Journey

7 things I learned about spray paint today.

2011-08-09T17:20:00.004-04:00

A few thoughts that I happened to be mulling over while painting my bedroom furniture today.

In no particular order:

-There should be a 24-hour waiting period for impulsive people wishing to buy spraypaint (but manufacturers know this would drastically reduce their sales, so they quash all attempts at reform). I may lobby for this legislation to protect myself from future projects.

-There's a reason they warn about proper ventilation on the can. Seriously. And not just for breathing. When the particles are aerosolized in a place with no wind (ie my sunken patio), they are automatically attracted to living things. At least now I look like I have a tan for the first time in my life.

-Spraypaint acts like superglue, cementing large quantities of dirt to the soles of bare feet. But the bare feet are black with paint and look more like bear feet anyway. The problem is how to get across the white carpet to the bathtub...

-Spraypaint makes the inside of your nose feel crinkly.

-Spraypaint reacts with chemicals in boogers to render them rock-solid and immovable, no matter how hard you blow. (Normal Kleenex or toilet tissue is not sufficient for rigorous excavation... you'll need Bounty paper towels or napkins)

-A fan helps with the air movement problem, but only if pointed AWAY from your project.

-No matter how wonderful of a job you do on the other surfaces, the top (or most visible) will look splotchy. This problem cannot be solved by tilting or rotating the surface; the paint KNOWS which side you most want to look nice and purposely avoids it.

Church signs, Calvary Road, and a lot of Love

2011-07-15T11:46:00.004-04:00

Driving past a little church today I smirked at their marquee-lettered sign: "God is love, love is of God." But that little sign did what it was supposed to do. It made me think about the verses it was based on, and in a flash I understood something I had never quite understood before.

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and everyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God for God is love.--1 John 4:7-8

I have always had a problem with these verses. I mean, not everyone who loves is born of God. Most people have at least one person they love; does that mean most people are born of God? No, surely not. Can an emotion really identify who is born of God? I don't really think so. What about all those people who say they love someone and then change their minds? Was that really love that was "of God?" I think we'd agree that the answer is no. But then what do these verses mean?

To begin with, is love really a feeling? Is love the mushy-gushies? The skipping of your heart when a certain person walks in the room? The combination of physical and personal attraction? Most of us would agree that movies and television may not be the best guides to living life (except the totally realistic shows like MacGyver, right?), but whether we realize it or not our ideas of love are influenced by scriptwriters, actors, and actresses. One thing that can help counteract all these unhealthy influences is a healthy family. I am very blessed to have a Mom and Dad who not only told us about what love is, but showed us. One thing Dad always said was that love is a choice. You make a choice to love someone and then you do, whether you feel like it or not, whether it's easy or not, no matter what happens or changes in your life. He pointed out to us from a very young age that "falling in love" was a temporary feeling; that we needed to guard our hearts until we found the person that God wanted us to choose to love forever. My brother Daniel even incorporated that idea into his wedding vows. So while the motion picture industry continues to bombard us with the idea that mushy-gushy love leads to happily ever after, the truth remains unchanged: love is a choice.

But what does it mean to choose to love?

Our community group is going through Roy Hession's book Calvary Road. It's only 107 pages as a mass market paperback (not including the appendix), and the average chapter is around 10 pages. But it is chock full of spiritual truth about personal revival, with an emphasis on rooting out the sin in our lives. This past week we discussed chapter 6, Revival in the Home. Mr. Hession says the second biggest problem we have in our homes is failure to love.

Love is not just a sentimental feeling, nor even a strong passion... The famous passage in 1 Corinthians 13 tells us what real love is... Love is long-suffering [patient] and is kind. Love vaunteth not itself [does not boast] is not puffed up [is not conceited]. Love does not behave itself unseemly [is not rude], seeketh not her own [is not selfish], is not easily provoked [does not get irritated], thinketh no evil [does not entertain unkind thoughts of another].

Love is a choice. But it isn't just a one-time choice, it is a thousand choices a day, hundreds of opportunities where we can choose to act in love or in selfishness. Will you choose to be patient when you find your husband's socks in the middle of the floor? Will you choose not to boast/rub it in that you yourself always use the hamper? Will you determine not to be easily provoked? Will you choose not to entertain unkind thoughts about him? Love is coming to this crossroad hundreds of times a day and choosing to take the unselfish, un-self-centered path. Love is this action of choosing.

Driving home today I suddenly realized that this is the kind of love that is born of God, and everyone who loves this way is born of God. It's not easy. It's not just a diet of depriving yourself of what you want every once in a while; it's a lifestyle change. It's something we can't do without God's grace and empowerment. Actually, the apostle John explains a little bit further, making it pretty clear:

This is how God showed his love among us: he sent his one and only son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.

And whether you're single or married, on your own or living at home, the next verse is a challenge for all your relationships. With co-workers, friends, neighbors, in the context of love as the million choices we can make in a day:

Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.

Zacchaeus was a wee little man...

2011-07-06T10:22:00.003-04:00

If you grew up in church, or watched Larry's Wonderful World of Autotainment, you have heard this song:

Zaccheus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he
He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see
And as the Savior passed that way He looked up in the tree
And He said, "Zacchaeus, you come down! For I'm coming to your house for tea...Yes I'm coming to your house for tea."

(Thanks to my mom, in our Sunday School we learned the British version; "for tea" rhymes with "tree" and fits better than "today.")

Until this morning, I never really thought much about Zacchaeus. Growing up, I thought it was funny to hear a story about an adult climbing up a tree so that he could see. Today, reading in Luke 19, I started thinking about him more. What was his story? What was he thinking? What was he feeling?

In our Monday night community group a couple of weeks ago we talked about thirsting for God. Jeremiah 29:12 says:

You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.

Scott shared a story he'd heard about a young man and his mentor who were discussing the beatitude, "blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness." The young man wanted to know what it was to really thirst for God. They happened to be walking by a lake while they talked, and the older man suggested they stop and get a drink. The young man bent over the water and reached out his hand, when suddenly his mentor grabbed him by the head and thrust his face under the water. The young man struggled but the older man was stronger. The young man thrashed wildly, his eyes bulging, his lungs bursting, strength draining from his limbs, until he felt he must give up and take a breath, even if it meant breathing in the water. The mentor suddenly let go and the young man sprang to his feet, dripping with water and scowling with indignation. "What on earth was that for?!" he demanded. The mentor smiled. "You were thirsting for air like we should thirst for God; not a little discomfort, but the urgent, pressing need for God and the knowledge that we will die if the thirst is not quenched."

Zacchaeus must have been thirsting that way.

This is a bit of what I imagined:

A boy growing up smaller than everyone else, getting picked on by everyone, learning to get even through his cunning rather than brute strength. Short man syndrome? Maybe. But surely people would respect him once he had money. But how to get it? The best way to get protection and wealth was to align himself with the Roman government as a tax collector. Under the Roman standard he grew rich, but at the same time alienated himself from his own people. Instead of elevating him to a position of honor, his wealth was only evidence that he was the lowest kind of traitor, in league with the occupying forces and adding to the tax burden of his countrymen. He lived in a sort of no-man's-land; to the Romans he was only a Jewish dog, their tool and vassal. To the Jews he was a symbol of the corruption and oppression of the invaders. He had placed his hope in wealth and found it a cold comfort.

He remembered his days learning the Torah and hearing of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel. He recalled his pride in being one of the chosen people of God. But had God also rejected him? It was no good going to the synagogue; he had tried. On the occasions when he had not been asked to leave, the stony stares of the congregants had been enough to send him on his way.

Just as he began to despair, he heard stories of a new rabbi. One who did not dress in fine clothes and keep himself aloof from the common people. A rabbi who blasted the scribes and Pharisees for their hypocrisy while he welcomed little children into his arms. A rabbi who did not preach dry messages but told stories, wonderful stories, about God and the Kingdom of Heaven: a father who welcomed home his wayward son; beggars and cripples who were invited to a king's wedding feast; a Samaritan (even a Samaritan!) who was the hero of a story as he became the rescuing neighbor to a poor, beaten traveler. And this same rabbi, this Yeshua, had power from God to show that he was a prophet. He had even raised the dead! But what brought hope to the poor, rich tax collector was that the rabbi had reached out to the outsiders: he had healed a Samaritan leper and cured a centurion's servant. One of his close followers had even been a tax collector if the reports could be believed. Would the rabbi have a word from God for a wayward son of Israel? But Zacchaeus could not leave his post in Jericho.

The Passover pilgrims began to stream through Jericho on their way to Jerusalem; at first a trickle, then a steady flow, then suddenly the streets were flooded with Jews who had to stop in the city to stay the night or replenish their supplies. The throngs packed the streets and it was impossible to move without being jostled and shoved by dusty, travel-worn strangers or their animals. It was a particularly bad time to be Zacchaeus; his short stature was always a nuisance, but now it became dangerous.

In his home one day Zacchaeus stared at the food on his table and sighed. He hated eating alone, with the servants in the kitchen whispering behind his back. But who would come eat with a tax collector? It could hardly be worse if he was one of the lepers outside the city gates; at least they had other lepers to share their lives. He picked up a loaf of bread to break off a portion, then stopped and stared at it a moment. In sudden frustration he threw it against the wall. He laid his head in his arms and closed his eyes, trying to keep back the tears that he knew would cause the servants to gossip.

"Yes, he's coming down the road right now," came a faint whisper from the kitchen. "He's headed to Jerusalem just like all the rest and he's going to pass right through our city!"

"Are you sure? When did you hear he was coming?"

"I just got back from the market and I heard from a merchant whose caravan passed the rabbi on the way here. He said that the rabbi had healed a blind beggar right there on the road!"

Zacchaeus sat up suddenly. The whispers continued, but they didn't matter. He had heard the important information: a rabbi, a healing rabbi, was coming to Jericho. It must be Yeshua! Who else could it be? He stood quickly, almost knocking over the table in his excitement. He would see Yeshua. He had to.

He left the house without the fine cloak he usually wore and made his way through the busy streets to the main road that wound its way through the city. It was painfully slow going and every moment that passed made him wonder if the rabbi had already passed through Jericho and gone on his way. Zacchaeus shoved his way through the crowds of strangers, thankful that they, at least, did not know that he was forsaken and outcast from the fellowship of his people.

At last, he reached the road. There was a hum of excitement that exceeded the usual hubbub of the market. He heard snatches of conversation all around him. "Yes, he healed the fellow, you know, Bartimaeus, that used to always sit by the road..." "He's coming, all right, my sister's husband's aunt says she heard it this morning.." "I wonder which of the leaders of the synagogue he will visit! What an honor to have the rabbi..." The road was packed more tightly than any of the side streets had been. Besides the out-of-town strangers, the whole city had turned out to see the famous teacher.

Zacchaeus felt dismay creeping in. Among so many, how could he ever find the rabbi? He could only see up to the shoulders and heads of the people in the crowd around him. He started to push his way through, but met with so much resistance he made little headway. He made a little better progress by angling his approach instead of pushing straight toward to road, but he was still a long way from being able to see. Suddenly there went up a great shout. Yeshua had entered the city! He was coming down the road right now, and somehow the throng was making way for him.

Zacchaeus felt his heart pound in his ribs, his stomach, his temples. The rabbi was coming! The tax collector could not explain it, but he felt with every fiber of his being that he must see the rabbi today. But the more he tried to push through, the more the crowd pushed back. Instead of moving forward, he was moving backwards, more and still more, until he struck something hard. He turned and saw it was the huge, ancient sycamore tree that had always dominated the square, reaching its leafy branches almost to the buildings across the road. Across the road! He could climb the tree and see Yeshua that way!

But he couldn't possibly climb the tree. Not in public. His enemies, which comprised most of the city, would never let him forget it. Smiles of ridicule would spread across their faces as they gossiped about the cruel tax collector who made a fool of himself by climbing the tree in the main square.

The shout of welcome was getting closer, showing that the rabbi and his followers would soon be passing underneath the tree's spreading branches. Zacchaeus just couldn't climb the tree. But... he couldn't bear to miss the rabbi's coming either.

In a flash, he made up his mind. He reached for the broad, gnarled trunk.

It was surprisingly easy to make his way up the tree. He had found a good vantage point and could see the throng as it roiled below him. He could also see the procession coming down the road. He assumed that the one in the front was the rabbi. What if the prophet did have a word for Zacchaeus, but it was of condemnation? What if his gaze held only fire and judgment for the one who had cheated his fellow Jews out of a fortune? Or what if the rabbi saw him but only pointed at him and laughed at the short little man in the tree?

The rabbi and his disciples continued on the road. Suddenly they stopped, so close that Zacchaeus could have dropped a leaf and hit any one of them. The rabbi looked up. Zacchaeus knew immediately that he had been found. Not just seen, but found. Instead of looking past him, or through him, the rabbi looked right at him and smiled, lighting up his dark eyes. "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today."

Later on, Zacchaeus could never remember how he got down from that tree. He didn't remember the long walk back to his home, or how much the feast he prepared had cost. He did remember the promise he made that day to give away half of his wealth and restore all of the money that was his because of fraud.

But what he remembered most was talking with the Master. The love that shone from his eyes. The gentleness in his voice. The assurance that God did still want him, and had chosen him as one of his own.

"Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost."

Zacchaeus was thirsty for God. He was willing to give up his dignity, his reputation, even all his fortune to quench his thirst. The promise remains for us, too.

You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Legislative action required!

2011-04-25T12:46:00.004-04:00

As you may or may not know, I am in school to become an advanced practice registered nurse (APRN), in the concentration of Family Nurse Practitioner. There's a bill in committee right now in the Tennessee Legislature that would limit our scope of practice. This bill would decrease competition, inflate costs, and reduce patients' access to non-narcotic pain management. Tennessee has a problem with narcotics anyway... this bill would make it worse. Contact your Senator and let him/her know you oppose SB1935.

PS. Alabama, I think, tried to make a law like this and it was struck down by the FTC for limiting competition.

Honorable Senator Stacey Campfield
301 6th Avenue North
Suite 4 Legislative Plaza
Nashville, TN 37243

Senator Campfield;
I am a registered voter in your senate district and active in the Knox County Young Republicans. I am a registered nurse and a student at the University of Tennessee, pursuing my master’s degree in nursing. I would like you to vote against SB 1935, Nurses Engaged in Interventional Pain Management (now in committee).

What if a doctorally prepared supervisor were required for every workman who nails down shingles? Small roofing businesses who could not afford a full-time supervisor would be forced to close. Costs for completing a roofing job would go up, so that people who could not afford a larger company would not get the repairs they needed. Roofing is a skill; a workman does not need a high level degree to learn how to do it correctly. Requiring an architect to supervise would drive up costs and reduce access to a needed service. Unnecessary regulation would ultimately hurt everyone, but that is precisely what some are trying to do with interventional pain management.

Interventional Pain Management is a broad term that covers several procedures. These procedures block the nerves that conduct pain but leave other nerves intact so that the affected area, i.e., an arm or hand, can still be used. Some procedures block regional nerves, such as nerves in the shoulder, or central nerves in the spine.
At this time, properly trained and qualified nurse practitioners (NPs) and physician assistants (PAs) can perform these procedures; indeed, they have been performing them for years. To this day there is no evidence that physicians conduct these interventions more safely or effectively, yet SB 1935 would prohibit NPs and PAs from helping patients control their pain through nerve blocks without direct physician supervision. The proponents argue that medical school and residency are necessary in order to properly perform nerve blocks, but is that really true?

Though great precision and accuracy are required, proper performance of a nerve block is a skill; there is no new knowledge of biology, biophysics, pharmacology, or anatomy required. Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetists (CRNAs) are specifically trained for this skill, and indeed are required to perform a certain number in order to graduate (though graduates from the UT program routinely exceed the requirements by 200%). Other NPs and PAs receive training from physicians. They are directly supervised until their training is deemed sufficient. Even after completing their training, NPs and PAs report to a supervising physician who is always available for consultation and who reviews the work they do. At this time many clinics share supervising physicians, but a requirement for direct supervision would prove too much financial strain. What makes the situation worse is that these small clinics are often in rural areas where there is no other help available.

In conclusion, there is no evidence that patients would be better off if NPs and PAs were directly supervised by a physician when performing interventional pain management. Or, to rephrase, why increase government interference and take away their freedom to practice and patients’ access to needed care? If this bill comes to debate, please vote NO.

If you have any questions or concerns, please contact me. I would also appreciate hearing your thoughts and opinions regarding this bill.

Sincerely,
Rachel Farmer

gr8brady@gmail.com

Is your life built on lies?

2011-01-13T09:27:00.005-05:00

One of my favorite movie moments is when Buddy the Elf (who grew up in Santa's workshop at the North Pole) confronts a department-store Santa for being an impersonator. "You sit on a throne of lies," hisses Buddy, moments before ripping off "Santa's" beard in front of a crowd of kiddies.

Yesterday I was forced to confront some lies that have wormed their way into my own life. I didn't exactly build a throne on them, I guess, but I was doing something worse: building my marriage on them.

See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the world, and not according to Christ.--Colossians 2:8

When I read that verse, I started thinking. Paul presented a contrast: "The world according to human tradition/philosophy" vs "The world according to Christ." The world's philosophy and tradition are nothing but "empty deceit." That's pretty clear.

What hurts is when you start thinking about the things in your life that are not based directly on Scriptural principles. According to what we read above, if it's not based on Scriptural principles, it's empty deceit. Lies.

What started to hit home was that some of my expectations of my husband have absolutely no basis in Scripture but only in human tradition, and that my expectations of myself and my role in marriage were lies as well. I was comparing myself to the world's idea of a wife's role, adding a few "Christianized" requirements, and saying to myself that I was doing pretty well as a wife. At the same time I was basing my expectations of my husband (how embarrassing to have to admit it!) on what I had seen on TV, read in books, or observed in other couples.

Sometimes it was as innocuous as who takes out the garbage. In my experience, and, I admit, on TV, usually the guy takes out the trash for garbage day. And even though it's not really a big deal for me to take out the trash, I was irritated at Scott for not doing it because "he's supposed to." Where is that in Scripture? Nowhere. It was a lie that the Enemy wanted me to believe so that I would be frustrated with my husband.

Lots of similar things were bugging me. But when I started meditating on Col. 2:8 I started realizing how they were all lies, empty deceit. And when I started thinking about Scriptural principles, I saw how far my heart was from where God would have it.

...whoever would be great among you must be your servant,and whoever would be first among you must be your slave, even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.-- Matthew 20:26-28

Wow. Ouch. Convicting! And that's not even mentioning Proverbs 31. So instead of thinking about ways I wish Scott would serve me (and in the process not appreciating what he does already) I should be looking for ways to serve him, above and beyond what Scripture lays out as a wife's role.

But I don't think that this lesson is limited to marriage, or even to relationships.

We all have certain expectations and goals in life that direct our daily decisions. But what if those expectations are not based on Scriptural principles? For example, "The American Dream:" doing well in business, owning a nice home, raising your family and being able to buy plenty of "stuff," whatever your preferred brand of "stuff" may be. Is that based on Scripture? Is it based on anything but selfishness? It's a lie! And when times get tough and the dream crumbles: the house gets foreclosed, your business folds, and you can't buy your stuff anymore, there is nothing left but the lie, the emptiness that mocks you for building on such a foundation.

But if your goal is to glorify God and pursue Him, whatever your circumstances, it changes the meaning of everything. Sometimes you can still have the nice house, good business, etc, because God wants you to have those resources to serve Him. But because the goal is to serve God and others, if you lose everything material you have not lost your purpose. Even if you never regain your possessions, you can still glorify God and serve others. Not that it would be easy, but at least it wouldn't be empty.

--------
Lord, what are the areas I need to tear down and rebuild on the true foundation? Show me. Show me the truths in Scripture that are strong enough to hold up my life. Help me fix my eyes on you, and build my life on the Rock.

Where do you live?

2011-01-05T12:16:00.003-05:00

Dreams can be funny things. I mean while-you-sleep dreams, not the goals/wishes/aspirations kind of dreams. Once I had a dream where part of it came true. Twice I've had dreams where I was singing and I remembered part of the song when I woke up (and each time ended up writing the rest of the song to go with it). Last night I had some strange dreams, but when I woke up this morning I was only thinking about one of them.

It was about a prison camp. For some reason they had statues and beautiful works of art there, things that people would pay a lot of money to own or even to view in a museum. But the thought that I woke with was this: the people there were still in a prison camp.

In that twilight of thought where I wasn't quite asleep and I wasn't fully awake, I started to explore that idea.

What I felt instinctively was that, like our world, the prison camp had some really neat and interesting stuff in it. But there was so much more outside the fences of the camp: a bigger world, a freer world, a more beautiful world.

I imagined people picking up rocks from the gravel pathways, collecting them, becoming absorbed in them and not noticing when the liberators tore down the walls to free the prisoners. So many people, even Christians, are completely wrapped up in the making of money and acquisition of STUFF, as worthless in God's eyes as gravel. They have great collections, but they're still living in the prison camp of this world, abiding by its rules, slave to its whims.

That's as far as I got before the alarm disturbed my thoughts and jerked me all the way into reality as I whacked the clock, vainly trying to find the snooze button.

Now, obviously, I don't think making money is bad. I don't think having stuff is bad. But when lifestyle choices mean we have to work extra hours to pay for things we don't really need, we are moving our priorities away from Biblical priorities, choosing to follow the world's prison rules instead of God's. God puts a huge priority on people. Not stuff.

It's not just people with lots of money that can stay trapped in the prison camp collecting gravel instead of enjoying the beauty and freedom outside. Folks without much money (even Christians!) tend to think that having more money and more stuff would make life easier, and therefore, better. Maybe that's partially true. But this group can start coveting the gravel that others are piling up for themselves, and feel deprived and discontent because they can't have as much gravel as someone else. Or, which is just as bad, start to say, "Ok, God, look at how wonderful I am for trying to be content with what I have! I'd better be racking up the brownie points!" They, too, are living by the prison camp rules instead of God's.

Here in the States we have so much. We who are students or struggling because of other reasons may think we're poor, but we have more gravel than most of the world can afford. But maybe that's a good way of thinking of it: gravel.

Uh-oh, now I have an idea. And I'm going to try it. When I see some stuff I want, I will try to go one step farther than "can I afford it?" to "is this something I need or is this gravel? Do I want it because the prison guard (aka Everyone Else) says so?"

Jesus purchased our freedom, tore down the walls of the prison camp, and showed us the way out, but we still choose whether or not to live inside or outside.

Where will you live?

Need a shower?

2010-11-12T16:46:00.004-05:00

No thanks. I had a shower once when I was 11 years old, I don't need another one. Ever.

Grace isn't a one-time event either.

Scott and I are part of a newly formed small community group, and our first study is set to be Ephesians. I thought I'd start through a study book I have for Ephesians to help me prepare for the discussions we will (hopefully!) have. It's not an expensive book, not a Beth Moore book, just a little pocket-sized book that starts with a big chunk of Scripture on Day 1, then breaks it down into one or two verse study chunks for each of the rest of the days of the week, tying in the verses with other passages throughout the Bible. I got a fresh, clean journal for my birthday, and I thought it would be good to jot down the answers to the study questions and any other thoughts that came along. I was glad to have it Wednesday; I just kept writing and writing as the thoughts kept coming.

The study byte for the day was Ephesians 1:6-8. The study question was: "How is God's grace described here?"

Well? What's the answer? Dontcha know? :-) Okay, okay, I'll post the Scripture for you here.

to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. 7 In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace 8 that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and understanding,

Here's another version that sounds a little more like a self-contained byte:

So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son.[b] 7 He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. 8 He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding.

Those are some pretty amazing words.

Glorious: marked by great beauty or splendor. Delightful. Wonderful

Poured: to cause to flow in a stream; to supply or produce freely or copiously; to give full expression to.

Freely: of one's own accord; with freedom from external control; without restraint or reservation; without hindrance; not strictly following a model, convention, or rule.

Riches: things that make one rich

Lavished: expending or bestowing profusely. Expended or produced in abundance; marked by profusion or excess.

Showered: To rain or fall as if in a shower; to give in abundance.

Now go back and read the verses again, this time putting in the long definition of each word:

to the praise of his glorious [delightful, wonderful, marked by great beauty and splendor] grace, which he has freely [of his own accord, with freedom from external control, without restraint or reservation, without hindrance,not strictly following a model, convention, or rule] given us in the One he loves. 7 In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace 8 that he lavished[produced and expended in abundance, bestowing it freely, marked by profusion and excess] on us.

Overflowing. Excessive. Rich. Deep. Thick. Overabundant. Inexhaustible.

Like a hike. A particular hike.

You're hiking in the mountains and you somehow lost your way. What was to be a pleasant morning excursion has turned into a day-long tramp. You finished your water hours ago, and the only thing you have to keep hunger at bay is salty trail mix. With chocolate. That only makes you thirstier than you already were.
You try to make your way across the mountain; maybe you'll find the trail again. But you're so thirsty it feels like you've eaten the Sahara for lunch and wool socks for dessert.
After what seems like forever and a half, you find some water! Bad news is it's a barely discernible track of a few drops at a time, like the ones that form those tiny icicles on the slate hillsides in winter. You put out your tongue to corral a few drops, but there's so little water that your tongue can't even feel the dampness.

That's our idea of grace, I think. Yeah, it's there, we can see it, but we have to work for it. Really try hard. And when we see it, it's not really enough to change anything about us, so it's not really worth the hype and bother of it all.

Back to the hike. You're still lost, and your failed attempt to get some water has magnified your thirst about five million times. You shoulder your pack and start trudging on again.
The sun has been high overhead for way too long, beating down through the green canopy above, soaking you in rays of heat. You're soaked with something else, too: your own salty sweat as you hike across the mountain.
Then you hear a sound like a strong wind moving the trees. But there's no wind. Can it be true? You rush toward the noise, stumbling over roots and briers, till you come to a rocky gorge. You look up to the mouth of the gorge, and there it is.

A waterfall.

The sun sparkles from the falling droplets like it's a cascade of diamonds. And at that moment you would trade all the diamonds in the world for a drop of that clear water on your tongue. A mist hangs over the pool at the base of the falls, and you can see that the pool overflows into a very wide, very shallow stream. You hesitate only a moment, then start climbing over the rocks to get closer.
The closer you get, the higher the falls look. Close-up the water looks furious rather than friendly. You turn away to head downstream for a taste of the slightly muddier water in the stream, when suddenly something catches your eye.
The falls are roaring, pounding the rocks at the bottom, except in one spot. There a slanted rock ledge breaks the falling water into a gentle, pouring stream. It's just right.
So you stand there and look at it for a couple of years, right? You study it, maybe compose a song about it, get your notepad out of your backpack and start to write a book about it.

No. I don't think so.

You kick off your shoes and practically jump from rock to rock until you come to that ledge. You reach out your hand and the shock of the cold mountain water races up your arm and brings out goosebumps on your skin. You smile as you run your hand through the water. You cup your hands and drink; the water is more refreshing than you could have imagined: clear, but with the slightest hint of earthiness. You drink till you can't hold any more. But it's not enough.
You step forward into the water and feel it coursing down your head, your neck, soaking your clothes and cooling your tired feet. As the endless stream pours around you, you grin and revel in it.

And that is grace as God gives it.

So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son.[b] 7 He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. 8 He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding.

Happy moment

2010-10-13T18:38:00.002-04:00

It started when I got out of class. My professor, who usually holds us 15 minutes over time (the "good to the last drop" philosophy, I suppose), let us out FIVE MINUTES early, for a net gain of 20 minutes! I packed up my pens (one blue, one purple), bagged up my notes, and joined the stream of students pouring out of the auditorium.

Stepping outside was a pleasant surprise. The morning's close dampness had entirely disappeared, and the air felt clean and fresh and about 10 degrees cooler than I had expected. I took a deep breath and started whistling.

As I walked through the park I noticed the leaves. The sugar maples overhanging the path were still green; like ladies pulling out gray hairs, the trees had dropped the early signs of autumn and the brick sidewalk was strewn with crimson-edged leaves. I stopped to take a picture for my cell phone wall paper.

My car was waiting faithfully for me in the parking garage, and there was no traffic as I pulled out onto the road. The light was green! I made it through. I rolled down my windows, relishing the cool, dry air after such a long and hot summer.

The next light caught me, but, just to make up for the wait, a peppy, bouncy song came on the radio. I turned up the volume.

The timing for the last light was perfect; it was too warm in my car to wear my sweater, but there were just enough cars ahead of me at the red light, waiting to turn right, that I was able to wriggle out of my cardigan before it was my turn to go.

When I got out on the highway it was wide open. No cars in sight. Cotton-batting clouds covered the sky, with just enough sunlight peeping through to turn the edges golden. My hair blew in the breeze. I was still singing along with the radio. I was thinking about not having class tomorrow, being a little ahead on my assignments, and forgetting (temporarily) about the midterm exam I had been worried about.

It was a Very Happy Moment.

When I came onto the interstate, the friendly cars scooted over to make room for me. We all drove together, moving in and out almost like a choreographed dance routine where some came on, some went off, but all kept moving.

"And I think to myself....what a wonderful world...."

I parked in the best parking place at the apartment, right next to the sidewalk. I walked into our nice new apartment, still pretty tidy from The Great Cleanup that took place last Saturday. Dinner's in the fridge, ready to be re-heated, the dishes are done for today, and I can have the evening off to spend time with my Scott when he gets home.

It's still a Very Happy Moment.

When I think about it, I could have more Very Happy Moments if I looked for them. Today there were so many Happy things I couldn't ignore them; how many do I miss on other days?

Let's look for Very Happy Moments... we might find them more often than we think.

Rachel VS The Evil Machine

2010-04-29T17:20:00.002-04:00

Okay, Scott, I know you went to Mexico just to get out of mowing the lawn. But beware: next time, I shall be as wise as a serpent and pack your suitcase while you're still at work so when you get home you have time to mow the yard before you leave.

No, I guess my husband didn't flee the country to shirk lawn duty. But I felt like doing that very thing this afternoon as I grunted and hauled The Evil Machine around the yard. Mowing the yard is, of course, my third favorite outdoor activity. The first two are climbing razor wire fences and crawling over freshly broken glass.

All day long it haunted me; I knew I'd have to mow the yard when I got home. It's needed trimming for a couple of weeks, but what with a busy schedule and rainy days off, I have managed to procrastinate to this point. But as I drove to work this morning, I noted the dawn, bright and clear, and knew that the day had come.

But before I could get to the yard, I needed to get through my day at work. I had a pretty easy day of it, if you don't count the sore knees from standing so long. I was observing ortho (joint) surgeries today as part of my work orientation at the hospital. I think they require it for two reasons: 1.) to help the new graduate (me) better understand the processes that bring patients from the holding room, through the Operating Room to the PACU (recovery room, and finally, to the ortho wing of the hospital where I will be working. 2.) To help the new graduate (me) to see the gritty violence of joint surgeries so as to be more compassionate when the patients ask for pain medicine when I take care of them upstairs. I think my observations helped achieve both purposes. I watched a shoulder surgery and a bilateral knee replacement. Boy, that's rough stuff. I'm very thankful for Crawford Long and the other doctors who fought to popularize the use of anesthesia: there would be no elective (optional) surgeries without it, and I wouldn't have a job. The patient didn't feel anything, but it was amazing to see the doctor and his electric drills and saws and non-electric hammers and pegs. It's amazing to think that by undergoing this operation, a patient can be saved from crippling joint problems and go on to lead an active lifestyle again!

The OR people were really nice; it was the first surgery observation I did where the staff were so helpful. They explained things, and when my knees were getting sore from standing in one place so long, the nurse brought a chair in from the other room; I didn't even have to ask. And the CRNA (anesthesia guy) noticed that I was cold sitting there, and brought a blanket from the warmer for me! It was greatly appreciated, since street clothes like jackets aren't allowed in the OR. (and they keep it cold in there. Where do you think those "save the polar bears" people keep all those polar bears? And I could have sworn I saw a penguin on an ice floe...)

After watching the BTKA (knee surgery), I followed the patient to PACU to see what happens there (not much, today at least!). I got to sit down there, the whole time. Then it was time to go.

I delayed as much as possible. I got home, checked my e-mails, checked facebook, and exercised on our elliptical machine. I entered my day's exercise in the log book I've started to keep, then sighed. I couldn't wait any longer. Time to mow the yard.

I headed out the front door and was surprised to see a police car idling at the end of the driveway. I picked up a few sticks in the little grass patch in the front yard, then bent over to get a big stick out of the driveway.

WOOF!!! WOOF! WOOF!!! The flashing white teeth of a German Shepherd greeted me.

After I landed back inside my skin, I noticed the cooling unit that should have clued me in that it was a k-9 police car. Oh well. Thankfully there were only 30 people outside their houses to see the police happenings, so it's not like anyone could have seen me.

I trudged up the hill to get our lawnmower from where it is stored at a neighbor's house. The first thing I noticed was the noise: one of the wheels was making a horrible, rapid clicking noise. I couldn't tell why. So I just kept going.

I was half afraid I'd get arrested for stealing the lawnmower as I made my way down the street, past all those cop cars and the ambulance, but nothing happened. I was ready for the dog to bark at me this time. He did.

The right front wheel still wouldn't move; it was like there was a brake keeping it from rolling, but I couldn't figure out how to fix it. Then I couldn't get the mower to start. After permanently damaging a few tendons and possibly my entire rotator cuff, I had succeeded only in increasing the volume of my grunts as I attempted to start The Evil Machine. I sat back and thought. I had used it before, I reasoned, with no trouble starting it. So I went through the motions again. And again. And again. I think The Evil Machine sensed that I was about to give up, because on my "one last try," it purred to life like a malevolent beast. I thought I had won, but little did I know that The Evil Machine was only biding its time.

Mowing our yard should not be a big deal. It is a small yard, smaller than any other I've had. But the house is on a hill, so two sides of the yard are slanted. To make matters worse, there is a ditch (that has to be mowed) at the bottom of the yard. And the weeds were so tall and thick that the San Diego Zoo asked if they could use it as a model for their latest rain forest exhibit. (I told them no; I didn't want them to scare away the badak tampongs). Well. If trying to push The Evil Machine up a hill weren't bad enough, I had to force the beast (which weighs more than a third of my weight!!) up the hill, with one of the front wheels locked. The whole time. After repeating this twice, I got smart and started pulling the lawnmower behind me instead of pushing it. This worked well till we hit a big patch of weeds and the mower stalled. I took it back to level ground and started it again, continuing on my merry way, pushing The Evil Machine down hill and dragging it up behind me again.

Then it died. And I couldn't start it again.

I turned it over on its ill-natured back. I heard it glug-glug-glugging in protest. I refused to listen to its pleas, and I found the source of one problem. There was a clump of grass stuck in the bottom of the mower. Only one. But it covered the whole bottom of the mower, miring the blades in fresh and not-so-fresh grass clippings. The hole that's supposed to allow the clipping to pass out was stuffed full. So I spent a few minutes digging to free the mower blades,hurling the gigantic clumps over to the fence. It would have been easier to throw them in the neighbor's yard, but I didn't.

I thought that with the indigestion problem solved, The Evil Machine would renounce its former ways and reform. It didn't.

After grunting, shoving, dragging, and heaving that mower all over the backyard, it was finally finished. On to the front.

The front yard is about the size of a large bathroom. It would be easy to mow except for the aforementioned hill, which is even steeper in the front, and a giant poplar tree (liriodendron tulipifera) whose roots stand a significant obstacle to even the most kindly and obliging of lawnmowers that have 4 rolling wheels. So in stark contrast to the recommended and professional way of mowing, with long, smooth rows, I hacked at the grass with The Evil Machine, going back and forth and back and forth. The police cars were leaving now, going down to the end of the road to a wide place to turn around. The ambulance, however, lingered, no doubt sure that I would need their services after The Evil Machine turned on me and chewed my leg for a while.

I kept a tight rein on the beast, however, and the ambulance was able to leave empty-handed.

Then I had to push the thing back up the road to the neighbor's house. The wheel started working again, just to show me there was nothing really wrong with it and it had been uncooperative out of pure spite. I could have sworn the thing was laughing as I finally took it back to its bed. I had to tuck it in, pulling its plywood blanket back over its head, but I refused to kiss it goodnight.

So now it's over, for another week anyway. I wonder how much a self-propelled mower would cost. Oh, I have an even better idea.

A SCOTT-propelled mower.

On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided

2010-03-09T12:14:00.005-05:00

I decided to take up my chronological read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year book again. Cover to Cover is a good guide to go through all 66 books in the order the events unfold. When I was on Logos II the first time we all went through it, and I learned even through books like Leviticus and Chronicles (they're all there for a reason!).

I was reading Genesis 22 a couple of days ago, where God called Abraham to sacrifice his son. Not just to give him up or send him away, but to burn him as an offering. God didn't even tell Abraham where to go; he only said, "on one of the mountains, which I will show you." Wow.

Abraham took his servants and his son and set off on the journey, not knowing how long it would take, or what kind of terrain they would have to cross. God did show him the mountain. Abraham laid his son on the altar. And God stepped in, stopped the sacrifice, and provided a ram to sacrifice instead.

There were several things that interested me in the story; first, the importance of setting an example of individual worship for your children.

Isaac knew from watching his father through the years what was required for worship: the fire and knife, wood, and a lamb for sacrifice. He saw his father had the first two elements, he had the third, but the lamb was missing, so he asked Abraham, who famously replied, "God will provide himself a lamb..."

Growing up, I saw my father's worship every day. He would get up early, do some calisthenics, then settle down at the table with his Bible. He would pray for what seemed like forever to my childish eyes, then he'd open up the Scriptures while he ate breakfast. Every day. He got up early to worship every day. His godly example was pressed on my mind from an early age, just as Abraham's worship influenced his son Isaac. It is important to cultivate that individual relationship of worship with God because the next generation is not going to just take our word for it; they have to see us consistently live out our worship through the months and years.

The other thing I noticed was that God didn't just have a general mountain that everyone knew was the place to worship, and you'd go and give whatever you wanted to God. No. God had in mind a specific journey to that one altar and a specific command of sacrifice: "Take your son, your only son—yes, Isaac, whom you love so much...Go and sacrifice him as a burnt offering."

God does the same thing today.

In the church, we talk a lot.
"Give up your life to the Lord."
"Just surrender everything."
"Come and lay it all on the altar."

They can be as comforting as they are challenging, as long as we keep them in generalities. "Oh, yes, take it all, Lord."

But then, if we really listen to Him, He has this habit of making it uncomfortably personal. And specific. He says, "I don't just want your general 'everything.' I want that one place, that specific desire, that you're holding back. You're using the phrase, 'I'm giving it all' as a screen to keep from seeing that there is a place where you don't want me; to keep me from getting too close and invading that area of your life. I want you to be my friend, as Abraham was my friend, but first you have to come to that mountain, the one I will show you, and give up what you love."

But God didn't show Abraham the mountain from where he was camped. Abraham had to commit to the journey. He had to step out and begin, showing his commitment by leaving his home. And I think it's the same way for us. We have to set out by actively seeking God, spending time listening, probing our hearts for the direction that God might want to take us, seeing strongholds and asking, "Is this the mountain?"

After God provided a ram to sacrifice, it became a proverb in the land, "On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided." And God still promises us his provision: Grace, mercy, strength in time of need. But it will not be provided until we come to the mountain, prepared to sacrifice.

So, these have been my thoughts. I wanted to write a song about it, but it didn't work. It ended up being a poem, and a rather long poem at that. And it didn't use the phrase I liked and wanted to use, so it will just be the title, the same as the title for this blog.
~~~~
The word of God came to Abraham
and cut him to the heart.
"Bring your son, your only son,
to the place I've set apart.
Bring him to my mountain,
the one I'll show to you.
There burn him as an offering."
Could this command be true?

At the mountain they left their servants
and the two went on alone.
Abram's heart was as heavy
as the altar made of stone.
Isaac's question broke the silence
he saw the wood, fire, and knife...
But he didn't know the sacrifice
was to give up his own life.

At the mountain's top they laid aside
the burdens they had brought,
and Abraham told his son
the commandment of their God.
The tears rolled down his cheeks unchecked
as he tied up his dear boy
He placed him on the altar there,
his whole life's pride and joy.

He raised the knife, poised to strike,
but the angel stayed his hand,
And God's friend Abraham received
his son, as though from the dead.
Their spirits soared as they rejoiced
when a sound turned Abraham's head:
He looked up--there on the mountain,
God provided himself a lamb.

On another mountain, Calvary,
God gave another Lamb,
And salvation full and free,
if I come just as I am
To the mountain that he shows to me
where I must take the knife
And kill the selfish part that tries
to order my own life.

I must lay on the altar
all I hold most dear:
My thoughts and dreams and passions,
hopes and plans and fears.
I must burn them on the mountain
and through the ashes see
That through God's Lamb is given grace
for all my deepest needs.

But though Abram left the mountain,
nevermore there to return,
I find each day so many things
to sacrifice, to burn.

But God calls from the mountain,
his voice pleads with my heart,
"Lay down the foolish pride and self
that's keeping us apart.
Come back now to the mountain,
you know I'll meet you here.
Come back and give yourself to me;
let my love cast out fear."

So I'm headed for the mountain
with my fire and knife
Knowing the way to be with God
is to let him have my life.
To give him every part of me
is what I long to do
I'm going to the mountain.
Now the question is: will you?

The Night Before Christmas (Un-poem)

2009-12-14T18:42:00.004-05:00

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through God's house...

...was hustle and bustle.

As the fire of sunset burned in the west, the bleating of sheep and cooing of doves echoed among the cold stone pillars. The moneylenders, after a hard day's cheating, waited patiently with cash in hand for the pharisees to end their protracted and ebullient prayers long enough to receive their portion of the proceeds.

In a place not prominent, but hidden in shadows, a wizened man offered up an infinitely simpler prayer from the depths of his heart. The passage of years had dimmed his sight, but not his certainty, for he knew that God cannot lie.

"How long, oh Lord?" he whispered as he rocked back and forth, the intensity of his petition moving him body and soul. A tear of longing slid down his cheek as he remembered all who died without seeing the promise: Abraham "...all peoples on earth will be blessed through you;" Isaac; Jacob "...the scepter will not depart from Judah, nor the ruler's staff from between his feet, until Shiloh comes." Even Isaiah, who had so described his coming, had died without seeing the Messiah.

As he settled his aching bones on the unforgiving stone floor, Simeon's heart cried out. Messiah had been promised, but Simeon had a special promise from the Lord: he would not die until he saw Emmanuel.

Meanwhile, in the court of women, Anna the Prophetess prepared for another night in the temple. The crowd swirled around her, going home to waiting families and welcoming hearth fires. But still she stayed, as she had for so many years of her widowhood. God had become her family, her warmth, her comfort, and her ever-living joy. She praised Him for the promise that He would rescue Jerusalem, freeing the captives from their bondage, healing the blind and lame, and bringing the hearts of men back to the Lord.

Just weeks later, those who waited and watched for Messiah in the Temple were rewarded. Simeon rejoiced, saying,

"Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel."

Anna was quick to add her praise and tell everyone else who searched for Messiah that He had come at last.

We didn't have to wait. This all happened so long ago that we take it for granted. We forget that millenia passed when people longed for God's friendship; when the people of Israel quaked before the mountain of fire that shook and smoked with His power. They delivered their animals for slaughter day after day and year after year, waiting. The prophets saw amazing visions, revelations of God's power and radiant majesty, but even they did not see the unveiling of the mystery.

Adam, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses and his parents, Rahab, Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel... the list in Hebrews is amazing. But what is more amazing is what follows: "These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised." (Hebrews 11:39)

After the centuries of restless waiting and watching, the Messiah came! He came and completed the work of redemption; he died and entered God's presence, presenting his blood as the perfect sacrifice that satisfied God's perfect justice; his death fulfilled the requirement. "The wages of sin is death," but he took all the payment. The way has been cleared for us to have a relationship with God! We can enter into His presence with joyful boldness, knowing that we will be accepted because of Christ. WE have received the promise!

What should we do with this knowledge? The author of Hebrews tells us quite plainly:
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."

This is a challenge to us. As we remember Christ's birth during this happy season, let this be the Christmas inspiration that lasts long past December: remember those who waited long for His coming and their challenge to run the race marked out for us.

Dulcinea vs. Aldonza

2009-11-08T19:38:00.002-05:00

This is a long one, but bear with me. :-)

We watched a movie this afternoon. Made in 1972, Man of La Mancha chronicles the adventures of the famous Don Quixote in his quest as the last knight errant to rid the world of evil.

I can't recommend the movie, really; I had expected a light-hearted musical in the tradition of Easter Parade or In the Good Ol' Summertime. What I got instead was a philosophical debate with catchy tunes thrown in. The musical presents a contest between idealism and realism in the dark confines of the Inquisitors' dungeon, illustrated by Don Quixote's outrageous behavior.

The elderly gentleman is the hero of the story. Though he is mad, seeing giants and castles where there are only windmills and decrepit inns, he is the noble one who strives not only to be good, but to do good.

Don Quixote and his squire, Sancho, arrive at a grubby inn where a caravan of muleteers are doing their best to seduce the fiery scullery maid, Aldonza, who repeatedly slaps their hands away. She has been badly used and abused; her anger is visible in every word she says and move she makes. Hard and cynical, she sarcastically replies to their comments with the song, "It's All the Same," where she makes very clear she knows what the men want, but that it's only available for a price. All through the song she strides through the mob of scoundrels seated around the tables in the dirty inn courtyard, singing defiantly that once the price is paid she doesn't care who paid it, since men are all the same.

Then Don Quixote literally rides onto the scene. In his eyes, the gray, drab, dirty inn is a fine castle; the disreputable inn keeper is the noble lord and keeper of the fortress. After an undignified dismount from his horse and a brief word with the inn-keeper, Don Quixote suddenly stops, staring in awe.

"Dulcinea!" he exclaims.

He has caught sight of the bedraggled Aldonza, and his heart is lost forever.

He, of course, is convinced that she is a noblewoman, a pure and lovely treasure, blessed with all the fine graces befitting her exalted lineage. He insists that her name is Dulcinea, and sings her a gentle love song. At first she scoffs, then softens, then hardens her heart to the song that includes the words,

I see heaven when I see thee, Dulcinea,
And thy name is like a prayer
An angel whispers... Dulcinea... Dulcinea!

The next day, Don Quixote continues to woo his lady, Dulcinea. Aldonza is bewildered by his tender devotion, but hardens her heart toward him.

That night Aldonza is on her way to meet up with a paying customer when she sees Don Quixote, holding prayerful vigil in the courtyard as he prepares to be knighted the next day. She is curious, and she thinks she knows what he is really after. She stops to talk to him, expecting at any moment he will proposition her like every other man she has known. The conversation that followed brought tears to my eyes:

             I know you, milady.
I think you know me not.
             All my years I have known you, your nobility of spirit...
            long have I seen you in my heart.
Your heart doesn't know much about women.
             It knows all, milady.
             Woman is the soul of man...
             the radiance that lights his way.
             Woman is glory.
What do you want of me?
             - Nothing. -
Liar!!
             [humbly] I deserve the rebuke.
             - I ask of milady...
Now we get to it!
              That I may be allowed to serve her...
             that I may hold her in my heart...
             that to her I may dedicate each victory...
             and call upon her in defeat.

  and call upon her in defeat.
             And if at last I give my life...
             I give it in the sacred name of Dulcinea.

"That I may be allowed to serve her, and hold her in my heart..." While she expected the abuse she had known and embraced, he held out pure devotion and gentility. Even as she went to prostitute herself, he pledged his undying love to her.

As we were watching that scene, a little thought popped into my head: I am Aldonza. We all are.

God cherishes us. He loves us with a deep, everlasting love that makes any love we know seem empty by comparison, just like in the story where Don Quixote's innocent, pure devotion is contrasted with the mule-driver's leering lust.

But we aren't ready to believe it; we don't really trust that God loves us that much. Like Aldonza, we're waiting for the axe to fall; He loves us this much because He wants something out of it. And every time something bad happens in our lives, we yell out, "Now we get to it!" He's just been playing with us in the good times to win us over and bring us hope so He can have the fun of smashing it.

But His heart is breaking! He really does love us, with no reservations, despite of who we are, despite what we've done, and despite how we will fail in the future. He sees us as His bride, pure and spotless, and everything that comes to us is part of His loving us. He doesn't have ulterior motives; what could we possibly give him? He is devoted to us; He has pledged himself to us, to be our defender, our rock, our knight in shining armor.

The last scene we see of Aldonza is after Don Quixote's death as she and Sancho grieve together. He calls her by her given name, but she gently corrects him. Her encounter with Don Quixote's love has changed her; she wants to live up to the vision he saw of her. She takes the name he gave her: Dulcinea.

The question for my heart is, has my encounter with God's love changed me the same way? Am I willing to leave the familiarity of sin to embark on the adventure of trusting God's tender love? To give up the life I have now to live up to the life He wants me to have?

I want to. By HIS grace (the power and desire to do His will!), I will!

Workmanship

2009-10-22T21:41:00.003-04:00

I am making a new purse.

We are having special meetings at church.

These are related.

Life Action is a team that has taken over my church. But that's not a bad thing; that's what they are supposed to do. They are preachers, musicians, family pastors, and children's ministry workers that travel from church to church bringing a special message of personal revival. While the team is here, we don't have to cover the music, or preschool, or anything. The team takes care of it all so that the church folks can just attend the service and listen.

There are special meetings every night except Friday and Saturday for two weeks. It's not an old-fashioned revival, with a pulpit-pounding preacher thundering for the audience to walk the aisle. It's not about evangelism, but about personal, individual revival for members of the church.

We spent the first few meetings talking about what prevents revival and what kind of heart God revives. In the revival prevention area, I heard many things that I considered part of my personality, not anything so nasty as sin: stubbornness, claiming my rights, and insisting that I am right, among others. After an honest inventory, I wondered how I think I'm such a great person, when there are so many things wrong in so many areas of my life.

After these sessions that seemed about as reviving as getting repeatedly whacked with a two-by-four (the Spirit's conviction! Ouch!), we had a message about grace last night. It was wonderfully refreshing to hear that grace is the power and desire to do what God wants. I've felt guilty about not wanting to read my Bible, not wanting to pray, not wanting to do what may be right. But just like I can ask for God's grace in other areas, I can ask for the desire to do what He wants me to do. It doesn't mean that I won't read the Bible if I don't feel like it. It was just a freeing realization that God's grace, the grace that covers me, is available to me whenever I ask for it. I don't need to feel guilty that I need grace! Thank you, Lord!

Tonight we had a talk about confession and repentance. We had a long list of things, a kind of checklist or inventory to remind us of things that we need to confess. I stopped checking after the first 18 boxes or so; out of 70-something sins, if I had that many so far, I might as well just go through and confess each one unless I found an exception. I never realized how much ratty junk there was in my life.

I have been constructing a purse for the past couple of weeks. I haven't had much time to work on it, but I spent some more time on it this week and now it's almost done. It's related to a project I finished a few months ago: a purse made out of old ties.

The last project, the purse I carry now, is one that I made out of ties Scott bought for me at the charity shop. I found a pattern on the internet, and modified it slightly (I like outside pockets and a zipper instead of a magnetic snap-flap) to make a one-of-a-kind handbag. It's huge, though, and pretty heavy, even when it's relatively empty. So I thought I'd use the scraps left from that project to make another one.

As I was working on my new purse, trying to trim the seams from the beautiful yet horribly difficult lining fabric, I started thinking about my big purse. It's pretty. It has many different colors and textures, handy pockets on the outside, and a nice zipper top. The handle is wide so it doesn't dig into my shoulder. I have gotten oodles of compliments from complete strangers about how nice my purse is.

But I know better.

I know that spot on the zipper where I had to cut it off because it was too long, then sew it up so that the zipper couldn't fly off the end.

I can point out the places it's fraying because I couldn't finish the seam properly.

The zipper doesn't go all the way to the end, leaving a little spot unfinished on the zipper extending fabric, so that fabric frays and there's a small hole.

I see the crooked seams, the unfinished spots, the handle that never got finished the way I wanted, and a dozen other things that no one else notices.

But I notice. Because I made it. I wanted it to be better than that. When other people look at it, they see the contrasting colors and the unique design. When I look at it, I see how it has fallen short of the standard.

*Bing!* There's the connection. It connected in my head just as slowly as it has connected here. That's why these church meetings are so good and important; they're helping me see some of the frayed edges that I haven't let God sew up properly. They're a constant eyesore to him, but I've been able to overlook them, only noticing the nicer parts of myself.

Now the magnifying glass is out, and I've been forced to see my sin for what it is: plain, ugly, putrid, sickening sin.

But God doesn't point out these things to sink me beneath waves of despair. He hasn't thrown me out. He wants better for me. He wants to fix the problem, not just with patches and fabric glue, but by re-making me entirely, into the image of His Son, Jesus.

And He will. He promised.

I can rest, "being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you [and me!] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."(Philippians 1:6)

All good gifts come from the Father of lights... and music!

2009-09-03T12:31:00.002-04:00

Ode to Joy! Hear the voices soaring and the intricate counterpoint of the strings! The harmony! But especially after the rest of the 9th... you can't appreciate that sudden burst of ecstasy until you've listened to the quiet, even melancholy passages that precede it.... then suddenly the choir bursts forth and the whole orchestra resounds with rejoicing. And Beethoven was deaf when he wrote it! Oh, God, what a gift you have given to us in music! If this earthly choir, sculpted out of the dust by your hands, can stir my soul and lift my heart to You, how much more the throng that will surround Your throne, and the angelic choirs that sing, forever, Holy!

2009-08-12T17:40:00.002-04:00

Fresh

2009-08-03T16:15:00.005-04:00

I think our society has some mixed up ideas.

Fresh fruit, for instance. In our country, most of the time buying fresh fruit means driving down to the supermarket, wheeling a shopping cart through the gleaming aisles, and making selections from the displays of apples that were shipped weeks ago, tomatoes that were plucked green, and bananas desperately trying to ripen under the glare of the florescent lights. Blackberries and raspberries of uniform size and shape rest in their little plastic jails, *er* cartons, smug and safe.

So what? What's wrong with some convenience? After all, that way we can get fruit in the winter so we don't get scurvy and have our teeth fall out.

There's nothing wrong with convenience. The problem is when we don't remember that there's something missing...

Hot, thick sunshine pulling beads of sweat onto my skin. Thick grass soft under my bare feet. Blackberry canes nodding in the breeze that tickles my face. Soft fruit falling into my fingers. A blackberry as big around as a quarter and so full of Tennessee rain and sunshine that it explodes sun-warmed sweetness into my mouth. I don't even have to chew; it's so ripe it just melts away. Moving into the shade of the vine's thick leaves and marveling at the sudden drop in temperature just inches away from the sun's bright rays. Shiny black fruit that begs to be gathered. Fruit so fresh that I have to swat the ants off of it and fight for territory with the wasps. It takes some time, some sweat, and some effort. But the experience is about more than just getting the berries picked; there's something in the gathering that I could never experience by picking up a pound of blackberries in the store.

Our society constantly seeks "fresh," new ideas. We package up things like friendship and communication in little plastic jails, *er* cartons, and label them cell phones (BlackBerry!), text messaging, and facebook.

There is nothing wrong with the convenience of these services. They can keep us from getting scurvy and having our teeth fall out... in other words, from completely losing contact with people that live far away. But when we don't have to put in the time, sweat, and effort, we lose the full experience. Friendship can be hard; but after quality time cultivating and nurturing it, we experience sweetness that can't be wrapped up in cellophane.

I think this also applies to my relationship with God.

There are lots of "fresh" new ideas... new books, new worship songs, new Bible study curricula, new ideas for outreach, all available in the "grocery store" of the Christian market, and even the Christian church. There is nothing wrong with these things (as long as they stick to Scripture!), and they might even keep my teeth from falling out... I mean, help encourage me to walk uprightly in a fallen world.

But if I put my effort and concentration into these things, trusting them to be the full experience of God, I miss something. I miss Him. I miss out on the One who delights in using the simple and foolish things to shame the wise of this world. I miss the sweetness of passionate prayer. I miss the sunny delight of learning from Him in His word. I miss the dry times of yelling at God to do something, anything, to let me know He's still there. I miss the enveloping comfort of finding out that He is.

A relationship with God requires time, sweat, and effort. And a lot of times there are ants and wasps that have to be shooed away. But the reward is the experience...

... experiencing God.

Hospital Happenings

2009-07-07T16:51:00.000-04:00

Hospitals smell funny.

However, since I have chosen nursing as my profession, I guess I should just get used to it. My new job is helping in that area; every day I am exposed to the various lovely aromas that accompany patient care, from festering wound to Clostridium difficile diarrhea to plain, ordinary body odor. Charming, wouldn't you agree?

The good thing about the hospital is that it has climate control. My last job was moving books around in a warehouse that was originally constructed as a Guinness World Record project: Largest Solar Oven. It was converted into a warehouse by the installation of ceiling fans that are excellent at driving the hot air from the ceiling down upon the heads of workers, making them wish that it weren't quite so expensive to move to Alaska.

While I was sad to leave my friends at my old job, when I resigned in May I was looking forward to working inside a real building with climate control. Now I work at a Veteran's Administration hospital as a student nurse technician. I clean up patients, clean up poop, and run errands for nurses and patients. Oh, and I measure blood pressures once per shift.

The work itself is not the exciting part. I enjoy my job because of all the people I get to meet. All of our patients have served our country in the armed forces. We have veterans from every conflict from WWII through OIF (Operation Iraqi Freedom). Most of our patients are in the 40+ age range. The veterans get free service at the VA hospital, so they are more grateful and less demanding than patients I've encountered in other hospitals. A lot of "my guys" are native to this area, too, and have good Southern manners, always saying "yes ma'am," even though I'm the age of some of their grandchildren!

There have been some interesting characters I've encountered, and my next postings will be about a few of them.

One patient, fifty years my senior, kept telling me what a fine young lady I was. It was rather awkward, as I was feeding him his breakfast at the time, trying to get him to eat his pureed french toast and struggling to keep his oxygen mask on between bites. I felt kind of rude to say, "Well, thank you. HERE, take another bite," but the day before it had taken him more than an hour to eat breakfast, and I needed to move on to other duties. The gentleman told me I was going to break some young man's heart. I replied that I hoped not, as I was engaged to one young man and had no intention of breaking his heart. My patient sighed.

"How old are you?" he asked
"Twenty-two."
He sighed again. "Too young. And I'm married. It wouldn't work."
No, it wouldn't work. Ever. Ever. But he was a sweet old man, who was nice to all the staff, so I didn't want to be rude. Poor guy.

One of my less strenuous jobs at work is sitting. Yes, I did indeed say "sitting." Sometimes we have patients who cannot be left alone. Some people keep trying to get out of bed. That isn't a problem, except that often they are too weak to walk, so they fall and get subdural hematomas. Well, they could get subdural hematomas, at least one per patient. We would get in mondo heaps of trouble if that happened, so we assign one staff member to sit with the patient and keep him sitting down, unless his family is present to take care of him.
I sat with Mr. R. last week. He told me about his travels across Asia with the military. He was in the Korean war and spent some time in Seoul. The last time he saw it, though, it was still a rough, poverty-stricken place.
"I sure wish I could go back and see it now," he said wistfully. And loudly. Like many hard-of-hearing patients, his normal tone of voice was only slightly softer than a megaphone-wielding crowd-control officer.

Mr. R. also told me an interesting story. After his military service, he owned his own tree-trimming business. Tree trimming as in pruning branches outside, not decorating for Christmas. Apparently pruning is much more dangerous than preparing for the holiday season. He told me he had an accident that did permanent damage to his legs.
"Did you climb up in the trees to trim them?" I queried.
"Naw, I had a machine to take me up there. But I got the big head [which evidently makes one top-heavy] and fell out of the tree, 'bout thirty feet to the gravel driveway." I made appropriate facial expressions of horror while he continued.
"They thought I was dead, until one lady noticed the sheet [over me] rising and falling. I reckon if they hadn't, I'd a woke up at the cold storage bin in the morgue!"

Something I really admire about some of these guys is how they retain a sense of humor, even in very trying circumstances. Not long after I arrived to work at the VA, the nurses on my floor received a note from a patient thanking them for taking such good care of him "while I was there gittin' my leg sawed off. [sic]"

You've gotta love 'em!

Whew, long post.

I have a few more stories, but it's time for Bible study right now. I'll have to write up more adventures later!

A new horizon

2009-07-02T23:18:00.001-04:00

I am writing from the tiny keyboard of my fiancé's bargain iPhone that has no phone service. It is a lot easier to type when we're not hurtling down the interstate. Here this actually is not much different from writing with regard to speed. Punctuation is harder, but I might survive for short bursts.
I will write soon about some of my hospital adventures, like the little old man who showed symptoms of Nightingale syndrome, or the gentleman who got "the big head" and narrowly escaped spending a night in the morgue...while still alive!

Thanks for letting me play with your iPhone, Scott!

Exercise-induced meditations

2009-05-18T17:19:00.000-04:00

I love running. If it weren't for the huffing, puffing, sore muscles, and gasping for air, I'd run a lot more often. To tell the truth, I don't really like to run just to run. Throw in a soccer ball and I'm excited to run for as long as I can keep going, but merely going on and on, step after step, for as long as you can for no apparent reason... I find that not so thrilling.

But spring days, overflowing with the melodies of bluebirds and mockingbirds and saturated with the heady scent of honeysuckle, have a way of charming into exercise even the most resistant. Thus the friendly sun found me heading out at a brisk jog to enjoy the day and get some needed cardio exercise.

Things were wonderful. I wasn't even tired or out of breath. But at the end of the driveway, things got more difficult.

I love Tennessee, and the Lord has blessed us with a nice, cozy house in a great location. The only problem is that we live in a hole. Not a real hole, of course, but a dip in the land that makes it impossible to go more than 2 blocks without climbing a massive hill. These hills are usually only navigated by motor-driven vehicles or small, specially-trained burros. In fact, they probably start the burro training program here... that way, when they get to the Grand Canyon it's a piece of cake.

So the decision goes like this:
End of driveway-> Right-> dead end, turn right-> straight=go around the block and end up at my driveway again. Short trip, not long enough to qualify as exercise, so have to go with another option.
End of driveway->Right->Left-> Right= HUGE hill, steep, and looong. And after you get to the top, you can go left down the hill and have to come up again at the end of the workout, or you can keep going up the hill to circle around and see if you can keep going long enough to make it to where it goes downhill. My legs get sore just looking at that hill.

But if I turn left out of my driveway, the road circles around and THERE'S THE SAME HILL! Like it's following me, taunting me! Less steep, but twice as long, one must go up part way, then cut over to another street, then keep going up till the sidewalk runs out.... and then you have to turn right again and keep going up!! Crazy!

The last option is the one I chose today. I had never gone up that way before, but to my surprise, it was a bit easier than the short, steep hill. The road ends up just a block down from where the steep hill is, so it's just a long way round to the top. By the time I got there I was wondering why I had thought it was cool enough to go jogging outside instead of setting up the fan in front of my elliptical machine.

But jogging on the path that winds around the school at the top of the hill, I began to enjoy it. Darlene Zschech and the Hillsongs team were pumping music into my ears, but not loud enough to drown out the birdsong in the trees next to the path.

Behold He comes
Riding on the clouds
Shining like the sun
At the trumpet call

One of my many favorite songs. I looked up at the maples and saw them waving in the breeze, reminding me of the ancient prophecy, "..and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands."

The path curved around and I could see the dazzling sunshine on the Appalaichan mountains as the next lines played:

So lift your voice
It's the year of Jubilee
And out of Zion's hills salvation comes!

That song and the next one carried me down the hill, but then I had to start going up again. Thankfully my circuit around to get to the top had taken so long that I didn't have to run all the way to the top again, but stopped for my cool down just a little ways up.

The cool down was long; after all, I had to get all the way back to my house. The jogging trail winds through the campus of the local high school, and I had the opportunity to pick tiny yellow flowers from the manicured grass. As I rounded a bend I was greeted by an unexpected cascade of tiny white roses spilling out of a patch of woods. I stopped to smell them, and for the bad idea, try to pick some. I found out that tiny roses doesn't mean tiny thorns. Ouch.

Back up the hill, across the street, and down the hill again to the road where I live. The breeze played gently with the neighborhood trees, and my musings turned to the wind.

I love being outside and feeling a fresh breeze; one of the things I love about living near the mountains is the abundance of wind, whether it is a light, tricksy zephyr or a walloping, boisterous blow. Maybe that's why I so enjoy the Bible verses that connect wind with the Spirit of God, the breath of God, and the workings of God. We see so often in Scripture that God controls the wind and sends it where He wants it. Sometimes when I am alone outside I imagine the breeze that brushes my cheek is really the fingertip of God. And when a breath of wind puffs my bangs out of my eyes, I imagine my Heavenly Father smoothing it back, just like my earthly Dad does sometimes.

It is beautiful to be alive on a day like today, with a gentle, caressing wind playing with my hair and the warm kiss of sunshine on my face.

Even if I did have to exercise to enjoy it.

Idolatry?

2009-04-16T10:06:00.000-04:00

A few nights ago I looked up at the moon as it sent slivers of silver through the window, and I wondered why people used to worship it. It's not like the sun; it's not as bright, it doesn't give warmth, and it doesn't look like it really does anything. Did people worship it just because it was a shiny thing up in the sky? How foolish and backward.

An instant later I realized that I do things just as stupid every day. I idolize my grades at school; not that I consciously put them on some high plane or really put school first in my life, but I seem to think that my test scores somehow determine my future. In my mind I attribute to them more power than they actually have, a power that only God has. If I really believe that God is in control of my future and can do whatever He wants with me, even if I fail a test or (even worse!) a whole class, He has already taken that into account when mapping out my destiny. He is in control and will do what He wants, whether or not I make an A-, B-, or F!

That doesn't mean I won't study; I will still do my best to use the talents that God has given me to learn as much as I can. But it means that I can trust God with everything, and ask Him for brokenness without saying, "take every area of my life except my grades. I must make good grades..."

It's good to get rid of that burden.

Just as it applied to the pagans who sacrificed constantly to appease the moon god, Jesus' appeal reaches through the centuries and into my life: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

Hoo-rah!

2009-04-09T14:29:00.000-04:00

Almost done with another semester!

One more test. Two final exams. About five dozen projects. Then we're done till fall! Happy happy happiness.

Going to Mexico this summer. I was kindof disappointed that I won't get to go to the ship Doulos this summer, but now I'm thinking it's probably for the best. So instead of going overseas for two months, I'll be heading down to Mexico for a week. I think we're planning to do some clinic work down there, and maybe some education projects, as well as construction. I'm looking forward to it!

I should go get busy again... or take a nap. Nap sounds gooooood....

Where....am... I?

2009-04-02T18:00:00.000-04:00

I rubbed my eyes groggily before literally dragging myself out of bed. The numbers on my blaring alarm clock read 4:45. In the morning.

"Oh, what a beautifully wonderful day to go to clinicals," I thought, sarcasm being my only refuge that early in the morning, when dreams were still dancing before my eyes.

I groaned and stumbled, bleary-eyed, towards the door to the bathroom, where I turned on the heater to get dressed without freezing. But as I slowly became capable of thinking (a very slow process sometimes!), an idea began to press itself inside my brain.

Sleep deprivation. Check.

I followed the though thread: in my research for my thesis, I keep finding that nursing students feel isolated because they study all the time.

Social isolation. Check.

This was getting interesting. The thought started to bloom in earnest as I realized nursing school tests (which already appeared on my blog a few weeks ago) are notorious for their harshness and obscurity.

Intense questioning. Check.

So sleep deprivation, social isolation, and intense questioning... for a moment I wondered if I was a nursing student or a detained "enemy combatant" at Gitmo!

No, I know that's ridiculous. They get free food and recreation time every day. :-)

All joking aside, it is a good program. It has to be hard because nurses can't afford to make mistakes; people's lives are in the balance.

But it would be nice if we had recreation time every day. :-)

Lullaby....

2009-03-16T18:00:00.000-04:00

There is nothing that puts me to sleep faster than Mr. M, one of my former teachers, expounding the fascinating topic of 4th grade-level grammar to a group of bored university students.

Writing papers comes in a close second. Just finished a paper on bioterrorism. Fascinating subject, really, but for some reason, the rhythmic clicking of my keyboard was more soothing than Brahms' lullaby. So the clicking got slower, and slower and slower..... yes, I was falling asleep while typing.

Apparently, my paper was not scary enough. Bioterror is scary, especially considering viral hemorrhagic fevers (my topic). But though scary enough to keep some people awake at night, not enough to keep me awake at 5:55 in the evening.

Maybe I just need some food to wake me up.

No, what made me wake up was the pounding of little feet running down the hallway of my house. My niece is here for a few days, and Dad sent her to get Aunt Rachel to come to supper. My niece is absolutely adorable. Both of them are, but one lives farther away so I don't see her as much... too far away to come get me for supper, anyway.

I'd better go get nourishment before I fall asleep again.

Spring Break!

2009-03-06T15:15:00.000-05:00

At last, it has come! Spring break!

My teachers graciously assigned us myraids of paperwork so we wouldn't get bored. :-)

No, we've had the assignments for quite a while, so I got most of mine done ahead of time so I can spend my spring break like other college students.... working on my Honors thesis! Wait, what did you say? The beach?? THAT'S what people do for spring break?

Well, instead of storing up some liver poisoning and sun cancer for my future, I will be contributing to the sadly small body of knowledge about nursing education. I hope. It all depends on whether or not I got enough data in my interviews to draw conclusions or not. I hope I don't have to do all my interviews over again!

But before I settle down to work, I'm off to a "women's ministry planning retreat" with a group of ladies from church. That should be fun. And then off for the weekend, then back to work.

Time to go!

On a roll...

2009-03-02T08:59:00.001-05:00

Wow! Another post! That must mean I have something really interesting/exciting to share, right?

Nope. It means I finished my test (see picture at left) and I have an hour before I have to be back in class.

There are some interesting things about nursing school tests. Usually on a test, there is a right answer, and three wrong answers to each multiple choice question. In nursing school, there are two right answers-- each one was in your notes, each one was in your textbook as something you should do, but you must remember which one comes FIRST.

Example: Your patient is 10 minutes post-op. Patient is pale with tachycardia and thready pulse. You suspect hemorrage. What do you do first?
A.) The hokey-pokey and turn yourself around
B.) Check under the patient's sheet to see if blood is pooling beneath patient
C.) Take patient's blood pressure
D.) HA!! Gotcha! You were HOPING to see an option to choose both B and C because they're BOTH RIGHT but you CAN'T because this is nursing school!! *cackle* You can only vacillate hopelessly between the two answers, knowing that whichever one you pick you will be WRONG! Ha ha!

It's very demoralizing to have your test cackle at you.

But usually, with each question, there are two answers that are just silly. And two that are so close... I still don't remember what the right answer was for the above question. Or what course it was in. I remember thinking, "If the patient is so soon out of the operating room, we would have a cuff on him to take BP... so I would hit the button the machine to take his BP while I'm looking under the sheet.... but that's not an option... is my test really cackling at me? Weird."

One thing that helps is that you never select "Notify physician." Or almost never. And the answer is not administer antispsychotics and apply restraints, unless it is referring to fellow nursing students who are standing up, screaming, and tearing out their hair as their tests cackle in unison across the classroom.

Two more words of advice: Kegel Exercises. If it's urinary, and not an infection, it's Kegel Exercises.

Well, that wasted about fifteen minutes. Forty-five to go.

I don't know how I would make it through without the Lord's help. He has given me such a peace about tests over the past few months that I've hardly been anxious at all. Even my huge HESI test (that covers the past 3 semesters of material and if you don't pass you have to repeat all your courses), I was nervous about beforehand, but the day of the test I was as calm as a sea cucumber. I think I was calm because so many people were praying for me!

I'm very thankful God has given me the opportunity to be in university and study nursing. I'm glad to be here and learn.

Even if my tests do cackle.

Wow, another post!

2009-03-01T20:45:00.000-05:00

This would be a really good time for me to go do something more productive, but I am tired of being sensible.

The question actually is, now that I'm not fasting, what will I choose to eat? And how much?

My boyfriend Scott and his community group just did a month-long media fast: no movies, television, radio/music player, or novels for a month. Mere days before I found out they were going to do it, I was thinking about it myself. The point was to find out how much time you have to pray and put your energy into constructive things if you cut out distractions. So I joined them, from 90 miles away. Almost. I did read a novel and listen to my mp3 player (worship music) while I exercised. I've tried praying while running before, and I don't usually make it past, "Oh, Lord, really, please help me survive this! And I hope it's been twenty minutes by now..... WHAT?? Only thirty seconds?" *groan* Oh, and while I studied, I put some worship music on. So I was keeping the spirit, if not the letter.

The first two weeks were the hardest. It took about a week just to get out of the habit of turning on the radio wherever I go, and to stop turning on the TV all the time.

Before I continue, I must comment that I have the most wonderful parents ever. You see, they (and I!) like to watch TV while we eat supper, especially since NCIS runs all the time here. We would mute the commercials and talk about how things went through the day, and what was going on. But they knew it would be really hard for me if they kept doing that (I did kinda tell them it would be nice to eat together at the table so I didn't have to eat by myself in my room!). So they gave up their TV time while I was around so it wouldn't be distracting for me. Aren't they great?

I wonder what I've learned....
1.) I do have more time than I thought.
2.) I still wasted time on my discussion boards at school, and next time I should limit myself on that, too.
3.) Set realistic goals.
4.) I don't ever want to live by myself. Mom and Dad were gone for a long weekend to my brother's house in Kentucky, and with them gone and no TV, no Adventures in Odyssey (yes, I do still listen to those...), no radio/music, and no people around the house... I was as lonely as a non-conformist lemming. (does that sound as funny outside as it did inside my head?) Grandma and Grandpa were here, of course, but Grandpa usually has the TV on downstairs, and sometimes conversation can be difficult. The most fun was when some people from church came over for a game night. But the rest of the time was not so fun! I think that was the first weekend of the fast, so I was in withdrawal, too. :-)

Well, it's getting time to pack up my computer for the night.

Goodnight!

No Part 2

2009-02-27T23:22:00.000-05:00

Some people believe that aliens came from outer space and planted the seed of life here on earth. I scoff at such ridiculous notions. Life was already here; they planted care plans.

That is the only explanation I can think of for care plans. Or maybe it was a group of professors sitting around laughing and thinking about what they could do to discourage and weed out students:
"Hey, I know! We'll assign them more paperwork! Oh, oh, and just to make it fun, they'll have to copy out most of the patient's medical chart! Ha ha! And then, then, they'll have to look up all the thirty zillion medications we have them on and list the entire drug guide listing for each one!"
"*giggle* That is such a wonderful idea! And we won't have them start doing this until right before they're due, so they don't know what they're doing!"
"Ho ho, but you guys are missing the best part of all: we'll have them start doing it right around the time they go out into the hospitals and see that these care plans, that they've spent hours mounting up to years of their lives making, are completely useless in the real world!" [here the whole conference of teachers collapses into paroxysms of uncontrollable mirth]

I like most of my teachers, and don't want to think ill of them. That's why I prefer the alien theory.

I can see the point of careplans a little bit, especially in the beginning. In a care plan you look at the problems the patient is having that the nurse (and NOT the doctor) can do something about. Then you set a measurable goal for your client, list the things you would do to achieve that goal, and evaluate how well things worked. You have to have several of these client problems (from Fluid Imbalance to Risk for Injury to Ineffective Coping), even more goals for both short and long term, and enough nursing interventions to make your fingers cramp when you try to type them up. *sigh* Not bad for the beginning. But to have them count for such a huge part of our clinical grades, when we will not ever use them in practice, seems a bit much. I shouldn't complain; I should just be thankful we only have three this semester instead of one every week!

In case you were wondering, there is no second part for the first part I put about my summer on the ship. Though the rest of what I did in the summer was ok, it was mainly work. Oh, and a family reunion where we had 30 people at the house for a weekend. That was so much fun! The air conditioning stopped working so it was really hot in the kitchen, but otherwise it was great.

I have been wondering what the future of this blog really is.

Thank you to the people who do actually read it. Maybe someone will read it. Maybe if I posted more often...

Time for sleepin'. (yes, actually, I am a college student that goes to bed early. Sometimes I'm asleep before my grandparents!)

What I did on Summer Vacation (part 1)

2008-11-03T20:36:00.000-05:00

I love the Swedish Chef. He's great. He doesn't speak Swedish. He doesn't cook. But he's a Muppet, and he's funny.

That has nothing to do with this blog entry. I just thought I'd add it in there.

Last time I wrote, I was excited about leaving the country again. It was the beginning of summer, and I was praising God every time I remembered that I would not have to re-take Foundations of Nursing Practice. Come to think of it, I still thank Him every time I think about that class. It was horribly difficult for me, but the Lord brought me through it, and even managed to teach me some valuable lessons about trust along the way.

I survived the semester and joyfully packed my suitcase and proceeded to flee the country. "Let us flee, said the fly." So I flew. There was some slight confusion about my flight, but everything got straightened out and I arrived in the sunny Caribbean. I had to wait a while at the airport, but I enjoyed writing in my journal.

It has been too long now for me to write in too much detail, but I can say it was a wonderful blessing for me to be able to spend time on the ship this summer. The Logos II was run by a skeleton crew. It was scary when I first got there, but you get used to fleshless sailors after a while. Ha ha, I know you're laughing. Or at least smiling. Hopefully you understood it was an attempt, however flat, at humor. To get back to the subject, the Logos II usually has about 200 crewmembers from 50 countries. This time, we were down to 100 (and towards the end the numbers ebbed towards 60) from 25 different countries. There weren't as many people to make messes, but there weren't as many to help clean up, so everyone had to pitch in and help in other departments at times. It was great.

I made many friends, many of whom I probably will not see again, except on Facebook. It was wonderful to come together with so many people from different backgrounds and experiences and see how we could work together. There were disagreements, of course. A ship can't always have smooth sailing. But on the whole, we tried to make allowances for each others' faults and help each other through the tough days. And many days were tough. I worked in the Book Hold. The Hold team restocks the ship's book shop at the end of the day (and beginning of the next one). When the bookshop has 5,600 visitors in one day, there is an overwhelming amount of restocking to do. We would take the books from the Hold, pack them into plastic tubs, then load them into the freight elevator to go up to the deck. Those things were heavy! I got a good workout loading and/or unloading the books.

In addition to restocking, the Hold team receives and processes all the books that we get sent to us. The books are sent in 40 foot shipping containers packed FULL. These have to be unloaded by hand and sent into the Hold via a roller conveyer belt thing. Some books went straight to the deck, and those had to be handed from person to person in a chain that stretched fromt the container to the deck. When not lifting plastic tubs or unloading boxes, we were lifting boxes and piles of books as we sorted them and entered them into our inventory.

It was very physical work; my ring grew too loose for my ring finger and had to move to my middle finger. My shorts got a little looser as I sweated in the Caribbean heat. And it was hot. Hot. The Book Hold did not have air conditioning, and most of the time we couldn't use the fans because they were too noisy. I spent most of the summer with sweat dripping off my nose and chin. Though I hate hot weather, I was there working and LOVING IT!

Added to all this nice work, I tried to go jogging at least two or three times a week (more often in the beginning, but for the last month I was jogging with other people so we didn't go as often). So I crammed a year's worth of exercise into eight short weeks.

We had worship services, youth conferences, kids programs, and prision ministry teams. I was privileged to get to help lead worship a couple of times. I was MC for a couple of youth conferences, and I enjoyed it immensely. Prison ministry was scary at first, but by the time I left I was surprised to find myself enjoying it. I was involved with the Logos II sports ministry, which meant I got to play soccer quite a bit. (I miss playing soccer!!!)

If you've never been to one of the Operation Mobilization ships, there's no way to explain it in one sitting. It is thrilling. There are new places and people and experiences every couple of weeks; there is always something new to discover and explore, whether it's a port city, a ministry, or a personal friendship with someone from another country. It is also draining. The work is hard, the hours are long, and the work never seems to get quite finished. But in it all there is a satisfaction that the work means something; the books that are getting loaded into the elevator could change someone's life tomorrow. Knowing that God will not let His word return void is encouraging, even in the hard days.

Everything seems faster than normal on board, though the ship's top speed is less than 20 miles an hour. The pace of life is faster. Deep friendships form faster. And yes, I dare say it, love blooms faster (though this one doesn't apply to me, I've seen it happen!). People mature faster.

I could go on and on. But it's time for bed already, since I have clincal courses tomorrow.

More to follow....

Butterflies!

2008-05-12T13:25:00.000-04:00

I miss seeing butterflies. Back in Georgia we had honeysuckle and some pretty red and yellow flowers that attracted butterflies by the dozens and even a few hummingbirds. But the butterflies I'm mentioning today are not outside, but inside. Yes, belly-butterflies usually associated with stage fright, though in my case are more connected to excitement.

I just packed my suitcase. But I feel like, "I just packed my suitcase!!!!!!!!" I am very excited. (!!!) I am almost ready to go.

I haven't let myself process the fact that I'm leaving yet. For so long I had to concentrate on school and tests and studying that I didn't want to distract myself by being excited about going to the Logos II again. It helped, if that's the right term, that I had one class that I was very worried about. It kept me concentrated on schoolwork. I just couldn't seem to get my bearings in that class; it was very hard, and I studied till my eyes bled from strain (okay, not quite, but almost!) but I just couldn't get anywhere. I failed more than one test, and I was worried. It took all semester, but gradually I realized that I was not trusting God. The reason I was so stressed was because I was worried about losing my scholarship and having to take the class over again and what if I failed it again? It all boiled down to whether or not I trusted God to get me through and that whatever happened next would be for my good and learning. It was very hard. Then I took the final exam and I felt that I had done horribly on it. I had to wait a week before I found out my grade.

I passed. Barely. And I got a B- in the class. I think I learned a good lesson, and I'm glad I didn't have to fail the class in order to learn it!

So now I'm really excited about leaving. Finals are all over, and I worked extra hours last week since my bosses are being very nice about letting me leave and come back in two months.

My suitcase is packed, in more than one use of the word; it was full, then I stuffed socks and underwear into every crevasse and cranny. So now it is really and truly Packed.

Maybe I'll keep my blog updated while I'm gone. Ha. Yeah right. Well, I guess it's possible.

I'm leaving tomorrow at 4:30am. Fun fun fun. Poor Mom has to drive me to the airport. We're just glad the airport is less than 3 hours away!

Well, the butterflies are fluttering again, tickling my ribs and reminding me that I have other things I need to be doing right now. I shall heed their call and get busy again. And really, it's almost as nice to have butterflies inside as to have them outside. :-)

A Startling Revelation....

2008-03-10T09:47:00.001-04:00

I am a ditz. I can hear the collective gasp of shock (rising from the five people that have read my blog...), but it's true. I realized it on Saturday. Maybe I knew it before, but I kinda forgot, like blondes tend to do sometimes. :-)

Saturday was a nice day; I didn't have to study, since I'd been studying all week, and it was a lovely, snowy day. I love snow; it's lovely the way it drifts lazily past the windows, or gets swirled around in great gusts of wind.

Mom had a headache all day, but we braved the weather and went grocery shopping in the morning. We also went by the library. Mom said we didn't need to go in: we'd just drop the books in the "book suppository." Yuck!! "I think you mean 'depository,'" I said, still grimacing from the mental image of a book-shaped suppository. (if any readers do not know what a suppository is, I welcome you to do a Google search. NOT an image search, just word search!)

After we finished our shopping and book dropping (ha ha, our shoppings and droppings?), we came home. I worked on my scrapbook between loads of laundry. Mom had a little nap in the afternoon, and I sneaked into her bathroom and cleaned it so she wouldn't have to. She still had a headache when she woke up, and it was time for her to do Grandma's bath. So while Mom did that, I made spaghetti for supper. I was going to warm up the sauce in a pan, but then thought it would be hot enough if I put it in the hot pan after I cooked the spaghetti. Yes, I did remember to drain the spaghetti. I did not remember to put the biscuits in the oven first, though, so we had to wait a long time for them to be done, making the spaghetti and sauce even cooler. Even after all the food was on the table we had to wait a while for Dad and Grandpa to come to the table.

So we had barely warm spaghetti, some salad, vegetables, and yummy garlic cheesy rolls, served with pleasant dinner time conversation.

After supper I turned to Mom and opened my mouth to say something, when I caught myself. I started laughing. "What's so funny?" she asked quizzically.

I couldn't stop laughing as I told her, "I almost said, 'Thanks, Mom, for cooking such a nice supper!'" Yes, indeed, I almost thanked Mom for making a meal I had made myself. If that's not ditzy, I'm not sure what is.

No curry

2008-02-14T17:15:00.001-05:00

Well, my new passport doesn't smell like curry, so I guess they're not outsourced to Pakistan or India. The new passport design is really pretty, with etchings of famous American monuments like Mt. Rushmore.

I still think blog is an ugly word

2008-01-26T17:49:00.000-05:00

I don't know if I'm still getting graded on this, but I thought I'd put this up anyway. I don't think anyone ever reads this except for me, but maybe it can be a kindof journal. Or not.

I wonder if the government makes money off of passports. I mean, are the fees just a bit over what it costs for all the bureaucracy involved in the application? Or has that paperwork been outsourced to people in India who are working for ten cents an hour while the passport officials cackle with glee over their successful scheme? If my new passport smells like curry, I guess I'll have my answer.

So, I'm off to the Caribbean this summer, if all goes well. On a three month cruise, no less. A cruise where the main menu item is rice (fried, if I'm lucky*), and where I'll be working 8 or more hours each day in the sweltering temperatures. If I'm very very "lucky"*, I'll get a cabin where the air conditioning works, unlike last time I went on this type of cruise. I'll be getting good exercise, most likely, hauling books around. Or if they decide they want me in the Galley again, I'll be hauling bags of rice and potatoes, peeling and chopping mountains of onions, and scrubbing countless dishes and cooking utensils.

And I'll love it. At least, I did before. I'm hoping/planning to go to the MV Logos II this summer for it's third "final voyage to the Caribbean." I still have the t-shirt from the first "final voyage.." I think I'll take it with me. :-)

The great thing about the ship is that even though it's hard work and no one gets paid, everyone is glad to be there. Why? Because people who are there aren't there for the money, the beautiful scenery, or the good shopping. They're there because they want to serve the Lord however they can. And somehow, God honors their willingness to serve by giving "joy unspeakable and full of glory" in the middle of difficult circumstances. Of course, everyone there has bad days, just like people everywhere, but serving God rather than serving self helps a lot.

So, if anyone actually does read this, I'm raising support for my mission trip to the Logos II. I will need extra money for extra super strong sunblock.... or maybe I'll just buy housepaint and use that... :-)

*I don't believe in luck, so when I say lucky I am merely borrowing the colloquialism. I could say fortunate. I could say blessed, but some people misinterpret that....

Why project?

2007-11-28T13:26:00.000-05:00

I was just reading over the requirements for my colloquium class again, and I realized that I had been procrastinating. One of my blogs is supposed to be a "Why" project.... finding a subject and doing research and diving into it. It probably doesn't really count, but I have been thinking about this project a lot.... my musings just haven't made it to the computer screen.

I considered studying "normal" people my age. What makes them tick? What are their motivations? What do they do to help them with their stress and struggles? To be honest, I haven't had much dealing with normal college students before now. I used to go to a community college down in Georgia, and most of the people in my classes were non-traditional students. So was this a good project? Probably not. I mean, I have learned a bit about what students like and don't like, what motivates them, etc. But I don't know if this is a good topic to pick....

I considered doing my study on my new church. I just moved to the area, and just started to attend a church here. What do they believe? How do those beliefs affect their lives? Do their beliefs impact the community? Are they really willing to sacrifice to follow God's calling? How do they believe the local church fits into the worldwide Body of Christ? How do they deal with differences?
I have learned some about the church. They believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, fully God and yet fully man. They believe in salvation through grace alone, not by works. They believe in a literal heaven and a literal hell, and that while God doesn't want to put anyone in Hell, some people choose to go there to get away from Him. How do the beliefs affect their lives? Some of the church members devoted years of their lives to full time Christian work. Others believe in sincere hospitality and open their homes to anyone who wants to come over. Their beliefs have impacted the community through tutoring programs for students at Science Hill High School, as well as projects to collect shoes and Christmas gifts for children in orphanges overseas. A group from the church went to stores on Black Friday and gave away coffee and snacks to people who were lined up for door buster specials. That involved some sacrifice, since they had to get up at 4am! Community groups at the church (including the "poor" college age class!) are buying Christmas presents for families in our area who can't afford to buy gifts. I've also gotten to see how they deal with differences; there are some minor doctrinal disagreements in the church, but instead of splitting, the church came together to work through the issue (with much prayer and fasting). I was really impressed by the way they handled the situation.

I could go on more about church because it's something interesting to me. I've never been to a church like this before, and I really like it. I have a chance to learn more about the church in the next few months, and I'm excited about the possibilities for getting involved there.

Another subject I considered was dating. Just this fall I started dating. I had never been in a serious relationship with anyone before, and neither had my boyfriend. And we're not just dating for fun; in fact, most of the time we spend together is either with my family or his, sometimes doing work projects around the house. Not exactly what most people consider fun. But we're honestly exploring God's will for our lives. Our dating has a point: we're spending time together to see if God wants us to get married. So I considered writing about relationships; what does it mean to have a godly relationship? We both agree on virginity until marriage; but are there also other things we should do (or not do) to glorify God in our relationship? What does it mean to love another person the way Christ loved us? Or to submit to another person the way the Church is supposed to submit to Christ?

Well, you can see that I've done plenty of musing... unfortunately, I haven't documented any until now. I think that my new church is probably the best subject for my why project.... there's a lot of potential in any group of people. And it's not as personal as the relationship one! :-)

Hmmmm.....

2007-10-15T21:46:00.001-04:00

Have I really led such a mediocre life that I don't have a best or worst thing I have ever done? This assignment is supposed to be about the best and worst things we have ever done, and our motivations for those actions.

I'm afraid to mention the worst things I can think of, just because other people will say, "What a smug little goody two-shoes!" But let me remind all readers that stealing candy is as serious as the Enron execs stealing millions from the company. Sin is sin. Period. We don't punish the two offenses in the same way because the hurt they cause the world is not equal. But in God's book (literally), both are capital offenses. But I'm not on death row anymore; someone else had the ingenious plan to make a switch, just like in A Tale of Two Cities. Except this time the judge and executioner knew about, and endorsed, the substitution. Yeshua Ben-Yosef, not Sidney Carton, was the one who stepped in my shoes to face a death worse than the guillotine. But it was my misdeeds as much as anyone else's that put Jesus on the cross. All this to say that sin is sin, whether big or little, harmless or not.

One of the worst things I ever did was to totally ignore someone who needed my help in a time of serious illness.

My mom has Meniere's disease, which sometimes gives her bouts of vertigo. When she has a bad dizzy spell, she cannot turn her head without throwing up. Footsteps in the other end of the house can cause vibrations that send waves of nausea over her. One day several years ago, my brother and I were home with Mom when one of these spells hit. She threw up into a bucket on the way to her chair. She called feebly for us to come help. The dizziness was bad enough that she couldn't open her eyes or move at all. She asked us to take the bucket and empty it; it was making her more nauseated. So what did I do? Did I go an empty it like she'd done for me a hundred times in the past? No. I fought with my brother over who would do it. The noise only made Mom feel worse, of course, and the bucket was not getting any emptier. Finally, my brother took it and washed it out. We each got a lecture from Dad that evening about selfishness and ungratefulness. And boy, did I deserve it!

Selfishness is ugly. It is very ugly. I can't think of a single sin that doesn't spring out of selfishness and self-centeredness. And to be honest, a lot of things that I do that are good are done out of selfishness. I want to feel good about myself, and that's why I do them. Or I want other people to help me feel good about myself.

One of the nicest things I've done was just about a year or so ago. I was in a Dollar Tree store, buying some really cheap (3 for a dollar!) picture frames. The checkout clerk was a sad-looking man in his fifties, with unkempt hair straggling around his bald patches. I smiled and said hello, like I always do, and he immediately started in on a story about how he needed money. He said his hours at both Dollar Tree and Target had been cut back to where he was having a hard time making ends meet. In fact, he said that he didn't have enough food for his kids for the week. I didn't want to give him money; be "wise as serpents," after all. So I went out to my car without giving him anything except "have a nice day." Then I thought about it some more and decided to do something else. I went over to the grocery store and bought about a week's worth of supplies: peanut butter, jam, bread, Tuna Helper, Tuna, canned chicken, Chicken Helper, salad, beans, broccoli, and some potatoes, that kind of stuff. Then I headed back to the dollar store to give them to the guy. He hardly even acknowledged the gift. He said "thanks," nodded, and went back to what he was doing.

I was miffed. He hadn't even really said thank you! I had spent hard-earned cash and time on that, and that's all the thanks I get? Then God reminded me that if I'd done it for the praise, then I'd done it for the wrong reasons. I guess that's why we're not supposed to let one hand know that the other is giving something away.... because once the whole self becomes involved, it can get kinda self-ish. Look at what I'M giving, what I'M doing, where I'M volunteering.

I wonder if I've done anything really out of totally pure motives. As a Christian, I should be doing things for God's glory; I should be motivated to do good things to point people to him. But the "should" and the "does" are not usually the same.

I'll keep this updated, so if I think of anything better, or worse, than what I've posted here, it will appear.

You can't change the world.

2007-10-15T12:51:00.000-04:00

Surprised by my title? I don't really believe that. I know of a little old lady who lived in New Jersey who has had a greater lasting impact on the world than many political leaders. I also don't really believe a lot of the motivational blather we hear on TV and in movies. "Follow your dreams, and they will lead to great things." That doesn't work if your dreams are selfish dreams. Many of our ambitions and goals sound fine on the surface, but our underlying motivations are self-centered and egotistical.

So what do we need to change the world?

Here is what we need: convictions, and the reckless abandon to live by them. If you believe in something, don't just let it sit in your head; throw yourself, heart and soul, into acting on your principles. It doesn't do any good to have beliefs and ethics and morals if you don't DO anything about them. For example, a group of uneducated fisherman made such a stir in the ancient world that the "establishment" of the day said that they were "turning the world upside down." How? Because they believed that Jesus Christ had died a sacrificial, atoning death, and that he was raised from the dead by his own power. And then they all went back to their boats and tax collection booths and kept counting fish and counting denarii, and every once in a while they threw some alms to the poor who sat outside the Temple. No! They acted on their beliefs- they preached on street corners, in synagogues, and in the marketplaces. They were hauled into court, beaten, whipped, chained, and stoned, but they continued to act on their beliefs. Not just their dreams; I'm sure they dreamed of peace and solitude, maybe a quiet house by the sea where no one was trying to kill them. But they had something greater to follow than dreams: they had convictions.

My "impact the world" project stems from my conviction that God wants us to be his hands and feet in this world, not just his mouthpiece. And if someone reading this does not believe in God, he or she will probably admit that helping people in third world countries is a good thing.

People in other countries need fish [here I am using the "give a man a fish, feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, feed him for a lifetime" principle.]. In Africa, for example, people are starving. They need fish. So our government takes fish from everyone here (in taxes). Then they dump the fish at an o-fishal government fish receptacle in, say, Sierra Leone. This sounds wonderful; give away millions of fish for millions of people. But the government workers want some fish. So they each skim a few (hundred) off the top. And no one notices because they're all participating in taking fish. Pretty soon, there are only a couple of measly Perch left. Then by the time the paperwork is processed (with more workers demanding more fish to put the paperwork through), the one remaining fish in the receptacle has gone rotten. So they throw it away and say, "You horribly selfish rich country; you have lots of fish, and you didn't send us enough. Send more fish." And the UN and US send more fish, starting the whole cycle again. I could go on and on with the negative, but I won't. I'll skip to the "what if."

What if we didn't just give them fish, but taught them to fish? What if we didn't just teach them to fish, but we helped them to start fish hatcheries? And to start the industries to support the growing needs of the fish hatcheries? Why, within a few decades, the whole country would be industrialized. There would be more jobs, and more fish to go around the the common people. There would be better education so that the people would no longer elect fish-stealers to their government. Standards of living would rise, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Now doesn't that sound better?

My project (that I am trying to put together) is a fundraiser for World Vision's micro business programs. A complete explanation can be found at http://www.worldvision.org/worldvision/appeals.nsf/stable/med_howmedworks . But a quick explanation is:
1.) Volunteer workers enter a country and set up a lending operation. 2.) Ordinary people with business ideas can get the ultra ultra low interest loans to start a business, plus advice on how to start up and run a business. 3.) With coaching, the business usually takes off pretty well, leading to business expansion.

That's basically micro business. The amazing thing is that these loans are made to the poorest of the poor who have no collateral at all, but 96% of loans are repaid on time! Some other interesting facts are that most loan recipients are women; most reported an increase in feelings of empowerment; and 80% reported improved family health (survey taken in East Africa).

Money donated to this cause is really the gift that keeps on giving; $200 (that's after processing for the sake of discussion) goes out in a loan to Mugabwe. He pays it back. Well, that money was donated to World Vision, so they recycle it. Iliwe gets the same $200 for her loan, then pays it back. Pearl gets the $200 next, and so on and so forth into infinity, or at least, into improved living standards and even industrialization.

Ok, so now we've got a conviction that something should be done. We have a good place to give money that will make a substantial impact on families and communities in the neediest of countries.

"I'm poor," says a college student "X" who will remain anonymous (partly for privacy, but mainly because X is based on every college student I have ever talked to in my life, including myself.... so "X" it will be).
X says this to me as she tries to dial up the right tune on her mp3 player. "I hardly have enough money for food," she says, stuffing her player down into her pocket and reaching for the laptop case beside her. "See?" she exclaims, turning out her pockets of her $50 jeans to reveal an Applebee's receipt and a quantity of pocket lint. "I just don't know how I could give anything without starving myself." To refresh her parched throat, she takes a sip of her McDonald's iced tea before taking a bite out of her supersized value meal burger. X chews thoughtfully for a while. We walk to her car after she finishes lunch. "I need to clean this out," she sighs, clearing out a space for her laptop case among the jumble of discarded Starbucks and Icee cups.......

Get the picture?

We have money. We do things with money. Now how many of those things do we need? We have 13,000 students at ETSU. Imagine if fewer than half decided to give up one fast food meal and have a sandwich instead for just one day. Average fast food meal is about five bucks. We could have $25,000 in just one day!

I want to challenge ETSU and Johnson City to save for a month. Just one month. Eat in a couple times instead of eating out. Switch from Starbucks to cheapo coffee for thirty days, or even for just three days a week. That right there is almost ten dollars a week! Instead of buying a candy bar, drink a glass of water. Hey, instead of bottled water, wash and refill from the tap.

There are hundreds of ways to save just a little bit of money every day. Of course, it is some inconvenience. Just imagine looking an African woman in the eye and saying, "Sure, I could have helped lift you from poverty. I could have helped feed your children....."

".....but it was just too inconvenient."

And with that kind of attitude, my title is correct. You can't change the world.

Hello, self, pleased to meet you

2007-09-20T22:53:00.000-04:00

to grammar freaks--mostly Mom and Aunt Crystal :-) [WARNING: This blog contains some serious grammatical errors for the sake of fancy. I KNOW they are errors, so you don't need to tell me... Just think of Me, Myself, and I as being different people. Maybe I'll even capitalize things to help the idea along.]

This is a transcript of a meeting between me and myself. Or, should I say between myself and I? I think the second way is more correct.

One thing the assignment for this blog mentioned was self ten years ago. Well, ten years ago, I didn't know myself. I was climbing trees, playing soccer, writing 4-H speeches, and getting used to wearing my new glasses. My ten-year-old self probably would think it very boring to meet with someone so OLD as I, and would be rather bored. So I won't bore Myself with that-- I'll let Myself go run outside and have fun; after all, childhood doesn't last very long, and Myself should have time to enjoy it.

So, in my quest to fulfill my assignment, I shall search for Me. I think, at age fourteen, Me would be more interested in a conversation. With one brother newly married and another heading off to college, adulthood would seem much more interesting to Me. And, as I step back into the past, there are some decisions for Me to make soon. Hope you can follow along.....

The first thing I notice, when looking at Me, is a little black smudge. Then I remember that my brother's wedding, just recently passed, was what inspired Me to start wearing makeup (just mascara, though). Mom hadn't told Me yet how to apply makeup without making a mess, so everyone who saw Me saw those smudges. Two weeks of smudges later, and Dad asked Me, "Are you wearing makeup? [insert my laugh here] What? It's not like you've been wearing it for weeks or anything!" [insert even louder laughter here--poor Daddy!]

I have surprised Me. She's glad to see that I have straighter teeth, a cute haircut, and have finally grown into my weight. She also thinks that I am crazy.

"That's such a waste!" she says. "If you want to be poor and miserable, that's your problem."

I cringe; I should have remembered how Me responded to this question before.

You see, I plan to go to school, become a nurse, then go somewhere else as a missionary. And make no money. Who knows, maybe live in a remote village somewhere like my Aunt Karen. Those are my plans now. But at fourteen, everything looked different.

The American Dream belonged to Me. She wanted to go to school, work a few years to make a lot of money, then settle down with a family. She wanted a big house with nice furniture. Clothes were very important to Me; she had been discovering that clothes, and having money to buy certain kinds of clothes, both affect how people viewed her. A resolution followed: dorky clothes would never again be worn by Me. She wanted to have the money to buy anything she wanted. Oh, yes, give some to the church, too, but it was all about Me. Her time as a missionary kid was enough sacrifice made; it was time to go for the moola.

Of course I know that money doesn't mean everything. But for Me, just coming to have a broader understanding of the world, money was the ticket to acceptance; and she never wanted to be rejected again. Money was becoming the focus of her security. That was bad.

Thankfully, there was a friend, a good friend, who wanted better for Me. In fact, He wanted the best for me. And He started showing Me how wrong her philosophies were. At the same time, He planted a seed in her mind of a better way...... beginning with giving up a year between high school and college to serve on the MV Logos II, a vessel that seeks to bring Knowledge, Help, and Hope to people all over the world.

For months, the response was, "NOT Me; let someone else go."

But He wouldn't let up; my friend kept talking to me about it, showing me how it was possible with His help. Finally the breaking point came. "Okay, I'll go. Send Me."

That decision made Me who I am now. My friend (so much more than friend, He's Saviour, God-Who Sees Me, Redeemer, Rock, Mighty One, the Lord-Who-Provides) taught me many things through my experiences. I have learned about different cultures (that happens when you live with people from 50 different countries). I have learned about poverty (a ten day trip into Sierra Leone helped with that). And I have a different perspective on what is important, and what sacrifice really is.

First off, money is not mine. I may make money, but God gave me a way to make money, so it all belongs to God anyway. So the question is not "would I spend fifty bucks of my money on that," but rather "would I spend fifty bucks of God's money on that?" There's nothing wrong with having a big house if you NEED a big house; especially if you've dedicated it to hospitality ministry. But the issue is that if you don't need something, or if you don't think God would want His money spent that way, then do without.

That's all well and good (or so Me used to say), but then you're miserable. But I'm not. I don't think I will be, either. Because once you give all your stuff (money included) to God, then He takes care of it; I don't have to worry about it anymore. And when I am living in submission to God, my attitudes are subject to His, which means that I can enjoy life to the fullest without all this extra stuff. After all, Jesus had nothing of material value. He had all the power, authority, and might in the universe to do whatever He wanted, but He didn't use it to get stuff. He had nothing we would consider of value, except for one thing: LIFE. He brought Life more abundant! And He did it without the latest car, the newest tunes, and the handiest gadgets. So if God Himself didn't need "stuff" to accomplish the greatest work since creation, why do we lust after material goods for our fleeting lives here?

So, that's something I have learned--and why Me would think I'm crazy. But maybe it's the world that's crazy, not I.....

Blog really is an ugly word

2007-09-06T20:38:00.000-04:00

I heard once that some researchers did what they did best and conducted some research. (Hey, maybe it was for someone's ETSU Honors Thesis. That's the only reason I can think for conducting this study.) They asked non-English speakers to rate certain English words according to how pleasant they sounded. So just what is the most pleasant word in the English language? [I'll tell you later]

Well, it is certainly not "blog." Think of all the unpleasant things that sound like "blog." There's "bog," a perilous swampy marsh, full of evil smells. "Fog" is close as well, though fog can be a lovely, bewitching thing on a cold fall morning; however, I am thinking now of a bog's fog, which would be thickly yellow and putrid with the smell of decaying bog matter. Not too pleasant. Let's not forget "smog" which "clogs" our air. And how many of us have had to "slog" through a tough semester at school? Yes, "blog" is an ugly word.

Celery.

Celery is supposed to be the most beautiful word in the English language.

Isn't that pitiful?

Or is it more pitiful that I actually spent all this time writing about it? Or that you spent this time reading it?

So let's all go do something productive.