roots and wings...

No tree becomes rooted and sturdy unless many a wind assails it. For by its very tossing it tightens its grip and plants its roots more securely; the fragile trees are those that have grown in a sunny valley.” - Seneca the Younger (5 B.C.-A.D. 65)

Some thoughts from here..

It's been a very long week. Saturday's dawn was a most welcome sight.

Work was busier than ever. Not the usual, so not a huge deal. I worked over the weekend and launched into some longer hours on the weekdays.

A viral friend decided to bust its way through my airborne and echinacea fences sometime Sunday. Wednesday morning brought a fog of aches and stuffies. Hope made her own breakfast and bought lunch. I'm still not sure how I made it the 30 miles to the office without offing another driver in my stuffy fog. The headlines would have read, "Woman runs cars off the road. Found moments later with kleenex stuffed up her nose and the faint smell of Vicks...asking for a hot cup of tea." Nice. At one point during the day, Shelly very delicately called over the cube, "Don't be afraid to use your sick leave. You don't sound good....and I don't want your germs." I caved and stayed home on Thursday.

Thursday brought the most interesting...albeit slightly eye-opening moment at Hope's new public school. Long story short, her class is learning about India - which is lovely. They are acting out a "fairytale" from India. I'm okay with that. Each class is acting out a different part of the tale. Hope's class has been selcted to portray the temple worship scene - as the group seeks direction from a buddhist god. Ugh. We used to go to church with one of the little boys in the class -- his Mom caught me on my "sickday" Thursday. At my stuffy, makeupless worst, I ended up in joining her in the principal's office to find out a little more about this tale.

After reading the script, the tale wasn't the big deal. I could have flown with that. It was the temple worship and meaning of the song the kids were singing. They were worshiping a buddhist god and I wasn't okay with that. So Hope and her friend are doing an alternative activity for the next week during that segment of the day.

Crazy, eh? I knew when we launched Hope into public school, we'd have some things to face. Just didn't think it would be too soon. The principal was very nice-- both during the meeting and around the halls of the school afterward. It was all very friendly and I hope the "respect" they are seeking to give "all religions" in the school is extended to us as we choose to protect our beliefs a bit. And it brings me to a place with Hope--of helping her understand that not only do some folks not believe in God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit--they actually believe in something very contrary to that. We haven't come up against that until now.

As a result, we're starting a Moms in Touch group...just the two of us for now. It's an organization of moms gathering to pray for their kids in public schools...and the school as well.

Hope has been sick for a few weeks. Thursday also brought a visit to her asthma doctor, an antibiotic and a two-week inhaler. She hasn't been sick or had an asthma attack since June...so we'll take it.

Hope and I are taking a small trip to eastern Oregon in a few weeks to visit my Dad/step-Mom (and my sister!). New tires for the buggy arrived today. Lee ordered a "heavenly bed" through the Sheraton for our guest room ... .should be here today. My fatherinlaw is coming for two weeks at Christmas and will be spared the torture chamber of years' past. And finally...we have some pumpkins to carve..in anticipation of the trickortreaters comin' our way.

And Monday is...the hannah montana concert! Lee and I are taking Hope and BFF Lyssie. You get the best of both worlds..... :) ( reference lost on anyone without a HM fan in the house!).

Be blessed!

I love this....

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Aunts

Written by Jessica Treadway who is also the author of the story collection "Absent Without Leave" and the novel "And Give You Peace."

The women in my family are on a mission. Again.

There is a certain brand of stuffed toy animal whose popularity is sweeping the nation, and my niece Katie, who is about to turn 9, wants to give them as favors at her birthday party. The only trouble is that they're mostly sold out where she lives in Pennsylvania. So my sister Laura, Katie's mother, enlisted the help of our other sister, my mother and me, because we live in different states.

My mother tried, but had no luck. My sister Molly was excused because she lives in a small town far away from retail. But this morning I went to the gift shop near my house, as soon as it opened, and within three minutes I had an armload of animals, trying to avoid imagining what I looked like, a 45-year-old woman with a lunatic expression in her eyes, searching desperately for a stuffed platypus. I brought them up to the counter, hoping that the "one per customer per day" quota wouldn't apply to any of the species on my niece's list. Score! I couldn't wait to get home and call up Katie, who was ecstatic when she heard.

Each of my sisters has a son and a daughter. I have no children of my own, and these nieces and nephews are, as they say in the South, my heart. I don't love the girls--Katie and her cousin Sadie--any more than I do their brothers, but I think I love them differently, with an awareness of their roles as inheritors of a tradition of female strength that has defined and sustained me all my life.

Every morning, my mother, my sisters and I check in by e-mail. We joke that it is because our mother lives alone and we want to make sure she hasn't fallen down the stairs but, really, we all need it. We give agendas for the day, weather reports, encouragement and (when solicited) advice about challenges any of us might be facing. A lot of times, we vent --about work and long waiting lines, idiots on car phones, and kitchen smoke alarms that go off for no reason. (Never about the men in our lives. For some reason, our loyalty to them either trumps or flies under the radar of the one among women.)

When Laura's son Jack--our first grandchild and nephew--was born in January 1996, a snowstorm socked the Northeast. Hearing that Laura was in labor, I set off from Boston by Amtrak because the airport was closed, and Molly boarded a train from Washington, D.C. She made it to the hospital in time to be with Laura for the birth (Laura's husband was there, but queasiness kept him out of the delivery room)--to witness Jack's emergence, and to inform Laura that she had a son.

Perhaps the most dramatic manifestation of our family's female bond is the day my grandfather died in 1993. He'd been sick and in the hospital, and during his illness and that of my grandmother, who died a year before, it was my mother and her sister who took care of their parents. They had two brothers who lived not all that far away, but, as one of them said in a phone call to my mother, "It's just so hard."

The day my grandfather died, my mother, my aunt, my sisters and I gathered in his ICU room at the hospital. Molly was the last to arrive at 5 p.m., having driven the eight hours from Baltimore. When she finally made it, my mother went over to my grandfather, who was on a ventilator and hadn't spoken for days, patted his hand and told him, "I have all my girls here with me now." It was her signal that he could go.

Forty-five minutes later, he started to fail. We could tell, and the nurse confirmed it. All five of us put our hands on top of his, and talked to him. Laura had to leave the room for a minute, but the nurse put her hand on Laura's shoulder, until my sister could come back in. It may seem perverse, but I have never felt so alive as in those minutes my female relatives and I helped usher my grandfather from this world. It is an experience of having done something important and tribal, something great. And we did it together.

Last year, Molly and her family spent a semester in New South Wales. My mother and I went to visit them, and they took us to the Blue Mountains, where there is a rock formation called The Three Sisters, named for figures in an aboriginal legend. For Christmas, Molly enlarged and framed a color photograph of The Three Sisters for Laura, my mother and me. I keep mine on a wall of my home office, where I look at it often--especially (and probably not by accident) when I am lifting weights.

The men and boys in my family have their own form of kinship. It seems to have a lot to do with sports, vehicles and building things in the woods. I can't make my nephews any promises about what's in store for them, from my own experience; I leave that to other guardians.

As for my nieces, I'm sorry for them that neither of them has a sister. But I want them to know how powerful a sisterhood they were born into. And this: that if Katie or Sadie ever needs any or all of us to hold her hand in the hospital, find her a stuffed platypus, or meet her at the top of a mountain in Australia--we'll be there.

Evan Almighty...

that's right. we watched it. more than once this weekend. i loved it. everybody dance now....see video below. :)

Everybody Dance Now - Evan Almighty

Bye-bye toxic waste...

A very interesting week has just gone by. One filled with too much, frankly. The windstorm and power outage on Thursday and Friday wasn't really the neat and tidy bow I'd been hoping to end my week with.

I've pegged this week ahead of me as my launch back into the world of watching what goes in my mouth. No white flour, white sugar...all of the stuff I know works, but just haven't been able to stick to. I stopped by the trusty health food/vitamin store for my cleansing packs...and tomorrow, I'll be on my way.

I've done a cleanse or two (or three) before--and usually, there's a lot of spiritual cleansing that happens as well. So, I say "bring it." A little body detox. A little mental detox - and maybe a little lifelong detox as well. :)

"O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;

You discern my going out and my lying down;

you are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue

you know it completely, O Lord." Ps. 139:1-4

Be blessed. I'll report back soon. Hopefully a little "cleaner" - inside and out! :)

k

I really was at the Chicago Marathon...

If you read my post-marathon blog, you might remember the night I read the rules that deemed cameras, cell phones and Ipods as forbidden. It may not surprise you to know that everyone had cameras. Everyone had their phones. And many had Ipods. Except me. So...thanks to Renee McGuire, I have a few marathon photos to share.

This is Charity Village. At 6:30 am on the morning of the marathon. The sun had just come up and folks were begin to dribble in.
Here's a mighty sea of orange. Part of "Team World Vision" after our rally speech - and preparing for a group photo. Here's a fine photo of Shelly and I. As you can see, I did not don my WV shirt. The material bugged me and it wasn't as loose as I like my shirts to fit. So I opted for this light blue number that wicked and fit me well. On the day of the race, I was wishing I'd brought my shirt.
Here are my walking partners - April and Renee. Renee was the owner of the most amazing tracking and GPS system I've ever seen--and kept us moving on target. At least for the first few hours...Here's the "start line." It took us 22 minutes to move from our position to the start line. More bodies than I've seen in one place. Ever.This is a few moments after passing the starting line. Through this tunnel that was SO big. It was wild to be jogging/walking where cars normally reside.
Things begin to loosen up a bit. A shot of downtown Chicago.

It really was SO cool to be in the midst of Chicago. I'm not a huge city girl--but I really loved Chicago. Amazing buildings.

There were bands and music throughout the course. Here's just one of them. The music/performers really lightened things up. And that's my back on the left. :)

There are a few more pics to post...but something is going on with this crazy blog system. More tomorrow!

Peace - k

People is crazeee...

seriously. they just are.

please stop screaming...

Extreme Home Maker is one of our favorites. Or one of Hope's favorite shows, anyhow. Tomorrow is a late start morning - and so she's up late watching and feeling badly for the harrowing tale. I have to say, as I've caught some of it out of the corner of my eye - this is the screaming-est, most falling-down family I have yet to see. They're actually driving me a little nutty. Connie, did you watch it? Are you with me?

Nice house. Sad story. Glad they were helped. By mylanta, the screamin' and fainting has got to end. Or tone down. Or I need to start doing both more often.

Nothing to do with anything. Just my thoughts for the night.

2007 Chicago Marathon

My Mount Rushmore

It's a new day. A new blog. And a new view, this side of the Chicago Marathon. I may not have finished in an anticipated way, but I've gained some perspective, I pushed my body through some pretty unbelievable circumstances and I stuck with it. I'm researching some local half-marathons coming around in the spring that I hope to either walk...or run. I'm also toying with the Chicago Marathon next year. But we'll attack that one later in the season.

On my the flights to and from Chicago, I listened intently to a series by Pastor Chip Ingram called "From Good to Great." The topics are all over the map - dealing with thought life, heart, head, friends, etc. He challenged the listener (me) to look in the rear view mirror of my life and determine who has been the "Mt. Rushmore" of people who have invested/changed our lives. These people aren't necessarily spiritual mentors - but instead, folks who met me at a crossroad and changed the course of my life. So to speak. I've been wanting to jot this down since I deplaned on Wednesday...and now, here it is. Kris Baldyga's "Mt. Rushmore."

Pam Wilson. My Step-Mom. She was the first person who hopped to my mind. I can't imagine that this kind-hearted woman could have know she was inheriting upon marrying my Dad. If she had, I venture to guess she would have run. She was deposited into my life during some pretty raw years. She was the perfect blend of what I needed - and I know what I gave in return, wasn't always great. She was kind to me when I wasn't. She covered for me when I needed it. And she trusted me when I didn't deserve it. She passed along her addiction to soap operas (that I've since kicked!), a love for the era of late night mini-series (can anyone say "Thorn Birds?) and a longing for roast a mashed potatoes every time I return home. More than anything, she was just there. She loved me and was my friend - during a time when I didn't always know how to return the favor.

Loretta Rann. My lovely Loretta. She's known me for, um, 22 years. Unbelievable. She was the receptionist/executive mother of all things office at my first "real job" - Wilsey and Ham (that became W&H Pacific). An engineering firm on the eastside. I tend to make any older woman in my life my immediate mother, if they'll let me. It's a crazy trend that I've tried hard to break. Loretta was no exception. She took me under her wing. Worried about my sleep. My studies (I was in college). Did I have enough gas? Did I bring lunch? Had I seen a doctor lately? She fed me. Worried about me. Reminded me. And worked hard to set me up with the young engineers in the joint. I think she was more disappointed than I was that no budding romances took root. :) Loretta and I still keep in touch - although it's been years since we've seen one another. She is "good people" and invested herself into a much younger (and selfish) version of me. I'm not sure I would have made it through some of those younger years had it not been for my Loretta.

Janice Beck. Another office friend. She met me not long after some very rocky years in my young life. She was the first person to share the Lord with me. I wasn't hugely receptive - my catholic upbringing gave me some knowledge of who God was - but I had no application whatsoever. She was another lunch-bringing, love-giving, worrying-about-you presence in my life (do you see the pattern here?). Her family embraced me and I so needed the arms around me as I faced the world in a new and "very alone" time. We still "keep in touch" - me being the worse "keeper in toucher" of the two. She was Jesus to me before I knew what that meant.

Dottie. My mother-in-law. She loved me with abandon. And I couldn't often receive it - or didn't know how. My mother-in-law was a very simple woman with a simple faith that was contagious. She was infectious in the best possible way. In the early years, I longed to be with her, but didn't know how to love very healthily. She led me to the Lord. Bought me my first bible. Loved me when I was anything but loveable. In her last years, as she fought her second round of cancer, God did something very precious and amazing for the two of us. We became friends. And prayer-partners. She began staying weekends at our home. She and I became very close. We stayed up into the wee hours, pouring over the bible, sharing deep truths and holding our own prayer revivals in our little living room on Sergeant Street. She poured things into me that I still hold onto. And am praying like mad that they will come alive and come alive through the life of my little one. Thankfully, Lee is an awful lot like his Mom...so Hope has a chance! :) Dottie was my best friend. She's been gone 9-1/2 years and it still feels like yesterday. I miss her so severely. And she wasn't even my mom!

My husband. I simply have to include him. In so many ways, Lee raised me. Taught me how to survive. And at times, function. I entered his life a very insecure, uncertain girl who had a bucket of demons on her tail. I found a life with this man. We were not altogether stable on our own - but Lee was moreso than I was back then. He loved me. And worked through some crazy things with me. And gave me the gift of himself and his family. I just saw something written by Brian Andreas that reminds me of my man. "Tied together by stuff too difficult to explain to someone new." That is us. But I love my guy. I do, I do.

John Kinsella. My manager at SCS Engineers. Not a Christian, but a lovely man. For whatever reason, he believed in me. And helped unearth things in me that I didn't know existed. The ability to write. Market. Step outside of my comfort zone to sell and market. Learn how to read people. He came alongside me in a way that was so natural - and helped me excel in a job that began very small - but ended very big. He placed no boundaries on what was possible and would often say, "you're thinking small. expand." It was very hard to do, at first. But he a great manager- and invested himself in a way that still lives on. If Loretta is reading this, she'll chuckle at my mention of John. Loretta came to work at SCS a year or so after I did. What I call his "big thinking" could often be felt as random and lack of communication. And it was. But he was brilliant. And always sought the impossible. And did his best to invest some of that in me.

Shelly. My manager 10 years ago. And my manager again today. Our relationship ever evolves and she's become one of my dearest friends. We've both grown and changed. She continues to open new worlds for me. The world of print. Other ways of thinking. A pension for soft rock, oldies and Yo-Yo Ma. We forged many roads together - some professional, some personal, and some devastating. Most recently, we shared the experience of the marathon together - and I think, we'll do another again. Whether she knows it or not, she's been a mentor to me on the professional path...and someone who has continually taken the time to invest herself in me. My life would be much different had it not been for her.

Vicky Knapp. Wife of Pastor Don. Answering the cries of a very lost wife, mother and friend. She brought the Word of God to life for me. She helped me learn how to persevere - and not give up. She focused my view on others instead of the somewhat narcissitic way I was looking at my life. She gave me the tools to walk with Christ and let suffering mature me and help me grow instead of send me spiraling into a pit of despair. I love this woman desperately. She has been the most precious gift.

Employment at Calvary. I don't think I can put a face on this one. But I do have to include this time frame in my Mt. Rushmore. I don't attend this church anylonger - and my time as an employee there was likely the single-most difficult period of my life. But almost two-years later, I know God did much in me. Things I'm not certain He could have accomplished anywhere else. I still bear some scars from my time there--and I fear that I may have left some scars behind within the confines of that office. What I did emerge with is a new outlook. Properly placed expectations. And the new ability to lay boundaries both emotionally and professionally that evaded me previously. I continue to work on that one. It's just part of my journey.

If you don't see your name here...please don't take it personally. I tried to look back at pivotal junctures and what things formed me. Who was part of the molding and chipping away in my Mt. Rushmore.

What does your Mt. Rushmore look like? Doesn't have to be limited to the four figure heads you see above. It can be any number. And it may not even be a person. Think about it. Sometimes a look back is very healthy. And a great reminder from whence we have come.

Stay tuned....my treadmill time brought Part II of Chip's message--a look forward through the windshield.

Be well. Be blessed! Above all, be thankful. :)

k

The illusion of control...