I'm planning a trip to New York this summer. My great-grandparents live in a little town called Springville about an hour southeast-ish of Buffalo, so I'm going to spend a week with them, along with my mom and grandmother who make a yearly trip together.
For a week, it will be me, my mom, her mom, and her mom, plus my great-grandfather. That's four generations of women in one small house for a whole week. (Poor Grampa.)
Four generations of very strong, rather opinionated, independent women.
Four generations of varying degrees of eccentricity.
I made this trip a couple years ago, but my two youngest brothers went and made very nice buffers for all the estrogen bouncing around. They're not going this year.
What struck me most about that trip was the role reversals going on...I saw Mom as a daughter and a granddaughter, and my grandmother as a daughter and a mother. It was very strange, especially seeing my mom in that light. I guess daughters just aren't used to seeing their mothers being daughters.
And I don't think my great-grandmother quite knew what to make of me. I've kind of broken the pattern set by these women. All three of them married very young and had children very young. I have yet to do either.
On this coming trip, I want to make both of my greats sit down and tell me stories about their lives. I know they have some great ones. Grampa was in the Marine's and served in Japan during WWII. Grandma was one of 18 children and grew up on a farm during the Depression.
When I was there a couple years ago, Grandma made a comment one day about not trusting banks anymore, not since "all them banks were closing, back in 1929, 1930." That was the Great Depression, Grandma! "Oh, yeah, them were bad times. It was a good thing we had herbs to eat...dill, dandelions....Yeah, them's were hard times."
I also want my grandmother to tell me stories, and my mom, and then I want to weave all of their stories together, along with my own stories, and write a book. There's a pattern that has been set by these women that I sometimes find myself repeating and sometimes breaking, and I want to explore that more. I want to find out what that means for my life, and for the life of the daughter I hope I have one day.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Los Brazos de Dios
From the time I was three-ish to the time I was six-ish, my family lived on the banks of the Brazos River in Waco. That river figures in to some of my early memories…fishing with my dad, swimming with my best friend who lived a little further down the river, and the time it flooded and came all the way up to our back door. As I grew older I learned that the full name of the river in Spanish is “Los Brazos de Dios”. The Arms of God. Is that not a cool name for a river?
A few years ago, I experienced what can best be described as a very dry time in my faith. I can’t say that I lost my faith or ever stopped believing in God, but I found myself in a place where faith had lost meaning to me. I knew but I didn’t feel anything, and that led to some doubting, questioning, and even anger towards God. I felt like—and I know this is a much-used metaphor but it’s so accurate—I felt like I was wandering in a desert. A vast, empty, silent desert. It was the silence that angered me so much. I was praying, begging God to just listen to me, to let me know that he was listening, to give me some direction, and to just be present in my life. But there was nothing but silence.
Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of his presence, I would see him working in someone else’s life, and I would be refreshed, if only briefly. It was like, wandering in that desert, I had come across a stream. But a mere stream wasn’t good enough. I wanted to find the river, the source of God’s mercy and grace. I wanted to see God working in my life and speaking to me. And in my obstinate independence, I decided to strike out and find it on my own. Kind of a silly thing to do, really. I should have just followed the stream. It probably would have led me to the river a whole lot faster than I’d get there on my own.
Eventually, that’s what I did end up doing…following the stream. And God led me to the river, and for me, it was a spiritual Brazos river, the Arms of God. I threw myself in and found that it’s only in the Arms of God, in the depths his Love, and Mercy, and Grace, that there was relief from the dryness. For a while there was still silence, but I know now, looking back, that it wasn’t really silence. God was still present in my life, he was still speaking to me, but he was teaching me through different methods than he had previously used. He was teaching me to walk on my own, to rely on him rather than my own emotions, and to listen to him in a different way.
Is the dryness gone? No, not completely, but I find that God does lead me to places of Peace and Joy. He is renewing me, and I'm trying to be patient and stay out of the way of him working in my life. I'm not very good at patience, but I know that is what he is calling me to be right now.
"I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh....They will be my people, and I will be their God." --Ezekiel 11:19-20
A few years ago, I experienced what can best be described as a very dry time in my faith. I can’t say that I lost my faith or ever stopped believing in God, but I found myself in a place where faith had lost meaning to me. I knew but I didn’t feel anything, and that led to some doubting, questioning, and even anger towards God. I felt like—and I know this is a much-used metaphor but it’s so accurate—I felt like I was wandering in a desert. A vast, empty, silent desert. It was the silence that angered me so much. I was praying, begging God to just listen to me, to let me know that he was listening, to give me some direction, and to just be present in my life. But there was nothing but silence.
Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of his presence, I would see him working in someone else’s life, and I would be refreshed, if only briefly. It was like, wandering in that desert, I had come across a stream. But a mere stream wasn’t good enough. I wanted to find the river, the source of God’s mercy and grace. I wanted to see God working in my life and speaking to me. And in my obstinate independence, I decided to strike out and find it on my own. Kind of a silly thing to do, really. I should have just followed the stream. It probably would have led me to the river a whole lot faster than I’d get there on my own.
Eventually, that’s what I did end up doing…following the stream. And God led me to the river, and for me, it was a spiritual Brazos river, the Arms of God. I threw myself in and found that it’s only in the Arms of God, in the depths his Love, and Mercy, and Grace, that there was relief from the dryness. For a while there was still silence, but I know now, looking back, that it wasn’t really silence. God was still present in my life, he was still speaking to me, but he was teaching me through different methods than he had previously used. He was teaching me to walk on my own, to rely on him rather than my own emotions, and to listen to him in a different way.
Is the dryness gone? No, not completely, but I find that God does lead me to places of Peace and Joy. He is renewing me, and I'm trying to be patient and stay out of the way of him working in my life. I'm not very good at patience, but I know that is what he is calling me to be right now.
"I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh....They will be my people, and I will be their God." --Ezekiel 11:19-20
Friday, February 18, 2005
My Family, in a Nutshell
I'm heading up to Waco tomorrow to hang out with "the fam". I found myself thinking about them a lot tonight...can't sleep (what's new?) and thought I'd share. They're hugely entertaining:
Caleb, age 15. He’s almost 6 feet tall and weighs 130 pounds (maybe). He's decided to participate in every spring sport his school offers: tennis, track, and baseball, though baseball is his passion of the three. He plays the trumpet (very well) and sometimes plays around with the guitar and piano (not quite as well, but he's talented, nonetheless). He likes to show his love for me by hitting me every time he sees me, especially when we're at church.
Seth, age 17. He takes himself entirely too seriously, which makes him much fun to laugh at. He plays bass guitar in a band with some of his friends, and plans to major in bass guitar jazz theory when he gets to college. He does have a nasty habit of driving the wrong way on a one-way street. He always gives me a hug when he sees me, even when his friends are around.
Josh, age 24. Most people don’t know there’s a brother between me and Seth, but there is. He’s always believed that Mom and Dad love me than they do him and feels that his manhood is threatened because his two younger brothers are taller than he is. He is very quick to point out that despite the difference in height, he could seriously wound them both at the same time with one hand. He just finished a six-year stint with the Marine reserves, where he learned to do things like that. He's currently living with his bikini model girlfriend who looks just like Barbie.
Mom, whose age I’m not allowed to say. She’s my hero, though I know I don’t tell her that often enough (i.e. ever). She's made tons of sacrifices to raise my brothers and me, including putting off her own dreams and goals for years. She started college when I was a sophomore in high school, took one class at a time for years, and graduated from nursing school a year after I graduated from Concordia. On numerous occasions, she tried to teach me to cook, but she has control issues and always ended up taking over because she felt could do a better job just cooking it herself. She never taught me to sew for the same reason. When she was my age, she had three kids.
Dad, whose age I’m also not allowed to say. He’s the best dad in the world. He once drove to Austin at 10 pm to look at my car that was making wickedly awful noises, and then drove back to Waco, getting at home around 1 am, and then got up to go to work around 6 am that morning. He sent me flowers on my birthday this year because I had just broken up with a guy I’d dated for nearly two years and he wanted to make sure I knew how much I’m loved and how proud he is of me. He’s my hero, too. If he was any more laid-back, he’d be comatose. He believes he was once abducted by aliens. Seriously. His proof is a little red dot just below his sternum and a matching one in the exact same spot on his back. It’s where the aliens stuck a needle through him.
Caleb, age 15. He’s almost 6 feet tall and weighs 130 pounds (maybe). He's decided to participate in every spring sport his school offers: tennis, track, and baseball, though baseball is his passion of the three. He plays the trumpet (very well) and sometimes plays around with the guitar and piano (not quite as well, but he's talented, nonetheless). He likes to show his love for me by hitting me every time he sees me, especially when we're at church.
Seth, age 17. He takes himself entirely too seriously, which makes him much fun to laugh at. He plays bass guitar in a band with some of his friends, and plans to major in bass guitar jazz theory when he gets to college. He does have a nasty habit of driving the wrong way on a one-way street. He always gives me a hug when he sees me, even when his friends are around.
Josh, age 24. Most people don’t know there’s a brother between me and Seth, but there is. He’s always believed that Mom and Dad love me than they do him and feels that his manhood is threatened because his two younger brothers are taller than he is. He is very quick to point out that despite the difference in height, he could seriously wound them both at the same time with one hand. He just finished a six-year stint with the Marine reserves, where he learned to do things like that. He's currently living with his bikini model girlfriend who looks just like Barbie.
Mom, whose age I’m not allowed to say. She’s my hero, though I know I don’t tell her that often enough (i.e. ever). She's made tons of sacrifices to raise my brothers and me, including putting off her own dreams and goals for years. She started college when I was a sophomore in high school, took one class at a time for years, and graduated from nursing school a year after I graduated from Concordia. On numerous occasions, she tried to teach me to cook, but she has control issues and always ended up taking over because she felt could do a better job just cooking it herself. She never taught me to sew for the same reason. When she was my age, she had three kids.
Dad, whose age I’m also not allowed to say. He’s the best dad in the world. He once drove to Austin at 10 pm to look at my car that was making wickedly awful noises, and then drove back to Waco, getting at home around 1 am, and then got up to go to work around 6 am that morning. He sent me flowers on my birthday this year because I had just broken up with a guy I’d dated for nearly two years and he wanted to make sure I knew how much I’m loved and how proud he is of me. He’s my hero, too. If he was any more laid-back, he’d be comatose. He believes he was once abducted by aliens. Seriously. His proof is a little red dot just below his sternum and a matching one in the exact same spot on his back. It’s where the aliens stuck a needle through him.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Anyone else?
Please note, I've updated the links list. Hopefully no one is jealous anymore. :-)
While adding people, I couldn't help but notice that it's a very campy list. Is there something very camp-ish about blogging, or is there something about camp people that makes them blog?
While adding people, I couldn't help but notice that it's a very campy list. Is there something very camp-ish about blogging, or is there something about camp people that makes them blog?
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Yahoo!
I received my acceptance letter to Texas State's graduate program in Literature this weekend. It's not really a surprise (their admissions requirements are not very difficulty), but it's nice to have official confirmation. Now I just have to figure out how many classes I want take while I'm also working full-time and occasionally traveling for work. I also have to decide if I really want to complicate my life this way. It's been so nice the last several years to be able to read whatever I want and to write whatever I want.
Now also is the part where I figure out how I'm going to fund this venture. According to the wonderful FAFSA, I can contribute $8315 towards my own education. If I had a dependent, that amount would go down tremendously, but I'm not really in the market for one of those. (That would REALLY complicate things.)
Anyways...I'm in!!! Yahoo!!
Now also is the part where I figure out how I'm going to fund this venture. According to the wonderful FAFSA, I can contribute $8315 towards my own education. If I had a dependent, that amount would go down tremendously, but I'm not really in the market for one of those. (That would REALLY complicate things.)
Anyways...I'm in!!! Yahoo!!
Sunday, February 13, 2005
SUNSHINE!
When I woke up this morning, the sun was shining through my curtains. It's been so gray and gloomy the last week or so that I've forgotten how great it feels to wake up and see sunshine. What a difference it made in my waking up! I smiled and stretched and just laid in bed a while, basking in the morning sunshine. When I finally got up, I felt rested and energetic, and I never feel energetic right after waking up.
So, it's a beautiful day, and I have all sorts of energy, and you know what I have to do all afternoon?
Work.
I'm supervising student phone callers, but what I'd really like to be doing is sitting outside with a good book, or with a thick stack of paper so I could write.
Instead, I'm in my office, on a Sunday, when the sun is shining, gazing out my window and daydreaming of what I'd be doing if I were anywhere but here.
So, here's a funny story about my brother Seth. He's 17 and he plays the bass guitar in a band he and some of his friends have started. A couple nights ago he called to ask me to come home next weekend so I can see his band play in the high school talent show. He told me about a move he's been practicing where he swings his guitar around his head. The other night he was doing it and hit himself in the back of the head and nearly knocked himself out. He even saw stars, he said. He's going to try to pull this off at the talent show, and that alone is reason enough to drive an hour and a half next weekend.
So, it's a beautiful day, and I have all sorts of energy, and you know what I have to do all afternoon?
Work.
I'm supervising student phone callers, but what I'd really like to be doing is sitting outside with a good book, or with a thick stack of paper so I could write.
Instead, I'm in my office, on a Sunday, when the sun is shining, gazing out my window and daydreaming of what I'd be doing if I were anywhere but here.
So, here's a funny story about my brother Seth. He's 17 and he plays the bass guitar in a band he and some of his friends have started. A couple nights ago he called to ask me to come home next weekend so I can see his band play in the high school talent show. He told me about a move he's been practicing where he swings his guitar around his head. The other night he was doing it and hit himself in the back of the head and nearly knocked himself out. He even saw stars, he said. He's going to try to pull this off at the talent show, and that alone is reason enough to drive an hour and a half next weekend.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Hic et Ille
Which would be Latin for “This and That.” (My Latin professor would be so proud…these two simple words are proving to be the hardest thing for me to remember.) Well, I think I’ve just done my homework for this evening.
This: The Jesus Cupcakes
I play the piano a couple Sundays a month for my church’s praise team. There are some Sundays when we have an almost all girl band. I found out tonight at practice that our pastor’s 15 year old son, our drummer, has christened us the “Jesus Cupcakes”. Or the “Jesus Tea Party”, but I’m finding myself partial to Jesus Cupcakes (cupcakes come in chocolate, tea parties don’t). This Sunday, for the first time since I started playing with the group, I get to do a piano solo at the end of the service. I’m a little nervous about it…it’s been a long time since I had a solo…but at the same time I’m excited…I’ll get to show off a little and prove that I’m a better pianist than I sound like most Sundays.
That: An Ash Rash
Every Ash Wednesday, I’m reminded of an Ash Wednesday several years ago, when I was still a student at Concordia. I went to chapel that morning and received the ashes on my forehead. That evening I went to church, and once again received the ashes on my forehead. When I got home, I wiped them off before going to bed, only to discover, that my skin didn’t like the ashes so much. I had a nice little rash in the shape of a cross on my forehead for the next day or two.
And one last thing: Waiting
Two weeks ago I received a postcard from the graduate school at Texas State University that I would be notified of my acceptance (or denial) within two to three weeks. Well, it’s been two weeks…still no word. I’m fairly certain I’ll be accepted. I was told that as long as I meet the GPA requirements (which I do), I’d get in. I’m just anxious to have the official word. I’m not very good at being patient.
This: The Jesus Cupcakes
I play the piano a couple Sundays a month for my church’s praise team. There are some Sundays when we have an almost all girl band. I found out tonight at practice that our pastor’s 15 year old son, our drummer, has christened us the “Jesus Cupcakes”. Or the “Jesus Tea Party”, but I’m finding myself partial to Jesus Cupcakes (cupcakes come in chocolate, tea parties don’t). This Sunday, for the first time since I started playing with the group, I get to do a piano solo at the end of the service. I’m a little nervous about it…it’s been a long time since I had a solo…but at the same time I’m excited…I’ll get to show off a little and prove that I’m a better pianist than I sound like most Sundays.
That: An Ash Rash
Every Ash Wednesday, I’m reminded of an Ash Wednesday several years ago, when I was still a student at Concordia. I went to chapel that morning and received the ashes on my forehead. That evening I went to church, and once again received the ashes on my forehead. When I got home, I wiped them off before going to bed, only to discover, that my skin didn’t like the ashes so much. I had a nice little rash in the shape of a cross on my forehead for the next day or two.
And one last thing: Waiting
Two weeks ago I received a postcard from the graduate school at Texas State University that I would be notified of my acceptance (or denial) within two to three weeks. Well, it’s been two weeks…still no word. I’m fairly certain I’ll be accepted. I was told that as long as I meet the GPA requirements (which I do), I’d get in. I’m just anxious to have the official word. I’m not very good at being patient.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
An Experiment
I’m currently reading a book called Rumors of Another World by Philip Yancey, who is one of my favorite Christian writers. He’s so open and honest and isn’t afraid to ask the really hard questions and to seek out the answers. In this book, he’s asking questions like: Is the world we see all there is, or does this world point to another world? If there are two worlds, a physical and a spiritual, then what difference does it make in our daily lives? How can we see the sacred in the secular?
I bought this book months ago and it didn’t immediately catch my interest. It’s been laying on the floor next to my bed since then, but one night earlier this week when I couldn’t sleep, I picked it up and suddenly found it resonating. Some of his questions are questions I have found myself asking lately, especially what difference does it make? Is just believing enough, or is there more to life than just the ordinariness of day-to-day living?
I want there to be more. I get so bored by the ordinary, repetitive tasks I have to go through every day. I want to experience the extraordinary. But I also know that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I feel that I have been called to do what I’m doing. I also feel that I’m not called to do this forever. This job is merely preparation for something else, but I haven’t been called to whatever that is yet. So for right now, I’m here, and I have to go through these boring, ordinary things.
How do I reconcile the mundane tasks with the extraordinary that I want to experience? How do I see God’s hand in the things around me? How do I open myself up to allowing it to make a difference in my life?
Maybe it starts with making a conscious effort to look for God, to retain a sense of wonder, and to try to take the mundane things and dedicate them to God. Perhaps after a while it becomes a natural instinct and then we’ll see the beautiful and extraordinary all the time. For now, we get occasional glimpses of the glory that is there, but with practice, and prayer, we’ll be able to experience it.
I think this will be my Lent experiment: to find the glory in the mundane, the sacred in the ordinary...to, in a sense, walk on water.
I bought this book months ago and it didn’t immediately catch my interest. It’s been laying on the floor next to my bed since then, but one night earlier this week when I couldn’t sleep, I picked it up and suddenly found it resonating. Some of his questions are questions I have found myself asking lately, especially what difference does it make? Is just believing enough, or is there more to life than just the ordinariness of day-to-day living?
I want there to be more. I get so bored by the ordinary, repetitive tasks I have to go through every day. I want to experience the extraordinary. But I also know that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I feel that I have been called to do what I’m doing. I also feel that I’m not called to do this forever. This job is merely preparation for something else, but I haven’t been called to whatever that is yet. So for right now, I’m here, and I have to go through these boring, ordinary things.
How do I reconcile the mundane tasks with the extraordinary that I want to experience? How do I see God’s hand in the things around me? How do I open myself up to allowing it to make a difference in my life?
Maybe it starts with making a conscious effort to look for God, to retain a sense of wonder, and to try to take the mundane things and dedicate them to God. Perhaps after a while it becomes a natural instinct and then we’ll see the beautiful and extraordinary all the time. For now, we get occasional glimpses of the glory that is there, but with practice, and prayer, we’ll be able to experience it.
I think this will be my Lent experiment: to find the glory in the mundane, the sacred in the ordinary...to, in a sense, walk on water.
To see a world in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
--William Blake
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
--William Blake
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