You must be kidding...

Reluctant Breakfast

2011-02-03T12:06:00.002-07:00

From January 23, 2011 -- I am leaving it in present tense because that's how I pounded it out in the restaurant. And I'll just keep adding to finally post it tonight. So there.

Here's a first: Jesus wants to go to breakfast and I don't want to.

He wants to talk and I don't want to hear it.

It's the kind of thin-lipped, brow-scrunched, cheek-chewed morning that casts my memory back to the kicking and screaming I first did when He called me to start this blog. "You must be kidding: Because God said to put it out there ..." is not just a sassy little title I made up. I was mad, struggling with things that were too big for me, annoyed that my boat was rocking, and wanting to keep it bloody quiet, thank you very much. I'd say that I am ticked off all over again just thinking about it, but I think that's today's ticked-offedness roiling, not juice from five years ago.

It's been many, many weeks now that I have recognized an increasing tendency to let the noise and busyness of life be okay with me alongside a decreasing desire to hear deep things. I want to be efficiently surface shallow that I get lots of things done. I am more and more drawn to what my pal Amber calls "the siren call of suburbia". I want peace and quiet and simplicity and to do what I want when I want. In a cute little house.

It's been a stretching, tiring few years, and I think God has given me some sweet respite in there, where he said, "It's okay. Just be quiet and rest." And there were things I couldn't sort in my brain and it felt good to ignore them to some degree and say, "Too hard. Don't need to know. Yours, God, not mine."

And I don't think there's anything theologically wrong with that. In fact, it's probably the way to live with him if I could find the groove to stay in it. But I do think that I have let the brain vacation dally on more than was intended and I have become too content with making me cozy and allowed that in turn to blossom into an impatience to wait on God long enough to hear his voice instead of just the "not so bad" ideas and thoughts that well up from my lump of fatty brain mass.

An increased hunger for him combined with decreased patience on my part and an inability, and, frankly, a lack of desire, to quiet my soul and do the hard surrender that listening requires has left me here ...

desperately feeling the void in my soul and furious as heck that he wants to talk to me about it and maybe call me to things I don't want to hear about.

Mix that in with a current season of sensing consistent, loud condemnation in my heart and soul over just about everything connected with my work and ministry, which I know is not from him but is freaking loud right now, and you have a pretty ugly Sluss cocktail.

Which is why I am pondering locking this blog-thing down to invited readers only if I am supposed to get really honest out here. But then there's this out-loud, slightly shouting tussle I get into with God about why he says he wants me writing and putting all my blah-blah out there anyway. I am not pickin' up what he's puttin' down at the moment, if ya catch my drift.

All that to say, I was completely willing to turn down bacon in order to avoid breakfast with him. But go I did. We'll see what French toast and the Holy Spirit have to say about things in the long run.

Well, Merry Christmas! See ya back in Heaven!

2011-01-17T19:06:00.002-07:00

One of the friends that it’s a hoot for me to post about but who is a bit shier than I am (read: has boundaries of appropriateness) has agreed to have a code name based on my post about aqua zumba; she’s the one who forgot her towel once and grabbed a blanket from her car instead.

Now, she’s Blanket Girl. And until she stops being an introvert, I’ll try to use her code name :)

Blanket Girl’s Christmas was different than mine. As we discussed all my goodies and what we were going to do with the P.F. Chang’s gift certificate burning a hole in my pocket and with that Disneyland Premium Annual Pass in my wallet and the iTunes gift card that was already uploaded into my account, she couldn’t contain herself anymore.

“Good grief! You are SO spoiled! Do you know what I opened on Christmas Day?”

“What? A belt? Bike clips? Deodorant? Toothpaste? Don’t act like you didn’t ask for all of those things. I know you did. Can we talk about why you want deodorant for Christmas?”

“You can always use deodorant and toothpaste. You can’t ever have too much. And, no, I didn’t get those things.”

“Then, what?”

“Sympathy cards. A box of them.”

“What the … ?”

She wasn't kidding. Mailed to her from family in another state (mind you, someone PAID to mail these to her), on Christmas Day she pulled from a merry box some angel accoutrement, and then, the capper …

Merry Christmas! Hope you get to use all twelve of these up this year and then we can send you another box with the new designs!

No matter how weird your Christmas was, you probably can’t lay claim to this level of crazy or “Whoops, didn’t read the box” scenario.

I think I’ll keep my homemade quilts, thanks :)

Where everybody knows your name …

2011-01-12T20:57:00.001-07:00

Think watching Guy Fieri is fun? Me, too. Problem is, watching Triple D or anything else where he's eating or cooking just makes me want to EAT!

Happily, I caved in tonight and went to one of the places a few miles from my house where Guy's been for Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. You're jealous. Trust me. Mom and Dad have been there with me. They even wrote on the wall, it was so nummy. In fact, I texted Mom while I was there tonight to make sure she was jealous since I knew that would make dinner taste better ;) The first time Mom and I ate here, I had split pea soup; when they asked me how it was, I asked if they would mind if I moved in for the winter.

Rick's Press Room is in a fabulous spot I love in Meridian; my two favorite pizza places, my yarn shop, and Rick’s are all within yards of each other. I think of it as my happy block :)

To appreciate the total joy of the rest of my post, and to get hungry, take six minutes and watch this.

And, yes, that celery slaw is mmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Just going in the door makes me happy. Julie, Rick’s wife, greets you like she’s known you forever and learns your name and checks on you at all the right moments during dinner. She shared the special for tonight, but my mouth had been anticipating the salmon in potato since an hour before I left the office. Order up!

I smile through my spring salad and then that salmon arrives, cozy in its hash brown crunchiness, perched on a bed of mashed potatoes and julienned zucchini. And, oh, the sauce.

In the midst of this joy, Rick came out to greet me and see how I was doing! So nice! I like people who appreciate my enthusiastic gushing about tasty things :)

Next thing you know, things unabashedly look like this:

And next thing I know, Julie is walking up with this:

and says that Rick wants to buy me dessert. Truly? Thank you and Yay Yay Yay for Sluss! I told Julie that the chocolate mousse cheesecake and I would be having a private moment at the table …

I was so full after this that I could feel it in my ears. No advice on whether that is good or bad, please. Just let me wallow and enjoy.

We chatted a bit before I left (Julie liked that I was texting my parents to make them jealous – tee hee!). I told her that I don’t need a neighborhood bar; I need a neighborhood restaurant that thinks it’s okay that I am drooly, gushing, over-appreciative food dork.

She thought that was great :)

Come have dinner with me, one and all!

Seventeen Degrees and an Older Face

2011-01-11T19:29:00.002-07:00

Did you know I Aqua Zumba now? It’s quite entertaining from whichever side of the water you’re on. If you’re me in the pool, doing Latin dance moves and splashing about like a hopped-up, chubby Loch Ness Monster, you are entertained because you are the youngest person in the pool and, compared to the other ladies, you are lithe and smooth and full of woo-woo-fiesta-chlorine mojo. If you’re poolside, like all the people who wander in to check out whether they would like to join the gym and happen upon the tsunami that is uncoordinated ladies grooving and jiving in the water, I can’t think you would find it anything but “you’ll never believe what I saw” fodder for your friends later.

But there was no class for me tonight. On the way to my car after work, with the full intention of zipping over to the gym, I realized that I forgot to pack a towel this morning. I have a friend who forgot her towel once when she went to do her swim laps; she grabbed a blanket out of the car and used that.

Um, no.

There is no way in Hello Jell-O that I'm going to take a blanket in with me, and no way that I am going to try to use itty-bitty gym towels to dry off. It is 17° outside and my hair already makes icicles after class on the way back to the car even when the rest of me is dry. Home instead tonight!

On an additional entertainment note, I had a new passport photo taken today. My last was in 2001 when I was headed to Italy. I love that passport photo. I'm 40 pounds lighter, I have long BROWN hair, and, well, it's ten years ago. Today’s picture will not be 40 pounds lighter, will not have as much brown in my locks, and will find me pastier and laden with with wrinkles above and below and side to side. Could make one a bit bummed.

Then, of course, it made me giggle. And giggling transitioned to gratitude. My face reflects ten years of living a life I never imagined. It tells the story of leaving a job and students I loved, changing careers a couple of times, moving to a new state, and learning new things. There’s a groove in my forehead that I am sure I can attribute solely to the “focus furrow” that appeared as I learned to knit and purl last year.

My face in 2011 tells the story of new friendships, deepening old ones, and people to love and miss from places like Russia, Jordan, Lebanon, Kenya, Uganda, Romania, and Spain. It experienced an international courtship, a house sale, a house purchase and a refi, a zillion plane flights to California and back, invaluable talks with its mom and dad, and new nephews and a niece forcing it to make ridiculous maneuvers to entertain them.

It walked through the birth of friends’ children and the loss of friends’ children; it spoke at a funeral for 17-month-old. It said goodbye to a beloved grandfather and witnessed its niece arriving into the world, live and in person. It uttered encouraging words and it uttered hurtful words it wanted to suck back in moments later.

Most gratefully, this face learned, and is learning, to look to its Maker more, to bask in His radiance, and to trust His viewpoint and provision and goodness. And I heard Him whisper tonight on the way home when I glanced in the rearview mirror that my wrinkles make Him giggle, too.

It’s been a good decade, Face. I think I’ll keep ya :)

Start small, I guess.

2011-01-10T17:53:00.002-07:00

If you haven’t been doing something for a while (oh, like exercising, eating veggies, cleaning your ears, whatever), I guess you should start small.

So here’s a bitty post :)

In fact, it’s a post I started in September, when my mom was still here for our lovely late-summer new habit of a visit for just us girls. When I looked at my blog today and saw this unfinished post from last year, I honestly laughed out loud. I just saw Linda (mentioned below and pictured below from our weekend visit) this past Saturday night for the first time in over two years and one of the first things she asked me was about why was I not blogging / when would I be blogging again. How cute that the last post I was in the midst of references her blog!

Thus, I bring you September 2010:

Well, between adjusting to some new sample contact lenses, ordering my first progressive lenses for a new pair of glasses yesterday, and my mom leaving tomorrow morning, I am a little woozy this morning. Add to that a special morning work perplexity (the kind that's not easily solved and has a critically close deadline ... I don't love those), and my next thought is, "It's only Tuesday?"

My pal Linda has been posting like the maniac for Jesus she is (hope she likes that description; it's a compliment!) and there is something in each share that I appreciate. This morning it was a post from her past weekend. I love how she describes a conversation a friend of hers, who is recovering from a stroke, had with Jesus about what she no longer has as she continues life in what feels like incomplete healing: "I don't have that anymore." God made her laugh and reminded her that there aren't any “its” she needs; she has Him. He is more than enough.

________________

Back to January 2011:

I think I started writing that post because there are a bunch of things I don’t have anymore, either. I certainly don’t feel like I have the smarts I once did, and my command over words, my one super power, is dribbling away like a melty ice cream cone. I sit there frequently with my mouth gaping, waiting for the right word to pop in so it can leap out to keep my story or my point moving. Mostly, drool just shows up instead.

Oh, and I apparently no longer have control over my facial muscles in my sleep. That drool thing began to kick into high gear on my pillow this year. Ewww! I have learned to scooch to the dry spot and faint away into sleep again.

But there are lots of things I DO have. The love of a faithful God to a frequently faithless girl. Friendships that keep getting better and better. Family that still laughs with me and at me (I need both kinds of chuckles!).

Grace to remember what I have and grace to celebrate what I don’t, please, Jesus! Amen!

48 Hours Out

2010-08-01T22:44:00.004-06:00

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

2010-07-30T15:33:00.005-06:00

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

2010-06-26T22:01:00.015-06:00

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?

2010-06-23T20:12:00.005-06:00

(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

2010-06-23T16:52:00.003-06:00

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

2010-06-22T14:43:00.004-06:00

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.

2010-06-18T19:16:00.009-06:00

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

2010-06-11T21:10:00.003-06:00

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...

2010-06-09T22:24:00.003-06:00

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

2010-02-24T13:04:00.002-07:00

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

2010-01-27T20:12:00.003-07:00

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

2010-01-21T19:10:00.004-07:00

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

2010-01-20T19:06:00.003-07:00

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

2010-01-20T15:22:00.002-07:00

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!

from 12-11-2009

2009-12-13T20:00:00.000-07:00

You gave me starlings this morning
hundreds and hundreds
stretched out like long tides
over the snow
above my car
in front of my nose
with a pink sunrise in the rear view mirror

each new wave perked my cheeks higher
while the carols played
until I was broad-smiling in spite of myself
and had eyes with that "I know it's You" look in them

thank You
now, I will watch for Christmas gifts from You each day

I still caught myself for a moment, though, looking about in the car
for someone to point it out to

it seems my heart is not in a hurry to stop
wishing there was someone
here with "skin on"

to cuddle, snuggle, laugh, argue, wade the waters with

but for now, and for however long, You've said, "no"

not because I am
a failure
ugly, mean
loud, uncouth
selfish
unworthy

but because You have said, "no"
and that's enough to know

but You gave me starlings this morning
because You love me

and they thrilled my eyes and heart

so I will wait on You
to learn how to have
starlings
sunrises
music
snow
and You

cuddle me, snuggle me

because I do have skin.

What I was doing...

2009-12-13T19:29:00.005-07:00

We had a guest come to do training and planning with the LT Team.
I made coffee and the guest had some, with cream and sugar, if you must know.
I offered him another cup, ("But Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home!") which he gladly accepted, but there was about an inch of the old stuff left in his mug.
I am lazy. I went outside to throw it out rather than walk to the kitchen.
It's all snowy out, and I did NOT want to make brown snow. I tried to carefully dump the coffee on the gravel you see.
I failed and splattered the entire contents on the wall. I ran back inside because the temps were like 3º F and I prayed it would all run down the wall and disappear.
I promptly forgot about it.
I came to the office the next day and as I opened the door I saw the brown splatter still firmly planted on the wall. Our International and U.S. Boards were in town and everyone had already arrived and walked past my Jackson Pollock coffee splat. Nice.
So, I am outside, in single digit temps but in a cozy cashmere sweater, with a pitcher of hot water, washing the wall free of my cream and sugar coffee art.
One of my coworkers found this hilarious and took a photo.
Thus, a blog post :)

And the winner is someone who did not post the answer (SUSAN D.!) but rather stopped me in the hallway and said cheerily, "I know what you were doing! I saw that big ol' stain out there yesterday...and somehow, even before you posted the picture, I knew the splatter was connected to you!" So, so true.

Do my pals know me, or what? :)

What is she doing now?

2009-12-11T09:10:00.003-07:00

Here's a scene from my life at the office this morning:

A surprise Christmas gift to anyone who correctly guesses what I am doing out in the snow watering a thirsty wall!

Never a dull moment in my world...

Notes on A Week

2009-11-13T22:08:00.005-07:00

Sucked:
Being sick this week and being here alone. I was the kind of sick where you can't leave the house 'cause you can't be far away from a particular porcelain-kinda room in the house.

There were hardly any groceries here and what was here was healthy and full of fiber and not going to help my body be any further away from that particular room. My sister-in-law wisely convinced me not to spend $10 on a delivery service to bring me white bread and bananas and applesauce, but to call a friend to rescue me. Hallelujah for Barb and Paul who came with two bags of groceries and in matching surgical masks :)

And, yes, for those of you who I told not to tell my mom I was sick, I realize I just posted it. You know very well that I can only keep my yap shut for a bit.

Rocked:
Being here tonight and seeing a commercial for Dark Chocolate Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Being suddenly intrigued, I pondered actually getting in the car and going to get a package, but it seemed a little silly. Silly and slightly irresponsible, considering my gastric system has only begun to return to reasonable functioning less than 24 hours ago.

I pondered for about 40 minutes, then thought, "This would be the fun kinda thing to run out and do if someone were here with me." Two seconds later, I asked Jesus if he wanted to go get some Reese's. A little giggle later, I realized he thought a decaf Americano from Starbucks would also be super. Also slightly irresponsible on a newly restored tummy, I thought, but common sense is highly overrated. So off we went into the cold and dark outside.

Guess what it was doing in the cold and dark in the shine of my headlights and the glow of the streetlights? SNOWING! Itty, bitty, pretty flakes! I started to laugh and cry and thank him all at once. It was like he brought me out to see snow that he had made just for me. Fun to drive in, fun to get chocolate in, fun to fetch a cup of coffee in...just for me and him. Little snowy smooches falling from the sky.

Thanks, Jesus :)

The Post That Will Make No Sense, Maybe

2009-11-04T18:48:00.012-07:00

But I write anyway.

So, blah, blah, blah, three posts about husband-y thoughts and desires. True when they were written. True when I was pondering writing them.

Still true in a sense. But a shifting sense.

Been trying to listen to what God has in the way of a Slusser storyline these days. I can share my heart and what I think are my wants with him, but I would rather hear the story he's writing. He's a much better author than me.

Storyline? The call to singleness. Hmmm.

I am not saying there is a call for certain. But that thought, that idea, suddenly came to mind last night and it's not one normally in my head. It's not there mostly because I have never really understood what that actually means.

There's all kinds of opinions on whether you can even have a "call" to singleness, but suddenly some pieces of thought and insight have started to come together for me lately.

I have this sense to draw apart, and inward a little, from the crowds, and that it's just me and Jesus for life. But it's not a painful sense, or a completely exclusive sense like it has been at times in the past. It's tempered with a sense that I am to be available for community and fun and friendship as the moments roll by, but that my heart (the fuzzy wuzzy, girlie part and the majority of its depth) and some of my time is to be removed from the world and kept for him. This is different than times in the past when I have wanted to withdraw but I wanted to do it completely and in self-protection. It's always been an either/or before; I could be goofy, spazzy extroverted Kathie or I could be reclusive Kathie. This new sense is an availability to still be extroverted and care for people but to live more day-to-day in a mode of being in the quiet of my soul, just me alone, just his, just available for the next ministry opportunity.

It's different and interesting.

I think my ministry role is a bit unique (not entirely, just a bit). I am a woman who leads a team of men. I have one other woman on my staff. When I function in a broader role of leadership in my ministry work, I am always working with men. There is a sweetness about being single in this scenario; the men are in a mode of protection and care; they are guardian brothers. It makes the situation work. And I like the work and God has called me to it. I like being cared for and watched over by all those brothers. For some reason I can't quite put words to, I think this would be a bit different, and just maybe not as effective, if I were married.

Speaking of work, it is calling more and more and more every day, with increasing demands and needs. It could be miserable to have that, I suppose, but if I embrace it in my singleness, it actually speaks to a huge part of my heart that is called to do something about the suffering and pain of the world and knows that the real answer to create real change is Jesus Christ. I am incredibly blessed to have what I get to do for a living feed the cries of my heart.

And my life as a single has the flexibility to be available to answer those needs in full tilt. I can stay at the office until 9:00 on a Friday night and know that my closest love, Jesus, is with me in what needs to be done. And that he's invited me to that time with him.

Finally, lately, for the first time, I have felt the freedom to actually live like a single in my house. Surprised? For years I have had in the back of my mind that I need to live gently, a little tentatively, as I go because whatever I am doing might need to be adjusted in case I wind up married one day. Now, I am suddenly free to embrace sleeping wherever I want in my queen bed, rather than sticking to one side "in case I have to share someday". I am smacking the snooze bar as often as I want to, without guilt, instead of, "Be careful, you might not always be alone and this could be annoying to someone." I feel a sudden freedom to not learn to cook "just in case I need to care for someone one day".

And, yeah, intertwined with this is that God brought it back again to just me and him. Stef moved out, so it's me and Jesus and the house and my work and my friends.

So I am exploring what I think might be a call to singleness. Hmmm. We'll see.

The very fact that I am a bit sad and disappointed about this news, that this indeed might be my life calling, indicates to me that it's not just me making it up, and that I am not just looking for a "fix" or a definitive answer to the question about whether I am to be married or single (much as it is a giant part of my nature to dislike living in the unknown). I am doing it in honesty, with my desires available for him to change and my ears available to him to listen.

But there are other unknowns God's making me more comfortable with, like my ministry role in the coming year, so I feel confident that I am growing. My role doesn't get any clearer or easier or a better match to what I think my skill set is with each passing day, but my comfort with just showing up and being available to bring what I can and see what happens next is increasing.

Okay, for fun, to end all this seriousness, ya gotta read Surviving church as a single by Jon Acuff. Laughed OUT LOUD!

Numbers 5, 13, 15-19, and 39 are among my favs, but are certainly not the only points I would have earned! Tee-hee! Still giggling...

And lest anyone think...

2009-10-23T17:46:00.011-06:00

that I typed the previous post in some deeply submitted, quietly obedient, sweetly reflective moment, let me admit that I POUNDED the hoo-ha out of the keyboard in my frustration for about half of the thing and submitted out of exhaustion for the rest of it.

I am not always as cooperative as I want to be. But I want to be cooperative. Does that count?

I guess Romans 7 is the answer about that :) Good to know I am not the first keyboard pounder. I can't help but think Paul was pounding the papyrus when he wrote it.

I love how The Message puts it:

^17-20But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.

^21-23It happens so regularly that it's predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God's commands, but it's pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge.

²⁴I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?

²⁵The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different.

Know what's even better though? I REALLY love that Paul continues in Romans 8 with this almost-too-rich-to-bear news of grace:

^1-2With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.

^3-4God went for the jugular when he sent his own Son. He didn't deal with the problem as something remote and unimportant. In his Son, Jesus, he personally took on the human condition, entered the disordered mess of struggling humanity in order to set it right once and for all. The law code, weakened as it always was by fractured human nature, could never have done that.

The law always ended up being used as a Band-Aid on sin instead of a deep healing of it. And now what the law code asked for but we couldn't deliver is accomplished as we, instead of redoubling our own efforts, simply embrace what the Spirit is doing in us.

Just makes ya take a deep breath, don't it? The truth of my identity, who I am and what I can do as Jesus Christ IN Kathie Slusser is there...His Spirit is IN me, able as I am not. That's truth.

Man, I love it.

And in all my wrestling and struggling with the tasks before me in ministry, my "fish in a cornfield" feeling as one teammate puts it, I am so grateful for what Becky put in the comments of the previous post; it deserves to be out here, just like I put it on paper in 48 point font to hang in front of my nose in my office cubicle:

"There's safety in complacency but God is calling us out of our comfort zone into a life of complete surrender to the cross. To live dangerously is not to live recklessly but righteously and it is because of God's radical grace for us that we can risk living a life of radical obedience for Him."

From Steve Camp song "Living Dangerously In the Hands of God" 1988

Someday I will be cooperative AND pretty doing it. It may not be until Heaven, I guess, but I like to think it can happen here. I look forward to that :)

All that said...

2009-10-22T18:08:00.011-06:00

the reality of what I sense I have heard from God in the past month since that prayer was prayed and what I think it means at this time is this:

I have a significant joy and release in being more of "me" before him.
I have sensed that the desire for a husband is indeed mine, and not his for me, but it's not bad to have put the desire before him (a big step for me), and he'll continue to mold and shape me. He wanted me to ask, but made no specific promises about it. The biggest, best, never-failing promise is that I am his, his, his now and always, always, always.
All those squishy little cuddly, autumn-enhanced feelings that I want to direct to someone, that desire that I always have to dote on some one special person, are to be taken to Jesus and I will learn to dote on him. He'll show me how he likes to be cherished, because he knows I really do long to cherish well, even when I am not good at it and I fall short.
I long to embrace well what he has put before me, and what's actually before me is ministry work, my job. The coming year, if looked at from a purely human perspective, frightens the daylights out of me and frightens ulcers into my stomach lining. Not only is it a huge undertaking as LT continues to grow, but I am so UNBELIEVABLY out of my element and skill set, out of my comfort zone, that I want to faint dead away after crying for a few hours. (And if anyone tries to tell me that I am smarter or more talented than I think I am, I will scream; I am NOT making this up; I am stepping into things I have no idea how to DO.) I am clinging, clinging, clinging to Luke 9:10-17, and to the five loaves and two fish I currently have at my disposal. It's not nearly enough to feed the coming year, but I will pray to do what Jesus did: give thanks to God for what I have in my hands and start breaking the pieces up and handing them out. I pray that this time next year, I, we, my whole ministry team, will look around and see 12 baskets full of extra pieces of nourishment and provision and extravagance lying about us, evidence of his unmerited favor and grace and mercy.
I am reminded that everyone--everyone--has an unfulfilled ache, a heartache that will take them back again and again to his throne, just where we most need to be. If it turns out that mine is not having a husband to walk the journey with, then so be it. At least I know what it is, and I know how to answer the questions about it, and I know where to run to get to God's deep, abiding oceans of love. I think the time in CA just really felt like this focused time of having to think about it and look at it because it's the one common question among everyone I meet with, especially new folks. And I confess that I am kind of like the fat kid who jokes about his own weight so it won't hurt when others tease him, so sometimes I bring it up first. A good pal on my team likened having such a zeroed-in, zoned-in time of having to talk about it to a guy he used to work with who was 6' 4". He said that every customer who came into the garden department where they worked together said something like, "Wow, how's the weather up there?" or some other remark about his height. Nicholas said to me, "You just got four weeks of 'How's the weather up there?' over and over again, a big concentrated dose." It's time to let that focus dissipate, and to embrace what is actually before me, even while God is aware of my request. Praises to him who is actually also aware of my real needs, and he will meet those in his perfect sovereignty.

And, yes, I am crying with my nose running at my desk, blowing my dripping snout like a bazooka in the office at 6:30 at night, thanking God there are so very few people lingering about to hear me. Sometimes truth is tough, but I don't want to live in anything else. I want to go where he goes and live as he asks, even when I also want to run the other way. I love you, Jesus.

The Rest O' The Story

2009-10-18T18:20:00.020-06:00

Errghh. I haven't finished the story not because I don't have anything to say (although it has felt a bit like that at moments, after the initial flush of putting this out there; "Shut up!" my ego yells...), but rather, there feels like too much to say now. I am all over the place.

Anyway, I know I left a 16-year cliffhanger out there, so let me resolve that and give God thanks for bringing to light an agreement I made in 1993.

Short version: I had a friend who was miserable that she was not married. She was furious with God that she was still single in her early 30s. She was angry enough that it scared me. One day, watching her in a fit of fury at the Lord, I told God I didn't ever want to be that angry with him. I told him I wanted to be content in whatever life circumstances he brought me. In fact, I resolved to be content in whatever he brought me. Sounds holy enough, eh?

After having some experiences over the past couple of years with opening more of my heart to God, learning to be more honest before him, and having him begin to draw me into coming to him as I am rather than how I think I am to be, it dawned on me recently that the whole "resolved to be content in all things" efforts had become just that: my efforts. I had probably been doing it in my own strength for a long time. Not good.

Somewhere around Labor Day I started to wonder if that commitment I made was actually an agreement with the Enemy. I wondered if there were things I was not allowing to linger in my mind or heart because my commitment had, frankly, turned into a point of pride for me. I am content, I have been content, I will be content, no matter what. No wrestling with anything that comes along, because I don't need to; I am content!

I applied it very directly to the whole singleness/marriage thing, which was really convenient since it's the most repetitive question in my life from people I interact with. I must either be something amazing or people are just in the habit of asking the question(s) all the time: are you seeing someone, are you okay alone, how is it that someone hasn't just scooped you up yet?

Well, since I had decided long ago that I would be [make myself] content with whatever came, my answer for years has been, "If it happens, it happens. If it doesn't, it doesn't. Whatever God wants is fine." As I have probably mentioned somewhere in some previous post, I had kind of embraced an automaton theology, where I thought the most obedient thing I could do was wait for the next set of directives from God; I need not, nor should not, have an opinion or preference or dream or desire. I was looking to just be obedient, which really meant perfect, not messing up anything he wanted with anything from me.

If you read this silly web thing, you know that the past several years, starting with my move to Idaho and including living alone and being away from my family and courtship with a Ugandan pastor and deeply desiring to have God meet needs in my heart that I couldn't keep quiet anymore has meant that I have had to allow God to change my theology and change my vision of who he is. He doesn't want an automaton; he wants relationship. He wants to know my heart and to let him shape it and to have every moment of me, not just the pretty Sunday school ones. Seems pretty elementary, I know, but there I am.

Thus, many things, including what I feel has been the Spirit lately asking, pressing, me to ask for what I want, led to thinking about my "commitment" to contentment when my pal asked if he could pray for me for a husband, when a conversation about love and marriage arose during a plane ride on Labor Day weekend, and when God led the talk that direction when I was visiting with a very special, dear friend just a couple of days after getting to California last month. And that pal, praise God, is not one to leave well enough alone :)

We started to pray about asking for things, about my commitment and whether it was really an agreement somehow with the Enemy, about my pride in having "stuck to it" when other people seemed needy; I was fine because I decided to be fine, and I had chosen contentment. I have survived and done well, and I have not been one of those pleading for something God might not bring or want me to have or might not think was best for me. I could always be right, because I couldn't be wrong if I didn't ask for something out loud and then it didn't come.

I still have this little vestige (okay, let's not discuss the exact size of it) of pride that doesn't want to need anything. I am not like the other girls; I am better. I can do it on my own, without putting life on hold, without being all clambering for a man, without looking about for something I don't already have.

There, I said it. Ugly, ain't it?

Liann likes to try to invite me to come down from my snooty perch and hang out with the rest of humanity sometimes :)

Errghh...I have a problem with vulnerability before God. I can't believe that for all the too-much-information spewing I seem to be perfectly capable of doing to strangers, I am still struggling with complete vulnerability before him. And being vulnerable means asking for things I believe I want but might not get.

Things I believe he has begun to stir my heart to long for, to desire, but still aren't a promise of what's to come. And since one of those things has been a desire for a husband, and I know that I can't do marriage perfectly (see, I am not a total snoot; I do know that I am loaded with flaws), I haven't known what to do with this "thing" of the Spirit seeming to press me to just ask like I mean it.

So, my pal Cindy and I prayed. And in the midst of it, Cindy said, "You know, God brings about a holy discontent at times, to move us to new things, to draw us in different directions, to lead us to desire the things of his heart that we have not encountered yet. Where has room been in your heart for his holy discontent?"

My sobbing answer: "Nowhere, because I vowed to never be discontent. I left no room for him to bring me new things, to tell me new stories, to make my heart listen to his heart. I made a commitment not to let anything change me!"

Sob, sob, sob.

So we prayed for release from that, for that vow to be undone, for forgiveness, for restoration by our perfect Jesus.

And I said it, and I say it: I would like to be married. I would like to share the journey. I would like someone to snuggle. I would like a Godly man with a sense of humor who can laugh at me and laugh at himself. I would like someone to walk with through the hard and the joyful and the ugly and the thrilling and the beautiful and the broken.

And, honestly, I would like someone who thinks I hung the moon, even though they know better. And I'll return the favor :)

When I told some old friends that I was horrified at the idea of "gifting someone with all of my miserable shortcomings", the husband, despite having a mouth full of food, could not contain himself. He cried, "No, no, no...that's the whole point! You bring that and he brings that, and it's all out there, and you love one another in spite of it all and work through it together. That's the whole point."

And more than ever, truly, I will be okay if it happens, and I will be okay if it doesn't. God has been so amazingly present and fulfilling the past several years in my life, I know he is enough.

But since I can ask, I'd like a friend who's more than a friend for the rest of the road :)

And the men are on the job...

2009-09-25T23:30:00.001-06:00

Hi. No long apologies for not writing. I am supposed to be. I am not. It's a God thing that I am supposed to, I believe. Please pray for me to take the time to write.

But, now I know who is doing their job. The men are stepping into the gap. It's finally happened.

Okay, at least one dude has stepped in.

Doing what, you ask? Praying for a husband for me. I kid you not.

For several years, I have had women around the globe at work on this. Romania, Russia, the Philippines, Kazakhstan, Kenya, Lebanon, Uganda, Jordan, you name it. Even Idaho :)

Last week, a good friend and colleague quietly pulled me aside and said that the Lord had impressed upon him that he was to pray for a husband for me. He was pretty surprised, so he asked the Lord, "Should I ask her if she wants me to pray for that?" Yes, indeed, God told him to ask me about it.

I told him that I wasn't that surprised. I have had a sense lately that God has been waiting for me to say out loud that I would like a husband...and to say it calmly and trustingly and honestly. In the moments that I can eek it out, it's either like a grudgingly capitulated "Yes, fine." or a giggly, "Ok, hee hee, fine."

And why can I seem to only capitulate or eek? Well, turns out there's a story there. God has done an amazing work in my heart over the last two, almost three, years to draw my heart closer to his in honesty and intimacy. Time to admit that I am not at my best on my own, and to admit that I would like to share the journey with someone.

But there was still something in the way, something that happened 16 years ago. This past Monday, God brought it to light...

Chickens and Chickpeas

2009-07-10T21:01:00.010-06:00

Markers in the day that eventually said, "GO HOME! NOW!"

I squat down this morning in front of the little fridge in our department at work to put in my leftover sushi: *RIP* goes the seam in my jeans along my inner right thigh. Long rip. Mom told me to buy new jeans like seven months ago. Yeah. Whatever.
I borrow safety pins from a pal on the other side of the building and nearly mangle myself in the bathroom trying to shove pins through a seam and some shredded fabric.
The fix is better than nothing, especially after I trim away all the little straggly fabric shreds so it doesn't look like I am walking about with a Persian cat clinging to my inner thigh. And I know what jeans I want, and they cannot be purchased anywhere near the office, so THAT'S why I didn't go buy new ones, for those of you who are asking.
Day mostly goes fine, though I can't recall if during an hour-long presentation I made if I stood in a ladylike manner or not to try to hide my safety pin surgery, especially since one of the pins had to go on the outside of the pants. Probably not: I usually stand like a bear wrestler, especially when I start to wax rhapsodic for a new, captive audience about the work we do. Ces't la vie.
I leave the office at the end of day, going back and forth in my mind about what to do about dinner. Obviously, no Stef at home to cook tonight. I decide to run into Fred Meyer and grab some hummus and one of those handy, cooked whole chickens. I tour part of the store, grab cherries and a couple pink grapefruit, one red garnet yam, a container of hummus, and toward the chickens I head, then I'll be right next to the registers and away I can go.
There are three chickies left. I have my hand-carry basket in one hand and reach for the chicken with the other. Just as I go to set it in the basket, the plastic dome pops off, the plastic base bends and caves, and there is a simultaneous drop of chicken and plastic into the basket and a shower all over my feet and the floor...grease from the container gushing over the basket and through it.
I stand stupefied for a moment, wondering what wet thing was in my basket before it dawns on me that I just had a chicken grease hosing. I try to at least rectify the tilting, dripping chicken in my basket, and I get the experience of trying to grab a greased baby from its crib...no doing. I am looking about for bags, towels, something to do something, I don't even know what. I finally set the basket on the floor by the chicken case and walk to the self-checkout and look pleadingly at an employee who is approaching. "I need help, please," I tell her. She follows me and I show her my giant grease slick and explain myself. She says it's no problem and heads off to find someone, but is intercepted by that terrible alarm that happens when you try to leave the self-checkout area and you have something that has a security alarm in it, so she is waylaid rescuing some man who probably was not trying to shoplift, but gets the same alarm as the bad guys do. Poor man.
I stand there for several more minutes, grateful that you can't see the grease spill like you could if it were chocolate milk or orange juice, but still aware that NO ONE hovers around the chicken case like this. Especially no one who keeps looking at the grease splatters on her tennis shoes while an escaped, dripping chicken lies atop grapefruit and hummus in her little basket. Trying to look slightly less tacky, I figure I should at least pick up the basket off the floor. I, that's right, forget the challenge of my pants from hours before, and I again assume the squat position in order to pick up the basket. What do I hear again, raging against the safety pins? *RIP*. I leap up in a panic, as though the safety pins have already blown their "safety" promise and suddenly become not-so-safe.
Nice lady finally comes back and sets up a yellow "stay away" triangle on the floor, and she looks in my basket and says, "Okay, that's the chicken that fell on the floor?" as she is reaching for it. I tell her it only fell in my basket, and we have a quick exchange, with me saying I can still take it, and I feel badly, and she points out, no, no, it's fine, they'll take it. She goes to take it out of the basket and replicates my greased baby experience, with a few "whoa" moments of her own, but eventually decides she will win, grabs hard and takes it away. In the interim I smile at a nice lady with a cart and a small child in the front; she gives me the "been there, done that" chuckle. Employee lady returns quickly and I ask if there are paper towels anywhere, because my hands are an oil slick by now; she sends me to her counter. I come back, and she has given me a new basket and placed the fairly ungreased cherries and grapefruit in it, but has the dripping, lemon-pepper-grease-coated yam and hummus in the other hand. "You don't want these, do you?" I again say I am willing to pay for them, but she says, no, go get new ones. She is nice. I consider kissing her and decide I have already shot my weirdo points for the day. Instead I tell her I am headed to the deli to buy just one piece of chicken; it seems less dangerous. She laughs at me.
I try to gather myself, and I go get one chicken breast, more hummus from the first spot I got it, and I check out some rice crackers and some organic cereal. I wind up near the cold case with a bunch of organic stuff in it. I look at some hummus they have in there and note the just over 2x price difference, and I also check out some soy cream cheese and sour cream, and decide not today. I figure my heart has calmed enough and they are far enough along in the clean up that I can just head out. So to the check stand I go.
The drive home is safe (I decide to skip the Starbucks stop I was planning for some herbal tea--I just need to be DONE and get my tennis shoes in the washing machine and my pants into the trash) and I am already pondering posting about my clumsiness. I get home, get everything from work and the store into the house, and start to unload the two bags from Freddy's. And what's in there? BOTH freaking containers of hummus! The regular AND the organic! What the...? Clearly, I need to stay in for the rest of the evening. I am a danger to myself and others and chickens and chickpeas everywhere!

I Like That Boom Boom Pow

2009-07-05T08:37:00.005-06:00

There are some things that still bring culture shock in Idaho. The Fourth of July is one of them.

You know those movies where almost every family on a quaint American street is lighting sparklers to celebrate the Fourth? Well, add fountains, flowers, and real, fly-into-the-air-and-burst-above-your-head-like-a-Dodger's-fireworks-show chrysanthemums, peonies, glitter palms, and rings, you have Idaho on our nation's Independence Day. (By the way, cool site for looking up firework names at NOVA: Name that Shell.)

Apparently there are actually county ordinances against such aerial fireworks outside of an official display, but you would never know it. I confess, it scares me a little, having been raised where just the sound of a firecracker was the signal to start packing for a forest fire evacuation, but I mostly giggle though the night up here.

I sat in the picturesque backyard of friends last night, having great food (including a s'more with a marshmallow perfectly toasted over their fire pit by Master Toaster Karin; never mind that I dropped the chocolate in the dirt while I was trying to catch the mallow on my graham; wipe the chocolate square on your jeans and you're good to go) and good conversation. Even while it's light out, there are the sounds of firecrackers pop-popping from the neighbors around us. As dusk arrives, the shows start. Yes, shows, as in if you stand in the front yard or sit on the back deck, you can look in the sky any direction you like and watch fireworks explode.

If you do choose to watch from the front of the house where you can see the streets and driveways nearby, you get the ground shows and the aerial shows together. Little kids running around with giant sparklers, fountains erupting, and the bigger kids and grown-ups lighting everything else.

I left the house just after 11:00 PM, and I giggled all the way home. Okay, maybe not all the way. Trying to get out of the subdivision was a little tricky. Literally every other driveway was filled with families in lawn chairs, people taking turns lighting stuff in the street. Thus, there were piles of ash to navigate, small children to avoid mowing down, and my favorite: a newly-lit, skittering flower placed in the road seconds before my car approached. Rather than have the little thing scoot under my car as I tried to drive past, I waited in the road until it died out and the kids scrambled to light another one.

The giggling did happen, though, for the remainder of the drive home, as I scanned the sky and watched happy explosions all over the place. The 30-minute drive was a hazy one, driving through all the post-firework smoke. It was like a fog had settled over the whole Treasure Valley for the evening.

At midnight, in went the earplugs for nighty-night, since it was still pretty boom-boom-pow outside. I gotta say, I like it here :)

Shifting the Weight

2009-06-28T09:13:00.009-06:00

It's been a couple weeks of navigating tough things. Not tough things that are directly in my own life, but the challenges and heartbreaks and sadness of others. From people losing children to dark valleys in marriages to depression to hopelessness to people out of work to divorces to financial crises, about every day and a half or so a new weight on behalf of someone I care about deeply has come along. It has felt a bit surreal because, honestly, my life is a relative sea of calm at the moment. It isn't always like that, but it is for the moment.

I am taking the quiet in my life to pray and carry to the throne regularly these dear people I love. Each person that has been transparent with me has felt like a gift I was entrusted with by God to bring before him, seeking his healing and touch. The operative word in that last sentence would be "his".

Kathie's typical modus operandi: I am such a little fixer, helper, peacemaker. It comes from the part of me that likes the water smooth, that likes everyone happy and well. What can I do to make things better for you, eh? Of course, you want to be happy, but I want you to be happy, too, 'cause then I am happy. Get it?

Unfortunately, my M.O. tries to insert me into the middle of things I have no control over. I cannot make different decisions for people, heal deep hurts, bring extraordinary mercy, or provide inexplicable grace that allows people to navigate and even blossom in and after the worst things they can imagine actually happen to them.

And I cannot change the people around them, who love them so much, but, alas, often those closest to us understand us the least. I know I fall into this category sometimes, too. Well-intentioned people who want us to be safe and sane, who cannot always hear the way a so-not-safe-and-sane Jesus calls us to follow. And that following looks so very different from how our loved ones would do it.

I met with a man the other day who has an amazing story of how God has been calling, is calling, and is preparing the way for him to minister in India. He is a successful business owner. People he trusts and loves are saying things like, "But your business is what you're good at. God gave you success there. Why don't you just keep running your business and give to missions in India? Why don't you just use what God has given you already to fill this calling you feel?"

My heart broke when I heard him share this. I totally understand the concern, the hesitance, the struggle, from people you treasure and trust who do not hear a call the same way you do. And I can't find anything about God that calls us to follow in logical ways, so trying to explain to others what he whispers to you is so very hard. Can you picture each of the disciples explaining to their parents and employers the logical, safe, rational reasons that Jesus outlined to all of them when he called them to follow him?

I hope you can't, because from what I can see, no such thing happened.

He said, "Follow me." Not, "Follow my plan for you that will make sense to the world the moment you speak, the moment you act, the moment you demonstrate how you love me."

I cringe when I hear the phrase, "Why don't you just..."

God is not a god of just. Just enough provision, just enough hope, just enough grace, just so you feel comfortable, just so you aren't embarrassed, just so your loved ones aren't uncomfortable, just so everyone gets you.

He doesn't need people to get you. He longs for them to get Him. Watch for Him, see Him, need Him, be amazed by Him, be drawn to Him. To see in overabundance how he loves and provides for and cares for and transforms you. In ways that make no logical, safe, rational, outlined sense.

So, Kathie is praying, sympathizing, listening, but not fixing. And I pray that those people, those gifts of prayer needs that God has brought to me, are hearing, feeling, responding to the Spirit's call to not just follow, but to hurl the nets away and chase after Him in the draw of overabundance. And that the overabundance of love, healing, change, tenderness, reality, transparency, wholeness, and restoration touches sweetly all those people who observe the transformation in the ones they love.

Talk in Real Time

2009-06-25T23:03:00.004-06:00

Seriously, I have writing I want to do. Crystal reminded me that it's good for the soul. I buy that.

But can I just say that it's been a treasure and a treat to have someone in the house to share dinner with (okay, eat the delicious dinner that they prepare and then bring my whack dish washing skills into play) and to talk with about good stuff? Talks with Stef are fun and insightful and warm.

I have been saying that if I had to share my house space again, it couldn't be with just anyone. It would have to be with someone who was more than a boarder, more than just another breathing presence.

I want to write, but for the moment I am using my evening time engaged in good laughter, music, tears, food, sweetness, and growth with a lovely housemate, who is so much more than just another body in the house. Stef is a blessing and a joy. So, thanks for the gift, Jesus.

Guess I'll have to start blogging from the office ;)

Things to Bloggy About

2009-06-22T22:08:00.005-06:00

I do have things to bloggity blog. Happy things. Challenging things. Rich things.

Like the brain explosion I had after church on Sunday. A good kind, but explosion still. Fortunately, my new housemate, Stefanie, was here to help me manage the verbal spewage. But I bet you would have liked it if I had written it down instead :)

So maybe on a weekday evening I could blog?

But in this season, there are outside demands that are not here in winter. Like roses to be trimmed. Weeds to be pulled. Hollyhocks to watch grow. And the sun is up until 10:00 PM to allow me to do it.

So until I make myself sit and write, here are flower pictures from the yard that Stef took last week. Awfully purty, no?

Australian Eye Candy Party

2009-06-12T18:44:00.011-06:00

In our continuing quest for fun flicks and good food, a few weeks ago my pals and I arrived at our most recent movie event. The conversation leading up to the fun, over the course of several days and various gals, went something like this...

"What are we doing for our next movie night?"

"Wait, you haven't seen Kate and Leopold?"

"Wait, you haven't seen X-Men?"

"Okay, then it's definitely a Hugh Jackman movie night. Sigh...eye candy."

"That's it! Eye Candy Movie Party!"

"You know we can't just eat candy for dinner, right? We tried that with the Elf party..." *shiver*

"So what do we eat? What do X-Men eat?"

"Wait! Hugh Jackman is Australian. Australian food!"

Thus...Australian Eye Candy movie night. Mock us not. You know you are sad you weren't here and that you had not thought of this brilliant concept.

A few Saturdays later it all came together. Folks wound up arriving at various times, so those of us in the first wave needed to nibble on something before dinner got underway. Thus, Kathie cleaned out her pantry and fridge of whatever random things she had.

Since the randomness included hummus, bruschetta, chips and salsa, and margaritas (there were celery sticks and cheese slices floating around, too), we decided to dub it The World Tour Prior to Arriving in Australia Appetizer Event. After we traveled to the Mediterranean, Italy, and Mexico, this was the decimation:

Apparently Aussies love their grills, so we found recipes for Australian steak, Australian barbecued meatloaf, and, of course, we had to have some shrimp on the barbie.

We had Koala Salad, as you can see :)

Bonni made bread from the recipe used at Outback Steakhouse. Yes, we know that they just give things Australian names there; we didn't care. Bonni meant to make mini loaves. She brought the dough and left it to rise in my very warm upstairs bonus room. When she went up to fetch them for the oven, we heard a squeal, followed by, "Hey! They aren't mini loaves any more...they're giant!" Here's what they expanded to in all their enthusiastic rising:

Bread came out delicious, Karin got a few of us hooked on Vegemite (okay, I can say that I am hooked--yum!), plus we had good Aussie wine and ale. Feast!

Then...in all it's delightful beauty and deliciousness, our Australian dessert: pavlova, or "pav", homemade by Stef. Can I just say that I have never liked meringue, no matter who made it or how it was delivered? Until I tasted Stefanie's meringue. Oh. My. Goodness. Then fill it with strawberries, kiwis, mangos, and whipped cream with passion fruit juice. Ohhhhhhh...

Here's the better of the two crowd shots I remembered to take. Don't whine, girls. The other pic is worse, with many more mouths just inches above their plates :)

And how did we handle the Eye Candy part of the evening? Well, first Karin scoured the Treasure Valley for gummi eyeballs or little chocolate eyeballs. Apparently those are Halloween fare only. So, in desperation, I stood in an aisle in Walgreen's trying to find candy to match our theme. Here's what came together in a flash of brilliance:

Get it? EXtra Dark chocolate for X-Men and since Hugh comes from back in time in Kate and Leopold, we have old fashioned candy.

Told you it was brilliant :)

And did you see that cutie holding the pavlova, Stefanie? She's gonna be my new roomie for a little while starting tomorrow! Whoo-hoo! I finally landed a chef in the house!

Cake and Ice Cream

2009-05-20T09:47:00.004-06:00

All in one day. But not in my mouth.

I was asked to cut a chocolate cake and serve nine pieces during an office celebration yesterday. I made sure to flaunt my blue frosting fingers (which would normally be my blue frosting tongue) to Becky on the other side of the table and let her see me wipe the frosting on a napkin. Props to me.

Then I went to dinner at the home of my Idaho Nancy and her honey, and for them and two other friends at the table I scooped four bowls of ice cream. French vanilla and coffee almond fudge. And I passed them the hot fudge when they asked. I did take a deep whiff as it went by.

Again, I used the napkin. My doctor better be WAY proud of me when the time comes to report in.

I have been telling people that at least I have finally learned to work with my weaknesses. What am I? A people pleaser. So, to kick start some change, if I have an official monitor, someone I look up to and trust, I'll behave because I want them to be proud of me.

Maybe he'll be so proud he'll give me a Marie Callender's strawberry pie. 'Tis the season, you know.

There's no dairy at the moment, too. I only made one flub when Becky gave me gorgeous homemade lasagna that I had begged her for, fogetting that cheese hides in lasagna. Oh, well. I saved the rest in the freezer for some future delicious rendevouz :)

Oh, and to answer, "Why am I doing this?" Because I went to the doctor and said, "I'm 39 and 9 days old, and I have been on a birthday eating binge for over month, and I woke up this morning and parts of me are bumping into other parts of me that shouldn't be touching. I now give you full leave to talk to me about what I put in my mouth."

So, a nutritional analysis followed, and some baby steps until we meet again. In the words of Bob Wiley, "Baby step away from the Peeps..."

Mean

2009-05-13T14:16:00.003-06:00

Just sayin'. That's me. Right now.

Without a ton of backstory or explanation (maybe later), just know that I am in the midst of day 5 sans caffeine or candy.

Grrrr.

Jaw set, teeth clenched, eyes squinted, sitting here at my desk.

Brain function? Feels practically nonexistent.

I hear it gets better and I will be smart again soon. (And don't say I wasn't smart before. I'm in no mood. Leave my delusions alone.)

Whatever.

Right now: mean.

Grrr. Rrr!

Happy Mommy Day, Mom!

2009-05-10T17:44:00.005-06:00

Just a moment of appreciation for the Queen of Moms :)

Mommy and Daddy and Baby Kathie

Mommy and Daddy and Baby Michael

And now Grandma and the three monkeys.

I got to gush all about her to my pastor for a few minutes this morning. And I called and requested the two older monkey dudes to deliver a tackle hug on Aunt Kathie's behalf. I am so, so grateful to be her daughter. Thank you, Mom, for all the years you invested in us and for the precious friendship we have now. You are a GIFT! (And for Pete's sake, don't argue with me about it!)

Me and Mrs. Bird

2009-04-29T19:35:00.008-06:00

Mrs. Robin Birdie outside the back door and I are having words. Her biological need to yell at me when I come outside and do something anywhere in the yard is not connecting with my reassuring explanations that I am not touching anything that belongs to her, namely her nest or eggs, and that I am actually bringing food out to the feeders. And, I tell her, she is not the only birdie in the yard, by the way.

Man, when she yells at me, it's like when you know your own mom's voice cutting through a crowd of strangers when you're being naughty; there's dozens of other birds nearby chattering away, but I can pick her out of the crowd and I know I am busted and she's letting me have it. Sheesh.

April wraps up tomorrow, and can I just say it's been a grand month? I had a birthday "intervention" and received strands of pearls from sweet friends, and got to wade in some ocean tides, wander amidst loads of flowers, hug my Mom on her birthday, kiss both my grandmothers, laugh at Wings with Liann like it was old times, watch Corrina yell at squirrels, slurp oysters with my dad, hang with Michael and Joanna, and get tackled by two nephews and a niece. I told my chiropractor that whatever being pounced on by two seven-year-olds and an almost-four-year-old cost me in my spinal alignment was more than made up for by the restored glow in my soul.

I had a mailbox and Facebook account overflowing with birthday love, and my own crock of cheese fondue yesterday at a special birthday lunch. Oh, fondue joy...

Plus, I got a great new straw hat. Now when I pull weeds in the yard and bop around to my new iPod, I look like the true crazy old lady in the neighborhood. Right on!

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for such dear friends and precious family. I am so, so blessed!

Wild Kingdom in My Yard

2009-04-27T19:43:00.005-06:00

Lilac loveliness coming into beautiful bloom...

This happy little circular abode nestled between my rectangular porch lights...

Contains three little robin egg blue ovals...

Being guarded by one round bird with a plenty pointy beak.

(Pretend like my window is much cleaner than it appears! Pay no attention to the dirt behind the glass!)

Oh, and the hottest, busiest snack bar in town? My flowering cherry tree.

That's right: snack bar. If this arboreal restaurant had a name, it would be Zzzzzzz-bzzzzzz. All those spectacular flowers=lots of yummy pollen=WAY more bees in one place than I have ever personally experienced before. When you stand in front of the tree, it looks like it's shimmering a little because it has these halos of bees swirling around it, made up of individuals dallying with the flowers. It look like dance, nuzzle, dance.

I watch from a respectful distance, of course :)

Coherent, Schmoherent

2009-04-25T11:43:00.004-06:00

I have lots of things to share. Each day. Things that are interesting or funny or poignant. To me, anyway.

Problem with posting? I am an English major. Writing must be well-constructed, worthy of my typing time, and have a beginning, middle and end. Things like exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and dénouement.

Okay, I know. It's just a blog. But I like all those words :)

I have made a few decisions in the past couple months about changes in myself and my approach to the world, so I guess this could be one, too. Short blog posts. Quick and dirty. Spurt words and ideas and happenings out there. Increased frequency, lessened pondering.

Here goes.

There's a robin's nest outside my back door. I discovered the nest when I got home from a trip week before last. I peeked out the back door and saw something flapping in the porch light. Just up to the left, carefully constructed above the porch light itself, was a nest obviously made from the weedy things in my backyard. Some of the longer weeds were making shadows and noise in the light and wind.

Poor robin mama. She had a nice long stretch of no one here while she built the thing, completely unaware that it was right outside the back door. Now, I have to go in and out of that door, which means she gets spooked, flies off, bird curses at me a bit, and waits a while before she comes back to the nest. Happens when I open the blinds or walk too near the glass in the door, too. Poor thing.

I peeked into the nest about a week ago (had to get step ladder) and saw two very blue eggs. I am guessing there are more now, and they are closer to hatching, because she is on the nest more consistently and doesn't take as long to come back after she flies off. I hope I have some baby birdies out there soon!

Speaking of baby animals, why is it so much more fun to say, "Baby duck!" really loudly, than "Duckling!"? And "Baby cow!" instead of "Calf!"?

One of life's little mysteries. Just like me :)

Timmy's Haiku

2009-04-20T20:51:00.005-06:00

Regular visitors here know Timmy. His mom and dad, Lara and Marshall, are dear friends. They had to say goodbye to Timmy when he passed away in January, but the sweetest memories of Timmy are firmly planted in many hearts here, including mine.

When I spoke at Timmy's service, there was no way to list every single thing I treasured about him and my time with the Elfstrands. One that I didn't get a chance to mention, but that still makes me grin out of nowhere, is recalling waiting for Timmy during Lara's pregnancy, and the way we would catch up on how big Timmy was in her tummy.

I traveled frequently when Lara was expecting, on trips from two days to three weeks, and I would race to her desk when I returned to catch up on the latest baby news. Since almost everything I talk about revolves around food, of course the shorthand we began to use to talk about how big Timmy was growing, based on how far along Lara was in the pregnancy, was food-oriented.

Fruit-oriented, to be exact.

Lara sat behind a desk, just outside the president's office, that had a chest-high counter around it. After I got home from a trip, in my gentle, subtle way, I would race up and go slamming into the counter, drop my head over the edge, and peer down at Lara: "Orange?"

She would stare up at me and grin: "Tangerine."

So Timmy was big as a tangerine at that point. Cool.

Sometimes the exchange happened in the staff kitchen while Lara was calmly trying to make a cup of tea. I would careen around the corner, leap into the kitchen, eyes wide, and ask, "Cantaloupe?"

She would tilt her head a little, think a second, and smile. "Honeydew!"

Yeah!

Various exchanges of fruit and legume (in the itty bitty stage) happened like this. A round of applause, please, at this moment, for the fact that Lara never ordered a restraining order against me for being so crazy excited about their baby.

Thus, as you can predict, when Timmy finally arrived, I couldn't send a baby congratulations card like a normal person. Oh, no. I had to write some haiku.

Yes. About Timmy. And food :)

So, in honor of the smiles you still bring me, Timster, here's your haiku. Hope Jesus whispers it in your ears and makes you giggle. Your mom and dad still laugh hard at me. And it's one of the best sounds in the world.

Like marshmallow peeps
So ridiculously cute
That Elf Baby is

Chocolate sprinkles
Ah, so happy, so playful
Compare in no way

To his gumdrop nose
His shiny sugarplum eyes
His delicious smile

"Cuttin' capers puttin' papers in the bag..."

2009-03-30T15:02:00.003-06:00

Gotta remember to try to sing this song more these days. Maybe it will make me think cleaning my house is fun.

Anything is possible.

Hope this makes Michael laugh; I think we used to do this dance in the family room sometimes :)

Why Do I Love It So Much?

2009-03-25T18:41:00.004-06:00

I am almost 40 and this cartoon still makes me laugh out loud, squinch up my eyes in a little girl grin and say, "Ohhhh!", and wish I had a dog this heroic and sweet. Too cool.

And almost makes me wish I had a kitten. But not quite.

Looney Tunes can solve many things after a hectic day. Happy Wednesday, I say :)

Who's a Cookie?

2009-03-20T06:44:00.004-06:00

Who knew?

If you bake brownies to take to a work dinner the next night, and you have to pull them in and out of the oven like four times to check them, head hovering over them, and then it takes you forever to cover the brownies with foil, head hovering over them some more...

and then you fall into bed later and wake up around 3:00 AM, not quite all there, you will groggily think...

"Mmrrmphh. Too hot. Too many blankets. And...what the heck? Why do I smell like a cookie?"

Of course, I am also the girl who, as she turned off the water in the shower this very morning, heard a "beep-beep" sound and, honest to goodness, the first thought in my head was, "There's a road runner in my house?"

Yeah, that was the start of the traffic report on the radio.

*sheepish grin*

Inspiration

2009-03-19T18:05:00.003-06:00

Lisa's post this week is encouraging me to post about a few life transitions I am experiencing, too. Good ones. Interesting.

Rebekah's post is encouraging me to type out a beautiful, inspiring poem a friend (Miss Arnila the Amazing) gave me about a year ago, that is tacked up on the wall of my office.

The poem is easier to post tonight. So here. By Luci Shaw.

if you care for me

speak to me without words
in a spiral of starlings
thrown into a bank of wind, scarves
of an invisible dancer
making the sky a stage

Make a negligent gesture like
the drop of a chestnut at my feet
the glossy nucula bounding out of its spiky casing
rolling to me, a gift round
and brown as a chocolate cream

Caress me with a curtain of dew
on my moonlit skylight, or boulders
shining under their clear skin
of rain. In the rock garden
a crimson cosmos articulates
its bright, small world. Speak
to my eyes in syllables of light
and color, if you care for me

Remind me about space as
I watch the finches
peck at the wind in the balsams. The doe
cleaves the air current over
the ribbon of creek. The great
blue heron elbows it way up
through gaps wild with branches
and you are opening
for me, too, a new passage
between the trees

By the way you breathe dead leaves
into a small whirlwind of fire
show me, if you care for me, how you can
lift me from the dust,
light me like tinder

Hmmm. Looks like the poem leads nicely to talking about being lifted from the dust and lit like tinder. Hmmm. I'm kinda there over the past couple of weeks. Cool.

More later on Jesus and dust and tinder and passages through the trees.

Pinned

2009-03-08T18:49:00.007-06:00

I said in the last post that I don't mind so much anymore being pinned to the mat in the wrestling match.

I don't mind, but that said, I'm not a chipper girl at the moment. Haven't been for a bit, and don't know when the chipper will come back, but whatever.

Without sounding like a broken record (is that possible?), I miss people. And for this moment, I want to say I miss my nephews. Hmmph.

I am watching National Geographic's Kingdom of the Blue Whale, and it occurs to me how much the boys would love this and it would be a ball to watch it with them. The heart tug is a little too much, so I flip the channel.

I land on some car commercial that shows little Cub Scouts making Pinewood Derby cars, which is what the boys were doing with Dad and Grandpa this past week. Big, fat help that was. Hmmmph.

It's not just missing people. I have fantastic friends here that God has provided and I AM SOOOOO GRATEFUL! Truly, truly. I have dear sisters and families here that make this place home now. I am not led to pack the car.

And I get to see them frequently. But it has to be scheduled, planned. We all have lives, commitments, work. You know the drill.

And, yes, I love my alone time, and yes, I know I am blessed to be single and free to serve God with my whole heart and life, and yes, I know I am fortunate not to be married to or living with someone who steals my joy, and yes, I know, I know, I know...

and I don't plan to run out and arrange my own fix or solution with either a human or a cat or a dog or a bird or a fish or any other creature that needs tending to...

but the truth remains...

I miss the serendipitous moments of someone treasured in the house or family down the street. I miss having someone to dote on. Someone who knows me thoroughly and loves me anyway, lets me shower them with ridiculous affection because I know them thoroughly, and they can stand 100% of me as me. I miss that as part of daily life, mornings and evenings, breakfast and grocery shopping and weed pulling and coffee sipping.

I knew it was good when I had it, the nearness of family, friends who had lived years and years of history with me, and a friend who was so much more than a roommate. It's no less painful now for the appreciation I had for it then.

I am not angry. I am fine. I am better than coping; I am growing and learning. But there is a hole in my heart. I don't think it's wrong. I agree with John Eldredge and plenty of others who don't believe that God satisfies our every whim, and in fact, most people who know Jesus intimately seem to have one thing that is a significant unmet desire, a longing that is unanswered. We never know how God will play out the longing in each person's life specifically (we are all uniquely fearfully and wonderfully created, after all!), and I have no idea what the rest of my life holds (you have NO IDEA how much I have no idea), but for now, in this phase, living as I do, it feels like the lesser version of me.

I know that's not the truth, though. So continue to listen, seek, and love my Jesus I will. He is enough. More than. He will meet me. He will continue to change me for the better and the more beautiful and the more satisfied and the more loving. For now, I am called to this moment as it is.

And I miss my boys.

Wrestling

2009-03-04T21:52:00.003-07:00

Can I just pop in here to say that I am wrestling with a bunch of conflicting desires and wishes, having one of those stretches where I am being stretched and at moments feel I'll-do-anything cooperative and then downright heels-dug-in resistant? I could break it down into categories, and I may well do so in here at some point, but suffice to say I am a fussy girl these days.

The cool thing, I think, is that the fussiness is different than in years past. My trust level in Him is much higher. I know who wins the wrestling match, but I also know it's okay to wrestle. I didn't used to believe that. It felt like any engagement with God (or non-engagement and avoidance, in my case) about things I didn't care for or didn't understand was some deeply unholy lack of contentment and thus disobedient and evil. Now I believe that through the wrestling he shapes me. He still wins the match, but frankly, I want him to. His plans are ALWAYS better, and always have more love and joy interlaced into them than I deserve or would have arranged for myself.

Which is the other thing I am trying not to do: arrange things. If you want specific examples of how my impatience can manifest itself, go knock on Liann's blog (she could write a book), but I can at least tell you that I find it a challenge to sit in the fuzzy unknown, in desires that I don't know how to solve and that I can't seem to get to shut their yaps. I don't care if the indecision is solved with a less than exemplary choice; I just wanted it solved. I learned that about myself in college when my mom pointed out in a certain situation that it would not be wise to cut off my nose to spite my face just to have an issue that I was wrestling with settled. A very important conversation in the halls of Cal State San Bernardino that I never forgot.

So, I am not arranging my world. Or trying not to, at least. I catch myself taking matters out of his hands and into mine. No, no, no. Don't want that. No matter what, it's better back in his hands. Okay, here you go.

Still a wrestling match. But I don't mind being pinned so much anymore. His outcomes are written with a for love me I can't begin to plumb the depths of, so he's welcome to be the beautiful winner.

Wanted: 90 Minutes of My Life Back

2009-03-01T19:22:00.003-07:00

See this penguin? And the mischievous little grin underneath it?

That's my pilot pal Amber. She lives in Indonesia but was stateside for some training for the past few weeks. We always catch a movie together when she's here. So far, it hasn't been a bad streak: National Treasure 2, The Forbidden Kingdom. She's even picked out some decent DVDs.

However, our most recent choice means she owes me 90 minutes of my life that was completely frittered away. And she has been trying to hang some of the responsibility for the failure on me. Whatever. I tried for Slumdog Millionaire. She hadn't heard of it (she lives overseas, you know) and claims I failed to do a decent sell job on the plot (I hardly knew what the plot was; I just knew we should see it!).

So what did we see instead?

Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Um, yeah. The whole thing.

On the positive side, it's very family-friendly clean. On the humor side, if I was twelve I probably would have sat there heh-heh, heh-hehing, my way through the thing. As it is, I am almost 40, so I confess to a few snorts and snarfs of laughter here and there (watching a chubby guy ride a Segway with pride and grandeur like it's a Harley Davidson is kinda funny, actually), but mostly I was wanting to lean over and smack Amber for shooting down my movie suggestion. She claims no fault since I technically agreed to the Blart viewing, but seriously...what do you do with an out-of-town guest? You let them have their way! Sluss wins the argument.

On the brighter side, we had dinner before the movie at a steak place near the theaters. Since neither of us had been there before, and we didn't know anyone who had, we used our "Take a hit for the team" rationale and ordered appetizer through dessert so we could review it well. The food was fine, nothing to write home about, but like any meal with Amber, it was not without its moments of hilarity, including her shooting an edamame bean past my ear and out into the walkway. I suppose I equaled the hilarity by dripping chocolate and caramel from the mud pie pictured below across my cell phone in a rush to answer a text message.

Don't worry; I licked my cell phone clean :)

Holly the Birthday Girl!

2009-02-26T13:03:00.005-07:00

Happy Birthday, old friend! From long ago days at Disneyland (is that really 1986?)...

to more recent days at the Magic Kingdom (we seem to have picked up a few things along the way!)...

you are a gift and a joy and a beauty and a treasure (which means Corrina should have been kissing YOU!).

And, somehow, despite you having both a husband and a son, you have far less gray hair than me! Not fair!

Hope your day is Tigger-ific! Love you!

Opa!

2009-02-21T13:31:00.006-07:00

The company, the food, the fun, the ouzo--last Sunday was Greek fest at the house! Following the Elf event, we decided we needed another reason to eat well and watch some movies. Valentine's Day weekend seemed a great excuse, and somehow we decided that we needed Greek food; there was some discussion at some point about gyros, and the deal was sealed.

Mama Mia! and My Big Fat Greek Wedding fit the bill for both romance (Valentine's Day) and Greek inspiration, so the gals came with ingredients, we cooked and sang with Meryl Streep, and we ate and ate and ate.

Feast your eyes on the yumminess:

Spanakopita and Greek-seasoned zucchini...

Olives and dates and hummus and pistachios...

Pita and homemade tzatziki and gyro fixin's...

More spanakopita and Greek orzo salad and a happy green salad with some feta sprinkled in...

And, because it's in the movie, a bundt cake! "It's a cake!" We had Greek/Turkish/Arabic/Armenian coffee (take your pick, depending on your preferred nationality) to top it all off. Heaven!

Full tummies and fun gals...and one bitty baby boy who thinks Stef is the "Baby Whisperer", thinks I am goofy, and has a crush on Harriet. No ouzo for him :)

There were several "Doh!" pictures while I was trying to get either the remote or the timer on the camera to work. This one is my favorite, as I raced back to the couch. I call it "Flying Sluss" in honor of my hair going completely horizontal as I tried to slam myself into the bunch.

Stef treid to warn me that I would smell like a Greek deli after all our feasting. Um...that's affirmative, kids. I went to sleep that night thinking there was a giant gyro on the other side of the bed.

What she did not warn me about was that my house would smell like a Greek deli for the rest of the week, and that every time I opened my leftover-laden refrigerator, a raging fist of garlic would barrel out and grab me around the throat. I think a little Greek man died in there.

Can I just say that I LOVE my house for being able to have heaps of fun like this? Lots of laughter, good stories, hilarious singing, delicious food, all in the same room. Thanks to Grandma Mel for the dining room table, Mom and Dad for the fridge and half the living room furniture, Liann for picking out great decorative accents, Holly and Mike and Joanna for the blankies that people love to cuddle when they watch flicks, my pals in Jordan for the perfect coffee set and coffee, and lots of others (Kathleen, Lynn B., Masha, Grandma Quack-Quack, Uncle Chris, etc.) who have given me pieces that make my house, my house. And praise Jesus for the gift of this house in which to live and laugh and love!

Opa!

Shambly and Scintillating

2009-02-20T17:45:00.006-07:00

I sent this to Liann today; it just came out of my fingers when I typed. She liked it and said I ought to bloggy it.

I find I still keep trying, in spite of my overt intentions to embrace both joy and sorrow, simplicity and unavoidable difficulties, to smooth the water I swim in and make the air as still and comfortable to me as possible. My mind and mouth speak one thing: "There is no embracing you without the uncontrollable hard, God!", but my heart goes surreptitiously about the day with a trowel trying to smooth the cement, the atmosphere, the ocean--whatever I am in at the moment--and even trying to smooth my own interaction with the world, making me bring less of me to it. So very odd.

I war with myself. Paul was pretty smart.

I was worried about the fact that it was a huge mixed metaphor, but considering I am the daughter of a mixed metaphor master, she said I should own my heritage, and quit sweating about it because it ministered to her. Maybe it will minister to someone else, too...you never know.

I also told her

Your body is a shambly tent, but your heart is so gorgeous and restored and scintillating.

It applies to just how Jesus works in all of us, really (except Christian decathletes, maybe--their bodies are not so shambly). Lianni liked it, but she is jealous because she never thinks to use the word "scintillating".

Well, I never think to memorize all the American presidents in order. We're even, I think :)

DAWG

2009-02-16T22:30:00.003-07:00

Luke 2:19 and 2:51 both talk about Mary treasuring the things she was experiencing, as a result of Jesus' arrival and growth, deep within her heart. She stored them and pondered them. She kept them to herself.

This would be quite different than my usual tack. I can keep things about others to myself, but all the things about me typically come blathering out on a blog or in someone's long-suffering ear.

I have to say, though, that those two verses have been coming to mind frequently in the past several weeks. Didn't know why. Like I said, keeping things that I am pondering to myself is, well...not what someone who has had written on every report card since kindergarten, "Bright, but a bit too social, and quite talkative," does.

I took a DAWG today (day away with God). Didn't really go away; it's cold here in Idaho, without too many wintery places to sit comfortably soaking in God's creation. I could have picked a coffee house or something, I suppose, but it doesn't make for a handy spot to burst into tears or yell out loud if God suddenly stirs something in ya.

So, I retreated to my upstairs bonus room. Nicely lit, sunny, spacious; kinda happy, actually.

And I had an interesting day. And, miracle of miracles, wonder of wonders, I feel led to ponder things in my heart, treasure them up, hold them dear. In the general scope, I was reminded that God will meet my every need, that any "needs" I dream up or things I think I require to function well are to be surrendered to him and forgiveness asked for, and that I don't have to hold in my heart or mind or spirit some schemed-up level of preparedness for different situations that may or may not ever crop up in my life or the lives of people I care about.

Their lives are not mine, and my life is not mine. Pretty simple.

Oh, yeah. I was reminded that I make so many things way too complicated. Step back, Sluss. It's just not that hard.

Manna for today. Listening to Him more than the world or people. Obedience and grace and love, not one of them at the exclusion of the others. He is good.

The Transformation is Complete

2009-02-13T11:01:00.006-07:00

First, the good news. I have a guest staying with me this week from the UK, and she brought treats! Chocolate-covered honeycomb, REAL English tea, Yorkshire pudding mix (which I have since been told is SO simple to make that it was utterly humiliating for Harriet to buy it in a mix), lovely chocolate, and the most gorgeous shortbread ever. Gorgeous, I tell you.

On the bad news side of things, I came to a realization yesterday morning as I pulled my hair back to put it in a barrette. My skin is so very mid-winter pale, and my hair so very old-age gray now, with a lovely hunk of white up the right side, that it's official.

I have become Lily Munster. Only not as svelte.

Somewhere there is a giant, green, Frankensteiny man who will find me attractive.

I can only dream...

Valentine Treats and Stinginess Both

2009-02-09T10:14:00.003-07:00

Valentine yummies and pretties arrived last week from Mom and Dad!

Mom and Dad are such sweet valentines :) They sent me enough treats to share; I agree with that idea, except for the cookies. One of the boxes contained two Harry and David's Raspberry Galettes, with little hearts cut into them.

If you are looking for cookie crack, this is it. So, so soft on the outside and perfect filling. There WAS NO COOKIE SHARING. That's right; past tense.

Thanks, Mumsey and Popsey! Love you!

Memories, In the Corners of My Eyes...

2009-02-08T18:40:00.007-07:00

That's how we sing it, anyway. And the "I Will Survive" video prompted Mom's memories about Italy...and a certain Italian guitar player who chose to lavish much attention on our beautiful Lianni.

Yes, there were five of us at the table...

But he only had eyes for Liann...

And a song for Liann...

Then he had lips for Liann!

Oh, and Mc? That phrase we couldn't remember the other night? The evening stroll where you show la bella figura? It's la passeggiata, mi amica cara!

Brought to you courtesy of a glorious vacation to Italy in July, 2001 :)

Give Yourself 5:47 to Laugh a Little

2009-02-03T17:35:00.008-07:00

In homage to a Tuesday afternoon that suddenly went 24 directions at once. And I still have some hair left...

I will survive!

Maybe it was just me, but I laughed like a fool when I saw this today. Reminds me of all the guys Mom, Dad, Liann and I saw singing thickly-accented John Denver songs in Italy--fantatsic! And the little Thai guy Liann and Paul and I watched sing Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" in Lampang. Those weren't quite so classical, though ;)

Hope this makes someone smile :)

Like a Kid in a Candy Store

2009-02-02T16:05:00.010-07:00

Who else looks this ridiculously happy and dopey as they snowblow?

Becky kept saying I was doing her a favor by snowblowing the driveway at her family's cabin in Cascade so we could have 16 very fun gals spend a hoot of a weekend together. Whatever. Doesn't she know that snowblowing ROCKS?!

We went up early on Friday ahead of the rest of the bunch to prep the house and get all set for a time of jigsaw puzzles, reading, eating, the McCall Winter Carnival, Mexican Train dominoes (YEAH!), Gold Fork Hot Springs, more eating, napping, sudoku, a surprise birthday event, laughter, listening, tears, sharing, encouragement, and prayer. Becky is an exceptional hostess and so very generous with her time and talents and gifts. Thank you, girl!

What we didn't have to prep was the view from the cabin. Wowee.

In a non-snacking moment...

In our true realities...

Last year, Becky's mom provided warm fuzzy socks for all the gals who went up (She's never even met most of us--why is she so nice?). It was so kind, and we took a picture of our socked-feet. This year, she sent pairs of both stretch and suede gloves for all the ladies to help them stay cozy. Here's our jazz hands shot...

A ball was had by one and all. Especially the gals who made it to the Hot Springs. There's naturally-occurring lithium in the water. I was apparently so at ease when I got back to the cabin that the moment I walked upstairs, before I even said one word, three people said, "Wow, you look WAY relaxed!"

I said, "What, is my face all slack or something?"

"Um, actually...yeah."

Also, I was enthusiastically informed over the weekend that even if I get married one day, people are still going to call me Sluss. And then I will have to explain myself. And that's just too bad. So there.

Cool :)

Ode to the Cold

2009-01-28T20:27:00.006-07:00

O, cows, how you huddle in piles
Noses tucked into your sides against the wind,
Making me smile as I bluster past
you in my car, enroute to work, snow swirling.

I, myself, am bundled in the auto,
Ralphie's-brother-like,
Braced against the ridiculous Idaho temps.
I bet Randy was not as grateful as I

to his Mama for buying him a Cuddl Duds cami
to keep the top half warmer, and
to his bro and sis-in-law for the warm silk pants under the pants
to keep the evil wind at bay, and
to the Mama and the Daddy for the stadium coat
to which all others bow in envy of its downy warmitude.

Human seven-layer-Mexican-dip, am I!
A wintry, pasty version.

Then there is the mane. Its purpose in
Winter is to grow long and thick; keep my
Noggin warm, o wads of curls.
However,
if a ringlet escapes, unknown, into the
Cold, as groceries you load into the
Car, it becomes a tube of chilly horror,
which, surreptitiously, as
You reach to start the engine,
Slips back inside your coat collar,
Encircling your neck,
an icy feather boa.

From your throat:
"Yeeeeeaaaaw-ha-ha-haaaaa!"

And again you bow to the cold.

Not unlike the sun, stared
Down by the grass, snow-encrusted,
saying to the mighty orb in the sky,
"Yes, here you may bring light! But,
You will bring no warmth!
My snow
WILL STAY!

Neener! Neener! NEENER!"

It Cuts Both Ways

2009-01-25T17:15:00.006-07:00

A compliment to me, but maybe not to Kari Jo, my cousin: Someone at the church where I spoke last weekend thought we were sisters, which is a very nice compliment to me; Kari is about 10 years my junior and red-headed and pretty much the cutest and fittest of us four grandkids on the Slusser side. We went to my Uncle Chris's house for lunch after the service and Mommy took a nice picture of us.

A compliment to Uncle Chris (Kari's dad), but maybe not to me: Someone else at the church thought my Uncle Chris, 19 years my senior, was my brother! My mom cracked up when I told her someone had said how nice it was that my brother went to the church; Mom said, "What a nice compliment!"

I said, "Yeah, for Uncle Chris! Hello!"

Sigh. I guess it doesn't matter in the big scheme. Uncle Chris is still my favorite uncle 38 years into the role, and Kari is my only cousin also in the "First-Born Over-Responsible Daughters Club" and has a brother just like mine (Those boys think we are bossy; can you imagine? Whatever!), so I'll keep 'em both :)

Check the Bag!

2009-01-25T16:52:00.002-07:00

The next time you make yourself some tasty Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and you do that maneuver where you waggle the bag of cheese mix back and forth from one end of the package to make sure all the cheese dust is at the other end before you open it...

check to see how intact the bag is. It could be that you give it one good wag and the heavy end goes flying, splaying orange cheese granules all over your stove, counter, floor, and you as it completes its giant arc through the air and you stand there with an inch of the bag remaining in your hand.

Guess the kitchen wanted a pre-spring cleaning anyway. Oy.

Snowshoeing!

2009-01-24T11:40:00.005-07:00

I got to try snowshoeing for the first time the weekend after New Year's. I went with with Miss Danielle and Miss Karin (her first time, too). Mommy asked me the other day where the pictures were...voilà!

Karin, Kathie, Danielle. (Yes, Karin and Kathie work much better with poles as they snowshoe. Danielle has had years of ballet training; even when she would lose her balance for an instant, watching her regain it was a moment of graceful beauty...sheesh!)

How fun is it to have a friend who has the grace, gentle sweetness, and lithe build of Audrey Hepburn? I told Danielle one day that's who she reminds me of; she got all shy and giggled, just like I bet Audrey would :)

We hiked on Deer Creek Road, off Highway 21, on the way to Idaho City. The snow was a little crunchy by then, but it was such a gorgeous day to be outside!

I had a ball and was actually not too bad at staying vertical. Just to keep it real, though, and in the continuing tradition of all my Idaho outdoor activities to date, I fell on some ice and got a lovely bruise on one knee. It was, however, smaller than the previous two bruises from tubing the Boise River, so whoo hoo!

Gratitude Update

2009-01-23T18:44:00.004-07:00

Just in case I wasn't grateful enough for where God let the car conk out...

The mechanic called with an update and an estimate. They checked to see if they could just replace the outer part of the tie rod. Turns out the nut that should have been flush to the wheel was loose, allowing the rod to vibrate, so both the inner and outer threads were completely wiped out, and rusted. The right side tie rod and wheel are nice and tight, fortunately.

After telling Henry the history of the car, he's quite confident that the nut wasn't tightened well after I had new shocks and struts put back in a second time in early 2006 by a place in Redlands (a convenient place near my old office). They were put in a second time because the first time they did it, they used the wrong size struts and stretched my brake lines like violin strings over them. About five days after the work, after a couple trips up and down the hill and around the mountain, my brakes went completely out...blessedly and amazingly in my boss's driveway after a very late night drive home from Ontario Airport. That was car Miracle Number One after the shoddy work; my own mechanic in Lake Arrowhead was furious when he figured out what had happened at this other place down the hill, made it a point to tell me how incredibly fortunate I was, and told me to go confront the other guys and have them redo the work with the right parts. And, specifically, tell them from him, "They're lukcy they're not paying your funeral costs."

After having them fix it, Miracle Number Two happened today, in my mechanic's driveway. And this very kind, diligent mechanic, when he called with the update, said specifically, "I still can't believe this happened where it did, right here. If you had been on the freeway, Kathie, I can't even...I just...I don't even want to tell you."

I can't help but think that not only was I safe, but a passenger each time was safe, and other people on the road weren't hurt by a fast-moving car that suddenly could not steer.

I drove the loaner car home very carefully tonight. It's been a full week of being reminded that human control over our world is a fallacy in so many ways. I can drive slowly and have my car checked and eat my oragnic vegetables and take my vitamins and make my mortgage payment and go to work and get on airplanes that are safer than cars on highways...it's not my story to call. So glad I know the Author personally :) No matter how the story goes, I know His heart is pure love and goodness.

POP! "Danielle, what was that?"

2009-01-23T09:47:00.005-07:00

You know how in the movie Cars the automobiles are animated to look all personified and human-like? Oh, Lightning McQueen's headlight stickers are positioned to make him look kinda arrogant; Doc Hudson's grill is twisted to make him look gruff and grumpy.

I am pretty sure there is some moment where Sally, the cute little blue Porsche, defies what cars normally really do and turns her front wheels inward toward one another to give her the appearance of being shy and embarrassed.

Kinda like this:

This is my pigeon-toed little RAV4 this morning. And several people have told me that God must love me, because I am still here.

Before work, I went to pick up Danielle at the auto repair shop near our office. She was dropping her car off for some maintenance, and we had it all arranged so we could arrive back at the office in time for chapel. The guys who own the shop are fantastic, fair, and kind, so when I arrived, Danielle was already inside, and I ran in to say hello. Danielle and I headed out to my car and I backed out of the parking space.

As I started to turn and pull forward, there was a very loud "POP!" I looked at Danielle and said, "Well, that's weird." I tried to drive forward and couldn't. I could back up, kind of bumpy like, but not go forward. We got out of the car and the first thing I saw was the front left tire turned way in to the right...I peeked at my steering wheel, which was NOT turned right; it was set a little left.

Then I walked around to the front and gasped. "Danielle! Something's definitely not right! My car is pigeon-toed!" I ran inside the shop office, cracking up. Henry and Martin looked at me from the shop floor, heads cocked a little. "Guys, something is DEFINITELY not right with my car!"

They came running right out and gasped, too. That would be a broken tie rod on the driver's side, kids. And an immediate pronouncement from both Henry and Martin about how blessed I was to not be trucking down the snowy roads this morning when it decided to break. I was in complete slow motion in the auto repair shop driveway when it happened.

It's fun; all the guys I show the picture to here at work gasp, too. And tell me how lucky I was not to be on the road when it happened.

Henry and Martin immediately offered me a free loaner car they have and made sure I would keep it all weekend since they probably can't get my car done today. Henry even offered to write a note if Danielle and I needed to explain our tardy chapel arrival and Martin cleared the snow off the car and got it all warmed up for us :)

I didn't exactly have cash sitting around for what is not an insignificant repair, but Danielle and I didn't care...we praised God all the way back to work for keeping us safe.

Feeling blessed and loved today? I am!

Things That Appear in Bold Print

2009-01-23T06:16:00.002-07:00

Don't you just love when you read something and parts of it leap off the page like they are in bold print, just for you? I read some Brennan Manning last night, and amidst the pleadings in this prayer, there were some that came neon-flashing off the page for me. Maybe there is something for you, too?

Even if not, I share anyway :) Plus, there is something therapeutic about typing things out for yourself...

True Poverty

Jesus, my Brother and Lord, I pray as I write these words for the grace to be truly poor before you, to recognize and accept my weakness and humanness, to forgo the indecent luxury of self-hatred, to celebrate your mercy and trust in your power when I am at my weakest, to rely on your love no matter what I may do, to seek no escapes from my innate poverty, to accept loneliness when it comes instead of seeking substitutes, to live peacefully without clarity or assurance, to stop grandstanding and trying to get attention, to do the truth quietly without display, to let the dishonesties in my life fade away, to belong no more to myself, not to desert my post when I give the appearance of staying at it, to cling to my humanity, to accept the limitations and full responsibility of being a human being--really human and really poor in Christ our Lord.

The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD
Lamentations 3:25-26

Waves Over My Heart

2009-01-22T08:50:00.003-07:00

New blog skin for where my heart is today and has been for over a week in some sense. Plus, Christmas is put away for now. I can't have Christmas ornaments on my blog in January...

I am getting some new waves over my heart from God. I want some new waves. But the ones that have come lately didn't come cheap. They have come at a dear cost. I can't even enumerate or capture everything yet, and I may not be able or want to, but I feel a need to start somewhere.

Last weekend was one of the most heartbreaking and most beautiful of my life. My Saturday and Sunday were so different from one another in some ways, but God's presence in each day and each moment was so tender and so palpable. Honestly, I just kinda can't get over being amazed by it.

Saturday, at Lara and Marshall's request, I spoke at Timmy's memorial service. I told Lara and Marshall that they hold the distinction of giving me the most difficult honor I have ever had. I am still a little speechless inside at the gift of being able to recollect and share about the darling boy God created in Timmy and the, the...the... see? I can't even find a name for it...the way God's truth and love and grief and honesty and pain and beauty have poured forth out of Timmy's mama and daddy and family and friends.

Sunday, I gave the morning message at a church in Arcadia, sharing about MAF and missions. The congregation there is kind and generous and loving, and there was much laughter and joy. The prayer before the service with the pastor and the choir, including my wonderful Uncle Chris, was filled with laughter and praise. By the time I went to the front to speak, I was speechless. I was overwhelmed by how present and tender and faithful God was in each of these days, so very different from one another. I had to pause before I spoke, and in a choked voice, explain why I was so emotional before even saying, "Good morning". He is in every moment, every tear and every celebration. And He is good in every one. Every single one.

I was so full of awe and joy inside, I almost said, "Can I get an, 'Amen!'?" But I don't think they do that in Presbyterian churches...

This past week and the present one have been filled with reminders of God's sovereignty, which I actually used to balk at more. Somehow, talking about His sovereignty always seemed a poking reminder of my inadequacy and inability to make the right choices and run my own life well. I wanted to run it well and for His honor, for Pete's sake...shouldn't that count for something? I just wanted to run it and not need much help, by golly.

Now, reminders of His sovereignty are deeply comforting, so reassuring. He is the one unchangeable, the one constant. I love it. Our hearts are, my heart is, so fragile. Proverbs 18:10 is in my head:

The name of the LORD is a strong tower;
the righteous run to it and are safe.

I need strength. I don't have my own. I don't want my own anymore. I want His, His, His.

Be careful...

2009-01-15T09:36:00.002-07:00

if you're the kind of person who, when puttin' on yer pants, yanks their jeans up for that final, "Urg!" yank by the belt loops. You could find yourself in an airport bathroom (ready to fly out, not having just arrived home) hearing that "only ripping fabric makes that kinda noise" sound, and have a belt loop and the fabric it's attached to above your back pocket come swinging free, revealing a pleasant view to whatever yer wearin' underneath. "God bless my underwear..."

Thank heaven I am wearing an untucked shirt today and a zip-up hoodie...both are long enough to cover the tragedy and I can use the hood to cowl my face if necessary.

Good thing this layover is in Vegas. No one will even notice. They'll think I am a showgirl. Especially if I had snatched a couple of feathers from the little birdies that were sipping from the drinking fountain across from my gate at the Boise airport. Little birdies love to hang out inside airports :)

Six Years Today

2009-01-13T18:13:00.002-07:00

Amazing. It's six years today since my first day with MAF. Within three months they sent me to Russia and Kazakhstan, and the crazy list of places I have been, things I have eaten, churches I have worshiped in, people I have met, and ways I have seen God work was launched.

As I ran down a hallway here at headquarters today to have a discussion about the role Learning Technologies might play in the job of a new family to MAF who are headed overseas to actually fill a different role, but heard about LT providing training for pastors and got very excited at the thought of having a part in it, I literally said aloud, "I have the weirdest job on the planet." My boss is on his way to England and Turkey, and here I am discussing some of his communication from a phone call and my input from meetings to help a committee make a decision about this family's life. Good heavens.

And then I get weepy. I think about the people I have met who live in places where staying fed is a struggle, staying warm is a luxury, and staying safe is a daily tightrope walk. Even when I am not traveling, I meet people who come through the doors at headquarters who live extraordinary lives of sacrifice, both here and abroad, and others who are getting their first safe start here in America. And those who are here for a time then headed back to walk lonely trails to remote villages so people might know that a man who was the incarnation of the very God who created them died on a cross and rose from the dead so they might live forever with him. They are deeply loved and they have been rescued. There is good news.

And God uses silly, easily distracted, sometimes too serious, sometimes not serious enough, not as smart as the next guy, me. He is so gracious to let me tag along to where he goes and where he sends. Thank you, Father. An unexpected life, indeed. Please cause me to live it well.

There oughta be a website...

2009-01-12T19:48:00.002-07:00

where you can pre-screen the food combinations you might put together before you actually consume them. Remember the unsuccessful ham-stacky-thingy-ma-doodles from 2007? I may have discovered tonight that ham is the enemy in any combo besides swiss cheese and fresh bread for a tasty sandwich. Oh, and my choice of eating trough may have contributed to the error tonight.

To start with, I have lots of lettuce to eat before my next trip. Lots. Last week, Fred Meyer had bags of salad on sale, 5 bags for $5. I had guests for dinner one night and I think we ate 1/2 - 3/4 of a bag. You can do the math about what's left for just little ol' me.

I decided tonight that I needed to get a move on with the remaining lettuce so it all gets consumed before I leave. And there's ham, too. So, chef salad seemed the natural order of the evening! Turned out all I really had around to put in the salad that was interesting to me tonight was shredded cheddar cheese and ham. And I wanted to eat LOTS of lettuce, so I used a mixing bowl instead of a plate for making my salad. And then it needed something crunchy...hmmm...crunchy. Pantry scan, pantry scan...no croutons, no really crunchy nuts...oh, wait! Peanuts! I have dry roasted peanuts in here!

Um, I don't think peanuts and ham were meant to be friends. But I didn't figure it out until I was near the end of the salad the size of a Crate and Barrel mixing bowl. And then, well, you're near the end...you might as well finish it up and be done with it, ya know?

Mistake. Kathie deeply unwell. Sitting very still for one hour on couch. No moving, please.

And no more making dinner to eat out of a mixing bowl. Bad idea. Mixing bowls are for mixing, not for eating out of. Unless they are full of cookie dough.

Oooohhh! Mmmmm...cookie dough...

No, no. Still too much misery. Must wait.

They Walked Him Home

2009-01-11T18:27:00.002-07:00

Marshall and Lara said goodbye to Timmy yesterday until they see him again in the arms of Christ. If you want to know what a tiny angel looks like, explore their blog a little and see the kind of love Timmy engendered around him in less than two years on this earth.

If you want to see two bigger angels, take a look at Lara and Marshall. The love and support they created around Timmy through an incredibly difficult illness is extraordinary beauty in the midst of some of the deepest pain I think we can know on earth. When Timmy was diagnosed with Leigh Syndrome, Marshall and Lara said that from day one as Timmy's parents their highest calling was to make sure their son knew Christ, whether that was to introduce him to the knowledge of his Savior when we was older or to love him well until Jesus came to take him home. Jesus came yesterday at 3:00 PM, and Timmy's parents and nurses walked him tenderly to the healing embrace of his Heavenly Father.

I am grateful beyond words for the five or so hours I got to spend with the three of them the Tuesday after Christmas, reading Timmy an alphabet book his mama made just for him with pictures of his daddy and lots of other family, smooching his face, laughing at music that only Marshall would know how to find, eating Lara's delicious spaghetti, and listening to Marshall and Lara's hearts (and them listening to me plenty, too, patient people they are!).

God, thank you for the reality of your grace and the promises of restoration. Thank you that Timmy is energized and whole and that you will be nearer to Marshall and Lara than I could ever imagine. Tonight, with my tears, I give you my precious friends.

S'more pain, please!

2009-01-08T19:29:00.004-07:00

Joy: The sleek, newly installed microwave got christened with a marshmallow and a graham cracker to make a s'more. Happy, happy food.

Pain: The meeting I was in at work, approximately 90 minutes after the installation, where the five men I was sitting with all said they would have been more than happy to install the microwave for me, saving me the $150 installation fee. It started with me mentioning that I had just arrived back in the office after being home to meet the installer.

Bill: "Oh, yeah, I just installed one of those."

Kathie: "One of those? As in an over-the-range microwave?"

Bill: "Yeah, for our daughter in California while we were there for Christmas."

Tom: Pointing at the housing units for visiting staff across the street, "You know how many of those things I put in over there?"

Mike: "Yeah, we could have created the space for you to have it put in, cabinets, erveything."

Kathie: "There already was a space."

Mike: "You mean you were just replacing one? Not adding a new one?"

Darryl: "That means it would have been really simple; the hardware was already there."

Kathie: "Well, um, he drilled some additional holes in the cabinet above..."

Bill: "It probably came with a cabinet install template."

Kathie: Voice rising, "There's this thing on my kitchen counter right now that says, 'Upper-cabinet template'!!!"

Tom: "Kathie, you have brothers here that you need to ask for help when you need it."

Kathie barely refrains from slamming head on table, blurts out, "Crap," instead (yes, in a meeting where I work), and wants to vomit.

I did ask for help for the garage door opener installation. Actually, I asked for Dave to look at the broken one. When he saw the condition of the gears, he offered to install the new one.

This microwave has a vent and a fan and a light and stuff...I wouldn't know what to do, so I don't even know how to ask help for what I don't know how to do. Uggghhh! Grrrrr! Arrrrggghhhh!

This post and the microwave shall serve as my $150 reminder TO ASK FOR HELP. I missed a chance to be a better steward with my money; one of my brothers missed a chance to bless me; I missed a chance to be blessed.

As Lara so beautifully said a couple of weeks ago, "I am learning to be imperfect." Amen, sister, amen.

Ramen, Popcorn, What?

2009-01-08T09:56:00.002-07:00

The new microwave is being installed this afternoon. Above-range-microwave = installation. Ouch. Thank you, Sears...

What do I nuke first? Cast your vote, people...

Not Refusing and Not Rushing

2009-01-03T09:53:00.004-07:00

From Brennan Manning's Reflections for Ragamuffins this morning:

The Challenge to Grow

When God introduces creative tension into our lives by calling us to break camp, abandon the security and comfort of the status quo, and embark in perilous freedom on a new exodus, our insecurity and procrastination may focus only on the darker implications of the challenge and plunge us anew into unhealthy guilt. Stubbornly to stand still when the Lord is clearly challenging us to growth is hardheartedness, infidelity, and a dangerous lack of trust. But to start trekking across the desert impulsively without the guidance of the cloud and the fire is reckless folly. When God's call is not clarified and the inner voice remains indistinct, our restlessness and interior disquiet may be signaling a new exodus into greater openness, vulnerability, and compassion, a deeper purity of heart, a transformed mind and spirit. The landscape of the American church is littered with burned-out bodies and abortive ministries born of unhealthy guilt and fear of resisiting God's will.

Who will acquit us from guilt? Who will free us from the bondage of projectionsim, perfectionism, and moralism? Who will rewrite the script? Thanks be to God for Jesus Christ our Lord!

When you see the ark of the covenant of the LORD your God, and the priests, who are Levites, carrying it, you are to move out from your positions and follow it. Then you will know which way to go, since you have never been this way before.

Joshua 3:3-4

I want to be the kind of person who embraces growth and loves the opportunity. I am in theory; in practicality, I much prefer being told I am already brilliant and doing things perfectly. Sigh... I have discovered that the real connotation of "growth" in my head means I am not measuring up and that I have dangerous, humiliating deficits. Not exactly great soil for allowing God to bring beautiful change. And I still have a little of the old, "I'll get it right then show you how well I can do, Lord." lingering around. You know, the idea that I can just "gut out" the tough moments and work really hard to bring about change. What hooey. I have no guts!

That's been one of the most wonderful things to accept--I have no guts. I have nothing naturally existing in me that can be brave and muscle myself any nearer to the greater heart, the deeper compassion, the longer patience, and the better service I want in my life. Nope--no guts.

But I have the Holy Spirit. And He that lives in me will keep a watch on the cloud and fire and will know which way to go, will give strength and wisdom and love for the journey and change, and make it possible to be brave in the unknown.

Lord, may it be so.

Snowflake Breakfast

2008-12-21T10:28:00.008-07:00

People are either going to stop reading this blog or someone is going to report me to the silliness police for being as giddy as I am about things like snow and breakfast. Remember, at least I own my dorkiness.

Ah, deep sigh, perfect morning. I have eggs and milk to use up before I leave, so I decided to make a batch of pancakes to freeze (when I come home, I have pretty high confidence that the toaster will still work...oh, please). The first two eggs I cracked open both had double yolks in them. Why is that so fun? I get my eggs from friends who own chickens, so they are super fresh and I love how much orangier the yolks are when you stir them into batter...the look of it is so different than store-bought eggs. Makes me appreciate Beth's joy in cooking and the delight in it when you can do it at a leisurely pace. I set the double-yolks aside to be the fried eggs for the morning, and went forward with making pancakes and sausage and then the cute little four-yolk fried eggs. A fresh pot of coffee was ready, so steaming Christmas mug in hand and delicious breakfast on the couch were complimented by the lit tree and decorations and snow falling outside. The snow is heavenly; big and little flakes are dancing and floating around so long before they land that they look like they have tossed aside any concept of gravity. When they do finally land, it looks like they agreed to do it for the sake of decoration and making way for other flakes; the laws of physics and relativity would never be so rude on such a pretty morning as to yank anything so beautiful to the ground.

After breakfast, more joy in a call to Grandma Mel to sing happy birthday wishes, and a decision that those intricately decorated Christmas sugar cookies will get delivered to the neighbors on either side whose names I actually know and to the guy who snow plows the sidewalks and driveways of the cul-de-sac. I definitely want to stay friends with him. I don't care if he knows my name :) The rest of the cookies are MINE!

In anticipation of the lights at the Mission Inn, here are pictures from the Idaho Botanical Garden's Winter Garden Aglow 2008 event. Mumsey and Popsey and I went the night after Thanksigiving and sipped cider and snapped pictures and wandered the very cold but very festive grounds.

And as always, Mommmy and I were reminded that we are very, very white. The flash on a camera brings it out sooooo nicely :)

Hooray for Christmas lights and cold nights!

Tree Sparks

2008-12-21T08:58:00.006-07:00

Look what happens if you wiggle at all while trying to take a picture of your sweet little Christmas tree...it looks like, fire, fire, fire!

I woke up to new snow this morning and a severe winter weather alert for the Treasure Valley until 5 AM tomorrow. Snow and wind; yeah, Sluss will be staying inside today. And pondering whether I really want to deliver to my neighbors the cookies I paid a friend to make for them. I think maybe the cookies just need to keep me happy and in the Christmas spirit today. Trying to win your neighbors over with cookies is overrated, I am sure. They don't need to love me. The cookies need to love me.

Pray Becky can make it to my house tomorrow morning, that we can make it to the aiport, that she gets to work safely, and that my plane actually TAKES OFF ON TIME!

Can Baliey Breathe Under There?

2008-12-20T22:30:00.003-07:00

In honor of the snow I may have to shovel and/or wade through at Mom and Dad's next week...may I be this giddy to be out in it.

No Stealing the Sluss

2008-12-20T19:02:00.009-07:00

Safe again! I purchased a new garage door opener on Tuesday night, which my wonderful friend Dave came and installed today. He's earning his doctorate degree right now and he took a giant test this morning. For almost four hours this afternoon, he worked in my chilly garage. And he smiled all the way through it!

His wife and daughter, precious friends of mine, sat with me in the warm, candles-aglow house, eating cookies and drinking tea, assuring me that Dave was having a superb time "unwinding" in the garage after his test. Oh, the wonder of mechanically-minded people. Even better are mechanically-minded people who grew up on a dairy farm in crazy cold winters, so they don't mind working in temps where the ice around the chains down from the gutter spouts is not dripping one bit. Brrrrrr!

So, I am safe once again. I was worried I could be stolen with my door opener not working properly! I was a bit nervous, despite reassurances from a friend that, "No one's going to steal you...it's Idaho for goodness sake!" Sheesh!

Now on to figuring out how to replace the dead over-the-range microwave after the first of the year. One machine at a time, kids.

On a differet note, is it wrong for me to be in love with both Colin Firth and Liam Neeson in Love Actually? I feel a little like I am two-timing, but once they make up their mind about who wins me, and the victor comes knocking on my door, I will feel settled, I'm sure. I'll let them duke it out between them and not worry my pretty little head about it.

I'm so, so pleased about God's timing tonight. The ache to see my family is huge, the kind that makes me weepy at the smallest thing (like watching Love Actually). I am both amazed and so grateful that it didn't come until tonight, though. I have missed them, but not the miserable kind of missing of the last couple years that seems so constant. Just tonight, 36 hours before I get on the plane, I feel like I can't wait one more minute to hear Nathaniel say, "Um, Aunt Kathie, I want to tell you something," to hear Madeline tell me, "Uh, no," when I ask her to sing a song, to have Caleb tell me how to smash the ping-pong ball on the Wii, to hug my itty bitty mommy at the airport and swing her in a circle, and to lay on the couch with my head in my dad's lap, getting a sweet neck and head rub until my hair looks ridiculous.

Almost home! Two more sleeps until the plane and five more sleeps till Christmas!

Be Charlie Brown

2008-12-19T10:58:00.007-07:00

Another thought from David Roper, written in October. My cubical buddy just sent it to me earlier this week after a chat we had. I liked it, but didn't quite know where to put it in my heart, if I really believed it, or if I could ever really do it.

Then a talk with a friend this morning proved it. It's true. It's better to be Charlie Brown than Lucy.

Paul insists that, “love believes all things.” If love errs, it errs in the way of credulity and trustfulness, almost to the point of naivety. Most of us are too guarded, too wary and suspicious.

"It does you no harm to be Charlie Brown trying to kick the football, but it does you harm to be Lucy holding it" (Peter Kreeft). Don’t worry about being conned. It’s better to believe in someone and have your heart broken than to have no heart at all.

DHR
10.1.08

I have typed some ending here six times, trying to capture my gratitude and heart. It always comes out sounding small. It's not small.

I don't think I am like Lucy in yanking away the football, but I am certianly like Lucy in wanting to control things. Michael, like a wise Linus, could write a book about having a controlling, bossy older sister. I have noticed, though, that having to always be in control doesn't actually feel very nice in your spirit.

It's worth it to keep coming back to what you know should be good. Be Charlie Brown and bring your hope. Let go. Love believes all things. My heart is lighter and I am so grateful.

Yes, I really had a Great Aunt Gladys

2008-12-18T20:31:00.006-07:00

Oh...my...sainted...Aunt...Gladys. It is so cold here. I don't know what the difference is between the mountain and Boise, but dear Heaven, it feels so much colder here. There's more snow at my parents' house than here, but I have no memory of being this cold the moment I would step out a door.

Maybe I am turning into a pansy as I age. I don't know. I just know that when I walk out into this cold, my brain screeches shut. I walked into the door at the chiropractor today and just stood there. Wherever words like, "Hello!" or, "How are you?" or even, "My, it's cold today, isn't it?" normally live in my brain, I couldn't find them. I finally eked out, "The drive between the office and here is too short to let the car get warm. I can't blink--my eyes are frozen open."

It's brain-gear-stripping cold. Sucks the smart right out of you. I stood outside tonight on a step stool in front of my garage, stapling up one end of a big piece of weatherstripping that came tearing away in the wind sometime today (apparently my garage is falling apart piece by piece). I came in when I finished, closed the garage door, and used the rest of my smarts to just make it in to the laundry area. I had to wait a minute to remember what comes next: ah, yes, taking off the coat.

Speaking of gear-stripping, I have a new garage door opener sitting in my garage waiting for a nice friend to install it. He came and checked the door opener for me on Tuesday and called to let me know it was officially dead. The big gear inside that moves the chain was completely stripped. I choose to believe that it was near death before I started my attempts to repair things. Please, don't contradict my fantasy.

And, as of this evening, my microwave is making a pretty nasty noise when I try to use it and a not so nice smell comes from it when I hurriedly turn it off. The house just passed its first year under my ownership as of November 29; perhaps it has decided to walk the plank one bit at a time until I need to replace everything. Merry Christmas to me!

Oh, and this other weird thing has started to happen. It's not unusual for me to get muscle twitches in certain places in one of my arms and one of my legs. Now I am getting a twitch in my upper lip. It's smack in the middle, right under my nose. Quite distracting, I must say. It feels like my upper lip is trying to smooch my lower lip. I have peeked in the mirror when it's happening to see how noticeable it is; it feels pretty pronounced. I was worried someone would think I was making kissy faces at them during a meeting, but it seems mostly imperceptible. Very odd. Maybe my body is walking the plank one piece at a time, too :)

The low tomorrow night in Boise is supposed to be ZERO. My only comfort is that the thing that leaves its big tracks in the snow on my lawn as it continues its obvious pattern of visits will somehow freeze its buns to the ground. Sweet, snowy, frozen justice. Oh, please, oh, please.

A Palate Cleanser

2008-12-17T20:12:00.006-07:00

If you survived the previous post, you deserve something fun and cheery. Please enjoy some Christmas fun from Straight No Chaser, an a cappella group. The annoying little white box that pops up disappears after about 10 seconds.

And, Liann? After you watch this, you have to visit Am I Right to check out Toto's "Africa" misheard lyrics. Oh my goodness.

"I felt deranged down in Africa..."

"There's nothin' that a hundred men on Mars could ever do..."

Concrete Evidence

2008-12-17T19:03:00.005-07:00

...that no one will ever marry me. It finally happened. And it was one of those moments I have fretted about and dreaded for years. It came true tonight.

It's almost too horrible to share. But it's potentially the perfect blog ingredient mix of laughter for my friends and horror for my mother.

I can't pass it up.

I agreed today to drive two coworkers (a married couple) to the mechanic after work to pick up their car. At end of day, the husband drops by my cubical to say, "Five minutes?" I say, "Sure. Oh...let's make it six. Then I can use the little girls' room."

I shut down the computer and walk to the ladies' room. For lack of a more graceful description, I'll just say that while in the stall, I am pondering things like when I will deliver Christmas cookies to my neighbors and when I will iron a shirt I want to wear on Friday. Suddenly, a new thought strikes like lightning.

Um...you know how some girls' blouses have sashes that tie in a cute little bow in the back? Um...you know how sometimes the "ties" that hang down from the cute little bow can be kinda long? Like really long shoelaces? Hiding innocently behind you?

Um...yeah. My mind immediately fills with the thought, "Oh, dear Lord, please, no..." as I reach for the bow on the back of my blouse.

"Oh...my...UGH!" No, indeedy. The long laces were not dry. And, yes, kids, we were post bodily expulsions at this point. I am horrified. I am a grown woman with soggy laces.

As I start working the blouse off over my head, carefully encasing the laces as I go, grateful that it is the end of the day and that I was wearing this as an unbuttoned over-shirt layer on top of another shirt, I glance down at the white shirt underneath. Where it was exposed earlier today during lunch, I catch a glimpse of the little chocolate spot created by a wayward chip from a cookie I was eating. I remember that I was glad I was wearing this frilly, red, stripey blouse over the white shirt so I could pull the blouse a little more closed and hide the chocolate spot.

Geez. I killed two shirts in one day. What able-bodied, developed-world, silverware-competent, degree-holding, multi-syllable-speaking grown-up does that? When will I GROW UP?

My predicament, of course, induces a chuckle out of me. Chuckle becomes giggle. Giggle starts to repeat and increase in volume as I sit there with my wad of blouse in hand, shaking my head. I am now in full-fledged gales of laughter, echoing off the walls in a four-stall, four-sink, highly-tiled bathroom. Not quiet. And I can't stop.

I hurry to make my way out of the bathroom. I have tears streaming down my face, gasping for air, blasts of laughter squeaking out of me. I pass the desk of our travel coordinator, a dear friend with very similar humor. She looks at me and says, "Are you laughing or crying? I could hear you out here, but I didn't know if I should come in..."

I tell her why I now know no one will ever marry me. I show her the wad of evidence in my hand, laces carefully wrapped as far to the middle as I could manage while simultaneously yanking the entire garment over my head. I point to the chocolate chip drip on my shirt.

She doubles over in laughter. The wife of the couple I am driving has come running down the hall by now, also wondering if I am laughing or being murdered, I am making so much noise. She loses it in laughter as well.

As I head back to my cube, the last two guys in my department are now hearing three women laughing, and see me coming. They just stand and wait for an explanation. The moment I say the words, "Um...you know how some shirts have laces that make a bow in the back?" both of them slam their shaking heads down into their hands. At least they agree that it's never dull with me in the department.

Glad I had a load of darks waiting to be washed when I got home. For cryin' out loud.

Here's to single life and spilling all my idiocy on the internet!

Elf Party of Six

2008-12-15T21:48:00.005-07:00

So, the plan was first we'd make snow angels for two hours, then we'd go ice skating, then we'd eat a whole roll of Tollhouse Cookiedough as fast as we could, and then we'd snuggle.

Karin took issue with cookie dough and snuggling, but insisted she's not an angry elf. Bonni was afraid someone would smell like beef and cheese, not like Santa. Arnila wanted to make sure some fake Santa would not be sitting on a throne of lies. Kathie wanted to prove that the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear. Becky just likes to smile; smiling is her favorite.

And Danielle had never even seen the movie, so she was waiting for all the quotes and references and laughter to make sense.

We decided to settle for watching Elf together, eating good food, and pretending that we were trying to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup. Sugar, spaghetti, cookie dough, syrup, the flick, and candy sufficed just fine!

What actually got ingested was artichoke dip, veggies, crackers we are still trying to unload from my pantry, Christmas salad, homemade mac 'n' cheese, Amish friendship bread, some Thai curry, hot chai tea, and Starbucks Holiday Blend coffee laced with peppermint mocha creamer. Yum!

We looked silly and had little jingle bells ringing in our ears from our hats (yes, we wore them for the whole movie!), but not one of us is a cotton-headed ninny-muggins!

Thanks for a super night, gals!

Liverwurst & Mumsey Update

2008-12-15T11:51:00.004-07:00

How many people do you know who have used two blog titles with liverwurst in them? Not many, I betcha.

I am happy to report that my stomach was fine all night. My brain, however, did take an odd turn in its nocturnal wanderings. Here's the kind of dream that consuming sausage containing ground liver and pork trimmings will bring you:

Though we seem to be our current ages, for some reason, Michael and Devin and I are all staying at my folk's house and have to get to school. I wake up late and see Michael and Devin heading out the door like good, obedient boys. I realize I am late, jump up, grab a towel and robe, and run to take a shower. Mom sees me on the way to shower and chides me for being late. I hurry into the shower, where I shampoo my hair and promptly squeeze the filling out of a Hostess Twinkie to massage into my hair for conditioner. While I let the filling seep into my hair, I frantically shovel into my face the rest of the Twinkie, which tastes disappointingly dry and sad sans its middle. Mom sees me eating the Twinkie, tells me to hurry up and stop messing around. I then try to rinse Twinkie filling from my hair, which is as pointless as it sounds--big, greasy mess.

Dream over.

Huh? Interpretations, anyone?

On a more explicable note, I had a nice talk with Mom this morning, who sweetly said, "Your dad made me read your blog last night. You have to stop making me cry!"

"Oh, Mom, I didn't make you cry! I just told the truth. You're great."

"No...I think you are seeing things through rose-colored glasses. Not even rose-colored; some crazy, multi-colored glasses that make you see things better than they are!"

"Mom, did you see how I put on the blog that you argue when people compliment you? Hmmm?"

"Oh! Ha ha...oh, um, hee hee! Okay! Love you!"

Tee hee. My Mommy rocks :)

I also told her that after hearing an old Casey Kasem American Top 40 countdown from the 70s yesterday, and singing along with Shaun Cassidy on "Hey Deanie", I owed her thanks for taking me to see him in concert when I was nine, letting me buy Tiger Beat magazines filled with Shaun, Leif Garret, and Andy Gibb, watching The Hardy Boys Mysteries with me every week, and buying me a Parker Stevenson t-shirt and a Shaun Cassidy lunchbox. She said it was a mommy's duty :)

Liverwurst and Buttermilk

2008-12-14T22:17:00.004-07:00

Ever try to watch The Godfather without having lasagna or cannoli in the house? Oh, the miserable moment when you realize you have to stop the film and run out and at least find spaghetti sauce to make the experience complete.

The same thing happens when I watch White Christmas. When the scene with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney rolls around and they are discussing a late night sandwich snack, I have to be prepared. So, tonight, in much joy, I watched the film and munched away on a liverwurst sandwich and a glass of buttermilk.

The only risk is, Bing says if you eat liverwurst, you dream about liverwurst.

The other potential risk tonight could be that I partook in this lovely, yummy holiday ritual o' mine at 10:00 PM. A little late for any food, nonetheless liverwurst (with some Jarlsberg cheese on the sandwich, too) and buttermilk. Hmmm.

Feel free to check in with me tomorrow on the state of my stomach's health :) My mind and heart are tickled as can be!

Musings on the Mumsey

2008-12-13T09:06:00.009-07:00

Musings in a moment. First...

I killed the garage door opener. In my efforts to follow the troubleshooting guide and instruction manual I found online to get the door to close all the way and stop hopping back up and staying open, the thing ended up not even moving the chain anymore.

For as awful as I feel, at least I can now thoroughly justify the $65 service call fee the company that installed the door charges to just come out and peek at the unit. I learned about that on Friday. I was really hoping to avoid it in this season of much-more-fun-to-spend-money-on-others-than-on-your-house. Oh, well. On to happier thoughts...

I managed to hide behind a friend today at a wedding when the bouquet toss was announced, despite at least two people hollering my name to "get up here". I have no particular aversion to marriage, but I am too old to be in a mosh pit with dozens of early 20-somethings who will body-check one another to snatch the bouquet. Ow. No bruising for flowers that promise nothing, thank you. I'll rely on the enthusiastic folks scattered around the globe (Lebanon, Jordan, Romania, Kenya, Germany, etc.), including a recently added batch from Arkansas, who are praying for me to marry someone wonderful :)

My favorite happy thoughts from today...

Ten days! Ten days and I disembark the plane to see my mumsey's smiling face! I'll be reveling in the whole family over the week, of course, but I get some time with Mommy first.

Mom gets teased a lot in my blog (in fact, there are some pretty hilarious Thanksgiving pictures to come), but I truly, truly adore her. Which means the teasing makes perfect sense; in my family, mocking you is a sign of love. If we don't tease you and embarrass you a little (or a lot), and we are really sweet to you, we probably don't love ya all that much :)

I thank God for the way he has used Mom in people's lives. It dawned on me one day after Holly had been student teaching in Mom's classroom, and after Mom and I visited a friend in whose class Mom had been an aide years ago, how God has worked through her to touch more than the lives of the children in her classes. She is complimented often by grateful parents and appreciated by former students for the role she played in their young lives, but she has been so much more, too.

When Mom was an instructional aide, she worked for several teachers over the years. Two of those were young, single women who had recently moved to the mountain. Not only was Mom a help to them as they established their classroom management and teaching styles, she was a mom and friend to them. They became like big sisters to me, like daughters to her and my dad, and they leaned on my mom for emotional support, wisdom and encouragement in some wonderful moments of their lives and in some of the darkest, toughest moments. My mom's courage, patience, and wisdom was a haven for them. I know these women to this day, so I can repeat with confidence what they say: they would not be who they are today if it weren't for my mom. They are successful, loving women who navigated difficult relationships and disappointments to marry good men and have darling families. They became outstanding teachers in their fields and cherished friends to us.

And years later, Holly was in Mom's classroom. Holly would have been a super teacher no matter what, but I know she is so grateful for Mom's experience and influence as she did her student teaching. Holly will tell you that her classroom has tons of elements of Nancy's teaching world. Except for maybe the exact positions of where the stapler and tape dispenser go ;)

When my heart is most broken and confused, Mom is where I run. When I need to celebrate, Mom is where I want to pour out the giddiness that spills out of me. When a decision is hard, I want her insights; Mom tells it like it is, the good and the bad and the tough and the truth. I don't have to do what she says, and I don't have to agree with her. It's part of why I seek her; she lets me be me, covered in unconditional love, no matter what. It's not always easy, but it's always good.

She knows about good chocolate, loves watching it snow, laughs until tears run down her face, argues when you try to compliment her, is perpetually tidy, lets her grandchildren eat humongous doughnuts, has a terrible poker face, gives incredibly generous gifts, panics a little when my dad or I get up to speak in a crowd, and I think truly doubts the value she brings to the world and the people who love her.

Anyone worried that my dad is feeling left out here? Never fear; one of his deep joys is to have Mom be gushed over with goodness and praise and love. He's happy :)

It seems trite to say, "Thanks, Mom." But, thank you, Mom. Love you, Mom. Christmas lights in my cozy house make me think of you. Thank you for leaving memories all over my house and all over my life.

Allow Yourself to Be Cherished

2008-12-12T15:59:00.006-07:00

It pays to know people who know people. My most excellent colleague Nicholas is good friends with David H. Roper. David's list of accomplishments is long and his reputation excellent. He is also a very generous man, and has given LT permission to use his materials in our courses, and, Nicholas assured me, would be most pleased about my request to copy one of his recent blog entries here. Nicholas emailed it to me last week for my encouragement, and I just can't help but think there are others who drop by here who would be encouraged and warmed as well. So, thank you, Mr. Roper, for your wonderful writing and generosity. I am blessed because you want to sound smart and that you honestly admit why you write. Myself and my brother, Mr. Slusser, can be empathetic with and encouraged by your plight :)

So, from David Roper, something wonderful to ponder.

Lovesick and Dumbfounded

Carolyn and I often spend our quiet times reading from A Guide to Prayer for Ministers and Other Servants, an Upper Room publication (If you've visited Shepherd's Rest you've seen the copies in each bedroom.) The Old Testament passage for this morning was Zephaniah 3:17.

With apologies to Zephaniah and Bruce Waltke, my old Hebrew professor, here is my translation...

The LORD, your God is with you--
your hero, mighty to save!

He takes great delight in you.
He is speechless with love for you.
Every time he thinks of you he breaks into joyful song!

-Zephaniah 3:17

I'm awed by the notion that God takes great delight in me and breaks into song each time he thinks of my name. But it's the phrase I render, "He is speechless with love for you" that captivated me.

The verse is usually translated, "He will be quiet in his love," or in some translations, "He will quiet you." But the verb doesn't suggest tranquility or rest. It actually means, "to strike dumb."[1] And since the verb is in parallel with other verbs that suggest God's strong emotions ("takes great delight," and "breaks into joyful song") it must point to what He himself feels.

I wonder then: Could the analogy be that of a lovesick swain who is bowled-over, flabbergasted and dumb-founded by his love for the beloved-so overcome with fondness that he is tongue-tied? Is God, in some inexplicable, anthropomorphic way, "struck dumb" with love each time he thinks of us? If so, to be loved like this is, in turn, to be rendered speechless. As Isaiah would say, "I am undone."

And who is it that God so loves? One who is strong and able, brilliant, and breathtakingly beautiful? No, it is one who is "weak and the weary... who takes refuge in the name of the LORD" (Zephaniah 3:12).

DHR

[1] Jenni-Westerman, Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament.

Brain Cleft Evening

2008-12-09T21:02:00.006-07:00

Good: Coming home and plugging in the outside Christmas lights.

Infuriating: Discovering the peppery stay-off-my-lawn-and-out-of-my-dirt-sprinkle-for-animals did not work, and something had left a gift and kicked dirt all over my walkway.

Happy: Pulling in to Zamzow's and smelling the Christmas trees on the way into the store.

Very Irksome: Spending what is now a total of $35 and three trips to purchase remedies to keep dog/cat/thing out of my yard.

Probably Inappropriate: My answer when the nice man at Zamzow's (catering to attentive gardeners and pet lovers in Southwestern Idaho) asked me on my way to the register if he could help me with anything this evening. "Not unless you can teach me how to use a BB gun and take out the dog hanging around my yard." Nice, smiling man suddenly looks as though he does not know quite what to do with me. Call ASPCA? I continue, "Or anger management classes. Whatever you think might work." Nice man: "Ha...ha...um, yeah. Huh." I think I saw him dig out the number for the Humane Society.

Surprising: The humungous light display on the house hidden from the street behind Zamzow's, which I never would have seen if I had not driven here in a fury tonight after leaping immediately back into my car after plugging in the Christmas lights. Cool.

So Very Kathie: The man and his teenage son who, as they exit their car, catch me with my nose neslted in one of the Christmas trees for sale outside the store, deeply breathing in one last wonderful dose of pine. They smile politely and start to walk a bit faster toward the store entrance, and the teenage boy carrying his new puppy puts a protective hand over the little furball and shifts him to the other side of his body. It almost escapes my lips to ask if I can pet the puppy, but I remember the man inside the store dialing 411 for the American Humane Association, and I think better of it.

Other-worldly: The brain cleft created in my cranium on the three-mile drive home by simultaneously being all goofy-giddy about the loads of pretty Christmas lights on houses and thinking about how to best make sure that whatever animal loves my yard for its toilet experiences some very memorable pain upon its next visit: Should I mix my own cayenne pepper concoction and give that a sprinkle in the yard? Oh, pretty lights! Maybe that thing needs a poke in the butt--I'll make a rampart of my little bamboo skewers out there--no squatting here, by golly! Oh, what cute swirls those people made in the trees with their lights--I should try that! Oh, a rock garden, that's it--little paws can't move boulders to dig up dirt to poo--where can I get some boulders? Oh, look icicle lights--I love those things. You horrible little animal--I tried to be nice and use "natural" pepper deterrent--now I am pulling out the chemical crap and I don't care--I hope you get Agent Orange on your butt. Oh, that person put light-up reindeer on their roof--how cute!

And so on.

The war is on, people. Me vs. my brain, and me vs. the critter. Place your bets now.

You can bet...

2008-12-07T21:42:00.002-07:00

...that if you come into a woman's house and it's got nice mood lighting going on, and candles lit, and it's just a little dusky and romantic looking...

you're in the house of a woman who ran out of time to mop her floors. Vacuum, yes; mop, no. Keep the lights low and you can't see the floor so good. Yeah, Baby.

Keepin' the lights low tonight...

Tree Too Tiny!

2008-12-07T14:47:00.002-07:00

For the past several years, I have been using a little (read: itty bitty) artificial tree instead of a real tree. When Liann and I lived together, I put her through enough years of sneezing and sniffling because I love real trees, that I decided the year that my Uncle Chris gave me a small artificial one to use in my classroom, and I happened to stop teaching the following June, that it was a sign that the tree was to come live in our house and allow Liann to breathe free the entire month of December. She was always a trooper and kind enough to let me have real pine needles in the house, but I find life more fun when the people I love can take deep breaths without inhaling things that irritate their lung lining.

Liann and I would combine some of our many ornaments and make Mr. Tiny Tree all memory-laden with goodness. When I had someone else to share tree space with, it felt easy enough to pick and choose a few special ornaments. Somehow, keeping a few in the box to make room for someone else was fun. Now, my tree is all my own...and I want ALL the ornaments on there! And THEY DON'T ALL FIT!

Sluss may need a new tree plan next year.

I am decorating with "Little Women" playing on DVD. Always makes me want my own Professor Bhaer. Maybe for Christmas next year...maybe he will come to my door under his umbrella with a new tree!

Okay. Reign it in. Time to squeeze more ornaments on Mr. Tiny Tree :)

snow, Snow, SNow, SNOw, SNOW!

2008-12-07T13:12:00.001-07:00

From last Thursday...

Good news: The presentation in Little Rock went very well. Some exciting results are to follow and great relationships were started. Thank you so much for your prayers.

Bad news: Flight home is delayed. I am sitting in Denver after a delayed arrival due to a holding pattern because of snow, but more importantly, now a delay due to a maintenance problem and now a plane change-out.

Good news: The snow is purty.

Neither here nor there news: I am sitting on the floor, on a corner of a gate area (new gate; we got a gate change along with the plane change; I arrived at gate 92 of 95 this morning, was departing out of 19 and I am now at 31; anyone have a favorite number they want me to visit?) and walkway because that's where there is an electrical outlet. There must be a name for those of us who park on the sides and corners of walkways in airports when our laptop batteries need charging.

Today's update...

I made it home a few hours later than scheduled, but it was better than Tuesday's flights, so happy girl was I. Now it's time to decorate for Christmas!

I also had some happy entertainment yesterday afternoon; I had my sprinklers blown out. No, that's not a euphemism for something. It's cold enough here that if you own a sprinkler system, you have to make sure that all the water is blown out before the hard freezes in winter or else you get cracked pipes and much sadness. I'll tell ya, I felt very responsible finally getting it done, and it was worth the $40 for the entertainment value. A guy comes with a big ol' pressure washer/machine/thingy behind his truck, attaches a hose to the irrigation valve, and runs the zones on the sprinkler systems, blowing air instead of water. I had seven zone of my own private Yellowstone going off here yesterday. Little geysers all over the lawn that transitioned from water to vapor: why is that so fun to watch? It made little rainbows, too.

I am soooo easily entertained, I know. But I had a ball. Plus that little mature feeling I get when I do the responsible homeowner thing. Tingle, tingle, tingle.

Plus, it felt good to know I have finally made friends with my sprinklers and we survived a year together. Now, I just need the garage door to behave. It started acting up the night before Thanksgiving, and started again this morning.

For tonight, I will fill the house with friends who are using my living room as the midpoint for watching the finale of "The Amazing Race." I don't even watch the show, but I have friends who live in Nampa and Eagle who do, and living in Boise means I am the handy midway meeting point for all. So, will I fill my house with people I like to watch I show I don't keep up with just to have company and fun? You betcha!

Plus, I have like 800 boxes of crackers I bought when I had people coming for Thanksgiving week and I got word that my grandparents love to "snack". I am drowning in Triscuits, Wheat Thins, water crackers, you name it. I told my pals to bring cheese and salami...party on!

Views from an Airport

2008-12-02T12:31:00.006-07:00

Got here at 6:15 AM. Plane was to depart at 7:22 AM. It's 1:00 PM. Might be out of here in 30 minutes or so. Might be. Was supposed to be in Little Rock at 2:15 PM. Might be there by 11:34 PM. Might be.

Airports, delays in particular, bring out the best and worst in people. I swear airports are little microcosms of the world; the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful all squished into one building.

On the whole, people who are trapped together in a ridiculously long delay turn into a little family. People start cracking jokes and chatting and checking on each other. Someone adopts the elderly people in wheelchairs and people do their best to tolerate children who have every right to be disgruntled. There is always some super sour pickle in the bunch, sometimes two, but they generally get ignored, and the people around them start talking about what a tough job the airline staff has when the situation starts out as a crew delay, turns into a maintenance delay, then turns into, "We have to fly the part in from San Francisco and we know you were scheduled to depart at 7:22 and it's now 9:30, but the plane should be here by 12:30 and it only takes 20 minutes to install the part, and San Fran has low clouds right now so no one is taking off, but we expect that you will be able to depart by 1:15 today."

The comments from staff are priceless in these moments. The poor gal who had been running our gate and rebooking connections for 70 people on her own (maintenance issue to fix that causes delay: not the airline's fault; not sending this woman help to serve their customers: definitely the airline's fault) suddenly got yanked over to load people for another flight at the gate next to us. The next thing we hear on the PA is, "Okay, we're ready to board at Gate 10. Flight XXXX to...where are you people going?"

Oh, and note to self: if you think you are being smart by getting in line to change your ticket 'cause you need to make phone calls to your hosts and your office and see what you needed to do and now there's only 10 or so people ahead of you before you use the little girl's room, think again. That line will take two hours. It was only a small cup of coffee, but it was indeed coffee.

I am not super worked up or anything--no point in being all hot under the collar--but as you stand in very long lines and no extra help is sent, even if you are happily humming to yourself, sometimes you find mild epithets running through your mind. Suddenly, up jumps, "This is monkey spew-biscuits." A bit later, "Holy monkey taster-chew" almost falls off your lips. Then, finally, when are a little more exasperated, "Unsnorkingbelievable, people."

Man down the row keeps asking why they can't bring in a new plane instead of a new part. He apparently didn't overhear the pilot like I did chatting with someone else about how you can't trade out Boeing and Airbus planes; the technologies don't match up one bit apparently, so they can't swap out the navigation-box-thingamajigs, and if one makes something that functions similarly to the other, they sue each other. Capitalism can trap you in an airport, people.

If you hear the airport announcements long enough, you will realize the airport voice is the only person in the world who still uses the word parcels. "Do not leave your luggage or parcels unattended."

I hope there are many parcels for me under the Christmas tree at Michael and Joanna's. If Mom changes her mind, that is; I did something last week to merit the annual, "Santa is not coming for you, child!" from Mom. I think I threatened to Elf her again or something...

I hope I see Michael and Joanna's tree and that I am not still here on Christmas Day. Parcels or not.

UPDATE: I'm in Denver! Hallelujah! And my rebooked connection means I only have a five and a half hour layover. Could be worse. Best moment on the plane was when we were supposed to be pulling away from the gate at 1:15 to depart and the pilot came on and said, "We are ready to go, but we seem to have lost nine passengers. They are looking for them in the airport now. We should pull out about 1:25. We'll keep you updated." The group I present to tomorrow will get a sleep-deprived, slightly-less-filtered version of me. Pray for them :)

Flying Away

2008-12-02T07:28:00.004-07:00

I'm sitting in BOI (Boise International Airport—and by the way, be very careful if you Google “BOI”—you get some odd things that make disturbing ads pop up in your sidebar) because there is a crew delay for my departure to Denver this morning. "Crew delay" is code for "Your flight attendants have not arrived. No boarding until they do, kiddos."

I realized this morning that this is my third holiday season in Idaho and I now know the airport well enough to recognize the Christmas decorations. "Oh, look, the wreaths are up in the hallway. Oh, and there are the carolers in the corner, above the Frontier check-in desk. Nice to see you guys." Home sweet home.

Oh, and if you get chilly during the winter, visit an airport. Unless you are standing at the opening of a Jetway, the things are furnaces.

I also realized this morning that Christmas brings out the total dork in me. I mean, I know I am flooded with dorkiness the rest of the year, too, but Christmas brings it to a poignant yet laughable head. I love Christmas pins. I don't wear pins the rest of the year, really, but I love the little bit of sparkle-sparkle they bring at Christmas. When I fly, I always keep my jewelry in my purse until I am through security (one less thing to stand there and strip off these days), so there is a bit of reassembly on the other side of the x-ray machines. On go my shoes, on goes my belt, on goes my barrette, on goes my watch, and then my Christmas pin.

As I am aligning my little wreath, I have the sense of putting on a name tag and the thought flits through my head, "I am a Christmas Ambassador!" (which brings a big dorko smile to my face, standing there by myself, chin to my chest, getting the little clasp closed). No kidding—seriously, that was the exact phrase. In the next moment, of course, I am astonished at my own dorkitude. But I kinda like it, too. I mean, I am an ambassador of Christ all the time; why wouldn't it amp me up a little at Christmas? I always want people to feel loved and treasured. I would rejoice if everyone could feel that directly from God, but they don't. So, can’t I be a little nice and try to love people with a smile and some kind words? I am not always so super at this, for sure, but it's a heart dream of mine to leave a legacy of loving people well. Christmas brings the dream out in heaps.

Also, I am a dork because I love the Muppets singing the "12 Days of Christmas" with John Denver. I think it's why I am still single; Holly happened to pick up the exception to the rule in Tim :)

Well, boarding time has arrived. If you drop by here, please pray for this trip to Little Rock. I will be meeting with a ministry that works in 76 countries and I will be presenting LT. I didn't realize until I was texting with a friend last night why I have felt a little off kilter about the trip. My last business trip was to Spain, where I felt like such a wretched failure after a week of work. Granted, it was spiritual warfare that kicked my guts around all night before I flew home, but the whole thing has made me a little gun-shy about speaking to a group again. I could use prayers; thanks.

Edit: Boarding time has not arrived! Half the plane got boarded and they realized they had a mechanical difficulty with cockpit window heaters. Minimum of a 30-minute delay once the mechanic arrives. That's code for "Say sayonara to your Denver connections, kiddos!"

Oh, Miss Lee! Lookie Here...

2008-12-01T22:17:00.005-07:00

Look at what happens when you leave wedding cake remnants at my house. My dad and grandma made little homemade ding-dongs with the white icing roses and layers of cake.

Then, we had to devour the blue roses. Seriously, we had to make room in the fridge before we started the Thanksgiving feast preparation. Plus, the avalanche of leftovers would obviously need a place to go. So...

Blue tongues, just for you. And Miss Christina, I know you are laughing yourself silly since my maroon and black frosting pictures were taken with you. Thank goodness people graduate from college, kids have birthdays, and couples get married. And they all require colored frosting to make it happen. How else would I make my artistic mark on the world?

Sipping from My Happy Cup

2008-12-01T06:45:00.004-07:00

Oh, it's quiet here this morning! Not my favorite kind of quiet...it's the quiet after people I love have gone home.

Grandma Mel and Bud pulled out on Friday after treating Mom and Dad and me to breakfast at Cracker Barrel (YUM!). Yesterday was Mom and Dad's final morning here. I had the same feeling when I woke up that I did two and a half years ago when they first helped me move here. I remember waking up their last morning in my apartment, thinking, "Maybe if I just stay in bed with my eyes closed, really quiet, nothing will have to change. They won't have to leave."

It happened again yesterday morning. It's not that I can't function without them. I just really enjoy functioning with them, or with them close by enough to meet them for coffee and dinner and dominoes and laughter on a more regular basis. Their Thanksgiving visit was great--the whole time with my family was lovely. Putting Mom and Dad on the plane yesterday was hard, as always.

And it's not just because you did more yard work again, Dad :)

I read about being alone last night before bed; a good kind of alone that I think God is bringing to me. From Brennan Manning:

When God Breaks In

We are plunged into mystery--what Abraham Heschel called "radical amazement." Hushed and trembling, we are creatures in the presence of ineffable Mystery above all creatures and beyond all telling.

The moment of truth has arrived. We are alone with the Alone. The revelation of God's tender feelings for us is not mere dry knowledge. For too long and too often along my journey, I have sought shelter in hand-clapping liturgies and cerebral Scripture studies. I have received knowledge without appreciation, facts without enthusiasm. Yet, when the scholarly investigations were over, I was struck by the insignificance of it all. It just didn't seem to matter.

But when the night is bad and my nerves are shattered and Infinity speaks, when God Almighty shares through his Son the depth of his feelings for me, when his love flashes into my soul and when I am overtaken by Mystery, it is kairos--the decisive inbreak of God in this saving moment of my personal history. No one can speak for me. Alone, I face a momentous decision. Shivering in the rags of my fifty-nine years, either I escape into skepticism and intellectualism or with radical amazement I surrender in faith to the truth of my belovedness.

I sipped from a full cup all week, soaking in moments with my family. This morning, I am sipping from the special, happy cup Holly bought me during her first visit here, having coffee with the one who finds me beloved, who lavishes love on me through both my family and his Presence and Mystery.

Habby Gwanny

2008-11-30T21:44:00.003-07:00

Grandma Mel got her back right molar pulled last Monday morning.

My very kind dentist called early that morning and said, "Of course we can't have her feeling badly! How about 10:00 AM today?" The whole drive to the dentist, Grandma kept saying, "I feel better, really. I think I'm fine."

When we arrived at the office I told the receptionist Granny said she felt better. The receptionist smiled. "Ah. We hear a lot of that around here."

After filling out paperwork and chuckling over which box to check about fear of dental work (Extreme, Moderate, or None), they call Granny back. Bud and I have a good chat while she is gone, sitting in my dentist's waiting room that is nicer than my living room...it's got a library!

Eventually I see my cute grandma heading our way, accompanied by a dental assistant who says that it's very good that we came in when we did; the tooth needed to come out. I am looking at Grandma, wondering exactly how many teeth they pulled; my goodness, her lower teeth are missing! It's then that I learn she has a partial, which is at the moment wrapped in a tissue in her hand. Whew!

She has a wad of gauze tucked in the back of her mouth where they yanked the molar, and a big grin across the front of her face. I have never seen a smile that big on someone who just had a tooth pulled and was numb on one side. Before I can even ask how she is, Grandma says, "Oh, I feo so mush bettew!"

"Really, Granny? It's okay?"

"Oh, dis waf wunneful! I feo so mush bettew!"

"You know, Grandma, if you feel that much better that quickly after having your tooth pulled, it must have really been bothering you."

"Weo, ifs been a widdle paifoo."

"Well, then I am glad we came. Do I have a happy Granny?"

"Oh, yef! Habby Gwanny!"

We came home, I made a sandwich for lunch for Bud, and Granny tucked little bits of doughnut into the still intact left corner of her mouth. Don't try to tell an almost-84-year-old what they should or should not eat. Just let them grin and munch pastry bits with their head cocked to one side, pretty blue eyes all a-twinkle. Kinda cute.

Sunday Morning With Granny

2008-11-23T11:05:00.004-07:00

Grandma Mel and Bud arrived yesterday afternoon. Apparently there was a decent amount of snow in the mountains on the way over and they almost turned around and went back home. I am grateful they made it, and just a couple of hours after they got here, it started to snow here for the first time this season. It was beautiful! Grandparents and snowflakes and a game of Mexican Train Dominoes last night...happy, happy!

As all things grandparenty should be, we had dinner at Elmer's last night. During my yummy split-pea soup, I hear Grandma make a little, "Eep!" sound while she is eating her salad, and I look up to see her holding her right cheek like she bit it or her tongue or something. Turns out she has a bit of a toothache that has been pestering her, and it seemed to flare up more significantly right then. Hmmm. Okay.

This morning, she comes into the living room talking like someone who is trying to move their mouth as little as possible and keep their tongue as still as possible. Hmmm. "Granny, how long has this tooth been bothering you?"

Now the story comes out. It's been bugging her for a few weeks (she thinks it's from a filing that wasn't done terribly well). Bud asks her why she hasn't mentioned it at all. "I was afraid we would have to get it fixed and we wouldn't be able to come here. I didn't want to miss the trip." (Make sure you read that aloud with your jaw and tongue very still.)

How do you tell your 84-year-old grandmother that you are thrilled that she wanted to see you so much, but you want to bop her on the nose for sitting around in pain and not getting it taken care of?

Ask me someday about the...what's a nice word for stubborn?...ah, determined, independent, tenacious, adamant, resolved, single-minded, headstrong...women on the maternal side of my family and the DNA I have inherited as a result. If you need a thrill sometime, get yourself a seat with me, Mom, and Grandma Mel all together and ask us to try doing anything that looks the tiniest bit like inconveniencing someone else or disrupting a plan we have made. Eh gads.

"Grandma, I bought the most expensive turkey I have ever seen for Thanksgiving. You are going to my dentist tomorrow, because if you don't eat your share of this turkey, you are sleeping in the garage."

It takes me an hour to convince her that I would like to go to the store and buy her Orajel. I finally just go get dressed and when I come out of my room, she is in her jacket. "Granny, I can just go and you can stay..." Nope. We both get in the car. I am happy to have her with me; I just don't know how fun her tooth finds the bumps in the road.

I am actually secretly tickled pink to have a little trip with her and to care for her. We get out of the car at the drug store and it bothers me zero to wait for her slow-moving body to climb out of the seat, close the door and walk toward the entrance. I covet every moment I have with her.

Then we get in the store. All I can think is we need the Orajel and we need it fast; I am feeling magnanimous because I acquiesced to Orajel today and my dentist tomorrow, when I wanted emergency dentist today. Grandma stops at the newspapers and picks up a Sunday edition. I offer to carry it, which, of course, I am denied. Okay. I try to move us on to the aisles in the back where the medicines are. Just when I think we are truckin' along, she stops at a candy display...CANDY! She piles four different bags of Hershey's chocolates on her newspaper! "Grandma, you can't even eat, your tooth is killing you, and we need candy? What in the world?" She tells me to hush and bats my hand away, and starts to giggle like my mother. Sheesh.

This is the point where I call my mom. I was perfectly fine to just take care of all this and let my folks hear the story once we had a dentist appointment...but I can't wrap my mind around the illogic of the candy purchase. I also know it's exactly the type of thing Mom would do. When I tell my mom, she just giggles and says, "Apparently you didn't read the fine print on the agreement for having them stay with you! Have fun!"

I happened to mention a doughnut place across the street the day before. We finally have medicine in hand (and newspaper and candy) and are in the car, and as I pull out to head home, Granny says, "Donuts! Let's go!"

Oh my. She picks out seven doughnuts (one an enormous fritter). As Grandma is paying (because, of course, I lost that argument, too), the doughnut gal asks her if this will be everything. "Yes!", I blurt out. "There are only three of us!"

At home, after a slathering of Orajel, we all settle in to watch A League of Their Own with our coffee and donuts. Granny drinks her coffee on the left side of her face and it takes her the whole movie to eat one jelly doughnut. I mention at least every 20 minutes that we are going to the dentist tomorrow.

Good thing Tom Hanks makes her laugh :)

Cakeitude

2008-11-22T10:21:00.010-07:00

Ace of Cakes came to life Friday night for Becky and me. A little, mini, one-person-knows-what-they-are-doing and one-person-can-hold-the-frosting-roses version, anyway!

Two late nights and one afternoon after first commencing "Operation Get Cake to Church before MAF Game Night on Friday", we were off to the church with the cakes and gear in the car. And me riding in the passenger seat, holding the white roses you see in the back...the blue ones could stay back there because we didn't care so much if they got munched. The white ones...very important.

We arrive and there is a table waiting. There are little pillars already inserted in each layer, so icing gets squirted in between to act like glue.

Becky tried to tell me that if I ever worked with icing enough, I might not be so inclined to chomp the little rosettes of sugary delight. She said it loses its appeal after a while. Yeah, right. I told her about my colored-frosting-tongue photo collection (currently available in blue, maroon, and black). I have many colors yet to capture.

More icing gets piped around the edge of each layer to fill the gaps created by the pillars. What did I contribute thus far? Ever seen those guys on ships landing planes with orange, glowing sticks? Picture me doing the equivalent of that for Becky to stack the layers, making sure they were centered well. But instead of orange sticks, it was lots of, "Go, go, wait, back, no, this way, hold on a sec, more this way" and fingers pointing while I did laps around the table and the cake. I was also a human lazy susan for the individual layers for last minute touch ups before stacking. Becky said my speed was excellent :)

I also found a place to stash the roses so they would not get all soft and thus very difficult to attach to the cake. Classy, huh?

Oh, and I helped assemble and fill the fountain. We wanted it nice and full. So we filled. And filled. After we had it running for a bit, we noticed that the little holes were not able to keep up with the volume, so water was also running over the edges of the tiers, lessening the effect a bit. We want the bride to have the perfect little fountain of her dreams...but it's already assembled under the cake and surrounded by tulle...so....

We are set up in front of the church's coffee and snack bar, so Becky grabs a coffee stirrer. And starts sucking. And swallowing. Water from a plastic fountain that I am sure must have had some warning in the directions about "Do not use this to drink from. Made in China and coated in melamine." or something.

I at least find a regular size straw. After a few swallows, I realize this cannot be the most efficient way to do this. However, I am not a particularly efficient girl...just better than Bekcy. So I grab phase three of "Rescue the Fountain", which is a cup to spit the straw-sucked water into.

I have to tell you that while I was sucking and spitting, Becky just kept using the skinny little red stirrer to drink. Between my sucks and spits, I am yelling across the cake that she is nuts, get a regular straw for God's sake, and really, I don't think you should be drinking that water, there are more cups behind you, woman. Oh, and Becky, I don't think it has to do with the amount of water in here...isn't it just a pump power issue? If it wants to be a volcano with this little ridiculous motor, then so be it, don't you think? And do people think we are getting snockered right now because this fountain has a light in it which makes the water look kinda beige, like champagne? Also, does she need her car's gas tank siphoned any time soon? I am becoming a pro in a matter of minutes...plus, I am a little light-headed. Is she still standing over there?

Of course, as evidenced by the above photo, much laughing commenced while we were engaged in our rescue. It was a heroic feat not to blow trumpets of water from the straw or stirrer when we started to laugh. A little voice in my head kept saying, "Don't hose the cake, please don't let me hose the cake."

Whew! I finally can't stand it anymore...mostly because the laughter has rendered us useless... and God directs me back behind the snack counter again and I find a little paper cup that I can dip into the fountain and use to pour water back and forth to the bigger cup until we finally get the level right. Oy. Note to self: no tiny cake fountains at my wedding.

The actual cake results are lovely and Becky received much praise for her work. And I can claim that I pointed out where icing holes were, and I stuck some of the tiny blue fabric flowers in...the ones in the back :)

Vanna and Vanna with the completed masterpiece.

And, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and indeed there comes a point where you have watched enough icing be scraped around, wiped on surfaces, and treated like paste that you decide you can take a break from eating it for a while. Who knew?

Wedding Cake in The House

2008-11-20T22:40:00.003-07:00

I love when my house is helpful. I bought it with the hope that it would be a blessing to people. The house certainly had a fun and busy summer with lots of visitors. I think it's happy when people are here :)

It's had some fun the last two nights that I confess I had not imagined when I signed the escrow papers...wedding cake!

No, no, not mine. Put the confetti away, people.

Becky is the queen of wedding cakes, and she is making one for someone at our church. It needs to be delivered Friday night to a church in Boise. Rather than have Becky drive all the way to her house from work or bring the cake to work, then drive to Boise to set up the cake, then back to Nampa for our MAF game night (I made her promise to find me people I could play Mexican train dominoes with), I suggested she decorate the cake at my place since it's only 15 minutes from the church. She toted everything over here last night and the baking began.

Last night ended late. Tonight not so late, but we'll be back at it tomorrow, and she has decided she would like me to help her deliver it, too.

Has she ever seen me try to carry anything delicate? Yikes!

The above was just practice assembly to see how things will fit together. Piping and roses and decoration went on tonight and we'll assemble and pipe, pipe, pipe more icing tomorrow to make everything fit together.

I do the dishes, by the way. Not the piping. And I eat the tops of the cakes that Becky cuts off to make them flat. I have my own eight-layer cake-top cake in a pile on a plate :) And I woke up this morning to a house that smelled like chocolate cake...now that is a great way to meet the morning!

The CEUs of Life

2008-11-20T00:42:00.001-07:00

When I was teaching, like lots of people in lots of professions, I had to keep my CEUs up to date. I had to have enough Continuing Education Units every five years to convince the State Board that they should renew my credential.

I am enjoying the CEUs of Life these days. Sometimes they are challenging, difficult things, but sometimes they are just downright happy and crack me up.

A recent CEU was in one of my favorite areas of course and lab work: Introverts and Extroverts: How to Be Friends, or, Kathie's Perpetual Amazement at The Differences and How She Blows Right Past Them.

The other day, my sweet buddy Becky, my smiling airplane seatmate from the airstrip dedication, lost her keys. An email popped up at work right at the end of the day, sent by another friend in the office, saying that Becky could not find her keys and asking if anyone had seen them. Becky was looking forward to heading home and voting (now you know what day it was) and could we help out by taking a look around?

A few minutes later I toodled over to the other side of the building to see if there had been any success. Nope. Someone had volunteered to pick her up in the morning, and another person had volunteered to drive that evening and drop Becky off at her polling place, but they had to get home and couldn't stay to wait for her to vote. Becky said she would just walk the couple of miles home after voting.

The sun sets here in Idaho at 6:00 PM this time of year; can you say dark and cold? I couldn't stand it, so like the helpful-whether-you-want-me-to-be-or-not girl that I am, I told Becky I was taking her to vote, would wait for her, and would drive her home. Yeah, I am gonna let my friend walk home in the dark and cold and rain...right.

As we head to the car, Becky relates to me the saga of looking for the keys and their inexplicable disappearance. She, along with a couple of other folks, searched every inch of floor and drawer in her office. Nothing. She sheepishly confesses that she does have a theory...do I remember that morning when I opened the front door for her because her hands were full with a huge box and other goodies because she refused to make a second trip out to the car? Well, she thinks perhaps her keys fell into the box while she was carrying so much stuff...a box filled with smaller boxes she was sending to a friend for Christmas...which she sealed and mailed that afternoon...to Portland.

Tee hee hee! Becky might have mailed her keys to Portland! I am cracking up, and reminding her that at least the box is headed to her childhood best friend and not a stranger!

As we get to the car, Becky tosses her things in the backseat and climbs in front. As I am still loading a few things into the back, a colleague comes out to her car and asks if Becky found her keys. I leap up to stand on the side where the back door is open and yell over the roof of my car, "No, no keys, but guess what? Becky thinks she might have mailed them to Portland! Ha ha ha!"

I plop myself into the driver's seat and find Becky looking at me, eyebrows up. "Um, not everyone needs to know I might have been a dunce and mailed my keys away."

Oh. I stare back, my eyebrows furrowed down. What? "I was aleady kind of horrified when they sent the email asking for people to help look for my keys...I finally gave up out of desperation, but I would have been perfectly happy for no one to know."

Oh. Ohhhhh. I pull my mouth down into a sad face. Oh, yeah. There are introverts in the world.

I apologize. She laughs and tells me it's fine...she needs to learn to chill about things sometimes. I sheepishly confess, "I forget that introverts don't want everyone to know every time they do something foolish or embarrassing. I, on the other hand, like a good extrovert, have a blog where I can broadcast all the stupid and humiliating things I do. Anything for a laugh. I'm kind of a laugh ho."

By now we are both laughing hard. And I get her permission to tell this story using her real name :)

And she treats me to dinner at Bardenay after voting! Apparently, extroverts pick exceptional friends!

The keys, by the way, did not end up in Portland. They were cleverly hiding under a folder, waiting to be found when Becky sat in just the right spot at her desk the next morning. We think God wanted us to have a great dinner together so he hid her keys :)

Good News This Morning

2008-11-19T06:22:00.004-07:00

I woke up to discover I was not the one who let the tool bag float away during a NASA space walk this morning at the ISS.

Just hearing that story on the news made me check to see that it wasn't me that did it. The gal was cleaning up one mess and another resulted in the meantime. That would be a classic Sluss move.

Whew. I knew there was a reason I scrubbed out of the space program.

Marley Is In The House!

2008-11-18T19:25:00.003-07:00

Okay, first off, I am completely giddy about this holiday season. Giddy, I tell you. I love the holidays every year, but this year has both some new things and some simplicity compared to last year.

Last year was special and good, and having Tony enjoy December in the States was a blessing. But I won't deny the challenge of it all, especially since four days into his three-week visit, we knew we would not continue pursuing a romantic relationship. God knew the amount of time he had planned for Tony to be here and all the people Tony would meet, which was wonderful and I am very grateful for the opportunities he had while he was here. Hosting any guest always has some surprises, and if you toss some cross-cultural differences into that, it means my filters were never really all the way down, plus we had a crazy schedule to keep, so I didn't really relax into my family time in California. I had also just bought my house and moved in, and I was TIRED! (My parents should have been exhausted, too; they helped me move and then hosted guests in addition to all the usual fun.) Basically, the holidays flew by and I felt like I hardly got to experience them.

This year...I am giggling at every bit of garland and lights and big snowflakes on the lampposts throughout the city, tickled pink every time I see a house adding fall or Christmas decorations, dancing in the car with the steering wheel when the Muppets and Miss Piggy sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" ("ba-dum-bum-bum!") on the CD Corrina sent me, and skipping with the shopping cart in the grocery store as I buy ingredients to make fudge and things to munch, munch, munch for dinner and snacks with Granny and Bud and Mom and Dad for Thanksgiving!

I am giggling while I grab the cute flannel sheets to make beds for my guests, buy Thanksgiving Blend Coffee at Starbucks, pick up my first free range, antibiotic-free turkey (thanks for the idea, Wendy!), realize that my bright idea that I don't need a cart when I am picking up only one item at the Boise Co-op is not a bright idea if the one item is a 17.5 pound frozen bird (brrrrrr!), put away more groceries than I have ever had in my possession at once since I moved to Idaho, arrange my fall decorations that my parents drove up this summer, and make sure there is Bailey's in the cupboard so Daddy and I can have Irish coffees in the evening.

Thus, Marley has arrived and is the freezer, the sage is in the cupboard, there are breakfast and lunch goodies in the house for my grandparents who are arriving this weekend (hooray!!!), the Mexican train dominoes are ready to go, and Duffy the car is ready to pick Mom and Dad up at the airport next Tuesday...I am the luckiest girl on the planet.