We bought the land our house stands on almost 30 years ago. For years it was just a great camping spot we didn't have to call anyone to reserve. It offered three things that even a state park wouldn't let you do: we could dig a hole, pee on the ground and start a fire anywhere we wanted. It remained, and still remains, fairly primitive even after we built a house here. There is nothing I love better than a good campfire in the evening. So campfires were a big activity for me but not so much to our daughters. I had a hard time getting them to join me outside to sit and watch the fire and the moon while listening to the night sounds. One night that is now part of family lore I ended up screaming for everyone to hurry up and come outside to have "quality family time, dammit!"
I thought I would fare better when I had grandchildren. They would be mesmerized by this woman a whole two generations ahead of them. They would cling to every word of wisdom that left my lips and we would explore the wonders of the universe together. We're in the middle of our second Grand Camp this summer and a couple of night ago we rented a cabin at our favorite park, Daingerfield State Park. I looked forward to taking them out to look at the stars. When we got outside I noticed lights that didn't come from the sky and realized they had both brought their Nintendos with them. They were bright enough to use as flashlights. I'm enough of a purist that I made them close the handheld games while we let our eyes adjust to the night. I invited them to join me as I lay down on the ground to watch the stars. I was in the middle of explaining why the ground was still warm because it had absorbed the warmth of the day when I realized they had both wandered back into the cabin. Then I realized how hard it was going to be to get myself back up once I was down so I just lay there a while resting and storing energy for the effort it took me to stand.
It didn't really get any better, either. At the Dairy Queen for lunch the next day I saw that we had two Nintendos, a cell phone and a digital camera stacked together on the table while we ate. None of these had been invented when their mother was their age.
I'm probably fighting a losing battle with technology. Maybe once in a while I'll be able to catch a campfire with them but I know this will have to compete with all sorts of electronic life not even invented while I'm writing this. There are a few things that remain unchanged, however. The hiking trail we hiked with their mother is still the same. And they enjoyed the paddle boats as much as she did.
Here's a video of us Tuesday morning. I'm beat. Better words next week.
About Me
- Jane
- I'm pretty much a typist for the Holy Spirit. I try to put those things into words in a blog called Jane's Journey. I have another blog for recipes called My Life in Food. Also Really Cool Stuff features Labyrinths and other things like how to fry an egg on the sidewalk.(first step: don't do it on the sidewalk, use a skillet) Come along with me as I careen through life.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Thank You, Jesus!
If you’re going to run out of gas the best way to do it is while your pastor is driving.
It’s not my fault. She’s a bad influence on me. We started talking the minute I turned the key in the ignition Saturday morning. Women don’t pay a lot of attention to the technical aspects of driving a car, especially when there’s a good conversation to be had. Now I know my gas tank holds exactly enough to get me from Tulsa, Oklahoma to Garland, Texas. But no more.
We changed drivers about the point when we crossed over to Texas because I was getting tired and still needed to continue driving an hour and a half after I dropped Anne off in Garland. Just as we got off the freeway with fellow exiting cars behind us the car sputtered. We both instantly realized we were out of gas. That’s when Anne shouted “Jesus!” like we were in some great revival tent. I hollered something about having enough to get us to the gas station God conveniently placed two streets away within our view. I know these things about my car, sadly, from experience. We prayed our way into the driveway and coasted up to the pump. Then it was my time to declare, “Thank you, Jesus!”
I like to think this tiny divine intervention was in return for a ministry well-done. Anne is a superb speaker and I can say this from a position of watching the last 17 years of keynote speakers at this youth conference. Normally, there is a parade of kids back and forth to the bathroom during the keynote address. The last two years I’ve noticed nobody left their seat while Anne was speaking.
Everyone had a wonderful week at Synod Youth Workshop. I felt surrounded by prayer. Whether it was in the room where people were walking the labyrinth or at worship, prayer was abundant. Then, if that wasn’t enough, I came home to prayer. And that’s not even counting running out of gas.
The Sunday after we got home I looked at the emptying sanctuary and spotted three people gathered close on a pew with their heads down. Without thinking about it too much, I asked someone in jest if they were looking for something over there. No, was the reply, that’s the prayer group. I vaguely knew about this but a lot happened while I was gone for those four months and this one escaped me completely. I knew Nancy Gray was praying daily on a blog as her work on the prayer team. But here they were in the church sanctuary with their heads bowed so close they were almost touching. Praying. For our church. For me.
More and more lately I’ve noticed things we say are being put into action and I laugh at how startled I am to see this. The phrase, “I will pray for you” comes so easily and so often that it was been discounted as merely a polite set of words but no one expects more than that. Every once in a while people really mean it.
It has stirred my own lazy prayer life. I can’t say it was changed my habits completely but it has nudged them. I am lucky and I know it, to have more time I can call my own than the average person and greater freedom to arrange my time the way I want it. Most of my prayers come in jerky movements as thoughts come to me. I have too much ADD to have a regular dedicated prayer time on my own. But reading Nancy’s blog has given me a pace to follow. I know she posts most nights late in the evening so I know when to look for it. The quality of what she says each day leads me to anticipate it with joy, almost like a promised ice cream cone at the end of the day or first thing in the morning.
Here's the address:
http://www.positively-indecisive.blogspot.com
One of the activities we offered last week was the labyrinth walk but at the end we invited people to write a prayer. This prayer would not be read or used in any other way. It was just an outlet for people to express their thoughts and prayers to God. On the final night at worship these prayers were brought to the chancel as an offering to God. After the last small group finished walking the lab the staff was invited to come if they want so I had my own walk. Then when I got paper and pen together to write my prayers all I could think of to say was "Thanks." So I just wrote that word,or variations of it,on my paper.
And thanks be to God that I have reached a place where that is my most frequent prayer.
Now, if you are a "Wednesday Only" visitor you might want to check the previous entry. I continued to post Thursday, Friday and Saturday of last week but I've arranged them all in one gigantic recap of the week. I had new videos every day.
It’s not my fault. She’s a bad influence on me. We started talking the minute I turned the key in the ignition Saturday morning. Women don’t pay a lot of attention to the technical aspects of driving a car, especially when there’s a good conversation to be had. Now I know my gas tank holds exactly enough to get me from Tulsa, Oklahoma to Garland, Texas. But no more.
We changed drivers about the point when we crossed over to Texas because I was getting tired and still needed to continue driving an hour and a half after I dropped Anne off in Garland. Just as we got off the freeway with fellow exiting cars behind us the car sputtered. We both instantly realized we were out of gas. That’s when Anne shouted “Jesus!” like we were in some great revival tent. I hollered something about having enough to get us to the gas station God conveniently placed two streets away within our view. I know these things about my car, sadly, from experience. We prayed our way into the driveway and coasted up to the pump. Then it was my time to declare, “Thank you, Jesus!”
I like to think this tiny divine intervention was in return for a ministry well-done. Anne is a superb speaker and I can say this from a position of watching the last 17 years of keynote speakers at this youth conference. Normally, there is a parade of kids back and forth to the bathroom during the keynote address. The last two years I’ve noticed nobody left their seat while Anne was speaking.
Everyone had a wonderful week at Synod Youth Workshop. I felt surrounded by prayer. Whether it was in the room where people were walking the labyrinth or at worship, prayer was abundant. Then, if that wasn’t enough, I came home to prayer. And that’s not even counting running out of gas.
The Sunday after we got home I looked at the emptying sanctuary and spotted three people gathered close on a pew with their heads down. Without thinking about it too much, I asked someone in jest if they were looking for something over there. No, was the reply, that’s the prayer group. I vaguely knew about this but a lot happened while I was gone for those four months and this one escaped me completely. I knew Nancy Gray was praying daily on a blog as her work on the prayer team. But here they were in the church sanctuary with their heads bowed so close they were almost touching. Praying. For our church. For me.
More and more lately I’ve noticed things we say are being put into action and I laugh at how startled I am to see this. The phrase, “I will pray for you” comes so easily and so often that it was been discounted as merely a polite set of words but no one expects more than that. Every once in a while people really mean it.
It has stirred my own lazy prayer life. I can’t say it was changed my habits completely but it has nudged them. I am lucky and I know it, to have more time I can call my own than the average person and greater freedom to arrange my time the way I want it. Most of my prayers come in jerky movements as thoughts come to me. I have too much ADD to have a regular dedicated prayer time on my own. But reading Nancy’s blog has given me a pace to follow. I know she posts most nights late in the evening so I know when to look for it. The quality of what she says each day leads me to anticipate it with joy, almost like a promised ice cream cone at the end of the day or first thing in the morning.
Here's the address:
http://www.positively-indecisive.blogspot.com
One of the activities we offered last week was the labyrinth walk but at the end we invited people to write a prayer. This prayer would not be read or used in any other way. It was just an outlet for people to express their thoughts and prayers to God. On the final night at worship these prayers were brought to the chancel as an offering to God. After the last small group finished walking the lab the staff was invited to come if they want so I had my own walk. Then when I got paper and pen together to write my prayers all I could think of to say was "Thanks." So I just wrote that word,or variations of it,on my paper.
And thanks be to God that I have reached a place where that is my most frequent prayer.
Now, if you are a "Wednesday Only" visitor you might want to check the previous entry. I continued to post Thursday, Friday and Saturday of last week but I've arranged them all in one gigantic recap of the week. I had new videos every day.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Synod Youth Workshop Recap
The following is a recap of my week at Synod Youth Workshop. It's mostly the day by day postings of before but this time in order.
It's Tuesday night and I'm so tired that I want to post this before I crash completely. However the GREAT news is that I think I've figured out the video feature. I'm posting one video and if you get this and can see it (somebody e-me and let me know) then the sky is the limit. You might know I could come to a youth event and figure out the latest video tech. However, to toot my own horn a little, I really didn't have a kid help me. I just figured it out on my own.
But it was a kid who inspired me. Before we even had breakfast Tuesday morning somebody here at Synod had posted a video on You Tube of one of the skits last night.
We sent 25 groups to 20 service projects today. The staff managed to visit five of them and it was an amazing opportunity. The one I wish I had video of was the kids working at the food bank because they worked so fast it was heart-warming. This conference has just ordinary teenagers, no more and no less. They move slowly at times and with lightening speed at other times. But in their service project it was the lightening speed category.
If I have the time and get more moving pictures I'll post them as the week moves along. This is a big moment for me. Now, for the first time I feel like I can bring just a taste of the week for people who have never been to Synod Youth Workshop and have long wondered what the big deal is. I can't show you the deep discussions they get into or a lot of the silliness. All I can tape is a taste. But it will be more than you've seen before.
Also, small animals continue to follow me. We have a mouse infestation in our dorm. The first one was documented by the camp tech support guy who turned on his video camera then left a few sunflower seeds on the floor and left the room. Within two minutes he had a mouse come into view and eat the seeds. The second was one of the small group leaders who woke up to find one sitting on top of her while she slept. Then I heard a noise in my trash and saw a little tiny mouse trying to climb out. I tied up the plastic liner and took him to the trash. And since it was a clear plastic liner I can say for a fact that it was a field mouse. Yes, indeedy. I saw him.
That's about all the news. Our keynote speaker who is also my pastor has been doing a great job and all the kids love her.
More videos to follow I hope. Actually I'd love to pack you all up and let you see it for yourself.
Wednesday evening - Town Night
OK, so this is just WAY cool. This video feature will be able to bring you the sights and sounds of the Synod Youth Workshop experience in a way I've never been able to explain anything to you in the past. My mind is ablaze with all the ways I can use it for other postings. To start with, anyone who's been around youth much knows that they are a people who like to move around some. So I took about 42 seconds worth of what is known as an "Energizer". It's basically moving around to the music of a song. But the movements are just silly and since they're supposed to be silly anyway you don't feel stupid if you do it wrong. My kind of dance, in other words.
My biggest enemy in taking these pictures is light. The stage is lit but the huge auditorium is dark so it's hard to get a good picture of what's happening on the stage. Let me show you a short snippet of this morning's keynote. It won't really mean much but to tell you what the stage looks like.
There are still a lot of things I can't show you. The heart of the conference is the small group time. That's where this retreat is different from most youth retreats. There are two reasons: They go to enormous effort to make sure no one is placed in a small group with anyone they know. This gives the youth a place they can speak freely and without fear of anyone telling their business back home. Then there is also a tradition of ironclad confidentiality. The people in your small group will never repeat what you say in your small group. And in 17 years of doing this event I've never known anyone to break the confidentiality covenant. So, I won't be recording any of the nine small group sessions. They're not all group therapy sessions--in fact, they spend a lot of time on games and discussion of ordinary things from advice like "never feed a gerbil Dr.Pepper because it makes them explode" or the funniest thing you've ever seen happen in church. The only trouble is you never know when they're talking about the silly stuff or when they're talking about their parent's divorce. Most small group leaders tape paper over the windows into the room for privacy and the small group times are just kind of private.
The other thing I hesitated before filming is the Labyrinth Walks. I compromised by doing this at the beginning of our first walk. After this shot, we dimmed the lights and a blanket of privacy closed over the room. We have three labyrinths in one gigantic room. And even though each group shared this experience with two other groups and, even more surprisingly, there was construction going on in the hall, their concentration blocked out the rest of the world when they're on the canvas. I tell the kids this is their time to listen to God. Their whole countenance changes on the labyrinth. They will spend about a hour, sometimes more, on a prayer walk where the only sound in the room is the music playing in the background. They walk slow and solemnly, thoughtfully and pensive.
By the next morning, Friday, things were back to normal for 400 high school people. You can see we're a laid-back crowd.
Our final worship on Friday night was back to solemn. But it also provided the best laugh of the week. Our keynote speaker, Anne Clifton, had started the week with a story of a popular fund raiser in London. They sell red noses for a pound and donate the money to agencies who help the homeless. The way Anne talked it sounded like everybody in London was running around with a red clown nose to show they cared about homeless people.
Well, that got a few folks on the staff to thinking. We knew the major theme of Anne's planned remarks for the week would be a book called "Same Kind of Different as Me," which is about three people here in the US who did a lot to help the homeless. We knew that by the end of the week the whole conference would have that subject deep in our hearts. So, they sent off for 400 red clown noses. The instructions were to overnight them and they had to be here by Friday. The whole week was cloaked in a conspiratoral silence and tension of wondering if the noses would come in on time. It was a long shot but the reward would be worth it. Finally, Friday at lunch, just under the wire, the noses came in. The marvel of the thing was that we managed to keep this quiet among 400 teenagers.
Tonight when Anne went up to start her keynote, there was an elaborate scheme to distract her and cue the congregation. When she turned back to the crowd they were all, every one of them, wearing a red nose. My video doesn't do it justice--to see 400 red noses telling Anne she had made her point.
Here is a quick shot of the choir singing the anthem that I took mostly because one of the kids in my church was right in the center of the choir and I knew his mom would want to see him. So, this one is for you Melodi.
Finally, our worship ended with communion and I took this shot for Anne because her son is an ordained deacon and, as such, was helping with the service. You'll notice she had to get him back on task when it was his time to speak. This is probably one of those moments I'm sure Austen is grateful to have me record.
The next thing was the dance, the pizza and by 2am I was still up waiting for everything to calm down. The best entertainment in Tulsa was channel 7 of the walkie-talkie radios the staff uses to communicate when they're out and about making sure the kids are where they're supposed to be. The last thing I heard they had spotted a group across the campus at the gym when they're supposed to be in their rooms. Every single room had been checked for the proper people in the right places. Only one girl went awol and I'm sure they found her around 2 because I didn't hear any more.
This has been my best trip to Synod in the 17 years I've been going and I can't wait for next year. Tune in next Wednesday for a few more insights on this subject or another. I can't imagine life back in Pickton, Texas being as exciting as this week. Maybe the pasture will catch fire or something.
It's Tuesday night and I'm so tired that I want to post this before I crash completely. However the GREAT news is that I think I've figured out the video feature. I'm posting one video and if you get this and can see it (somebody e-me and let me know) then the sky is the limit. You might know I could come to a youth event and figure out the latest video tech. However, to toot my own horn a little, I really didn't have a kid help me. I just figured it out on my own.
But it was a kid who inspired me. Before we even had breakfast Tuesday morning somebody here at Synod had posted a video on You Tube of one of the skits last night.
We sent 25 groups to 20 service projects today. The staff managed to visit five of them and it was an amazing opportunity. The one I wish I had video of was the kids working at the food bank because they worked so fast it was heart-warming. This conference has just ordinary teenagers, no more and no less. They move slowly at times and with lightening speed at other times. But in their service project it was the lightening speed category.
If I have the time and get more moving pictures I'll post them as the week moves along. This is a big moment for me. Now, for the first time I feel like I can bring just a taste of the week for people who have never been to Synod Youth Workshop and have long wondered what the big deal is. I can't show you the deep discussions they get into or a lot of the silliness. All I can tape is a taste. But it will be more than you've seen before.
Also, small animals continue to follow me. We have a mouse infestation in our dorm. The first one was documented by the camp tech support guy who turned on his video camera then left a few sunflower seeds on the floor and left the room. Within two minutes he had a mouse come into view and eat the seeds. The second was one of the small group leaders who woke up to find one sitting on top of her while she slept. Then I heard a noise in my trash and saw a little tiny mouse trying to climb out. I tied up the plastic liner and took him to the trash. And since it was a clear plastic liner I can say for a fact that it was a field mouse. Yes, indeedy. I saw him.
That's about all the news. Our keynote speaker who is also my pastor has been doing a great job and all the kids love her.
More videos to follow I hope. Actually I'd love to pack you all up and let you see it for yourself.
Wednesday evening - Town Night
OK, so this is just WAY cool. This video feature will be able to bring you the sights and sounds of the Synod Youth Workshop experience in a way I've never been able to explain anything to you in the past. My mind is ablaze with all the ways I can use it for other postings. To start with, anyone who's been around youth much knows that they are a people who like to move around some. So I took about 42 seconds worth of what is known as an "Energizer". It's basically moving around to the music of a song. But the movements are just silly and since they're supposed to be silly anyway you don't feel stupid if you do it wrong. My kind of dance, in other words.
My biggest enemy in taking these pictures is light. The stage is lit but the huge auditorium is dark so it's hard to get a good picture of what's happening on the stage. Let me show you a short snippet of this morning's keynote. It won't really mean much but to tell you what the stage looks like.
There are still a lot of things I can't show you. The heart of the conference is the small group time. That's where this retreat is different from most youth retreats. There are two reasons: They go to enormous effort to make sure no one is placed in a small group with anyone they know. This gives the youth a place they can speak freely and without fear of anyone telling their business back home. Then there is also a tradition of ironclad confidentiality. The people in your small group will never repeat what you say in your small group. And in 17 years of doing this event I've never known anyone to break the confidentiality covenant. So, I won't be recording any of the nine small group sessions. They're not all group therapy sessions--in fact, they spend a lot of time on games and discussion of ordinary things from advice like "never feed a gerbil Dr.Pepper because it makes them explode" or the funniest thing you've ever seen happen in church. The only trouble is you never know when they're talking about the silly stuff or when they're talking about their parent's divorce. Most small group leaders tape paper over the windows into the room for privacy and the small group times are just kind of private.
The other thing I hesitated before filming is the Labyrinth Walks. I compromised by doing this at the beginning of our first walk. After this shot, we dimmed the lights and a blanket of privacy closed over the room. We have three labyrinths in one gigantic room. And even though each group shared this experience with two other groups and, even more surprisingly, there was construction going on in the hall, their concentration blocked out the rest of the world when they're on the canvas. I tell the kids this is their time to listen to God. Their whole countenance changes on the labyrinth. They will spend about a hour, sometimes more, on a prayer walk where the only sound in the room is the music playing in the background. They walk slow and solemnly, thoughtfully and pensive.
By the next morning, Friday, things were back to normal for 400 high school people. You can see we're a laid-back crowd.
Our final worship on Friday night was back to solemn. But it also provided the best laugh of the week. Our keynote speaker, Anne Clifton, had started the week with a story of a popular fund raiser in London. They sell red noses for a pound and donate the money to agencies who help the homeless. The way Anne talked it sounded like everybody in London was running around with a red clown nose to show they cared about homeless people.
Well, that got a few folks on the staff to thinking. We knew the major theme of Anne's planned remarks for the week would be a book called "Same Kind of Different as Me," which is about three people here in the US who did a lot to help the homeless. We knew that by the end of the week the whole conference would have that subject deep in our hearts. So, they sent off for 400 red clown noses. The instructions were to overnight them and they had to be here by Friday. The whole week was cloaked in a conspiratoral silence and tension of wondering if the noses would come in on time. It was a long shot but the reward would be worth it. Finally, Friday at lunch, just under the wire, the noses came in. The marvel of the thing was that we managed to keep this quiet among 400 teenagers.
Tonight when Anne went up to start her keynote, there was an elaborate scheme to distract her and cue the congregation. When she turned back to the crowd they were all, every one of them, wearing a red nose. My video doesn't do it justice--to see 400 red noses telling Anne she had made her point.
Here is a quick shot of the choir singing the anthem that I took mostly because one of the kids in my church was right in the center of the choir and I knew his mom would want to see him. So, this one is for you Melodi.
Finally, our worship ended with communion and I took this shot for Anne because her son is an ordained deacon and, as such, was helping with the service. You'll notice she had to get him back on task when it was his time to speak. This is probably one of those moments I'm sure Austen is grateful to have me record.
The next thing was the dance, the pizza and by 2am I was still up waiting for everything to calm down. The best entertainment in Tulsa was channel 7 of the walkie-talkie radios the staff uses to communicate when they're out and about making sure the kids are where they're supposed to be. The last thing I heard they had spotted a group across the campus at the gym when they're supposed to be in their rooms. Every single room had been checked for the proper people in the right places. Only one girl went awol and I'm sure they found her around 2 because I didn't hear any more.
This has been my best trip to Synod in the 17 years I've been going and I can't wait for next year. Tune in next Wednesday for a few more insights on this subject or another. I can't imagine life back in Pickton, Texas being as exciting as this week. Maybe the pasture will catch fire or something.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
My Father's World
I am totally bummed about the Fourth of July this year. I was so excited about having a three-day holiday. Three long days to eat, visit, be outdoors and blow things up.
When I was a kid the Fourth of July was the neatest holiday of all. Beaven and I both grew up in a time when you could still get Cherry Bombs. They were banned a while back but my son-in-law claims he was able to buy them during part of his own childhood. Cherry bombs were the ultimate in simple explosions. They had a powerful blast but were only about the size of a cherry, hence their name. They were red (duh) and had a sturdy green fuse. Nothing more. You just lit the thing and ran like hell. Firecrackers were wimp-city next to a Cherry Bomb. I guess that’s why they got banned.
The most fun thing you could do with them was light a cigarette then tear the filter off and stick the fuse into the end. Leave the cherry bomb in some isolated place –like, say, the back stairs of your dorm at college. Eventually, about 20 minutes later the cigarette ash would reach the fuse and the cherry would explode. By that time you could be long gone, into a friends room on another wing of another floor of the dorm for instance and no one would suspect you. I have it on, uh, good authority that this makes a horrendous noise, similar to a gun going off. One particular dorm mother I knew was scared to death and went looking for the culprit, whom she would probably have kicked out of school instantly if she could get her hands on her.
But, MAN, it was fun!! I mean, I guess it would be if you were to do that, which I never said I did. Did I?
Anyway, blowing stuff up is loads of fun and I recommend it highly. The idea of a three-day Fourth of July weekend sounded wonderful. So when Steve showed up with a sack of fireworks Thursday night and then Emily and Elizabeth showed up Friday morning with another sack of stuff I thought I was cool for Friday night. I thought Granny would go buy her stash the next day for Saturday night. And possibly some firecrackers for the day on Sunday afternoon.
And it’s not just the boom part–the mere act of buying stuff out of the plywood trailer is fun in itself. You lean over the counter and look at it all then tell the kid behind the counter what you’re looking for. “I want something that goes in the air and is pretty. Not too loud, though. Just pretty.” Or, “I want something that flies through the air and leaves sparkling lights in a trail of explosions.” The goal is to become a connoisseur of explosives. It’s a lifelong learning experience --to explore all the ways the manufacturer can arrange different chemicals so that they will do different things when you light a match to them.
Well. Did you know the fine lawmakers in our great state have written a law that says you can only sell fireworks up to midnight the day of the event? In other words, 11:59 p.m. July 4th. In other words, not Saturday, July 5th or Sunday, July 6th. I went up to the fireworks stand up at Joe Bob’s gas station on Saturday morning to find them packing up to put the stand in storage for another year. What kind of an idiot would pass a law like that? When we still had two whole days ahead of us? This is the state where the Governors mansion burned to the ground last month, for crying out loud. Do we sound like we worry about fire hazards?Where you can buy a gun at the local Wal-Mart. Do you think we worry about little things like too many opportunities to hurt ourselves?
So, without fireworks, our family was reduced to eating ourselves into a sugar high second only to Thanksgiving. Three pies, a cake and a can of whipped cream. I did buy a sugar-free angel food cake so we could have strawberry shortcakes but forgot to take it out. The strawberries went instead on the two cartons of ice cream.
Then Sunday morning in church we had great patriotic music by our organist. Margaret must have known I would still be mourning my lost explosives so she played her heart out on the closing music. But I couldn’t help remember that the most patriotic piece of music for me this year was on Fathers Day.
One of the hymns that morning was “This is My Fathers World”. Not a patriotic song at all. For starters, it always reminds me of the year we sang that song on Mothers Day and all the women were up in arms. So at least we were singing the song at an appropriate time.
I know the song is about our Creator and the world He has made for us. But I couldn’t help but think of my own father and his service in WWII, the big one. He served in the South Pacific and was away from home so long that my sister didn’t remember him when he got home. There were seven years between my sister and myself that were a result of the war.
So I am a baby boomer, born nine months after Daddy got home. I am a child of the 50's with Davy Crocket coonskin hats and Leave It To Beaver. I had one of the most wholesome and carefree childhoods you can imagine. (Well, around 12 or 13 things went south but until then I had pretty much the perfect childhood.) Television was still new and there weren’t any programs for kids except Howdy Doody. I lived in a neighborhood full of kids. Few houses had air-conditioning and we spent most of our time outdoors. We went all over the neighborhood including the creek two blocks away and our parents rarely knew where we were. Obviously, Mother knew where I had been when I came home soaking wet from swimming in the creek but all I had to do was tell her I fell in and she would pretend she believed me. The only hard and fast rule was to head home once we saw the streetlights come on.
This was “My Fathers World” the world Daddy served in the Army to insure for me and my grandchildren. A world where the strongest explosive I will face in a day's time is from the occasional firecracker, not a roadside IED strong enough to penetrate a tank. A world where my vote usually counts if I can get enough people to agree that my candidate is the one to vote for. And a world where if my candidate doesn’t win we still have someone in office with a reasonable sense of fairness and acceptance of the idea that my views, though different, are valid and should be honored.
I’ve had some “issues” with the guy in office right now, and maybe even some questions about the validity of the way he got elected the first time. But I still live in the best country in the world. And even as frustrated as some of our politicians make me, they’re still better than some countries in the world. And I always have the very real opportunity to get elected to office myself if I want to be involved through more than just complaining. So if there’s any criticism to throw I have to throw some my own direction over my lazy attitude toward government.
I don’t think I want our country’s flag flown in my church sanctuary because that opens a whole can of worms that I’m not sure I want to open. But I wore a t-shirt with the flag on it all day Saturday, even though there wasn’t even a firecracker to be had in town.
All in all, this is a pretty great country we live in. This is My Father’s World. Thank you, Daddy.
When I was a kid the Fourth of July was the neatest holiday of all. Beaven and I both grew up in a time when you could still get Cherry Bombs. They were banned a while back but my son-in-law claims he was able to buy them during part of his own childhood. Cherry bombs were the ultimate in simple explosions. They had a powerful blast but were only about the size of a cherry, hence their name. They were red (duh) and had a sturdy green fuse. Nothing more. You just lit the thing and ran like hell. Firecrackers were wimp-city next to a Cherry Bomb. I guess that’s why they got banned.
The most fun thing you could do with them was light a cigarette then tear the filter off and stick the fuse into the end. Leave the cherry bomb in some isolated place –like, say, the back stairs of your dorm at college. Eventually, about 20 minutes later the cigarette ash would reach the fuse and the cherry would explode. By that time you could be long gone, into a friends room on another wing of another floor of the dorm for instance and no one would suspect you. I have it on, uh, good authority that this makes a horrendous noise, similar to a gun going off. One particular dorm mother I knew was scared to death and went looking for the culprit, whom she would probably have kicked out of school instantly if she could get her hands on her.
But, MAN, it was fun!! I mean, I guess it would be if you were to do that, which I never said I did. Did I?
Anyway, blowing stuff up is loads of fun and I recommend it highly. The idea of a three-day Fourth of July weekend sounded wonderful. So when Steve showed up with a sack of fireworks Thursday night and then Emily and Elizabeth showed up Friday morning with another sack of stuff I thought I was cool for Friday night. I thought Granny would go buy her stash the next day for Saturday night. And possibly some firecrackers for the day on Sunday afternoon.
And it’s not just the boom part–the mere act of buying stuff out of the plywood trailer is fun in itself. You lean over the counter and look at it all then tell the kid behind the counter what you’re looking for. “I want something that goes in the air and is pretty. Not too loud, though. Just pretty.” Or, “I want something that flies through the air and leaves sparkling lights in a trail of explosions.” The goal is to become a connoisseur of explosives. It’s a lifelong learning experience --to explore all the ways the manufacturer can arrange different chemicals so that they will do different things when you light a match to them.
Well. Did you know the fine lawmakers in our great state have written a law that says you can only sell fireworks up to midnight the day of the event? In other words, 11:59 p.m. July 4th. In other words, not Saturday, July 5th or Sunday, July 6th. I went up to the fireworks stand up at Joe Bob’s gas station on Saturday morning to find them packing up to put the stand in storage for another year. What kind of an idiot would pass a law like that? When we still had two whole days ahead of us? This is the state where the Governors mansion burned to the ground last month, for crying out loud. Do we sound like we worry about fire hazards?Where you can buy a gun at the local Wal-Mart. Do you think we worry about little things like too many opportunities to hurt ourselves?
So, without fireworks, our family was reduced to eating ourselves into a sugar high second only to Thanksgiving. Three pies, a cake and a can of whipped cream. I did buy a sugar-free angel food cake so we could have strawberry shortcakes but forgot to take it out. The strawberries went instead on the two cartons of ice cream.
Then Sunday morning in church we had great patriotic music by our organist. Margaret must have known I would still be mourning my lost explosives so she played her heart out on the closing music. But I couldn’t help remember that the most patriotic piece of music for me this year was on Fathers Day.
One of the hymns that morning was “This is My Fathers World”. Not a patriotic song at all. For starters, it always reminds me of the year we sang that song on Mothers Day and all the women were up in arms. So at least we were singing the song at an appropriate time.
I know the song is about our Creator and the world He has made for us. But I couldn’t help but think of my own father and his service in WWII, the big one. He served in the South Pacific and was away from home so long that my sister didn’t remember him when he got home. There were seven years between my sister and myself that were a result of the war.
So I am a baby boomer, born nine months after Daddy got home. I am a child of the 50's with Davy Crocket coonskin hats and Leave It To Beaver. I had one of the most wholesome and carefree childhoods you can imagine. (Well, around 12 or 13 things went south but until then I had pretty much the perfect childhood.) Television was still new and there weren’t any programs for kids except Howdy Doody. I lived in a neighborhood full of kids. Few houses had air-conditioning and we spent most of our time outdoors. We went all over the neighborhood including the creek two blocks away and our parents rarely knew where we were. Obviously, Mother knew where I had been when I came home soaking wet from swimming in the creek but all I had to do was tell her I fell in and she would pretend she believed me. The only hard and fast rule was to head home once we saw the streetlights come on.
This was “My Fathers World” the world Daddy served in the Army to insure for me and my grandchildren. A world where the strongest explosive I will face in a day's time is from the occasional firecracker, not a roadside IED strong enough to penetrate a tank. A world where my vote usually counts if I can get enough people to agree that my candidate is the one to vote for. And a world where if my candidate doesn’t win we still have someone in office with a reasonable sense of fairness and acceptance of the idea that my views, though different, are valid and should be honored.
I’ve had some “issues” with the guy in office right now, and maybe even some questions about the validity of the way he got elected the first time. But I still live in the best country in the world. And even as frustrated as some of our politicians make me, they’re still better than some countries in the world. And I always have the very real opportunity to get elected to office myself if I want to be involved through more than just complaining. So if there’s any criticism to throw I have to throw some my own direction over my lazy attitude toward government.
I don’t think I want our country’s flag flown in my church sanctuary because that opens a whole can of worms that I’m not sure I want to open. But I wore a t-shirt with the flag on it all day Saturday, even though there wasn’t even a firecracker to be had in town.
All in all, this is a pretty great country we live in. This is My Father’s World. Thank you, Daddy.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Mission Summer
It was different to have Beaven go on a mission trip this time with me staying home to keep the home fires burning. Well, except I’m not supposed to do any fires without adult supervision since the year I burned up the pasture. Twice.
Beaven returned home from Mexico right on time. He was a little sunburned, had cement burns on his arms, a little sore and happy to be able to sleep in his own bed. Cement burns are a little known and underappreciated by-product of this kind of work. The chemical reaction of water mixed with cement causes a really caustic material. When mixed it’s the texture of a milk shake and oozes into your shoes. And since you usually are standing in the stuff to mix it there’s plenty opportunity to get it in your shoes. Then the sand and gravel rub this stuff into your skin every time you move. Most people working with it get burns the first day. They go back the next day with band-aids but the band-aids get wet and fall off almost immediately. The people who catch the empty buckets after they’re emptied get spots of these burns on their faces and arms—wherever the stuff lands and stays for a while.
And that’s the reason the team goes to South Padre Island on their last day of the mission trip. It’s not so much for the luxury of the beautiful beach as it is for the healing properties of the salt water.
In five days they poured two foundations, two roofs and one floor. Foundations and floors are different. And a concrete roof is the hardest. Beaven said it was harder since they had to take buckets of concrete 10 feet up in the air. Foundations looked much easier to me. But the group got to go back to the project we worked on last year when I was with them. We poured two floors last year and each one took all day. It was nice to see Beaven’s pictures of the rooms finished and moved into. The building we worked on was to be (and is now) dormitories for volunteers. Except our group doesn’t stay there at the church compound—we stay on the US side in another church, an Air-Conditioned church. I can’t imagine sleeping without AC in the summer.
If I didn’t have photos to prove he wasn’t on some tropical vacation without me I still would have known what he was doing simply from doing his laundry when he got home. There is cement in my washer, dryer and anything that shared a load with his jeans and t-shirts. I have cement sand in the dryer vent and all of his jeans still had a rim of concrete around the cuffs--and that's after they've been through the washer and dryer. It reminds me of my old roommate, Betty Sue, who lives in West Virginia. She married a coal miner and she makes him take his clothes off at the back door where she has a separate washing machine just for his work clothes.
July 4th is coming up and I can’t wait. The grandkids are old enough now to really enjoy fireworks and are looking forward to our long weekend together. Soon, it will be time to line up at the fireworks stand we have here in town. They set it up on the parking lot there at the gas station, Joe Bob’s #2. Yes, fireworks at the gas station. Remember this is rural Texas.
There’s not much else to report. I thought I had finished my book and announced this to my friends with delight. Then I made the mistake of reading it over. I’m back at the drawing board now. It still needs to be tweaked a bit. It reads like I was more relaxed writing the second half than the first. That has to mean something.
Then in a couple of weeks I will be headed off to Tulsa University (July 12-18) for the Synod Youth Workshop. I won’t be able to post from there unless things get calm enough. Actually, they might. For the first time ever they are giving the staff access to the internet connections in the dorm rooms. So I could post if I have time and it looks like I might. I have a dream job this year: I am in training. Thank you, Jesus. I don’t have to do a damned thing this year. I just have to watch how Sherry Holloman does the service projects and then take the responsibility for them next year. I don’t want to gloat too much about my easy week since I’m a firm believer that God hears everything we say and God has a sense of humor. So pretend I didn’t say that just now.
Synod Youth Workshop is my favorite week of the year, hands down. It beats Christmas, Easter, Mothers Day and my birthday. It beats trips to Europe. It’s just more fun and more rewarding than anything else I do all the rest of the year. It’s part revival, rock concert, mission trip, and group therapy with a little bible study thrown in. Since I started going to this retreat in 1991, it has become the focus of my year. Everything I do the rest of the year is done with this in mind. I usually go into a comprehensive physical program to get in shape for it since it’s very physically demanding. I try to walk a few miles and move around a lot more in the weeks ahead. I do not, however, practice staying awake until the wee hours of the morning. I have to draw the line somewhere and there’s always the chance of a miracle and the kids will be tucked in bed on time every night. Seven days of dorm food-- Doesn’t it sound great?
Which reminds me—I’ve got to go walk. I can tell you more about it next week if we all make it through July 4th without a hospital admission.
Beaven returned home from Mexico right on time. He was a little sunburned, had cement burns on his arms, a little sore and happy to be able to sleep in his own bed. Cement burns are a little known and underappreciated by-product of this kind of work. The chemical reaction of water mixed with cement causes a really caustic material. When mixed it’s the texture of a milk shake and oozes into your shoes. And since you usually are standing in the stuff to mix it there’s plenty opportunity to get it in your shoes. Then the sand and gravel rub this stuff into your skin every time you move. Most people working with it get burns the first day. They go back the next day with band-aids but the band-aids get wet and fall off almost immediately. The people who catch the empty buckets after they’re emptied get spots of these burns on their faces and arms—wherever the stuff lands and stays for a while.
And that’s the reason the team goes to South Padre Island on their last day of the mission trip. It’s not so much for the luxury of the beautiful beach as it is for the healing properties of the salt water.
In five days they poured two foundations, two roofs and one floor. Foundations and floors are different. And a concrete roof is the hardest. Beaven said it was harder since they had to take buckets of concrete 10 feet up in the air. Foundations looked much easier to me. But the group got to go back to the project we worked on last year when I was with them. We poured two floors last year and each one took all day. It was nice to see Beaven’s pictures of the rooms finished and moved into. The building we worked on was to be (and is now) dormitories for volunteers. Except our group doesn’t stay there at the church compound—we stay on the US side in another church, an Air-Conditioned church. I can’t imagine sleeping without AC in the summer.
If I didn’t have photos to prove he wasn’t on some tropical vacation without me I still would have known what he was doing simply from doing his laundry when he got home. There is cement in my washer, dryer and anything that shared a load with his jeans and t-shirts. I have cement sand in the dryer vent and all of his jeans still had a rim of concrete around the cuffs--and that's after they've been through the washer and dryer. It reminds me of my old roommate, Betty Sue, who lives in West Virginia. She married a coal miner and she makes him take his clothes off at the back door where she has a separate washing machine just for his work clothes.
July 4th is coming up and I can’t wait. The grandkids are old enough now to really enjoy fireworks and are looking forward to our long weekend together. Soon, it will be time to line up at the fireworks stand we have here in town. They set it up on the parking lot there at the gas station, Joe Bob’s #2. Yes, fireworks at the gas station. Remember this is rural Texas.
There’s not much else to report. I thought I had finished my book and announced this to my friends with delight. Then I made the mistake of reading it over. I’m back at the drawing board now. It still needs to be tweaked a bit. It reads like I was more relaxed writing the second half than the first. That has to mean something.
Then in a couple of weeks I will be headed off to Tulsa University (July 12-18) for the Synod Youth Workshop. I won’t be able to post from there unless things get calm enough. Actually, they might. For the first time ever they are giving the staff access to the internet connections in the dorm rooms. So I could post if I have time and it looks like I might. I have a dream job this year: I am in training. Thank you, Jesus. I don’t have to do a damned thing this year. I just have to watch how Sherry Holloman does the service projects and then take the responsibility for them next year. I don’t want to gloat too much about my easy week since I’m a firm believer that God hears everything we say and God has a sense of humor. So pretend I didn’t say that just now.
Synod Youth Workshop is my favorite week of the year, hands down. It beats Christmas, Easter, Mothers Day and my birthday. It beats trips to Europe. It’s just more fun and more rewarding than anything else I do all the rest of the year. It’s part revival, rock concert, mission trip, and group therapy with a little bible study thrown in. Since I started going to this retreat in 1991, it has become the focus of my year. Everything I do the rest of the year is done with this in mind. I usually go into a comprehensive physical program to get in shape for it since it’s very physically demanding. I try to walk a few miles and move around a lot more in the weeks ahead. I do not, however, practice staying awake until the wee hours of the morning. I have to draw the line somewhere and there’s always the chance of a miracle and the kids will be tucked in bed on time every night. Seven days of dorm food-- Doesn’t it sound great?
Which reminds me—I’ve got to go walk. I can tell you more about it next week if we all make it through July 4th without a hospital admission.
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