1. It's been raining a lot over the past week. I enjoyed the sun yesterday. I am not ready for the rainy season (330 days of it) to begin.
2. The Olympics are over. And I am sad. Enough said.
3. My daughter fell asleep at 6:30 pm this evening. I am hoping she makes it until at least 6 am.
4. School begins in one week. One more week until my little one is official a 3rd grader. May not seem like much, but I can hardly believe it. She'll be 9 in five months. Amazing.
5. Obama. He's a greeting card. With a loose-lipped running mate. oye.
6. My back is sore from 7.5 miles on Saturday. But it was good to see where I'm at. And 7.5 miles probably isn't quite it. A solid 5 would have suited me better. For now.
7. Church. I wrestled with going this morning. But was so glad I did. "When we feel unloved" was the sermon title. Everything the Pastor said resonated with me. Except when he said, "If God hasn't chastened you, then you aren't saved." I actually..............agree with that. But wouldn't have said it in those words. What about the newbie who hasn't had a struggle yet? I wondered how an "unchastened" folk may have felt with that statement. It took me back, but for once, I sat tall. "That's right, I have been chastened. And how."
8. I have a reality tv habit that I may need to kick. Admitting it is the first step.
:)
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
What makes us tick?
I haven't blogged in a fortnight. Maybe longer. Definitely longer.
S'been a long and interesting summer. For a sun-lover like myself, the weather was a welcome gift. And after yesterday's horrendous humidity, this temperature dip coupled with the wet stuff is welcomed as well.
I'm having a hard time jump-starting my blog machine - so maybe a little waxing of vague will help.
This summer has been one full of introspection and reflection and protection (spf 55, dontcha know!). We began with some endings in mind. Try as one might, sometimes, a thing just doesn't want to end. So we go on. With whatever that thing may be. Easy. Difficult. Draining. Beautiful. Painful. Bloody. All of that and more.
Our family has traveled this summer. Near and far. Physically and emotionally. Met with some milestones. Hopped some hurdles. Faced disappointments. Dropped some pretenses. Embraced reality. And tried hard to overcome it.
I'm learning to be silent. Listening. Learning. Not judging. Tossing out the way I need things to look. Putting on different sets of specs. And resisting the urge to analyze. Or understand. Or make anyone fit into "the box" I think God has for them. Because in the end, I'm not God.
I've been reading a lot of books and gained insight through the most unexpected prose. Some Christian authors. A few secular authors. And some food writers (no suprise there!).
One afternoon not long ago, I was lounging in a pool in the Arizona sun. It was hot. The water was warm. I knew from the feel of my skin that it was time to turn. Or go in. Or at least dip into the water. Instead, I just stayed. I just wanted to take in the magnitude of the quiet. The sound of the heat. I thought, "This must be what God "feels" like."
Here's what I've learned. Belief is not a noun. It's a verb. It requires action. Positive or negative - it requires action.
Belief for me has been many things - until recently, it had never been a verb. Always a noun. It was who I was. My definition. My rock. The rock. Judgment. Black and white. A generator of false pride and the need to belong to one of the largest country clubs around.
I still believe. And before anyone becomes too nervous, I still believe in God. And I attend church. And at the end of the day, I believe He is good. He doesn't always do what I ask. Or what I'd like. There are times that He seems to be deaf. His children are broken and bleeding and dying at His feet. For days. Years. He allows some of His other children to come in and do more wounding. I see it everywhere. Unbelievable, really.
I suppose that it's out of His love that God provides splints for the broken appendages. And bandages to stop the bleeding. Soft hands to cradle our splintered hearts. Medical care to help the sick and dying. A well-timed hug to remind us that we are loved. Testimonies of the kidnapped, abused and broken in far-reaching countries. The kindness of a stranger to keep us wondering if He really does hear.
As we meander into the September month, I'm thankful. Thankful for a God who doesn't rescue me from anything. But instead, makes me walk through each and every step of the process. Whatever is ahead of me, there is no easy route. Except straight through the mess.
I'm without words for something fairly new. But it goes something like this. I think my belief looks less like a huge mecca on the side of the highway with golden smiles, cutting edges and a country club mentality and more like a small rambler that's easy to find, comfortable to sit in and welcomes everyone who comes up the path. The mecca causes people to conform to what they think they should be doing. And generates a machine of judgment and pride. "See what we are doing? The mecca is reaching into the community. We are good."
The rambler is the community. And it never really realizes the magnitude of that. It allows us to just be real. We can open our bibles and share what God is doing. Or we can crack open a beer and watch a football game.
I think God is in both places. I guess it just comes down to how you want to live. I've done the mecca. And truthfully? I learned from the experience. And now, I'm doing the rambler. Or at least figuring it out. And believe it or not...God is right here with me.
S'been a long and interesting summer. For a sun-lover like myself, the weather was a welcome gift. And after yesterday's horrendous humidity, this temperature dip coupled with the wet stuff is welcomed as well.
I'm having a hard time jump-starting my blog machine - so maybe a little waxing of vague will help.
This summer has been one full of introspection and reflection and protection (spf 55, dontcha know!). We began with some endings in mind. Try as one might, sometimes, a thing just doesn't want to end. So we go on. With whatever that thing may be. Easy. Difficult. Draining. Beautiful. Painful. Bloody. All of that and more.
Our family has traveled this summer. Near and far. Physically and emotionally. Met with some milestones. Hopped some hurdles. Faced disappointments. Dropped some pretenses. Embraced reality. And tried hard to overcome it.
I'm learning to be silent. Listening. Learning. Not judging. Tossing out the way I need things to look. Putting on different sets of specs. And resisting the urge to analyze. Or understand. Or make anyone fit into "the box" I think God has for them. Because in the end, I'm not God.
I've been reading a lot of books and gained insight through the most unexpected prose. Some Christian authors. A few secular authors. And some food writers (no suprise there!).
One afternoon not long ago, I was lounging in a pool in the Arizona sun. It was hot. The water was warm. I knew from the feel of my skin that it was time to turn. Or go in. Or at least dip into the water. Instead, I just stayed. I just wanted to take in the magnitude of the quiet. The sound of the heat. I thought, "This must be what God "feels" like."
Here's what I've learned. Belief is not a noun. It's a verb. It requires action. Positive or negative - it requires action.
Belief for me has been many things - until recently, it had never been a verb. Always a noun. It was who I was. My definition. My rock. The rock. Judgment. Black and white. A generator of false pride and the need to belong to one of the largest country clubs around.
I still believe. And before anyone becomes too nervous, I still believe in God. And I attend church. And at the end of the day, I believe He is good. He doesn't always do what I ask. Or what I'd like. There are times that He seems to be deaf. His children are broken and bleeding and dying at His feet. For days. Years. He allows some of His other children to come in and do more wounding. I see it everywhere. Unbelievable, really.
I suppose that it's out of His love that God provides splints for the broken appendages. And bandages to stop the bleeding. Soft hands to cradle our splintered hearts. Medical care to help the sick and dying. A well-timed hug to remind us that we are loved. Testimonies of the kidnapped, abused and broken in far-reaching countries. The kindness of a stranger to keep us wondering if He really does hear.
As we meander into the September month, I'm thankful. Thankful for a God who doesn't rescue me from anything. But instead, makes me walk through each and every step of the process. Whatever is ahead of me, there is no easy route. Except straight through the mess.
I'm without words for something fairly new. But it goes something like this. I think my belief looks less like a huge mecca on the side of the highway with golden smiles, cutting edges and a country club mentality and more like a small rambler that's easy to find, comfortable to sit in and welcomes everyone who comes up the path. The mecca causes people to conform to what they think they should be doing. And generates a machine of judgment and pride. "See what we are doing? The mecca is reaching into the community. We are good."
The rambler is the community. And it never really realizes the magnitude of that. It allows us to just be real. We can open our bibles and share what God is doing. Or we can crack open a beer and watch a football game.
I think God is in both places. I guess it just comes down to how you want to live. I've done the mecca. And truthfully? I learned from the experience. And now, I'm doing the rambler. Or at least figuring it out. And believe it or not...God is right here with me.
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