Time Out of Mind

I am thinking about time this morning.  

In my quiet time with Jesus each morning, I tend to journal on how I spent yesterday, and what I expect for today.  But this morning (partly because my children are still sleeping, and it is quiet enough for me to think more deeply) I began thinking beyond the physical details of the days more...to the point of them.  

I realize I feel perpetually guilty about how I am NOT spending my time, and that is a pervasive feeling.  Even when I am perfectly glad to be doing whatever it is I am busy about.  

Surely I am not alone.  There are forever an endless supply of choices for how to spend our time, and it is a puzzle of life to "redeem the time" in the right ways.  

Wouldn't it be grand to live in such a way that I feel peace about my choices in using the time that I have, the time that God has given me?  Not the usual results of appeasing someone, or doing what is needed, or scrambling to stave off the panic of being completely overwhelmed by all the many, many things that are needed--or even the result of pleasure.  

What if I lived in a way, day to day, that resulted in a pervasive, deep PEACE about how I have spent, how I am spending, how I plan to spend MY TIME?  

What a gift that would be.  What true satisfaction that would be.  What a way to think about an intentional life.  

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children.  And walk in love...Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true) and try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord...'Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.' Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.  Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is."  From Ephesians 5

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven..." Ecclesiastes 3:1  "Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and striving after wind."  Ecc 4:6  "If a man fathers a hundred children and lives many years, so that the days of his years are many, BUT HIS SOUL IS NOT SATISFIED with life's good things...I say that a stillborn child is better off than he." Ecc 6:3  "The end of the matter; all has been heard.  Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.  For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil." Ecc 12:13-14

Daddy's Girl

These are the daddies I celebrate.  I am so very rich.  

My Teachers: the Foundational Years

I just read a post from a teacher-acquaintance, written in honor of Teacher Appreciation Day and the many, many teachers who have been a part of shaping him.  

It was so beautiful.  It brought tears to my eyes, and I don't even know any of the people he referenced.  

It brought to mind the long list of teachers who have been part of shaping me.  So I'm writing my own list.  It isn't exhaustive, but more of a highlights reel.    

Preschool: YWCA, Pottstown, PA
Mrs. Corey--you took a large group of little kids and showed us how to get along like civilized people.  Also, Show and Tell was the best.  

Kindergarten: Westmont Christian Academy, Pottstown, PA
Miss --I don't remember much of any detail about you, except I LOVED you.  At home, playing school with my little brother, I took your name as my own teacher name.  And I taught him real stuff.  

1st-8th grades: St. Aloysius School, Pottstown, PA

Mrs. Sutton--I was in terrible awe of you, until I learned that outside of school you went by the name "Muffin."  Then I began to see and appreciate you as someone loving and lovable under that strict eyebrow.  

Mrs. Zale--Mostly I remember your "spelling chants," such as shouting "A-L-O-Y-ESSEYE-YOUESS!"  I do spelling chants with my own kids.

Sister Madeline--As the school librarian, you shared stories with us (a few of which I still sort of remember!) and taught us how to effectively use the library.  I still use your lessons.  

Mrs. Matuch--I have never known what the hullabaloo was about, and why you ended up leaving--and I don't want to know.  But I thought you were a wonderful teacher, kind, patient, and I missed you so much.  

Mrs. Urban--For the first time, it was okay for handwriting to slant "backward," because you were left-handed and that's the way it was.  Partly because you were left-handed, and partly because one of the boys broke his right wrist and struggled for weeks and weeks to do his schoolwork, I began practicing to write with my left hand, just in case I ever need to rely on it.  I also loved the ways you brought tangible, experiential things to lessons, like writing to a favorite company (I picked Crayola), building dioramas, or inviting my aunt to do a presentation on her recent trip to Israel.

Mrs. Renninger--Gym class and Music.  I still remember all sorts of games, from class and also played out in recess.  Confession: about that Presidential Physical Fitness award...I probably didn't drop a popsicle stick.  I probably just never ran that tenth lap around the convent, and some other girl probably should have received the honor of "fastest mile."  But Music!  I never really thought I had a nice voice, but I always loved to sing.  And though Religion Song, in the quiet church on Friday afternoons, wasn't technically music class, your facilitation of those afternoons form some of the most peaceful, warm memories of my time at St. Al's.  And they were the foundation of a lifetime of singing.  

Sister Nancy--As the school counselor, you helped me (and my parents) navigate being a Protestant kid in a Catholic school.  I appreciate that.  You were a picture of gentleness. 

Mrs. Fisher--If I ever become a "real" teacher, it will be along the same blueprint as you.  Your combination of a love for science and the experiments and demonstrations you did with us, real lessons and quality in artwork, and skydiving over Hawaii in your personal time really just suit me fine.  I loved your teaching, even when that was about the most difficult year of my social life.   You also taught me that "suite" is a different thing from "sweet."  Fifths graders also happen to be my favorite age group to work with.

Mrs. Foley--Similar to Mrs. Sutton, we were all in dread that you became the sixth grade English teacher, because as a substitute we already had our opinions.  And then we heard your mouse sneezes, and realized you were a real person that was fun and likable.  Substitute teaching doesn't really offer much chance for our best personalities to shine through, does it?  I still sing the Preposition Song.  

Mrs. Hennessey--There is so much about you that I appreciated.  By the end of eighth grade, I could tell you everything about the mechanics of any sentence, and I happened to think that was awesome.  I memorized the first chapter of Stuart Little for a forensics competition, and you affectionately called me "Topo Gigio" after a favorite cartoon mouse.  My best friend didn't appreciate that her mom was also her teacher, but I really appreciated that my teacher was also my best friend's mom--especially for that week that I went with your family to the beach.  That was so fantastic.  I still have the volume of poetry you presented to me at graduation.

Mrs. Linderman--I think you taught some Gym classes, but the gem I internalized from you was the day we chatted about my life-long bad habit of nail chewing.  You told me that what worked for you was keeping your nails consistently trimmed, filed, and clean--it made your nails strong.  Lo and behold, it worked for me too, when nothing else had.  I still have nice nails because of it.

Mrs. Kelly--Your drilled-in outlining skills have served me very well.  And your line-by-line, precept-on-precept note taking instruction made me a good student, a capable learner.  I still use those skills.  

Mrs. Lavelle--Your science lessons continue to inform my knowledge and way of thinking about the world, and to be an epitome of instruction in my book.  I still have my copy books.  I saved them all, because I thought they were beautiful.  Still do.  They're like scrapbooks of my favorite lessons.  

Spring Is Such A Maiden

Old Man Winter is not letting go without a fight this year.  Yesterday afternoon I was rejoicing to see that, except for the remains of the few largest, plowed-up heaps, the front yard snow was gone.  A couple of hours later, it was already covered in fresh white, with howling winds driving snow on what looked just like a raging winter storm.  Oh well, Spring can't be too far away.

Maiden Spring.  

People often think of "maidens" as delicate, timid, fragile. But I have known maidens who are full of energy, tenacious, strong, full of joy and unquenchable optimism, vitality.  Full of strength and gentleness.  Maidens who are forces to be reckoned with.  I was such a maiden.  

Spring is such a maiden.  

Loud

Revolutionary-feeling thought today: Christian culture so often dwells on the things we can't do freely in our society. We lament there's no prayer allowed in schools, bewail the unconscionable separation between church and state, or rail about people being too easily offended by Christianity.

What if

we stopped lamenting and bewailing and railing?

What if

we led by example, boldly starting and leading the prayer instead of waiting to be led?

What if

we participated in government as our consciences dictated, but went ahead and asked for Holy Spirit power to live out our faith with consistency across the divides?

What if

instead of railing about pansy feelings, we purposed ourselves to become unoffendable people?

Our kids have full freedom to pray in school or wherever they might want to. But we have to teach them and show them that in order for that to happen, they must initiate the praying. They can't wait for someone to tell them to do it--they must become the praying people. Our government doesn't have a beautiful track record for acting on its founding Biblical principles; if anything, those principles have been misapplied and used for evil. We have to live out the upside-down Kingdom, declaring through our integrity that His ways solve problems at their roots. We are just as easily offended by cultural issues as a wiccan witnessing kids praying around a flagpole. Except, get this: as Christians we're called to LOVE those who hate us, to PRAY FOR those who persecute us! And so our offense is uglier. Our offense has farther-reaching consequences. As ambassadors of the King of kings, we have way, way more authority than we realize--and when we use our authority wrongly, the consequences are much, much more weighty.

Test your faith. Apply it. Strengthen it. Exercise it. Live it out loud, like your faith matters.

Your faith matters.

Just Write

It is 6:05.  In the evening.  Prime time.  

And I am holed up in the guest room--Oh, look at my guest room!  In the last-published post it was the "office-guest-craft-stash it room".  We have turned a new leaf, and now I come in here sometimes just to stand in a quiet, pretty place:

Progress in the right direction.  My brain has been in a different place in the past couple of months, but I haven't really told you anything about it because, although I have had time, I haven't spent any of it on finishing and sharing my polished thoughts with you.  

So I'm holed up in the guest room, because tonight my husband came home from his day of teaching with a plan for me to write this evening, and to also write regularly.  It basically involves setting aside an evening a week to write while he takes on 3-kid duty.  To just write.  To write.

So, let me back up and tell you the earlier part of the story, because to dive right in to today's thoughts without their context is to miss the process, miss the richness.  For me it is rich.  It's okay if it isn't anything much to you.    

Through the autumn up until Christmas, I was accelerating along from about 72 to 120 miles per hour.  At one point Lincoln told me, "Mama, you're in charge of too many things."  You present a good case, kid.  His comment sank in deep, and I realized that it isn't simply a case of my not liking the pace; it is a true statement, and the pace is unsustainable and damaging to myself and the people I hold most dear.   

Andy and I called up a babysitter and walked down the road for a Reevaluation Date at our local diner. 

We came up with some changes, some redirection, and I began to sense light at the end of the tunnel.  

At New Year's, my sister-in-law gave me words for a concept, the ideas of which had already been brewing in my heart.  You've probably already heard of it: discovering your One Word.  It's enough of a concept now to generate books on a variety of contexts: your one word for the year, for life, for your business, for your lasting legacy, etc.  (I haven't read any of the books; I can't tell you whether they're any good.)  But I knew my word right away.

I painted it, because that's what I do.  I have begun applying it to all sorts of things: what I read, how many bottles of shampoo are in my shower, the ingredients in my food and how I cook it, how the laundry is sorted, how I think about social issues, how I'm pursuing Jesus, etc.  I don't think I am especially good at simplicity, but I am getting better, and that is the important thing.  

Life weaves together in wonderful ways, don't you think?  A year and a half ago, before I was thinking particularly about simplifying life, I sang a song for my Grandaddy's memorial service:

'Tis a gift to be simple.  

So 'tis.  

Good Thinking

I just read a Facebook post listing a handful of "so-called Christian" books and all the ways they are heretical and New Age-y, including the bulleted false teachings promoted in the individual books.  

I haven't read all of them.  

But I have read two of the five, and at least one person whose faith I deeply respect has read another and 

Here's the thing: God formed our MINDS.  He made us SENTIENT BEINGS, after His own image.  We are the most complex, the most creative, the highest of all His creations, BECAUSE WE CAN THINK philosophically and morally, and BECAUSE WE HAVE THE EXERCISE OF FREE WILL, and BECAUSE WE ARE MADE IN HIS OWN IMAGE.  

God is not conventional.  We are conventional.  

God has all of the masculine qualities, and He has all of the feminine qualities, because He is Whole.  Following the reasoning of imago dei, we couldn't be male and female if all those qualities were not in God.  We choose to refer to Him in the masculine not because it is the fullness of Him, but because we need to be able to understand things.  Also because Jesus was a man, not a woman, and He is God.  

Because I read a book does not make me a full subscriber to its message.  Dare I say that revolutionary spiritual growth has been sparked in me as a result of books that not everybody agrees are good?  The Shack, for example.  Some people take deep offense to gender roles in the book.  The character of the Holy Spirit is a woman, and a very feminine woman at that.  (So is the character of Father God, and the character of Wisdom, maybe others, I don't remember--but the revolutionary-spiritual-growth bits are mostly in the Holy Spirit category for me.)  

I don't exactly know how to describe how I grew up thinking about the Holy Spirit.  In my traditional-church background, we spoke of the Holy Spirit...I think the best of my understanding of the Holy Spirit was as the Infallible Conscience.  The Holy Spirit (talked ABOUT (by Name and not pronoun) but never TO) was the Helper for making the right choice.  

But a Holy Spirit who is personal, creative, fearfully powerful, and Who asks us to do uncomfortable things sometimes that allow Christ to have the preeminence--that was dangerous, out of control, not allowed.