On Christ, the solid rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.
On Christ, the solid rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.
On Christ, the solid rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.
January 29, 2007
January 10, 2007
Alphabet prayer
I got this idea from "Midday Connection" on WMBI today; create a prayer of thanks by simply going through the alphabet. Forgive me for not having used some letters. God bless you today!
I praise God because He (is):
I praise God because He (is):
Almighty
the Beginning
Compassionate
our Deliverer
Eternal
Faithful
the Good Shepherd
Holy
Intimate
gives Joy
Kind
Loving
Mighty
Never leaves us
Omnipresent
Patient
our Questioner
Righteous
our Savior
the Truth
Understands our hearts
Victorious
the Beginning
Compassionate
our Deliverer
Eternal
Faithful
the Good Shepherd
Holy
Intimate
gives Joy
Kind
Loving
Mighty
Never leaves us
Omnipresent
Patient
our Questioner
Righteous
our Savior
the Truth
Understands our hearts
Victorious
His Word is real and true.
Reaching Him, reaching me
God can always reach us. Do you believe that? I do. When I am going through my days, which are sometimes filled with uncertainty and insecurity, I feel like I am alone in it. As a caregiver I work by myself and have little contact with anyone my age in my free time. And living in the city makes it difficult to "make a connection" with anyone. Sometimes everyone feels like a stranger.
But God never does. When I feel the most alone, I turn to Him. Always. I get down on my knees, sobbing usually, and ask Him to be with me. I don't ask for anything but that, His presence. And He always comforts me, because unlike any mortal He can completely envelop and indwell. He is outside of me and also within me. How much closer can a relationship get?
I've read that our relationships with people serve as preparation for the relationship we have with Him. This has to be true; every time I think I've figured a person out, or how I relate to them, I get thrown a curve, completely unexpected, that forces me to re-evaluate the whole thing. Praise God that, when He reaches out to me in an unexpected way (which is every time), I know exactly how to respond: back on my knees. I give that gift right back to Him in worship.
I sing my heart out because He gave me a voice to sing.
I write because He gave the Word and a unique way to write about It.
I am compassionate to others because He softened my heart.
I tell people about Jesus because He gave Himself to me.
As Jesus said, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful" (John 15:1-2). No branch can bear fruit by itself, it must remain on the vine. Remain in our Lord and He will remain in you. He will help you bear fruit you couldn't have expected.
But God never does. When I feel the most alone, I turn to Him. Always. I get down on my knees, sobbing usually, and ask Him to be with me. I don't ask for anything but that, His presence. And He always comforts me, because unlike any mortal He can completely envelop and indwell. He is outside of me and also within me. How much closer can a relationship get?
I've read that our relationships with people serve as preparation for the relationship we have with Him. This has to be true; every time I think I've figured a person out, or how I relate to them, I get thrown a curve, completely unexpected, that forces me to re-evaluate the whole thing. Praise God that, when He reaches out to me in an unexpected way (which is every time), I know exactly how to respond: back on my knees. I give that gift right back to Him in worship.
I sing my heart out because He gave me a voice to sing.
I write because He gave the Word and a unique way to write about It.
I am compassionate to others because He softened my heart.
I tell people about Jesus because He gave Himself to me.
As Jesus said, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful" (John 15:1-2). No branch can bear fruit by itself, it must remain on the vine. Remain in our Lord and He will remain in you. He will help you bear fruit you couldn't have expected.
January 2, 2007
Daily devotional from C.H. Spurgeon
January 2nd
Conquest to Victory
This promise follows well upon that of yesterday. We are evidently to be conformed to our covenant Head, not only in His being bruised in His heel but in His conquest of the evil one. Even under our feet is the old dragon to be bruised. The Roman believers were grieved with strife in the church; but their God was "the God of peace" and gave them rest of soul. The archenemy tripped up the feet of the unwary and deceived the hearts of the simple; but he was to get the worst of it and to be trodden down by those whom he had troubled. This victory would not come to the people of God through their own skill or power, but God Himself would bruise Satan. Though it would be under their feet, yet the bruising would be of the LORD alone.
Let us bravely tread upon the temptor! Not only inferior spirits but the prince of darkness himself must go down before us. In unquestioning confidence in God let us look for speedy victory. "Shortly." Happy word! Shortly we shall set our foot on the old serpent! What a joy to crush evil! What dishonor to Satan to have his head bruised by human feet! Let us by faith in Jesus tread the temptor down.
Conquest to Victory
"And the God of peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly."
Romans 6:20
This promise follows well upon that of yesterday. We are evidently to be conformed to our covenant Head, not only in His being bruised in His heel but in His conquest of the evil one. Even under our feet is the old dragon to be bruised. The Roman believers were grieved with strife in the church; but their God was "the God of peace" and gave them rest of soul. The archenemy tripped up the feet of the unwary and deceived the hearts of the simple; but he was to get the worst of it and to be trodden down by those whom he had troubled. This victory would not come to the people of God through their own skill or power, but God Himself would bruise Satan. Though it would be under their feet, yet the bruising would be of the LORD alone.
Let us bravely tread upon the temptor! Not only inferior spirits but the prince of darkness himself must go down before us. In unquestioning confidence in God let us look for speedy victory. "Shortly." Happy word! Shortly we shall set our foot on the old serpent! What a joy to crush evil! What dishonor to Satan to have his head bruised by human feet! Let us by faith in Jesus tread the temptor down.
December 29, 2006
Editing was required
"
... lest Satan should take advantage of us; for we are not ignorant of his devices."
"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."
... lest Satan should take advantage of us; for we are not ignorant of his devices." 2 Corinthians 2:10-11
"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."
Romans 12:2
At last... Thanksgiving pictures!
December 16, 2006
Calculating infinity
It's hard to make a "home" out of a borrowed house.
Rather, part of a house. This is where I live currently, the first-ish floor of a three flat house in Chicago. I don't own it, I just rent it. I suppose technically I only rent half of it since I have a roommate. So that's my home equity right now, one-sixth of a house.
But I'm not complaining. PlatoNic lives down the street, in a whole apartment of a 36-unit building. So when you add his 1/36th to my 1/6th you get 7/36ths of a house. That's not bad, but it could be better. Let's start from there and see what we get.
Our house is full of love. + 1
Our house is joyful at least 2/3 of the time. + 2/3
We don't have many visitors, but the ones we have really like us! +5
My roommate, fiancé and I come from three wonderful families. +3
I totally own my cat. +1
And two fish! +2
Ok, maybe the fish shouldn't count; they're not even cognizant! -2
Our house is full of handed-down furniture, which all came from loving people. +10
(Thank you especially to Par. Far. and SCFarmer!!)
__
total so far: 20.17 (approximately 20 2/15)
which is an increase of: over 1962% !
All this number crunching is giving me a 26.6 repeating headache. Here's the fact: we are all living here in borrowed houses, with borrowed clothing on our backs, all in borrowed time. We are strangers on earth (Psalm 119). The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it (Psalm 24).
He is giving it all to us. I couldn't even add His presence to the chart above because it would go off the charts. He is the chart! His love and faithfulness to us is what we judge all other kinds of love and blessing by. He is our home; eternal, endless, ever-reaching and promised by His own Word!
Rather, part of a house. This is where I live currently, the first-ish floor of a three flat house in Chicago. I don't own it, I just rent it. I suppose technically I only rent half of it since I have a roommate. So that's my home equity right now, one-sixth of a house.
But I'm not complaining. PlatoNic lives down the street, in a whole apartment of a 36-unit building. So when you add his 1/36th to my 1/6th you get 7/36ths of a house. That's not bad, but it could be better. Let's start from there and see what we get.
Our house is full of love. + 1
Our house is joyful at least 2/3 of the time. + 2/3
We don't have many visitors, but the ones we have really like us! +5
My roommate, fiancé and I come from three wonderful families. +3
I totally own my cat. +1
And two fish! +2
Ok, maybe the fish shouldn't count; they're not even cognizant! -2
Our house is full of handed-down furniture, which all came from loving people. +10
(Thank you especially to Par. Far. and SCFarmer!!)
__
total so far: 20.17 (approximately 20 2/15)
which is an increase of: over 1962% !
All this number crunching is giving me a 26.6 repeating headache. Here's the fact: we are all living here in borrowed houses, with borrowed clothing on our backs, all in borrowed time. We are strangers on earth (Psalm 119). The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it (Psalm 24).
He is giving it all to us. I couldn't even add His presence to the chart above because it would go off the charts. He is the chart! His love and faithfulness to us is what we judge all other kinds of love and blessing by. He is our home; eternal, endless, ever-reaching and promised by His own Word!
"The Father's house has many a dwelling,
And there will be a place for thee.
With perfect love His heart is welling
Who loved thee from eternity.
His precious blood the Lamb hath given
That thou might'st share the joys of heaven,
And now He calleth far and near:
'Ye weary souls, cease your repining,
Come while for you My light is shining;
Come, sweetest rest awaits you here!'
With perfect love His heart is welling
Who loved thee from eternity.
His precious blood the Lamb hath given
That thou might'st share the joys of heaven,
And now He calleth far and near:
'Ye weary souls, cease your repining,
Come while for you My light is shining;
Come, sweetest rest awaits you here!'
O come, come all, ye weak and weary,
Ye souls bowed down with many a care;
Arise and leave your dungeons dreary
And listen to His promise fair:
'Ye bore your burdens meek and lowly,
I will fulfil My pledge most holy,
I'll be your Solace and your Rest.
Ye are Mine own, I will requite you;
Tho' sin and Satan seek to smite you,
Rejoice! Your home is with the blest.' "
"A Rest Remaineth for the Weary,"
by Johann S. Kunth, 1730
by Johann S. Kunth, 1730
O Mysterious Father
Getting through weekday mornings was always a challenge in our house. Not necessarily for us sisters (of whom there were three, and all within a few years of one another), but for Mom and Dad. First off, my sisters and I had equal aversion to anything taking place in the first few hours of the day. Secondly, bathroom time was distributed on a ‘first come, first served’ basis. But the biggest problem was simply getting us up (not merely awake, but physically out of bed) and going. My sisters and I were (and perhaps still are!) a bit prickly in the morning. The task of raising us from unconsciousness seemed to fall on Dad the most often, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was his undeniably effective strategies for doing so.
Sometimes Dad’s routine consisted of rapid exposure to chilly Minnesota breeze (present even indoors in winter) a la blanket stealing. Other times there was a competition introduced, which could be anything from, “Mom made something special for breakfast so you’d better get down there soon!” to “I’m going to use the bathroom and afterward, well, you might not want to go in there awhile.” Being naturally competitive with each other certainly helped spur my sisters and I on, but there were days where we just couldn’t get out of bed because we were so tired we might collapse if we did! (Or so we claimed.) What was Dad to do then? There was still one move left in the sneaky Dad bag of wake-you-up tricks; a little ditty by the name of, “O Magnum, Mysterium.”
I’m laughing as I type this, remembering Dad’s deep bass bellow through the hallway: “Oooh Mag-nuuum, Mysteri-uuum!” But trust me, I wasn’t laughing back then! This was definitely not my preferred way to start the day. I didn’t have the foggiest clue what this song was about, or who wrote it, or why Dad liked it so much. All I remember thinking back then was, “The faster I get out of bed, the sooner he will stop singing!” And Dad would oblige. That is, until he realized he could use this form of melodic blitz not just to get us out of bed, but to make us move down the hallway, the stairs and out the door that much quicker.
When I recalled this particular memory of Dad I realized I had never given much thought to why he chose this song over any other. Surely he must have had some reason? And yet, I’ve never taken the time to ask him why he liked “O Magnum” so much. Perhaps I will finally do so this year. In preparation, I did a little research and discovered this is a beautiful hymn, with mighty lyrics! The Latin lyrics are as follows:
O magnum mysterium et admirabile sacramentum
Ut animalia viderent Dominum natum
Jacentem in proesepio.
O beata virgo, cujus viscera me ruerunt portare
Dominum Jesum Christum
Alleluja!
O Great mystery and wondrous sacrament,
That animal might see the birth of the Lord
As He lay in the manger.
O, Blessed Virgin,
Who was worthy of bearing
Our Lord Jesus Christ.
Alleluia!
Reading the English translation is akin to consulting the NIV after reading something in the King James; it’s the same meaning, but just not as pretty. Read these lyrics, though, and understand both their simplicity and their weight. There is but one subject: the mystery of God’s goodness toward us. This is noted first by the lyricist in his noting that we animals were included at the birth of our Savior, as witnesses. This fact is a wondrous sacrament, that we, even as fallen people, could be there! The lyricist continues, praising the blessedness of Mary, who was worthy of bearing the Christ child. That there have been many God has chosen to carry out His works- Alleluia!
The importance of Dad’s choosing “O Magnum Mysterium” was always, well, a mystery to me. I speculate now that the message it sends us- we fallen people have a God so good that He includes us in His plans- is one we ought to sing to ourselves every day.
Thanks goes to my Dad for putting this idea in my head long ago, before I could have started to comprehend it, so that it could strengthen my faith later in life.
Praise always to my Father for giving me His blessings!
December 6, 2006
Hark!
We've been hearing the watered-down (i.e. instrumental) versions over store radio for a few weeks now, totally missing out on the beautiful lyrical content! As Platonicus Booknutticus showed in a recent post (here), song lyrics have the power to convey a feeling that cannot be expressed otherwise. Lyrics can reject, reclaim, reconcile and rejuvinate us. The following are lyrics from one of my favorite Christmas songs, "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." Italicized words beg for your attention.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
"Glory to the newborn King!"
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled.
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With angelic hosts proclaim,
"Christ is born in Bethlehem!"
Hark! The herald angels sing,
"Glory to the newborn King!"
Hail the heav'n born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris'n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"
"Glory to the newborn King!"
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled.
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With angelic hosts proclaim,
"Christ is born in Bethlehem!"
Hark! The herald angels sing,
"Glory to the newborn King!"
Hail the heav'n born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris'n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"
Nothing lost, everything gained
I don't know if y'all knew this, but it's only been eleven months (and a few days) since I was born again. I've been thinking about this fact a lot lately, noticing how different my life is compared to this time last year. Heck, I only met Nic December 10th of 2005! Now look at us- full of the Spirit and determined to serve the Lord through our upcoming marriage to one another. I never could have guessed my blessings would count so high, my life would become so rich so fast. I also tend to lose sight of that sometimes.
Just yesterday I was crying to Nic about losing so many friends over the past few months because I believe and they adamentely do not. I even have a couple family members who are almost hopelessly misguided about the Truth. (Praise the Lord that He can change their hearts and minds! Double praise because it isn't my job to do!)
It's very difficult to explain, or even bring up, the subject of lost souls. In general I can speak on the subject; how tragic it is that so many walk around in the dark and how wonderful when the Light comes into their lives. I might even get a little arrogant and point out some tragic examples I personally know. That's the conceited side of me, the side that thanks God for saving me but feels sorry for those He hasn't yet. I should be praying for these people night and day.
But I'm not. Instead I'm whining about the blessings I have been given not being the ones I expected, so I don't appreciate them like I should. What's my problem? The Bible says we should stay alert and awake, on our guard. I know it's referring to the devil and sin, but I need to stay awake to both the ways of the world AND to the ways of God working in my life. I take Him for granted. Lord, forgive me for that.
From now on, I'm going to count what I have and not what I've lost. I've gained a whole new family, for Pete's sake! I love you all and don't want to take you for granted either.
Nic, you told me once that you wanted to be the second most important man in my life. I hope you know that you are. I couldn't be here without Him, and I couldn't keep on being without you.
-Victoria
Just yesterday I was crying to Nic about losing so many friends over the past few months because I believe and they adamentely do not. I even have a couple family members who are almost hopelessly misguided about the Truth. (Praise the Lord that He can change their hearts and minds! Double praise because it isn't my job to do!)
It's very difficult to explain, or even bring up, the subject of lost souls. In general I can speak on the subject; how tragic it is that so many walk around in the dark and how wonderful when the Light comes into their lives. I might even get a little arrogant and point out some tragic examples I personally know. That's the conceited side of me, the side that thanks God for saving me but feels sorry for those He hasn't yet. I should be praying for these people night and day.
But I'm not. Instead I'm whining about the blessings I have been given not being the ones I expected, so I don't appreciate them like I should. What's my problem? The Bible says we should stay alert and awake, on our guard. I know it's referring to the devil and sin, but I need to stay awake to both the ways of the world AND to the ways of God working in my life. I take Him for granted. Lord, forgive me for that.
From now on, I'm going to count what I have and not what I've lost. I've gained a whole new family, for Pete's sake! I love you all and don't want to take you for granted either.
Nic, you told me once that you wanted to be the second most important man in my life. I hope you know that you are. I couldn't be here without Him, and I couldn't keep on being without you.
-Victoria
November 25, 2006
A satirist's view of our pluralistic culture
For context of this quote, click on the following link:
Ravi Zacharias on our loss of shame, pt. II
"We believe in Marx, Freud and Darwin. We believe everything is ok as long as you don't hurt anyone, to the best of your definition of hurt and to the best of your definition of knowledge.
We believe in sex before, during and after marriage. We believe in the therapy of sin, we believe that adultery is fun, we believe that taboos are taboo.
We believe everything's getting better, despite evidence to the contrary. The evidence must be investigated, and you can prove anything with evidence.
We believe there's something in horoscopes, ufos and bent spoons. Jesus was a good man, just like Buddha, Mohammad and ourselves. He was a good moral teacher, although we think some of his good morals were really bad.
We believe that all religions are basically the same; at least the ones that we read were. They all believe in love and goodness. They only differ on matters of creation, sin, heaven, hell, God and salvation.
We believe that after death comes the nothing, because when you ask the dead what happens they say nothing. If death is not the end, if the dead have lied, then it's compulsory heaven for all excepting, perhaps, Hitler, Stalin and Genghis Khan.
We believe in Masters and Johnson: what's selected is average, what's average is normal, what's normal is good. We believe in total disarmament, because we believe there are direct links between warfare and bloodshed. Americans should beat their guns into tractors and the Russians would be sure to follow.
We believe that man is essentially good, it's only his behavior that lets him down. This is the fault of society, society is the fault of conditions, and conditions are the fault of society. We believe each man must find the truth that is right for him and reality will adapt accordingly. The universe will readjust, history will alter. We believe that there is no absolute truth, excepting the truth that there is no absolute truth.
We believe in the rejection of creeds and the flowering of individual thought.
If chance be the father of all flesh, disaster is his rainbow in the sky and when you hear, "state of emergency, sniper kills ten, troops on rampage, youths go looting, bomb blasts school," it is but the sound of man worshipping his maker."
Steve Turner
A bit of a stretch...
I know there's danger in trying to find explanation for every experience. Having said that: if we are the salt and Jesus is the water, are our tears the physical expression of the two combining?
November 15, 2006
The kind of woman I want to be, pt. I
For a long time, I didn't know what kind of woman to be. What I mean is that, around age eighteen, when "society" told me I was a woman (or at least starting to become one), I did not know what that meant, nor did I feel it could ever be true of me. In retrospect this confusion is significantly less muddled and, coupled with my spiritual maturity, it becomes crystal-clear; I didn't then, and I don't now, want to be the kind of woman society at large entices me to be.
I assume most of you know what I mean but, for the sake of anyone to whom "society" does not relentlessly pummel with suggested self- images, let me elaborate a minute on what I don't want.
I do not want to be sexy all the time. Don't get me wrong, I love to feel pretty and enjoy going out of my way to look attractive to my fiancé. But there are plenty of times when I don't want to look or behave in a sexy way. It makes me feel as awkward as the word awkward. It makes me feel fake, like I'm acting.
There is so much more to my womanhood than my sex! If our being women was a simple matter of biology, anyone could have an operation and become one of us. But it doesn't work that way. There are feelings we have, impulses that our men don't understand, intuitions we can make, aches we can soothe that any Dustin, Mel or Wayan brother in pantyhose just doesn't get.
Also, we women don't (and shouldn't) rely on our being sexy as a means to accomplishment or strength in the world. I do not wish to be a woman who "flirts her way to the top." Let's forget for a moment where or what that "top" is. When I find myself successful (and we should all determine that subjectively for ourselves) it is not due to my physical appearance. For that I am thankful and, forgive me, maybe even a little proud.
On the topic of success, allow me to disqualify myself in another way: I do not want to be a power-hungry, independent career woman. I apologize if it sounds strange, but I like the interdependence of coworkers, family, friends and roommates! I like being dependent on other people and cooperating with them; it makes me feel human. I do not want to be (as much as the five-year-old version of me protests) a robot! I love asking for help and being able to help others. There is a big part of my womanhood wrapped up with that idea. I'm perfectly happy being a little vulnerable. In that way I'm more of a "risk taker" than a corporate career woman is!
So if I'm so opposed to the office, or at least to the office type career gal, where will you find me managing? I'll be home, but I do not want to micro-manage my children. I want them to explore, to get messy (see previous post on painting), to live their lives. Here's the catch: I will set the boundaries for that exploration. They will not go into harmful situations or into harmful peoples' hands. This section is almost dangerously underdeveloped, as I have no children. Please feel free to school me. Of this much I am clear: I do not want to be my children's friend, but their mother. What does that mean? I'm not going to wear the same clothes as them, let them drink as long as it's at home, or pretend that I want their experience of the world at a certain age to be the same as mine was. I know everyone says this, but I do not want my children to go through what I did as a teenager. I fear I am coming close to offending my mother and father (if they read this), but all I wanted as a teenager was someone to really, harshly even, parent me! I had enough friends; they were feeling their way through the dark world as much as I was. I needed some light. (Later, I got the ultimate light of my life and I have not been the same since, but that's about hundred blogs on its own!)
I have writer's block on this one... more to come as it unwinds in my mind...
I assume most of you know what I mean but, for the sake of anyone to whom "society" does not relentlessly pummel with suggested self- images, let me elaborate a minute on what I don't want.
I do not want to be sexy all the time. Don't get me wrong, I love to feel pretty and enjoy going out of my way to look attractive to my fiancé. But there are plenty of times when I don't want to look or behave in a sexy way. It makes me feel as awkward as the word awkward. It makes me feel fake, like I'm acting.
There is so much more to my womanhood than my sex! If our being women was a simple matter of biology, anyone could have an operation and become one of us. But it doesn't work that way. There are feelings we have, impulses that our men don't understand, intuitions we can make, aches we can soothe that any Dustin, Mel or Wayan brother in pantyhose just doesn't get.
Also, we women don't (and shouldn't) rely on our being sexy as a means to accomplishment or strength in the world. I do not wish to be a woman who "flirts her way to the top." Let's forget for a moment where or what that "top" is. When I find myself successful (and we should all determine that subjectively for ourselves) it is not due to my physical appearance. For that I am thankful and, forgive me, maybe even a little proud.
On the topic of success, allow me to disqualify myself in another way: I do not want to be a power-hungry, independent career woman. I apologize if it sounds strange, but I like the interdependence of coworkers, family, friends and roommates! I like being dependent on other people and cooperating with them; it makes me feel human. I do not want to be (as much as the five-year-old version of me protests) a robot! I love asking for help and being able to help others. There is a big part of my womanhood wrapped up with that idea. I'm perfectly happy being a little vulnerable. In that way I'm more of a "risk taker" than a corporate career woman is!
So if I'm so opposed to the office, or at least to the office type career gal, where will you find me managing? I'll be home, but I do not want to micro-manage my children. I want them to explore, to get messy (see previous post on painting), to live their lives. Here's the catch: I will set the boundaries for that exploration. They will not go into harmful situations or into harmful peoples' hands. This section is almost dangerously underdeveloped, as I have no children. Please feel free to school me. Of this much I am clear: I do not want to be my children's friend, but their mother. What does that mean? I'm not going to wear the same clothes as them, let them drink as long as it's at home, or pretend that I want their experience of the world at a certain age to be the same as mine was. I know everyone says this, but I do not want my children to go through what I did as a teenager. I fear I am coming close to offending my mother and father (if they read this), but all I wanted as a teenager was someone to really, harshly even, parent me! I had enough friends; they were feeling their way through the dark world as much as I was. I needed some light. (Later, I got the ultimate light of my life and I have not been the same since, but that's about hundred blogs on its own!)
I have writer's block on this one... more to come as it unwinds in my mind...
November 9, 2006
A few leaves turn into a pile
We had a lovely day in Chicago today. This time of year anything goes, but usually we are not blessed with May-like temperatures and sunshine like we had today. I had a half day of work with my favorite client and got to see Nic for a minute on the way home, so by the time I got there I was feeling pretty good. I decided that, in anticipation of my dinner guests on Saturday, I would clean up the backyard.
It began with sweeping up a pile of leaves, then I moved on to the deck. Long after the sun went down- which I hadn't even noticed- I stopped in the middle of sweeping the leaves on the lawn (we don't have a rake, just a broom) with the thought, "I have officially turned into my mother." I was still thinking about that when my roommate came outside and asked what the heck I was doing in the dark.
"Just tidying up the yard," I said, though I realized then the lateness of the hour and understood her surprise at my work. For her doing yardwork is less than desireable and, in fact, downright unpleasant. (All cleaning, it seems, is unpleasant to her, which explains why she never does it!) But still I couldn't understand her surprise at the work itself I was doing, only the hour at which I was doing it. To me, tasks of nature just need to be done, despite the enjoyment they bring.
That said, I have always enjoyed this kind of chore, any outside chore. I don't consider them "chores" in the traditional sense of the word, as jobs you'd rather not do at all. I routinely volunteered for leaf-raking, weed-pulling and, if I was in a particularly good mood, lawn mowing. I could do without snow shoveling, but that's because I don't enjoy the cold. I have nothing against the toil of shoveling and I love the feeling of sore muscles; it means you've been using them.
Over time I've developed a sort of patented work ethic; there is work to be done and, by George, it will be accomplished today, sunlight or not. There are some tasks that cannot wait while I type a blog or start on a painting. I have developed a tendancy toward doing outside work first. (I also seem to have acquired a subconscious need to wash dishes, even at someone else's house. So if I do this, please don't be offended; I simply need to wash dishes!) I guess you could say I've been programmed to work like I was raised to, and that means home (and family) maintenance comes before any personal endeavor.
I'm sure that, provided the weather was accomidating, my mother was outside pulling the last of weeds not killed by early frost, or raking, or cleaning gutters. Bless her for that, for always taking care of our home and our family, and especially for instilling in me an able and willing desire to take care of my own. I know when most people say, "I've turned into my mother," it is a reflection of their neuroses, some kind of self-doubt. But for me to see any of her in me gives me hope that I can't explain.
There is a needlework piece hanging in the hall of my parents' house that reads: A mother is a woman who can take the place of all others, but whose place no one else can take. How true that is.
It began with sweeping up a pile of leaves, then I moved on to the deck. Long after the sun went down- which I hadn't even noticed- I stopped in the middle of sweeping the leaves on the lawn (we don't have a rake, just a broom) with the thought, "I have officially turned into my mother." I was still thinking about that when my roommate came outside and asked what the heck I was doing in the dark.
"Just tidying up the yard," I said, though I realized then the lateness of the hour and understood her surprise at my work. For her doing yardwork is less than desireable and, in fact, downright unpleasant. (All cleaning, it seems, is unpleasant to her, which explains why she never does it!) But still I couldn't understand her surprise at the work itself I was doing, only the hour at which I was doing it. To me, tasks of nature just need to be done, despite the enjoyment they bring.
That said, I have always enjoyed this kind of chore, any outside chore. I don't consider them "chores" in the traditional sense of the word, as jobs you'd rather not do at all. I routinely volunteered for leaf-raking, weed-pulling and, if I was in a particularly good mood, lawn mowing. I could do without snow shoveling, but that's because I don't enjoy the cold. I have nothing against the toil of shoveling and I love the feeling of sore muscles; it means you've been using them.
Over time I've developed a sort of patented work ethic; there is work to be done and, by George, it will be accomplished today, sunlight or not. There are some tasks that cannot wait while I type a blog or start on a painting. I have developed a tendancy toward doing outside work first. (I also seem to have acquired a subconscious need to wash dishes, even at someone else's house. So if I do this, please don't be offended; I simply need to wash dishes!) I guess you could say I've been programmed to work like I was raised to, and that means home (and family) maintenance comes before any personal endeavor.
I'm sure that, provided the weather was accomidating, my mother was outside pulling the last of weeds not killed by early frost, or raking, or cleaning gutters. Bless her for that, for always taking care of our home and our family, and especially for instilling in me an able and willing desire to take care of my own. I know when most people say, "I've turned into my mother," it is a reflection of their neuroses, some kind of self-doubt. But for me to see any of her in me gives me hope that I can't explain.
There is a needlework piece hanging in the hall of my parents' house that reads: A mother is a woman who can take the place of all others, but whose place no one else can take. How true that is.
November 8, 2006
A thousand words, and none.
November 6, 2006
Time for prayer
I have been on the verge of tears today. Many days I experience this, but today it is because of the Ted Haggard news. I am aching for his wife and the struggle she has been thrust into. I realize that it is always the time for prayer and I'm a strong believer in its power and so I implore you: please pray for former Pastor Haggard, his wife and children, and his congregation.
Ravi Zacharias said it best today, that the secular world preaches relativism and sensitivity to us day-in and day-out. But they also stalk believers like lions, waiting to pounce on us when we suffer from moral depravity. The secular world says not to judge, but when one of us suffers from his/her own sin and brings it to light, they are the first to judge us, before we even have time to judge ourselves.
Friends in Christ, this is not the time to judge Pr. Haggard. His sin is before God, who will judge him as He sees fit. For us to condemn him is to give ourselves power that only He has. This is how we each fall, by thinking we can walk without Him! Now more than ever I am recommitting myself to knowing the Gospel and bringing it to others. Let Pr. Haggard serve as an example to each of us, so that our walks with the Lord may be strengthened despite our weaknesses.
I ask you again, please pray for this man, his family and his congregation. Many have lost their spiritual leader.
"Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches. Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn? If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness."
1 Corinthians 11:28-30
"Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin."
Hebrews 4:14-15
"...we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."
Romans 5:3-5
Ravi Zacharias said it best today, that the secular world preaches relativism and sensitivity to us day-in and day-out. But they also stalk believers like lions, waiting to pounce on us when we suffer from moral depravity. The secular world says not to judge, but when one of us suffers from his/her own sin and brings it to light, they are the first to judge us, before we even have time to judge ourselves.
Friends in Christ, this is not the time to judge Pr. Haggard. His sin is before God, who will judge him as He sees fit. For us to condemn him is to give ourselves power that only He has. This is how we each fall, by thinking we can walk without Him! Now more than ever I am recommitting myself to knowing the Gospel and bringing it to others. Let Pr. Haggard serve as an example to each of us, so that our walks with the Lord may be strengthened despite our weaknesses.
I ask you again, please pray for this man, his family and his congregation. Many have lost their spiritual leader.
"Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches. Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn? If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness."
1 Corinthians 11:28-30
"Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin."
Hebrews 4:14-15
"...we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."
Romans 5:3-5
Progressive paint
Date: November 6th, 2006
Item: Crayola invisible paint picture spinner contraption.
Intention: allows kids to "paint" pictures using ink that won't stain clothes
Assessment:
Growing up my sisters and I had several toys. In fact we had an entire toy bench (built by Dad) which held all of our stuffed animals, Legos and dolls, play dishes, etc. But few of these toys came to us brand new. Despite my Dad being a college professor we didn't have a lot of money, so when we did get new toys they always had to be shared between the three of us. Consequently we cherished each and every toy that came from an "actual store," meaning any store other than "thrift."
One of our favorite toys was something called a "Twirl-a-Paint," a battery-operated wheel you attached a piece of paper onto which you squirted paint on as it spun around. The end product, depending on color mixture and individual taste, looked like either a splatter of vomit or a glittery splatter of vomit (we only had three paints and some of us liked to experiment with alternative materials- Kleenex, oatmeal, pudding, etc.). I strongly believe the value of the Twirl-a-Paint lay not in its ability to create beautiful, or even fridge-worthy, works of art, but in the freedom it allowed. I know that sounds hokey, but consider the following:
I saw an item advertised today that looked a lot like the Twirl-a-Paint. Same spinning wheel, same bottles of liquid to squirt onto a spinning piece of paper. It even comes with its own glitter (we always had to sneak some from Mom's craft supplies). But here's the catch: this new toy comes with invisible paint. I know what you're thinking and no, it's not paint that cloaks itself with mystery when the wrong eyes see it. It's nothing that clever. Just "paint" that only shows up on the special paper that comes with the toy. The idea is that, unlike normal paint, if the invisible stuff spills, it doesn't make a mess. So this is an improvement on old-fashioned paint you might say. It's progressive paint.
But is it progress for children to be robbed of all that is entailed by using regular paint? I remember the fun of mixing colors, making new colors, making ugly colors, making a mess. Painting with my fingers! Don't you recall fondly the first time you smooshed paint around on a paper? What joy! And what happened when it detoured out onto the floor? Someone came and cleaned it up. Big deal. Life didn't stop, it just got messy for a few minutes. And wasn't your day that much brighter, knowing you really dug into that painting project, dismissed the constraints of reality and just smooshed away?
I want to have kids that, when they grow up, remember what it was like to be kids and be messy. I want kids that know how to play. I will not buy them toys that do the playing for them.
notes from b-tube, v1, p1. veektka.
Item: Crayola invisible paint picture spinner contraption.
Intention: allows kids to "paint" pictures using ink that won't stain clothes
Assessment:
Growing up my sisters and I had several toys. In fact we had an entire toy bench (built by Dad) which held all of our stuffed animals, Legos and dolls, play dishes, etc. But few of these toys came to us brand new. Despite my Dad being a college professor we didn't have a lot of money, so when we did get new toys they always had to be shared between the three of us. Consequently we cherished each and every toy that came from an "actual store," meaning any store other than "thrift."
One of our favorite toys was something called a "Twirl-a-Paint," a battery-operated wheel you attached a piece of paper onto which you squirted paint on as it spun around. The end product, depending on color mixture and individual taste, looked like either a splatter of vomit or a glittery splatter of vomit (we only had three paints and some of us liked to experiment with alternative materials- Kleenex, oatmeal, pudding, etc.). I strongly believe the value of the Twirl-a-Paint lay not in its ability to create beautiful, or even fridge-worthy, works of art, but in the freedom it allowed. I know that sounds hokey, but consider the following:
I saw an item advertised today that looked a lot like the Twirl-a-Paint. Same spinning wheel, same bottles of liquid to squirt onto a spinning piece of paper. It even comes with its own glitter (we always had to sneak some from Mom's craft supplies). But here's the catch: this new toy comes with invisible paint. I know what you're thinking and no, it's not paint that cloaks itself with mystery when the wrong eyes see it. It's nothing that clever. Just "paint" that only shows up on the special paper that comes with the toy. The idea is that, unlike normal paint, if the invisible stuff spills, it doesn't make a mess. So this is an improvement on old-fashioned paint you might say. It's progressive paint.
But is it progress for children to be robbed of all that is entailed by using regular paint? I remember the fun of mixing colors, making new colors, making ugly colors, making a mess. Painting with my fingers! Don't you recall fondly the first time you smooshed paint around on a paper? What joy! And what happened when it detoured out onto the floor? Someone came and cleaned it up. Big deal. Life didn't stop, it just got messy for a few minutes. And wasn't your day that much brighter, knowing you really dug into that painting project, dismissed the constraints of reality and just smooshed away?
I want to have kids that, when they grow up, remember what it was like to be kids and be messy. I want kids that know how to play. I will not buy them toys that do the playing for them.
notes from b-tube, v1, p1. veektka.
Fotografias de la Nuevo York
This is the street we lived on in uptown New York. 
NY has some strict policies. We adapted.
Their rules couldn't stop us from being cute. (My fiancé is so handsome!!)
Or from drinking their free wine and being philosophical.
We contemplated staying forever and living in the foyer,
or moving to Brooklyn,
or maybe just living closer to these trees.
Wherever we end up, we'll be doing a lot of this (I hope).
October 31, 2006
Holding the place for NYC pictures
Sushi night in Chicago vs. sushi night in the Village: who will be victorious?!
There's something about New York...
I've received many requests to promulgate about our recent trip to NYC and, though I thought about the city all the while I was there, all the trip home and more than ever now that I'm back to my old routine, I just can't seem to get it right. So here's the best I could do. It's a start. It's the beginning.
There is something about New York. It’s in the air, it’s on the street, it’s not in the alleys, but it’s up high on a tenement fire escape. And at the very same moment it’s not, because it’s reaching out to shelter the sidewalk traffic while pushing a stroller and sleeping on church steps. It is walking one of those unimaginably small dogs. It is driving a sailboat on a shallow pond in the park. It is sitting next to you, pushing by you, stepping on your foot in the subway, showing you the way. It is ignoring you. It is hurried.
It’s dancing in the subway. It’s selling tamales. It takes your dollar with a genuine smile. It’s just trying to get by. It’s lining half of central park west with patriotic lights spinning. It’s frontin’. It’s real. It’s cursing, spitting, slurring, working the angles. It’s seen it all. It doesn’t see a thing.
It is immense in a way that consumes you the second you enter it. It is red, brown, yellow, grey and smoke. It laughs. It plays. It is running, running, running. It is in uniform. It talks too much.
It is unsure how it's going to make it through the night. It is cold. It is just asking for a moment of your time, just a moment, and maybe a quarter. It is passing God's blessing on to you.
It’s a battleground for lost souls. You can look for it, but it will find you first.
It is all this, and much, much more. It is something I can only see a little of as an outsider, and can understand only by letting my imagination run with the idea that someday I may be able to see it from the inside. It'll get me yet, moreso than it already has.
More to come... and love to all.. Victoria.
There is something about New York. It’s in the air, it’s on the street, it’s not in the alleys, but it’s up high on a tenement fire escape. And at the very same moment it’s not, because it’s reaching out to shelter the sidewalk traffic while pushing a stroller and sleeping on church steps. It is walking one of those unimaginably small dogs. It is driving a sailboat on a shallow pond in the park. It is sitting next to you, pushing by you, stepping on your foot in the subway, showing you the way. It is ignoring you. It is hurried.
It’s dancing in the subway. It’s selling tamales. It takes your dollar with a genuine smile. It’s just trying to get by. It’s lining half of central park west with patriotic lights spinning. It’s frontin’. It’s real. It’s cursing, spitting, slurring, working the angles. It’s seen it all. It doesn’t see a thing.
It is immense in a way that consumes you the second you enter it. It is red, brown, yellow, grey and smoke. It laughs. It plays. It is running, running, running. It is in uniform. It talks too much.
It is unsure how it's going to make it through the night. It is cold. It is just asking for a moment of your time, just a moment, and maybe a quarter. It is passing God's blessing on to you.
It’s a battleground for lost souls. You can look for it, but it will find you first.
It is all this, and much, much more. It is something I can only see a little of as an outsider, and can understand only by letting my imagination run with the idea that someday I may be able to see it from the inside. It'll get me yet, moreso than it already has.
More to come... and love to all.. Victoria.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
LinkWithin
