My 30-year high school reunion is this weekend. I won’t be making the trek to Atlanta, but I did receive a questionnaire to send in. Most of the questions were fairly straightforward, until I got to the following: “What do you know now that you wish you knew 30 years ago?” After much thought, here is what I wanted to write:
“Life is much better than high school would leave you to believe. Being ‘in’ isn’t all that it is cracked up to be, and being ‘out’ is never the tragedy that it appears at the time. High school is an important time to test out who you are and might become. If you can do so without making any life-altering mistakes, that is all the better. It really does matter where you put a comma and how you use ‘its’ and ‘it’s,’ but it’s less likely that the quadratic formula or Avogadro’s number will come in handy once you are out of school. Parents are not as stupid as they seem, and, in reality, they are as interested as you are in seeing who you become. Even if faith doesn’t always make sense to you, it is invaluable to have something solid to hold on to when the rest of your world changes. High school is neither the end nor the beginning of the world, and the best news is that it ends at some point.”
I knew that the above words weren’t in line with the lighthearted comments that they were trying to compile. That questionnaire sat on my kitchen counter for over a week, as I tried to decide what to do. Finally, I completed the form and mailed it off to Atlanta.
When the booklets are handed out this weekend, my classmates will read, “Life keeps getting better and better.” Which it does. Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Fireplaces
The cool evening last night made us decide to turn on our fireplace. “Turn on” truly is the operative word in our new-to-us home. We turned on the gas and lit the pilot light for the season. With the pilot duly lit, the fireplace is now controlled by a light switch in the wall. I flip the switch, and, poof, flames appear in our fireplace. Not only that, but this super-high efficiency fireplace actually heats the room. It is certainly a convenient way to have a burning fire that is also good for the heating bill and the environment.
I wish I could say that I liked it.
I grew up with a wood-burning fireplace. I still have childhood memories of sleeping in front of the fireplace during a weeklong ice-storm-induced power outage. We all smelled like wood smoke, but the logs kept us warm as we roughed it. The first house that Andy and I lived in did not have a fireplace, but we made sure that our next house did. When Andy and I moved up to a gas starter in a wood-burning fireplace, it felt a little like cheating. Our last house had a gas fireplace with fake logs, but at least we got to use a real lighter to light it. I grew to enjoy the convenience of being able to put out the fire by turning off the gas, even as I still longed for the crackle and smell of a wood fire.
But this house has a fireplace controlled by a light switch. It makes no illusion of being “real” fire. The logs, sealed behind glass, sit at unnatural positions, and the warning label clearly states that repositioning the logs carries great risk of catastrophe. The flames are eerily uniform, which makes watching the fire somewhat akin to watching the burners in the furnace. And the heat that it produces is so strong that, last night, we had to turn it off after only a few minutes.
I miss the real thing. I really do. Don’t get me wrong- my life will still have meaning and purpose, but the smell of wood smoke on a chilly day will always conjure up memories. I’ll be thankful for the warmth this winter, but something will be missing.
I just now looked up from my typing to realize that I now have a wood-burning fireplace in my “vintage” office. That fireplace hasn’t been used in years, but what could go wrong? Hey, it just goes to prove what I’ve been saying; it’s at God’s place that we find what’s really real. (And, if you notice that the pastors and staff of First Church smell smoky, you’ll know why!)
I wish I could say that I liked it.
I grew up with a wood-burning fireplace. I still have childhood memories of sleeping in front of the fireplace during a weeklong ice-storm-induced power outage. We all smelled like wood smoke, but the logs kept us warm as we roughed it. The first house that Andy and I lived in did not have a fireplace, but we made sure that our next house did. When Andy and I moved up to a gas starter in a wood-burning fireplace, it felt a little like cheating. Our last house had a gas fireplace with fake logs, but at least we got to use a real lighter to light it. I grew to enjoy the convenience of being able to put out the fire by turning off the gas, even as I still longed for the crackle and smell of a wood fire.
But this house has a fireplace controlled by a light switch. It makes no illusion of being “real” fire. The logs, sealed behind glass, sit at unnatural positions, and the warning label clearly states that repositioning the logs carries great risk of catastrophe. The flames are eerily uniform, which makes watching the fire somewhat akin to watching the burners in the furnace. And the heat that it produces is so strong that, last night, we had to turn it off after only a few minutes.
I miss the real thing. I really do. Don’t get me wrong- my life will still have meaning and purpose, but the smell of wood smoke on a chilly day will always conjure up memories. I’ll be thankful for the warmth this winter, but something will be missing.
I just now looked up from my typing to realize that I now have a wood-burning fireplace in my “vintage” office. That fireplace hasn’t been used in years, but what could go wrong? Hey, it just goes to prove what I’ve been saying; it’s at God’s place that we find what’s really real. (And, if you notice that the pastors and staff of First Church smell smoky, you’ll know why!)
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Steps
As I mentioned this weekend, I wear a pedometer. It is part of our Conference health plan. They give it to us for free, and they actually pay us cash money for our steps. Last year, I got $310 that I would not have gotten if I hadn’t worn the thing. If nothing else, the pedometer proves that I do indeed have my price. And it’s not that high.
The pedometer gods have issued a challenge: For this week, we are to average 1,000 more steps a day than we did in August. For me, that means that I am supposed to log a little over 11,000 steps per day. On the one hand, I appreciate their interest in my personal health and activity level. On the other hand, I find this latest challenge inconvenient, to say the least. If I am walking, then I am not sitting at my desk working. I am not reading my Bible. I can (and do) pray while walking, but it’s not the same as being in prayerful stillness. I am not patting my dog or snuggling my husband or baking cookies to send to my children. And, unless they are able bodied and have on walking shoes, I am not talking or listening or connecting with other people. In short, this walking business can interfere in my business of being me.
Last night, I had a few thousand steps to get in before bed. I was walking briskly around the house, tidying as I walked. With sustained movement, I was certain that I could hit my goal for the day. And then Andy called out to me from the deck. The thunderstorms to our north were creating a beautiful lightning show, and he wanted me to watch it with him. But I needed to get in my steps. . .
Yes, I made the right decision. The lightning was lovely to watch, and the guy I was holding hands with wasn’t so bad looking himself. Sometimes, our most important steps have absolutely nothing to do with a pedometer.
The pedometer gods have issued a challenge: For this week, we are to average 1,000 more steps a day than we did in August. For me, that means that I am supposed to log a little over 11,000 steps per day. On the one hand, I appreciate their interest in my personal health and activity level. On the other hand, I find this latest challenge inconvenient, to say the least. If I am walking, then I am not sitting at my desk working. I am not reading my Bible. I can (and do) pray while walking, but it’s not the same as being in prayerful stillness. I am not patting my dog or snuggling my husband or baking cookies to send to my children. And, unless they are able bodied and have on walking shoes, I am not talking or listening or connecting with other people. In short, this walking business can interfere in my business of being me.
Last night, I had a few thousand steps to get in before bed. I was walking briskly around the house, tidying as I walked. With sustained movement, I was certain that I could hit my goal for the day. And then Andy called out to me from the deck. The thunderstorms to our north were creating a beautiful lightning show, and he wanted me to watch it with him. But I needed to get in my steps. . .
Yes, I made the right decision. The lightning was lovely to watch, and the guy I was holding hands with wasn’t so bad looking himself. Sometimes, our most important steps have absolutely nothing to do with a pedometer.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Audio Adjustments
This week, my car was in the shop and I ended up driving loaner cars for 3 days. (My car is fine now, but the dealer’s initial repair ended up breaking something else.) After three days in two different cars, I was reassured that I really do like the car that I own better than those other cars I was driving, except for one thing. The stereos in those cars sounded much better than mine.
When I finally got back into my fixed and re-fixed car, the sound system really did sound as bad as I remembered. The loaner cars had surrounded me with stereo sound, while my car just sounded flat. And then a thought occurred to me. I reached up to my stereo and touched a button I had never touched before: “audio.” The word “Treble” appeared on my radio, along with a number- 0. I knew that having 0 worth of Treble was probably not good, so I adjusted it to the middle level of 5. I punched the audio button again and saw “Midrange-0.” I moved it up to 7. Once more, and I saw “Bass-0,” and so I moved it up, also. The next punch of the button told me that the only speakers I was using were the front speakers, so I adjusted that, also.
Suddenly, my car’s sound system sounded as good as the loaner cars! The embarrassing thing, though, is that I have been driving my car that way for three years. I know that I’m not a sound-techie type of person, but, even for me, that’s bad. All I had needed to do was adjust one button, and I would have had the stereo system that my car was built with.
The preacherly point here is either a) I’m really lousy at all things audio or b) at times, one adjustment in our lives can make a world of difference. Okay, it’s probably both. And, if you see me driving around Blue Springs with my stereo cranked up loud, you'll know why!
When I finally got back into my fixed and re-fixed car, the sound system really did sound as bad as I remembered. The loaner cars had surrounded me with stereo sound, while my car just sounded flat. And then a thought occurred to me. I reached up to my stereo and touched a button I had never touched before: “audio.” The word “Treble” appeared on my radio, along with a number- 0. I knew that having 0 worth of Treble was probably not good, so I adjusted it to the middle level of 5. I punched the audio button again and saw “Midrange-0.” I moved it up to 7. Once more, and I saw “Bass-0,” and so I moved it up, also. The next punch of the button told me that the only speakers I was using were the front speakers, so I adjusted that, also.
Suddenly, my car’s sound system sounded as good as the loaner cars! The embarrassing thing, though, is that I have been driving my car that way for three years. I know that I’m not a sound-techie type of person, but, even for me, that’s bad. All I had needed to do was adjust one button, and I would have had the stereo system that my car was built with.
The preacherly point here is either a) I’m really lousy at all things audio or b) at times, one adjustment in our lives can make a world of difference. Okay, it’s probably both. And, if you see me driving around Blue Springs with my stereo cranked up loud, you'll know why!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Burning
As someone who is always cold and seeking heat, there is rarely a fire that I do not love. However, the pastor in Gainesville, Florida who plans to hold a public Koran-burning on September 11 has me, well, incensed. Persons around the world, particularly in war zones, are pleading with the man to cancel the burning, saying that their lives would be endangered by the backlash.
Pastor Jones is the pastor of a church of 30 people. How has a person who has such a limited impact in his home community suddenly become a player on the world stage? He says that he is praying about whether to do it or not, but he said in a recent sermon, “What we’re doing has no middle of the road. You have to believe it is totally, totally God or absolutely of the devil.” Perhaps he received “amen”s from the couple of dozen people or so that may have been in the congregation that day, but I feel fairly confident that the voices of the angels were not chiming in.
It puts me in an awkward position, trying to respond to one person’s absolute conviction that he is right with my own conviction that he’s not. My parents have been quick to call me to task in the past if I say something along the lines of “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s intolerance!” Perhaps this situation is similar, and I am blinded to my own bias against people who are biased.
However, as someone who also follows the one whose birth was announced by the angels singing, “Peace on earth, good will to all,” I take personal offense at his planned action. When the course is unclear, the one thing I try to hold on to is love. Jesus didn’t speak about the Koran, or mosques, or many of the other hot topics that grab our national attention. He did say, however, that the two most important things in the whole world were loving God and loving neighbor. Until I get those right, I’m not going to waste my time burning anything- besides logs.
Pastor Jones is the pastor of a church of 30 people. How has a person who has such a limited impact in his home community suddenly become a player on the world stage? He says that he is praying about whether to do it or not, but he said in a recent sermon, “What we’re doing has no middle of the road. You have to believe it is totally, totally God or absolutely of the devil.” Perhaps he received “amen”s from the couple of dozen people or so that may have been in the congregation that day, but I feel fairly confident that the voices of the angels were not chiming in.
It puts me in an awkward position, trying to respond to one person’s absolute conviction that he is right with my own conviction that he’s not. My parents have been quick to call me to task in the past if I say something along the lines of “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s intolerance!” Perhaps this situation is similar, and I am blinded to my own bias against people who are biased.
However, as someone who also follows the one whose birth was announced by the angels singing, “Peace on earth, good will to all,” I take personal offense at his planned action. When the course is unclear, the one thing I try to hold on to is love. Jesus didn’t speak about the Koran, or mosques, or many of the other hot topics that grab our national attention. He did say, however, that the two most important things in the whole world were loving God and loving neighbor. Until I get those right, I’m not going to waste my time burning anything- besides logs.
Friday, September 3, 2010
First- and Last- Visit to a Doctor
This week, I made a new-patient visit to a doctor. When I walked in, the receptionist and a patient were engaged in a lively, non-medical conversation. Unacknowledged, I stood there awkwardly for five minutes, unsure of what to do. When the conversation ended and I was able to approach the desk to sign in, the receptionist had disappeared. She was continuing her conversation with someone else in back. “Should I sit down?” I asked the other person in the waiting room. “Oh, yes,” she enthused. “This is the friendliest office in town.” The receptionist reappeared, welcomed the other patient by name, and led her away. A few minutes later, she returned and finally spoke to me. “Oh. You must be the new patient. Give me your insurance card.” After copying my card, she thrust some forms to me while talking on the phone to someone else. After awhile, I heard her voice coming from somewhere: “You can come back now.” Surmising that she must be talking to me, I took myself through the door, hoping to figure out where I was supposed to go. From a distance, the receptionist gestured for me to go into a windowless room. For the 30 minutes that I sat alone in that room, I heard lots of conversation going on in the hall. Things did sound very friendly and chatty- out there. There was nothing for me to do in my solitude but look at the previous patient’s x-rays, which were projected on the wall along with the patient’s name, birthdate, and other identifying information.
As I sat alone, I came to some realizations: 1) Being “in the club” was the key to feeling welcomed at that office. 2) I did not know how long it would take me to get “in the club,” nor did I have any personal or professional investment in trying. 3) There were other doctors in the community. And so I left after thirty minutes in isolation.
Now, look back at this story and insert the word “church” for “doctor’s office.” (Okay, you can take out the part about insurance information, too.) It is possible to be the friendliest church in town- to each other- yet still leave the new person standing awkwardly by themselves. It is an easy trap to fall into; after all, if we didn’t like one another, we probably wouldn’t worship, learn and serve together for too long. When we come together for worship, it is a great time to reconnect with Christian friends that we haven’t seen all week. But- if we focus too much on our own friendships, then we may miss out on that new person who is standing there awkwardly.
If someone pays us the ultimate compliment of coming to our house to worship, then we need to be ready to roll out the welcome mat. We need to be willing to walk away from our comfortable conversations to speak to the person we don’t know. Rather than sit in our usual spot, we need to sit with the newcomer, even if it means that we sit closer to the front than we prefer. We need to seek out those who aren’t yet “in,” to help them find their way. Otherwise, newcomers will walk out and never walk in our doors again, and we might miss a chance to change a life.
As I sat alone, I came to some realizations: 1) Being “in the club” was the key to feeling welcomed at that office. 2) I did not know how long it would take me to get “in the club,” nor did I have any personal or professional investment in trying. 3) There were other doctors in the community. And so I left after thirty minutes in isolation.
Now, look back at this story and insert the word “church” for “doctor’s office.” (Okay, you can take out the part about insurance information, too.) It is possible to be the friendliest church in town- to each other- yet still leave the new person standing awkwardly by themselves. It is an easy trap to fall into; after all, if we didn’t like one another, we probably wouldn’t worship, learn and serve together for too long. When we come together for worship, it is a great time to reconnect with Christian friends that we haven’t seen all week. But- if we focus too much on our own friendships, then we may miss out on that new person who is standing there awkwardly.
If someone pays us the ultimate compliment of coming to our house to worship, then we need to be ready to roll out the welcome mat. We need to be willing to walk away from our comfortable conversations to speak to the person we don’t know. Rather than sit in our usual spot, we need to sit with the newcomer, even if it means that we sit closer to the front than we prefer. We need to seek out those who aren’t yet “in,” to help them find their way. Otherwise, newcomers will walk out and never walk in our doors again, and we might miss a chance to change a life.
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