Hiding in the Fog

It is foggy outside this morning. I love fog- I love the sense of mystery, of things hidden that are waiting to be discovered. I love the way sound is dampened, and hard edges are softened. I think we all need a little fog, now and then. Hardness has a way of becoming brittle, of snapping, or cutting. I love the gentleness of fog.

I imagine so does the turkey. I love Thanksgiving, but I do feel sorry for the turkey. They really are a beautiful bird. How unfortunate for them that they taste good. If I were a wild turkey, I'd be praying for fog every day. Take courage turkey- a day is coming when the lion will lie down with the lamb and we will all be eating angel food (we hope...) for Thanksgiving. Oh, and every day will be Thanksgiving. For ever and ever. There will be no more crying, dying, sighing, or denying. It will be glorious.

I seem to have an increasingly large circle of friends undergoing very hard circumstances. They are all trying very hard to persevere, to be brave, and are applauded for how hard they work to overcome. But I know some of them are tired. They want to give up. They want to crawl into a corner and cry, but then someone might not think they are a hero, and everyone needs to be a hero to someone. Maybe sometimes God sends the fog to shroud those bitter moments of despair, when all we can do is cry out to Him, not certain of any response. Just hiding in the fog with the turkey. I think God sometimes whispers in the fog, "It's ok, even on a day of Thanksgiving to wonder if you have been forsaken. There is hope, but I know you might not always feel it, and the bright cheery sun is an affront. Dear child of mine, I bring you the fog to hide your tears, and when you are ready, my arms are reaching out to comfort you. Your sighing is never hidden from Me."
Gobble, says the feathered friend in the fog.
"Oh yes, Me and the turkey are here with you."


Psalm 38: 8-9, 21-22
⁸ I am feeble and utterly crushed;
   I groan in anguish of heart.
 ⁹ All my longings lie open before you, Lord;
   my sighing is not hidden from you.
 ²¹ LORD, do not forsake me;
   do not be far from me, my God.
²² Come quickly to help me,

Finding Balance

The problem with unlimited possibilities is that there are too many parameters for a limited mind to consider. This year, the Science Olympiad helicopter can be built out of any material, and the only limiting factor is the rotors can't be longer than 35 cm. The rubber motor (think: twisted rubber band) could be any length and weight. We could have a 500 foot rubber band motoring our copter if we wanted. The organizers were anticipating flights of 3-4 minutes. So naturally, our team set about building a copter with a long motor stick to handle the long motor we intended to use. Ben's copter flew well, though not as long as we hoped. The torque in the motor stick seemed to be absorbing the energy. He will need to figure out how to brace it without adding much weight. Asherel's motor stick was a good foot or so long, and very sturdy. She weighed her copter- over 7 grams! Almost double the weight of Ben's. In the rubber powered copter world, this is a machine that needs a little Lean Cuisine. We thought it was not likely this behemoth would leave the ground even with the huge motor. We were correct.

And this is the essence of the problem for the helicopter designer. Weight vs. stability. Strong helicopters tend to be heavy. Heavy weights require massive energy to lift off. This is why elephants don't fly. Light helicopters are immensely fragile. It doesn't take much to get them off the ground, but it also doesn't take much to snap their skinny little spars and motor sticks, sending hard working Science Olympiads crying weeweewee all the way home. In addition, light copters tend to flex, absorbing energy that is needed for lift. The perfect balance has to be found.

Balance in life... Every school year I struggle with the perfect balance. I know what it takes to get a kid through all those highschool courses, but I also know that when they finish highschool and head off to college, they leave me behind. This is how it should be, but still, I want those fleeting days remaining with us to be joyful. How can they be joyful when one is required to learn quadratic equations and the process by which ions in the thylakoid lumen are pumped throught the ATP synthase to become ATP? There just aren't enough hours in the day to learn everything that needs to be learned, or to do all the wonderful extra activities that one yearns to do. And not only was the helicopter not flying, but the trebuchet arm was now hitting the edge of the frame and it might take major re-engineering to correct this problem. Too much! Too much! Somehow, impossibly, in my opinion, one must find a balance.

There are countless examples in the Bible of God's leaders collapsing before Him, and saying, the task you gave me is too much. Many, including the great prophet Elijah cry out, Just kill me now. At one time or another, we all quake with the impossibility of life's demands. God agrees. Often it is too much. We can't do it. But He also reminds us, we don't need to do it by ourselves. Again, I am reminded that God's strength, added to my weakness equals success. He may define success differently, but really, as I look at the results of my labor, and compare it with the results of His in the glorious blazing background of Autumn, I know whose definition I better be using.


Mark 10: 26-31
²⁶ The disciples were even more amazed, and said to each other, “Who then can be saved?”  ²⁷ Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.”
 ²⁸ Then Peter spoke up, “We have left everything to follow you!”
   ²⁹ “Truly I tell you,” Jesus replied, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel ³⁰ will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age: homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—along with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life. ³¹ But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”

Sharing in Troubles

While slicing my homemade bread, I inadvertently sliced open a finger and my thumb. I just hate it when that happens. I hurried to wrap bandages on the two fairly deep and throbbing cuts, and began to feel very sorry for myself. No one was even home to give me pity. Remaining optimistic is a moment by moment thing for me. It is so easy to let the little sliced open fingers of life pull me into a funk.

I ran into a friend at the grocery store that I haven't seen in months. She is one of those friends who no matter how many moons have slid into the ocean since last talking with me, we always start back in with conversation as though we had just seen each other yesterday. She was feeling stressed with life. Too much to do, too little time, too little reward. And yet, she told me, for now, if this is where God wanted her to be, then she would remember that pleasing Him was the most important thing for her to keep her focus on. We talked a long time, while the cashier glared at us. My friend had just finished checking out, and her cart was pulled out of the immediate way of exiting customers, but they did have to stream around us. We were rocks impeding the swift flow of the grocery clients out of the store and the cashier was clearly annoyed. My friend and I stood there for a half hour, talking about keeping our focus on pleasing God, not men. This was a good thing to keep our focus on, since now the customers and the cashier were shooting dagger looks at this chatty duo making them walk ten extra steps to veer around them.

"But it is day by day for me," said my friend, "I keep thinking if God would just put me in a better job, I wouldn't have all these temptations of anger and stress! But for now, this is where He seems to want me. And so each day, I find myself blowing it, and having to pray to God for forgiveness and strength."
I laughed, "It is moment by moment for me!"
And I went away encouraged by my friend, and her reliance on God. I felt buoyed by her reminder of where my focus should be. Then I sliced my fingers open, and my focus was on the pain and trouble again.

Philippians 4:
¹³ I can do all this through him who gives me strength.  ¹⁴ Yet it was good of you to share in my troubles.

Deuteronomy 11:
⁸ Observe therefore all the commands I am giving you today, so that you may have the strength to go in and take over the land that you are crossing the Jordan to possess, ⁹ and so that you may live long in the land the LORD swore to your ancestors to give to them and their descendants, a land flowing with milk and honey.

The Monster in the Room

Gloomy, rainy weekends are good for me. They make me stay inside and catch up on my neglected work from the busy school week....in theory. In reality, I finished a great novel, and took a nap. I never nap unless I am getting sick, so I fear my cough today and background headache may not be just a tickle in my throat. It could just be anxiety creeping in, much as I pray for God's assurance and peace. I think the fun part of unemployment is over for me. I am really hoping my dear hubby gets a job offer soon. But the job loss and all the issues surrounding that are only part of the monster in the room.

School is in full swing for us now, with all the extras added in. This means that our home is now in perpetual controlled chaos. I know that's not the way it is supposed to be, but when you are juggling seven balls, one is bound to drop now and then. The all purpose table in the sunroom is covered with a dismantled trebuchet and tools. The dining room table has the cutting board and vise awaiting the last few pieces that need to be cut for Asherel's homemade agility jumps. The counter has her leaf experiment and tools, and the three huge binders with her checklists and questions for the week. My computer desk has ten sticky notes, each with a reminder of some critical issue that I must deal with. The wall calendar has scribbles over every large space for every single day til May, with additional sheets taped to it with all the extra things we can't forget. The sink is uncharacteristically full of dishes, because I haven't gotten to unloading the dishwasher yet. When I pulled out the Orange Juice this morning, I wrote myself another little note: Clean Refrigerator. Then I glanced at all the little sticky notes about the bookstores and bloggers I need to contact to promote my book. And the one about the chapter I am editing on my new book... and the one about moving our lunch date with our old friend Comer to today. I coughed.

I am under attack. This sort of implosion in our home is not common. I am generally an uber-organizer. I detest clutter, and unfinished projects. But sometimes, it all piles up, and before I know it, I am deluged, and unable to swim to the surface. The start of the school year is often like this but I don't recall it feeling this desperate before.

Then, I glanced at the little note holder on the computer table. It was shoved to a back corner, behind the stack of  sticky note urgent reminders. The little blue note holder has a picture of a favorite symbol- the beloved bald eagle, and a verse:
But they that wait upon the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings as eagles;
They shall run and not be weary;
And they shall walk and not faint.
Isaiah 40:31

Sunday's sermon was about trusting and living one's faith when life seems impossible. The pastor reminded us that the Lord who could cast thousands of demons from the possessed man called Legion in the book of Mark, is able to deal with impossibilities. No matter how many monsters are attacking, none can ultimately overcome God's purpose for us. He is the alpha and omega- the beginning and the end. He is the beginning of all hope, all purpose, all life; and He is the end toward which all our struggles lead. If we keep that clearly in mind, the monsters have no power, at least not in the Battle that really matters; the battle for my soul.

I shifted the notes on my desk to the far corner, and placed my note holder with the verse from Isaiah in front of them.
"That's better," I thought.


Jeremiah 15:20
...they will fight against you
   but will not overcome you,
for I am with you
   to rescue and save you,”
            declares the LORD.

Against the Current

I always try to arrange our kayak adventures with friends such that if we are on the Catawba River, we time any upstream returns to dock such that the current is not amplified by the daily dam water flow release. When the dam is opened, the current becomes very strong, the water level rises, and those of us in the otherwise slow but steady inflatables now are slower and unsteady. Inflatables, being light and airy like marshmallow puffs, do not do super well in strong winds, or strong currents.

So the four of us were playing in the river and I was just about to warn them we had better head back upstream now, when Danielle pointed at the visibly rushing water swirling by.
"I think they opened the dam."

It was only 3 pm, and I had been told the dam is opened around 3:30.  I guess from now on I better head back at 2. Danielle and Asherel on the hard shell kayaks did fine, but Ben and I were straining like draft horses pulling a tank in our inflatables. It was slow and exhausting going. The last few hundred feet, Ben said, "I can't do it."
"You have to do it, Ben, " I warned, "You stop paddling now, you will just be swept back down the river."
We finally rounded the corner to our dock, where we saw Danielle and Asherel lying on their backs on shore, watching the birds fly overhead.

Fortunately, we had had enough fun up to that point that I think Ben still thought it was worth accompanying us that day.  But I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt it is more fun to paddle downstream than upstream. Normally the section we paddle is calm, and the current is barely noticeable,  but it cannot escape notice when the dam is opened.

As always, I think God was sending me a little reminder. There are times when despite our best preparation and organization, the dams in life open early, and we find ourselves struggling upstream against an unbearable current. The temptation is to stop paddling, stop trying, give up and cry and suck our thumb. But if we do that, we get swept back to places we are no longer supposed to be. The only hope of reaching shore is to just soldier on, ignore as best as possible the aching muscles, the growing thirst, and the rumbling stomach. And it is also not wise to watch the progress as we inch our way up the shore. It is best to keep our eyes on the goal and keep paddling as steadily as we can, however slowly. Perhaps one of the greatest discouragements is to compare our progress with that of travelers in different boats. Everyone reaches the shore at different times depending on a whole host of factors. We will reach the shore when we get there in the boat we began our journey. Wishing we were in a different boat only causes envy and despair on top of weariness. The parallel to life is hard to miss.

As we pulled into shore and with our last ounce of energy dragged our boats ashore, I looked up at the sky.
"A bald eagle!" I cried.
"Yep," said Danielle, "It sure looks like one. It has a white head."
"It's too small," said Ben.
I ignored him. I had just made it to shore and the eagle was my reward.

Jonah 2:3-6 NIV
You hurled me into the depths,
into the very heart of the seas,
and the currents swirled about me;
all your waves and breakers
swept over me. I said, 'I have been banished
from your sight;
yet I will look again
toward your holy temple.' The engulfing waters threatened me,
the deep surrounded me;
seaweed was wrapped around my head. To the roots of the mountains I sank down;
the earth beneath barred me in forever.
But you, Lord my God,
brought my life up from the pit.

Fiery Ordeals

One side of mouth:
"It has been a long time of a lot of work. I will be glad when it is over."
Other side of mouth:
"I'm sad it is ending."

These two statements came barely 24 hours apart, from the same 13 year old daughter over the same Science Olympiad work that ends this weekend with the State competition. Despair and delight. They are sometimes kissing cousins.


"I thought you were glad it is ending. I thought you were weary of all the work," I said.
"Well I am, but I will miss it too."
"We will make a point of seeing all your friends over the summer. We can take them kayaking."
She nodded.

But it isn't the same, even something as wonderful as kayaking. It is not the same as struggling together through what seem like insurmountable problems in areas  in which one has no knowledge or experience. It isn't the same, even something so beautiful and relaxing as kayaking through a shady inlet, as watching helicopter after helicopter smash to smithereens and stretching one's brain to understand how the design should be altered in an area that a few months ago, that brain would not have dared to travel. It isn't the same as being a team member, rebuilding a flinging machine week after week with hopes that the projectile will be flung forwards, not backwards....and then finally achieving success only to have the flinging arm break.

It isn't the same, peacefully lounging in the sun with the waves lapping against the hull, as crying one's eyes out because after 5 hours of painstaking work, the fragile structure breaks, and one must begin all over again. It isn't the same, exploring sun dappled coves with fragrant red flowers never seen before lining the shore while the kayak dips and bobs on gentle swells backwashed from the encounter with land, as lifting one's hand to release something you have crafted together and watching it soar to the peak of a glass ceiling where clouds and hawks circle just beyond. It isn't the same as firing a trebuchet, a word that was unknown to you just 9 months ago, a trebuchet you designed and built together and managed to erect without losing a single important body part, and then watching that trebuchet finally fling the projectile the full length of the driveway.

Resting from work is good....but it isn't the same as working beyond what you ever dreamed you could do, bearing struggles you felt were going to kill you, and coming out on the other side victorious.

Our Bible study was from 1 Peter 4. We spent the whole time discussing why the term "fiery ordeal" was used to describe the trials we should expect in our life walking with God. Why not just a less frightening term like "difficulties" or "struggles"? Who wants to know ahead of time that it will be a "fiery ordeal?" Given the choice, which of us would say wholeheartedly, "Send me into the furnace and burn me alive that I might emerge (if I emerge) stronger and purer?" I honestly believe I love God, however imperfectly, but personally, I think I could do without that fiery ordeal.

But to a small degree, that is what my Science Olympiad teams endured. It wasn't their health that was enduring anguish, but their time, their energy, their ability to persevere in a task that seemed impossible to accomplish, their working together withholding blame and acrimony when things went badly, and being generous in their praise and encouragement to the other when things went well. They may not have been vocally proclaiming Christ and suffering for their faith, but they were proclaiming him in character, as they struggled together through some very frustrating and desperate moments together. It would have been easy to give up, to scream, to be ugly and unkind....but they never were. All this for a 13 year old is a fiery ordeal of sorts. And now they are out of the furnace, and how funny that they will miss the heat.

1 Peter 4: 11-13
 ¹² Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. ¹³ But rejoice inasmuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed.

What is the wrench for?

I knew that as soon as she rode away I would forget the list of instructions if I didn't write them down. As the three horses traipsed happily off to the shady forest with my daughter bouncing merrily to her lesson, I looked at the wrench in my hand.
"I hope you were listening, Marie, because I don't remember why we have this wrench, do you?"
Marie was my accomplice in helping out at the farm while our daughters had their riding lesson.
"I wasn't really listening," said Maire.
"Well maybe when we head over there, we will figure it out."

Our job was to drain and clean the algae covered watering troughs. At least, that was the job as I remembered it. But then that wrench in my hand seemed to indicate there was something else we were supposed to do, but for the life of me, I could not remember how it involved the wrench. There was no water supply for the one trough, if I recalled Jill's instructions correctly, which as we have already established, I did not. We were given two buckets, scrub brushes, a large bottle of bleach, and 2 pairs of plastic gloves....and the wrench.

We had to empty the grungy green water first, so we used the buckets and bucket by bucket tossed out the water.
"I do remember we were to leave a little water in the bottom, pour bleach in around the rim so it dribbles down and cleans the sides, and then scrub."
So I began to pour the bleach down the sides. I wasted half a bottle of bleach missing the sides. I was already having a bad day having tried to play Eidelweiss from memory on my guitar. I have been practicing it for 2 months now. I can't even consistently remember the first 6 notes, and struggle to pluck the right string without looking at it. I had been reduced to tears of frustration, and Asherel, who is teaching me, told me that for now it was ok if I didn't do any other music at all except Eidelweiss.
"That would be a good idea," I sniffled.
And now, I was wasting Jill's bleach because I couldn't pour steadily on the trough rim. And there was still that wrench, menacingly gaping its open jaws at me from the lawn beside us.

Marie and I scrubbed the trough which was so full of noxious bleach fumes that I could feel my hair turning white (r) as I breathed in. We cleaned it til every last bit of algae was gone. Then together, we hefted the huge trough over to drain the last bit of water.
"How do we refill it?"
"Or rinse it?"
The water pump was a good distance back at the barn.
"Well how about if we just get a couple of buckets full to rinse it, and then Jill might be back."
"Yes, and we will have to admit we don't know what the wrench is for.And that I wasted half her bleach."
We trudged back with our sloshing buckets, rinsed the trough, and then dumped it again by together tipping it and laboriously tossing water into it from that awkward angle. Satisfied we rolled it back, and that is when I noticed the drain...with a nut the perfect size for a wrench to open. Oh.

And I realized that most of my life, I ignore or forget that I have a wrench always available to help me through the hard parts, but I struggle to the point of despair on my own, not using the one useful tool I have been provided. As I settled into bed last night, I felt waves of sorrow wash over me, and panic about the upcoming State Science Olympiad, teaching calculus to my homeschooled girl when I never took calculus myself and this week could not figure out partial factors using induction, all the little details of the wedding trip and reservations still to be made, the dental appointment coming up, the 9th grade curriculum to be ordered.... I thought of how when Marie asked how I was, I said, "I am weary." No wonder, wrestling every night with all these rusted pipes of life with my bare hands.

After stewing for an hour, I grabbed my iPod from beside my bed and saw a new message. It was my daily Bible reading that pops up every morning. Must be after midnight, I thought. And there was a verse which as soon as I read it, my heart slowed, my panic retreated, and I fell asleep. The verse could have been, "Jesus is the light, the way, and the wrench...." but it wasn't.  It was a simple verse from Jeremiah, reminding me that I was not alone, and there was a source of relief for my weary soul....the wrench I too often forget.

 Jeremiah 31:25
I will satisfy the weary, and all who are faint I will replenish.

Tangles of Life

Our Science Olympiad Helicopter team devised a clever way to retrieve our helicopters when they got stuck in the gym rafters. They tied fishing line to a big fat rubberband. Then Asherel positioned me, with my arms outstretched above my head, one end of the rubber band under my finger nail. She then lay on the floor, pulling the other end of the rubber band as far as she could and carefully aiming.
"Move left Mom! Not that left! The other left! Now forward. Too far! Back. Now don't move."
Then the rubber band would shoot up, twanging past my ear with its line of fishing string trailing, like a harpoon. We found the fishing line critical since we were losing too many rubber bands in the rafters. When they would finally hit the helicopter, they would tug on the fishing line and haul in the catch.

The only difficulty with this ingenious helicopter retrieval system is that no matter how carefully we put away our rubberband harpoon, the line always tangled when we needed it next.We could waste half our practice session untangling the fishing line. Fishing line is one of the most impossible materials to untangle. The only thing more difficult to untangle is life.

I won't share the specifics, but yesterday was one of those tangled life days that looked impossible to untangle. Just when we thought we were beginning to ease the knots a little in some fairly important aspects of our sojourn here on earth,  new undesirable events tugged in just the wrong direction. When I stopped blowing my nose and dabbing at my eyes, all I could see were hopeless, insurmountable tangles.

Our helicopter team discovered there were only two ways to untangle fishing line. The easiest is to just cut away the knot. Sometimes you can lose as much as half the line or more. I usually opt for the 'cut away the knot' method, but the kids have more patience, and something inside them just won't let them snip the errant section off. Instead, while I cross my arms, and tap my toes, and twiddle my fingers against my elbows, they methodically and carefully start at one end, and untie every tangle until we have at least enough line to shoot our rubberband harpoon again.

In the tangles of life, most of the time I can't use method one. It means cutting away my heart, or the equivalent, since it usually involves a loved one. I am stuck with method two. Slowly, laboriously, patiently starting at the first knot and with bloodied fingers, working it free....then moving onto the next.

In the midst of life knot untying yesterday, Asherel asked me to practice guitar with her. I am a horrid guitar player, but I do love it. Asherel is a good teacher and told me to pick a favorite song that I would love to practice. She would help me learn it. I spent a couple of days thinking about it. And then I told her I would like to learn "Eidelweiss".  I really didn't feel like leaving the tangled knots of life I was working on, even to practice Eidelweiss, but Asherel begged me. So I settled next to my dear daughter who finger plucked the melody while I strummed the chords and sang. My voice cackles and cracks more than it used to when my dad and I would belt it out on our Sunday drives. I have to strain to reach the high notes.... but some of the sadness of the day did melt away as I sang and made music with my girl.

The song is a simple one. It has a sweet simple melody and easy chords. It is about a flower. The Eidelweiss plant originated on the harsh steppes of Asia. It was able to survive there because of deep, fibrous roots, and also a felt like covering on its leaves. The deep roots help it to cling to the soil through the harsh winds of the steppes, and the covering of the leaves prevents scorching from the often brutal sun. In the movie, The Sound of Music, the song Eidelweiss becomes the anthem of freedom, love of homeland and family, the strength to persevere in the face of impossible circumstances.

"Can we videotape this song of you and me singing?" I asked Asherel. The girl who hates to have her picture taken finally acquiesced when I grovelled at her feet.
"Please, it would mean so much to me...and to my mom. It's her favorite song. I'll send her the video."
So we sang and played Eidelweiss about a thousand times. Sometimes we would start and she would miss a note. Take 2. Sometimes I would play the wrong chord.Take 3. Sometimes I would be unable to suppress unexplained laughter and we would have to cut and begin again.Take 4, 5, 6, etc. After about 290 takes, we finally got one that didn't sound too awful. As we watched the playback, I cringed. Is that old, serious looking lady really me? Why did it sound so beautiful while I was singing it? The American Idol judges would not only call it "pitchy," but I am pretty sure they would threaten to resign unless someone cut out my vocal cords immediately and fed them to the sharks before they could inflict more pain and suffering.

I may not send it to my mom. I may wait til the science of vocal transplant has been perfected. The tangles I was working on were still there when we finished our guitar lesson. But of their own accord, some of the knots seemed a little less tight. I will try to be an Eidelweiss, I decided.

After all, my roots are deep and I am covered.

Jeremiah 17: 7-8
 ⁷ “But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD,
   whose confidence is in him.
⁸ They will be like a tree planted by the water
   that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
   its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
   and never fails to bear fruit.”

The times, they are a changin'

Every leaf that flutters by the front door causes an eruption of barking. We keep a squirt bottle labeled "No Bark Spray" by the front door. It is filled with highly noxious bark deterrent spray, chemically known as H2O. However, it only momentarily deters the barking.

"Have you tried adding vinegar to it?" asked Asherel.
"No, that just seems cruel."
"That's what the dog experts recommend."
"Then our dogs and house will smell like vinegar. That's worse than the barking."

The breeze blew and a twig skittered across the lawn. The dogs sensing the imminent Armageddon sure to follow again pierced our tiny ear drums with their vociferous warning.

We squirted them with the Bark Deterrent Spray, and collapsed heavily into the living room chairs.
"This is getting old," I pronounced, "How long have we been trying to change this behavior? Three years? When do you think they will change?"

Change is hard.

I taught my art class this week and one of my very talented artists sketched in a face she was drawing using a magazine picture as her guide. She is beyond the level of just drawing the roughly correct shapes. She needs guidance in more careful drawing of exactly what she sees. I told her she had drawn it beautifully, but she had drawn a face-on model, and the picture was of a model with her head turned. I held a ruler down the center of her picture and down the center of the model's face.
"See how much larger this side of the model's face is than this side? That's because her face is turned. Now do that with your picture."
She put the ruler on her picture and saw she equally divided the face.

"Can we just pretend the model is looking right at us?" she begged.
"You could," I said, "But then all your picture will be out of your head. Every single feature is drawn differently when the angle of the face changes. You will have to guess how to draw it. It won't be drawing what you see. My advice is to change it now before you get too far or every aspect of it will be a struggle."
She looked close to tears. I felt bad. Perhaps I should've just let it go. It is always touchy knowing how far to push my better students. But inevitably when they finish the picture if I don't help them correct those initial errors, they are dissatisfied, and by then, it is too late to do much more than say the change needed to be made long ago.

When I brought Comer to Evelyn in the Alzheimer unit yesterday, she looked up listlessly as we approached. There was no sparkling glow of recognition, no spreading smile of delight. I actually feared she was dead at first, her eyes looked so lifeless.
"Hey Mama," said Comer gently, pulling her up, "Stand up. Vicky is here to take us for a ride."
"Would you like to go for a ride?" I asked, "The wisteria are blooming."
"Go for a ride...." she said weakly, "Blooming...."
She walked between us and when we reached the elevator, she glanced at Comer.
"Oh," she said, "I love you so much!"
" I love you too, " smiled her dear old husband.
We got McDonald's icecream, which Evelyn ate with gusto and we drove to the millionaire development with streets and streets of mansions. We all pointed at the houses we loved, and oohed and aahed over the magnificence, the opulence.
Evelyn sat in the front seat with her icecream, and a smile on her face. She laughed at Comer's jokes, and then out of the blue asked me how much I felt my house was worth.

When we dropped her back at the Alzheimers building, and headed on to the Assisted Living apartment Comer lived in, he said sadly he didn't feel she was long for this world. She had stopped eating, the nurses said.
"She ate the icecream happily enough!" I said, surprised.
"I don't know why," said Comer, "But I have an overwhelming sense of guilt."
I'd like to say I knew exactly what words to offer that would explain, comfort.... but I didn't.
"You are doing all you can for her," I told him gently, "You are doing your best. That is all you can do."
He nodded and I saw him soundlessly crying as he shuffled off to the front door of his building.
I hopped out of the car and hurried past men carrying a mattress out of the building. It crossed my mind that someone must have died, and their furniture was being taken away. I caught up with Comer and hugged him again.
"You are doing the best you can," I told him again.

Change is hard. It is hard for dogs; it is hard for children struggling to learn new things; and it is hard for old folk struggling to adapt to a world that makes no sense and brings so much pain. Most of us kick and scream and rail against change. There is one final change we will all undergo, and that is the one we should keep our sights on. Our mortal body will be exchanged one final time for an immortal one.  I am hoping for a leggy, shapely blond one who always says the right things and knows how to comfort with a single word.

1 Corinthians 15: 50-58
 ⁵⁰ I declare to you, brothers and sisters, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. ⁵¹ Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— ⁵² in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. ⁵³ For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. ⁵⁴ When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”
 ⁵⁵ “Where, O death, is your victory?
   Where, O death, is your sting?”
 ⁵⁶ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. ⁵⁷ But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
 ⁵⁸ Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.

A Cord of Three Strands

It was 3:30 and we were done with all our school work. We blinked at each other. How could this be? This whole year, not only have we never finished school before dinner time, but in addition, Asherel has spent every weekend either building helicopters, repairing broken helicopters, testing trebuchets, writing speeches, or preparing for an art contests. It has been about as relaxing as punching oneself in the head over and over and over.

However... the helicopters are now ready, boxed, and labeled carefully, packed in a bag awaiting transfer to the car early Saturday. The trebuchet is already in the car, with the beautiful black duct tape covering with orange and green flame detailing Asherel made. If it doesn't win at flinging things, it should win "Best Dressed Trebuchet." All the art entries are in for this year awaiting judging, and her last speech for gavel club is one she could probably give in her sleep. 

We let out a collective sigh.

It has been a hard year. It is hard to believe that the hard work is over. Her regular school schedule is a piece of cake with all these extras removed. Would we do it again? I find myself asking that often when I have survived any grueling, excruciating endeavor....be it academic, work, or relational. When I am in the midst of it, I almost always respond with a resounding "NO!".  But when I am nearing the end, or through the ordeal..... I invariably begin to notice the things I gained along the way that I had not noticed while gasping for breath in the midst of it all.

Things like the people we encountered and even befriended along the way. Or the patience we developed that we never knew we had. Or the ability to hold our tongue and let fun invade the precious few moments of work time we had. Or the ability to hold the fun when the work was tedious and hard and yet we had to slog on anyway. Or the ability to tolerate frustration beyond what was fair or bearable....or reaching the breaking point, and seeing that being broken is not really the worst that could happen. Or failing time after time after time, and then procuring the faintest glimmer of success that would never have satisfied us at the outset, but is strangely monumental in the darkness of perpetual defeat. Or recognizing that if helicopters don't fly, and trebuchets don't fling, the sun still rises and sets, and God is still in every spring flower.

That's when we realize we would probably do it again. I suppose in a way, it is like asking, if given the choice, would I rather not have been born?  There are moments when I would answer, yes, life is just too hard. It would have been better not to have had to endure it. Poor Solomon in his lament, Ecclesiastes, reaches that conclusion. The presence of oppression, unbearable evil, meaningless toil, envy, and discontent made Solomon conclude the one who never was born to see all that was the luckier soul. He talks about how at least if two travel the road of hardship together, there is someone to pick you up or keep you warm but one traveling alone is easily overpowered. And then suddenly, after talking about the power of two to at least survive, there is a change in tone and terminology that strikes me as odd. With no warning after this litany of depression and despair, Solomon says, "A strand of three cords is not quickly broken."  Three? We were talking about two just a second ago. Who is this third? And I thought life was a meaningless chasing after the wind.... what is this sudden declaration of hope?

In case I have fooled anyone, I am not a Bible scholar, though I play one on this blog. But I love the Bible and I love the daily dose of delight and guidance I find there. This is what I think Solomon realized that I have realized more and more as I struggle in life. No one can do it alone, and even more importantly, no one can do it without God. That third strand, I think, is God.

Ecclesiastes 4

Oppression, Toil, Friendlessness

 ¹ Again I looked and saw all the oppression that was taking place under the sun:    I saw the tears of the oppressed—
   and they have no comforter;
power was on the side of their oppressors—
   and they have no comforter.
² And I declared that the dead,
   who had already died,
are happier than the living,
   who are still alive.
³ But better than both
   is the one who has never been born,
who has not seen the evil
   that is done under the sun.
 ⁴ And I saw that all toil and all achievement spring from one person’s envy of another. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
 ⁵ Fools fold their hands
   and ruin themselves.
⁶ Better one handful with tranquillity
   than two handfuls with toil
   and chasing after the wind.
 ⁷ Again I saw something meaningless under the sun:
 ⁸ There was a man all alone;
   he had neither son nor brother.
There was no end to his toil,
   yet his eyes were not content with his wealth.
“For whom am I toiling,” he asked,
   “and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?”
This too is meaningless—
   a miserable business!
 ⁹ Two are better than one,
   because they have a good return for their labor:
¹⁰ If either of them falls down,
   one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
   and has no one to help them up.
¹¹ Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
   But how can one keep warm alone?
¹² Though one may be overpowered,
   two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

2 Centimeters to spare

With a week to go til competition day, I remeasured the trebuchet. It had to fit in a 75 cm. box to be legal for competition.  I didn't have a 75 cm box so I measured as best I could. It was difficult as there was no easy way to accurately measure over all the bumps and latticed wood. However, it did not look promising.
"74.9999 cm," I said to Asherel.
"That's cutting it pretty close," she said.

We were in a difficult position. If we changed anything to make it fit without a doubt, all our data would be inaccurate. Accurate data was key to this event. But if we were over 75 cm in any measurement, we would be "second tiered." This means that while we would not be technically disqualified, it would mean no shot at placing.

I know what you all are thinking. Great coach that measures a week before the big day. But actually, I had measured many times. The launch pin was slowly bending and also, we had had to change our sling trigger position at the last minute when it broke. Thus, we were now in the position of being unsure if we would qualify.

So our partner made a 75 cm box, which would have helped except the box was really too floppy to be of any use. All it really proved was that our trebuchet would fit in a floppy box.
"Push it against the wall," said Asherel, "Then I will put a board on this end. We can get an accurate measure of its longest point then."
She was right. (Why had I not thought of that? Perhaps I am spending too much time in the Alzheimer unit.)
So we did and with a huge sigh of relief saw we had not one, but two, TWO whole centimeters to spare. We danced a little jig. At least I did. Asherel just rolled her eyes.

So we have our last hoorah of skiing today, to celebrate our year of discontent. Then we check our Science Olympiad list and gather supplies. We have final testing of our machines over the week, and then the big day that we have been preparing for 9 months to conquer will arrive Saturday.
This year of the hardest work we have possibly ever done academically will end with  a total of about 30 minutes of contests between our 3 events.

At least Noah got a good few months to use the boat he struggled so mightily to build. Our labors will end with maybe a two minute helicopter flight (if we are very lucky), and a 16 meter toss of the trebuchet that will then have no more reason to exist.

Sometimes a moment is long enough. Sometimes it is all you get. When Ezra the prophet finds his people returning to sin, after being granted a reprieve from God to rebuild their temple in Jerusalem....he notes that all they had was a moment, a brief moment to shine....to do the right thing. They did not, but he begged them to leave their backsliding life, and make that brief moment a holy one before God.

And so my prayer for our team is that our moment, our brief moment will be the best moment we can give, consecrated to God. All we have are 2 cm of wiggle room and 2 minutes to make an impact. I know God probably doesn't much care if our helicopter flies, or if our trebuchet flings, but I am quite certain He cares that we live the moment He gives us fully and righteously in the space allotted to us. And as always, leave the results to Him.

Ezra 9: 8-9
⁸ “But now, for a brief moment, the LORD our God has been gracious in leaving us a remnant and giving us a firm place in his sanctuary, and so our God gives light to our eyes and a little relief in our bondage. ⁹ Though we are slaves, our God has not forsaken us in our bondage. He has shown us kindness in the sight of the kings of Persia: He has granted us new life to rebuild the house of our God and repair its ruins, and he has given us a wall of protection in Judah and Jerusalem.

Joy of her Life

We walked into the Alzheimer's unit. Most of the residents were sleeping in chairs in front of a television. One sat across the room, awake, looking straight ahead, arms folded on her lap. Her eyes were vacant, staring at nothing. As my friend, her husband, moved towards her, her eyes slowly focused and her sad face brightened. As though a light were turned on within, the occupants suddenly flooding home gaily, her smile shattered the old landscape. She beamed at him with recognition.
"Your husband is here!" said a nurse.
"My husband!" repeated Evelyn.
Komer hugged his wife. He had been felled by two strokes and then pneumonia. He had been unable to visit her for a long time, and I know his greatest fear was she would no longer know him. Prior to the strokes, he had lived in an independent facility just around the corner from Evelyn. He had used a motorized chair to rumble over to see her every day. Now, he had no way to get to her from the much further assisted living portion of the grounds where he had to be moved. His visits would be dependent on a busy family...and friends. Evelyn had an excuse if she forgot him. I realized I had none.

"You remember Vicky?" Komer asked Evelyn, "Our neighbor Vicky?"
Evelyn looked at me, and repeated, "Neighbor Vicky....."
"You look beautiful, Evelyn!" I said, taking her small hand in mine.
"You look beautiful...too," she said.
We walked to her room and as she sat down, she hugged Komer again and said, "You look beautiful."
She sat on the edge of her bed and peered at me. Then she smiled, "Vicky- our neighbor from next door." She looked deeply in my eyes and I felt she remembered me and was trying to seal that memory in her failing brain.
I stayed only a few minutes and told them I would leave them now for as long as they would like and return when Komer was ready to head home.
Then I drove around, crying like a baby.

Komer had told me a few weeks back that his heart was breaking.
"She is alive," he said, "But there is no joy in her life."
Then he wept.

When I returned to pick him up, the nurse helped him out of the door and he slowly came to the car. As he slid in, I asked if he had a nice visit.
"It was tiring," he said, "She won't sit still. Every second she would get up and wander. I had to keep bringing her back."
"Well sounds like you got your exercise!" I said.
I returned Komer to his apartment, and as I walked him to the door, I told him, "Komer, remember how you told me Evelyn had no joy in her life? I think you were wrong. Did you see how she smiled when she saw you walk in today? Komer, you bring Evelyn joy."
He bowed his head, and cried softly.
"Would you like me to bring you again tomorrow, after we get back from church?"
He nodded quickly, "Please!"

I hugged Komer goodbye, and asked if it would be ok if I prayed with him. As I hugged him, I reminded him that the Lord who loves us longed for us to be with Him through all eternity, with bodies that didn't give out, never forgot a loved one, and would no more suffer. And the joy of our lives would be with us always.

He shuffled slowly away, his cane tapping the pavement like a beating heart.

Psalm 90:13-15

 ¹³ Relent, LORD! How long will it be?
   Have compassion on your servants.
¹⁴ Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
   that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
¹⁵ Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
   for as many years as we have seen trouble.

Isaiah 49: 15-16

¹⁵ “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
   and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
   I will not forget you!
¹⁶ See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
   your walls are ever before me.

Not only the arm of flesh with us

Per the agent's instructions, I downloaded her template for my "updated proposal" and began to cut and paste from my apparently outdated proposal. Fortunately I had all the information, so it was not as though I were starting from scratch. Still, it is an overwhelming process. Especially when I reach sections like "Published Work."

I have to be very creative in these sections, because I have only sought publication with my two books I have written. I included "letters to the Editors" in this section. I realize this is a glaring deficiency but I did the best with what I had.

I finished reworking the proposal after a full day of hard work. What made it hard is the last vestiges of the nasty cold were still hanging on, and I had to blow my nose every few seconds or risk dripping on the keyboard. My head pounded, and really, I probably should have just spent one more day recovering instead of pursuing my life dream. But I finished and then wrote the agent telling her I would send it after I had looked it over more carefully. I did have a question. From what I could see, there was no section for a book synopsis. I found this strange since one would think publishers would want to know what the book was about....wouldn't they? Perhaps this was what made my proposal outdated? At any rate, was I missing something?

I sent the email and tiredly went to bed, eyes aching, throat raw.  In the morning, I felt much better and opened the agent's proposal template again to make sure I had included all the elements in my revised proposal before I sent it. And I had.....except I had completely missed the first 5 pages of the agent's template, including of course, the section for book title, author name, and synopsis.

Laying my head down, I softly pounded my fist against my numb brain. How had I missed that? I can see overlooking a paragraph....but 5 pages? I just didn't see how even in my compromised state of health I could have missed 5 pages....and the first 5 pages at that. Where all the critical introductory things appeared like a synopsis.... the same synopsis I had written an email to the agent about....wondering why her template didn't include a synopsis.

"I have just blown it," I groaned, "My last shot. The one agent who seemed to really want to give me a chance....despite my weak platform and my published work including letters to the editor."
I quickly wrote the agent and told her I don't know how I had missed it, but somehow I had. Chalk it up to illness. I would continue to rework my proposal and send it when done.

She didn't write back. I know she is busy- busy with authors that read carefully and thoughtfully and know that a proposal has to have a synopsis. Still, as Asherel reminded me, it is done and I can't take it back, so just move on. Today I will finish reworking the proposal, and pray it is not an exercise in futility.

While I was working, so was Asherel. She was concentrating with furrowed brow, hair falling across her face, and sanding the motor stick of the new helicopter she is designing. Her goal is to keep the helicopter to the bare minimum weight allowed by Science Olympiad, which is 4 grams. In case you have no concept of how light that is, that is the weight of 4 paper clips. Her helicopter that flew so well was 4 1/2 grams, but it broke. It is very hard to make something so light also be strong. That is the engineering challenge before the team,  with the added caveat that it has to fly. There have been many failures, many set backs, many tears.
It is very tempting to bag the whole thing, and just settle on the couch and eat potato chips.


King Hezekiah of the Bible is one of those kings that I relate to. He had moments of inspiration and greatness, but then plummets to depths only ingrained character flaws can carry one. He is someone who struggles mightily in his faithful walk, and sometimes he succeeds, and often he fails. I love characters like Hezekiah. It is not that I love imperfection- actually I hate it- but it is something I can honestly aspire to. Hezekiah is real.

In 2 Chronicles, the evil king of Assyria, Sennacherib has laid seige to Jerusalem. His army is far more powerful than Hezekiah's army. He is a savvy antagonist, and while laying seige to Jerusalem, taunts the people inside trying to undermine their hope. He understands that hope is sometimes all that keeps us fighting on.  So he calls out to the beleaguered Israelites:
 ¹³ “Do you not know what I and my predecessors have done to all the peoples of the other lands? Were the gods of those nations ever able to deliver their land from my hand? ¹⁴ Who of all the gods of these nations that my predecessors destroyed has been able to save his people from me? How then can your god deliver you from my hand? ¹⁵ Now do not let Hezekiah deceive you and mislead you like this. Do not believe him, for no god of any nation or kingdom has been able to deliver his people from my hand or the hand of my predecessors. How much less will your god deliver you from my hand!”

He plants doubt firmly in the minds of the beseiged. But here, Hezekiah rises to one of his scattered moments of greatness.  He understands the source of his strength and his hope and reminds his people:
⁷ “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or discouraged because of the king of Assyria and the vast army with him, for there is a greater power with us than with him. ⁸ With him is only the arm of flesh, but with us is the LORD our God to help us and to fight our battles.” And the people gained confidence from what Hezekiah the king of Judah said.

As I settle down to finish my proposal today, and Asherel slowly sands micrograms off her helicopter motor stick, it will be good to meditate on that verse....there is a greater power with us and He will help us fight our battles.

2 Chronicles 20:12
For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”

Mountains

Honeybun and I sat at the hotel room sliding glass door,watching the sun set behind the mountains before us. We had encountered no snow and no black ice and no wind to blow us off the mountain. Our trip had been uneventful. God seems to know when my spirit can bear no more.

Right before leaving, I had found out some very bad news about a dear friend. Hearing the horror of what she will need to endure made all my concerns so frivolous.

So I am sitting in front of the vista of mountains upon mountains and thinking of the agonizing journey before my friend. And praying. Sometimes that is the best you can do.

And be grateful of course. Be grateful for every beautiful sunset you are blessed to see, for every mountain you've been given the strength to climb, for every hard working husband who drags himself to work each day, for every distant son who surprises you and texts a brief hello, for every diligent college boy who calls with news of excellent grades, for every daughter who loves to train her dog to leap over jumps and skitter through tunnels on command, for every dog that lies at your feet snoring all night.

He who made the joyful easy things made the painful hard things too. How can we accept the one and not trust Him in the other? Meanwhile friends, it is very hard to do so, and I am praying.

Psalm 3:4 NIV

I call out to the Lord,
and he answers me from his holy mountain.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Keeping my cells aligned

It's not like the view outside our yard is a whole lot better than what is inside our fence. There are no sparkling lakes down the street in which to swim. There are no purple mountains majesty to scale. There is no reason, not one, for our stupid dog to want to keep escaping. I walk him several miles a day. He is fed delicious food and has clean water always available. He has a large yard with trees and squirrels, and a dog door that gives him access to it.

"What is your reason this time?"I asked him. Lucky hung his head.

I had been asleep at 6:00 but Arvo had been up...woken earlier by Lucky pushing his nose against the bedroom door.  While Arvo was eating breakfast, Lucky had escaped over the backyard fence, and raced off while a dog walker went by and the dog erupted in barking, which alerted poor Arvo who then sprinted after Lucky. He later found a place along the back fence where Lucky had pushed the extended wire down, the wire meant to make the fence unscalable.

For the past three nights, an owl has visited nearby. As soon as he begins his mournful, "whowho who who", Lucky dashes outside barking loud enough to warn the neighbors even beyond the group that is petitioning to have dogs banned from our home. We had tried the citronella bark collar some years ago- a collar that squirts citronella up a dog's snout each time he barks. It worked until he learned to bark til the citronella was gone with a quick series of lemon scented eruptions. Then it, like our fence climbing solutions, was useless.

We don't know what else to do. We will have to crate him at night.... which means buying a crate instead of a nice dress for Matt's wedding.  Then we will have to dig a moat around the fence and fill it with crocodiles. I just see no other solution.

Sometimes problems seem unsolvable. Answers just don't parade in bright colors before me, and life, at least temporarily seems to be nothing but struggle. The barking/escaping dog is just one example.  When there is one irritant constantly pricking the calm surface of existence, it makes all the other irritants even more pressing, more daunting.

My friend recently sent me an article that shows photos of water molecules before and after encouraging, kind words are spoken to the water. In the pre-kindness photos, the water molecules are dark and in disarray, ugly. In the post-kindness photos, the water molecules are beautiful geometric arrangements. Now I did notice that in the post-kindness photos, the water molecules had 6 points.... suspiciously like snowflakes. I also could not find any corroboration that this article was more than a nice but  fabricated bit of mood boosting poppycock. However, I do know that when one thing is perpetually eating away at you, all things seem to become more difficult to handle. It doesn't take a scientific examination of molecular structure to know that my molecules are not happy about the perennially escaping dog.  And that nagging problem that is lurking in the back of my mind colors the whole panorama of life.

I think that is why Jesus warns us , "In this world you will have troubles...."  He doesn't want us to be caught unawares. He doesn't tell us we might struggle....He tells us we WILL.  He knows our molecular structure will be in disarray. But He also knows how to pull all our ugly cells back into beautiful and glorious harmony with the only words of encouragement that I have ever known to truly work....

"But take heart! I have overcome the world."

With my cells aligned, I go forth to overcome the dog.

John 16:33
³³"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."