Thursday

It's Thursday. I like Thursday. Definitely a good, hopeful day. And it's beautiful outside. Cold, but looks lovely through the windows, all springy. So, it's either write my blog or scrub the tubs. Hard choice, I know.

My wonderful husband, Ronald, is a gardener. He is also 100% Dutch, hence tulips. I love to look out my kitchen window and see the tulips. I have been poking my nose into the different kinds and there is a pink and white variety that smells just like conversation hearts! Probably the nicest thing my husband ever said to me was that he planted all these flower gardens for me. I can live on that forever, just about.

I remember once when I was a kid walking home from school with a couple other little girls. One was named Gobi. I don't remember who else but that was a name I never forgot. I still think of her whenever I see anything about a desert. Anyway, as we were walking we saw some tulips growing along the alley in someone's back yard. The girls began picking them to take to their moms. I didn't pick any. Don't recall why, like if I thought it would be wrong or anything.

To our surprise, a lady came storming out of the house straight at us. She was absolutely furious about having her tulips picked and she definitely let us know. She was explaining, angrily, about how she had planted bulbs and how they only came up once a year, blah blah blah--I didn't understand what she was talking about. I think I was in first or second grade. Then, she marched us up to her house and made us all call our mothers. I really thought she was crazy. My mom wasn't home. But I told her about it when I got there, and she didn't seem to care. I hadn't picked any tulips anyway.

I don't know why I always remember that incident. The tulip lady was an enigma to me. My parents were always so laid back about things. I mean things like material objects. I never remember getting yelled at for breaking anything, or walking in the house with dirty shoes (and we wore our shoes in the house). We had a dog who chewed things up, barfed on things...and I'm sure as kids we must have caused plenty of damage. Like the time I talked my brother into taking a bath in his toybox and the water came pouring down through the ceiling. But I don't think I even got in trouble for that. My parents just didn't seem to care about "stuff" so much.

I mean that in a good way. A very good way. I don't know how I got to be so opposite. I am constantly fretting about my furniture getting wrecked, or the kids tracking in mud. And I do not even consider getting a pet because of the sure damage that would be incurred. Where did I get this attitude towards "stuff" that really isn't important? I mean, yeah, it costs money to replace things, and I guess that's the root of the problem--that old 'love of money' thing.

But I mean, we were taught as kids not to put our feet up on furniture, or to run around in the house, or to touch things that weren't ours. We were taught to behave. We were taught to respect other peoples' property, which was probably why I didn't pick the tulips. My parents did give us good guidelines, which I am very thankful for. I try to teach my kids these same things, and am well pleased when other people teach them to their kids (especially when they're in my house).

So, now I guess I'm the crazy tulip lady, only not so much anymore. I am improving (thanks to God). I am starting to see how much I love these kids in our neighborhood, even when they tromp through the flowers, or break our stuff. Don't get me wrong--I will still definitely say something to them when they're stepping out of line. I try to get them to respect others' (our) property, and I try to explain it in a not-so-crazy way. But you know people are all different. And it's those little things that you sometimes remember forever. Like, "Hey!! These are MY flowers!!!" or, "I planted all these flowers just for you."

Birdsong

I went to the doctor today. It was a great relief to get that out of the way and finally get blood drawn, something put off a long time. Anyway, he seemed pleased with the fact that I've kept my weight down (I'm gathering that's a feat at this age) and I'm thinking, "brother, with the diet I've been on the last four months I should have lost a bunch of weight!" (even though that's not why I'm on it).

I am in a really weird mood. Like kind of mellow but kind of I just don't care. There are so many thoughts streaming through my brain, but they are not cool thoughts. And they don't just cycle around up there either. They kind of fly out into the atmosphere and eventually make their way back into my mind sort of like ghost thoughts. I can't quite put my finger on any of them. Spring is like a drug for me. A good drug. I think.

Cardinals are nesting in my front bushes. We were gone just for a long weekend in Michigan and in that time the female made her choice. I thought our arrival would have spoiled the deal, but they've stayed, in spite of the fact that they're right by the front door next to the walkway. They sing constantly. Cardinals love to sing. Tonight I heard one making a new sound--sort of a trill at the end of a more typical lyric. It was very exciting. I love to watch birds, but am pretty lazy about it. So I watch grackles and starlings and bluejays and cardinals and sparrows and chickadees and juncos and finches and woodpeckers. Once in a while a hummingbird or a hawk, or even an owl.

The other morning a flicker appeared in our back yard. I was very happy I could actually identify it using my little Golden field guide. Then, a couple of nights ago my husband and I went out on a long awaited date. After eating a nice dinner we wandered through a Chinese grocery store and then stopped by a discount book store. They had wall calendars for $1.00--I had been looking for a $1.00 wall calendar for up north. And they had one with birds on it! I like to have lovely wall calendars with birds or flowers or scenery...so when I got home I was disappointed because it was actually a "birder's" calendar not a bird calendar. The pictures were not scenic, but more along the identification line.

But then, in a spare moment, I decided to flip through the months of illustrations just to see if there was anything interesting, which I doubted. To my surprise and delight, the picture in August was exactly a bird we had seen perhaps two years ago and had never been able to identify--a Green Heron! It was such a strange and awkward looking bird. I recognized it immediately, and there are exactly eight drawings of it on this calendar page, all in different poses, so there can be no mistake. So, that was pretty neat.

So I guess the moral of the story is, "Don't look your $1.00 birder's wall calendar in the mouth."

Pickle

Spring is finally here and my boys are having a blast tearing around the field behind our house with all the neighborhood kids. It is quite a colorful assortment; we've got blondes, brunettes, a redhead, curly hair, straight hair, boys, girls, big, small, medium, you name it. Every afternoon the minute school lets out it begins. I hear the thumping of the basketball on the court next door. None of these kids actually live there--my neighbors put a paved basketball court in their backyard and now their kids are grown. It's not fenced in so the whole neighborhood traipses in and out, playing pick-up games.

They also play baseball, soccer, football, tag, hide-and-seek, guns, just everything. They play on our swingset and in our sandbox. They run around and scream and laugh and fight. Sometimes they all get quiet, usually in the sandbox. Today one boy needed a bandaid. "Eric's bleeding!" a little girl exclaimed. I went out there to check on the situation, applied a bandage to the tiniest microscopic dot on his little finger...which was a good thing.

As a mom, I don't know how you ever stop wanting more kids. Like, even when it's completely insane. I know firsthand how hard it is to have a baby at 40, and then one at 44. I also know how difficult and frustrating it is to foster. And yet, when I see them, each one, their little faces...I think, "awwwww," and it's just like that crazy moment one time in college when I took home a puppy. Well, no, it's not really exactly like that. For one thing, you can give away a puppy.

But you know how it is getting older (if you are there yet). You don't actually feel older, which is why it's always such a shock to look in the mirror. I mean, you can't see as well, you don't remember things, and you move slower. I used to run everywhere, literally. Like, when I'd get out of the car at the grocery store, I would sprint across the parking lot to the door. I'd do the same thing going to the mailbox. Pretty much I just zipped everywhere. I thought to myself, "I don't see many other grown-up women doing this...this must be immature, this running thing." But I liked to do it anyway, and it saved time. But I wondered, "Will I ever slow down? Will it ever be that I just don't have the energy to go flying around like this anymore?" And of course I can tell you the answer to that now. Yes.

But I am still the same person I always was--the little girl who told her dad confidently that one day she would have sixteen kids of her own. It was so weird when things actually didn't turn out that way. First of all, I delivered my first baby by Cesarean (he was breech) which then set the precedent and I had to have all Cesareans. That limits the number of children you can have. I hadn't thought of that.

And then we were broke. Being young I didn't understand that no matter how many kids we had we would have made do. I get that now but I didn't then. And when we tried to adopt, it wasn't that easy. Fostering was maybe one of the hardest things we ever did. I'll tell you why it was/is so hard (even though we don't foster anymore). Because I chickened out. I mean, it all started out so great, but then as time went on and we had to really make a long-term commitment, I became like Peter on the water with Christ, I looked away from Him and cried, "I can't do this!!!"

Regret is perilously easy. The reality of the day-to-day raising of kids is sobering, to say the least. And some days I just don't really feel like being so serious. But then this silly little kid says something so hilarious like asking, "Mom, does Optimus Prime shoot bombs out of his ears?" and I know I'm in the right business.

The Heavens are Telling

My parents are both musicians. Not professional, but really good. My mother plays the violin; my dad the piano. My Uncle Chris played piano, bass violin, and composed. My grandma Lou played piano, and my mother tells me there were several other musicians in her mother's family. My brother Robert is a gifted guitarist. I was born for two things: God and music.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to pursue my interest in music as much as I would have liked over the course of my life. There were circumstances that got in the way. I think I could have been a decent piano player with the right training, but that was not meant to be. I really don't know what difference it would have made. I do still love to play the piano, but I stink. No kidding, I really do. I need a good teacher and lots of practice, neither of which are happening any time soon.

A wonderful thing happened to me when I was a new Christian. The church we were attending had a choir; a really good choir, with an excellent choir director. I had never sung but always secretly wanted to. I don't have a good singing voice but can read music and hit most of the notes. I remember when I was a kid many times begging my cousin Lindy to sing that old Beatles tune, "If I Fell" with me so we could do parts. I loved singing with her. It was the only opportunity I ever had to do such a thing-- It never occurred to me in highschool to join the choir, and we didn't go to church.

Anyway, as a new believer, at age 33 (or so)--like a really special birthday present from God I was able to join the church choir! There were no try-outs or anything. And I got to take home my music, and wear a choir robe, and go to practices on Wednesday nights. It was a really worshipful time. Practicing and singing on Sunday morning. Although sometimes I was just so excited to be there I think I was more focused on myself than God. But, all in all it was a very good experience. I will never forget it. I am so grateful to God that I had that opportunity. And when he was old enough, my eldest son sang in choir with me.

I learned so many wonderful old hymns and songs and got to sing some I had known or had heard on the radio and loved. Our director chose some really great music--and not so easy either! We'd do parts of Handel's "Messiah" and other difficult stuff like that. We did a fair amount of classical and traditional music, which is my favorite. We did some newer music that I liked, some that I didn't...

When we were doing something I absolutely loved like "The Heavens Are Telling" from Haydn's Creation, the tears would just stream down my face as we sang. It was so incredibly joyful. I thought to myself, "I am glad I was never able to sing before. My singing has been saved for this moment, for it to be really meaningful." I could never enjoy to such heights any other music as much as those beautiful songs singing praise to God. I mean, that is what music (and everything else) is made for--to glorify Him. And so it was one of my little tastes of Heaven on earth.

A Time for Us

It was my birthday last week and I am getting so senile that I had to stop and remember if it had already come. Not that I didn't get nice gifts and calls and cards and even a special meal out...I just didn't immediately recall it. This might be a little scary but I'm getting used to it. I try to exercise my brain to remember things. I don't know if that'll help, but whatever. I have to exercise my body now too which I have successfully avoided for 47 years. But now it's necessary. Now I have "health issues."

In fact, just about everyone I know now has "health issues." And everyone I know knows even more people with such problems. My prayer list has become a Rock of Gibraltar so heavy and overwhelming that only the One True God Himself can actually handle it. I am so glad that He can.

So, for my birthday we went out for dinner. I am now on a 'special diet' for a different health concern and so I asked for my chicken piccata to be flourless and therein began the trouble. Don't get me wrong, we had a very nice dinner. The salad was wonderful, and the rest of the family's meals came out right on time. But mine did not. However I really didn't care. I was already full from the salad, and we were out having a nice time. So I didn't even complain when the rest of the family was finished eating and the kids were getting restless, and my meal still hadn't come. I just told the waiter, pleasantly, that we had to get going.

Well, next thing you know the manager appeared announcing that he would comp the whole meal! (I hadn't even told them it was my birthday). So all's well that ends well. We had lots of leftovers. We did leave the waiter a nice tip. A good tale for a cheapskate girl's happy birthday.

But, what I'm thinking about now is this whole getting old thing, and people getting sick, and dying. I remember when we were young and I was so crazy about my husband (he was my boyfriend then) that I literally could not spend enough time with him. I wanted to be with him every second of the day. We worked together at a pizza place. I loved my job. We took long walks, talked for hours; I guess I don't have to explain this...but here's the thing: I still feel the same way.

We got married and off he went to work. I would pine away for him all day every day. Not that I didn't do anything else; it was just always in the back of my mind. How many hours til he would get home. I furiously guarded his time off--"our time." We socialized a fair amount, but usually together. Of course we spent a lot of time with our little ones, as a young family. We fought a lot too. But I still always wanted just to be with him.

Now here we are all these 25 years later, and I still miss him. He goes off to work most days, and we have our second batch of kids--who pretty much suck all the life and energy out of us both by the time they get tucked in--and I get these leftover moments with the love of my life. I'm not meaning this to be complaining. I am just pondering. We have made the choices for the course of our lives. I am mostly content with those choices; it's just, I wish we could work together.

What a crazy thing for someone to say whose husband has good gainful employment in this economy, I know. But we've been looking at things like retirement, not that we really want to retire...it would just be nice, maybe, not to be tied to the corporation which has been our financial security for all these years.

I know I'm rambling. It's because I feel what I'm saying is somehow inexcusable. We have what a lot of people right now are desperate for, and I do not at all want to be ungrateful. It's just that, I look at my life sometimes as waiting for the day that will never come.

Beauty and the Beast

The last time we went grocery shopping, just for fun we bought a bag of fortune cookies. Today my son's fortune was this:

"Accept something that you cannot change, and you will feel better."

I realize this is nothing new; I know my way around the Serenity Prayer. However I also dare not skate too close to the thin ice of "positive thinking" type philosophies which do not support the real weight of life's predicaments. But this little scrap of paper, for today, was in a nutshell what I had just yesterday concluded about winter.

When I was six years old my family took a vacation to California. This was back in the late 1960's and I'm sure things are much different now, but back then, it was to my heart and soul a paradise. There were orange groves, mountains with streams, dirt roads, fig trees, old barns, and sun. Also my dearly loved cousins were there. It was two weeks of bliss. After that I always wanted to live there.

The older I got the more I wondered why in the world anyone would ever live here, in the suburbs of Chicago. It is horrible in the winter, the l-o-n-g winter. I hate the cold--it is painful. When I was a teen, my Dad told me that if I really wanted to get out of here I'd better do it while I was young. That was the plan. In the back of my mind was always the dream of moving to California.

Well, Dad was right. I didn't go right away and I'm still here, forty years later. And all of those years I've been hating winter, grumbling and complaining about how many months we have bad weather, and being in a bad mood for all of them. I know we could have moved, still could, theoretically. But first of all, we had kids. And Ron got a good job. It's pretty hard to walk away from a good job when you have kids to think about. Then you get rooted. And now we're pretty much stuck.

The boys and I were looking at the Ten Commandments yesterday in our Story Bible. Included is, "Thou shalt not covet..." I explained that coveting is wanting what other people have and not being content with what you have. Just think of it. That is so important that God made it one of the Ten Commandments. Then John wanted to know what "being content" means. I said,"it means being happy." It is interesting that "contentment" is kind of the opposite of "contention."

There really are some things to like about winter, not the same things for everyone. My husband enjoys ice fishing. I enjoy baking, and making soup. Winter is a good time to get projects done, like sewing blankies or quilt-ishes. It is also the perfect time to buckle down with school. (It's not like there's tons of fun we're missing out on.) Despite my bad attitude, I did tune in to the winter olympics and found them spectacular. There is football, which I like. And our neighbors flooded their back yard, so just last night I had the thrilling experience of watching my seven-year old learn to ice skate! (They have it all lit up--it's really pretty.)

He was even playing hockey. This is quite exciting to me because one of my greatest dreams--like California--is being able to ice skate. Ice skating looks to me like a combination of dancing and flying--two of the most lovely and joyful things on earth. But I guess with ice skating too, if you're gonna learn how, you'd better do it while you're young. Alas I never had the chance, but I am so happy that my little guys will.

While I was visiting my oldest son in Colorado, we went to a college hockey game just for something to do. When the players first came out on the ice, and there were all these colored flags, and they were just soaring around so gracefully...it was so beautiful to me that I cried. (I know, I don't get out enough.) But sometimes I actually like being able to cry like that, because I am not desensitized to the wonder of it all.

Yesterday I realized that I may never go to California. There may be long, cold winters in store for me the rest of my days. But maybe I can be happy anyway. Maybe I don't have to hate it so much, or even at all. Maybe I can look forward to cooking and studying and hobbies and snuggling up under the blankies with my family. Seeing them enjoy the cold outdoors, even though it might seem crazy to me, is something I can be content with. Or even happy.

Perseverance

This morning our Pastor's sermon was on how deep and wide is the Love of Christ.

The last couple of days I have been watching some of the Winter Olympics. This is very unlikely, as I never watch the Olympics or any other sports, aside from the occasional football game or figure skater. What makes it even possible that this has occurred is that we recently finally bought a 32" flatscreen HDTV. It is in our living room. Normally we do not have a television in our living room. However, the flatscreen is actually pretty small and unobtrusive. Also, this way I can do my workout dvds on the hardwood floor, and possibly utilize some of the Spanish and/or nature shows for homeschooling. But my point is, that we got this TV about a week ago, just in time for the Olympics; and since it's still kind of a novelty I have moseyed over to check out the action.

The first thing I noticed was how beautiful the setting is. Much as I hate winter, the sparkling wonder of snow-covered mountains and trees, the blinding white quiet expanse is really breathtaking. There, in the middle of what seems to be uninhabitable cold weather majesty, are people--participating in outdoor winter games. I was reminded once again of how ignorant I am of what's going on outside my own little world. I would have easily blown off even glancing at or hearing anything about the Olympics. I just wouldn't care about such things...but for the timely arrival of the HDTV.

What struck me then possibly even more than the scenery were the athletes themselves. Their spandex-like suits reveal the most toned, trained, muscular, strong, perfect bodies I have ever seen. I mean, these bodies are not just sculpted to look good. They are controlled athletic machines, formed to a purpose. It was so uplifting to watch the ski jumpers soaring through the air in perfect form. The whole thing brought back childhood dreams of flying.

Then came the speed skating. Wow, does that look dangerous, and strenuous. I was getting exhausted just watching these guys. But it didn't end--they just kept going, around and around at top physical pressure the whole way. I was truly amazed at what I saw, that anyone could have such control, such skill, such endurance to perform in a way that seemed superhuman to me. Then came the ski racing--fantastic! And appearing even more difficult than the speed skating.

I thought to myself, "All these people, training so hard for this, devoting so much time and energy and focus...and I didn't even know it was happening. I had no idea people did such wonderful things." It is kind of like when you read something that is so well-written, so insightful, so intelligent...or when you see some unbelievable artwork, like what goes around on the internet of insanely complex sidewalk chalk drawings, or when you hear a piece of music that grabs your soul and wrings it out. I was touched deeply.

But I was also troubled. I felt, I feel kind of like a loser. Because I have never applied myself to anything in remotely one tiny percentage of the way that these people have. I mean, look what people, human beings like me, can achieve! What have I ever achieved? I get excited about doing a few sit-ups & push ups. I feel proud if I do a little aerobics. Or finish some small project. I mean, that's not bad...it's just that when you're young and you have your whole life ahead of you you think that someday you will have climbed some kind of mountain...but now I look back and there has been so much time wasted. I have spent my days ignoring the Olympics and hiding from any possibilities by just being busy with stupid things, or undisciplined, or lazy.

I find it heartening that it was at this exact moment, on this day, that I arrived at a point in a study I am doing where I was directed to begin reading John Piper's "A Hunger for God," particularly the introduction. The book is about fasting. The introduction is about many things, but one idea which struck me was the thought of disciplining myself through the spiritual exercise and physical work of fasting. Listen to the Apostle Paul:

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.

Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.--I Cor. 9:24-27

I feel like God is telling me something. That it is time for me to persevere.