"SILVERWARE FOUND! CEREAL EATEN PROPERLY!"
(I have to admit, before finding the silverware I thought about using the flat-headed screwdriver part of my Swiss Army knife to eat each individual Crispix bite, then I thought I'd use my icec ream scoop, then I decided my mouth wasn't big enough so I opted for the coffee scoop instead. Thanks to all you concerned and caring folk who were thinking about getting me some silverware!)
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Friday, June 16, 2006
House Warming Boy Scout Style
In this time of crazy uncertainty and change, there are a few things that are sure to be anchors of hope…The grace of God made manifest through 1) the kindness and generosity of His saints and, 2) the reliable camaraderie of a good Swiss Army knife.
In a weeks time I’ve gone from doing my first thorough search for a new place to live, to interviewing at one place, to securing the housing. A week to the day from looking at the place I moved in, which brings this harried search to lasting a grand total of eleven days—under 2 weeks. In that amount og time I have learned the following:
1) Be nice to your friends and maybe they’ll help you look for a place to live.
2) All I own are clothes and books.
3) Except for the cut out art and pictures I hung on my walls.
4) Never hang anything with photo corners.
5) Never hang anything with packaging tape.
6) Friends are here to keep you humble and to remind you never to hang anything with photo corners or packaging tape.
7) God will provide a place to live (through Sue, Der, and Wilbur).
8) God will provide a bed, table, and chairs (through the Taylors).
9) God will provide a nice white lamp (through the Grants).
10) God will provide…and when He does…
11) Be nice to your friends and maybe they’ll help you move.
All of this has been shown through the kind graces of kingdom saints. But there comes the time when I’m left with all this stuff, in boxes, in an unfamiliar place and an overwhelming apprehension floods over me. So I pulled out the God-provided (through Mrs. Tan) bread roll and decided to bake a little bread. There’s nothing that cures dread like some good, focused productivity, and we all know that the best kind of productivity is centered around food!
The bread is done. The search begins for something to cut it with. Thought process:
1) Drat! Everything is packed!
2) No, my forks, spoons, and butter knife are still at the other place.
3) A butter knife is no good any way.
4) I have nothing to cut this yummy chicken-stuffed bread with.
5) Key chain pocket knife?
6) SWISS ARMY KNIFE!
I knew I had seen it in one of the open boxes…some where. Scramble. No luck. Found it! (sigh) Ahhh. The memories flooded in…every where this faithful knife has been with me…AAAHH! Quick, SOAP—need anti-bacterial soap! IT'S BOXED UP!!
Thought: “I’m gunna die from putrefied-10-year-encrusted fish gut bacteria or something!”
But as I was rinsing the knife under extremely hot water, wiping it thoroughly with the one towel I could find, I was thinking about all the places I’ve been, all the memories a simple little tool from Switzerland can evoke, and all the apprehension of newness and unfamiliarity melted away.
I have been through this before and each time I am reminded of the greatest gifts God gives through the simple graces of His kind saints and the small comforts of a ready Swiss Army knife. And when I ate that ruggedly sliced chicken-stuffed bread my thought was:
God is good.
In a weeks time I’ve gone from doing my first thorough search for a new place to live, to interviewing at one place, to securing the housing. A week to the day from looking at the place I moved in, which brings this harried search to lasting a grand total of eleven days—under 2 weeks. In that amount og time I have learned the following:
1) Be nice to your friends and maybe they’ll help you look for a place to live.
2) All I own are clothes and books.
3) Except for the cut out art and pictures I hung on my walls.
4) Never hang anything with photo corners.
5) Never hang anything with packaging tape.
6) Friends are here to keep you humble and to remind you never to hang anything with photo corners or packaging tape.
7) God will provide a place to live (through Sue, Der, and Wilbur).
8) God will provide a bed, table, and chairs (through the Taylors).
9) God will provide a nice white lamp (through the Grants).
10) God will provide…and when He does…
11) Be nice to your friends and maybe they’ll help you move.
All of this has been shown through the kind graces of kingdom saints. But there comes the time when I’m left with all this stuff, in boxes, in an unfamiliar place and an overwhelming apprehension floods over me. So I pulled out the God-provided (through Mrs. Tan) bread roll and decided to bake a little bread. There’s nothing that cures dread like some good, focused productivity, and we all know that the best kind of productivity is centered around food!
The bread is done. The search begins for something to cut it with. Thought process:
1) Drat! Everything is packed!
2) No, my forks, spoons, and butter knife are still at the other place.
3) A butter knife is no good any way.
4) I have nothing to cut this yummy chicken-stuffed bread with.
5) Key chain pocket knife?
6) SWISS ARMY KNIFE!
I knew I had seen it in one of the open boxes…some where. Scramble. No luck. Found it! (sigh) Ahhh. The memories flooded in…every where this faithful knife has been with me…AAAHH! Quick, SOAP—need anti-bacterial soap! IT'S BOXED UP!!
Thought: “I’m gunna die from putrefied-10-year-encrusted fish gut bacteria or something!”
But as I was rinsing the knife under extremely hot water, wiping it thoroughly with the one towel I could find, I was thinking about all the places I’ve been, all the memories a simple little tool from Switzerland can evoke, and all the apprehension of newness and unfamiliarity melted away.
I have been through this before and each time I am reminded of the greatest gifts God gives through the simple graces of His kind saints and the small comforts of a ready Swiss Army knife. And when I ate that ruggedly sliced chicken-stuffed bread my thought was:
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
The Universal Tight-Rope Act
I’m preparing for an upcoming move. I’m in between. It’s a weird little stage--creating more loose ends than tying up. There's so much unceasing urgency. I fell that I've finished as well as I could with this last season of life, but beginning well in the next has always been a rather un-balancing act for me. My move is both a physical change of location and a practical change of calling. Everything seems so uncertain, unstable; a tight-rope walk that is both incredibly intimidating with every step yet spectacularly invigorating as I can see some distant end in sight. I know not whether the next step will hold me up or cause me to slip.
I recall a quote from a play I was once in, "Hope and the world hopes with you. Despair and you despair alone." It seems subjectively true. The very nature of hope is more widely inclusive, more diversely encompassing. While despair is a solitary confinement from any semblance of relation, any hint of sympathy. Why must there be such extremes?
I invite you to click here to follow what my dear friend, Jayme, has observed on this very reflection. It is from her that my introductory lilt and content are mimicked, and it is to her that I extend my utmost thanks for initiating this pensive session.
I recall a quote from a play I was once in, "Hope and the world hopes with you. Despair and you despair alone." It seems subjectively true. The very nature of hope is more widely inclusive, more diversely encompassing. While despair is a solitary confinement from any semblance of relation, any hint of sympathy. Why must there be such extremes?
I invite you to click here to follow what my dear friend, Jayme, has observed on this very reflection. It is from her that my introductory lilt and content are mimicked, and it is to her that I extend my utmost thanks for initiating this pensive session.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Logical Thoughts
I've been thinking a bit about logic lately. 1) Because I'm concluding the first year of, what I hope will be, my teaching career, having done so as a 7th and 8th grade logic teacher, and 2) Because I've just committed another year of my life to the same subject. I have been wrestling with a good many ideas of what logic is or should be, all in anticipation of the question I know my students will ask me at least once more before they walk out of my classroom for the last time: "What's the point of Logic again?" I’m struggling with a good answer primarily because I am struggling with the nature of logic itself and how it should be taught. Here are some of the things I’ve been thinking about:
• Logic cannot be used to answer all questions.
• One of the goals of logic is to show that everyone has "common sense", and then to instruct on how to use it.
• Logic should not be approached mechanically—it should not, does not, operate on fact alone. There is no neat clean category in which all things can be placed simply because we do not live in a neat clean world—we live in a fallen world.
• As Christians we know that people matter. Yes they are messy because of sin, but that does not mean we are to discount their intentions or callings because of a difference of opinion or worldview.
• Some say that passion is all that matters. Some say that it is the intention of the heart. Some say it is what you do that counts. Are any one of those things enough? Yet can we do any more than any one of those things on our own?
• Christ gives us a three-fold witness (John 5) because He knows that there is more to a person than just the ability to reason. We must also take into account feelings and experiences. No one of these areas alone can support the weightiness of truth, but together provide the objectivity that truth demands.
• All of the fallacies my students will study in high school with Dr. Grant will just focus on one of the three characteristics of man. The really appealing and persuasive ones may focus on two. But no other religion, no other way of thinking genuinely addresses and acknowledges all three and attempts to give an answer for each.
• We are not all made the same. Because of that, a really affective argument (i.e. discourse or apologetic) must incorporate and apply the three-fold witness.
• It should be only natural…but it’s not. But it should be—especially if our goal in this poor fallen world is to build up and mend rather than tear down.
• Logic cannot be used to answer all questions.
• One of the goals of logic is to show that everyone has "common sense", and then to instruct on how to use it.
• Logic should not be approached mechanically—it should not, does not, operate on fact alone. There is no neat clean category in which all things can be placed simply because we do not live in a neat clean world—we live in a fallen world.
• As Christians we know that people matter. Yes they are messy because of sin, but that does not mean we are to discount their intentions or callings because of a difference of opinion or worldview.
• Some say that passion is all that matters. Some say that it is the intention of the heart. Some say it is what you do that counts. Are any one of those things enough? Yet can we do any more than any one of those things on our own?
• Christ gives us a three-fold witness (John 5) because He knows that there is more to a person than just the ability to reason. We must also take into account feelings and experiences. No one of these areas alone can support the weightiness of truth, but together provide the objectivity that truth demands.
• All of the fallacies my students will study in high school with Dr. Grant will just focus on one of the three characteristics of man. The really appealing and persuasive ones may focus on two. But no other religion, no other way of thinking genuinely addresses and acknowledges all three and attempts to give an answer for each.
• We are not all made the same. Because of that, a really affective argument (i.e. discourse or apologetic) must incorporate and apply the three-fold witness.
• It should be only natural…but it’s not. But it should be—especially if our goal in this poor fallen world is to build up and mend rather than tear down.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Confesions of the 12 O'Clock Mouse
I'm stealing from a friend. But I will fully credit her superb cleverness and editorial accomplishments by directing you to the original source of this landmark variation of time honored children’s' tales: www.ovadya.blogspot.com. I do hope you enjoy this half as much as I did, and if you feel the need to make any historical clarifications of rhymes or fairy tales from your past, by all means send them along!
"Hickory, dickory, dock, the mice ran up the clock,
The clock struck Twelve.
Then Seven ate Nine & Ten.
And so Twelve ran down,
Filed an insurance claim, called the police, and charged Seven with cannibalism.
Hickory, dickory, dock..."
....The Untold Story of the Twelve O'Clock Mouse....
After recovering from the concussion he received from getting struck by the unusually long minute hand, the 12 o'clock mouse, was able to acquire massive amounts of insurance money from the emotional trauma of seeing his friends eaten...Since 12 o'clock was an extremely wise investor he became very wealthy and, by the end of his life, was a billionaire. But, the 12 o'clock mouse had always been a very generous mouse and so when he died he left all his money and his estate to the poor, forgotten 11 o'clock mouse, whom he had just met a few days before, when 11 o'clock was playing his violin on the sidewalk near 12 o'clock's house. The 11 o'clock mouse was struggling financially and had been mugged and beaten up, which had left him blind. 11 o'clock had not been able to find work for years and so he went on welfare, because no one wanted a blind mouse in their nursery rhyme corporations. As a result of inheriting all this money, 11 o'clock was able to use the money the 12 o'clock mouse gave him, and he traveled around the world with a few friends to help him find other blind mice. He discovered one who joined his quest, and they found a third, but an unfortunate event took place upon discovering him. The second mouse that they discovered was a farm mouse, right as they convinced this mouse to join them, so they could start an independent business, the farmer's wife came rushing at them with a knife. All three mice survived, but they all lost their tales. So, the three mice, joined forces and created their own company called, the Three Blind Mice Organization, and they spread their story of overcoming great obstacles and survival to the world in a rhyme. They became wildly famous and started a foundation for other blind and injured mice who could not find jobs and helped them get on their feet.
Later on, they expanded their business to not only help mice, but all individuals from other Rhyming Corporations that needed aid, including providing homes, jobs, etc. They even helped Miss Muffet after she left her job over at Little Miss Muffet Inc., because the new spider they had hired was verbally abusive. They also helped the fifth little Piggy from the This Little Piggy Co. after he had to have an operation on his vocal chords and couldn't scream, "Wee! Wee! Wee!" anymore. In addition, they helped the entire Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star Co. after they had to make a huge job cut when fewer and fewer people were asking what stars are, since science is removing the mystery. So the Three Blind Mice organization had an incredible impact on its community, helping countless numbers of individuals and continues to, even today, despite the downfall in the use of really worthwhile Nursery Rhyme Companies.
There is one thing for certain though, whenever you ask the 11 o'clock mouse/the First Blind Mouse where he gets his inspiration, he will always tell you the same answer, "It all began with one individual.......The 12 O'Clock Mouse..."
Disclaimer: This post is the product of a very long week and may also be credited to another pensively discerning individual.
All I have to say is, a true 21st. Century nursery rhyme could only be achieved through verbal inflation.
Rewriting history, one nursery rhyme at a time.
"Hickory, dickory, dock, the mice ran up the clock,The clock struck Twelve.
Then Seven ate Nine & Ten.
And so Twelve ran down,
Filed an insurance claim, called the police, and charged Seven with cannibalism.
Hickory, dickory, dock..."
....The Untold Story of the Twelve O'Clock Mouse....
After recovering from the concussion he received from getting struck by the unusually long minute hand, the 12 o'clock mouse, was able to acquire massive amounts of insurance money from the emotional trauma of seeing his friends eaten...Since 12 o'clock was an extremely wise investor he became very wealthy and, by the end of his life, was a billionaire. But, the 12 o'clock mouse had always been a very generous mouse and so when he died he left all his money and his estate to the poor, forgotten 11 o'clock mouse, whom he had just met a few days before, when 11 o'clock was playing his violin on the sidewalk near 12 o'clock's house. The 11 o'clock mouse was struggling financially and had been mugged and beaten up, which had left him blind. 11 o'clock had not been able to find work for years and so he went on welfare, because no one wanted a blind mouse in their nursery rhyme corporations. As a result of inheriting all this money, 11 o'clock was able to use the money the 12 o'clock mouse gave him, and he traveled around the world with a few friends to help him find other blind mice. He discovered one who joined his quest, and they found a third, but an unfortunate event took place upon discovering him. The second mouse that they discovered was a farm mouse, right as they convinced this mouse to join them, so they could start an independent business, the farmer's wife came rushing at them with a knife. All three mice survived, but they all lost their tales. So, the three mice, joined forces and created their own company called, the Three Blind Mice Organization, and they spread their story of overcoming great obstacles and survival to the world in a rhyme. They became wildly famous and started a foundation for other blind and injured mice who could not find jobs and helped them get on their feet.
Later on, they expanded their business to not only help mice, but all individuals from other Rhyming Corporations that needed aid, including providing homes, jobs, etc. They even helped Miss Muffet after she left her job over at Little Miss Muffet Inc., because the new spider they had hired was verbally abusive. They also helped the fifth little Piggy from the This Little Piggy Co. after he had to have an operation on his vocal chords and couldn't scream, "Wee! Wee! Wee!" anymore. In addition, they helped the entire Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star Co. after they had to make a huge job cut when fewer and fewer people were asking what stars are, since science is removing the mystery. So the Three Blind Mice organization had an incredible impact on its community, helping countless numbers of individuals and continues to, even today, despite the downfall in the use of really worthwhile Nursery Rhyme Companies.
There is one thing for certain though, whenever you ask the 11 o'clock mouse/the First Blind Mouse where he gets his inspiration, he will always tell you the same answer, "It all began with one individual.......The 12 O'Clock Mouse..."
Disclaimer: This post is the product of a very long week and may also be credited to another pensively discerning individual.
All I have to say is, a true 21st. Century nursery rhyme could only be achieved through verbal inflation.
Rewriting history, one nursery rhyme at a time.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Memoirs of a Driver's Ed Student
The following was found today in a pile of old file CDs. It's been a random day so I feel compeled to share with you writing that is a good 7 or so years old entitled The Incredibly Random Memoirs of a Driver’s Ed Student with Too Much Time on Her Hands. And yes, this is what I wrote in Driver's Ed class instead of notes. If I remember correctly I commented somewhere on the girl's Hulk Hogan shirt that was in the desk in front of me...but that didn't make it into this bit, sorry!
• The beginning— Test time. The room is still and silent save the rambling antics of the old air conditioning unit. The tests are collected and the instructor begins. “How many of you go to church,” Mr. Hedrick asks in his Jonathan Edwards-like humdrum inflection. Nearly the entirety of the class raises their hand. “Good, that means we have a bunch of honest people in here.” We proceed to exchange papers having no earthly idea how our fellow bastion of honesty would have us grade in regards to leniency and answer variations.
• Back form break— The saga of sob stories continues with an overdone appeal to the emotions of we lead-footed modern American teenagers. After the video, we once again repeat every jot and tittle, every gory detail of all three pages in chapter two, which we have covered in such exorbitant and elaborate detail for the entirety of the three hours of our dreary presence here today—save the brief time given to take two tests (even though this is only day two into our grand adventure in boredom).
Hold that thought…we’ve finished twenty minutes early, but wait, that’s not all…. We can’t simply get out early, nooo. We must have a re-incarnation of the “rat walloping” as demonstrated to the world by both The Princess Bride and our very own Mrs. Scheaffer. Surely we cannot commit the unfathomable sin of wasting time, therefore we must—
Day 3
• What to know— Tell me honestly, am I looking to become the CEO of Minike or do I simply want to get my permit? What ever happened to sticking to the basics? Crank shaft, drive shaft, pistons, dip stick, and ABS have replaced the good ‘ol explanation of “here’s the car, here’s the keys, ignition, steering wheel, peddles, and gear shift—now drive safely”.
• Wooaahh! Culture shock— We’ve just completed a “What’s your view” info/opinion sheet. The very first statement was, “When I’m in a group, I tend to lead others”. When asked to give our stance on that statement, I expected to raise my hand in agreement with, at least, a handful of other individuals, but found that my phalanges and metacarpals were alone in the vast presence of some 35 of their contemporaries.
• So many opportunities— Not much to write on thus far, other than the sheer fact that I am bored out of my mind. I can not deny the fact that I was warned, but what could have prepared me for this? I venture to say, nothing at all. But for now, I must study for test #3. Lord only knows what that will be like…. Well, um, yeesss. That was, uh, interesting, to say the least. I must congratulate myself—I have officially flunked my first test! Praise be to God, so did most everyone else so the test was not counted. Yet I have this nagging suspecting feeling that such a demonstration of leniency in that manner will not be dispensed again from the honorable Instructor Hedrick.
• Cooked goose— My, I may not get very many good stories out of this experience if things keep going so smoothly. It’s a shame really. I just asked Mr. H when I could possibly begin the driving skills part of my education—expecting, of course, that it may happen after my two weeks of classroom boredom, I mean training. (After all, I did want to help my parents drive this summer.) The man completely surprised me. “I think I can start driving with you on Friday of next week,” he said in (what I now thought to be) his melodiously angelic matter-of-fact fashion.
So now, my goose is cooked, and my stories are toast. Yet I will continue to write of further occurrences through out the next week and a half—whether drab and dreary or exuberant and exciting. But for now I must conclude these past three days of (Hhhmm) yes, well, and thank God for Sunday, for that, is what tomorrow is. Sunday (sigh), untouched by any misconstrued haphazard ideas of drive shafts, death penalties, drunk driving and the like!
Friday, April 14, 2006
The Punctuated Life
I received a lovely e-mail yesterday from my good friend Jayme whom I traveled across the pond to see during spring break. She is among the most practical, humorous, and gifted writers that I know. Her turn of phrase is inspiringly original. Her ability to drawl wit from the mere bones of life is refreshingly profound. And her hunger to learn, read, and be more fills up the breadth and depth of her penmanship profession. But of all the correspondence I’ve conducted with the dear girl, yesterday’s e-mail was the most encouraging. There’s nothing like getting a note from a friend you haven’t heard from in some time. There was length to this note, but I don’t think that was the best part. There was humor in this note (Like the line: “sorry you were stuck in wherever-the-heck illinois or something. kinda a funny blog entry. i can't believe you were forced into more mcdonalds. it's just not your month for food.”) that, while refreshing, I still do not think was the best part—though the line I gave you touched on it. In all 306 words, 1,321 characters, and 6 paragraphs, there are about 16 non-ending punctuations, 6 capital letters, and 1 disclaimer:
Ahhh. That is the best part! How incredibly encouraging is it for a writer to take a momentary holiday from punctuation knowing full well that she’ll get back to it eventually because—as all good writers know—punctuation is a rule and while there are exceptions to most every rule, one must have a firm understanding and appreciation of the rule before one can break it.
So during this inverted season of Easter where the punctuated time of celebration and reflection have become the exception to our rule of the hustle-bustle-I’m-just-not-in-the-mood life, thank you Jayme for this reminder of priorities.
The punctuated life is a rule, one must know it before breaking it.
lastly, i feel compelled (by shame) to acknowlege my terrible punctuation throughout this note - i'm just not in the mood to punctuate well. i'm having a little vacation from it.
Ahhh. That is the best part! How incredibly encouraging is it for a writer to take a momentary holiday from punctuation knowing full well that she’ll get back to it eventually because—as all good writers know—punctuation is a rule and while there are exceptions to most every rule, one must have a firm understanding and appreciation of the rule before one can break it.
So during this inverted season of Easter where the punctuated time of celebration and reflection have become the exception to our rule of the hustle-bustle-I’m-just-not-in-the-mood life, thank you Jayme for this reminder of priorities.
The punctuated life is a rule, one must know it before breaking it.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Ever Heard Of...
Ever heard of Rensselaer, Indiana? Me neither...until two days ago. It's amazing how little one cares about the small towns you travel through on your way to a specific destination until you get stuck in one of those little towns. By stuck, I mean stranded. In the middle of nowhere. Without a car. The closest restaurants (which happens to be an Arby's and a--*gasp*--McDonald's) are a good 1/4-1/2 a mile away. The road to freedom (Interstate 65) can be viewed by simply looking out your hotel room window and you realize...you're on the wrong end of that interstate.
Flat Fields fo Indiana
Welcome to my world. My family's world really. It's been a trip of ironies and providences. We drove up to the Chicago area for the weekend to visit an old family friend who is getting up in years. That goal achieved, we began to head towards Indianapolis in the direction of home Saturday evening only to pull over at a gas station with smoke billowing from under the hood of our van. Visions of family trips going drastically awry flash into my mind. The closest place to get supplies at 9pm to try and patch up the problem was a Wal-mart some 6 miles away from our hotel. Wal-mart. The first irony. I hate Wal-mart. But it was there that a couple of employees heard about our plight and drove us to a hotel. I love Wal-mart employees. Irony #2: There's a McDonald's at the end of our hotel's road. I hate McDonald's...but now I realize I love the McDonald's employees. (Some times it takes dramatic and crazy situations to make you separate your strong dislike for the huge world-wide conglomerates from your opinion of the individuals of those who work for the huge world-wide conglomerates. Good lesson for me to learn!)
Clark Street: The Road to Wal-mart
So, yesterday I set out on a pilgrimage back to Wal-mart to pick up a few things we left in our van and to leave a key in one of those little magnetic hiding boxes for whoever was going to tow the van. It was a good walk. Long but good. I got a good look of the little town we're stuck in. It was a clear, cool day yesterday with blue skies and flat farmland painting horizons in every direction (basically there was nothing around for miles but I prefer to look on the aesthetic beauty side of life!). I went into the little grocery store right beside Wal-mart and discovered a gold mine in the form of a wine corner. Who da thunk! Podunk Indiana has a wine corner! I was so psyched! I've been in similar situations before where I found wine and didn't have a de-corker which means at home I have a collection of wine openers but the one's at home weren't useful at that point. Irony #3: Cashier, "You're not going to like this, but we're not allowed to sell alcohol on Sundays. You could go to Illinois." She says this as she 1) takes away my wine bottle and 2) rings up my wine opener. I admit, I was a little snippy, "Um, I'm not going to need that then am I," pointing to the opener. Sigh. I had to settle for Gatorade instead.
So here I sit, writing and documenting our adventure, why? Because I have a lot of time on my hands and I just so happen to have 1) my laptop and 2) an Internet connection? Yes, but I'm also looking for all the neat ironies, all the moments along the way where God has provided and our family has had to work together just to keep from going crazy! Oh, and if any one ever needs a place to stay in Rensselaer, Indiana, I recommend the Holiday Inn Express just off I-65. We know the owner now, so just tell 'em the Shore family sent you!
Holiday Inn Express Rensselaer
Welcome to my world. My family's world really. It's been a trip of ironies and providences. We drove up to the Chicago area for the weekend to visit an old family friend who is getting up in years. That goal achieved, we began to head towards Indianapolis in the direction of home Saturday evening only to pull over at a gas station with smoke billowing from under the hood of our van. Visions of family trips going drastically awry flash into my mind. The closest place to get supplies at 9pm to try and patch up the problem was a Wal-mart some 6 miles away from our hotel. Wal-mart. The first irony. I hate Wal-mart. But it was there that a couple of employees heard about our plight and drove us to a hotel. I love Wal-mart employees. Irony #2: There's a McDonald's at the end of our hotel's road. I hate McDonald's...but now I realize I love the McDonald's employees. (Some times it takes dramatic and crazy situations to make you separate your strong dislike for the huge world-wide conglomerates from your opinion of the individuals of those who work for the huge world-wide conglomerates. Good lesson for me to learn!)
So, yesterday I set out on a pilgrimage back to Wal-mart to pick up a few things we left in our van and to leave a key in one of those little magnetic hiding boxes for whoever was going to tow the van. It was a good walk. Long but good. I got a good look of the little town we're stuck in. It was a clear, cool day yesterday with blue skies and flat farmland painting horizons in every direction (basically there was nothing around for miles but I prefer to look on the aesthetic beauty side of life!). I went into the little grocery store right beside Wal-mart and discovered a gold mine in the form of a wine corner. Who da thunk! Podunk Indiana has a wine corner! I was so psyched! I've been in similar situations before where I found wine and didn't have a de-corker which means at home I have a collection of wine openers but the one's at home weren't useful at that point. Irony #3: Cashier, "You're not going to like this, but we're not allowed to sell alcohol on Sundays. You could go to Illinois." She says this as she 1) takes away my wine bottle and 2) rings up my wine opener. I admit, I was a little snippy, "Um, I'm not going to need that then am I," pointing to the opener. Sigh. I had to settle for Gatorade instead.
So here I sit, writing and documenting our adventure, why? Because I have a lot of time on my hands and I just so happen to have 1) my laptop and 2) an Internet connection? Yes, but I'm also looking for all the neat ironies, all the moments along the way where God has provided and our family has had to work together just to keep from going crazy! Oh, and if any one ever needs a place to stay in Rensselaer, Indiana, I recommend the Holiday Inn Express just off I-65. We know the owner now, so just tell 'em the Shore family sent you!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Too Much to One's Self
A friend of mine recently sent me this quote from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray saying that she thought of me for some reason when she read it:
"Oh, I can't explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to anyone. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvelous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one's life."
She asked if it meant anything to me. My first thought was in regard to my recent trip to England during which I had no communication with the outside world and only left the contact number of my friend in Cambridge for my boss and my parents. No one really knew much about where I was going or what I would be doing. Partly because I didn't know myself, nor did I care, and thought it would be a wonderful adventure to steep myself in the mystery of it all. But then what my young Dorian Gray friend didn't know is that while on this mysterious adventure of a trip I decided to make such mysterious adventures a habit...twice a year if finances allow, but most assuredly every year at spring break as long as I'm teaching. And yes, I did decide that I would not tell anyone where I would be going.
As I thought more about it, I realized that new decision is probably a more healthy hold over from the days when I did more exclusively cherish secrecy, locking it "up safe in the casket or coffin of [my] selfishness". It was once a pet that I would stroke tenderly and privately, consoling myself with the thought that no one knew what I was going through nor did they care. I love C.S. Lewis all the more now that I have been to his house, his colleges, his pub, and his grave. But before I knew anything about him, or cared anything for him, this was the quote that lead me to the path of sharing life through community:
"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, unpenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." --The Four Loves
Our natural tendencies, both good and bad, are a part of who we are, but they need not define us or control our lives. Nor should we rely on them, depend on them, as an excuse or a crutch never to be overcome. To come face to face with the important truth that our greatest strengths can be our greatest weaknesses, and our greatest weaknesses can be our greatest strengths is indeed a sobering yet hope-filled realization!
"Oh, I can't explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to anyone. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvelous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one's life."
She asked if it meant anything to me. My first thought was in regard to my recent trip to England during which I had no communication with the outside world and only left the contact number of my friend in Cambridge for my boss and my parents. No one really knew much about where I was going or what I would be doing. Partly because I didn't know myself, nor did I care, and thought it would be a wonderful adventure to steep myself in the mystery of it all. But then what my young Dorian Gray friend didn't know is that while on this mysterious adventure of a trip I decided to make such mysterious adventures a habit...twice a year if finances allow, but most assuredly every year at spring break as long as I'm teaching. And yes, I did decide that I would not tell anyone where I would be going.
As I thought more about it, I realized that new decision is probably a more healthy hold over from the days when I did more exclusively cherish secrecy, locking it "up safe in the casket or coffin of [my] selfishness". It was once a pet that I would stroke tenderly and privately, consoling myself with the thought that no one knew what I was going through nor did they care. I love C.S. Lewis all the more now that I have been to his house, his colleges, his pub, and his grave. But before I knew anything about him, or cared anything for him, this was the quote that lead me to the path of sharing life through community:
"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, unpenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." --The Four Loves
Our natural tendencies, both good and bad, are a part of who we are, but they need not define us or control our lives. Nor should we rely on them, depend on them, as an excuse or a crutch never to be overcome. To come face to face with the important truth that our greatest strengths can be our greatest weaknesses, and our greatest weaknesses can be our greatest strengths is indeed a sobering yet hope-filled realization!