be-musings

NUDITY

I was driving with my three young children one warm summer evening when a woman in the convertible ahead of us stood up and waved. She was stark naked! As I was reeling from the shock, I heard my 5-year-old shout from the back seat, "Mom! That lady isn't wearing a seat belt!

A little boy got lost at the YMCA and found himself in the women's locker room. When he was spotted, the room burst into shrieks, with ladies grabbing towels and running for cover The little boy watched in amazement and then asked, "What's the matter, haven't you ever seen a little boy before?

THE ELDERLY - AND TEETH

While working for an organization that delivers lunches to elderly shut-ins, I used to take my 4-year-old daughter on my afternoon rounds. The various appliances of old age, particularly the canes, walkers and wheelchairs, unfailingly intrigued her. One day I found her staring at a pair of false teeth soaking in a glass. As I braced myself for the inevitable barrage of questions, she merely turned and whispered, "The tooth fairy will never believe this!"

From my early adolescence my home church used to sing this hymn. I clearly recall hearing my mother's strong soprano voice above all others whenever it was played. It was one of her favorites...and it was sung at my brother's funeral when I was 13. I think about this song from time to time, and some of its pertinent lyrics.
I'm not the best at letting go and trusting and not stressing about situations. There has been improvement, and I have a ways to go to arrive where I would like to be. Not at perfection, but at satisfaction and rest. Maybe it will be a lifelong lesson. Sometimes I think of this song and take comfort in the chorus.

I don't know about tomorrow,
I just live from day to day.
I don't borrow from it's sunshine,
For it's skies may turn to gray.

I don't worry o'er the future,
For I know what Jesus said,
And today I'll walk beside Him,
For He knows what is ahead.

Many things about tomorrow,
I don't seem to understand;
But I know Who holds tomorrow,
And I know Who holds my hand.

Ev'ry step is getting brighter,
As the golden stairs I climb;
Ev'ry burden's getting lighter;
Ev'ry cloud is silver lined.

There the sun is always shining,
There no tear will dim the eyes,
At the ending of the rainbow,
Where the mountains touch the sky.

Many things about tomorrow,
I don't seem to understand;
But I know Who holds tomorrow,
And I know Who holds my hand.

I don't know about tomorrow,
It may bring me poverty;
But the One Who feeds the sparrow,
Is the One Who stands by me.

And the path that be my portion,
May be through the flame or flood,
But His presence goes before me,
And I'm covered with His blood.

Many things about tomorrow,
I don't seem to understand;
But I know Who holds tomorrow,
And I know Who holds my hand.

(Words and Music: Ira Stanphill)

Do you remember the bumper stickers that said "Not perfect, just forgiven"? They were incredibly popular in the 1980's. I understand the meaning of the doctrine, and fully agree with it. I don't, however agree with plastering them on cars.
I know that we all sin. I know that, doctrinally speaking, the Christian has asked for forgiveness from sin. Cool. I think that advertising it on mass, almost exclusively for the expressed purpose of "witnessing" or segregating oneself out from others is elitist. Therein is my objection.
Some people take selfish pride in advertising that they have something which others do not. That might not be the original intent of the slogan, but that is often the end result.
The section I read last week in Blue Like Jazz talked about a confession booth at Don's college. They had this crazy idea of setting one up as part of student week, when all form of student anarchy and party happenings were going on (didn't I say that like a nerd). Here was the catch though. They were not going to listen to the confessions of the other students. They were not going to guilt them about their activities and rain down repentance fire. They, the Christians, chose to confess to the non-Christians, and ask for their forgiveness.
We figure we have arrived. Not at the end of our journey, but at least to the correct understanding of God and Christ and salvation. Sometimes we believe that it is our right to be authoritative of others. I can't argue anything either way about that. I can talk about humility that is often lacking. We haven't arrived anywhere. And we have blackened potential good witnessing by our "witnessing". We have given such an impression that we have it going on, and others need to do the same in order to "arrive". Often the focus is on others rather than ourselves.
I like the idea of being real and vulnerable. Confessing that we don't have it all together...without having to make it sound better than it is.
I'm Annette. I screw up. I hurt people I don't want to, say the wrong thing, make selfish choices. I have been angry when I should have asked for God's patience. I experience pride when I know I shouldn't. I have gossiped. This is my confession booth.

I remember what it was like to play soccer from when I was 9 years old. I couldn't wait to sign up. My sister Carol also played with me. I remember taking extra shifts one game, because she was feeling sick or had a side ache. Never play on the same team as your sister, especially when you fight a lot already. As you can tell, it is something that still might come up at future family gatherings. The time I had to run like heck because my sister was too sick to play. That rates right up there with the smoking stories...which I won't tell here. She is still tougher than me and I'm scared of her.
But that wasn't what this post was going to be about, as you can tell by the title. This is the soccer sequel. There won't be any redeeming lessons in it, just admissions of a soccer mom.
Matthew was hesitant to get into the tick of the play, because he was smart. He knew the chances of getting kicked were great. Heck, I knew that when I was his age. But, since he is a boy and boys are supposed to be tough, I couldn't let on that he really should be scared.
It became frustrating that my boy wouldn't chase the ball, and would back up when it came to him. I knew he could do well if he wanted to, and tried to convince him that going to get the ball was what the sport was about. But it didn't work very well. So things needed to get drastic. I took him aside when he was off the field, and we practised shimmying to get the ball. If I accidentally kicked him I didn't let him stop playing. It was good for him to know it wouldn't hurt. I made him kick me on purpose. He did so lightly at first, but I got him to kick me harder and harder, grinning at him so he would know that it didn't hurt. And honestly, it didn't. That's a technique I wouldn't use now that he is only 30 pounds lighter than me. The day is soon coming that he will be able to take me at every sport. Especially wrestling.
To get Matthew to really focus on trying to get the ball I racked my brain to think of something that he could imagine it being. Something that was rewarding for him, and that he really liked. Candy...yeah that was it. I was the freaky parent telling him "When you see that ball, pretend it's candy that you really want and GO GET IT." We practised that while we were kicking each other's shins. I would give him candy pep talks. Not because I wanted him to win the game, but because I wanted him to conquer the fear.
You know, he liked candy a bit, but now he absolutely loves it. Maybe I can use that philosophy somehow about homework now. Nah, he might start licking the books. And trust me, his books are already borderline food poisoned with how he stores his lunch during school.

For a couple years Matthew played soccer. I've never really been into sports, but the team work and activity was the ambition. In retrospect it was smart to keep the expectations low.
Matthew was the team clown. He was one of those kids who would look the other way, talking to himself while the team had run to the opposite end of the field. It was hard to watch the play and my son at the same time. He really wasn't into running and chasing. Well, he did on occasion chase some of the other kids. Especially if they were girls, I think.
Matthew was a "hopper". He would take two running steps, then hop vertically for the third. His arms would wave up at his sides a bit as he did the third movement. He loved it. I would cover my eyes from time to time. At first I thought there was something physically wrong with his hips, and talked about taking him to a physiotherapist. There must have been something wrong inside his body that made it uncomfortable to run "normally". That was until a man with a child in soccer said "Oh, so Matthew is your team's hopper". I realized from that comment that in every group there are all types of people (yeah duh) and that those people types are repeated in different groups. In other words, my son wasn't unique or weird. There were many others like him...just not on his team.
When Matthew was a baby, I hung out with two other moms. We had known each other for a few years, and our babies were the same age. During those first two years we clung to every the children did or said or ate or pooped out. We compared notes. We tried to "figure out" the kids. We each thought our child was a genius in some area - or many areas. We read the "What to Expect" books so we could be on task with the next kind of food to introduce, the next thing to teach. I was strict about some stuff. When the book said the baby should come off the bottle at year, I had an action plan with strategy that started a week or two ahead, to get him weaned by his first birthday. The book said it, so I had to make the deadline or it would be detrimental to Matthew. Somehow his teeth would rot at 1 year and 1 day or some other ridiculous thing. I don't remember what was going to happen, but it wouldn't have been good. Maybe some sick codependency on the bottle would corrupt his pure heart.
I have now realized that Matthew, though exceptional in his own areas, is "normal". Don't laugh too hard, if you know him. Some days he seems more extra-terrestrial than normal. He is no more brilliant than the other children in his class. He has areas of giftedness, but he is not a genius. Yet, I still think he is amazing.
God watches us grow from infanthood to toddlerhood to adolescence. Physically and spiritually. He knows us all, and he realizes that we are none more brilliant than the other. But as our dad, he brags about each of us because he thinks we, as individuals and as a fmaily, are amazing. He doesn't have too many kids to keep straight, because he never sleeps! He doesn't get confused like we do.
I can picture God watching over the soccer game, as Matthew hip hopped across the field. Maybe he would shake his head or maybe not. I picture him laughing at my paranoia and thinking "one day she'll understand that I made him like this because that's what she needed. She needed the humility and the protective drive and the laughter and the reminders that she doesn't have all the answers...and the incredulity that such a small person can teach her so much."
Of course, at the time all she can see is the ball coming to hit him in the head...

I have tried to write 3 blogs tonight, but erased them all. Nothing controversial, nothing weird. Just not coming out right. I know that I haven't written much lately. That might mean less people read this site. I don't look at the numbers any more; that's not why I'm writing, so I need to let it go.
If you're patient, the posts will come out. Hopefully in the right time. Hopefully in the right way. Let me try again.

When I wrote the post about Joy, it was difficult for me. I read it to Scott over the phone to make sure it wasn't too weird to publish. He was speachless for a moment (a rare occasion, if you know him). He asked me to read it at church that week. I said a polite no. It was a vague no, but that's what I meant. He said he would give me a while to think about it. I still said no later that week. I justified it by saying that most people there read or have access to my blog posts, so they didn't need to review it again by hearing me read it. Maybe he won't ask me again, because hopefully it will no longer fit in with his message theme.
We've been talking about joy and self-worth. Many feel beaten up by a variety of life things, and we're tired. We are realizing that we can't simply wait for joy and hope. We need to give in to it.
A year ago, as I laid in my bed early one morning, I thought of where I had come from and where I was at that moment. I had known true joy, but not lasting joy. Some people might say it wasn't true then, but I don't know that I would agree. When you experience it, you remember it because at first it feels foreign. While in contemplation, I knew that Joy was far away from me, yet within my reach. I couldn't give in to her though, because there was too much misery to sort through.
I knew that day that to have Joy was a choice. I knew I couldn't make that choice, because I was too deep in cynicism and despair. There was no room.
At that time I wrote the imagery in my head; the words seemed to be a powerful personal description of the clear "vision" that was truth to me. They were never drafted on paper.
A few times I have considered blogging my story, but never felt the time was right. Sometimes I thought about writing that post at certain times to encourage some of my friends. That never felt like the right thing to do, because I knew I had to live it first. I couldn't write something that I couldn't do. I realized that the reason for withholding is because I still was not ready to fully give in. There was no clue as to how long this would take.
Then a few of us started to talk about living in joy and having hope for the future. We are tired of being discouraged and beat up. We want to deal with our stuff and walk with God and whine a little less. I needed to hear that. I need to know that I wasn't the only one. I thought about Joy again. She was still waiting. There was a choice to be made. That's when I wrote down what had stayed in my head for this last year. It was time. If not for you, then only for me.

Deer Sir,

I waunt to apply for the secritary job what I saw in the paper. I can type real quik wit one finggar and do sum a counting. I think I am good on the phone and no I am a pepole person, pepole really seam to respond to me well.
I´m lookin for a Jobb as a secritary but it musent be to complicaited. I no my spelling is not to good but find that I Offen can get a job thru my persinalety. My salerery is open so we can discus wat you want to pay me and wat you think that I am werth, I can start imeditely. Thank you in advanse fore yore anser. .
Hopifuly yore best aplicant so farr.

Sinseerly,

Peggy May Starlings
PS : Because my resimay is a bit short - below is a pickture of me taken at my last jobb.


Employer's response:......

Dear Peggy May,
It's OK honey, we've got spell check.