Since I’m n ot a full-time shop keeper anymore, I’m not missing the endless conversations about the weather.  And I’m not missing the newspapers, headlines, and dreary news. Maybe I’m the proverbial ostrich with the head in the sand, but I don’t like bad news. It is always my gripe that news is so subjective, and the media releases only what sells. I do like to know some of what’s going on but I still have the childish fantasy of producing a paper that has only good news in it.

However, I do miss the Saturday ritual of reading the Irish Times weekend magazine. Roisin Ingle is back, with her fresh, spunky, honest words. She has been a journalist for years, left the paper, and recently came back to her weekly spot in the magazine.  She’s my age, has published one book, angsts openly about whatever she thinks will catch people’s attention. Some of her pieces are disgusting, but I still like her for several reasons. For one, she is human, honestly so. For another, I feel she is a good commentary on what life is like for the thirty-somethings in Ireland. It’s not all bad news. But a lot of it is, which is sad, because they believed in the Celtic Tiger which has expired now.

Her last article really got my attention. It made me sad and burdened, but for different reasons than the person to whom she was writing. I’m still drafting an answer to her in my head, though I may prob. never send it to her.

The Irish Times is a Protestant-owned paper, which provides an interesting dynamic in a Catholic country. I like the arts and human interest pieces. And our Very Favourite part of the paper: the crossword. I’ve done crosswords in other magazines and books, but the Times’ is the best. My mom and sister do the puzzle every day, being more brainy than I–but even they don’t do the cryptic option.

I like that the Times is on-line now. That means I can access it anywhere I go. Several weeks ago I was talking with my sister who lives in the US. It was a Saturday, and suddenly in the conversation, she said “Hey, did you read Roisin Ingle’s piece this morning–isn’t it funny?!” I’m not a news junky, and quite like being free from computers for awhile. But I do like that kind of connection with my sister across the globe–we can still read the same things.

Reading II Tim. 2 lately, it struck me that ‘teach’ is mentioned twice in the chapter. There is something about teaching, passing on instruction, that Paul valued and urged Timothy to engage in it. Then elsewhere there is specific instruction that older women should teach the younger. Because teaching is mentioned more than once, it deserves attention.

This is an issue to me for several reasons. My Amish/Mennonite background is very practical, very hands-on, very useful. This is wonderful for many reasons. But I think we are not doing so well at teaching life concepts and spiritual truths so that we can effectively keep on doing and working and being practical in fleshing out our deeper spiritual beliefs.

There is a reason that the Mormon young people meet at 5 every morning to study and be instructed. There is a reason that the Puritans (and others) learned the catechism. There is a reason we prioritize Christian education for children. There is more power in teaching/learning/studying than some of want to think, or than we have been accustomed to thinking.

What to do with that? I don’t know. I’m only a budding TEFL teacher. And a writer of one book. And preparing to teach a young women’s class at Calvary Bible School for 6 wks, starting in Feb.

But I think there is something powerful behind the instruction to teach others about the faith that is precious to us. I prob. tend to swing to the extreme of thinking that more knowledge is more power, that more information is better than less information, that studying and reading is better than playing or putting in time. I know that education is not the answer to the world’s ills. But I think a better-informed heart can make wiser life decisions. This is what I want for myself, and for those I love, and for those coming after me. I don’t know where it will take me, but I care very much about God’s people becoming better trained, better equipped to do His business.

Maybe I should say clearly, after my last post’s mention of whitened teeth and plucked eyebrows, that I think many ladies who do these things are beautiful–dazzling and striking, actually. It’s just that it’s not me, so I’m not going to do it.

I do think, now and then, how nice it would be if grey hair would not be taboo in this world. And how free young women could be if they wouldn’t feel pressured to fit into size 6 or 8 clothes. I’m not advocating a lifestyle of eating carelessly and not exercising and being conscious of weight/health issues. But what is beauty?

I’m happy with the 4 grey hairs that usually hide under my dark brown hair. I like salt and pepper hair. (Maybe mine will be coffee and cream hair.) I cannot relate to the panic that women feel about their greying hair. But I do understand some of the neurosis about skin, weight, those beauty issues. But is that what beauty is? I don’t know everything about it, but I don’t think that’s what it’s about.

I think part of beauty is about being at rest and being graceful in the frame given to us–while respecting and acknowledging that this frame is a gift and on loan. Maybe beauty is being conscious of and valuing both the heart and the frame we have. So why did I just eat that piece of chocolate? Well, I was hungry…

The most fun of writing a book is right now: getting feedback. The other parts are not fun, but this is. I love getting emails and surprise letters in the post, from old and new friends. And so far their feedback is always super gracious and kind, and it makes me feel the sun on my back. Which is very nice after having spent 4 yrs wondering how this combination of words between 2 covers will connect with readers.

I’m honored to hear from readers, and their takes on various points of the book. Sometimes they re-tell it in better words than mine. I like to hear their own stories, their journeys of the heart. It heartens me to see again that we are ALL made of the same stuff, no matter our ages or experiences.

One letter said she doesn’t even know how I look, but she’ll share her heart with me anyhow. That kind of trust is a gift. And although I have always eschewed photos of myself on the internet, and still do, I’ll say here that in case anyone wonders how I look, the words cool, stylish, tall, and slender have never fit me. But my smile is big and real, and my (green/brown) eyes show everything I’m feeling. Unlike many young women of this day, I will probably never succumb to whitening my teeth nor the pain and time of plucking my eyebrows into a pencil-thin line. Even though that makes me un-cool and un-stylish, it doesn’t really seem to be an issue with my friends who seem to treat me like I’m ok anyhow. For which I’m immensely  grateful.

But back to writing a book. When people tell me they’d like to write a book, I always tell them what Elizabeth Elliot said about it: Don’t do it if you can get out of it. But having done it in obedience to God’s  clear instruction, I really am thankful for this stage of getting nice feedback. And maybe it’s better if not everyone knows how I look!

Some years ago, I read a mission newsletter and saw that a girl some years younger than me was a midwife and had delivered her 300th baby. I remember the pang it gave me, of admiring her and feeling that I wasn’t doing anything that noble or laudable. Some time later, I got to meet this girl and found her to be a kindred spirit, a lovely person, and very down to earth and a servant heart.

Then this week I heard from a friend in Central American who is a ‘mom’ to 6 orphans, some of them physically or mentally handicapped. I cannot imagine the huge demands this puts on her, and know that I could NEVER do that, and I’m sooooo proud of her.

All my life, I’ve looked up to people who I think have done wonderful, amazing things with their talents. I’m in awe of them, and think that somehow they breathe some other air than us mere mortals. Then when I get to know them, I find them to be normal people who simply do the next thing ahead of them.

Looking at life from a recliner for the last several weeks makes me think about the worth of a person, and that our value is NOT in what we DO. It is hard for me to switch gears and believe that I am as much value when I sit and give my body time to heal as when I’m rushing around doing a lot of work. And I must value others who seem not to do the amazing, laudable things that I admire, because most likely they too are using their gifts in simple, hidden ways, but are no less amazing or admirable.

June was an eventful month. It took awhile for that to register, yeah, but it often takes a long time for things to settle into my cranium, and be able to connect the dots and see the relevance to things now.

I had my birthday in June. It was really sweet,  how 2 of my sisters came the night before and said they’re the birthday committee, and would I like to go away for a picnic the next day, or have a special tea at home? I opted for staying at home, and they had a most elegant array of food and drink and of course gifts that graced the china on the coffee table. I had ordered iced mocha and nachos which is not entirely a conventional tea menu, but they carried it off with gracious ingenuity. ( I made up that word and use it alot because it’s Very Useful.)

And my sister designed this lovely feminine, artsy, pink menu for the tea. One of the menu items was lembas, but sadly the kitchen had no lembas that day. The menu had lots of cute sayings and lovely fonts scattered throughout. Clearly, it was the kind I put in  my journal. Anyhow, at the very bottom, it had Latin quotes in bold. I asked her what they mean, and she said she doesn’t know, but that it denotes mystery, like a woman. I thought it was fitting to be reminded of mystery on my birthday.

Then 4 days later, another mystery appeared. My doctor became very concerned when she found 2 palpable masses in my stomach. ( I had discovered them months ago when doing the massage course, but thought it was digestion problems, and didn’t do anything about it because it didn’t hurt.) The xray was inconclusive, and an ultrasound appt. was made for the next week. Came home from a harrowing afternoon in the hospital and went on a walk to clear my head and talk with God. There I had the strong impression that I must ask to be annointed, following the pattern set in James 4.

So the next night, the church leaders and sisters gathered in our living room, and we committed this mystery to God, affirming our trust in His love and wisdom. The lumps didn’t disappear like I’d ask God for, but His peace was and is beyond words.

On Sept. 16 I’m planning to be seen by the interventional radiologist who will do the embolization on the tumors. Basically, that means blocking the blood supply to the tumors, so that they shrink. They are still growing noticeably, and are affecting my moves somewhat, but not much. It’s painful to slouch, so that improves my posture! They are big enough that embolization may not be an option, which means major surgery to remove the tumors. (One is at least 14 cms across.) The worst case scenario would be a hysterectomy, but I’m not dwelling on that.

This is all a mystery. I have no answers, and am learning to be ok with saying “I don’t know” when thinking about what God is doing in all of this waiting and risks. I think that may be the most faith-filled answer after all–the heart that is ok with mystery is at rest and ready to receive whatever God says. I think that’s what He values more than pat, ready answers.