Seventy Three: A Psalm Reconsidered 

Written Saturday, July 23, 2016

Even in light of my intimate knowledge of the goodness of God toward His people,
Even in that knowledge, I have stumbled.
I have headed down the slippery slopes of envy and my own sense of justice,
My own arrogant sense of what a person's priorities should be.

When I observe the laying up of treasures with which the well off are occupied -
Look at their fat bodies, their carefully maintained hair and teeth.
In my own pride-filled judgment I suss out their satisfied smirk -
At the success in financial planning, at their career fame.
They wear the harm they do those in need like a diamond brooch.
Observe - they do not suffer like the widows and orphans,
Therefore they lay the blame for suffering at the feet of it's victims.
Idle fancies and fantasies pour forth from their hearts.
Further oppression of those beneath them is maliciously threatened.
They drown out the truth from God with their endless babble about nothing
Tragically, God's beloved turns and begins to believe their words are worthy.
Surely God is no longer in charge, surely they are right and He is no longer paying attention.
Looking at their easy life, their great bounty,
Now I start to think my striving for doing right in my thoughts and actions is a waste of time,
All I net is abuse and hardship.
But no!  I will not give in to these vain wanderings!
Can you imagine how damaging my failed faith would be to those in a pre-Christian state?
I must stand firm with God's aid.
Still - to try to understand the way things are gives me a headache.
And then I came into your Sanctuary -
That beautiful  place of peace -
And wisdom and clear thinking take over as I see a bigger picture.
I see in the end that their walls of wealth and privilege weaken them,
Saw how tenuous really, was the hold they had on things.
How filled with terror they are just beneath that well oiled surface.
They are but phantoms in Your eyes, their dream instantly transformed into a nightmare when seen through the stained glass windows of your Holy Sanctuary.
I am ashamed now -
I see I struck out at you like a wounded animal when I allowed the bitterness to overtake me.
But who is this - still by my side?
Who holds my hand and gently guides me?
And when it is all over, whose arms will be open wide,
Ready to take me in to the glory of Your kingdom?
Now I remember - You are the sum total of my desire for all my life and beyond.
You are my reward forever.

I Thessalonians 5:11 Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.

Hebrews 10:23-25 Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.

I Peter 4:8-10 Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace.

Now that I am temporarily unemployed, I can bike my husband to work.  Back in 2011-2013, he did the same for me.  It’s one of the pleasures of living in the community where you also work. 

On part of the route to work, there is a portion that is so busy, crazy and out of control traffic-wise that we take to the sidewalks.  And since the sidewalks have been around awhile, the transitions are quite rough.  You spend a lot of time bracing yourself just above the seat, or you get a sore bum after a few blocks.  On the first day I traveled this way, I noticed that at the worst intersections, someone had inexpertly dolloped a bike tire thin strip of cement just at the point where one would need it, allowing continuation along the path with more ease.  This is clearly not an official job done by the city (who would close the entire road for 5 miles, tear up the whole corner to 10 feet down, let it fill with water for a few weeks, drain it out and then rebuild the transitions entirely, true story).  It is just some fellow neighbor or biker or both who saw a problem and risked the law and limb to quickly add these bike transitions for us to use.  When I asked Scott about them, he told me that they had been there all summer and that as they break down, which happens from time to time, he finds them freshly repaired the next morning.  Five blocks of the roughest part of the path made smooth for the greater good.  A thankless job for sure, probably done under cover of darkness, with no expectation of thanks or medals of honor.  Just useful and timely.

On my ride today I thought about God and the Church and those rogue cement transitions. 

Sometimes we treat it as if God were those transitions.  We feel like overall we are doing fine on our journey, but its nice that God is there to patch over the rough spots for us.  This is a harmful lie that only holds us back.  God is not a neat little transition, God is all.

I think those rogue transitions are a better metaphor for the Church.   We are all on a journey, not all going the same place and at the same rate, but still at times our paths align, and for that time, the church is there to help us over the rough spots, and we are there to help in return.  To help make the path a little easier and less painful.  To speed each other on toward our destinations, no matter how variant they are.  Even if to do so is a little rogue, a little dangerous, and outside of the general construct of this world’s government.

This is not God, God is so much bigger.  But this is the church. 

The Empty Tomb - Luke 24: 1-13

Mary and I spent the night curled into each other, drained of all tears, holding each other so that neither of us would go flying apart into a million pieces.  I woke first, a habit from my earlier career of finding it best to be up and about early, so that I could hustle the customer along and begin preparations for the next.  The minute my eyes opened the loss hit me again.  I had believed him longer than any of our group, had known he meant death when he said his time of trial would come soon, when he said he would be leaving us.  This is why I bought the perfume, why I risked dredging up my old reputation even now that I was new under his gaze.  Still, the finality of it, the pain of it…it nearly undid me.  I squeezed my eyes shut again, shifted closer to Mary, wanting to forget forever.  Wanting to return to dreamland and just drift in nothing for all time.  It did not work.  I stretched quietly and moved away from the bed, starting some water to boil, slicing a few pieces of bread.  We would eat, and then we would go finish what could not be finished on the Sabbath: preparing his body for a more permanent burial.  I knew that guards of the Roman leader stood outside, that a stone large enough to need four men to roll it, had been placed over the entrance to the tomb.  What I did not know is how we would overcome these obstacles.  I looked out the window while I contemplated the problem, and stared into the heart of a storm.  The clouds were black and moving quickly, the trees nearly bent double to pay homage to the ruling winds.  As I watched, a torrent of rain abruptly started, stopping as suddenly a few moments later.  The sun peaked weakly out behind some low clouds on the horizon, and I saw that everywhere was a heavy fog, an uncommon sight in these arid lands.  Everything was obscured and uncertain.  Everything was hushed and damped down.  Everything was lost, I thought, and turned from the gloomy sight to see Mary sitting dully on the edge of the bed, no life in her eyes.  I ran the few steps and kneeled to take her hands in mine and rub them vigorously, as if trying to waken life in her this way.  But already she had come fully awake and was now silently crying, the tears pooling between our feet.  The water boiled on the fire, and I jumped away from her with a quick hand patting her head.  I prepared the tea for us both, and brought her a cup, insisting she take it when she did not react.

In a half hour we had both rallied enough that we had dressed, obtained the supplies we needed, tied them up in a cloth on our back and started out the door.  Today would not be easy, but the work needed to be done.  We owed him at least that. (to be continued)

Nothing.

What I am to you is not me.  The lyric echoed through my head.  I t would not stop.  The judge was talking, the verdict and sentence we had waited months to hear—months—hell, years, maybe my whole conscious life—was being delivered and I could hear nothing but What I am to you is not me.  What I am to you is not me.  Not me, Not me.

My daughter, usually statuesque at 5’10’’ crumples next to me and her tears begin to flow.  Her sorrow hits me like a tsunami and yet I still know nothing of what has transpired—no decision of this court will end her pain—still only know What I am to you is not me.

Are you going to pay in some small way for the destruction you have wrought?  For the black poison you have pressed into our mouths year after year?  For the seed you have sown into the willing soil of our bodies and souls which grew and choked us out almost completely?

I look down at my hands; their shaking surprises me, and I will them to reach around hers and hold on.  Why are we here?  I wonder.  What does this day matter, these words I cannot hear, what do they matter?  I feel nothing as I try to enact comfort on her.  I feel nothing.  I hear nothing. 

Still, I am something.  Twenty four years ago my soul shouted, “I am something!” defying your malediction. What I am to you is not me. 

That is the only verdict that saved me.  That is the only verdict that will save my daughter. 

I whisper the benediction into her ear, “You are something,” my forehead pressed against her temple.  Then I pull her out of the courtroom and into the sun.

Tallyscrapper Ice Cream Social

Come on over to Tallyscrapperand check out the fun coming the weekend of National Scrapbooking Day!

Shimelle Challenge #6

This one is about scraplifting and making it yours, and I chose this layout by Erin (which she hates by the way!)

I used her technique of handwriting the title and journaling, using little tabs of paper for the journaling, using parantheses, and an overall minimal style. I like hers better still, but it was fun to do something different with these crazy pictures of my crazy son that were taken by Julie Ogden.

Shimelle Challenge #5

Wilna Furstenberg is AWESOME and scraps in a way that challenges me. I love her sandy beach colors and clean look even in the midst of alot of pieces. I would have been happier with this layout of my "flowers" looked more like propellers...which was what I was going for. Maybe I need to switch out the staples for screw shaped brads? We shall see. It was fun to incorporate the long photos, the white on white background and the cluster of little goodies from Wilna's inspiration piece.

Shimelle Challenge #4

For the next challenge, Shimelle challenged us to use grey, yellow and one other colour. I used pink, to be totally out of character!
I really would like to use some of these lighter, sweeter colours on my layouts, so I have been trying that more often.

Shimelle Challenge 3

This one was about mixing styles. I've noticed the last few days that several scrapbook sites have layouts with stencils on them and also spray inks seem to be hot right now. So, I tried a little of both. I know the journaling isn't complete, I have to find his assignment to remind myself of what his findings were!

Shimelle Challenge 2

The challenge was to mix at least four different lines of papers.
Um, I knew I had to go to the scrap bin and get out my stapler.
Thanks for the inspiration my daughter!

Here is a link to the challenge

Shimelle Challenge #1

The challenge on
this blog was to lift the layout. The elements I was drawn to were the label added at the top and bottom, the photo in the middle, the popdots and the little cluster of tiny elements. I hate the title on this one but I have to think up a new one before I change it!

The Proms...what is it?

Andrew is a big questioner. He hears EVERYTHING and he isn't afraid to admit when he doesn't know what something is. It occured to me that it might be kind of fun to answer his questions on this blog, since my answers are usually more general than I would like and researching the details is fun for me!

So yesterday while we were listening to MPR he heard an announcement for today's BBC Proms concert and he wanted to know what it was.

Here is what wiki says:
The Proms, more formally known as The BBC Proms, or The Henry Wood Promenade Concerts presented by the BBC, is an eight-week summer season of daily orchestral classical music concerts and other events held annually, predominantly in the Royal Albert Hall in London. Founded in 1895, each season currently consists of over 70 concerts in the Albert Hall, a series of chamber concerts at Cadogan Hall, additional Proms in the Park events across the United Kingdom on the last night, and associated educational and children's events. In 2009 the total number of concerts reached 100 for the first time. In the context of classical music festivals, Jiří Bělohlávek has described the Proms as "the world's largest and most democratic musical festival".[1]

Prom is short for promenade concert, a term which originally referred to outdoor concerts in London's pleasure gardens, where the audience was free to stroll around while the orchestra was playing. Promming now refers to the use of the standing areas inside the hall (the arena and gallery) for which ticket prices are much lower than for the reserved seating. Single-concert Promming tickets can be bought, with few exceptions, only on the day of the concert, which can give rise to long queues for well-known artists or works. Proms concert-goers, particularly those who stand, are sometimes described as "Promenaders", but are most commonly referred to as "Prommers". Prommers can buy full- or half-season tickets instead for guaranteed entry (until 20 minutes before the concert is due to start), although not the assurance of a particular standing position. A number of Prommers are particularly keen in their attendance. In 1997, one programme in the BBC documentary series Modern Times covered this dedicated following of enthusiasts.

Wiki defines classical music as: the art music produced in, or rooted in, the traditions of Western liturgical and secular music, encompassing a broad period from roughly the 11th century to present times.[1] The central norms of this tradition became codified between 1550 and 1900, which is known as the common practice period.

This year they played Gabriel Prokofiev's Concerto for Turntables and Orchestra which certainly doesn't carry a feel of traditions or the liturgical, but is somehow so lovely anyway. And yes, the name does imply what you think: This is Sergei's grandson. Here is an interview with him about the piece.

Give it a listen and let me know what you think.



Oh and speaking of Albert Hall, I need help adding on to my Gardens of Time on facebook, anyone want to be my neighbor?

Holiday Wish List TodaysMama and GameStop

Mama’s Holiday Wish List Meme


TodaysMama and GameStop are giving away a sleighful of gifts this holiday season and to enter I’m sharing this meme with you.


1. What is your holiday wish for your family?
That we find moments of grace together and that we don't go without food like last year.

2. What is your Christmas morning tradition?
We have changed to fit our family, so "Christmas morning" for us is now in early January. We all get together as a family, play some silly games, eat everyone's own specialty concoction and sometimes do a gag gift exchange. Its mainly about being together and laughter.

3. If you could ask Santa for one, completely decadent wish for yourself, what would it be?
Erasing of all debt, a clean slate to start 2011 out of the hole.

4. How do you make the holidays special without spending any money?
We open little cards on the 25 days before Christmas and each one has a little family activity, like making cookies, a craft or serving someone in need.

5. What games did you play with your family growing up?
Scrabble, Masterpiece, Parcheesi, Clue...games are a huge part of our family gatherings.

6. What holiday tradition have you carried on from your own childhood?
Breakfast is the big meal at our holiday gathering as it was when I was a child. Also, we fill knitted stockings with little gifts that reflect the special loves of the person they are for. A way of saying, "I know you and love you!"

7. Where would you go for a Christmas-away-from-home trip?
My grandmothers. I hardly ever get to see her and she's my last living grandparent.

8. Check out GameStop and tell us, what are the three top items on your GameStop Wish List this year?
XBox360 console
Kinect360 Health bundle
Ninetendo DS game Art Academy

Minda, your Motives are Suspect.

What motivates you to live life – body, mind and soul - to its fullest each day?
Pick the answer that best fits your motives, and go ahead and be honest, they are all wrong.

1. Nothing. I just sort of go along the path of least resistance.
2. My happiness. I seek each day to find what feeds me; body, soul and mind and I pursue that.
3. My family and friends. I want to give them the best version of me that I can.
4. I follow the latest trends and scientific findings on living life fully.
5. I try to figure out how I’m perceived and then act to improve how others perceive me.
6. To rage against the machine. If everyone else is doing it, I’m headed the other direction.
   

As I was out running this morning I was thinking about what moves or motivates me. I’ve been accused of running to look good to others. I’ve been accused of running to make others look bad. I’ve been accused of running because I’m crazy. Although I don’t think anyone has said it, it wouldn’t be totally crazy to hear someone say that my running is selfish. As I am an avid Biggest Loser watcher and many of my friends are full of information about living healthy, I could be thought of as a person who is just following trends. Probably it would be hard to make a case that I run as a way of least resistance. There is MUCH resistance nearly every time I go out!

Of course running isn’t the only thing I do. What motivates me to volunteer for Team Ortho? To take photos of others for free? To cook with my husband on Sundays? To post comments on Facebook? To get enough sleep? To read, argue, play cards, drink beer, go to work or to bathe? And what about those higher activities, reading through the Bible, spending time in prayer, working to stay in touch with others who believe in God? What about watching Dancing With he Stars? Whatever could be motivating me to do that?

The Bible talks about taking every thought captive. It talks about seeking God’s way above all else. That is what I want to motivate me. I want there to be an underlying current of connection with the Creator that guides me in each activity, thought or emotion toward my true path, a direction only God could know. A story that is at once completely unique to me and valuable to all I come in contact with.

You could say my motivation is to find that groove and stay in it. But for now I’ll probably wander back and forth between selfishness, resistance, pride and mindlessness.

I Had a Prophetic Dream

This happens to me a couple of times a year. I had a dream that I knew I was supposed to stay asleep until the end of.

In the dream our house was burning down. Scott, Andrew and I were playing a game in an upstairs bedroom and we saw the house catch on fire from lightning. Although it looked different than our house now, it was still a duplex and our landlord neighbors were in the dream. The thrust of the first part of the dream was that I couldn't get anyone to take the situation seriously. At one point Andrew said, I don't care about my stuff, you can just buy me new clothes and stuff.

My parents were suddenly there in the dream and they were just sort of milling around outside watching curiously. I spent precious time trying to get Scott and Andrew out of the house, to think about if there was anything they wanted to save, to try to get them to believe anything at all needed to be done. Finally I got them out. I was exhausted.

While they dithered around talking with my parents I decided to try to save our memories. The books weighed so much and no one would help. Finally a stranger came along and helped me carry a couple out. I realized after one heavy trip that I was probably only going to be able to get one year of it out. I exhaustedly put those books and one other posession, which unfortunately I have now forgotten, on the floor of my car. I moved my car away from the house, which was now visibly blazing in the basement.

I asked around and no one had called the fire department yet. They looked annoyed when I asked, so I called them myself. The dispatcher said she already knew about the blaze and they were busy, would get there when they could. Alot of families were in trouble. She was annoyed with me too. You could tell she thought I was making too big of a deal out of it.
Soon the house on our side was gone completely. There was a deep hole next to the basement and the basement was filled to the brim with water (apparently the firetrucks did eventually arrive, but with no fanfare) One fireman said, You know, you are gonna lose everything.
By this point in the dream Andrew and Scott were gone.

I ran into a woman outside who asked if I was missing anything after the fire. I said I was missing everything, even my loved ones, and she said she had some of my things. She handed me a red plastic wrist band and told me to come to a certain place in a few days to "redeem" my things and she listed the thing I had put in the car along with my scrapbooks, a quilt I had made, and a few other things. I realized she had taken these things out of my car so that later I would pay her to get them back. I was furious. No one else seemed to think anything of it.

I went around the corner to my parents house, put my few memory books left in their spare room and thought about taking a shower. I realized I had no clothes to change into. My mom came in and said, "I see you have piled a bunch of your crap in the spare room." I told her I was hoping I could sleep there for one night. She seemed annoyed but didn't say I couldn't. I realized that it was late and that I hadn't called the landlord at work to let him know of the disaster. Then it dawned on me that they had their parent's dog there and that he had probably perished in the fire. I was sick about it.

I ran back to the house and knocked on the door, to find him home in the livingroom watching a sports game with some male friends and his wife upstairs taking a shower. In another upstairs room was Josie and Debbie. They were playing a game and laughing and talking. I came in and started to tell them what had happened, first the landlords wife, and then Josie and Debbie. The landlords wife said, "Whatever, that's okay" in a light and airy tone. Josie and Debbie were annoyed when I talked about it, and when I started to cry for the exhaustion and frustration and loss, they got mad. Debbie said something about me making such a big deal about it and Josie rolled her eyes and was downright mad. They left in a huff as if my behavior was too drama ridden and unworthy of their attention. I trudged back downstairs to apologize to the landlord and explain it wasn't out of our carelessness, it was a ligtning strike. He was busy and didn't seem to really care. He said it was okay in a distracted dismissive way.

I wondered if the insurance had been truly switched over by Scott. I wondered where I would stay. I wondered where everyone I cared about was and why no one took me seriously. I finally was allowed to wake up.

New Beginnings

Sunday, an hour before we moved, our church prayed for this new home to be a marker of new beginnings in our lives. Already, after less than two days there have been so many blessings. Above are some pictures of the outside of the house. Isn't it lovely?

One of the new beginnings is that on the first morning we went out and sat on the patio and had our coffee and woke up together. Andrew joined us a little later and then last night requested that we make it a morning routine. We enjoyed it again this morning, just a half hour between 7:30 and 8am, but a nice way to wake up and have some sweet family time before heading in for our chores and school. I think we are all looking forward to this change!

Probably the nicest new beginning is in Andrew. He has been cheerfully helpful, he's been leaps and bounds more responsible, and it is a thing to behold. Yesterday when we came in from the patio he went to work on his room and got it in tiptop shape, including making both beds to perfection and hanging up his dress clothes.

In the afternoon he had his friend over, and they played in the sprinkler, then hung the towel up on the line, rolled up the hose on to the rocks so it wouldn't kill the grass and put their toys away in the garage, shutting the garage door. What a treat!

We did give him his own key and he loves locking up after us if we leave the house, which is quite helpful, because with three doors I can see myself forgetting to lock one!

Today we start up school again after four days off. I believe we will see even better improvements there!

A little sentimental, I say goodbye

This move has come together so fast, I haven't had much time to process it. Last night and this morning I find myself thinking about it more, and I'm a little sad.

• It is hard to say goodbye to one level living.



• It is hard to say goodbye to my running partner being just down the hall.



• It is hard to say goodbye to Andrew's friends being just down the hall.



• It is hard to say goodbye to a right sized home.



• It is hard to say goodbye to a big kitchen.



• It is hard to say goodbye to the wood lot behind our sunroom.



• But honestly most of all it is hard for me to say goodbye to a laundry room on the same level as the closets. Sigh. I've done 10 loads of laundry this week, washing everything I can think of, to cherish that treat a little longer.

Of course I haven't forgotten what we are saying hello to.

• Hello to a backyard.



• Hello to cheaper rent.



• Hello to nice landlords.



• Hello to a quiet street.



• Hello to being closer to the Julie's.



• Hello to a safer place for my bike.



• And honestly most of all, hello to a new start, I'm quite fond of them!

Hey Minda! You're Moving in...

• ...5 days, whatcha gonna do? Go to a concert and the library in St. Paul



• ...4 days, whatcha gonna do? Meet friends at Bush Lake Beach for three hours!


• ...3 days, whatcha gonna do? Take three kids to Lake Harriet for three hours & do some carpooling!


• ...2 days, whatcha gonna do? Skip school and go to see the new Shrek movie!


• ...36 hours, whatcha gonna do? Go for a nine mile run in the soup!


• ...24 hours, whatcha gonna do? Drive to Farmington and spend the day at the Scottish Fair, then go out for dinner!
  
  
  Now, do you think my son will remember all that when next week the answer every day is UNPACK? I hope so!

Forgive me Louise Erdrich

So, to all my avid reader friends, I have a question to ask:
Do you have any authors who you have repeatedly refused to read, flying in the face of their ongoing popularity?

One of those authors for me is Louise Erdrich. I can't tell you why, I have no personal beef with native americans, she's an author based in Minneapolis which is generally a leg up on my booklist, she owns a bookstore. But for some reason I always scan past her books on the library shelves and move on to something else.

Tonight I looked her up to learn more about her, and try to understand what in me is resistant to her. Then I read this statement;

In 1984, Erdrich published the novel Love Medicine. Made up of a disjointed but interconnected series of short narratives, each told from the perspective of a different character, and moving backwards and forward in time through every decade between the 1930’s and the present day, the book told the stories of several families living near each other on a North Dakota Ojibwe reservation.

The innovative techniques of the book, which owed a great deal to the works of William Faulkner but have little precedent in Native-authored fiction, allowed Erdrich to build up a picture of a community in a way entirely suited to the reservation setting.

Ah ha! Mr. Faulkner, a most IRRITATING writer in my experience! Maybe I had tried to read Love Medicine and this style turned me off.

I read further though and discovered her book The Beet Queen. This book focusses on a different demographic of North Dakota, the US homeland of my people. Now I am intrigued and have reserved her book from the library.

So I challenge you to find a decorated writer you have resisted in the past, research their books and find one that you want to give a try. Every writer deserves a second look, right?

April Me Update

▲

April 2010

Run 69 miles
Bike 20 miles
Indoor bike 25 miles

Current Book(s):
The Virgin Blue
The Lace Reader
One Thousand White Women
The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane

Current Music:
Singer/Songwriter playlist
PodRunner playlist 149 bpm

Current Shame-Inducing Guilty Pleasure:
high hop beers and sweet potatoe fries made at home!

Current Colors:
pink

Current Obsessions:
finding a place to live and moving there with low drama, training for a half marathon

Current Drink:
V8 with a scoop of fiber added

Current Song:


Current TV Shows:
Lie to Me and Biggest Loser

Current Wish-List:
to trade someone our huge beautiful hardwood desk, tv cabinet and tv for a big computer screen and a smaller desk.

Current Needs:
to get off my butt and go running, or I'll be late to church!

Current Triumph:
running 11.5 miles and knowing I could have done 1 more!

Current Bane of my Existence:
How nice I have none!

Current Goal:
more body toning between runs

Current Indulgence:
nothing new

Current Blessings:
my husband
finding a beautiful place to live
healthy body during my running

Current (Fav) Outfit:
Yellow print dress over brown leggins

Current Excitement:
moving!

Current Mood
content