowness of my fears and worries sometimes makes me shrink. 

   

  Things like stains in clothes.

   

  And too much broccoli in the garden. 

   

  And what it will be like to drive our (very full) brown minivan all the way to Wisconsin, with its small knocked in piece on the front bumper where the cows that got out somehow managed to bash it in.  (I don’t want to drive it into the parking lot at Northwoods Mennonite Church.  But then again…I don’t have to.  Dan can do that. J)  

   

  When I post I worry about sounding too frivolous for “my age and position in the church”.  (That last quotation is one our humorous bishop of the past said his wife would remind him of.) 

   

  But when I want to get serious I worry about sounding too pious.  I’m afraid I’ve become cynical of pat answers and nice clichés in the past, and that now colors how I view what others say or write.  It is not a gift to automatically shut someone off because you feel “you just cannot relate”.  Because sometimes those people have good things to share that can help make your life better.  And even though I may not be at the point where they are in their walk with God, they really mean what they say and live it. 

   

  (And someday when I grow up I will learn not to worry so much about what people think of me.  It’s truly a ghastly thing.)

   

  Other small and narrow worries/fears include:  The weedy lawn.  The stripes in the wallpaper not lining up in the renovations we are doing on our rental house. (I so hate things like that!)  Do we have enough decent clothes around here to attend a wedding in September?   What did our singing actually sound like to the neighbors at the funeral we sang at last week?  Do my children eat too many cookies?

   

  And Then….I hear about the mom of 5 (ages 1 to 9) who died of cancer recently.  I just cannot bear the thought of what it must be like to say goodbye to your children and know you are leaving them for good.  And that dad and his children? I can’t fathom where they turn when they wake up to a morning with no mother.

   

  I read of fearless Christians in China.

   

  I think of my friend with her high maintenance special needs child.

   

  I think of people battling the horrors of addiction.

   

  I ponder the ugliness of poverty, hunger, and AIDS.

   

  And I see my worries for what they are.  I Am So Blessed and I Am So Grateful when I sit and down and Really Consider my Life.

   

  Switching gears:

   

  I am passionate about compassion.  I am passionate about people not feeling left out of a circle of friends.  I feel deeply for the underdog.

   

  Recently my big and opinionated family put together a book for my parents’ 50^th wedding anniversary, full of photos and memories and tributes to my mom and dad.  (It is really a cool book.  Looks just like a “real” one and has the story of Mom and Dad’s pioneering days in the West.)  One of the themes that came out strongly in that book was Mom’s emphasis on looking out for others.  As my sister Carol so aptly put it, “Mom was most intolerant of intolerance.  She looked down severely on those who looked down on others.”  This lady was the classic snob of all snobs.

   

  I am so grateful to my mother for this teaching!

   

  But I think I’ve carried it too far.  I often assume that just because someone is good looking or popular or smart they are snobbish and unfriendly and would never consider being my friend or look out for someone who feels lonely and downtrodden.  And I can be so wrong in those assumptions.  Gratefully so. 

   

  I read today how Paul says he doesn’t run like a man running aimlessly, nor fight like a man beating the air.  Somehow that aimless running and beating the air describes me lately.  I love the word Grace and have learned so much about it by watching the man in my life live it out, but still I struggle.  I am waging a constant battle against negative, pessimistic thoughts.   Yes, I know the battle is not mine, but still I have to choose the good!  I long to know God intimately, yet my prayer and praise is often a forced thing…kind of what feels like an aimless beating of the air. 

   

  Still I cling to Him.  Because “He cannot lie” (excerpt from a verse in Sunday school today) and I choose to believe His promises.   I wish that belief was not such a struggle for me.

   

  On Friday I bravely bade my loaded bean patch and messy house goodbye, packed up The Six, and went to watch the Fall Fair parade in our town.  I went with my sister-in-law turned-niece Lori and her nieces and nephew, our children’s cousins.  (If you don’t understand that relationship, you can read my post on Gravestones and Grief.)  The parade was a fun one.  (Like Lori said, over fair time everyone turns cowboy.)  The children loaded their bags with way too much candy.  On the way out of town I almost checked in at a little hotel.  Its sign said: Clean. Quiet.  Comfortable.  Free Internet.  

   

  So unlike what awaited me at home.

   

   But this verse has been going through my mind and I pressed onward.  “She looketh well to the ways of her household and eateth not the bread of idleness.”   

   

  This verse has actually been hounding me.

   

  This is what we’ve been doing around here.  Those are yellow beans.

   

  

   

  And if you actually made it this far on this long post you are a true friend.  Andre(3) still rocks in his blue-green chair and the song has switched from the Hallelujah Chorus to Onward Christian Soldiers.

   

   

  And just a few tips for moms:  Do Not allow your children to mix up flour and water and play with it on your front porch on a hot day.  The sun bakes the many drops that dribble out of the bowls and renders them nearly un-removeable.  (if indeed that is a word) 

   

  And Do Not allow them to chew black gum called React.

   

  The voice of experience is speaking. 

   

  And now the load is off my mind.  And it is on yours.

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  • 11:08 am
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