48 Hours Out

Two days later, of course, the perspective is better. Maybe it helps that I messed with knitting much of the weekend. The string and sticks excitement even motivated me to do enough math to figure out a pattern of my own doing (kind of) for a stoll/shawl thing for the end of my Mom and Dad's bed to compliment the gorgeous quilt Joanna made for them last Christmas. Now I gotta see if I can get THIS done by the next Christmas ;)

Thanks for the kind and encouraging comments. It never ceases to amaze me that even when we know better or know "the facts", it's a tremendous blessing when people speak truth over us. Thank you.

Big breath for a new week. New mercies and "burning grace like rocket fuel". Every moment. Can't walk it without you, Lord. Not just, "I don't want to." I mean it: "I can't." Please be present in every breath.

Not Today

I just don't have it in me today.

Today, nothing fits me. Nothing that is being asked of me, of how I live and work, hangs comfortably on me. Today, it's all too big, too hard.

Today, I don't even know what could be asked of me that would feel like a fit. I can't remember what I am good at anymore. What might God have designed me for? I had answers a few years ago; not so much, now. I like being a cheerleader, rah-rah optimist, who makes people laugh and feel better. I like being nice to people (though I fully realize I do not always succeed in the attempts--sometimes I don't even attempt). What kind of productive career with an impact for God's Kingdom do you live out with those two desires?

Today, I don't have a clue.

Today, I am the "my every failure leads to another example of my failure" girl. Just a few days ago I was bragging (in that nice, "look what God has changed in me" kind of way) that I don't really live in the world of Kathie butt-kicking that I used to. Used to be, when I would catch myself in a mistake or a moment where I realized I could have been more Christ-like, I would spend far more time berating myself about my poor behavior than confessing and being renewed at the feet of my Savior.

Today feels like failure. It feels like years of failure with some of the same struggles, the same lack of growth, the same fears, the same selfish "why can't things just be the way I want?"

In a work discussion yesterday about potential changes and reprioritizing, a very caring person asked me if the new ideas and plans (compared to a different plan we once envisioned, neither one materially or inherently better than the other) made me feel like a failure at all ... in light of the changes and shifts, he was worried about me. The intent of the question was, without doubt, to make sure that I knew I was not viewed by anyone as a failure. I answered confidently, glibly, "No! I am grateful for this. Everything that has transpired has been in the kindness and wisdom of my Father."

Today, the answer's different. Though I know it's not true, my tired spirit cries out, "Sorry! I know I blew it!"

Today, I am sick of being shaped, reworked, molded, built up, refined. I want to be a lump of clay that's left alone in whatever color, shape, sheen, I already am. Something raw in me says, "ENOUGH already! NO MORE change! THANK YOU!" I want to be selfish, to curl up in the safety of Him and not be available to the world.

Today, I don't want to be used of Him, to be a valuable tool, to make a difference.

Today, I am not loving "learning to be imperfect" as my blog description so cheerily states. I want perfection, or something much closer to it. I am worn out with embracing the tripping, stumbling me. I want to be a girl that looks like she knows at least a speck of what she's doing.

Today, there is not enough of me to go around.

The great thing about being a girl and being 40 is that this may all well change tomorrow.

But today, this is the story. Good thing His mercies are new every morning. They'll be back.

The Godfather Was Here

Well, at least he would have been pleased to be here. We would have fed him well.

[P.S. Look away now, Corrina...pictures of food follow.]

Tonight's movie event was The Godfather and deeeee-licious Italian food. I invited the right people, I tell ya. We ate gorgeous yumminess!

Appetizers of Jen's insalata caprese, Barb's bruschetta and marinated mozarella, and Alissa's prosciutto e melone were heavenly.








Then we reveled in spaghetti and sausage (Pete Ferrara's red sauce recipe...kiss that man for me next time you see him) and Bonni's homemade lasagna.


And I can't believe we forgot to take pictures of the whole plate of cannoli and of Karin's homemade ice cream (peach and chocolate) and strawberry Italian ice, but here is the one cannolo that was left over...not for long, though!


All this tasty goodness was enjoyed with a Malbec, one each from Barb and Alissa. Man, that's happy stuff. And the label on the Cupcake Malbec is just adorable :)

Thanks for a great night, friends! And why can't we remember to take pictures of the people, too? We are as gorgeous as the food!

Know what's cool about being a grown-up?

(That's being a grown-up according to my age, not to be confused with acting like a grown-up. I know you know this.)

You can decide that doing perhaps two moderately productive things when you come home is plenty. Then you can eat dinner and chill. You need not be productive all evening, 'cause I am the grown-up who lives here and I say so.

Spray some weeds and wash out the bird bath. Done. Time to chill.

Trim a few rose bushes and tidy up the lawn of the rocks that trickled into the grass from the new river rock installed in the flower beds yesterday. Oh, and replace the filter in the heater/air conditioner unit. That's three things! Done. Time to chill.

Okay, there was a fourth thing: do a little shiver dance on the lawn when you find yet another little blue robin egg shell all broken into and empty. Directive to the big, mean birds around here: "STOP eating the little blue robin eggs! Sad!"

But back to my story...

Now, granted, this system may work as splendidly as it does because I don't have another grown-up or any small-ups demanding anything from me, but don't let any jealousy you may have ooze out. That's a mess I don't want to clean up. 'Cause it's time to chill ;)

There are those weeks of insanity crammed with other commitments, of course, 'tis true. But this current come-home-system is makin' me pretty happy!

I may have just now embraced this new approach as a result of years of being conditioned that summer means I should not be working, or because my mom just retired and is doing exhausting things like going to lunch with friends and Disneyland with my dad. My brain thinks IT should be on vacation (permanent or otherwise), too!

There is also a new freedom about some things. Somewhere I did a post (maybe it was Facebook) last year about giving in and hiring a yard guy/gardener and admitting my utter disinterest and painfully slow learning curve regarding my yard. I love looking at the thing, but I feel no draw to do anything to it.

What a brilliant decision. It was part of a list of things I committed at the beginning of this year to NOT doing: I do not have to make myself learn to cook, love to garden, or be a better housekeeper. I am a working girl. There you go. "Freedom!" I cry, in my best William Wallace voice!

So, two or three chores, then chill! Ooh...I bet a Sonic Blast would help that along...ooh...

Q&A from StoryCorps

Liann introduced her students to StoryCorps toward the end of the year, so I got to meet it, too. What a great site to wander through and listen to the stories that are captured there. Be prepared to laugh and to cry and to reflect.

This is the first animation that StoryCorps added to any of their collected stories. It's called "Q&A" and captures a 12-year-old with Asperger's syndrome interviewing his mom about being his parent. It's only four minutes, but be prepared to laugh and to cry and to reflect.

Hope it's a perk in your day :)

Q&A from StoryCorps on Vimeo.

The Ego Dance

That's "ego", not "Eggo". I am not a dancin' waffle. (Please read that in the voice of Donkey.)

There is both a bit of disappointment and joy in some life revelations. One of the more recent ones has been the reminder that we never stop being called to growth and change and further, further, further submission to Christ.

Obviously, I know this, but my ego really wants it the other way.

I want the list of achievements and benchmarks that say, "Well, boy howdy, Slusser sure has nailed that aspect of the Christian walk! Well done, girl! No more testin' on that there life challenge!" (I don't know why my voice suddenly went from Donkey to Stinky Pete, but there you have it.)

I know the life growth pattern is richer and deeper, but it's also harder. Can I tell you how horrifically naturally lazy I am? Oy.

So, that's my true confession to come to the spot where I say there is more joy in this particular revelation than disappointment. It gave me a moment's pause recently to listen to a wonderful speaker at our Family Conference who talked about how God, his heartbeat and dearest love, continues to stretch and grow him.

The speaker is 82.

He gets growing opportunities like his flight home with his 80-year-old wife, winding up sleeping in the Atlanta airport overnight because of flight delays. The airport shut down and there were no hotel rooms to be had.

I gotta tell ya, in my head I was like, "Whoa! Give that guy a break! Seriously? Oh, man!"

But I remember the tenderness with which he told the stories of the innumerable times God touched his heart, kept him safe, and rescued him. And I know I want that more than easy, more than benchmarks, more than an "Atta girl".

So, as I submit today and ask God to provide the things I can't make happen (prayer and financial support are this week's focus) and the things I shouldn't make happen without Him, I want to send my ego packing. Again.

And I will not kick my own backside about having to do it yet again.

Because I will still be doing it when I am 82. Lord willing :)

I try to be normal, truly.

I go to lunch like a normal person. I order normal food. I use normal utensils to cut normal bites. Okay, sometimes they are on the larger, more enthusiastic side, but still...today they were normal.

I do take better than normal people with me, mind you. Today I was treated to lunch by Miss Blee for my birthday (that's right...it's June and my b-day is still rockin'!). I promised to use her code name because of where the rest of this story goes. I am committed to the protection of the innocent. Even though she laughed when it happened.

I ordered a perfectly normal, lovely lunch of a petite sirloin, potato and broccoli. See how normal?

I cut a few bites of broccoli and chomp-chomp and all is well. What a nice lunch. What enjoyable company. Tra la la la la.

I go to cut another bite. Slight slip of the knife and fork. No worries; I still have all my fingers. And Blee still has all of hers.

So, slip of knife and fork...the bite of broccoli and the stalk I was cutting it from are still on the plate, but I did see something fly at me.

I glance at the napkin in my lap and see a bitty nubbin of broccoli which I clearly launched off my plate. Whew! It's in my lap! Safe!

But I am me, so I quickly think, "Not so fast, Sluss. Look down again." This time I glance at my shirt. Because if food does not land there, I can pretty much guarantee that it at least caromed off there. Yep. We have a winner.

Not only did the broccoli tidbit, which had bumped into the sightly oily sauce that was on my plate, smack me in the shirt, but it smacked me on the right side. Kind of far right. A significant, dark little circle strategically located on the most pronounced part of my right side.

Yes...I gave myself a "dot" right there. For Pete's sake. It was abundantly obvious, too. Blee chuckled heartily and recommend that I carry my purse on the right side as we left the restaurant. And as, Jennifer said when I stopped at her desk when I got back to the office, "Ha haa haa! Wow. I can't not look at it!"

Yep. I launched food off my plate and gave myself what I want to call a broccoli nipple. But Blee said it was too horrible to say. So I can't say it.

But now you know why she wanted her code name used in here. Jennifer and Bonni, though, I think are quite proud of me :)

And how did I manage the rest of the afternoon in the office, you ask? I keep a scarf in my office in case I feel chilly. Turns out it can also function as a fashionable drape across that third...um...dot.

In the meantime, my dreams of achieving a normal life will linger on...

Trying this from the iPod

Trying to do this from the iPod. Success?

Guess so! Sometimes it's more fun to snap out something while laying in bed on your tummy. This might make it possible :)

Had a most lovely morning at the BAM (Boise Art Museum) and lunch at Bardenay in downtown Boise with fun friends. Thanks for riches like that, Lord!

It was a lovely Friday to cap off two days of the MAF Family Conference and a chance to hear an encouraging speaker and eat too much and get dunked MORE than enough times in a dunk tank. Quite the two days, I tell ya :)

This evening was punctuated with laundry and trying to figure out why I can't seem to keep much in the fridge except condiments. And trying to decide if an addiction to giant green olives is a bad thing. I need to grow up. Maybe tomorrow!

Time to get back in here...

and do some typeity, typeity, typing! It's late tonight and time for bed (I need rest before my big dunk tank adventure tomorrow...oy!), but Cindy's little ditty on my Facebook page has been a sweet and funny reminder to get back in here. Plus, I had to send the blog link to Liz, now that she uses Google Reader, so I guess I better do something to make stuff show up :)

And it's a nice thought to leap back in here when I am in a happy place since it seems like I tend to turn here after long absences when things are crumbling in some way. That's not bad, but it should be fun to just see what God has in store for me to ramble about. Like responding to Linda's post about being on the inside. It's been interesting to think about that. Guess maybe that will be the next post!

Catch ya after the tank and when I am dry and warm again :)

Security

Okay, very briefly, and before the Ambien kicks in... I have been sitting in a conference all week that addresses significant security issues for the line of work I'm in, depending upon the countries in which you work. In fact, I am currently somewhere that, at least in this very metropolitan-seeming resort, blocks blogspot.com addresses.

One conversation led to another, and I suddenly felt like I wanted to lock down my blog. So I tried it. The process offered to let me invite people to sign up from a list of some of my contacts, but it certainly was not inclusive enough. So not everyone that I wanted to receive an invitation got one. And some who were probably thinking, "What makes you think I want to read your tripe?" did get invites. It's a broad audience out there, you know.

By today, I had calmed down a bit, so I am taking the restrictions off and am back to an open shop (and the world rejoices, no doubt). But I did realize there are some projects we (my work peeps and moi) are starting to participate in that will likely necessitate me locking this down at given moments depending upon what visas I need to apply for in the future. We'll navigate that when the time comes.

In the meantime, I hope I did not cause offense with either the lack of an invite or the intrusion of an unwanted invite.

Back to free flow drivel...or dribble, as the Ambien begins its work...

Obtuse

Yes, it's obtuse to work on a sermon/message for church about suffering and the different views of it from a Western perspective and a Global South perspective while you are eating dinner at Outback with a more-than-full meal in front of you.

And almost making yourself cry while you read and take notes and highlight and underscore when you are alone in a restaurant booth probably doesn't look all that bright.

But I am starting to embrace the not-so-bright part of me more and more. At least I want to. She is definitely the majority of my makeup, and I am tired of getting frustrated with her and kicking her around for hours or days. I like to think I am a real smarty pants, but when it comes down to it, I am blessed in some moments with a brain and the right words, but I just don't have any game to bring to the table without Him.

And I sure need Him for this Sunday. I need eight minutes of speaking (shared with three other folks with eight minutes each) where He says what He wants, not what I want, and where I am not aiming for people to be happy with me or proud of me, but where His will is accomplished.

And sometimes that requires me looking like an idiot. So I need to be ready and willing for that, too.

I dread speaking. I love being engaged with people and talking, but this speaking in front of groups makes me more and more nervous the older I get. I grew into this dislike; when I was a kid, I couldn't get myself in front of a group of people fast enough.

Now, I know what words can do, good and bad, and I know what my ego can do, which is always bad. Getting myself out of the way for Him to talk is quite the exhausting emptying process leading up to speaking engagements. Me no likey.

But I can tell He wants me to do it, so I show up. And that's one of the themes for 2010: just show up. He doesn't need me to be smart, to be perfect, to be the Swiss Army Knife of all answers and solutions at the ready. He apparently just needs me to show up empty of myself and wait for Him to start moving.

Wow. Just the opposite of my character. Shocker.

So I go to bed with a full belly tonight and I will wake up with Haiti on my mind and more places like it in my heart. Because I live where I read about suffering in restaurants, and I go to places where I visit want and come home to plenty, and I was born into a culture that thinks suffering should never be part of the life equation and thinks we are rich enough and smart enough to eradicate it.

Obtuse.

Kickboxing Math

Humiliation of walking for a bit of the class when everyone else (it seems like) is running < Humiliation of having to call ambulance due to potential of collapsing in panting, heaving, gasping, red-faced heap

No Ambulance = Good Kickboxing Class

Fear of ex-military instructor who could snap me in two though she is half my size > Longing to faint to ground and wallow in the Jell-o-y wad that is me = Obeying every command of "JAB!", "HOOK!", CROSS!", and "SIDEKICK!" no matter how I bob and sway and drip

I like Thursdays :)

Dross: Burn it up, Lord

Man, there is a lot of dross in here. My soul is messy and crowded with things that have no business in there. I want that junk out and I want it out now.

It feels more like, "I want them out," like there's a bunch of hooligans running amok. Little jerks.

"Out, wearying worries and useless tail-chasing! Out, old, worn thinking ruts and circular thought patterns! And I've got a stick I'll use on ya if you come back this way!"

I wish it worked like that. God seems in no hurry to turn things upside down and shake out the garbage all at once. Even if I get fed up with it all at once.

Instead I get practice sessions at being a new creation in Christ. And while I am confident that, in terms of salvation and being seated in the heavenlies, the whole "new creation" thing happened all at once, I believe that in terms of refining me in the flesh I still walk about in, it certainly did not. It appears that I have the opportunity in that sense to be a new creation every day.

Make that every hour.

Okay, every minute.

Maybe even every 3.8 second interval.

So I pray for the grace to continue to show up for practice. I have never been good at practicing anything, really. Flute, piano, softball (never even got the gumption up for tryouts, though I would pine every season to play). I want instant results now; as Liann has noted, I just don't play stuff I can't win, which seems to indicate a liking for minimal exertion on my part.

But I am starting to get the picture that stuff takes practice. And I am sick of the ugly in here, sick of drowning in dross. So practice it is.

In 3.8 second intervals. Over and over and over and over again.

Glad He never gets weary.

Grace: Gimme more, Lord

Dang. Getting PRACTICE (I don't call it "lessons" anymore) to grow my patience and grace every moment in my work, it seems. Gonna look like Stretch Armstrong by the end of 2010.

Dying to self. Dying to self. Dying to self.

Feels like this crazy combination of God putting me in situations to care about things it's hard to naturally care about (or that I don't think I should HAVE to care about), and letting things go that my heart naturally gravitates toward. Nothing on the compass that God is using on me at the moment feels natural. I don't LIKE IT!

There ya go, ye amongst you who demandeth Slusser posts. Not pretty right now!