Is it Pain or is it Beauty?

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I’ve written about Don Miller before, as in here and here. I follow his blog, on which he posts sporadically.

A couple days ago, I found the post especially profound. There was a paragraph that pierced me. I think it’s truth, though I’m still mulling over it, and there are ways in which I want to disagree because I wish that beauty didn’t have anything to do with pain. I guess that’s what we were made for, but on this side of Eden, the two will be inextricably linked.

…beautiful things are frightening. When something beautiful happens it’s sometimes like an amputation, like your heart is being cut out with a knife. You don’t ever think when you are in extreme pain that you are being saved, chosen, picked for relationship, set aside to be loved. You can never really believe pain. It’s almost always something beautiful transitioning to something better, the whole time masquerading as a tragedy.

The Diet to End All Diets

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Monday—
Breakfast Weak tea (1 calorie)
Lunch 1 boullion cube
1/3 cup water (2 1/2 calories)
Dinner 3 oz. prune juice (gargle)
1 pigeon thigh (1 1/2 calories)

Tuesday—
Breakfast Scraped crumbs from burnt toast (1/2 calorie)
Lunch 1 doughnut hole (no sugar)
1 glass dehydrated water (0 calories)
Dinner 1 canary drumstick (4 calories)

Wednesday—
Breakfast Boiled out stains of table cover (1/4 calorie)
Lunch 1/2 dozen poppy seeds (3 calories)
Dinner Bee’s knees and mosquito
knuckles, saute with vinegar (2 calories)

Thursday—
Breakfast Shredded eggshell skins (1 calorie)
Lunch Belly button from navel orange (0 calories)
Dinner 3 eyes from Irish potato (diced) (3 calories)

Friday—
Breakfast 2 lobster antennae (1/2 calorie)
Lunch 1 guppy fin (1 calorie)
Dinner Jellyfish vertebrae (3 calories)

Saturday—
Breakfast 4 chopped banana seeds (1/2 calorie)
Lunch Broiled butterfly liver (1 calorie)
Dinner Fillet of soft shell crab claw (1 calories)

Sunday—
Breakfast Pickled hummingbird tongue (2 calories)
Lunch Prime rib of tadpole (3 calories)
Dinner Tossed paprika and cloverleaf salad;
1 aroma of empty custard pie plate (1/2 calorie)

NOTE: ALL MEALS TO BE EATEN UNDER MICROSCOPE TO AVOID EXTRA PORTIONS!! WEIGHT LOSS GUARANTEED. GOOD LUCK!!

Airy-Fairy or Practical?

Posted in life by

“Our people tend to be practical, and don’t have time for dreamers and airy-fairy people. We are terribly practical,” I said.

“No, we’re not,” someone else said. “If we weren’t airy-fairy, we wouldn’t be out here drinking frappes while there’s work to be done inside.”

“We’d be washing the dishes.”

“And filling the canning jars.”

“You’re right–and washing up the floor for SURE before we even THINK about going outside,” I added.

We were four sisters and mom, sitting in the sun-infused grass. They had called me at my house, and knowing the psychological moves to make, said “We’re having mocha frappes outside–but you don’t have to come!”

So of course I came, and drank and sat with them, and laughed and laughed while mom read “The Diet to End all Diets” to us.

I think it’s easier to be practical after being fanciful and airy-fairy first.

An Old Friend, A New Book

Posted in books, My Book by

Michelle is one of my oldest, bestest friends. When I’m particularly sad or mad or glad, I pick up the phone and talk it out with her, and she listens and asks questions, and we shriek and lecture and giggle and howl by turns. Yup, it can get noisy.

Back in ’05, she and her husband and son lived here for seven weeks, and we were both working on our books. We’d sit cross-legged on her couch, each with a laptop, critiquing each other’s drafts. We’d hash out the issues we were writing/reading about, and delete and add paragraphs. It was brutal, safe honesty, and incredible fun, even though I’m pretty sure neither of us want to do it again. At least not for a long time.

It always amazes me that we get along so well, Michelle and I. We have lots of similar interests and passions, but we have lots of differences about less important things. She likes light blue; I don’t touch it. She doesn’t like desserts so much, but I do. She likes a more modern decor; my default is eclectic. My book was primarily for singles. Hers is for new brides. Our worlds could hardly be more diverse. But we get along like a house on fire.

Now her book is here! I got a copy yesterday. She co-authored it with her sister Christy. I am as proud of them as can be.

Authors don’t write books because they are masters of their subjects, or have all the answers. They write because they are more honest than most of the populace about the issues they live with, wrestle with, learn about. They are hungry students who know there’s more to learn. I didn’t write my book for single women because I believe that single is the best and only way to live, or because I want to be single all my life, or because I know everything about living well singly. I wrote because it was time to be honest about the scenario many ladies find themselves in, and because those ladies deserved a caring, sensitive voice.

Michelle and Christy wrote with the same motivations. Writing from the middle of their lives as new brides gave them a voice of understanding and credibility. The book is honest, personal, and articulate–a winning combination.

To order your copy of Marital Bliss with a kiss of reality, email Michelle at smilesbymiles[dot]gmail[dot]com. Visit their blog here to “meet” them and/or subscribe to updates. I like the fun, interactive blog even though none of it applies to me, so you have to know it’s a good one if I’ve subscribed to it.

I skimmed the book last night. Not being a bride, I’ll likely not be taking the time to read it from cover to cover. But I cheer for solid marriages and women who love their husbands and families well, and I will promote this book because of what’s in it and because the authors are stellar ladies who deserve big cheers for their enormous vision and creative wordsmithing. I believe the world will be more beautiful for what they wrote.

Bravo to Michelle and Christy!

A Day in the Life

Posted in Ireland, life by

She’s a little old widow, and I used to see her every day when she came for milk and bread, walking from her house around the corner. Now she lives in town, and it’s probably been a year since I’d last seen her. She looked well, but sad, and in her own world. Was she too old and forgetful to remember me anymore? “Carol!” I said. “I haven’t seen you for ages! I have to give you a hug!”*

I rushed around the counter to her, and as I held her for a quick moment, she murmured against my shoulder, “Oh, I love a hug!”

Then we chatted quickly, because there were other customers waiting, and as she went out the door, she said, “And thanks for the cuddle!”

Oh, Carol, that was the easiest thing I’d done all day.

Later, I was watering the flowers outside and Tony, an older gentleman, a family friend, came up and chatted and told me crazy stories like he always does, and made me laugh and laugh.* Just before he left, his voice softened and he told me of his sixty-eight year old brother who’s an alcoholic and not been well for years. And now the brother met a twenty-five year old girl in the far East, and he’s dead set on going to see her, and Tony is worried for the brother and himself, because there’s substantial money and risk somewhere in there.

Tony loves to share his sail boat with his friends, and promised he’d be in touch later in the summer. “When I get the mast back on her, we’ll take her on a spin to the next harbour,” he said.

Listening to his stories, crazy and sad ones, in exchange for a ride on a sail boat? An easy trade, I’d say.

Shop keeping isn’t always that delightful, but these two people came in on the same day this week, and made me smile and made my job easier.

A line from Philip Yancey’s Disappointment with God often inspires/paralyzes/convicts me. It is when he’s talking about his friend who wants to see God, and asks for visible proof that God is there. Philip says his friend will likely never see God’s hand writing in the sky, or some other dramatic move. He will only see me, Philip says.

How can it be, that the infinite God allows fallible earthlings to tell each other that He exists, that He’s not a figment of imagination, that He is the giver of good things? I wonder if Carol and Tony know that God is real, and that I love Him. They will probably never hear His voice thunder from a cloud. They will only see me.

This is why there is dignity and purpose in being a store keeper.

*Names have been changed.

Happy Returns

Posted in Ireland, life by

I crack up every time I think about it. About six months ago, I was at work, and a business man was outside talking with my dad. I guess they were talking about their families, as family men do, and then they came in and dad introduced me to the man as his oldest daughter.

“Oh, nice to meet you–how old are you?” the man asked me.

In this country, you don’t ask a lady her age, and if you have the audacity to do so, she would still never tell you. So his question took me aback because I’m not used to the question, plus for a couple seconds, I honestly couldn’t remember my age.

So I stammered a little bit, and finally remembered which of my thirties I was in, and because I don’t always abide by protocol, I didn’t mind telling him I was thirty-five.

And then he stammered and hemmed for a couple seconds, poor man. I guess the men had been comparing children and ages or something, and he explained that he thought I was in my upper teens. Which of course was very flattering if unbelievable.

But now every time the big man bustles in, I want to giggle at the funny, awkward memory. But I think I’ve refrained so far.

So yesterday I couldn’t say I’m thirty-five anymore. I still quite enjoy birthdays, and think June is the best time of year for them. I like the chance to look at a milestone and try to take stock of the year, and think about what I’ve learned in the last twelve months, and what I want to aim for next year. I proudly count two new white hair, which I’ve gained by honest means. I’m glad I’ve learned uncountable, intangible things that will shape me for life, and hopefully I unlearned other things.

It was a lovely birthday. My sister worked for me in the afternoon and freed me to go to town and meet two friends for a long, leisurely coffee. In the evening, four of us went to Dunmore, got locally-caught fish, and chips (with salt and vinegar–ahhh!), and ate them on the cliffs in the wind and song of the sea. Back home, we took a good long walk then played a fun round of Scrabble, and at the end, a family from church walked in, carrying a strawberry-decorated bun with a lit candle, singing Happy Birthday, once in English and once in Polish.

I think it will be a good year, being thirty-six. Even if someone asks me how old I am.

What do you do for fun?

Posted in life, Poland by

When I was writing my book, I let myself buy books in the name of research. When I was studying massage therapy, I allowed myself a massage now and then in the name of research. And of course I benefited from the good, necessary things that I might otherwise have called indulgences.

Now I am headed to Poland to teach English and with that package comes the necessity to study Polish, and I haven’t found anything indulgent about it. Unless it is to grab random moments to sit in the sun and review vocabulary. I am not like any of my three sisters who have had language hobbies for years, and happily sat in the living room with grammar books and recordings in various languages. I always said I was still trying to master English.

It’s a love-hate phenomenon, this language study. I expect that I’ll keep toeing this delicate dance for the next two years. I’m scared. And out of my depth. Happy for a change of career, and reveling in a challenge.

Taking on a challenge is something I do for fun.

Something to Think About

Posted in life by

When I read this article, it both convicted and inspired me.

It starts with this:

Spiritual formation occurs primarily in the context of community. Persons who remain connected with their brothers and sisters in the local church almost invariably grow in self-understanding. And they mature in their ability to relate in healthy ways to God and to fellow human beings. This is especially the case for those courageous Christians who stick it out through the messy process of interpersonal conflict. Long-term relationships are the crucible of genuine progress in the Christian life. People who stay grow.

People who leave do not grow.

I don’t have any good answers or solutions, but I think Hellerman’s words define much of where we are, and where we should be going as spiritual families who are committed to each other for the sake of Christ and His reputation.

This convicted me:

It is our individualism—our insistence that the rights and satisfaction of the individual must take priority over any group to which one belongs—that has seriously compromised our ability to stay in relationship and grow with one another as God intends.

A Little Bit Goes a Long Way

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It was probably about ten years ago, in a long, dark winter when SAD and normal life threatened to swallow me into its vortex, and I decided to decisively, consciously think about the things I was thankful for. Every night I listed at least one thing that showed me God’s smile that day. It became part of my going-to-sleep routine, and I’ve filled several notebooks of dates and lists.

One season, I thought I was beyond that exercise, was mature enough to rise above whatever was around me, didn’t need to concentrate so much on being thankful. Gradually, the threatening vortex came back. One day I was sad and depressed that I couldn’t be a reunion that my friends were at, 5,000 miles away. My friend (who calls herself my pancake turner because she reaches into the corners of my soul, flips over and exposes whatever hides there) said, “Anita, you HAVE to give thanks NOW, for THIS. If you don’t, you’ll become a bitter, miserable person.”

I burst into tears, and said I don’t want to be bitter and miserable, and she repeated that I have to be thankful now and here. So I took baby steps to feebly give thanks again. Every night. I didn’t know that it was an Oprah Winfrey thing to do. I only knew that some nights I waited for a long time before I could come up with something to write, but the exercise kept me sane and focused on good things.

I’m learning to never say never, but this one thing I plan to never do: never stop writing my thanks journal. In the last year or so, I’ve noticed other people are promoting the idea too. And today, I saw an extension of the idea here. (Go read it today because tomorrow you have to pay to access the archives.) The article was good, but missed the point of giving thanks to God, the giver of all gifts.

At the end of the day, it’s great to come up with a list of things to be thankful for, but the best thing is that there’s Someone to say “thanks” to.

Love’s Strength

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It came to me when I was reading John 10–that this Jesus is big enough and good enough to trust because He sacrificed a lot. I am the Good Shepherd; the Good Shepherd gives His life for the sheep.

Giving His life is sacrifice, and proves His love. The lines from Ugo Bassi come to mind: Love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice/And he who suffereth most hath most to give.

It is (relatively) easy to act as if we love someone. One proof of love is in its sacrifice. But I Corinthians 13 says I could sacrifice, give away my belongings or give up my life, without love. And I have seen selfishness masquerading as love.

So what is love? Is it only sacrifice? Jesus must have expected the question, because He explained the difference between Love and Apparent Love: the hired man runs away because he doesn’t care about the sheep, but the shepherd stays and offers his life.

Love doesn’t run away, doesn’t detour conflict, doesn’t look for an easy escape when things get scary. Paul defined love as suffering long–quite the opposite from running away. Christ’s sacrifice and His tenacity prove His love. God sacrificed, gave up, risked endlessly, at incredible cost.

My only reasonable response is worship: love, surrender, sacrifice. The proof of my love for Him is when I am finished with meeting God as if at a drive-through window and ordering super-sized pleasures. Instead, I must meet Him an altar (the place of sacrifice) acknowledging His love, and pledging mine. And I know that I can never out-love Him.