Cool, Cool Weekend

The holiday season landed with a bang for me this weekend. Friday night, I saw the Trans-Siberian Orchestra in concert. It was their "Christmas Eve & Other Stories" production, and it was AWESOME! I have never stood at a concert yelling, "More fire!" Turns out I really like pyrotechnics. Who knew?

I was with a group of about 30 other MAF folks. The music was astounding and the story they tell is all about Jesus coming to earth. I didn't know it until Friday night, but there will be rock opera in heaven. Oh, yeah, and fire and lasers, too :)

I did learn an Idaho lesson Friday evening: Kathie gets WAY too dressed up for things. I dressed to the nines, like I normally do to go see Christmas concerts toward L.A. with my family. Huh. I discovered during my walk from the parking lot to the Idaho Center (a big enough venue to host the Rolling Stones next year, by the way) that most people had dressed up for the evening by wearing their boots instead of their tennis shoes (or vice versa). I determined not to remove my coat unless I found at least four other women wearing heels. Once inside, I did spot a few frilly folk, so I took off my jacket, to the ohs and ahs of my MAF buddies. For Pete's sake, I had even painted my fingernails!

Note to self: Remember that you drive past farms on the way to work. Past farms on the way to concerts. Sheep, horses, cows. Sheep, horses, cows...

Saturday, I saw The Nativity Story. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I confess I was a little nervous, as I always am about seeing anything that attempts to portray something Biblical, but I think they did a terrific job with this. No, it's not perfect--there is a lot of story to pack into an hour and forty-one minutes, but the acting is subtle and powerful, and I loved the historical aspects of it. They made the actors spend a month learning how to use first-century tools before they started filming. Even besides the fact that I am in love with this region of the world after working there, this was terrific to watch.

Everyday life and everyday people are what Jesus was born into. And I needed the reminder that there is nothing new under the sun--Herod was a lunatic, propaganda existed even then, people gossip in every century, and faith is enough to allow God into our lives. People missed Him then the way they miss Him now, and my heart was broken again for those who haven't met their Creator who loves them so, so deeply.

Liann sent me the gift of going with a friend to see the movie (Fandango Bucks--too cool!), and it was a wonderful holiday treat and a quiet way to focus on the season.

Plus, the wise men are hilarious. Don't miss them.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Chocolate and Losers

So, here's a quick confession before bed. I am in love with Bob, the trainer for the Blue Team on The Biggest Loser. He makes big men cry. Tonight, he had Erik, the last Blue Team guy, who's lost 124 pounds, in tears as Erik got ready to head back to New York. Bob's encouraging, caring, and easy on the eyes.

Perhaps, though, as a fitness specialist, Bob would not approve of my mode of appreciation for him. It consists of me in my polar bear jammies, in a comfy chair with my feet on an ottoman, drinking Starbucks Christmas Blend coffee and noshing on bright holiday-wrapped Hershey's Miniatures.

Hmmm. Perhaps we are not destined for one another after all. Phooey.

Off to bed. And to find out what Cuddle Duds are. Marilyn is like person number three to drop those two words. She inspires me to look!

Is Bob the Blue Team guy a Cuddle Dud? Cuddle Dude?

Oh, sweet dreams on the way! Hee hee!

Holiday Busy

I'm posting to say I am alive, well (at least better than my car is doing these days) and just too busy to post. But I changed my picture for winter. And it's crazy cold in Idaho, by the way. More long underwear, please!

When it snows, it's not much, but where there's no sun hitting it, it stays A LONG TIME! Brrrr!

I would also like to extend my thanks to the Pandora users in our crowd--it's been brilliant for Christmas music in the office. Sweet!

The Days of Turkey and Mickey

Hope everybody had a terrific Thanksgiving. The Slussers certainly did--we were thoroughly Disney saturated from Thursday afternoon until Saturday evening, and it was awesome. Everything was so cool, but to top it all off we had the perfect hotel room that faced the fireworks. There's nothing better than sitting on your bed in your jammies and drinking a latte while you watch amazing fireworks!

The day before Thanksgiving, I had the yummiest turkey I have ever tasted at Michael and Joanna's. It was an Alton Brown evening, with his turkey recipe, cranberry dipping sauce, and mac and cheese. I wanted to eat until I passed out.

On the spiritual side, here's a link to a very cool sermon. It's by Major Ian Thomas. He's a Brit, and he can be a bit of a yeller at times, and it's from many years ago, but I think it's a terrific message and I really appreciate his delivery and passion. It's almost an hour long, so download it, and give yourself some cool time to listen if you are so inclined. Well worth it.

A Grain of Wheat

I was sobbing by the end, alone in a Chicago apartment, tears something akin to what Marilyn described on her Saturday post. I am a stubborn, tough grain of wheat. Praise Jesus for His patience.

The Weirdest Life

Does anyone else think I have the weirdest life? I am in Chicago, headed to California in a week and a half, back to Idaho, back to California, back to Idaho for 3 days, then off to Africa. And the Africa trip got booked in a matter of hours yesterday. I know there are people who dreamed of travel for their work, but I never did. I don't hate it, I don't love it, I just think it's weird. I was supposed to be a spinster school teacher. Weird.

Anyway, that's what's in my lonely little head here in Chicago tonight. Missing everyone, may I say. And I have discovered an interesting way to gauge my loneliness. I watch more reality televsion, which I despise. It's like finding something more painful than missing my family to take the edge off my brain. I spent tonight flipping back and forth between "America's Next Top Model" and "Dancing with the Stars", trying desperately to make sure I didn't miss the results at the end. Now I have "The Biggest Loser" on. I need an intervention.

"The Biggest Loser" folks are having a tough time because they are lonely and they miss their families. Amen, people. I bet you wish you could drown your sorrows in Fritos and a Black Cherry Vanilla Coke, like me. Neener, neener, neener! HA!

Pumpkinpalooza and Oregon and Foxes and Skaggs and Risa was an awesome weekend. Beth's boys are huge and kind and funny and stayed up late to see me arrive. We watched cartoons together on Saturday morning, and Will made me a bagel and coffee. I felt like a million bucks. Matt and Beth treated me like a jewel, and Beth trusted me to make cream puffs for the 'palooza meal, which means more than 28 years of friendship can say. Never mind that they didn't come out right and we had to turn them into moon pies--the love was there, baby.

The Skaggs' new biscuit is a precious, hefty, healthy, smiley guy, and makes Chris and Rebekah smile in ways I wish I could have taken picture after picture of. And I love talking to them. Plus, they took me to a place where I had homemade suasage for lunch, and a McMenamins Scarecrow ESB (that's an Extra Special Bitter ale, you poor jealous people...). Never mind that I had such a nice time visiting with them that I almost missed my plane! More on that later...

Risa looks beautiful, sucks on spoons when she cuts onions, and just frankly makes me laugh. Sitting with her in church was great. And my sweet Oregon friends all go to an awesome church. I have loved my two visits there. I think the pastor is a man wonderfully in touch with God, and that there are special, precious things happening at that church. It was just the right place to be that morning. Terrific service.

Missing the plane...I was SOOOOOO close! Chris and Re and the little monkey (Rebekah was my fav of the day 'cause she had him in the little monkey sweater I sent them--too cool :) came in the airport when they dropped me off, and we got to chat over coffees. We were at Coffee People, and I had some drink called the Velvet Hammer--it's a Mexican mocha. It's so yummy smooth, and the Skaggs and I were having such a good chat, and I knew I hadn't gotten enough of all my pals before I had to leave (though I am sure their Sluss-meter was plenty full!), and my senses got totally dulled. Chris even said at one point, "How are you doing on time? I don't want you to be late. You still have to go through security." My plane departed at 4:15 pm, and in some subliminal event, my brain decided I didn't have to be at the GATE until 4:15 pm. Um, how often do I fly? HELLO!

I said, nah, we're fine, and kept right on chatting. Then, practically in the middle of someone's sentence, I said, "I gotta go!" Hucked the emtpy coffee cup, hugged goodbye, and tried to look smooth going down to security. To the longest security line, the slowest security line, I have seen in a long time.

I am a moron. I stood in that line sweating, heart pounding, mad at no one but me. I was about to miss my plane, and the entire fault was mine. I couldn't believe it. I got through security finally, and ran to my d-i-s-t-a-n-t gate, thoroughly expecting to be told that they were pulling my luggage off the plane, and I would need to pony up a wad of cash to reschedule a flight. Huffing and puffing, I arrived to a completely empty gate, one guy standing at the door to the jetway--and he let me in. I was the last one on the plane. Sweaty. Red-faced. Breathing hard. Holding up my pants because I didn't take the time to put my belt back on after security. And it's a Southwest flight--the only seats left are in the middle...

"Can I, huh, huh, sit next to you, huh, please, huh, huh?"

People like that :) A grumpy school teacher let me in, bless her ungraded papers.

I had the best weekend! I love you Cartlton-Newberg-Oregon people. Thanks for make me feel so loved I didn't want to leave!

Durn-blasted Devin

I have a whopper of a sinus infection and I leave in 24 hours for a three-week trip (two weeks of work in Chicago, one week in Californy for Thanksgiving and the splendiforous visit to all things Disney). I have things I have wanted to post for a week about my lovely trip to Oregon to see the Foxes and Skaggs and Risa, but getting the work done for Chicago and being slammed with a cold that has morphed into the dizzy mass my head is now (did nothing on Halloween all day but stay home, drink too much Nyquil and pass out over and over--FUN!), have kept me from writing. It's Saturday afternoon, and I still have work to do for Chicago. But I dangerously took a few minites to check blogs.

And durn-blasted Devin had that celebrity collage in there. I couldn't decide which made my sinus-impacted head pound more, his likeness to Tony Blair or Gene Simmons. And Marilyn had the beautiful matches of Keanu and Renee, so, of course, I had to go do it. Curse you, Parkers!

I did discover some fascinating things about myself though. No matter what picture I load, I look like Toni Morrison. Not so bad, in a fantastic, literary kind of way. And I kinda dig the Queen Latifah comparison.

I do, however, now know I need to keep my eyes open wider in photos, or I look like Roseanne Barr or Winston Churchill. Excellent reasons to continue to avoid reproducing :)

The good news for Roseanne is that she can still get work, playing me in the future made-for-TV movie about my extraordinary life!

http://www.myheritage.com

http://www.myheritage.com

Homesick Blues

It's just some blues, nothing worth raising a squawk about.

Things come in cycles. I had a whopping busy few weeks before I left for California, so not too much sad had a chance to take hold. I got a tummy-full of it on the Sunday before I went to California, while I was sitting in church with one of my favorite MAF families. Just came on all of a sudden. The last several days, by contrast, have been like a little ongoing homesick song playing in the background.

You know it's silly when you are throwing laundry into the washer and as you toss in your denim shirt, worn last at Sea World, you miss everyone.

Then I made the mistake of watching "Babe". I popped in the video last night, but only got as far as Babe getting to Hoggett Farm and sleeping his first night alone and spluttering out, "I want my mom." Had to turn it off. Made me cry.

Tonight I turned on the rest of it while I ate dinner. Got all sad when Hoggett gave away the sheepdog pups and Fly was missing them and Babe asked if he could call her Mom. Bummer. More homesick.

And I'm not embarrassed to want my mommy! I have a wonderful one! And a wonderful family. It doesn't mean they don't make the inside of my eyeballs itch sometimes, but they are my favorite people in the world. I miss having them around the corner. Life felt a little easier, and a little sweeter, that way. That's all.

I still wouldn't make a different decision about coming to Idaho, because it would have meant leaving MAF, saying "no" to Jesus, and missing all kinds of neat opportunities. It just turns out my tears aren't all done yet.

Shopping with Sluss

I spent my Friday evening shopping. Want to know what it was like? Let's just say I am not completely over my homesickness yet. Here's a summary of the night out in the Sluss brain:

• I miss Joanna--I was in Family Christian Store buying my Christmas cards, using my coupon from the mailer. We did that together last year.
• I miss Holly--I see all the teacher presents in Family Christian and think of her.
  
• I miss Mom--Family Christian Store is next to a Paper Cottage scrapbooking store.
• I miss Michael--I pass an REI on my way to Target.
• I miss Dad--As I pump gas next to the REI, I smell the Macaroni Grill, Olive Garden and other restaurants up and down the road. Daddy would take me out to dinner.
• I miss Liann--She would be going into Target with me, saying, "Sluss, do we really need to stop here? Can't we just go home?"
• I miss Denver, Poncho and Born Dancin'--there's Halloween candy all over Target, and I'll miss Halloween with them this year.
  

Fill in the remainder of the evening with many other "misses" and you pretty much have it. So, big fun for Sluss on a Friday night out. It was actually fine. It's just that, for me, even running errands and buying stuff is more fun with someone or if you are going home to someone.

Church today was good. This was church number four or five I have tried, and I really enjoyed the teaching. I wish the worship time would have been a little more serious, but I hack on people all the time for being hung up about worship styles, so I think I will pipe down and take me own advice. I sat with a family from MAF that I only know moderately well, so that was fun.

The pastor spoke about the kind of leadership outlined by Paul in 2 Corinthians 10:7-18. It led into a bit about comparison, and what a waste it is to compare any of our abilities or habits or skills or disciplines horizontally, one person to another. We should only be comparing ourselves vertically, to Jesus. I was thinking about us as a crowd of friends, because we seem to do a fair amount of horizontal comparison, in the nice way of course, by saying things like, "I so wish I had as much energy as Holly," or, "Why can't I write like Elizabeth?" or, "If only I were as patient as Joanna."

The only comparison should be vertical, to Jesus, and we will always come up short. Isnt that the best news? I am totally serious--that brings the most amazing peace to my soul and puts my striving to rest in a way that makes no logical sense, and is absolutely not self-defeatist. It blows me away that the one who made me knows I can never in this fallen form live up to all I dream of, but He says I am wothy of running after Him and He will give me the strength to do it. I love it.

And an interesting tidbit for the day: If you have a Fat Tire Ale with dinner and then take an Ambien, you are pretty tired. Not so tired to forget to do things like blow out any lit candles, but perhaps too tired to remember to turn off your electric mattress pad warmer that gets your bed all nice and toasty before you slide in. You wake up in the middle of the night a couple of times trying to figure out why you are boiling alive from the feet up. Eventually you figure out that something other than your own body temperature is at work and you slam the controls to off.

Roll over, drool some more.

Life is good.

There's a New Kid in Town

I love when people do what I say...

I had a little visit home to the mountain this week, which was lovely, of course. One of the perks was pestering Holly into starting a blog. She wanted to argue that she isn't "super brainy" enough to have one. That's a crock, but I spent my time instead pointing out that it's really become a means for a little bunch of us to stay in touch with one another's lives.

And she's got quite the rockin' life going on right now! So, you'll see a new link to the right, and you can even click right here to visit Mrs. Preston's cool new site, Happy Teachers Come From California.

So, those of us who were pestered into blogging by a friend, make a quick show of hands, please.

Yeah, that's mine waving in the air, too.

Daddy, I Have News

I just got home from your Mecca.

Well, maybe not your Mecca. It's likely a little lesser than that. Maybe your Mecca-Bitty.

This afternoon, I set foot in Cabela's. Boise is the home of their newest location, and it opened, sadly, after Mom and Dad went back to So Cal. I hadn't been in there until today.

I ordered some Life Is Good stuff for mom from Cabela's last year, online. I had no idea who I was dealing with. When the grand opening happened here about a month ago, the fact that people were lined up at 3:30 A.M. on the first day started to give me a clue. And that they were busing people in because there was not enough parking.

It's a hunting/outdoors/recreation store. Or Mecca. I walked past more camouflage stuff than I have ever seen, including several mannequins covered head-to-toe with Ghillie coveralls or some of their other leafy stuff (I had to look it up to know what it was--you gotta look at 'em). I thought Big Foot was after me. And I kept apologizing to the mannequin where I was looking at clothes--dang, they dress those things in hats, and you forget they aren't real.

Also, I had to walk past the HUGE center display, what they call Conservation Mountain. It's a mountain (think Disneyland--it looks real), covered with museum-quality taxidermed animals, from bunnies to bears. Even musk ox. And a polar bear. And a nice deer in the pose of licking a little something off its back. Yep, I saw tongue.

There are "ducks" flying in one area of the store, home and cabin furnishings, a general store with candy to keep you company on the hunt or fish, and a tremendous, Sea World-size freshwater aquarium featuring the trout and fish found in Idaho rivers and lakes. In fact, the guy ringing me out apologized for not folding my clothes terribly neatly. When I told him they were going home with someone who would not be too precise about it either, he said he normally works the aquarium but they had called him to the registers to help out.

So we chatted. Turns out he has given dozens of tours in the last three weeks, including 20 Boy Scout troops, busloads of kids on school field trips, and even 94-year-old women who have been part of the one day out a year that their little senior home takes. They wheeled their walkers through Cabela's, God love 'em.

But the real moment I knew I was in a different kind of store? I was in the dressing room, and as I pulled a sweatshirt over my head I heard from the PA system, "Customer assistance to the meat grinding department, please."

And though I smiled, I did NOT laugh. They have a Gun Library and a Bargain Cave. I don't want to be on the business end of either.

It's been a big day. And, Daddy--your St. Nicholas gift came home in my Cabela's bag. You lucky dog :)

It's Just a Thought

Christina got me thinking. I started to comment to her, but it got long enough, I thought I better stick it over here.

I was dropping in to her blog to say I have been reading and thanking God for the coolness of some of the stuff going on with her, with her and Andy, and with her and Andy's kids.

And I wanted to tell her, on the asking for help front -- dive in there, sister! If you don't, He might send you to Idaho where you get to ask a bunch of NEW people for help, rather than all the old friends who already love you and hang around waiting to bless you and be useful to you ;)

The weird thing, in my brain and heart, is realizing that I actually don't deserve anyone being helpful or kind, but I don't deserve any of that anyway, even from the One who made me. And this very Friday morning on the way to work, I thought about how I lived a long time in "the pinnacle of my life's achievement will be to be totally self-sufficient because that's what real grown-ups do and if they are responsible they have their act together and don't pester other people with things they should take care of themselves".

Hmmm. Then I look at the Bible. Hmmm. Christian community doesn't really seem to look like that, I guess. And this mission-community thing totally doesn't look like one that does not ask for help. I remember being stunned the first time I saw an email go out to MAF staff from someone asking to borrow a four-man tent for a camping trip. People borrow stuff? What? Don't you just BUY things? Borrowing means people KNOW you needed something--and you weren't in the condition to get it yourself.

Yep, an email about a tent got my mind whirring.

And those guys who followed Jesus. They were never total go-it-alone men. And Jesus wasn't even here doing his own thing, without needing from others. He went to his Dad all the time. I love that about Him. He said he wasn't doing anything here that His Father did not direct Him to do, or give Him authority to do. He was not on His own--though He certainly had the ability to do all things in His own strength.

And His example has to be my example. Ask. Let those around you feed you. Let them experience the same joy you have when you are privileged to love someone through a physical provision.

Even down to the non-physical bearing of one another's burdens. I had the same thought Michael had at the same time he was posting about all the shadowy places a number of us seem to be in at the moment. We are meant to share our lives together as brothers and sisters--not live in perpetual comparision about who actually has it worse and who has it better, so who has the right of way in talking about their struggles. Fact is, I think we are all plenty noisy enough to tell one another when we are complaining about something stupid--the rising cost of candy corn, for example :)

Otherwise, I think we really have no business to refrain from sharing, or asking for support, based on our own comparison of our situation to others. Any phrase that starts, "What I am going through is just..." is probably being phrased wrong. The sentence is, rather, "Dear friend, can we talk? What I am going through is..." It's all about grace.

When I am in a tough place, wrestling with emotions and struggles, the word just, when used to mean only or simply, has really never brought comfort. "My heart is broken, but it's just..." "I so much want to talk to the Lord about this, but it's just..."

It brings comparison, and leads me away from dealing with what the Lord would have me face and walk through with Him. And that often means he wants to use those who love me to talk to me.

So Christina was right on when she commented to Michael that we really should share and not feel guilty about it. I am learning that talking as He leads, and not as I discern for myself what I should say, allows for a lot more serendipity in conversation. And nothing blesses and warms and thrills like God-coordinated moments :)

A 2:30 PM Perk in the Day

Okay--so, like, three people may find this funny. But those three will thank me for making them laugh.

Thusly, I post the chat that Michael and I had today when I interrupted his perfectly focused grading time.

Michael = my sweet brother
me = moi, The Sluss

Michael: The bounce has gone out of me bungee
(This is Michael quietly minding his own business...)

me: I may well be interrupting...
(The Sluss pounces!)

Michael: Kathie Slusser!

me: but I had to tell someone that I am having a problem with Candy Corn this season

Michael: Well, not anything important.

me: and it can't be someone here--they might make me stop

Michael: That's just to keep away the riff-raff.

Candy corn problem?

me: I LOVE IT!

Michael: Uh huh...

I don't think that's illegal yet...

me: I want to buy pounds and pounds

and eat it ALLLLLL!

Michael: Hrmmm...

me: It has been very soothing

Michael: That could be a problem.

me: When I worked on a PowerPoint a few weeks ago for Richard I had to warn him when I dropped it off..

I was pretty hooped up on candy corn when I did it

I couldn't guarantee the quality

Michael: That's funny.

And a little sad.

But funny.

me: hopped up, actually

now that I look

I am hardly ever hooped up

Michael: The boys just got their first candy corn of the season. They've been enjoying it as well, so maybe you can share when you come down next week!

me: YEAH!!!!

Auntie Candy Corn!!!

Michael: I'm so excited that's coming up. We were just prepping the boys for your visit last night. They're pretty excited, too.

And I liked "hooped up."

me: See? I'm a little hopped up right now :)

Are you excited? That's so cute!

You make me happy :)

How, exactly, are you prepping the boys? Like for nuclear holocaust?

Like for Sunday School?

Michael: Yes. We're all quite pleased, and I was pretty excited to realize it was happening sooner than I had expected.

me: Like for a dentist appointment?

More candy corn, please!!!

Michael: We're prepping them by letting them know you're coming. It does no good to tell them too early, or they either (a) get overexcited and then disappointed, or (b) forget. So it's close enough to tell them about it and have them be excited, too.

You are a bit hooped at the moment, aren't you?

me: So cute!

I think so...I am giggling maniacly all to myself in my cubby...

I have people on either side, so I must be quiet!

My face hurts from not laughing :(

Michael: That's the kind of hushed excitement one hears from mental patients with a special new pet.

me: Must...control...laughter...OW!

Absorootentutley

Michael: "Lenny! I have a new pet! His name is Mop! Shhhh! Don't let the nurse know!"

me: You are SOO not helping me!

I have now lost it

I hate you.

It all escaped--crap.

Michael: Heh.

me: ah, the release of the tears of laughter

so sweet

Michael: Wow. A lot of vitriol hidden in there.

me: face feels better

Michael: Feel free to blame my startling wit.

me: even if a big snarfing sound came out at the same time

mostly I blame the candy corn

Michael: Heh.

me: I sound like a nut job in here

Michael: It sounds like you ought to. You could probably sue the manufacturers.

Joanna was complaining that she couldn't find Brach's candy corn and had to buy an off-brand.

me: People have begun asking questions...

Michael: For those of us not too attached to candy corn, it seems a pretty minor point.

me: Off-brand!

Unacceptable!

Michael: How much brand loyalty do you need for dollops of corn syrup with added dyes?

me: That's like saying it's okay to buy generic Peeps!

hardly!

Philistine!

Does that have two "l's"?

I think not.

I see no tag!

Michael: Ah, but with Peeps, you're paying for the love.

Hee hee.

me: and their little candy eyeballs

I feel much better now that I have confessed my secret shame

I think I will capture this whole chat and make it a blog post for tonight

Michael: Off-brand peeps are made only with bitter hatred and disgust for the consumer. It's a disrespect that you can taste.

Oh, dear.

I can't tell if my thoughts are better or worse off the cuff.

me: Always better! Especially with candy corn!

You can't tell me that's not just snarfing hilarious stuff. Have a good night, kids!

SFO

"Yes, she should drop her ex-husband from her insurance…"

But do you have to have the whole conversation in a stall in a women’s restroom at San Francisco International Airport?

I am in Terminal 3 at SFO, having landed safely from Amman, via Frankfurt, and am awaiting the last leg of the trip home to Boise. Masha and I had hopes of seeing each other for coffee and sandwiches at a deli we both adore during my layover, but we couldn’t pull it off. So, in honor of my Mashie, I am having a coffee, and wishing I could make myself spend $5 on three small pieces of Dim Sum from one of the airport dining spots.

It’s still weird to say that Boise is where I go "home" after a trip, but that’s another blog. Also another blog, will be thoughts touching the 20 or more things each day I thought to write about while I was in the Middle East again. And, of course, I’ll report on my float in the Dead Sea.

But first…

STOP the cell phone calls at top volume in bathroom stalls! It’s just creepy! While I am certain most women at one time or another have multitasked in the bathroom stall (I’ll cop to slapping on Chapstick while I am sitting there and am rushed to catch a plane), there is just no way I need to strain my brain to identify whether the voice I am hearing in the bathroom is directed at me, is someone who talks to the voices in their head, or whatever. The conversation this lady was having today seemed fairly significant—yes, he has it coming; remember how he treated her; he can get his own insurance; leave him now; he wouldn’t help you out; blah, blah.

Clearly seems weighty enough to have a chat about this somewhere more dignified than the potty.

And somewhere that it’s not punctuated by little tooty noises. Coming from THAT very stall. And I am not making that up.

This touches on why I will weep if they ever start allowing people to use cell phones in-flight on planes. Actually, I’ll be weeping just before I throttle whoever is behind me using their cell-phone yell to communicate over the drone of the 747 engines. It will be WWF in midair, trust me.

Also, on "airport" topics, I think the security folks in the Frankfurt airport are getting testier all the time with US-bound passengers. If I thought their searches were thorough before, I hadn’t seen anything. I want to know why they bother x-raying the bags—they make you open absolutely every compartment and container on the other side of the machine anyway. I am not exaggerating. At least when they pat me down in front of God and Germany and wand every inch of my body for metal, they don’t bother first with passing me through one of the big metal detectors—they just get right down to their frisking business. They need to do the same with the bags—quit the pretense of the x-ray machine and get busy telling me to unzip. That’s my backpack and carry-on, of course.

And they pitched my deodorant, the cretins. My SOLID deodorant—not gel, not aerosol. The very one that made it through security in Boise, Denver and Amman. But not Frankfurt…noooo-ooooo. I am coming through there next time with a bunch of empty bottles for them to open :)

Here I Am to Worship

A day short of a month--now people can't say I haven't posted for a month. I love sliding in under a wire I have made up for myself.

Many, many thanks to the friends and dears who have been calling and posting comments to check on me in the Spud State. I am indeed arrived, and due to the Lord's grace, unexpected gifts from supporters, and the extraordinary generosity and hard work of my parents, I am comfortably ensconced in my first apartment. It's as close as we could manage to an Italian villa, and I love it. In fact, it looks a bit too nice for a lummox like me to be living in it!

The emotional update four weeks into Idaho, living-alone, away-from-my-home, every-single-thing-here-is-new life: Simply put, Jesus is the only reason I am here. My apartment is adorable, there are many people here who have been surpassingly kind, there are fantastic restaurants, shopping is simple, the farms near me are beautiful, and the clouds in the wide morning and evening sky are breathtaking. I even had a double rainbow outside my apartment balcony recently, and there is an inviting river I can float just a few miles from my home.

It's not enough. It's not worth it. The people I love and trust and cherish most are far away. I have never been a girl who felt the need to spread her wings. I have never sought adventure for the sake of adventure. I have never been unhappy with my home and had the "I gotta get outta here" feelings.

So, in the midst of this unbelievably busy time of expanding work and setting up home (no blogs lately because there has simply not been time--trust me), I had two worship experiences this week that drove home that I am here because Jesus asked if I would go and I said yes. For as difficult as this new phase is, I can also say with confidence that I would be utterly miserable in my soul if I had said no to my Lord to doing this work and doing it in this place.

Thus, indeed, here I am to worship. Here I am to bow down. Here I am to say that you're my God.

And I offer quickly on the heels of this, Hallelujah. Hallelujah, for the Lord God Almighty reigns. Holy. Holy, are you Lord God, Almighty. Worthy is the Lamb.

There are terrific moments that happen here. But my heart is broken--not just from being relocated, but from many things that are happening in areas where I work and to the people with whom I work. One of the lessons in my life at the moment is to own my own experience with the Lord and not continually lessen it by comparison to others in what seem to be worse circumstances, and thus not deal with what the Lord would have me learn in my relationship with Him. Toward that, for the moment I am embracing 2 Corinthians 4:7-9:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

Today for a moment I wondered exactly where the line is between hard pressed and crushed. I think it's slim. I think it's five or six or seven letters.

Jesus

Christ

Saviour

Were it not for Jesus, I would turn tail and load the car and race home. But truth be told, I thank Him for placing me where He must be my All in All. I am just learning that it can be heart-wrenching and terrifying and exhausting to have your life and heart's prayer actually answered.

Moving Day

A picture of a tired-looking (but clean!) Sluss in the exact spot from whence I blog on this moving day morning. Merry Moving Day. No Merry Christmas--I am leaving the Christmas stuff behind. I just don't think there's that much room in my apartment. My decorations actually deserve an apartment of their own!

Liann's couch has been pushed to the fireplace to make room for the movers to work. I climb over the side to sit in it like it's the General Lee. Liann has fled to her parents' house to try to catch a nap. It was a long night. She tried to go to bed about 10 p.m., but I was packing over her head until almost 2 a.m. Then we were up by about 5:30 a.m. So now I sit in a corner of my living room, hemmed in by couch and piles of stuff, while six movers pack around me in a flurry I have rarely seen.

I spent a few hours trying to get sleep last night before they came, but most of it was just me with a stomach ache like a 5-year-old who knows they are in trouble. I know I am supposed to go north, but last night was hard. Liann got a stomach ache yesterday helping me pack. And last night, when I finally collapsed on the couch and tried to at least grab a few winks, nothing but undone stuff and silly decisions ran through my mind.

A sampling:

• "Aauughh! I'm never gonna get my suitcase packed for the drive up before they get here at 7:30 a.m. I gotta get underwear outta my bedroom before they pack it all..."
• "What was I thinking agreeing to two years of DSL service in Idaho just to get that reduced rate? The cancellation fee if I dump it early is probably $500!" (Turns out it's $200...still horrid.)
• "Oh geez..Don't forget to unplug everything the movers are moving...gotta do that."
• "Criminey! How in the world did I wind up with this much stuff separated to go into the cars? Good grief..."

You see my fun. Add me cuddled under a blanket with an ice pack on my back and you've got the full vision of beauty. Add some sweat, too. It was warm, but too cool when the breeze came through the window not to be covered up. I was too tired to even move the junk at the end of the couch, so when I would stretch I would just push the remotes and papers and boxes with my feet.

Then part way through this morning I remembered I was supposed to be taking pictures of this process for my mom. Finding two pastel golfballs that had rolled under the couch from her birthday gift in April helped remind me :)

Sitting on the deck and watching things pile up in the driveway and make their way down to the lift gate on the truck (to be shuttled to a much bigger tractor trailer that is parked in a turnout on 330), Liann and I talked about how surreal this is. We think maybe it's like being at your own wedding, where it feels weird that this is really about you, not someone else. Liann thinks maybe it's like being at your own funeral ;)

As I heard the truck come down the street this morning and I headed down the stairs to open the door, I just prayed out loud for everyone's safety, and reminded the Lord that I am not smart enough to handle this. That's good news.

Liann is starting to get peeved that she "can't find &*#%" in the house. I better get on the road tomorrow morning!

Thanks to EVERYONE for their prayers. For both of us!

Apartment Hunt Results

Blah, blah, I haven't posted. Sorry. There. Now we can get down to business.

Just the facts, ma'am:

The home-finding trip to Idaho went amazingly well. God got my disgruntled, worried heart to chill out and enjoy the trip--within just four hours of landing in Boise. Here's a rundown of what happened.

• On the plane to Boise, I happen to mention to Liann that there was one apartment complex I was not able to make an appointment for in Meridian (a suburb of Boise, midway between Boise and Nampa, which is where the office and hangar are). When I called Greenhill (not it's real name ;) the week before, they said they had nothing available, and recommended a few other places to visit. I hadn't brought it up to Liann before the flight--there just hadn't been a reason to talk about the specifics of the names of places where I had made appointments. She was along for the ride to keep me sane.
  
• Liann and I land in Boise at about 1:00 p.m., get the rental car, check in at the hotel (make that an old, cheesy, motel), rest for about 20 minutes, then go to Red Robin for a leisurely lunch.
• Over lunch and three Freckled Lemonades (Boise was in a heat wave), Liann suggests we pick up a newspaper and just check out any individual rentals that might sound worth driving by. I had not made any appointments or plans for Saturday or Sunday. I figured we would take it easy and spend time finding our way around and get me used to reading the Ada and Canyon County street atlas I bought last August. So, why not buy a paper? Sure.
• We cruise around until we find a newspaper machine in front of a Carl's Jr. With the car running and the air conditioner blasting, she peruses one paper and I the other. I circle everything I am finding in my price range, and start to make the first phone call to get an address. As I start to dial, I hang up. I just can't do this--I can't have the same "Hi, my name is Kathie, and I am relocating to the Treasure Valley in about four weeks, and I am interested in your rental listing. May I have the address so I can drive by and see it, and then contact you later if I would like to see inside? I am here until Wednesday...BLAH BLAH BLAH!" conversation 30 times. I have already done this a ton. And what if people aren't nice? And I don't have enough energy to convince them I am trustworthy and will not ruin their house if they give me the address. Uncle, already.
• I remember Moses had to put his staff in the water. God did the whole big story, but he made Moses put his staff in the water at the Red Sea first. Okay, Lord, I'll dial. Here's my staff. Ugh.
• I leave a message at the number. The ad says to call on weekends and evenings, so I figure I lucked out calling on a Saturday afternoon. Turns out I never heard a word from them, but I left the message.
• Immediately after, Liann looks up from her paper and says, "What was the name of the place you said had nothing available?" I told her, "Greenhill." She said, "Well, here's an ad for them: 'Open House, Saturday Only, 10-5, apartments available, call Shirley.' I think we need to call."
• Liann actually called them (unheard of for Liann to use the phone without being forced) and left a message. Two minutes later, the phone rings. It's Shirley. She says to come over, gives me directions, and that she'll be there until 5:00 p.m.
• We arrive at Greenhill at 4:30 p.m. Crusty, older, world-wise Shirley shows us two apartments, and warms up to me and shows me two more. The fourth one is IT.
  
• Upstairs, two-bedroom, one-bath, washer/dryer, fridge, microwave, balcony, faces a little business park and a new high school, only 2 years old and only occupied in the last year for about 3 weeks. It's pristine. I can afford it. AND...it will take my grandma's dining table and hutch. I can't believe it.
• Shirley has shown apartments all day, but tells us she is done, she won't be showing anything else for the rest of the night or on Sunday, and if I come on Monday morning to the office with my credit app and everything checks out, the place is mine. She walks us back to her apartment to fill out the credit app, and as she hands it to me, she starts to write on it and says, "Now, here's your address." Liann whispers to me, "Sluss, it's an address!"
• We head back to the car, and I know it's a God-thing because Liann is so excited she can't shut up (this from a woman who normally takes 48 hours to tell you what she thinks about the burrito she ate for lunch), and I am silent. That's right folks--the Sluss was speechless.

I turned in the paperwork on Monday morning and got a call from Shirley that afternoon while I was at lunch with a friend I made last August, and it was a done deal. Liann and I kept our appointments at the other places that I had arranged, but it was all just a process of confirming that God had taken care of it all right after we got off the plane. It took me about 48 hours to realize that God had not only answered many specific prayers, but had done something that amazed me even more. As we cruised some condo locations in Nampa, I suddenly pulled the car over and started to cry. I had been dreading the trip. It had been prefaced with worry over a million "what ifs" and panic over the idea of making tons of decisions and what if I got one wrong? I had made myself nauseated over it.

It suddenly dawned on me that God had taken care of everything so well that I was actually having a good time. I was enjoying just driving and exploring with Liann. I was overwhelmed at how he had taken care of my heart.

I Reckon It's a Reckoning

From My Utmost for His Highest tonight:

"And Peter...walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid." Matthew 14:29-30

The wind was actually boisterous, the waves were actually high, but Peter did not see them at first. He did not reckon with them, he simply recognized his Lord and stepped out in recognition of Him, and walked on the water. Then he began to reckon with the actual things, and down he went instantly.

I have not written anything in here for over a week not for lack of things to write about or things going on, but rather for the over-abundance of them. It has been 12 days of spiritual and emotional exhaustion. Ever have those stretches where every blessed moment feels like a revelation of some kind?

I am wiped out.

The good news about that tonight, as I sit on my bed and type, hunched over in a way that will give me a backache very shortly (but I have no desire to sit anywhere else), is that I think God worked specifically to get to me to this point in order to face this week, and this coming weekend.

This week will be crazy busy at work, for about 23 reasons that I won't take the time to list. Suffice it to say that when I even think of tomorrow, Monday morning, I want to faint dead away and have someone wake me up in three weeks. I know this week holds a list of activities and people that I cannot keep up with while maintaining an attractive attitude of patience. None of the tasks or people are bad--it's just a lot. And all of it has deadlines.

Then comes Saturday. Liann and I are hurling ourselves into a car to arrive at the airport by 5:30 a.m. to catch a flight to Boise. It's time for my home-finding trip. I have until Wednesday afternoon to find an apartment or house or condo or whatever to move into a month from now, and lots of people to connect with while I am in the area. I cannot express how grateful I am to Liann for coming to help--whew. I can't imagine doing this alone.

Liann sat with me tonight and we made a list of things I would like in my new place to live. This is no small task for someone who has forgotten how to express an opinion to the Lord about anything. In the balance of expressing my heart and wanting His will, somewhere along the line I ditched the dealings with my heart. I think it's a pretty short trip for you to figure out what that has done to my prayer life. Pppbbbtthhhhh. Dry and parched may start to cover it.

It did dawn on me last week, though, that in many of the stories that melt my heart about the Lord, people's needs were meet very specifically, and many times we know it because of what they asked for in prayer. And I know you know me better than to think I am talking about "Where's my new Hummer?" kind of prayers. I mean those that can involve real, material things, but that are really about bigger issues in our hearts.

My big issue right now is leaving. I have fought and fought over trying not to be too sad about this move, and just be brave, and it's all gonna be okay, and being afraid I am not being apologetic enough for being heart-broken for having to leave the people I love most in this fallen world when there are others it has not bugged so much to leave. Well, as my good friend Holly says when she's had enough, I'm done.

I feel sick to my stomach about leaving. It's finally here. I am pretty much incapable of talking about it for more than three sentences without crying. I confess to being a little mad that I am leaving my nephews and niece when one of the things I have wanted most in life is to be an aunt. I know it's ridiculous, but I have thought about that since I was about nine years old. I am excited about new adventure, but I am crushed at the idea of not being around the corner from a mountain-full of people I adore.

Frankly, I did not know it would be this hard. It wasn't a month ago.

Hence, the whole walkin' on water segment at the top. I love that Chambers points out that the storm was already clearly raging away, but Peter just didn't see it when he laid eyes on Jesus. He didn't reckon with water or wind; he just stepped out to follow His Lord. I think that was me in October 2004 when this relocation was announced, and has been me in many ways since then. My answer when people have asked how I feel about "the move" (I am inappropriately sick of that phrase, by the way), has been all about how He will provide, and sure it will be tough in some ways, but it's so clear that I am supposed to go, and it will be okay.

Two weeks ago, I started to "reckon with the actual things". It was time to change utilities out of my name, open a new bank account, clean out my teaching files, deliver things to Goodwill, take note of what I will have to purchase for a place by myself, send farewell letters to churches, make lists of people to invite to going away events.

Today I hit the skids about making phone calls to set appointments for apartment tours. I need to do this tomorrow. My normal thing would be to research to death the places I want to look at, and have as much information as I can possibly garner before I even call, much less visit in person. I have already spent hours and hours online and in rental magazines and talking to people at work who have made their trips. But I know there is more I could do.

"...and down he went instantly."

I can't do it. I just can't anymore. And you should envision that with a resigned shoulder-shrug and sideways head-toss. I have no more brains or energy to throw at this. I can't handle one more moment of pre-home-find-trip preparation.

I think that must mean I have my eyes turning back to Him again. I said yes to the move in the first rush of chasing Him, what Chambers says we need to do by being "reckless immediately." If it's His voice, there is no hesitation with consideration of our circumstance; we are to "fling it all out on Him."

But I confess to taking lots of time lately to consider my circumstances, weigh my options, measure my own abilities, balance my efforts with my own intelligence. It was not enveloped by nearly enough prayer and trust.

So tonight, Liann prayed--I cried. I just cried and nodded while I listened to her praise Him for the perfect love and care He has always provided, and lay before Him my heart, her heart, and a very real need I face in a week--a new home.

And after making no-brainer lists for an apartment like washer/dryer hookups, here is what I really want:

1. A place big enough for people to come stay with me
2. A place that will allow me to bring my grandmother's dining table and hutch that are currently in use at my parents' house (I know it seems silly, but I can't tell you the surge of joy and comfort it brings to think of having those pieces with me.)
   
3. Nice landlords/managers and neighbors
   
4. An address I can come home with from this trip. I truly do not want to be on a waiting list, have to be making a bunch of confirming phone calls over the next month, or wondering if an "opening" will become available before the moving company heads north with my household goods.

Do I know that He will provide a decent home in Idaho? Of course--in the big picture, He always, always provides. For me, at this moment, though, as my friend Amber said recently, sometimes you need to know He is in the small things, like a bedroom and bath for guests, and furniture that has a million memories in it.

For Cryin' Out Loud

I cried almost all the way home from work yesterday. Started at the corner of Alabama and Redlands Blvd. and went right up the mountain. No big deal in the life-scheme of things, I guess.

Except that I hate crying.

I didn't used to, but now I hate the runny nose, the goofy face, the red eyes...and the contact lenses that shrink right up and squeeze your eyeballs to death. Mostly, though, I hate that it indicates to me a loss of control on my part, especially if I am alone. In my mind, I equate loss of emotional control (water from my ocular cavities) with a lack of trust in God's care and sovereignty. This applies to only me, of course. I don't really have any hang-ups about other people sobbing. But, what am I crying about if I know Jesus is Savior and I know He is in charge and that all things work to His glory? Get a grip, Slusser!

So, whaddaya know...Jesus loves to make me cry when I am alone.

Clearly, we're at odds here. You see my dilemma.

My eyes well up the moment I ponder His goodness. His grace. His patience. When He tries to tell me He loves me, and would I hold still for just a minute so He can just say that, and could we not talk business for two seconds. When He tries to tell me that all my oughts, shoulds, and woulds are making me smaller, and draining the life out of me, and by the way, you do that because you compare yourself to everyone around you, and I, your Creator, don't see you that way.

Basically, any time I think about Him in a context other than Him wanting my obedience, I run the risk of tears.

So I often choose not to run the risk. Crying is exhausting. I don't have time for it.

I have stuff to do. Emails to send, lists to make, reports to type, people to call, an apartment to rent, people to pray for, stuff to take to Goodwill, things to think about.

I have an appearance of peace and joy to maintain, for Pete's sake! Crying makes that messy! People are watching.

The good news is, I guess, that yesterday was the first time in a long time that I cried, and let myself keep going, and didn't get mad at myself for it. I suppose that's a growth moment. A watershed moment. Get it? Watershed. Tears, wet, water--stay with me here.

That's my prayer for the moment to Him--stay with me, here. Don't let me run off. Don't let me keep everything tidy and clean, 'cause I can do it, and not in a good way. I have something ugly in me that is capable of turning emotions off and on like a faucet. I discovered it in late 1990, and I have had enough experience with it that it scares me to death. I have it in me to be a machine. I have joked that if I were not Christian, I would be so Utilitarian it would be horrid. But I'm not really kidding. It's in there, and there have been times in my life where the emotional faucet was off, and I found it was easier and easier to let it stay that way, or to flip back and forth between what I decided I would care about and what I would not, as it was convenient for me.

My keep-it-clean, emotional give-a-hoot-don't-pollute theory (actually, I think I should say, practice) does not make me a better person. It does not draw me to God. It does nothing for my soul or spirit. Except maybe shrink it.

In short, me keeping me clean and tidy and hospital-cornered makes a mess.

God in his sweet timing, let me run into the same person yesterday who prayed for me back on May 16. She's the same sister to whom I made some of my statements about dislike of crying about 3 months ago. I told her I wanted to know more about grace and be closer to Him without crying.

She laughed at me. In a good, you-gotta-be-kidding-honey kind of way. Actually, that's exactly what she said at the time. And yesterday, it was like just being able to talk with her was a reminder of that, and the tears started a couple hours later. It was a thorough mix of grief, joy, excitement, weariness, anticipation, trust, awe, release...good and messy. I told her she shakes my tidy little snow globe world every time I see her. Praise the Lord for that.

I think I decided my problem is that I am actually on the verge of tears all the time, so I don't let my heart wander over there, where that happens, 'cause I'd never do anything but cry. Never do anything but not have charge of my own responses and abilities and learning and appearance and and and...

Sounds like a "my power is perfected in weakness" life may be possible after all. I think it's not an optional approach to Him, the fullness of Him, the person of Him. If I want more than fire insurance, I have a feeling this is the only road.

Magic in the Little Things

I was told tonight (in a good way--not like, "Man, you got told!") that sharing about the simple, beautiful, pure things in life is worth it. It was in the context of why I had chosen not to blog (or, more accurately, specifically rebelled against doing it) before now. My answer mostly has to do with not wanting to contribute to the insanity of media noise already in the world. The cacaphony on the internet, radio, satellite radio, podcasts, MP3s, television, cell phones...you name it...drives me nuts, and I think in many ways is deeply unhealthy.

Plus, what the smack do I have to say that anyone gives a rat's tooie-tooie about? But that's another issue...

In response to my musings about whether small, silly things belonged on my blog, my poet-preacher friend pointed out Philippians 4:8--"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." Dr. Skaggs said that in the midst of a world of "noise", sharing about the sweet and pure and everyday is magic.

I can't argue with a treasured passage of scripture (as well as the basis of one of my favorite Wes King songs, Good News), or with the value of some joy in the mundane, so here's a tidbit of magic for tonight.

Hope you're ready after this big lead in...

I have an enormous raspberry on my left knee.

It's still humongous today, Wednesday, and I got it on Sunday. It spent the first two nights under a bandage soaked in Neosporin--the kind with the pain killer, 'cause the sheets against it hurt!

Why is it pure, lovely, admirable, excellent? Did I get it rescuing people from a burning building? Did I win the softball title by sliding into home just under the touch of the catcher's glove? Did I wrestle a 500-pound gorilla away from an old lady trying to cross the street?

Nope. Got it giving horsey rides, lots of them, to Poncho, Denver, and even to Born Dancin' (with the help of Joanna propping her up and walking next to me while she rode). I was in comfy new Eddie Bauer shorts, galloping up and down the hallway and through my mom and dad's bedroom and living room on Sunday during our family Memorial Day BBQ.

Aunt Kaffie has a new rule--horsey rides when she is in jeans ONLY! I had no idea that rug burn is like sunburn and worsens as the evening goes along! Yee-ouch!

However, I have also never been prouder of a boo-boo. I think I have worn shorts every day since Sunday just to show it off ;) I feel like a cowboy. I mean, cowgirl.

Um, no. I mean, Trigger.

Common Sense

Go read My Utmost for His Highest today, 05/30. Go on, the link's at the right...go on. Scoot.

Common sense was like a law in my house growing up. "Use your common sense, Kathie." The joke most times, though, was that I had little of it. If you want me to learn something, give me a book. Then assign an essay. If you really need me to absorb it, make me diagram each sentence.

As an adult, the major times of growth in my life, and deep joy despite deep pain, have been when common sense has taken a back seat to faith. I don't mean ignoring things like not walking down the middle of a busy freeway ("You can't kneel down in the middle of a highway and live to talk about it, son."), but like all other good precepts I have been given, I have taken what should be a guide and turned it into a rule. Common sense is a rule if you don't have a God who is telling you that being Indiana Jones with him is far better.

And I like to be Indiana Jones--but my common sense tries to do it in a nice, safe, lots of rope and back-ups and rappelling gear of my own kind of way. He gets little glory in this scenario, of course, I get little joy (because I have been so busy arranging things that did not need my attention), and a thin story is told on the other side where people who don't know my Jesus can attribute the decent outcome to my abilities and talent and some serendipity.

I know better, and I know the difference. I want His stories on the other side. I read last week that Jesus did not come to preach common sense. From Oswald on May 26: The danger with us is that we want to water down the things that Jesus says and make them mean something in accordance with common sense; if it were only common sense, it was not worthwhile for Him to say it. The things Jesus says about prayer are supernatural revelations.

I confess to spending a lot of time trying to arrange the natural and asking Jesus to sprinkle in some supernatural. Pray with me that I will stop it.

Snarfles

I love 1 Thessalonians 5, especially verses 12-28. The instructions are so succinct, and the encouragement so direct. Verse 24: "The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it." Rock on. I have hung out a lot in these verses.

But I cracked up yesterday when I had a little epiphany over verse 14:
"And we urge you, brothers, warn those who are idle, encourage the timid, help the weak, be patient with everyone."

Ummmmm...Guess which side of the above listed group I have always put myself on, not consciously choosing, of course, but just always landed there? Obviously, on the encourager side. ALWAYS. Clearly, though, that means there are timid, weak people out there, who need some patience. Hee hee. That means there are encouragees. Look how I am always on the "do" side and never the "receive" side! Hee hee! Kathie giggles aloud (kind of snarfully-like, almost spraying little dots of spit on the computer screen), in this small, triumphal realization. I betcha, sometimes I am in the weak, timid, needing-patience group. I betcha, sometimes I am supposed to allow myself to be ministered to.

Maybe I am renaming this the "Duh" blog :)

Kathie's Third Commandment--yikes

I think I discovered today that at some point in life I made up a third commandment for myself, to follow the two from Jesus in Matthew 22:

³⁶"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" ³⁷Jesus replied: "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' ³⁸This is the first and greatest commandment. ³⁹And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' ⁴⁰All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

Kathie's unwritten, third, often sadly overtaking the other two, commandment:
"Thou shalt not inconvenience ANYONE, EVER. Amen."

Bummer. Just figured out today that this is probably not such a healthy idea. Been living the last 10 years or more pretty laboriously by it, though. And, for the record, I'll just put out there that I live the "mind" part of the first commandment, and since I have no desire to be particularly kind to myself, and am not my own biggest fan, number two probably doesn't get lived out in the way He intends.

As Liann pointed out, that means I am living and breathing a little over 1/3 of the things staked out as most important by the Lord I love. Plus monkeying it up with my own rules. Glad the Lord brought that to light today.

My counselor has me reading Changes That Heal, by Dr. Henry Cloud. I know people have opinions on both sides about Dr. Cloud and about such books, but I'll tell ya, for me at the moment, it's a pretty darn helpful thing to be reading. I have Liann's copy, and let her know today that I am marking the dickens out of it, and I hope she does not mind. Of course, she doesn't, and we actually spent time today comparing her underlines and starred places to mine that are getting added to the pages. Very cool and encouraging to see where she's been, how God has worked, and what He's continuing to do for both of us in this significant season of change at this house under the big oak.

Back to the inconveniencing thing. On the list of things I need to move from my head to my heart, there are many, many, many things I know, have heard, and have read. Thank God for Cloud pointing out plenty of those things just now when I will crash and burn if I don't start to get them. One that seems pretty obvious--"We are literally to draw from the love of God and others to fuel our transformation and fruit bearing."

I read that and realized that I see receiving love from others as nice, enjoyable, and pleasant. I never put it in the realm of "necessary." For me, though, it is "necessary," and my duty as well as my joy, to love others. I love you--absolutely and without doubt. You love me, God loves me--that's handy and lucky. And I'll eek out what I can without bothering you or Him too much.

Gross, I know. But that's the point. I have considered renaming this blog, "The Catalog." It's gonna be, I think, a list of things I am just starting to get, many of which make others say, "duh."

So, since I should be able to function just to care for others, without needing to be refilled (not seriously refilled, anyway), I take it to the extreme of not wanting to "bother" anyone about anything. I am happy to help bear your burdens, and I love you so much, I won't burden you with mine. Aren't I nice?

Reminds me of planning my first support-raising trip in the late summer of 2004. I kept checking with Chris and Rebekah to make sure that my staying with them was not an inconvenience or hassle or headache or bother or burden or hardship or discomfort. And, yes, I think I checked as many times as I have nouns listed there. Chris finally said, "Kathie, the only inconvenience is having to reassure you that you are not inconveniencing us." And he used his serious voice. I almost thew up, 'cause I knew I had been busted. And really, if I think about it, this broken idea in my head of not "burdening" others with anything, including struggles or worries or broken pieces of me, sounds a lot like my junior high and high school "Are you mad at me?" game, just with an adult spin on it. People will like me more if I am not messy and complicated, and can be what they want and need.

Definition of the classic codependent, you say? Ah, yes, I have a touch of it.

How could I miss that I need Him to fuel me, and that I need others in close relationship who can point me toward Him, who know when I am broken and empty, when probably my favorite verse is John 15:5, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."

I need to expand my definition of fruit in my own head. My tree is pretty restricted to "task" fruit. Time for some character fruit.

Favorite quote thus far from Changes, p. 41: "The Lord accepts us fully, knowing that we will need time and experience to work out our imperfections. Our failures do not surprise him. If they surprise us, it is only because we have too high an opinion of ourselves."

Pow, right in the kisser!

More than you ever wanted to know about eagles

I just caught myself in a huge moment of geekness. Geekdom? Geekosity? Anyway...

Deuteronomy 32:11, 12
11 As an eagle stirs up its nest,
Hovers over its young,
Spreading out its wings, taking them up,
Carrying them on its wings,

12 So the LORD alone led him,
And there was no foreign god with him.

The "him" is Jacob. I can't give you a pronoun without an antecedent--sorry.

This verse is part of what was shared Sunday at church. The imagery that was put with it intrigued me, so I wanted to check to see what eagles really do when they stir up a nest and get their young going.

What else? I Googled.

Christian sites that talk about eagles tell stories about how the parent eagles start pulling all the soft stuff (rabbit fur, down, ect.) from the nest when they "stir" it, making it uncomfortable for the eaglets to stay put, so they have to get out of there and start trying to fly. The good news is, Mama and Daddy are there to help and to catch them on their wings, or pinions, which are not like the feathers of most birds, spaced further apart and softer, which a baby bird might fall through. No, eagle feathers are sturdy and so close together that a baby eagle can even use its little claws to dig in and hang on to the flying parent who protects them and causes them to soar.

Doesn't that sound nice? You can imagine all the places I wanted to go with that metaphor, about me and God, and you and God, and there's nothing to worry about as I get urged from the nest of the San Bernardino Mountains into the skies of Idaho, soraing with my Heavenly Father.

Then I checked the animal behavior sites. Hmmmm.

Mostly I found stuff about the young "moving out" regarding bald eagles; I found lots of other info on different types of eagles, just not so much on their process for getting the kiddos flying. Seems like most eagles coax their young out of the nest with food and there's some flapping and fluttering and exercising going on in the nest prior to that.

Bald eagles, some say, will keep flying back and forth with food just out of the reach of the young eaglets so that they start leaning out to get it. And it might take a LONG time for them to finally lean far enough over the edge to get somewhere. In the meantime, since the parents aren't providing any food, the eaglets are losing their baby fat and getting leaner and meaner (literally meaner and more agitated, making sour-attitude little eagles, according to some sources). Finally, out of sheer starvation, practically, the eaglet jumps out as the parent flys by with a marmoset or something plump and tasty, and gives his wings all the flap-flaps he has in them. Apparently, if the little lubbers live to screech after their crash-landing, the parents start helping to feed them again as they learn to hunt for themselves over the next 8-9 weeks.

Important data noted by Kathie on more than one site: Approximately 40% of young eagles do not survive their first flight.

What kind of metaphor is that???

Sure, in this scenario, so the animal experts say, the eaglets only learn to hunt and be all "eagley" by watching their parents patterns and practicing what they do. I can dig taking that part of the metaphor into my emulating the Lord, watching Him and practicing more Christ-likeness.

But a 40% death rate? Ouch.

I just had a conversation tonight with Liann about the fact that I am hyper-context-sensitive. This applies to Bible verses and deciding who and what they apply to, and what can be "claimed" for yourself, as people like to say, and apparently also to imagery and metaphors and what I am willing to buy into.

I think I need to chill about this and start maybe just taking the good from stuff and just enjoying or appreciating something for what it's worth.

Good topic for the counselor this week, eh?

Flap-flap.