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.