Wow, it seemed like such a good idea. Chocolate fudge ribbon ice cream. I had a slight case of heartburn so, why not. Well, here's why not.
I had dreams all night of tornadoes! One of them was me running through the house looking for our youngest daughter who somehow was lost in the house. How absurd! But the panic was real. I woke up breathing heavy and weirded out. So, I go back to sleep only to dream of more tornadoes looming but this time I'm running toward my home for some odd reason. Again, woke up in a panic.
So, I share these dreams with my husband first thing while he's getting ready for work. He got kind of weird about it, slightly defensive. Which I thought was odd. He said that I must be upset or worried about something. I, of course, had to press the issue, cause that's how I am. For some strange reason, I felt compelled to defend my right to have these kind of dreams. I explained to him that I thought I dreamt these dreams because we weren't prepared for a disaster, that we had no emergency plan. So, we went through a few things, which made me feel a little better. And he seemed to accept the rationale that I gave him.
But the real reason I had these strange night adventures, I am convinced, is because I ate that ice cream right before bed. Oh, and I saw several pictures of the tornadoes that hit Oklahoma. Thanks twitter friends in OK for sharing! Glad you all are ok. But next time, I'll pass on the pics AND the ice cream.
I need a nap!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Election ramifications
Ok, I admit it. I didn't vote for Obama. I don't like his politics. I voted for McCain even though I wasn't crazy in love with him, either. He just seemed closer to where I wanted to be.
But here's the true confession: I judged everybody who voted for Obama! I know, very wrong on many levels. But, I really felt like he was not qualified for the position and that if he had taken after his mother's side of the family, he would not have gotten as far in the process as he did. Just sayin.
Now, this opinion wasn't helped by the posting of videos showing blacks just indiscriminately saying they voted for him and his policies, even though they were being tricked by the interviewer and being told McCain's views were actually Obama's views. I mean, it made me mad that people were voting based on his skin tone. To me, that was racist.
So, having formed that opinion of each and every voter (that I was sure was being racist), I was irritated every time somebody got excited about him winning. Especially if they were of color! I kept wanting to shout, "You know he's only half black, right?".
Then, came inauguration day. Still very irritated with the whole thing and all the excitement. Then, I started reading the Twitter feed of some of my followers of color. They were not only excited but exstatically happy. Huh. I mean really happy and proud. Proud. That was something I hadn't really thought about.
I thought about how proud I would have been if a woman (even Hillary) might have won. I realized I, too, would have been proud and excited about a woman (even Hillary) winning just because she was a woman. Barrier broken.
Then, the comment came through about "Now we can do anything". Wow. It was in that moment that I realized that not everybody in the world had been told since they were little, that they could be anything they wanted to be - even President of the United States. My world got a little bigger then. I realized that I had taken it for granted, all my life, that I was allowed to dream big. Not only allowed, but encouraged.
I realized that for people of color or for immigrants, that had not always been the case. Until now. Now, it was a reality. Now, somebody of color (but not immigrants) actually could become President of the United States. Now, they could dream big. Now, they were free to think outside the box.
I have many ultra-conservative friends who are convinced that now all minorities will have a sense of entitlement and that things will be horrible. Well, so far up to this point, people without hope have seemed to be the ones with the sense of entitlement. I mean if you are already on welfare, shouldn't you expect to stay on welfare and it should be there for you. If that's all you've known for a generation or two, then yeah, you do expect that level of lifestyle. (Mind you, I am referring to all colors here. We all know that welfare is color-blind.)
But now, the glass ceiling has been shattered. If I really want to go all the way to the top, I actually can.
This is what hurts my heart: That it took so long for people to realize this! That there have been generations of children whose dreams have been kept in a small shoebox limited by the past and no hope for a future. That there may have been doctors and scientists and great contributors to history that haven't been nurtured and encouraged to be all that God has intended for them to be. For this, I am sad. But for this, also I have hope now.
Hope for the future of our children's dreams. When MLK said I have a dream, why didn't everybody seize onto that dream for all those who didn't have it? I'm now quite happy that Obama won. But only for this reason alone: that he gave kids and adults of color hope and the ability to dream big. Now, let's see what they do with it.
(If I've offended you in any way, sorry. That was never my intent. I just needed to come clean about a few things. I feel better now, sorry if you don't. Leave me a comment. I'm open to criticism.)
But here's the true confession: I judged everybody who voted for Obama! I know, very wrong on many levels. But, I really felt like he was not qualified for the position and that if he had taken after his mother's side of the family, he would not have gotten as far in the process as he did. Just sayin.
Now, this opinion wasn't helped by the posting of videos showing blacks just indiscriminately saying they voted for him and his policies, even though they were being tricked by the interviewer and being told McCain's views were actually Obama's views. I mean, it made me mad that people were voting based on his skin tone. To me, that was racist.
So, having formed that opinion of each and every voter (that I was sure was being racist), I was irritated every time somebody got excited about him winning. Especially if they were of color! I kept wanting to shout, "You know he's only half black, right?".
Then, came inauguration day. Still very irritated with the whole thing and all the excitement. Then, I started reading the Twitter feed of some of my followers of color. They were not only excited but exstatically happy. Huh. I mean really happy and proud. Proud. That was something I hadn't really thought about.
I thought about how proud I would have been if a woman (even Hillary) might have won. I realized I, too, would have been proud and excited about a woman (even Hillary) winning just because she was a woman. Barrier broken.
Then, the comment came through about "Now we can do anything". Wow. It was in that moment that I realized that not everybody in the world had been told since they were little, that they could be anything they wanted to be - even President of the United States. My world got a little bigger then. I realized that I had taken it for granted, all my life, that I was allowed to dream big. Not only allowed, but encouraged.
I realized that for people of color or for immigrants, that had not always been the case. Until now. Now, it was a reality. Now, somebody of color (but not immigrants) actually could become President of the United States. Now, they could dream big. Now, they were free to think outside the box.
I have many ultra-conservative friends who are convinced that now all minorities will have a sense of entitlement and that things will be horrible. Well, so far up to this point, people without hope have seemed to be the ones with the sense of entitlement. I mean if you are already on welfare, shouldn't you expect to stay on welfare and it should be there for you. If that's all you've known for a generation or two, then yeah, you do expect that level of lifestyle. (Mind you, I am referring to all colors here. We all know that welfare is color-blind.)
But now, the glass ceiling has been shattered. If I really want to go all the way to the top, I actually can.
This is what hurts my heart: That it took so long for people to realize this! That there have been generations of children whose dreams have been kept in a small shoebox limited by the past and no hope for a future. That there may have been doctors and scientists and great contributors to history that haven't been nurtured and encouraged to be all that God has intended for them to be. For this, I am sad. But for this, also I have hope now.
Hope for the future of our children's dreams. When MLK said I have a dream, why didn't everybody seize onto that dream for all those who didn't have it? I'm now quite happy that Obama won. But only for this reason alone: that he gave kids and adults of color hope and the ability to dream big. Now, let's see what they do with it.
(If I've offended you in any way, sorry. That was never my intent. I just needed to come clean about a few things. I feel better now, sorry if you don't. Leave me a comment. I'm open to criticism.)
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Where is my treasure?
In other words, where's my stuff? Years ago, the catch phrase was, "Who moved my cheese?" Same thing. So, did I lose it, misplace it, or forget where I left it? None of these answers that question.
You see, "where's my stuff" refers more to "what do I value most?". This week's devotional for our "How to Be Rich" series pointed us to Matthew 6:19-34. In this passage it speaks to our prized possessions and what we worry about, paraphrasing.
In studying this, it brought to mind two dreams I had many, many years ago in which I was frightened about things. The first one was not as distinct in images as the latter but just as powerful still.
Background for information: I was living in Los Angeles (valley area) in a small duplex. My life was relatively calm and peaceful and yet there was a nagging feeling that I was missing out on something. Pushing that aside, I lived my life in ordinary fashion. One night, however, I awoke to sweats and terrors that I couldn't sweep away with thoughts of daisies and smiley faces. In the dream, I was being surrounded by a dark menacing cloud, if you will. It was trying to break in. Did it want to steal things? Maybe, but most of all, it felt as if it wanted to steal me, that it wanted to kill me. I remember waking up in tears, breathing like I had just run a marathon. The fear within me was palpable, inconsolable and irreconcilable. Why was I so frightened? I lived in a relatatively safe neighborhood for the valley. Yes, there was the occasional stabbing, rape, murder within my sphere of contact, but nothing imminent to me. And yet, here I was afraid in my own home. I lay there for what seemed like hours waiting on the dawn as if magical powers would eminate from the sun and sweep away all the thoughts of this new boogey man in my head. While I laid there, I realized that I had two choices and only two.
One, I could check out of life and stay forever in my bed with the covers drawn hiding behind the invisible force field of strength and protection which automatically comes with a down comforter; or two, I could do something about it. But what could I do? I could put bars on my windows and doors. (It was L.A. remember, everyone has them.) Yes, that would protect me from the thing that wanted me. And nothing says hospitality like a set bars on all the openings of an abode, right? What would my friends think? I could get an alarm system similar to Fort Knox, that would do it. It would also cost more than I made in 2 or 3 months even though my place was tiny. But, I'd lived on mac and cheese before, I could do it again.
No, things had to be resolved in a more civilized way which meant I would have to fight the fear from within. When I was 14, living in TN, I had gone to church several times with a friend from school and through that brief indoctrination realized that I "needed Jesus", so one Sunday I made the long walk down the aisle and made that commitment. I also followed up with a water baptism-full-on immersion. But that was years ago and I hadn't really thought much of it or done any follow up to it. Hadn't been to church in forever. Certainly wasn't living the lifestyle that I was pretty sure I ought to be (remember it was L.A. in the 80's). But here I was cowering in all out terror from some perceived danger with no way out on my own. So I prayed. Nothing flowery or churchy, more desperate and pathetic. It was in that moment, that I felt a paradigm shift. A rift in the fabric of my time continuum. I had fallen into some blissful state of consciousness and serenity, a place that felt impervious to all outside threats.
Wow, it was like placing my head on my dad's shoulder as a small girl and having his arm tightly wrapped around me. It evoked that same overwhelming sense of safety and security. So, that was that. Fear gone. Prayed it away. Hah, you can't get me boogey man! I got Jesus! And He will mess you up! So, did I run right to church. No. That would have been too easy. But what I did do was realize that the only reason I lived in L.A. was because of a job and a few good friends. Life in the fast lane was really too fast for me. Did my peace of mind not matter anymore? Yes, it did and I knew in my heart of hearts that I was in the wrong place. So, I picked up my life and moved back to TN. No job, no home, just back where I felt "safe". My life fell apart once there but fell back together into a much better picture after it was all said and done. Which leads me to my second dream.
Background: Fast forward ten years, I am married to a wonderful man, mother to two beautiful children, member of local church, and owner of comfortable home. It was this comfortable home which gave me the nightmare. Life was just tooling along for me until one night I awoke from another heart-gripping, sweat-inducing panic-driven dream. You see, our new home had these beautiful windows on the front of it which went from the floor to almost the ceiling in the front two bedrooms (our girls' rooms). Our bedroom was on the other side of the house (which seemed like a good idea at the time and did prove to be an asset later). Earlier in the week, a news story had rocked the world about a girl who had been kidnapped from her home through a window, Polly Klaas. It was this horrible incident, I believe, that triggered my dream (as I'm sure it did others as well). In my dream, you guessed it, "someone" was trying to get in to steal my girls. In that all too familiar sense of panic, I lay there trying to convince myself that I was being silly to worry so much.
It was in that moment that I remembered my other dream and the solution to my dilemma. I prayed. It wasn't that hard for me now that I was a growing, practicing believer in Christ. As I humbly asked the Lord to give me peace, in my dream, or mind's eye, or whatever you want to call it, I first saw a man with a big stick moving toward my girls' window. Ok, this was not comforting and for a brief moment my heart skipped a beat. Then, as if unrolling a scroll, more of the image became apparent. The man, who seemed to be about 7 or 8 feet tall in relation to the window frame, gently planted his feet apart in front of the window, taking up a guardian stance. As he was settling into this position, I noticed commotion behind him as a huge set of wings, yes I said wings, ever so slowly unfurled to completely block not only the windows but most of that side of the house. And the stick that I had seen became clear to me as a staff, much like you see in biblical paintings. (Side note: The first time I saw Thomas Kincade's painting of this image, I almost came out of my skin in delight.)
As I took in this whole scene, a sense of not only peace and safety came over me, but one of humor. I realized that most people, possibly myself included, always picture angels as thin, frail, beautiful, aetherial creatures, here to escort people to heaven being their primary job description. But, nope, not my girls' angels. They were big, burly guys with really big staffs with an attitude of defiance toward any intrusion against their charges. I giggled, wondering if this assignment of such imposing guardians to my girls meant that they were going to be "handfuls" and were going to need really tough guys to protect them.
And with that image, placed there for me by a loving Heavenly Father, I was able to truly trust in the Lord with my most prized possessions. He had it covered and I just needed to let Him handle it. So, with that I peacefully glided back to sleep knowing that whatever the world may throw at me, in the words of my favorite tomato, Bob, "God is bigger than the boogey man!"
So, where is your treasure and who do you trust to protect it?
You see, "where's my stuff" refers more to "what do I value most?". This week's devotional for our "How to Be Rich" series pointed us to Matthew 6:19-34. In this passage it speaks to our prized possessions and what we worry about, paraphrasing.
In studying this, it brought to mind two dreams I had many, many years ago in which I was frightened about things. The first one was not as distinct in images as the latter but just as powerful still.
Background for information: I was living in Los Angeles (valley area) in a small duplex. My life was relatively calm and peaceful and yet there was a nagging feeling that I was missing out on something. Pushing that aside, I lived my life in ordinary fashion. One night, however, I awoke to sweats and terrors that I couldn't sweep away with thoughts of daisies and smiley faces. In the dream, I was being surrounded by a dark menacing cloud, if you will. It was trying to break in. Did it want to steal things? Maybe, but most of all, it felt as if it wanted to steal me, that it wanted to kill me. I remember waking up in tears, breathing like I had just run a marathon. The fear within me was palpable, inconsolable and irreconcilable. Why was I so frightened? I lived in a relatatively safe neighborhood for the valley. Yes, there was the occasional stabbing, rape, murder within my sphere of contact, but nothing imminent to me. And yet, here I was afraid in my own home. I lay there for what seemed like hours waiting on the dawn as if magical powers would eminate from the sun and sweep away all the thoughts of this new boogey man in my head. While I laid there, I realized that I had two choices and only two.
One, I could check out of life and stay forever in my bed with the covers drawn hiding behind the invisible force field of strength and protection which automatically comes with a down comforter; or two, I could do something about it. But what could I do? I could put bars on my windows and doors. (It was L.A. remember, everyone has them.) Yes, that would protect me from the thing that wanted me. And nothing says hospitality like a set bars on all the openings of an abode, right? What would my friends think? I could get an alarm system similar to Fort Knox, that would do it. It would also cost more than I made in 2 or 3 months even though my place was tiny. But, I'd lived on mac and cheese before, I could do it again.
No, things had to be resolved in a more civilized way which meant I would have to fight the fear from within. When I was 14, living in TN, I had gone to church several times with a friend from school and through that brief indoctrination realized that I "needed Jesus", so one Sunday I made the long walk down the aisle and made that commitment. I also followed up with a water baptism-full-on immersion. But that was years ago and I hadn't really thought much of it or done any follow up to it. Hadn't been to church in forever. Certainly wasn't living the lifestyle that I was pretty sure I ought to be (remember it was L.A. in the 80's). But here I was cowering in all out terror from some perceived danger with no way out on my own. So I prayed. Nothing flowery or churchy, more desperate and pathetic. It was in that moment, that I felt a paradigm shift. A rift in the fabric of my time continuum. I had fallen into some blissful state of consciousness and serenity, a place that felt impervious to all outside threats.
Wow, it was like placing my head on my dad's shoulder as a small girl and having his arm tightly wrapped around me. It evoked that same overwhelming sense of safety and security. So, that was that. Fear gone. Prayed it away. Hah, you can't get me boogey man! I got Jesus! And He will mess you up! So, did I run right to church. No. That would have been too easy. But what I did do was realize that the only reason I lived in L.A. was because of a job and a few good friends. Life in the fast lane was really too fast for me. Did my peace of mind not matter anymore? Yes, it did and I knew in my heart of hearts that I was in the wrong place. So, I picked up my life and moved back to TN. No job, no home, just back where I felt "safe". My life fell apart once there but fell back together into a much better picture after it was all said and done. Which leads me to my second dream.
Background: Fast forward ten years, I am married to a wonderful man, mother to two beautiful children, member of local church, and owner of comfortable home. It was this comfortable home which gave me the nightmare. Life was just tooling along for me until one night I awoke from another heart-gripping, sweat-inducing panic-driven dream. You see, our new home had these beautiful windows on the front of it which went from the floor to almost the ceiling in the front two bedrooms (our girls' rooms). Our bedroom was on the other side of the house (which seemed like a good idea at the time and did prove to be an asset later). Earlier in the week, a news story had rocked the world about a girl who had been kidnapped from her home through a window, Polly Klaas. It was this horrible incident, I believe, that triggered my dream (as I'm sure it did others as well). In my dream, you guessed it, "someone" was trying to get in to steal my girls. In that all too familiar sense of panic, I lay there trying to convince myself that I was being silly to worry so much.
It was in that moment that I remembered my other dream and the solution to my dilemma. I prayed. It wasn't that hard for me now that I was a growing, practicing believer in Christ. As I humbly asked the Lord to give me peace, in my dream, or mind's eye, or whatever you want to call it, I first saw a man with a big stick moving toward my girls' window. Ok, this was not comforting and for a brief moment my heart skipped a beat. Then, as if unrolling a scroll, more of the image became apparent. The man, who seemed to be about 7 or 8 feet tall in relation to the window frame, gently planted his feet apart in front of the window, taking up a guardian stance. As he was settling into this position, I noticed commotion behind him as a huge set of wings, yes I said wings, ever so slowly unfurled to completely block not only the windows but most of that side of the house. And the stick that I had seen became clear to me as a staff, much like you see in biblical paintings. (Side note: The first time I saw Thomas Kincade's painting of this image, I almost came out of my skin in delight.)
As I took in this whole scene, a sense of not only peace and safety came over me, but one of humor. I realized that most people, possibly myself included, always picture angels as thin, frail, beautiful, aetherial creatures, here to escort people to heaven being their primary job description. But, nope, not my girls' angels. They were big, burly guys with really big staffs with an attitude of defiance toward any intrusion against their charges. I giggled, wondering if this assignment of such imposing guardians to my girls meant that they were going to be "handfuls" and were going to need really tough guys to protect them.
And with that image, placed there for me by a loving Heavenly Father, I was able to truly trust in the Lord with my most prized possessions. He had it covered and I just needed to let Him handle it. So, with that I peacefully glided back to sleep knowing that whatever the world may throw at me, in the words of my favorite tomato, Bob, "God is bigger than the boogey man!"
So, where is your treasure and who do you trust to protect it?
Friday, November 14, 2008
Waiting...
So here I am for the day. Locked into waiting for a repairman who will grace me with his presence and expertise sometime between 8:00 am and 5:00 pm. Wow. Way to narrow it down, buddy. But it got me to thinking, what if everything ran like this?
I met my husband at a 4:00 pm doctor's appointment yesterday. He was running late so I signed him in (it was his appt.). Lucky thing, too. We waited in the waiting room until 4:50, then we went through the normal barrage of weights and measurements and waited in the lab "holding pen" for another 10 minutes. Finally, we were escorted to an exam room where we waited another 30 minutes. At which point, my husband says "we won't get out of here until around 6:00pm". I thought he was being a little melodramatic, but in actuality, he did not underestimate at all. It was approx. 5:55pm when we went to "check out". There was only one lone woman in the office area where earlier it had been teeming with workers.
So, why is it we have to make appointments if they aren't honored. Why can't we just show up between 8:00 and 5:00 to the doctor's office? Wouldn't that be better than waiting around in uncomfortable, albeit germ-covered, furniture?
Or maybe it does work like that and the doctor is just showing up between 8 and 5 whenever it pleases him/her. That could be why we all have to wait.
So what is it that I can make people wait for? What if I told a company I'd pay them sometime in the month? Oh wait, I do that. Ok, how bout if I told them I was going to bring them the payment but they had to wait for me all day? No, I do that to.
Alright, so you've guessed that I don't have an answer for this very annoying, if not earth-shattering, world-changing, dilemma. Let me know if you have a solution.
I met my husband at a 4:00 pm doctor's appointment yesterday. He was running late so I signed him in (it was his appt.). Lucky thing, too. We waited in the waiting room until 4:50, then we went through the normal barrage of weights and measurements and waited in the lab "holding pen" for another 10 minutes. Finally, we were escorted to an exam room where we waited another 30 minutes. At which point, my husband says "we won't get out of here until around 6:00pm". I thought he was being a little melodramatic, but in actuality, he did not underestimate at all. It was approx. 5:55pm when we went to "check out". There was only one lone woman in the office area where earlier it had been teeming with workers.
So, why is it we have to make appointments if they aren't honored. Why can't we just show up between 8:00 and 5:00 to the doctor's office? Wouldn't that be better than waiting around in uncomfortable, albeit germ-covered, furniture?
Or maybe it does work like that and the doctor is just showing up between 8 and 5 whenever it pleases him/her. That could be why we all have to wait.
So what is it that I can make people wait for? What if I told a company I'd pay them sometime in the month? Oh wait, I do that. Ok, how bout if I told them I was going to bring them the payment but they had to wait for me all day? No, I do that to.
Alright, so you've guessed that I don't have an answer for this very annoying, if not earth-shattering, world-changing, dilemma. Let me know if you have a solution.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wow, I'm a blogger!
Well, I never thought I'd blog but here I am. Not only am I blogging, I'm twittering and yammering. Isn't the electronic age exciting? Wow, I sound like my mother!
Not only have I gotten her thighs but apparently other things as well. Don't we all start sounding like our moms eventually. You've done it. You've uttered those same words that used to make you cringe and swear a silent oath that you would never say them to your kids. And then, in a fit of anger or frustration, out they come! It is at that moment of surprise that full clarity comes into view - wow, my mom was right! I try not to despair any more about it because I like to think that I turned out pretty well so it obviously didn't harm me as I thought it would but in fact, made me who I am today. So that in and of itself is a very good reason to "be just like our moms". To all moms reading this, keep up the good work!
Not only have I gotten her thighs but apparently other things as well. Don't we all start sounding like our moms eventually. You've done it. You've uttered those same words that used to make you cringe and swear a silent oath that you would never say them to your kids. And then, in a fit of anger or frustration, out they come! It is at that moment of surprise that full clarity comes into view - wow, my mom was right! I try not to despair any more about it because I like to think that I turned out pretty well so it obviously didn't harm me as I thought it would but in fact, made me who I am today. So that in and of itself is a very good reason to "be just like our moms". To all moms reading this, keep up the good work!
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