I just got a note from Frank Warren announcing the advent of the Post Secret app in September and the encouragement to share it with whomever:
For years I've sat in rooms with comfortable chairs and pillows and tissues so that people would feel some ease when they wanted to pour out the secrets that ate at their souls, and for the ones who were able to bring their secrets to light and gain the clarity to see how to remove the power of the secrets, it's been encouraging. Yet all of this was done while they knew I was in the room with them and more significantly, that they knew we would later run into each other on the street or at the post office, or in the grocery store.
Enter Frank who for six years has placed himself in the room but in a way that allows people to save face -- literally. He started the PostSecret Project in 2005 as an outlet for those who needed to give vent to something or to share a joy (those are few and far between). People may mail him a postcard decorated any way they like, and every Sunday 20 of the cards are posted on the PostSecret blog. Considering the 1,000+ postcards a week that Frank receives, it seems there is a great need for people to bare their souls, and the desire to do this is growing.
Much of it is the need to be absolved, and all of it is the need to be understood. There is almost no greater hell than to go through life misunderstood and feeling condemned and PostSecret gives people the ability to achieve some sort of clarity and absolution if only to know someone else is thinking about their secret. It makes sense when I consider that I've yet to meet but a very small group of people who do not feel this need, and of that minority, they are usually anti-social. Some believe we have created God in various forms to deal with the need. I've wondered a time or two (oh, heck a lot more than a time or two) if some of those people pouring their hearts out in front of me didn't do it just to have me serve as a temporary god for them.
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Thursday, April 8, 2010
She Glittered When She Walked
A dear friend of mine died thirty-six years ago, and I have wanted to talk about it for a long time. But capturing her has always eluded me, and I want to do her justice. I'm not sure this will do her justice, but I don't want to wait any longer.
She was like a beloved character from a novel who gives you a warm feeling and makes you hate for the book to end. Two years older than me, she was the sister I never had, and I followed her around and hung on her every word, and those were often quirky. She had a way of looking at life that I've never encountered again, and I wish were still in the world. Her zest for almost everything seemed uncontainable, and she frequently brought light into a room and defined it for everyone.
I loved the way she put everything in her terms. Even her terms of endearment. Anyone who was an object of affection, no matter how young or old, was referred to as "old skinny leg." Maybe that's a common expression somewhere in the world, but I've never heard anyone else use it, and I'm not sure I ever want to. I still hear the sound of her voice when she said it.
This week I'm thinking of her because Monday was her birthday. When I hear or see April 5th, she's immediately in my head laughing and talking. Her head is cocked and she's making a crack about something, and I hear myself laugh. I've had to content myself with reliving those moments and wondering what she would have been like as she grew older and married and had a family or whatever it is she would have done. But that's never going to happen, and I still mourn it.
When she was seventeen, she gave up on life. One day after school she shot herself in the head. Her dad found her, and of course he was never the same after that. Her mother never seemed to have much reaction until about ten years later when she killed herself too.
I don't know what particular pain Jan was suffering, but I know the kind of mental anguish that can tempt someone to think ending things is the only way to get some relief. It's a horror to be in that state, and the real tragedy is that it doesn't have to be that way. There is relief that doesn't require self-destruction, but it does require bowing. Bowing to something greater than ourselves. Something filled with more light than ourselves. I don't know if Jan had done that and just lost her focus, but I hope she did. It's the only thing that really alleviates the grieving.
She was like a beloved character from a novel who gives you a warm feeling and makes you hate for the book to end. Two years older than me, she was the sister I never had, and I followed her around and hung on her every word, and those were often quirky. She had a way of looking at life that I've never encountered again, and I wish were still in the world. Her zest for almost everything seemed uncontainable, and she frequently brought light into a room and defined it for everyone.
I loved the way she put everything in her terms. Even her terms of endearment. Anyone who was an object of affection, no matter how young or old, was referred to as "old skinny leg." Maybe that's a common expression somewhere in the world, but I've never heard anyone else use it, and I'm not sure I ever want to. I still hear the sound of her voice when she said it.
This week I'm thinking of her because Monday was her birthday. When I hear or see April 5th, she's immediately in my head laughing and talking. Her head is cocked and she's making a crack about something, and I hear myself laugh. I've had to content myself with reliving those moments and wondering what she would have been like as she grew older and married and had a family or whatever it is she would have done. But that's never going to happen, and I still mourn it.
When she was seventeen, she gave up on life. One day after school she shot herself in the head. Her dad found her, and of course he was never the same after that. Her mother never seemed to have much reaction until about ten years later when she killed herself too.
I don't know what particular pain Jan was suffering, but I know the kind of mental anguish that can tempt someone to think ending things is the only way to get some relief. It's a horror to be in that state, and the real tragedy is that it doesn't have to be that way. There is relief that doesn't require self-destruction, but it does require bowing. Bowing to something greater than ourselves. Something filled with more light than ourselves. I don't know if Jan had done that and just lost her focus, but I hope she did. It's the only thing that really alleviates the grieving.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Regret
Oh, yeah, I have some regrets about my life. Don't we all. But I'm not thinking about anything of that magnitude. This morning I simply regret not being anonymous on this blog. I've written about a hundred or more pieces, but I can't publish many of them. They would be too raw. Not for me but for some others close to me. About the only one who wouldn't miss a beat is my husband. He is cool with a lot of stuff, and in fact, he is the one who has encouraged me to write and to be fearless about it. But as for the others, I wouldn't be impugning anyone. It would just provoke too many questions from family and some close friends when I just want to write and let it fall where it may without questions. Is that even possible? Even with the most damaging questions that will remain unspoken?
I know it's not entirely possible. I am writing for someone to read it and be affected by it, so it's not fair to ask my family and friends to just check their wondering. I suppose I could just treat questions like I sometimes do the phone -- because it rings doesn't mean I have to answer it. Yeah, I know that sounds selfish. Yeah, I know it may leave a bad taste in someone's mouth that I said that. Yeah, I know. I know.
Well, I guess I just wasn't as smart as some other bloggers who are anonymous, but then someone speaking his mind anonymously just rings of cowardice. A word comes to mind. But is it cowardice? Maybe not. Maybe sometimes it really is discretion, and I'm finding that out the hard way. Or am I just a coward? I don't know. Then there is the Lord. I do want to honor Him because He deserves it. That simple. But what would be dishonoring?
For someone like me who is not a natural writer, this is tough. Oh, I'm thinking about it, and I'll continue. My gosh I've spent so much of my life pondering every cussed thing.
Time to go to the Lord. Thankfully, He really does know and will have my answer, and Hallelujah! He always answers even if I don't like what He says at the time.
I know it's not entirely possible. I am writing for someone to read it and be affected by it, so it's not fair to ask my family and friends to just check their wondering. I suppose I could just treat questions like I sometimes do the phone -- because it rings doesn't mean I have to answer it. Yeah, I know that sounds selfish. Yeah, I know it may leave a bad taste in someone's mouth that I said that. Yeah, I know. I know.
Well, I guess I just wasn't as smart as some other bloggers who are anonymous, but then someone speaking his mind anonymously just rings of cowardice. A word comes to mind. But is it cowardice? Maybe not. Maybe sometimes it really is discretion, and I'm finding that out the hard way. Or am I just a coward? I don't know. Then there is the Lord. I do want to honor Him because He deserves it. That simple. But what would be dishonoring?
For someone like me who is not a natural writer, this is tough. Oh, I'm thinking about it, and I'll continue. My gosh I've spent so much of my life pondering every cussed thing.
Time to go to the Lord. Thankfully, He really does know and will have my answer, and Hallelujah! He always answers even if I don't like what He says at the time.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Valentine's Day Massacre
Another Valentine's Day has come and gone, and I am unfazed. For most of my life Valentine's has meant exactly nothing romantically; however, there was a year (1984 to be exact) when I really let it get to me. Valentine's rolled around and all the women I knew were talking about it. But the day after Valentine's reached a crescendo. My newlywed status seemed to generate a lot of interest from other women wanting to hear about my husband, still in the idiot honeymoon stage, manifesting his love in gifts of chocolate, flowers, jewelry and other products marketed to be the zenith of love expressions. But the women were to remain unsatisfied because frankly, nothing of that sort happened. It was just another day at our house.
So my pout started about half way home from work. By the time I walked through the front door, I was pretty frustrated. All those years of never celebrating Valentine's and now that I had a great guy, I still didn't get to celebrate it! Never mind that I had never thought about celebrating it. All of a sudden something was wrong with the universe, and I had to ask myself why I wasn't worth some chocolate and flowers or at least an expensive card. Didn't he love me enough to do that? I was so hurt, and I worked myself into a real snit by the time he got home. It took him about an hour to figure out what was going on, and then he got mad at me! After getting over the shock, he called me a fraud and asked what happened to the girl he married? The girl who was not like everyone else? My response was to say that she was a woman, so why was he so surprised? I just dug in my heels and let him know that I wasn't settling for less than other women got. I'll never forget the stunned look on his face. It really shook him up that I had such a visceral reaction, but he dropped it.
We went to bed mad that night and didn't talk about it again. February ended and the first two weeks of March came around. I was eating lunch in my office when I got a call from the receptionist in the main lobby. "You need to come down here!" she said. Even a couple of my co-workers coming back from lunch had mentioned something unusual in the lobby. I was so busy that day I didn't really pay attention to them. But as soon as I rounded the corner from the elevator bank on the ground floor, I could see what all the fuss was about. There in a gargantuan vase were five dozen roses. The thing was almost as tall as I am. It was absurd. As I got nearer to it, everything seemed to slow down. There was a kind of buzzing in my ears, and I don't remember the receptionist saying anything. She just grinned (along with others standing there) and pushed the vase toward me. I hoisted it up and kind of held it in front of my face as I made my way back to my office. I thought for a moment about taking the stairs so I didn't have to run into anyone. Since it was quite a few floors up, I realized I wasn't that embarrassed. Somehow I made it back to the office without being stopped, and I shut the door and fished out the card to see who it was from. No, I did not know. Then I read the words, "Why does it have to be February?"
I'll never forget laughing. I'm laughing as I write this. Those words flowed over me and reminded me why I am so in love with my husband. He is clever. Oh, is he clever. Even more than that, he is sincere. No marketer can sell this. It is priceless. I am so cynical, and even was at that young age, that I would have never believed my husband if he had celebrated Valentine's. I would have chalked it off to obligation. My husband was clever enough to realize that and not succumb to its power, and I have long since gotten over my succumbing. But it really did make me miserable for a few weeks, and this was in the face of my husband often expressing how he feels about me. He has written me love letters and poems and taken me on trips and sat and listened to me and just generally been a great guy, and that started before Valentine's 1984. And yes on occasion he's given me flowers and candy. But never on Valentine's.
I respect him so much for flouting the marketers -- for smashing those false notions of love to hell. I have thought often about the power it had over me and what it produced, and I hope I never forget that it was hollow. So here I sit on the 15th. Glad to have something much more important.
Now if we could just break the power of Mother's Day.
So my pout started about half way home from work. By the time I walked through the front door, I was pretty frustrated. All those years of never celebrating Valentine's and now that I had a great guy, I still didn't get to celebrate it! Never mind that I had never thought about celebrating it. All of a sudden something was wrong with the universe, and I had to ask myself why I wasn't worth some chocolate and flowers or at least an expensive card. Didn't he love me enough to do that? I was so hurt, and I worked myself into a real snit by the time he got home. It took him about an hour to figure out what was going on, and then he got mad at me! After getting over the shock, he called me a fraud and asked what happened to the girl he married? The girl who was not like everyone else? My response was to say that she was a woman, so why was he so surprised? I just dug in my heels and let him know that I wasn't settling for less than other women got. I'll never forget the stunned look on his face. It really shook him up that I had such a visceral reaction, but he dropped it.
We went to bed mad that night and didn't talk about it again. February ended and the first two weeks of March came around. I was eating lunch in my office when I got a call from the receptionist in the main lobby. "You need to come down here!" she said. Even a couple of my co-workers coming back from lunch had mentioned something unusual in the lobby. I was so busy that day I didn't really pay attention to them. But as soon as I rounded the corner from the elevator bank on the ground floor, I could see what all the fuss was about. There in a gargantuan vase were five dozen roses. The thing was almost as tall as I am. It was absurd. As I got nearer to it, everything seemed to slow down. There was a kind of buzzing in my ears, and I don't remember the receptionist saying anything. She just grinned (along with others standing there) and pushed the vase toward me. I hoisted it up and kind of held it in front of my face as I made my way back to my office. I thought for a moment about taking the stairs so I didn't have to run into anyone. Since it was quite a few floors up, I realized I wasn't that embarrassed. Somehow I made it back to the office without being stopped, and I shut the door and fished out the card to see who it was from. No, I did not know. Then I read the words, "Why does it have to be February?"
I'll never forget laughing. I'm laughing as I write this. Those words flowed over me and reminded me why I am so in love with my husband. He is clever. Oh, is he clever. Even more than that, he is sincere. No marketer can sell this. It is priceless. I am so cynical, and even was at that young age, that I would have never believed my husband if he had celebrated Valentine's. I would have chalked it off to obligation. My husband was clever enough to realize that and not succumb to its power, and I have long since gotten over my succumbing. But it really did make me miserable for a few weeks, and this was in the face of my husband often expressing how he feels about me. He has written me love letters and poems and taken me on trips and sat and listened to me and just generally been a great guy, and that started before Valentine's 1984. And yes on occasion he's given me flowers and candy. But never on Valentine's.
I respect him so much for flouting the marketers -- for smashing those false notions of love to hell. I have thought often about the power it had over me and what it produced, and I hope I never forget that it was hollow. So here I sit on the 15th. Glad to have something much more important.
Now if we could just break the power of Mother's Day.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Be Who You Are
Q IDEAS | Ted and Gayle Haggard from Q Ideas on Vimeo.
This video is only an excerpt. Hear the rest. Frankly, I couldn't listen to this without crying.
Man, we need to hear more of this! When will we get real? When will we let perfect love cast out fear? Believe it or not, it really is okay to be who you are in Christ even if that means you're not perfect yet or even far from perfect, which frankly, most of us are.
Even the Apostle Paul said he had not reached perfection but pressed on to take hold of that for which Christ took hold of him. I commend Ted Haggard for doing just that. It is a testament to the Lord in his life, the power which the Lord can truly bring to make us more than overcomers. How edifying to see someone who is this honest. Where is that in the church? We desperately need more of it, and the way to get it is to forget about protecting our backsides and focus on the Lord.
I hope that any Christians reading this who feel alienated from the church and the Lord because he/she thinks that the sin is too great, realize it is a deception. Yes, some other Christians may be participating in the deception. But the Lord is not. He loves you, and He does not hold your sins against you. None of that means that someone should keep walking in darkness. In fact, it means it is okay to come into the light and have something exposed that is harmful, so that you can begin to live. It doesn't matter if the world or even some Christians condemn you. The One who matters does not. That is the good news.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Another day
I wanted so badly to make a really snarky post about why I don't like New Year's day or a lot of holidays really. Frankly, I'm becoming enamored of the Jehovah's Witness idea of not celebrating holidays. No, I don't embrace anything else of the Jehovah's Witness; I'm weary of holidays. Grandparents Day?
But I'm going to keep this post edifying -- I hope.
I was reading John Piper's website, as I have for years, and I guess I missed today's commentary when it was originally posted in 2007. So glad he posted it again. The resolutions are wonderful. I won't list them all here, but I do want to mention one:
3. I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguous and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique event, filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities.
I have a friend, Tammi, who thinks holidays are wonderful, but then just about every day is a celebration to her. She loves life and people in a way that I just thought I did. Her door is open to anyone and she embraces all comers. I admire her big heart. We should all be this willing to love people. But most people aren't like Tammi. Most people don't hang out with the Lord. For most people the holidays are about a show that makes them high so they can affirm that they're good people, worthy people, good sons or daughters, or husband or wives, or mothers or fathers, or lovers or whatever. Or it's to forget how boring their lives are. Or both. I think one reason I am so put out with holidays is not just that so many people do this (yes, I've been guilty of it too), but that somehow we're all supposed to act like that's not what's really going on. I hate that. I hate game playing. I hate it when people pretend.
So where's the edifying part? Well, I could have written about how I hate New Year's resolutions. Seriously, the edifying part is that we need to hang out with the Lord more. When we hang out with the Almighty, everyday is a holiday, my friend.
Read more of Resolutions for Mental Health
But I'm going to keep this post edifying -- I hope.
I was reading John Piper's website, as I have for years, and I guess I missed today's commentary when it was originally posted in 2007. So glad he posted it again. The resolutions are wonderful. I won't list them all here, but I do want to mention one:
I have a friend, Tammi, who thinks holidays are wonderful, but then just about every day is a celebration to her. She loves life and people in a way that I just thought I did. Her door is open to anyone and she embraces all comers. I admire her big heart. We should all be this willing to love people. But most people aren't like Tammi. Most people don't hang out with the Lord. For most people the holidays are about a show that makes them high so they can affirm that they're good people, worthy people, good sons or daughters, or husband or wives, or mothers or fathers, or lovers or whatever. Or it's to forget how boring their lives are. Or both. I think one reason I am so put out with holidays is not just that so many people do this (yes, I've been guilty of it too), but that somehow we're all supposed to act like that's not what's really going on. I hate that. I hate game playing. I hate it when people pretend.
So where's the edifying part? Well, I could have written about how I hate New Year's resolutions. Seriously, the edifying part is that we need to hang out with the Lord more. When we hang out with the Almighty, everyday is a holiday, my friend.
Read more of Resolutions for Mental Health
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Free indeed
I tend toward snarky, and I've justified its frequent use by mentally trotting out the Apostle Paul's sarcasm to the Galatians or the Corinthians or even the Lord Himself laying it on Job. But the truth is that I don't feel snarky at all when I think of what the Lord has done in my life.
I come from a long line of people who have battled mental illness to the point that several have been institutionalized and a few have committed suicide or tried to. But hey, our family has developed a pretty good sense of humor about these things. Where do you think the snark came from? At get togethers we've made jokes about our family crest being a couple of guys wearing straight jackets or wondering if Uncle Ray* was still alive 'cause no one has seen him outside his house for 15 years or being amused that Aunt Sheila*, a nurse, was doing pretty good these days 'cause she only had Munchausen and not, thank God, by proxy.
And all of this was a regular laugh riot until one day a year or so after I became a parent, my husband asked me, "Have you ever been happy?" To which I replied, "Yes," and he wasn't satisfied with that answer. "When was that? And how long do you think that lasted?" I actually had to think about it. "The day our daughter was born, and it lasted about an hour or two."
Oh, I knew I wasn't Miss Sanguine and frankly, I was proud of that. I cloaked myself in pensiveness as a way of giving great meaning to being so darn serious all the time. But serious all the time is boring -- not just to everyone around me but to me as well. It's one thing to bore others; it's another to bore yourself. So it was only natural that I developed a sense of humor with an edge as I was learning to deal with the world.
Surely, laughter is great medicine, but only to a point. Thankfully, the Lord has shown me another way, and my husband was instrumental in making me realize what I was missing. I've now had many days of happiness and more importantly am understanding the nature of joy. The Lord has shown me what it means to be joyful beyond explanation. Uh, I would explain it, but, oh never mind. :D Suffice to say that John 8:32 is dead on. I know first hand that's real. Thank you, Lord! So I just don't want to laugh out of contempt. I want to remember the grace I have and continually realize I'm overflowing with enough to go 'round. Thankfully, the Lord is in me, and He doesn't let me forget -- hence this post.
Oh, I may veer off at times and say something I think is funny but in reality is spiteful. Ultimately the Lord will keep me from that bondage. May He always keep me from being full of myself so that I don't become the thing I despise -- cute meanness. Oh, please keep me from cute meanness masquerading as cleverness. Let me remember there's no life in it beyond a few moments, and all that remains is the sour after-taste of self-righteousness.
* Heck yeah the names were changed.
I come from a long line of people who have battled mental illness to the point that several have been institutionalized and a few have committed suicide or tried to. But hey, our family has developed a pretty good sense of humor about these things. Where do you think the snark came from? At get togethers we've made jokes about our family crest being a couple of guys wearing straight jackets or wondering if Uncle Ray* was still alive 'cause no one has seen him outside his house for 15 years or being amused that Aunt Sheila*, a nurse, was doing pretty good these days 'cause she only had Munchausen and not, thank God, by proxy.
And all of this was a regular laugh riot until one day a year or so after I became a parent, my husband asked me, "Have you ever been happy?" To which I replied, "Yes," and he wasn't satisfied with that answer. "When was that? And how long do you think that lasted?" I actually had to think about it. "The day our daughter was born, and it lasted about an hour or two."
Oh, I knew I wasn't Miss Sanguine and frankly, I was proud of that. I cloaked myself in pensiveness as a way of giving great meaning to being so darn serious all the time. But serious all the time is boring -- not just to everyone around me but to me as well. It's one thing to bore others; it's another to bore yourself. So it was only natural that I developed a sense of humor with an edge as I was learning to deal with the world.
Surely, laughter is great medicine, but only to a point. Thankfully, the Lord has shown me another way, and my husband was instrumental in making me realize what I was missing. I've now had many days of happiness and more importantly am understanding the nature of joy. The Lord has shown me what it means to be joyful beyond explanation. Uh, I would explain it, but, oh never mind. :D Suffice to say that John 8:32 is dead on. I know first hand that's real. Thank you, Lord! So I just don't want to laugh out of contempt. I want to remember the grace I have and continually realize I'm overflowing with enough to go 'round. Thankfully, the Lord is in me, and He doesn't let me forget -- hence this post.
Oh, I may veer off at times and say something I think is funny but in reality is spiteful. Ultimately the Lord will keep me from that bondage. May He always keep me from being full of myself so that I don't become the thing I despise -- cute meanness. Oh, please keep me from cute meanness masquerading as cleverness. Let me remember there's no life in it beyond a few moments, and all that remains is the sour after-taste of self-righteousness.
* Heck yeah the names were changed.
Monday, December 21, 2009
XX=Abortion Supporter?
Why is it that if you're a female you are a supporter of a woman's right to have an abortion on demand? Oh, wait, you have to be educated too. Okay, I get it. Those women who do not support abortion on demand just need more education and maybe a female with an unwanted pregnancy in their family. If that would just happen, then they would understand how very necessary it is to preserve a woman's right to terminate her pregnancy. What they absolutely should know is that if this ability is taken away then countless young women will have their lives ruined by carrying a pregnancy to delivery. Got it.
But what about all of these women I've met over the years who had an abortion and now grapple with depression (sometimes debilitating depression) because they believed getting an abortion (yes, I know it's not a pleasant choice ever) would make their lives better than it would have been? Oh, they have been messed with by the religious right or are too much a part of the out dated patriarchal view to understand how good this choice was?
I might heed that point, but these women come from all sorts of backgrounds and beliefs. Some actually come from women who also had abortions themselves and don't seem to have any remorse. In other words, they have been duly educated on the benefits of abortion on demand by both word and deed. So why do they feel bad? Why is this something that just won't go away?
But what about all of these women I've met over the years who had an abortion and now grapple with depression (sometimes debilitating depression) because they believed getting an abortion (yes, I know it's not a pleasant choice ever) would make their lives better than it would have been? Oh, they have been messed with by the religious right or are too much a part of the out dated patriarchal view to understand how good this choice was?
I might heed that point, but these women come from all sorts of backgrounds and beliefs. Some actually come from women who also had abortions themselves and don't seem to have any remorse. In other words, they have been duly educated on the benefits of abortion on demand by both word and deed. So why do they feel bad? Why is this something that just won't go away?
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Oh yeah
this is what I like.
I guess when you're fifty you're supposed to like this stuff, but I've liked it since I was oh, about eight years old.
I can remember about second grade trying to pick out a Duke Ellington tune on the piano -- Satin doll. Still adore this tune. There was just something about swing that called to me and still does. Maybe because I've got that swing rhythm going on all the time. Don't know if some are born with it, but I really don't remember not having that beat permeate my body.
When I was in college, I finally got a chance to really talk about jazz and swing in particular. There were actually other kids who didn't think I was nuts to listen to hours of Duke Ellington, and there was one guy, David, in the music department who was a few years older than the rest of us, and I really loved talking to him. He's the one who gave me a much broader perspective of jazz and turned me onto Dave Bruebeck, Joe Pass and I don't even remember who else. He even took me to see a jazz concert that featured Oscar Peterson, Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Brown and Joe Pass. I can still hear it. What a treat. David also had great stories about his time on the road as a jazz drummer, and he could play any instrument and well. I didn't know anyone other than my dad who really could do that, so David was pretty special in my eyes.
But what I really spent time doing was playing jazz. I probably played at least four hours a day, and it was tough to get that time in when I was going to school and working and had a lousy piano at home. So I used to sneak into the practice rooms at school until a music major would kick me out. Most of the time they didn't care if I was in there doing the odd hours that no one wanted, and I didn't mind weird hours if it meant I got to play those concert grands.
And now, thirty plus years have passed, and I haven't played so much the last few, but I'm being inspired by, of all things, YouTube. Yes, I have loved listening to Mel, and Bill Evans and Thelonious Monk and on and on. But I've been inspired to play by 7notemode, davebeeboss, lot2learn and several others. They have made me think about playing in a way that I only dreamed about in my 20s. Thank you, guys!
I guess when you're fifty you're supposed to like this stuff, but I've liked it since I was oh, about eight years old.
I can remember about second grade trying to pick out a Duke Ellington tune on the piano -- Satin doll. Still adore this tune. There was just something about swing that called to me and still does. Maybe because I've got that swing rhythm going on all the time. Don't know if some are born with it, but I really don't remember not having that beat permeate my body.
When I was in college, I finally got a chance to really talk about jazz and swing in particular. There were actually other kids who didn't think I was nuts to listen to hours of Duke Ellington, and there was one guy, David, in the music department who was a few years older than the rest of us, and I really loved talking to him. He's the one who gave me a much broader perspective of jazz and turned me onto Dave Bruebeck, Joe Pass and I don't even remember who else. He even took me to see a jazz concert that featured Oscar Peterson, Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Brown and Joe Pass. I can still hear it. What a treat. David also had great stories about his time on the road as a jazz drummer, and he could play any instrument and well. I didn't know anyone other than my dad who really could do that, so David was pretty special in my eyes.
But what I really spent time doing was playing jazz. I probably played at least four hours a day, and it was tough to get that time in when I was going to school and working and had a lousy piano at home. So I used to sneak into the practice rooms at school until a music major would kick me out. Most of the time they didn't care if I was in there doing the odd hours that no one wanted, and I didn't mind weird hours if it meant I got to play those concert grands.
And now, thirty plus years have passed, and I haven't played so much the last few, but I'm being inspired by, of all things, YouTube. Yes, I have loved listening to Mel, and Bill Evans and Thelonious Monk and on and on. But I've been inspired to play by 7notemode, davebeeboss, lot2learn and several others. They have made me think about playing in a way that I only dreamed about in my 20s. Thank you, guys!
Friday, December 11, 2009
We will sell no wine before its time
When we were younger, that's what I used to say to Doug, my husband. Not too spiritual sounding, but hey, it does have a basis in scripture. There were a host of people in scripture who had to wait, and that time spent waiting was certainly not a waste. The Lord was molding them for His purpose, and how glorious to be molded for the Lord‘s purpose! We know He makes the best wine. :D That's what’s happening in our situation, and I'm so glad Doug had the wisdom not to jump the gun before he was ready for pastoring and before I was ready -- even though it was not always very pleasant to wait. Now he's reaping the reward of that and so are many to whom he ministers.
One of the biggest advantages is that he knows how to wait, how to wait out a storm or a dry spell. We’re dying to see this in people, but honestly, most of us don’t like how it’s formed. It’s not pretty and sometimes it seems downright boring. When great wine is made, it’s not a pretty process, and most of it is about sitting around in barrels. I’m so glad my husband submitted and is submitting to the process because it has made him a very fine person who does not shuck and run at the first, second, or even fiftieth sign of trouble (oh that it would stop at 50). He has a tenacity that is not of this world, and he doesn’t just try to be patient, he is patient. The Lord does such good work! If we will just listen to Him. He has made it plain that it's all about staying focused on what He wants, about His will being done, which the scriptures make abundantly clear what that is, and if that entails waiting until you're 95 for some things or never having them, then so be it. Ultimately, it’s not about what we want and it never has been no matter how good our desires appear to be. The Lord wants the best, so we can relax.
I'm so glad Doug trusted the Lord with his life and with me. When I was reluctant to go into full-time ministry, he gave me over to the Lord and left it there. This was no easy feat, but he did it, and it was probably the most significant thing he’s done in our marriage. He recognized that he had to trust the Lord -- even with his ministry. LOL! This meant that some of my fears had to be worked out between me and the Lord and no amount of talking or strong arming was going to deal with it. It was the Lord’s to deal with directly. Doug also heard what I was saying and then had the wisdom to seek the Lord to weigh it. Some things that I said he dismissed and some he heeded. Always, it was about doing what brought glory to the Lord and not to ourselves or about gaining comfort for ourselves. You know I Timothy 3:5 is not in scripture for nothing. LOL! Frankly, it’s childish to think that if someone does not know how to minister to their family, that they will know how to minister to the church. If there is anything that Doug has learned, it‘s how to minister to his family. He has children of whom he can be so very proud, and who by their very lives are ministering to others, and certainly, his wife has benefited from his shepherding in the Lord.
Pardon the clumsy use of metaphor, but I think I made my point.
One of the biggest advantages is that he knows how to wait, how to wait out a storm or a dry spell. We’re dying to see this in people, but honestly, most of us don’t like how it’s formed. It’s not pretty and sometimes it seems downright boring. When great wine is made, it’s not a pretty process, and most of it is about sitting around in barrels. I’m so glad my husband submitted and is submitting to the process because it has made him a very fine person who does not shuck and run at the first, second, or even fiftieth sign of trouble (oh that it would stop at 50). He has a tenacity that is not of this world, and he doesn’t just try to be patient, he is patient. The Lord does such good work! If we will just listen to Him. He has made it plain that it's all about staying focused on what He wants, about His will being done, which the scriptures make abundantly clear what that is, and if that entails waiting until you're 95 for some things or never having them, then so be it. Ultimately, it’s not about what we want and it never has been no matter how good our desires appear to be. The Lord wants the best, so we can relax.
I'm so glad Doug trusted the Lord with his life and with me. When I was reluctant to go into full-time ministry, he gave me over to the Lord and left it there. This was no easy feat, but he did it, and it was probably the most significant thing he’s done in our marriage. He recognized that he had to trust the Lord -- even with his ministry. LOL! This meant that some of my fears had to be worked out between me and the Lord and no amount of talking or strong arming was going to deal with it. It was the Lord’s to deal with directly. Doug also heard what I was saying and then had the wisdom to seek the Lord to weigh it. Some things that I said he dismissed and some he heeded. Always, it was about doing what brought glory to the Lord and not to ourselves or about gaining comfort for ourselves. You know I Timothy 3:5 is not in scripture for nothing. LOL! Frankly, it’s childish to think that if someone does not know how to minister to their family, that they will know how to minister to the church. If there is anything that Doug has learned, it‘s how to minister to his family. He has children of whom he can be so very proud, and who by their very lives are ministering to others, and certainly, his wife has benefited from his shepherding in the Lord.
Pardon the clumsy use of metaphor, but I think I made my point.
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