My Soundtrack

Since I was very young I have watched musicals - plays and movies. I have sung along with the Seven Dwarfs, The Bee Gees, Kenny Loggins, The Beach Boys, and The Smiths. ("You've Gotta Get A Gimmick" from Gypsy just started playing in my head. Oops.) For a very long time, I hoped that when I finally "arrived" in life that my very own soundtrack would start playing for everyone to hear. So far, the music is only in my head. 

Music is really the only poetry that I consistently like, and I find a certain type of quirkiness in the parts of the verse that stick with me. Most of my favorite songs are mainstream, because I have never put forth effort to go find the independent and lesser-known artists. I was angst-ridden enough as a teenager that you would think I would have raged against anything mainstream and "conformist", but I didn't. I was lazy, so I just took what came across my path and collected up the parts that caught my fancy.   

As I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate more the warnings I received as youngster about being careful with what ideas I put into my head. There are things that I will never be able to un-see, un-hear, un-smell, or un-feel. I cannot ever completely undo the damage. The music I listen to falls under that warning, doesn't it?

Even as I have been sitting here typing, a friend has sent me a daily email that she subscribes to. The title for today's email is "Sing A New Song". Here is an excerpt:

What are you speaking; what are you singing? Are you singing songs of self-pity, gloom and doom or songs of joy, peace and love? The choice is yours. Speak out to others in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, offering praise with your voice and making melody with all your heart to the Lord (Eph. 5:19) You begin by loving the Lord your God. Choose to be joyful in him and be in high spirits. If you are feeling down, if circumstances are holding you in depression, if you are in the midst of a trial choose to sing a new song to the Lord, and your feelings will be lifted, and you can go on your way holding your head high because the joy of the Lord is your strength. Praise goes before victory!

I will freely admit that I do not always follow that advice. There are many things that I feel - dark, melancholy emotions - that I do not find expressed in Christian music. I'm not saying that it isn't there. There are heavy metal and rap Christian artists that might have expressed some of these things, but in my laziness, I have not gone looking. It's much easier for me to listen to songs link "Coming Undone" by Korn. That song captures the complete inner chaos I experienced right after Mama died. But if "as a man thinketh, so is he", what am I doing to my heart by listening to music like that? What if my inner soundtrack is hurting me?

What is your inner soundtrack? Do you make a conscious effort to control what you are listening to?

***

Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over here. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?

A High Class of Problems

Many years ago, someone said to me, "I have a higher class of problems these days." I did not immediately understand that comment. I was very sure at that time that my problems were dreadful and dire. What could be worse than the fact that I was suffering? What a melodramatic diva I was...

Today, I do understand that I have a higher class of problems. I have learned to be more grateful for what I have. I have come to understand that many people have far worse problems than I and that I should show them compassion and help when I can. Even so, I end up stressing out and loosing all sense of proportion sometimes. For example:

*Myself and several family members have found ourselves unemployed or under-employed. We are all squeezed together in one house trying to weather the storm safely. What do I end up stressing about? Whether I should use the green purse or the red purse (I picked red, in case any other divas care).

*My "adopted" son in Rwanda (sponsored through Compassion) has no way to refrigerate his food. What do I end up stressing about? The grocery store did not have my brand of yogurt and this other brand "tastes funny". (We have two refrigerators, by the way.)

* I worry about having to get rid of our extra car. I worry about having to wear sandals without a pedicure. I worry about not having money to buy more books when I have about 50 of them sitting here that I still haven't read. 

Yes, I have a high class of problems. Lord, deliver me from myself before I hurt someone with my whirling mass of ingratitude.

Thoughts, anyone?

***

Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over here. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?

Truth

I don't have any earth-shaking original thoughts tonight. I just have something I want to share. 

I went on a cleaning spree this afternoon (the closet looks fabulous) and of course I found things that were laying there waiting for some attention. One of these things was a quote that I had printed out. It turns out it is actually a quote of one man quoting another (that really does make sense - I promise). It is a profound bit of writing, so I thought I would share it with you.

"Truth, like all the other pieces of armor, is in actuality an aspect of the nature of God himself. Thus to put on the belt of truth is to put on Christ. For Christ is 'truth' (John 14:6), and Christians are the bearers of truth. As Os Guinness explains, Christianity is not true because it works (pragmatism); it is not true because it feels right (subjectivism); it is not true because it's 'my truth' (relativism). It is true because it is anchored in the person of Christ. 'The Christian faith is not true because it works; it works because it is true. It is not true because we experience it; we experience it - deeply and gloriously - because it is true. It is not simply "true for us"; it is true for any who seek in order to find, because truth is true even if nobody believes it, and falsehood is false even if everybody believes it. That is why truth does not yield to opinion, fashion, numbers, office, or sincerity - it is simply true and that is the end of it.'"

-- The Covering: God's Plan to Protect You From Evil by Hank Hanegraaff

I'm hoping my proofreader will tell me that I have all of my quote marks correct on that one (' vs. "). Either way, I just really liked that quote. It makes life simple, which is how I'm sure God wanted it in the first place. No need to complicate things with trying to add to, subtract from, or outright change the truth. It is The Truth. Beautiful simplicity that I need to observe more often.

Blessings to all of you.

***

Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over here. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?

Honor Thy Father

Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honour thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth. And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Ephesians 6:1-4

I have struggled with deep, dark depressions for most of my life. Since my early years, I have been melancholy and had a hard time functioning at the same level as my peers. This means that, as an adult, I have often been living with my parents rather than on my own. I suppose having a roommate would have helped, but I never trusted anyone else enough to let them see the effects of the depression. In fact, letting my husband see the effects of my current depression fills me with shame and guilt. The only person I ever truly trusted to see me at my worst and still love me was Mama. 

Needing to be around Mama so much putting me in Daddy's orbit just as often. Living in his home came with the understanding that he could behave any way he wanted and I could like it or leave. Any rule he made was law. Any commentary he wanted to offer on my life was to be taken meekly. Any angry outbursts on his part were to be endured without fighting back. 

Sitting Next To Satan

The past few weeks have been crazy here in my home. Getting ready to add two adults and four large dogs to our household kind of turned us on our head. We had to clean out, get rid of, pack up, and organize a lot of "stuff". We had to rebuild fences. We had to literally put out a fire (thanks for making that part of my day, Daddy). We had to switch things around and we had to shed a few tears.

The good news is that we survived it all. Hubby, Daddy, and I made it through the daunting emotional task of cleaning out Mama's room and packing up her belongings. Sister, Ricky Ricardo (nickname for brother-in-law), and the hounds arrived safely and got moved in. The hounds got boxed in to the cul-de-sac when they got out of the backyard and could not get away from us when we went after them. Hubby managed to get out of here on time to go to his men's retreat at Laity Lodge and I did not have to frantically call him back to handle any emergencies.

An interesting thing that kept happening through the course of this preparation and moving-in process was that I would find prayer requests that I had written down at various times over the last few years. Some were in notebooks and others were on scraps of paper. The requests came from a multitude of different people that I had met in all kinds of interesting ways. As I found each request, I would say a short prayer for that person again and then move on to my next task.

Getting The Point

Even at my "middle" age, there are age-old traditions that are new to me. God's people are still fascinating to me personally and to the little sociologist who lives inside me and takes notes on the many ways people do things. 

This year, the age-old tradition that I have been introduced to is Advent. Yes, I have been going to church all of my life, but the Christian tradition I come from does not celebrate Holy days or seasons. I think the tagline is, "every day should be Holy". I had heard the word "advent" used for Advent calendars (which I saw sold at the dime store and in Avon catalogs and thought were merely a count-down to presents) and Seventh Day Adventists.  It never occurred to me to look for more of an explanation for the word or event.

This year is different, though. I started blogging and in doing so, I made many bloggy friends who are opening my eyes to all kinds of new (to me) traditions and ways of thinking. Quite a few of these bloggy friends have been writing about Advent and how they are celebrating this year. I mentioned this to Hubby and he said that he really enjoyed celebrating Advent as a child. Why had he not mentioned this before? He had liked that Mama and I already had a set tradition for the Christmas season and he didn't want to horn in on that. With Mama gone now, he felt that he could say more about what he would really like to do for our Christmas season celebrations in the future. It makes me sad that he never said anything before, but I think he treasures the way he spent the past five Christmases with Mama. 

Secret Wisdom from the Reading Room

I love books. I love the feel of books. I love the smell of books. I love the noise made when I turn the page. I love seeing all of those words together in one place and knowing that they hold a story. I have to admit, though, that I don't always read all of the books that I buy. Sometimes I just do a dance around a book - knowing that it has knowledge that I need but don't want. We have a little passive-aggressive relationship going on sometimes. Even so, I still love owning the book. I love owning books the way some women love having jewelry. 

Through some practical experience, I have learned that I don't really like sharing books. I'm not sure if I just attract the type of friends that do not return books or if it is an epidemic. Some very precious books have not come back to live in my personal library. I have chosen to keep the people relationships over the book relationships, but there were a few times when the scale almost tipped the other way.

After many years of living in the same house with my father, I have learned not to lay my books down anywhere other than my bedroom (and once or twice that has not even helped). I have learned in just the past few years that laying my books down within in reach of my husband is not a good idea either. Why is that? What happens to these books? 

Captain Kirk to the Rescue!

I always find it fascinating to know which movie lines stick with my friends over time. Many of the people in my age group can quote lines from most of John Hughes' movies. My husband, who is fifteen years older than me, quotes movies that came out before I was born. I have friends who love all of the Muppet movies, some who are into the whole Star Wars saga, and others who really enjoy any old classics they can get to see. 

One of the lines that has always stuck with me comes from a movie genre that I don't usually care for. The quote comes from a Star Trek movie - Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, to be specific. I remember not really wanting to see the movie, but a huge group of my friends was going and they convinced me to go with them. Since I had not seen the previous film, I did not even know why Spock was being searched for. I had to just take the film for what entertainment value it had outside of a continuing story line.

My Prayer

I humbly confess that I am often perplexed by the problems of life. 

Sometimes I do not seem to know which way to turn next. 

I pray Thee, therefore, to enlighten me by Thy Holy Spirit 

that I may recognize what is Thy will in every situation; 

give me the courage to decide every issue accordingly 

and to leave the final outcome to Thy direction.

From the prayer "For the Grace to Make the Right Decisions", 

My Prayer Book, Concordia Publising, 1957

I bought the prayer book for one dollar at Martha's garage sale. It had belonged to her late husband. I did not need it, but I really wanted to buy something just to encourage Martha, who was going through hard times. Indeed, months later Martha thanked me for driving Mama all that way to be at the garage sale and for buying a few things. I had put the book in a little basket that is next to my bed and rarely thought of it. I did not read anything in it until today.

Don't Whup Me With Your Bible Belt

I would like to say at the outset that this post is probably going nowhere good and at an alarmingly fast rate. I will blame a few people during the course of it and they can call me out for a showdown if'n it will make them feel better. I realize that some of y'all don't cotton to these types of blog posts, so you can just move along. If you haven't yet figured out how to navigate away from an objectionable web page, then you might deserve this. (wink, wink)

***

The first two blame-ees are Jennifer and masked man who goes by the name of Radical Believer (or RB for short). It could very well be that we would not be here having this experience if these two had not crossed my path at about the same time today. And when I say "crossed my path" I do mean on Facebook (or FB for short). You should know by now that it is not in style to actually see people face-to-face these days. 

Many of you might know Jennifer from her blog "Getting Down With Jesus" (which you would think would mean that we have some video of her boogie moves, but alas, I have not seen any). She is also a Contributing Editor at The High Calling. There's also something about Iowa and corn going on in her life, if memory serves.

Now, RB - he may or may not be known to y'all. Depends on what patch of internet real estate you've been hanging out on, I suppose. He has a blog called "Grappling With Grace". You see, "grappling" is not a word that I hear all that often, unless it is followed by the word "hook". However, RB kindly gives us a definition of the word "grappling" in the header of his blog. It means "wrestling" or "coming to terms with". On a day like today, I can't make it much farther than the word "wrestling". And though it is a true story that I was once a body guard at a pro wrestling event (even met Lou Albano), what I first think about when I think of wrestling is this:

On Having a Writing Routine

I really enjoy how the internet lets me follow a link to a link to a link to find something unexpected but interesting or useful. I also enjoy the fact that even though I don't put down a trail of breadcrumbs so that I can trace my way back, I still end up safe and sound in front of my computer where I started. I was on one of those bunny trails this morning and ended up reading about the routines that writers follow when they are working. The last site I ended up on had compiled the routines of authors such C.S. Lewis, John Grisham, and Stephen King. This subject of writing practices has come to my attention several times in the last few weeks, so of course I thought this was an opportune moment to add my thoughts on it to the blogosphere.

Throughout my elementary, junior high, and high school career, the idea was hammered into me that to write anything well (except maybe a poem), one must first put together a numbered outline before sitting down to compose an essay, research paper, or novel. Deviation from writing ideas down in the exact order of the outline was discouraged. Opening paragraphs and closing paragraphs (tell them what you are going to tell them,  tell them, and then tell them what you told them) were the bane of my existence. Counting the number of simple, compound, and complex sentences in each essay to make sure it was "balanced" was a chore. My writing style was often praised by my teachers, but the writing process they had us follow was excruciating to me. If I had something to say, I wanted to just be able to say it. These rules and regimens did not exactly inspire a longing for "author" status in me. 

When the time came for me to take English Composition as a foundation class in college, I thought that it would be more of the same. Students would need to be reading, thinking, and writing on a higher level, but the process would not change. I was right and I was wrong. In the English classes I had taken previously, we had read works of several great authors. We had talked about the events in their lives that might have influenced their ideas. However, I don't remember us discussing the authors' personal quirks and eccentricities in general or specifically applied to how they set about writing. I'm sure I really believed that Shakespeare, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Rand, and Dr. Seuss all started with a numbered outline and did not deviate from the order without first consulting their editor, twelfth-grade English teacher, or the Elizabethan equivalent. They probably sat upright (with excellent posture) at a desk that had the essentials laid out in perfect order but without any frilly extras. 

Is He Still Chasing You?

In my email this morning was a link to Amber Haines' most recent post. At the end of it is a video of her oldest son getting baptized. I'll admit to getting a little teary-eyed when I watched it. The angels rejoiced and I cried. 

I get that way at baptisms sometimes - either teary or just all tingly. It is harder when attending mass baptisms because everything is going so fast - people in the water then out of the water. Next! But I know that they are having their own teary/tingly experiences and it is good. 

While watching that video this morning, I remembered the photo I carry in one of my Bibles. It sits on the page that has Acts 2:38 on it.

Then Peter said unto them, "Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost." (KJV)

We didn't have camcorders in every hand back in 1979, so you will have to be satisfied with a photo of my big event. It happened in the Medina River while I was at church camp that summer. David Cudd dunked me in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit and my life changed forever.

On Going to a Writers' Retreat - Part 2

I'm sitting here trying to keep the puppies from feeling ignored (they make me pay when I leave them for a few days). Getting coherent thoughts is a little hard. The question everyone has been asking me is, "how was the Writers' Retreat?" I'm trying to keep all those thoughts together in one place before moving on to the next thing in life, but it is hard. Hubby and I are supposed to be having dinner tonight with a friend who is in from New York. The pauses are just not long enough sometimes.

There isn't enough space on this blog to tell you about the whole event. I could write a post just about Laity Lodge and the wonderful staff there. I could write another post just about my roommate and the things we have in common. Another essay could cover the way Kathy Hastings made artists out of a group of non-artists. I think I could go on and on about how wonderful it was to see water - the Frio River - while the rest of my life is affected by horrible drought, burn bans, and huge fires. I could produce a good five paragraphs about the way we all worshiped together every morning. And even more... I think you will have to email me your questions if I don't cover what you want to know about. There is just so much... let me see what I can give you now.

God's Mangy Dog Rescue and Obedience Training Program

Saturday I got to spend some time with a friend helping her learn how to set up a blog. Her blog will be vastly different than mine in purpose and audience, but I was able to steer her around some of the newbie pitfalls I've backed into these past few months. (Plus it was just a good excuse to spend time together!)

I thought it was amusing that my friend had asked me for help when I had never intended to be a blogger. My blogging came about through a strange sequence of events that was set in motion by the death of my precious mother. I sometimes wonder if Mama were alive and in her room right down the hall, would I even be in this community with you? Would I know that you were here? We'll never know, but it reminds me that I did not end up sitting in this corner typing because I had always thought that people wanted to read what I have to say.

One of the questions that my friend asked me is, "how did you get people to read your blog?" I explained a little of how I had met my "five loyal readers" and my gracious visitors.  I also told her about something I had just read that said bloggers need to be able to explain their blog succinctly when asked about their writing. Just saying, "I just write about what is going on with me whenever I feel like it" does not usually inspire people to take the time to come to your blog to see what you have to say - not unless they are a good friend or loving relative. Of course, my very organized friend already had a mission statement for her blog, so I was not worried that she could "sell it" to readers. However, it did make me wonder if I could tell you what I'm doing here on my little patch of internet real estate.

Please No

Luke 3

16John answered them all, “I baptize you with water. But one more powerful than I will come, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. 17His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”

Hebrews 12

 ¹ 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, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. ³ Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

Oh Lord, my Father God... Word who spoke me into being... Abba...

Please... no... this baptism of fire burns so hot... I know the chaff is there, but the threshing, Lord, is so painful... you have asked me to stay accountable before these witnesses and I am here... You have asked me to throw off the sin that easily entangles... but it is hard to throw off something that you are entangled in... I'm already weary and losing heart... please no, Father... can't we leave this one thing alone? Oh please... It hurts to think about it... the Light You are shining on it hurts my eyes... and the shame...how do you scorn shame that is attached to you like a second skin? Jesus, I cannot endure as You have endured... oh Father, please no...

This is my heart this Monday morning. When God asked me to stay accountable by writing, it never occurred to me what things He was going to hold me accountable for, whether I wrote about them or not... we have reached a stronghold that I cannot even bring my eyes to look at... it might not be the worst anyone has ever faced, but it is mine and...

About a week before Mama died, the rehab facility called and told us to meet her at the Emergency Room. They didn't really say what was wrong. They just said hurry. When we got to the little room in the ER where she was, we were met with the sounds of pure anguish. Mama was clutching her side and crying out, "No, no, no... it hurts...it hurts..." The medical staff could not get her coherent enough to say what hurt or where exactly. Daddy and I sat there and just listened to Mama cry out in a voice that we had never heard, "no, no... it hurts...it hurts..." The call had come in at bedtime and we were there at the ER until dawn. There were times of reprieve when they got enough morphine into Mama to calm her down. But it never lasted long enough and she would start crying out again, "no, no, no... it hurts...it hurts".

Even though Mama talked to us a few more times that week before she slipped into unconsciousness for the final time, she was never able to tell us what that episode was all about. Right now the soundtrack in my head is her voice, becoming my own, crying out, "no, no, no... it hurts...it hurts..." And I don't want to talk about what is causing it. Yet He is chasing me... He puts the little reminders everywhere...

All I can ask Him is, "please no..."

Have you prayed that prayer before? Is it just me?

Linking with Jen at Finding Heaven and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood.

(click on photo to go check it out)

The State of My Heart

I wrote this in the middle of the night, but I saved it for publishing so that I could link up with the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood. After you read my post, please go over there and visit. See what the other sisters have to offer!

As I was getting ready for this week, I decided to change purses, which of course means lots of rearranging (for me, anyway). Hubby walked in the room and said that he thought all women should only have one purse. What a disappointment. I thought I trained him better than that!

Anyway... I found something that needed to go in my wallet. I tried shoving it in the slots on the right side, but those had too many credit cards, loyalty cards, insurance cards, etc. So I put it in a one of the slots on the left. I caught a glimpse of my organ donor card while doing that, and evidently that planted a seed for the thoughts occupying my mind during my current bought of insomnia.

I know I've mentioned before that I am not the healthiest person around. That being said, I still have filled out an organ donor card and let my family know my wishes. On the chance that when I die I still possess an organ that could be of benefit to a very sick person, I want to share. Knowing people who have received the amazing gift of transplants inspires me to make sure that my donor information stays updated.

A Secondary Introduction

Central Texas seems to be on fire (several spots going and several spots that just got under control), and it is hard for me to concentrate on composing a post right now, so I'm going to use some material that is not completely new here.

A few weeks ago, a blogger whose site I comment on sometimes asked his commenters to introduce ourselves. He laid out a series of questions for us and then let it rip. I posted a near-thesis-sized response, as usual. It occurs to me that some of my five loyal readers might not even know these things. You've all spent some quality time with my spiritual struggles over mercy, forgiveness, and second chances. So it seems fair that you know some of the external details that make up "me".

Here is pretty much what I posted over at Charlie's site:

I was born in Lubbock, TX and raised in the Corpus Christi, TX area. I spent a semester of college at Worcester State College in Massachusetts, then back to the junior college in Corpus Christi. Dropped out and messed around for awhile. Got sober (celebrated 18 years July 2011) and went back to the JC. Transferred to Southwest Texas State (now just Texas State). Spent a year learning social work from atheists. Transferred as a senior to Lubbock Christian University (didn’t lose any credits) and spent a year learning social work from Christians. Going to both schools gave me a very interesting perspective on my profession. Wouldn’t trade that.

As a social worker, I have worked in HIV/AIDS, Early Childhood Intervention, public housing, and Information & Referral. I now push paper (or bytes) for contracts with the State of Texas. Would like to go back to the front line but can’t afford the pay cut.