5 minutes--Beauty

Here's the deal. Sara writes each Friday about a topic for 5 minutes. No revisions, no editing, no longer than 5 minutes. She's had several prompts that I'd like to brainstorm lately, and it's also a pretty low-commitment, simple way to get back into blogging. I miss blogging. So, at any rate, I'm setting the timer for 5 minutes now, and....Go!

Beauty

My first thought is leaves--red and gold, against a backdrop of solid blue, cloudless sky with a hint of coolness creeping into the air.
Then I hear my neighbor by his own pool, singing Singing in the Rain with his 3 small children giggling, and the thought occurs to me that it's no less beautiful than that fall day....
So what is beauty? Something you SEE? Something you perceive even when you can't see its source?

Certainly it was in my grandmother's laugh when Grandaddy reminded her that she was "The One."
It was in the tears in our receptionist's eyes when I told her of a student's life-altering doctor's visit.

It's in the striking profile of a beautiful woman's smile--but it's behind the smile somehow. That same woman could be very, very ugly in a different circumstance.
It's in forgiveness, through and through.
In the honesty of a friend you love more than family, even though the honesty hurts. The trust is beautiful, not necessarily the truth; for the lie is so very, very ugly.
There's beauty all over my little old autistic buddy, and none tone found at all in that handsome man with no heart.
What is beauty?
It's not the stuff on the outside.

"The Perfect Day" Is....

Getting to stay home with Ben because he had a stomach bug....yesterday! Today he was back to normal, but still couldn't go back to school. So we did this:


And this:


Then took a long nap with this:


But THIS is, by far, my favorite sprout of all:

Pete

I love my brother, Pete.

You know how you feel when there's just someone who "gets" you, and thinks similarly? You don't have to waste words. It's just there.

So the other night before he moves, he arrives via taxi to our house at 2:30 a.m., as is his MO when he is in town. Don't ask. The next morning, he's all huffy. "Amy, can you take me to get my car? I don't mean to rush you, but maybe in the next 30 seconds or so? I'm very busy, you know,....." This, of course, leads to my dragging my feet, grumbling, reminding him that he could always give advance notice of his fly-by visits....

But those 20 or so minutes I get him alone in the car--I could just sop him up. Invariably, we grab coffee. We forego the small talk, and jump instead straight to the things that are most weighing on us. Religion, politics, relationships, hopes, insecurities....everything I bring up, it's as if he has already thought the same thoughts I'm having, and vice-versa. The other day, we covered soul mates, life goals, higher education, and were starting into a quick but deep conversation on salvation's security when a bee flew into the window and into Pete's collar. One 130 degree turn on two wheels in 11 seconds later, we are laughing hysterically and feeling the weight of the world slip from our shoulders--for a few minutes, anyway.

He's on his way here, now. Came up for Derby, and to stay with us while David's here. Can't wait. It's hilarious to me that this absent-minded genius nerd kid has grown into such a dear friend of mine, but it's true. I love him unequivocally. I don't know what I'll do when it occurs to him that some people call first before busting up in the middle of the night.

Change

I hate change. Really.
Rose tells me all the time that I have to learn to let things go and move, or God will break my hold forcibly so I'll trust and give Him room to move....and I always think that pretty much stinks. It's true. But I don't have to like it.

Anyway, I'm starting to look forward to some changes lately. Big ones. Is that convincing? I'm trying....
Work is so stressful that most days I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest. Literally. I don't even talk about it because I hate thinking about it once I'm home.
Lord, if this is you forcibly removing my grip on this area, take it. Take it.
I'm going back to school to get a guidance counselor certification, beginning Monday. While I'm not looking forward to the classes and adding to the busyness that is life, I AM looking forward to a means to achieve change. We prayed about it, it's a short program, I got a scholarship, the classes are in the evening this summer so I'm still home with my children during the day, and it just feels like I haven't got much choice if I don't want to continue in the "elephant seat" stage of this life.
Ugh.
This is me, trying to embrace change so that these types of decisions don't happen in this way in the future.....
Do you hear my teeth grinding?

My brother moved to Detroit last week. Pete. The one who did live close for a few months. I'll blog about him soon. There's too much to say. I love that boy.

My favorite friend at school is finishing up classes to be a hairdresser to escape the stress. I've collaborated in her room for the past 10 years, helping struggling 5th graders learn US History and making up dumb songs to remember statistics terms. I miss her already. The other day, we were on the bus going on a field trip, and the kids started singing Grenade. I have no problem with the song--actually love it--and Ben goes around the house singing it all the time, which may be the cutest thing I've ever seen. But 80 5th graders singing at once was a little much. So anyway, Michelle and I are sitting together, and the volume begins to rise, and I see her face begin to twitch, then contort, and she stands up to put down the smackdown with a grimace that would've gotten Satan's attention, and I just BURST out laughing. We have become that teacher. The one we used to make fun of when we were young and full of great ideas, and the old battle-ax of the team would shoot them down. The battle-ax had a rule of conduct for every situation...a RULE for every situation....and one of them was no singing in unison on the bus. I'm going to call her and ask her for her rules. I think she was onto something....

Either that, or it's time for a break.

Anyway, this is why I'm not blogging. If you can't say something nice...

No, really. I'm still nice. I'm just not sure I'm where God wants me, and not sure how to figure it out when He seems so quiet. Pretty much every area of life seems in flux right now, and the stress and rub of that is getting to me. I miss my best teacher friend. I miss the time when I used to love how I spent my days. I miss feeling like there was time in the day to do all of the jobs adequately that I need to do, and now that precious balance is out of whack. Mostly, I miss that unspoken assurance that even if things aren't perfect, they're right for right now. That I'm where I'm supposed to be.
Right now, things seem wide open in the future. Unclear. Ready to be shaken up. Like the Magic 8-Ball has deemed things inconclusive.
That's kind of exciting, right?
Grrrr....

What I Love....

Well, obviously I love lots of things. But here's the one that's making me smile tonight.

I love the people in my church. I love the sense of....not accountability, exactly....but the sense of having people look out for each other. More specifically, people who have relationships--like family--looking out for each other. I miss my brothers terribly right now, but that's the thing I can most liken it to. Sometimes teasing or playful, sometimes direct, but mostly just....connected.

Here's an example. The other night, I went to Rose's to watch Glee. Y'all know I can't help myself, even though the plots are pushing my buttons lately and my loyalty is waning. Still, though, Mr. Shu has such a good heart, and, sigh..... So I'm there waiting for the show to come on, communing with my friend, and I get a text: "Where are you?" I replied, "Watching Glee w/Rose..." (duh)... The quick response followed, "Pagan." That just cracks me up. No need to lecture me ad nauseum, but direct, nonetheless. It reminded me of when I got my tattoo, Mom had finally finished crying, Neeny caught a glimpse of it, and simply remarked, "That was stupid." And that was the end of it. It's the relationship that makes the words carry the weight.

Another example: I ask on Facebook for book recommendations. I get the standard "Vampire Love Garbage..." from some friends, but those who are like family from church send me messages about the importance of reading for edification, along with links to Amazon, and WHY they recommend the passages. One time, a friend suggested Joel Osteen and Rob Bell and a bunch of other pseudo-theology books as a joke....and it just cracks me up and makes me feel....guarded...and loved. Does that make sense? Like, "Lord, if I deny you and end up in Hell, it will not be because you haven't sent all these faithful, funny, shepherds into my path to keep me from wandering...."

I just feel like we have this wealth of amazing folks at church, and if each of them heads out into the world and does that "build relationships, speak truth" thing with all of the people in their NEW congregations, Christ will be exalted and people will come back and plug into those faith communities. And while I miss them when they move on to serve elsewhere, that's just good stuff.
:-)

Don't Waste Your Life

John Piper quotes to let settle in this week:

"I will tell you what a tragedy is. I will show you how to waste your life. Consider this story from the 1998 Reader's Digest: A couple took early retirement from their jobs in the Northeast five years ago when he was 59 and she was 51. Now they live in Punta Gorda, Florida, where they cruise on their 30-foot trawler, play softball and collect shells. Picture them before Christ at the great day of judgment: 'Look, Lord. See my shells?' That is a tragedy."

"For me as a boy, one of the most gripping illustrations my fiery father used was the story of a man converted in old age. The church had prayed for this man for decades. He was hard and resistant. But this time, for some reason, he showed up when my father was preaching. At the end of the service, during a hymn, to everyone's amazement he came and took my father's hand. They sat down together on the front pew of the church as the people were dismissed. God opened his heart to the gospel of Christ, and he was saved from his sins and given eternal life. But that didn't stop him from sobbing and saying, as the tears ran down his wrinkled face--and what an impact it made on me to hear my father say this through his own tears--"I've wasted it! I've wasted it!"

"This was the story that gripped me more than all of the stories of young folks who died in car wrecks before they were converted--the story of an old man weeping that he had wasted his life."

Reflection

I am spending the weekend with my grandmother, Mama Ann.

Her home is the quietest place I know of in the entire world. It was intentionally designed that way--as a retreat for my grandparents when they fled city life in the 80's, and as a retreat for us when Dad died and Mom worked nights and weekends in addition to teaching. Now it serves as a retreat home for their pastor friends who need to get away to an "unplugged" place for a bit. The church is so remote, it shares a pastor with another town and they only have services twice a month. I can't get calls here. Just texts. It sits on 50+ acres in the flat expanse that is western Kentucky, bordered by a cemetery on one side and the declining home of a long-dead aunt on the other. This is the view from where I write now:


I've just walked 5 miles, drunk a cup of herb tea, and had quiet time on the deck. Together with time to write, this is shaping up to be a real treat.

I was thinking about perspective while I walked. The land is SO flat here. Boring, even, when it's not spring--and its usually not. The little road i walk runs between two massive, identical farmhouses that sit over a mile apart. They were built for a father and his son in the 1800s. The father must have been so incredibly proud to gift his son and young wife with such an incredible home, identical in grandeur to his own. The farm was divided, and the men could've lived out their lives within view of each other and sharing in the work of the farm while still maintaining a little privacy. Maybe they did. I don't know. Today, though, the father's home lies in ruin. There's a land dispute, and the home can't be sold until it's resolved. Meanwhile, the roof sags and the elements invade. So do I, sometimes. There are still canned vegetables neatly lining the pantry, and half-knitted afghans sitting near heaps of store-bought yarn. Newspaper clippings, tax returns, receipts for cattle transactions...Unfinished. Unclaimed. To be bull-dozed, maybe, or shoveled into one of those big industrial dumpsters one day when the home finally changes hands. Stored up vestiges of what was once a successful life.

The son's house has fared better, bought by a local nurse for $20,000 a few years ago, then taken to the studs and rebuilt to the original specs. It's beautiful, and well-tended, and a lush garden already shows signs of return.... And that son is no more here to enjoy it than his dad is to lament his own home's shape. They're gone. The homes don't matter to either of them, now.

I'm thinking about things I'd like to give my daughter that she will use in life. A well-trained mind, piano lessons, discipline, a college fund, loving support, a sense of reverence and gratitude... But in a few years, none of that will matter. If we haven't attended to and cultivated the heart, the rest won't continually spring up and fulfill from generation to generation. It's just extra "stuff.".

I told her she's unplugged this week, too. She didn't gripe, but gave me that look that let's me know what she thinks of my boring ideas for her. I think I'll take her to see the two houses and show her why I'm more interested in her relationships than her stuff. Maybe she'll remember that someday when it matters.

blog template

As soon as I declare my undying affection for this particular blog template, they'll do away with it. But can I just say, it makes me think yummy thoughts just looking at the colors and swooshy swirls? The green, especially.
Random. Sorry.

Kaela Aims For Publication

Kaela entered our school's Writer of the Month contest with her poem about her favorite childhood memory. The kids had to take in an artifact from home to help them picture the moment in their minds. It's got my vote. Here's her poem:

Neeny's Shoes

Neeny's shiny, red shoes,
Slipping off my small feet.
CLOMP!
CLOMP!
From her shoes
as I march across the floor.
Can't stop smiling,
My giggles escape,
When Neeny's laugh
Fills the air.

Grammar and Blogging

Many times when I reread my writing, I notice grammar mistakes. Dangling prepositions and split infinitives seem to be my personal nemeses. It's not because I don't know the rules...I do. It's just that I generally blog from my home computer quickly, between whatever else is going on, then proofread from my phone later when I have time. And to edit from my phone is pretty similar to passing a bill through Congress to...um....do ANYTHING. Maddening. And so the mistakes stay.
I found this on another blog and just had to share. It made me laugh. Here's to all my grammatically correct friends who endure reading here anyway. I understand your pain. Enjoy! :-)

Guide To Essay Writing

1. Avoid alliteration. Always.
2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.
3. Avoid clichés like the plague.
4. Employ the vernacular.
5. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.
6. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary
7. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.
8. Contractions aren’t necessary.
9. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
10. One should never generalize.
11. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.”
12. Comparisons are as bad as clichés.
13. Don’t be redundant; don’t use more words than necessary; it’s highly superfluous.
14. Be more or less specific.
15. Understatement is always best.
16. One word sentences? Eliminate.
17. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.
18. The passive voice is to be avoided.
19. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.
20. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.
21. Who needs rhetorical questions?
22. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.