Another Blog Worth Repeating....

http://youhavemyword.blogspot.com/2009/01/pendulum-parenting-article-from-world.html

This is really good. Focus on what really matters (for parents).

ooooh, the light!

We have been sopped in with fog for a long time--it feels like forever. The fog never lifts, the sun never breaks through, it is barely above freezing, and our eyes are getting used to the grayness. Friday I drove to Eugene and the sun was shining. I could barely see, the sun was so bright. When we headed back home, I could see to the north a wall of gray extending clear to the ground, and within just a few miles the sun was but a memory and the fog once again surrounded us, muffling sounds and dimming light.

I again drove to Eugene on Saturday, but this time when I drove home, the sun stayed with me and was out all day. It was a much noisier day at home and much brighter (and MUCH colder).

This morning was so beautiful, though. The sun was shining, frost glimmered on everything, and the birds were singing--not loudly, but rather subdued, as if the sunny morning were a matter-of-fact event, rather than a really exciting change of events.

But how accustomed we become to our environment and our culture and the evil around us,that pretty soon it all becomes "normal". We need to remember the sunshine, how glorious it feels and how it fills our hearts with joy and hope and anticipation. We need to remember the "good" in our lives and keep it always before us--those times when things went perfectly and we had little glimpses of what heaven must be like.

The fog wants to always settle down around us. It comes insipidly, falling silently like the snow. It blocks out the sunlight and mutes the sounds around us. It locks us into our own little spheres, lulling us into complacency. Pretty soon we become accustomed to our neighbor yelling at her grandchildren, the high school girls wearing too-tight clothes, the disrespectful language around us, hand signs and honking horns not meant to convey courtesy, "public displays of affection" that are more willful acts of lust than of affection, and lewd behavior in general. We need to recognize evil for what it is and rebel against even the littlest vestiges that waft down around us.

We can't always make the fog lift. There is evil all around us. But we can choose not to participate it in, not to react in kind, not to accept it as "normal", but to call it what it is. And we can fix our minds on the "good" things in life, the acts of kindness and selflessness, the beautiful things. We can be the light in our own little "spheres" and drive the fog off, at least in our realms.

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."

I Can Only Imagine

There is a popular song by the group Mercy Me called I Can Only Imagine. If you have never heard it, the lyrics are below. Take a minute and listen to it and let it soak into your heart.

Either by design or by conditioning, I tend to be a fairly reserved person. I love my church, but I don't really fit in to the worship style. I'm not saying I don't enjoy it; but I sometimes I lack the inhibition to just let myself worship...This is an area where God is working in me--and I'm pretty sure it's WAY down on the list. But this song always makes me feel like whatever my response to God is, it's okay. I don't have to conform to what everyone around me is doing.

When I was 12, we moved from Vancouver to Anchorage. We took the scenic route, but our dog and cat took the plane. I remember going to pick them up at the airport. Our dog, in his crate, was sitting silently. Our cat, in her crate, was letting the whole airport know, in her operatic yowling aria, that she was not happy about her circumstances. I'm sure, had there been a translator present, people there might have heard, "I demand to see the owner. You have no right to keep me penned up. Don't you KNOW who I am? I have rights! When I get outta here, heads will roll...."

It had been at least a week, perhaps more, since I had seen my pets, and I was as excited to see them as they were to see me. I still remember my cat's voice then. Before I could even see the crates, and before my pets could see me, I called to them. Immediately, my cat became silent and my dog began singing a happy, yippy, I'm-SO-glad-to-see-you song.

The contrast was so great, that I still remember that moment, more than three decades later, and will probably remember it the rest of my life. It was almost funny, how opposite their reactions were, both to being crated and alone, and to hearing my voice.

I think about that in worship, when I am quiet and my fellow worshippers are dancing and waving their hands. I imagine, should Jesus return at that moment, speaking to us from the doorway, that they would fall flat on their faces and be still, and I would be dancing and singing and jumping around like a happy dog, reunited at long last with his family. I can only imagine.

I Can Only Imagine

I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by Your side.
I can only imagine what my eyes will see when Your Face is before me.
I can only imagine, Yeah.

Surrounded by Your Glory, what will my heart feel?
Will I dance for you, Jesus or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing "Hallelujah"? Will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine.
I can only imagine.

I can only imagine, when that day comes, and I find myself standing in the Son.
I can only imagine, when all I will do is forever, forever worship You.
I can only imagine.
Yeah, I can only imagine.

Plumbing and Letting Go

For those of you who haven't been following my facebook groanings, our recent dips into the teens played havoc with our plumbing, and my husband's injured back combined with the temporarily tight quarters in the shed made me the chief plumber--a job I would gladly relinquish, although now it seems I'm a pro.

Long story short, we had to replace a lot of shattered PVC pipe, only to discover that our check valve had a split in it, and when we replaced that, we somehow did not get a good connection between the metal elbow and the plastic-type pipe that goes into the ground, allowing air to get into the line between the check valve and the submersible pump. The effect of this was that when the pressure tank got empty (i.e. no water to the house) and the pump kicked on, it took 3 to 5 minutes for the pump to refill the pipe between the well and the pressure tank. This wouldn't normally be a big deal, unless you happened to be brushing your teeth and had to stand there with a mouthful of minty toothpaste for several minutes; had just lathered your hair and had to stand in the shower all soapy and unable to see for several minutes; or had just gotten your hands really yucky dirty and the last cup of water in the tank was not enough to cleanse them, and you had stand there for several minutes contemplating hiring someone else to clean up any unfortunate accidents (where ARE Thing One and Thing Two when you really need them?)

I kept thinking I just needed a clamp that would fit tighter around the pipe. But the tighter I clamped the pipe, the bigger the leak got. In frustration, I loosened the clamps to the point of the least leak and gave up, at least temporarily, realizing this was actually a livable circumstance and hoping for inspiration in the meantime.

I was sitting in church today and I realized there was a lesson in this. (Sorry, Gordon, I can't even recall what you said that sparked this realization!) My motivation and my attitude about my recent water crisis was "Fix it!" And I tackled each new challenge with an "I can fix this!" mentality. And frankly, I think that's pretty much how I approach problems. I put my head down and boar into it. Once I know what I am supposed to do and have a plan in place, my stress level goes down immensely. I don't deal well with situations that I have no concept how to fix. My mind goes round and round and round until I at least have a plan, or have a plan to talk to someone who might help me make a plan. I'm not good at waiting....

I was trying to verbalize this to G on the way home from church today and he said, referring to Mark McCoy's recent sermon, "Oh, you mean you have trouble letting go?" Mark's sermon was about a man who was trying to get to this really interesting person of light, but the shadow in him kept pulling him back. Every time he would try to approach this interesting person, his shadow fought him. Finally, the person of light said to him "Let go," and he realized it was not the shadow that was holding onto him, but he who was holding onto the shadow.

I would like you to know that in the intervening weeks when I have been pondering my water problem and "letting it go" so to speak, it has improved itself. I don't know if this is "divine intervention" or if loosening the clamps allowed the joint to vibrate into a more optimal angle, if our well has suddenly become semi-artesian, creating enough upward pressure to counteract the air leak, if slugs have crawled into the gap and sealed it for us, or ????. But now the wait is 3 to 10 seconds for the water to come back on, and that is almost unnoticeable.

I'm not saying that we need to let go of all our problems. There is a time to attack them. But there is also a time to let go...and wait. The challenge is knowing the difference!

Just Like Me

So, it's probably no secret that the boy's feet are almost as big as mine now. In fact, I gave him a pair of my sneakers for basketball until we could afford to buy him his own pair (which we did this week). Read on and you will see why this is significant...if I haven't already given away the ending...

So, after lunch yesterday, the boy was bouncing off the walls and both G and I, noting a break in the heavy rain, said to him "Go outside and RUN!" which, of course, he was happy to do. Fast forward a few minutes. I am putting lunch away and G is looking out the front window, watching K frolicking in our long, gravel driveway.

G says to me, "He really loves to play in the mud puddles."
"Well, he gets that from me."
"Really!"
So for quite a few minutes I regale G with stories of my childhood, ending with "Even in 9th grade, during track practice, when we would all go for street runs, we would jump in puddles and see who could get the others the wettest."
"So you don't mind that he's wearing YOUR shoes to do it?"
"No!" I thought he was pulling my leg.
"Yup. His shoes are right there."
"I don't believe you."
"Look for yourself." So I did. And there sat G on the couch laughing hysterically, as I leaned out the front door, having seen my ONLY good pair of shoes missing from the pile by the door, and threaten the boy, "Those had better not be my GOOD shoes you are getting sopping wet in those mud puddles!!"....and the rather contrite boy ran in from the driveway..."Sorry, Mommy. Are you mad at me?"