...ellipses from sarah

o that tongue

2011-12-02T05:42:00.001-08:00

The longer I live, the easier it is to have regrets- deep remorses about things I've done, failed to do, wished I had done. As I ponder a do-over, one huge thing hits me in the face- the words of my mouth, which of course means the stuff in the bottom of my heart, in many cases. Words that cut my own heart into pieces and broke my spirit as a child. Words that I have uttered to my own children, my husband, my family, my friends, my students- hastily, thoughtlessly, angrily. I've come to realize the truth- that words DO speak life or death, blessing or cursing to myself and to others. All words. Every single one uttered from the mouth, even jokes, even 'just kiddings', yup- even those facebook comments. I fall woefully short.

I can remember over-hearing my mother talking to a friend on the phone-we're talking the mother of eight children, no relatives nearby to relieve her, a husband who traveled for work, leaving her to single-parent every week. She was tired, weary, lonely for adults, frustrated at doing all the parenting by herself. I cannot recall what I had done; I'm sure it was not good. But those words I will not forget. I can recall the pain and judgment that fell on me from her words. The deep sadness that landed and lived in my heart for a long time.

What if I hadn't heard them? They were still spoken aloud. What if she was just venting? They were still spoken aloud. To me. To someone else.

Several years later, I heard those very same words issue forth from my heart to my mouth to my child, and saw how they cut. As so many of my words have. I wish I could take back every single word that was critical, judgmental, gossipy, hurtful, thoughtless, discouraging, faith-less. But I cannot.

I also remember the time I directed a terribly harsh word at my mother, in an angry teenage moment. The look on her face reflected her pain; it's something I'll never forget. I saw the injury I caused. O wicked tongue, I think now.

All I can do is apologize (very important), forgive myself, and move on, cleaning up my act so that what comes up and out of it is more pure, more loving, slower to speak, giving God time to help me choose my words more carefully.

We're all of us never going to be perfect at this. We're going to have to apologize, and receive God's grace as we mess up. But I, for one, am on a quest to be better at this. It's going to take some meditation on what God is asking. Daily.

Check out these Proverbs.

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue."

"He who has knowledge spares his words."

"Even a fool is considered wise when he holds his peace."

"He who has a deceitful heart finds no good, and he who has a perverse tongue falls into evil."

"He who answers a matter before he hears it, it is folly and shame to him."

"Have I not written to you excellent things, that I may make you know the certainty of the words of truth, that you may answer words of truth..."

And what I believe is the umbrella verse, the absolute summation of what our tongue should be:

"A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver."

Finally, please forgive me for any words of mine that have not been fitly spoken. I pray my words will be more golden in the future.

Anyone want to join me in the waste clean-up job of a lifetime?

Here's my proposal. Join my 'Gold apples' club. I'd like at least ten members. We can encourage one another with helpful words and pray for one another.

sarah

one of many reasons...

2011-11-22T05:25:00.000-08:00

why I believe in God.

I was a young single mother of two girls. I had spent the hot summer evening at my friend Susie's, kids laughing and playing, mothers pouring out their hearts in friendship and prayer.

It was late when I carried the sleeping children to the car and headed home. Driving down the road, I became aware of this presence behind my car. At first, it looked like car headlights, but it kept getting closer and closer. I knew that something, not someone, was chasing me. Something very evil. I now believe it was a spirit of death, but at the time, all I knew was this massive fear, this black thing trying to envelop us. Like you've seen in a car chase, this thing started bumping hard against the back of our car, jolting it hard. I remember being thankful and yet astounded that the children didn't wake up. I remember the blackness of the cloud that was so thick I couldn't see out the rear window. And the smell of something terrible.

Somehow I made it home, praying and crying out to God to help us, but as I stepped out of the car, this freezing air and terrible stench hit me in the face. All I could think of was protecting my children. Aware I was leaving the car door open, the breezeway door open, the back door open, I grabbed both children and fled to my house, literally ran up the stairs and dropped them both in my bed. I remember thinking how strange that they never awoke, never sensed the danger, never budged. Just slept peacefully on. I now know it was God's grace that enveloped them.

'Close and lock the door.' My brain wanted to escape the evil presence. I crept down the stairs, but at the bottom, I could not move. I walked from a hot sweaty August night moment into a thick ice cold front and heard a sound that was like a deep long growl of an animal out for blood. I was literally paralyzed and knew death was very near.

Slowly, I backed up the stairs and into my room, shut and locked the door, by now sobbing and ready to collapse from the terror. Somehow, my mind thought to grab a set of my grandmother's rosary beads; I have a vague recollection of thinking about the power of the cross and how the devil hates the image of Christ on the cross. I know it sounds silly, but I put the rosary around my neck, crawled into bed, and drew the children close to me on either side.

I prayed, harder than I have ever prayed. 'Jesus, help me. Father, protect and deliver us from this evil.'

So, here I am, left arm tightly around one child, right arm the mirror with the other, eyes squeeze shut, tears pouring down my face, shaking all over, sensing this dark oppressive force right at the door, just crying out the name of Jesus Christ.

Suddenly, it's bright and sunny morning. Georgeous warm daylight pouring through the windows, and I am totally calm, at peace. I look at the clock, and it's nine hours later. (I can now hear my doubting audience thinking, fine, she just had a panic attack and fell asleep and it ended) But I knew that only moments had passed. I knew it.

Isn't it strange? The three of us lay there in EXACTLY the same posture, one child tucked under each arm, rosary around my neck; not one inch budged were any of us. In ten hours? My arms were not asleep with pins and needles. No one had rolled over, or moved an inch?

God delivered us that night, I know that as well as my name. He allowed me to experience evil, and later showed me in the Scriptures, "the devil prowls, seeking whom he can devour". I know that devil was trying to devour me that night.

This morning I read this in the Psalms, " I cried out to God with my voice- and He gave ear to me. In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord; My had was stretched out in the night without ceasing..." and He heard me and He rescued me. And as I was reading, God reminded me of that night so long ago.

The Psalm goes on to say, "I will meditate on all Your work, and talk of Your deeds."

The Lord has done great things for me and I am filled with joy.

Oh, i forgot the sweet little ending. I came down the stairs. Huh. The back door was shut and locked.

humble thankfulness...

2011-11-07T06:32:00.000-08:00

I admit it. I've been a little time-change grumbly the past few days- it so easily creeps in and comes spilling out of my mouth.

Of course, God is gracious and forgiving, but He sees me and wants to lovingly parent me. Hence, it's not surprising, this morning, as I was in the Scriptures, I read this: "Do all things without complaining and disputing." And there He is, so kindly reading my mail once again.

in an effort to turn around and head the other way, in a desire to practice what I have so often preached, and in keeping with the thankfulness theme floating around this November, here's my list.

Thank you Father for the animals and the trees, the gardens and the sunshine, the magnificent mountains, rivers, and streams; the moon and stars and planets revolving faithfully year after year. For the blue herons and flamingos and all the crazy creatures that surround us. Thank you that you have brought rain and snow and beautiful spring days and flowers. Thank you for making seasons and days for resting, working, playing.

Thank you for the kindnesses in my life- so many caring friends who share, and give readily, speak the truth in love, bring me dinners, and presents, and unexpected acts of kindness that keep me going. Thank you for my siblings, who have accepted fragile, moody, sensitive, silly me for so many years. Thank you that I had parents who tried their best, teachers who gave their all, mentors and counselors who have guided me through days of darkness.

Thank you for my husband, who loves better than most anyone I know; my children, who bring joy just by their breathing; my prayer partners, and fellow Bible students, and all the children you have brought across my path. Thank you so for the children.

Thank you for the food I eat. So plentiful, when so many are hungry. For the warm cozy house in the warm cozy neighborhood, surrounded by warm cozy neighbors. Thank you for all the cars, all the gas, all the gas money. All the money, in fact. For clothing, and vacations, and retreats, and journeys of mercy. For the pretty things that have surrounded me. For the extravangances and essentials.

Thank you for my teaching career with all its twists and turns, my theatre life, my church life, my family life, all the work you have given me, all the rewards you have delivered through that work. Thank you for summer vacations, and Christmas vacations, and all the multitude of vacations in varying form and size.

I am especially learning to be thankful for the suffering, although I admit that is difficult. But, thank you God, for the trials and tribulations and hardships, which have drawn me closer to You and taught me dependence on You.

Thank you for music, for movies, for computers which make connecting with others a little easier at times. Thank you for carnivals and festivals and madrigals. For all the instruments and tools and helpful things you gave us wisdom to create. Thank you for cars and trains and planes. Thank you for colors and textures and variety in creation. Thank you for Your joy and peace and kindness, and patience with us as we dwell amidst this world of stuff.

Thank you for healing me, over and over. And for all the prayers you answer with yes. Or no. For the peace you bring me when I'm all riled up. For the rest and sleep and stillness you send.

Thank you God for love, in all its shapes and forms. You who are Love itself. You have poured it out daily as a river into my life.

Father in heaven, who created and sustain us all, thank you for your Son, Jesus Christ. And for the next life that is coming which You have promised to all who believe. Thank you for any mustard seeds of faith I have, for the hope that lives in me.

Thank you God for everything.

I miss my son.

2011-10-13T17:44:00.000-07:00

I miss my son.

Every single day, sometimes a dozen times in a day. It’s a missing so huge that it feels like my heart will just fall off my chest and explode into a million slivers all over the sidewalk. Nothing touches the empty place in my life that was carved out just for him.

I was thinking about what I miss most not having him here, and the memories alone overwhelmed me with a grief only relieved by tears.

Asking me what I miss is like asking me how I would feel if the sun didn’t come up tomorrow. I miss it all. Everything about him.

I miss his laugh, especially when something is really funny, and infectious laugh that is somehow almost healing.

I miss his intense presence in a conversation- so much passion and commitment to being there, in the moment. I miss his strong opinions and yet his willingness to be influenced and test and weigh things for himself. I miss his humor, his wit, his off-beat sense of timing.

I miss talking with him, and listening to him. I miss the late night honesty and serious issue-talking we used to do. I miss arguing with him, debating with him, agreeing with him. I miss talking with him about theatre, directing him, sharing it with him.

I miss walking with him. His long loping strides, his easy ability to draw alongside and match my pace, his willingness to explore nature and the world around him. His love of walking after dark, when no one else will walk.

I miss his need of me- to help him organize, to drive him, to feed him, to listen to him, to counsel him, to be his friend. I miss praying over him, hugging him, pouring love out on him.

I miss his wet bath towels, his stacks of laundry, his sneakers in the front hall, the smell of his deodorants, his colognes, his hot-sauced dirty dishes, his toothbrush in the holder.

I miss his face. Those eyes that don't quite match but study so intensely. I miss his long lanky limbs, his half-chewed fingernails, the way he scrunches his nose when he’s worried.

I miss watching him with his baby sister, seeing him mow the lawn, listening to him rustling in the kitchen late at night, waiting for him to finish his endless showers. I miss the sound of his key in the lock, the outbursts of joy or wrath, the half-hidden moments of sadness seeping out from under his bedroom door.

Maybe most of all, I miss his singing. His rich baritone voice that rolls right down into the depth of my soul and lifts my spirits. I miss the songs he used to sing- about love and truth, and hope. Songs that made my spirit soar to heaven. I miss the spirit that would flow through his singing and move me to weeping, or to expressive joy. I miss his commitment to musical excellence, and worship, a commitment that challenged me to be a better person, to take more care with my own music, that inspired me to sing praise and glorify my God in heaven, that swept me to my knees in thanksgiving.

Even more, I miss the man I saw him becoming before he left us. A tender kind-hearted boy-man, but a man who had courage and commitment to what was good. A man who was willing to move slowly and thoughtfully, who wasn’t afraid to say no to the influences that came his way. A man who wanted to be liked, wanted to please, wanted to be good. A man whom adults called a leader of integrity, whom younger children admired and enjoyed. Who would get down on the floor and play, but would also stand up and model what it meant to be a man. A man I pictured as a better parent than I had ever been. A better spouse than I had ever been. Because he was a man who quested to be the best he could be- for others, for himself, for God.

This missing I’ve spoken aloud is a dragonfly that has merely skitted over the water’s surface, unable with words to reach the depth of my ocean of missing. A missing that will not be satisfied with a brief visit or a hasty phone call, but would need another set of years not provided for in adulthood.

I miss my son. His name is Ethan. He left home without me.

My Two-Word Story

2011-07-08T18:37:00.000-07:00

E.A.C.H. Everyone a Chance to Hear. Detroit, 2011

Each one of us has a story of our walk with God. My story has a word that defines it- broken. I'd like to share it with you.

Broken? Broken.
Before Christ reigned in my life I was broken. Shattered like fragile glass
into a million slivers scattered on the ground.

My heart was broken by abuse, neglect, and abandonment.
I was broken by my sin.
Unforgiveness and hatred.
Lying
Bitterness of heart.

My mind was cracked into pieces, filled
With untruth and darkness.

My hands and feet were bound by family generational sin
And by my own repetitive ungodly actions.

This broken world was a place of hopelessness, dread, fear.
Dreams plagued by the blackest of images
Broken plans, broken relationships.

“If you invite Jesus Christ, the Son of God into your heart, He will come and live there. And bring you hope. And be your friend.”
Words of love, spoken by a loving woman of God.

I cried out to Him. I asked Him to rescue me, for I was so in need of rescue. I asked Him to live in my heart and help me. I asked Him to put me back together again. I asked Him to set me free.

He came. He poured Himself into me,
Day by Day
Week by week
Minute by minute.
And slowly.

As I allowed Christ to inhabit my thoughts
As I allowed my Jesus to speak to my innermost self
As I allowed God to be my God
I received His body broken for me

His Father, My Father, in heaven
Opened my heart, mind, and soul

To the truth
Of His love
Of His Son
Of His grace
Of His strength

He broke off the chains.
The depression.
The suicidal thoughts.
The hopelessness.
The desire to sin.

He delivered me from a kingdom ruled by darkness
Into a place of light and peace that is always with me.

He has broken me free to serve Him
More and more
Every day.
Not that I have arrived yet.
But I push on toward His outstretched arms.

Now I am broken in a new way. I’m broken for Christ.

My heart breaks for those who don’t know Him.
My heart breaks when I see people bound by lies and sin.
My heart breaks in prayer
For the widows. The abused. The babies. The mothers.
The teens. The lost. The hungry.

In the Message Bible, it says in Psalm 113
“He picks up the poor from out of the dirt
Rescues the wretched who’ve been thrown out with the trash.”
That’s what my God has done for me.

Are you broken? Invite Him in. He’ll change your life.

Broken? I was.
Broken. I am.
- Sarah Hope Hedeen 2011

POW-MIA Bracelet Remembered

2011-05-28T10:29:00.000-07:00

In the early 70's, during the Vietnam War conflict, we had the opportunity to purchase and wear a bracelet, in honor of a prisoner of war or missing-in-action serviceman.

I purchased my silver bracelet, with this name...Robert DiTomasso.

I wore the bracelet for probably 10 years, until one day it cracked in half. I stashed it for many years in my jewelry box. I've never forgotten the name of the man I prayed for so long. I just found this link to him. It shows Robert's picture, and the details about his act of service for his country.

So, Robert, as we remember those who have their lives in service for our country, we remember you.

Below you will find the details about Robert, posted by the military families and organizations who keep track of this info.

RIP, Robert DiTomasso.

Name: Robert Joseph Di Tommaso
Rank/Branch: O2/US Air Force
Unit: 388th Combat Support Group, Udorn Airbase, Thailand
Date of Birth: 07 August 1941
Home City of Record: Buffalo NY
Date of Loss: 29 July 1966
Country of Loss: North Vietnam
Loss Coordinates: 204300N 10454953E (VH998943)
Status (in 1973): Missing In Action
Category: 2
Acft/Vehicle/Ground: RC47D
Refno: 0407

Other Personnel in Incident: Robert Hoskinson; Galileo F. Bossio; (still
missing) Bernard Conklin; James S. Hall; John Mamiya; Herbert E. Smith;
Vincent Chiarello (remains returned)

Source: Compiled from one or more of the following: raw data from U.S.
Government agency sources, correspondence with POW/MIA families,
published sources, interviews. Updated by the P.O.W. NETWORK in 1998.

REMARKS: DEAD/FIR 317-09130 74

SYNOPSIS: On July 19, 1966, an RC47D aircraft departed Udorn Airfield in
Thailand en route to Sam Neua, Laos. The crew abord the aircraft included
Capt. Robert E. Hoskinson, pilot; Maj. Galileo F. Bossio, 1Lt. Vincent A.
Chiarello, Capt. Bernard Conklin, 1Lt. Robert J. Di Tommaso, SSgt. James S.
Hall, TSgt. John M. Mamiya and TSgt. Herbert E. Smith, crewmen. The aircraft
was an unarmed RC47D Command and Control airship (Dogpatch 2).

When the aircraft was 10-20 miles south of Sam Neua, it was attacked by
enemy fighters. Radio contact was lost and the families were initially told
there was no further word of the plane or crew - that they had all been lost
on an operational mission in North Vietnam.

It was later learned, however, that at least one, possibly two parachutes
were observed in the air from persons on the ground, and the loss had
occurred not in North Vietnam, but at 201200N 1041700E, which is in Laos.

Primary objective of the C-47 in Laos at that point in the war was visual
reconnaissance. American forces worked closely with CAS (CIA) primarily to
weaken the communist supply link to South Vietnam via the "Ho Chi Minh
Trail". This particular plane, however, was working in support of the CIA's
secret indigenous army which was attempting to prevent a communist takeover
in Laos.

The crewmembers on these missions were normally highly trained in electronic
surveillance techniques as well as versed in codes and languages.
Accordingly, and as "there was no war in Laos", certain details of the
mission, such as the precise location of loss, were originally distorted.
Later reports indicate that some of the crew survived the attack on July 29,
1966. According to a March, 1974 list published by the National League of
Families of POW/MIAs, Bossio survived the incident and was missing in Laos.
One 1971 report states that as many as 5 of the crew were captured.
Chiarello and Di Tommaso were identified as survivors by Capt. Adair of
Project Dogpatch. U.S. Air Force records still reflect the loss as having
occurred in North Vietnam.

In 1988, the remains of Conklin, Chiarello, Hall, Mamiya and Smith were
returned to U.S. control. They were positively identified and returned to
their families for burial. The Di Tommaso family was also notified, and
Mafalda Di Tommaso rushed to Hawaii to sadly welcome her son home. She was
shocked to learn that no body had returned - only information which added
nothing to the mystery surrounding her son's loss.

The families of Bossio, Hoskinson and Di Tommaso have the right to know what
happened on July 29, 1966. The communist governments of Southeast Asia can
account for the large majority of the nearly 2500 Americans still missing
there. The weight of the evidence shows that some of them are still being
held captive. It's time the veil of secrecy was lifted on these men and the
others. It's time they came home.

Things to be learned while sitting in Belle Tire

2011-05-16T13:19:00.000-07:00

First of all, let me say...when Jeff asked me to marry him, I agreed, with one particular condition- that he not only love, honor, cherish, and obey til death, etc. me, but that he take care of my cars. Seriously, it was part of the vow I forced him at shotgun-point to take. He's done a great job of honoring that vow. He changes my oil, fixes my brakes, pounds out my dents (well, only one, ok?), and buys me special waxing cloths for the interior. He repairs windshield chips, gets new batteries, the whole entire gamut of car maintenance all mine. (fyi...He's a little less faithful on the "obey" part, ok?)

So why was I even in Belle Tire, you might ask, fairly? The only place I would feel less comfortable is JoAnne Fabric. The truth is, the family car maintenance man chose to go watch basketball with his brother yesterday, instead of getting me a new tire. Yup. He did. I only let it slide because his brother is in a tough spot, and needed some company. But believe me, it won't happen again.

OK. So what can one learn while sitting in Belle Tire? Here's my list, although probably not comprehensive. I'm still healing.

1. It smells bad. Grease and oil and man sweat and um, bad body odor. They need Febreze..or better yet, Fresh Wave. Do you know that product? BBB...smells wonderful. Does the job. There is nothing like that at Belle Tire.

2. The coffee was made last week, and they don't serve fresh cream like Starbuck's. Or Bigby's. Or Panera's. Or the rest of the modern spoiled world. But people drink it because...there's nothing else to do.

3. One's OCD tendencies surface quickly. I didn't want to touch the magazines (I did); I didn't want to use the bathroom (I had too; see #2); I didn't want to sit in the waiting room (but my 'ride' went to work the day after watching the basketball game, how dare him). I felt a great kinship to my sister, Barbara, pulling out my little herbal wipes to wipe down everything I touched. (including my steering wheel and door handle when I left).

4. The magazine and reading selection leaves a lot to be desired. Let's see...Automotive Weekly, Hot Rods to Die For, Rolling Stone (I did read an article about John Lennon, I confess), yesterday's newspaper, and a back back issue of Family Circle, all the recipes cut out. Not a good day to forget my good book at home.

5. Susan Lucci, after 40 years on the soap opera circuit, still cannot act. You would think she might have learned something just from being around the craft that long. Nope. How do I know this? That's the other thing you can do besides drinking bad coffee and reading bad magazines.

6. Erica Cain, played poorly by Susan Lucci (see #5), on her 7th (give or take four) husband, who was also husband #4, now has amnesia, and cannot remember her husband's or children's names, because something very awful happened to her, involving two men. Last seen, she was luxuriating in a Better Homes and Gardens bedroom on satin sheets, talking about herself in the third person.

6. It takes 1 hr. 35 minutes, at the very least, to replace one tire, and rotate the others. I believe they do the rotating by playing ring toss w/ the tires in the backyard, while they slowly sip a beer and watch a hockey game. Enough time to watch not one, or two, but three soap operas, all with actors on the same level as Susan Lucci.

7. It's hard work being a car mechanic. A million people all needing, wanting, gotta-having car problems fixed right away while they wait. Work conditions are lousy (see #1 AND #5), hours are long, and they don't make much money. Um, wait a minute, see #8 to come.

8. You might have to take out a second mortgage to cover the tire replacement, especially if you stop and fill up your gas tank on the way home as a bonus. (just for the record, $71.00 to fill up is not my idea of a good time).

9. No matter what bad shape your brother-in-law is in, needing company, under absolutely no condition will the car maintenance man be allowed to shirk his wedding vow in the future. Except the 'obeying' part...as witnessed by our Pug, we have had a little trouble with that sort of training in our house)

and, lastly...

10. Newly rotated tires ride much smoother than un-rotated tires, with one very punk one on the right side.

Don't say I didn't warn you, ladies. Find a man who loves your car...

Why I can't read Revelation too often.

2010-10-30T07:09:00.000-07:00

Something has just struck me hard. I’ve been reading the book of Revelation. Not my favorite book. Frankly, it scares me. The power and finality of God’s judgment on the earth is overwhelming. It drives me to my knees to cry out to God to have mercy on me and my family, and on those I have loved so deeply. And it’s coming.

Here’s what I saw today. (the parenthetical inserts are my reactions)

First seal. He who sat on the first horse went out conquering and to conquer. (sounds frightening and mysterious)

Second seal. The creature is given power to take peace from the earth, and there will be much killing among the people. (more than now?)

Third seal. A quart of wheat for a day’s wages. (food will be scarce and very expensive; more than now).

Fourth seal. Death, on a pale horse is given power to kill a fourth of all those on the earth. With sword, hunger, death, and by beasts of the earth. (a fourth of mankind on the earth at that time, wiped out)

Fifth: Those who have been martyred, died for their testimony of Christ, await the deaths of the rest of those who will be martyred to be completed.

Sixth seal. Great earthquake (such as has never been seen). The sun will become black. The stars will fall to earth. The sky will recede and be rolled up. Every mountain and island will be moved out of its place. The kings of the earth, the great men, the rich men, the commanders, all slaves and free men…will hide themselves in caves and rocks, to hide from the face of God and from Jesus. (can you imagine living through that in a cave and not crying out to God for mercy, but rather hiding from Him? Really?)

Then God stops the wind, sends out angels to mark the servants of God on their foreheads. 144,000. These are Christians, or soon-to-be Christians living through this tribulation on the earth.

He speaks of this great multitude from all tribes, nations, peoples, tongues, who will come out of the great tribulation and wash their robes in the blood of the Lamb. Who endure this horrific ending of the old heavens and earth, and turn to receive Christ's work on the cross. (Lord, help and have mercy on them).

Seventh seal. A third of all the trees burned up. All the grass burned up. Third of the sea becomes blood. A third of the living creatures in the sea die. A third of the ships destroyed. A third of the waters become bitter, which kills many men who drink it. A third of the sun and moon and stars darkened; a third of day and night does not shine. (can you imagine the fear you would feel living through this? It just goes on and on).

Then locusts are released from the bottomless pit to torment, but not kill, those not wearing the mark of God, for five months. They will seek death and desire to die, but they won’t. (it will be horrific physical torment).

Then…fire, smoke, and brimstone will kill a third of the mankind who are left.

And here’s where I am totally blown away. Chapter 9. Verse 20.

After seeing all that wrath, all that power exerted, all that judgment fall, it says:

“But the rest of mankind, who were not killed by these plagues, did not repent of the works of their hands. And they did not repent of their murders or their sorceries or their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

(ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Did not repent? I am falling on the floor repenting for them and for myself. Father, how can a heart be so hardened as to not cry out to you for mercy and forgiveness?)

God invites you to receive His mercy. He is not willing that ANY should perish. Yet, it is clear, that some will. Because they aren't willing to receive Christ. Make no mistake. At some point, no one knows the day...He will come. In power. There are two choices. Eternal life. Or fire and damnation. Choose this day whom you will serve. By the way, Scripture says "Every knee will bow; every tongue will confess Jesus is Lord." Bend your knee. Or He will bend it. Now or later, people.

My involvement with Trinity House Theatre.

2010-10-18T20:49:00.000-07:00

Wow. Some busy theatre years.

Season 4-- 1984/85
1900's Musical Revue...Ensemble, musical comedy and drama.

Season 5 -- 1985/86

25 -- Junior High, by Paul Patton ... Third Performance. Stage Manager
26 -- Beautiful Beulah Belle, by Robert C. Yoh, Stage crew, Set decoration, properties.
27 -- The Bishop's Candlesticks, by Norman McKinnel. Properties
31 -- Starting Over Slowly, by Paul Patton ... Premiere 8. Actress, female lead. Drama
33 -- The Paradise, by Paul Patton and Henry Woodworth ... Premiere 9. THT Directing debut . Lyricist.

Season 6 -- 1986/87

34 -- Vardley's Lives, by Barry Lee Crush. Actress, female lead. Comedy
39 -- Candle in the Wind, by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Set, properties, Stage crew

Season 7 -- 1987/88

An Evening of One Acts
42 -- Overtones- Actress, ensemble drama-comedy

43 -- God's Favorite, by Neil Simon- Actress, male supporting, comedy.
44 -- Speak No Evil, by Mary Lewis ... Premiere 14... First Performance- Stage Manager, properties
THT Something Explosive- Improvisation, Ensemble member

Season 8 -- 1988/89

46 -- The Cocktail Party, by T.S. Elliot- Box office, Publicity, Set Decoration.

Season 9 -- 1989/90

An Evening of One Acts
47 -- Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner, by Paul Patton ... Premiere 15. Actress, female lead.

50 -- Dispatches From Hell, by Melvin Cooperman. Actress. female lead.

51 -- Junior High, by Paul Patton ... Fourth Performance. Stage Manager, Properties, Set Decoration.

Season 10 -- 1990/91

Staged Reading #1 -- Meeting in Munich, by Paul Patton- Actress, drama.
53 -- When the Wind Blows, by Raymond Briggs. Director.

Season 11 -- 1991/92

56 -- The Trip to Bountiful, by Horton Foote. Actress, female support, drama.
57 -- Remnant, by Ron Reed ... U.S. Premiere. Director.
59 -- Talley's Folly, by Lanford Wilson. Set decoration, Publicity, Tickets.

Season 12 -- 1992/93

60 -- The Shunning, by Patrick Friesen ... U.S. Premiere. Set decoration, properties.
61 -- Damien, by Aldyth Morris ... U.S. Premiere. Director.
62 -- Quilters, by Barbara Damashek and Molly Newman. Actress, ensemble, musical.
63 -- The Liar, by Carlo Goldini . Set decoration, publicity.

The Nancy Story plus a Sidebar

2010-09-29T07:36:00.001-07:00

Have you ever noticed how God puts some people smack into your life in the 'strangest' of places, just to show you some encouragement or a smile? It's almost like He knows right where you will be and sets up camp purposely or something?! Hence, the Nancy story.

Nancy is a seventy-ish rather frail African American lady who stands post at the checkout several days a week. She devotes full attention to each customer, offers a smile, a kind word, and leaves each one feeling valuable and 'seen.' She has a particular affinity for a variety of wigs in lieu of her thinning and very grey hair- wigs which could send one into a spasm of laughter, except...it's Nancy. And somehow she manages to pull them off like a regal princess.

I don't remember my first encounter with her, but it seems we have been talking for at least five years now. I'm guessing I heard her bless someone or make a comment about the Lord, and that opened the door to a little conversation. Target being my store of convenience, I now choose to stand in a short line just to have a little encounter with sweet Nancy. She knows my daughter, knows some of my troubles, as do I know some of hers. She's a praying lady and will always remember what you last mentioned. Her faith is enormous and contagious.

So, one day this summer, in the midst of all my trials, I had a divine encounter, thanks to Nancy. I had seen her in early August, and she was moving very slowly and wincing with pain. She shared that her hip was giving her severe problems. As is our custom, I picked up my packet and we slipped around our corners and gave one another a hug. This day, the store was relatively empty, as it often is in the morning (ahhhh...), so I stopped to pray quietly for healing for her hip.

OK, here's the sidebar part of the story.
With all that was going on in my life this summer, I was very down, heavy in spirit, lacking in evident joy. That morning, during my prayer time, I had just told the Lord that I wanted to feel and see the 'joy of the Lord' in my life, because I couldn't seem to tap into it. I posed the question in my journal, "Where is my joy?"

Nancy story meets sidebar story. It's now three weeks after seeing Nancy hurting, this morning where I'm feeling no joy.

I came through Nancy's line and there she was, no pain on her face, smiling, laughing, perky. Her joy hit my heaviness. We had a brief exchange, and she testified that the Lord had fully healed her hip, reaching her hand over the counter to lay it on my hand. She thanked me for praying, and we said something about God's faithfulness to hear our cries. I'm with her in thanks but... I'm seriously not feeling the joy. There are lots of people around, so our encounter is rather brief.

I picked up my package and as I moved away from the counter, this other lady comes out of nowhere, walks over to me, and says (I'm not kidding, this really happened) with a fair amount of force in her voice, " You are full of such joy."
What? What? I know my face, my heart, and my whole body did a bit of a double-take. I remember making some questioning face and shaking my head a little. Inside thinking, "Doesn't she know I have no joy right now?"

This lady, on divine assignment from God, sent to speak directly to my morning's cry, "Where is my joy?" reacted immediately to my puzzled face. She reached out her finger, touched my chest lightly and said, "Just wear it," offered a huge smile, and walked away.

All I could do the rest of the day was laugh. It's in there, the joy of the Lord. I can't always see it, feel it, or touch it. But it's in there. Thank God for Nancy, for Target, and for people who are willing to speak for God as He sees fit.

"I got the joy joy joy joy down in my heart."

True Story

2010-09-28T05:24:00.000-07:00

From my journal recordings 9/4/10

Reminder. God not only hears our cries, He responds, if we are listening.
I arose, in the midst of mountains of conflict that had been rolling all around me, one Saturday morning. There was a heaviness in me, and I was thinking that God had given up on me. That He had washed His hands of me. That I would sit in His presence but come away with no power. That I had nothing to accomplish for Him, no plan or direction. I was very sad in my heart and spirit.

As I was making my coffee, I said out loud to Him (yes, I talk to Him out loud), "Lord, I feel like I am hidden from you."

I proceeded with my coffee to sit down and have my morning time with Him. Normally, I begin my time with some reading in the Psalms and Proverbs, and then my sequential readings in the Old or New Testament, depending on the day. My morning study time is more orderly; as the day progresses, I allow Him more to Spirit lead my reading and meditation.

But this morning, as I sat down, I opened my Bible to Isaiah 40. I was about to go panning for my bookmark, and I sensed the Lord saying, "Read this." So I looked down, saw verse 27, and began to read.

"Why do you say, O Jacob, (might as well insert O Sarah in here), and speak, O Israel:
My way is hidden from the Lord and my just claim is passed over by my God'?"

Hadn't I just said that to God? Yup. He was reading my heart mail. Again. I knew, in that moment, that He had heard my cry, and was about to speak to me, to encourage me. About to show me how much He loved me. Again.

He goes on to say:
"Have you not known? Have you not heard? The everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, neither faints nor is weary. His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the weak. And to those who have no might He increases strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary. And the young men shall utterly fall. But those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint."

I was so deeply encouraged by His words. By the fact that He, God of all the universe, could see me in need, could hear me crying out for His attention, and was willing to speak directly to my heart.

Pretty cool God, eh?

The Descent

2010-09-26T08:26:00.000-07:00

Around the end of April I began to experience the makings of a 'nervous breakdown.' I lost ability to focus on a single thing. Inside, it felt like I was jumping out of my skin. If I dropped a spoon, I collapsed onto the floor. Listening was difficult; speaking was almost impossible. I had a small vacation trip in early May that seemed to grant me some respite, but I was literally emotionally falling apart. Full of agitation, unrest, jumpiness, and this emotional anxiety that seemed to eminate from my internal system.

ILet me say this. I was praying. And praising God. And reading my Bible. I was able to hear the Lord and connect with Him, especially in the Word and prayer, but not much with anyone else. I had not drifted away (as we have all done) from the Lord. But I was losing my grip. Sound was particularly upsetting, and the cry of my heart was for silence. Every noise seemed accentuated. I was angry (at nothing, at everything), having nightmares, and hyper-vigilant. Socially and emotionally paralyzed.

My physical health up to that point was fine. I was tired, having done a particularly stressful and drawn out show. Perhaps my eating habits weren't the best, but nothing radically wrong. I was taking some vitamins, drinking lots of water.

I can remember thinking, "I should sign myself into the mental health ward at the hospital", but I would then remember (having been there to visit a friend in the past), "It's too noisy." I could not talk on the phone, Facebook was too 'loud and disturbing', and socializing was out of the question. Eveeerything upset me. Eveeeeryone upset me.

And so I shut down for awhile. Stopped calling, taking calls, writing, reading, listening. And just hunkered in to the Lord. It was all I could do. My family graciously allowed me to huddle into my corner to revive, and I descended into the midst of this place.

Here's a dream I had one night (and let's try not to analyze it too deeply at this time): "A crowd of people were driving me to the edge of this house. At the edge, I was looking down the highest cliff I have evern seen. Feeling deepest sadness and rejection. No one was 'for' me. No compassion was coming in my direction. I was willing, almost eager to go over the cliff...and yet. I knew that I wouldn't." I awoke and then the realization came that Christ was driven to the edge of the same sort of cliff and I was sharing in His sufferings (another blog perhaps). He intimated that we (He and I) would be going there but He would hold on to me.

While I will not go into all the surrounding circumstances evolving at the same time as this breakdown (jobs, church, etc), I do not underestimate their effect on me, but I see them now as more parallel than cause or effect. However, due to those other circumstances, my husband sent me away on retreat to my family at the lake.

One of my sisters (both a nurse and prophetic) diagnosed me with 'post traumatic stress' syndrome. She said I reminded her of a victim of war. Really? I was, at first, doubtful, but as I began to meditate on that, the Lord began to show me all the stress that had piled up in my life over the course of several years, and how it had taken its toll on me. Here's a link to a good description of PTS.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Posttraumatic_stress_disorder

We did some good looking at nutritional things that would help. Magnesium, increased B's, calcium. And they did. Increased my coping mechanisms to an extent. But not completely.

I have since lost my job (another very long story) and I have been 'sat down' by God to heal. And I am increasingly aware of all the stress that has piled up over the many years of working, parenting, wife-ing. Huge emotional traumas in my life.
And God's goodness to show me that I need to rest, to heal, to have these lifted off me by Him.

I plan to write about them. You might not want to know. But I sense, that in the writing, there will come even greater insight, and freedom. I know this experience I'm having/have had will speak to others, and God will use it to develop compassion in me for the mentally, emotionally, socially ill. And we are all ill sometimes, aren't we?

It is important to realize that we are fragile, we humans. And our bodies, our minds, our hearts, can only take just so much before we break. But in that, God, our Father, in His infinite love and ability, can heal us. And He has His special ways of making us deal with our stuff. So don't judge. Or think yourselves immune.

I hit the pit. But I'm on the way up. One night, I dreamt that I was falling, fallling, falling. And it was dark. And scary. And lonely. And a long fall. Out of nowhere, a hand reached down and grabbed me, held me with a powerful grip I can still remember in my spirit. And the Lord spoke: "I've got you. I won't let go."

wordlessness

2010-06-13T20:55:00.000-07:00

(P.S. I wrote this blog a year ago, June, 2010, but never posted it. I think I shall be very brave. For Marah.)

My mother had a nervous breakdown. Or two. I have always had this wee small dread tucked into the back of my mind that I would reach a breaking point that shut me in a garage filled with hopelessness.

Did it feel like this?

All coping mechanisms are broken as I drop my sweater to the floor and collapse into a pool of teary frustration.

I cannot stand the sound of voices and feel this primal scream rising through the bile in my throat.

Even my bones feel like they are quaking and will crumble into piles of dust.

Tasks mount like thousands of stairs that lead to the demise of my sanity.

I have nothing to say and nothing to hear.

My friends all seem to have fled the room rather than listen to my silence.

Weeping seems the only right thing to do.

Can you hear the pieces of me falling softly across the valley?

I long to sit quietly beside the shore and think only about what I see in the sky.

I ponder signing myself into the local sanitorium for the temporarily disabled. But I feel its noise will murder what is left of me.

Trauma. I cannot take one more of you.

believing

2010-01-30T07:13:00.000-08:00

I look at the moon, and the stars in the vast heavens. I see the mountains and flowers, and valleys. The trees that bloom again and again. The rain and snow that come down to water the earth and bring forth seed. I see the birds and the creatures in the deep blue sea. The Africans and the Russians and the Chinese. I listen to all the languages and customs of the people. I hear the songs in every voice, the instruments that ring forth. I watch dancing and painting and sculpting. Acting and building. I feel the warm heat in the midst of frozen winter, and fill my belly with delicacies of every sort. I cry out. I sing out. I pray out. I speak out. I seek. I listen. I marvel.

Because all these point me to a God that loves. A God that has gone to unbelievable lengths to create a world for me to dwell in. A God that stands with open arms and says "Come close, dear child. And I will bring you rest."

When all around me is death, and trouble and heartache that I cannot understand, still I can rest at His feet. Because I know that my God is hard at work. He is not a mean or vicious God, although he can get frustrated and angry. He is not a harsh or critical God, although He can measure out judgment. I do not understand the horrors, and I leave those to Him. I don't get angry at Him because I know that I just cannot yet see in full. And so I grieve and moan and wail at the pain of the world. And lift my cries to my Abba Father. Because if He can make and sustain this astounding creation, He can do anything. And He will one day explain it to those who choose to listen.

He is a God of love. Love that calms the storm. Love that did beyond all I can imagine. Love that offered the life and dedication of a boy who was His only son. A son who taught and modeled and healed the sick, the brokenhearted, the weary, the lonely, the depressed, the homesick, the bleeding, the dead. A son who was beaten within an inch of his life. A son who was mocked and scorned and rejected by thousands. A son who died a bloody wretched death. Nails in his hands. Nails in his feet. Hungry. Thirsty. Being spit upon. Being hated. Why? Because He was willing to die for His Father. Why? Because the son came from heaven. And He knew how glorious it would one day be for us. He knew the Father. And wanted desperately for us to be able to know Him as well. So He died for us as well.

And so I seek Him. I look for Him. I listen to Him. I read His book and try to become someone He is proud of. And when I fail, which I do daily, I know that the blood that dripped off that cross was for my failure. When I come face to face with those who hate my God, with those who say 'I seek Him' but are not looking beyond themselves; with those who run and hide from Him, I am not moved from my place of faith because I have learned one thing. His shelter, His comfort, His wisdom, His love, His mercy, His grace, His joy, His way, His word, His truth...is forever. And I want it. And I want Him. I choose God. I choose Jesus Christ. I choose the Bible. I stand on my choice and wait in faith for the day when I see in full.

Wow. It's been awhile.

2010-01-24T17:43:00.001-08:00

It's been almost four months since I posted. So why am I back? Well, a few reasons. First of all, a new friend shared her blog with me. It was humorous, thought-provoking and got me started thinking about how much I actually liked blogging.

Secondly, I went into my good old blog and re-read. The whole. thing. And it was just simply fun to review my life a little. So I'll do a little more ... and see where it gets me.

What's new since September? Honestly, at this very moment, I can't think of a thing.
But give me time.
Hi again.

Good Reading

2009-09-28T16:14:00.000-07:00

I read three good stories recently, and am always surprised when a book stays with me, almost haunts me with its characters, or twists and turns, or the depth of the heart issues. None are light-hearted, but somehow these serious times seem to spark the investment in more serious matters. Judge for yourself.

"Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time", by Mark Haddon, is an absolutely dead-on journey into the heart and mind of an autistic young adult who tries to find out who murdered his neighbor's dog. The language, the way his mind processed, the voice of that young man was so audible, one could almost turn around and expect to see his flesh and blood. Funny, heart-rending, mysterious, very satisfying read. Thanks, Karen, for the recommendation.

Marilynne Robinson's "Home", grasped off the Target shelf just plain broke my heart. I wasn't sure I could do the world of an alcoholic prodigal, but she lured me in, kept me, and brought me to tears, connected me with the Lord, and reminded me of the intrinsic value of reading- that journey into the outskirts of a life that could have been yours; the life that reminds you of your own blessedness; the life that demands to be noticed and counted. I loved Jack, the alcoholic brother, Glory, his spinster sister, and his failing pastor father- all painted so much like children of God- sinful, forgiven, lost, needy, loving- a conglomeration of the best and worst in each of us. And I am always thankful when someone can paint a true Christian- not perfect, not horrific, just human in need of God. It's really such a rare occurrence, that I don't usually even like 'Christian novels." This one's different. Honest. I feel like I lived with these people a week, and I just plain miss them. The writing is very fine and worthy of mention in this trite book world we usually see. It's too bad that folks 'turned off' by religion probably won't touch this after reading the blurb; they will have missed one really fine book journey.

Lastly, I literally flew through "Oxygen", by Carol Cassella. Surprising, because there is a lot of medical stuff to labor through, and she is very descriptive, which can be off-putting when you want to find out what happens. The author is an anesthesiologist/writer. The story journals an anesthesiologist who is part of a surgical trauma (but not a memoir) Don't want to give away the plot line. Good stuff. And again, exception writing for a first-time novelist.

I'm always interested in your choices. Let me know what you think.

Fear and trembling...

2009-09-03T07:42:00.000-07:00

So yesterday, I sat down to my quiet time with the Lord. I read "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling." (Phil. 2:12) And I started thinking about something I heard preached recently. That most people do not 'fear' God. They will hide their stuff from man, but give no thought to God watching it all, God just longing to be in relationship with them. They will accept the sweet promises of God- mercy, forgiveness, peace, joy- while ignoring his warnings about judgement for disobedience or for not receiving his Son.

And I was convicted. Of not fearing God enough. "How can a good God allow such things to happen to people?" came to mind. A question so many ask, but can't accept the answer. God is God. He is all-powerful, almighty, all-knowing. And sees beyond all we can think or imagine or understand. He is not willing that any should perish, but wants everyone to live in heaven with Him at the end of the earth's time. He hates evil, loves good, and is always working on our behalf. Because He wants communion with us.

So what's my problem? Well, I disconnect with Him. I'll be right on track, reading my Bible with my heart connected, praying and serving, in a humble broken place, then...wham. I just turn away to do my own thing. It's especially evident in the evenings, when I'm tired. I don't even ask Him what I should be doing, I just go my way, doing...well, mostly nothing.

So I'm going on record with a confession that I need to do His thing. Maybe it will be relaxing, maybe walking, maybe sleeping earlier, maybe reading or praying more. But here's the crazy thing. I can't even 'work out my own salvation' without His help. The best news in this confession is that I can come, as He promises, "boldly to the throne of grace in time of need." Well, Lord, I need more of you in my life. More fear and trembling. More love. More faith. More grace. Amen. And here is the rest of it.

The Year in Retrospect

2009-08-17T07:46:00.000-07:00

I'm just saying, it's been a rough year in the Hope-Hedeen household. Not trying to 'waa waa' about it (ok, sure I am)
but we're feeling a little singled out and hard-pressed on every side. Or is everyone's life this crazy?
Let's see. Just to review.

January-June: Daughter #3 needs foot surgery. Many hours spent nursing her, driving her, therapying her, entertaining her in her couch boredom. Not to mention the job every parent is called to perform: "cheerleading". Rah rah. (insert victory cheer here, which sounds something like 'Get-off-the-couch-and-get-walking-cause-I'm-not-a-very-merciful-nurse' to the tune of the Notre Dame theme song, for lack of a better one)

February: Hope-Hedeen mother #1, Millard daughter #3 gets a bad haircut. Hey, bad haircuts are too traumatic. Barbara will testify on my behalf.

April 20: Dog #2 gets murdered. All its various and assorted violations.

Also April: Churchill show production #2 gets blacked out in an electrical outage. Well, maybe this isn't so bad, since we added a matinee and drew an outstanding house the next day. But in the moment, with 500 people looking at me for guidance, it was pretty stirring.

May: Hmm. Pretty quiet. Time to re-group and focus on someone else for a change (see 'ongoing' below)

July: Husband #2 (is this offensive wit?) gets a 20% pay cut and life-threatening comments concerning commission.

August 8: Son #1 and only has his first car accident. Mostly excused for bad weather. Thankfully, he was fine, just mad to ruin his perfect driving record (well, 'perfect' is such a strong word, coming from the woman who did that 50 hours of driver training with him, and has fingernail scratches in the dashboard to prove it). Most the trauma fell on the vehicle, in this particular instance. But when that phone rings and the kid cries, "Mom..." -whew, the heart takes a major hit.

August 13: Same #1 son (perhaps he should be de-ranked for the double hit) is broadsided, this time in (insert 'ahem' here) my car. Second "Mom" phone call in a week that sends me into partial cardiac arrest, and sends my van into driving arrest. Double thankfully, he was fine. Totally not his fault. Wish that affected the financial outcome more.

Also in August: Hubbie #1 and only (ok, I'll promote him) is told if he doesn't make commission, he is out of a job in two months. Now, I don't do so well personally when my loved ones are threatened. It makes me kinda mad. (kinda mad is probably the wrong phrase here. But my mother doesn't let me use the word 'pissed')

Three endless weeks in August: The worst sinus infection of my life, which greatly affected my outlook on the three above August tragedies. I don't normally get sick (except for my back), but this time I'm saying "Can anybody get me a glass of water, I'm dying of thirst". Which makes me think I should send money to Africa for well-digging. (potential blog subject for the future thought inserted here)

Ongoing: Because the events in my loved ones lives bring me to my knees and shake me almost as much as my own, I would also include briefly- Andy's lost job(s), Abigail's pay decrease and ongoing health issues, David and Janie's endless car and kid stuff, Bruce and Becky's theft, Dave S's being run over by his car (with its very own miraculous survival story), Tony and Rachel's Africa postponement, Karen M's father's and mother's death, Mary R's cancer struggles, Katie's (perhaps at 18 you should stop going to the playground at night) broken leg, 3-month-old baby Bryson's cancer battle....and the rest, that might escape me at the moment, but are sucked into my heart cries always.

Which brings me to today, August 17.

All humor aside, how do people walk this life without Christ? My lifeboat. Gripping on to Him with everything in me.

Here comes the Fall. Hmm.

WHS 1969-2009

2009-07-28T17:50:00.000-07:00

The day of the reunion this anxiety hit, that was almost paralyzing. Walking back into your past after forty years is fairly daunting, and I had only ever seen one person from my class, since college. I struggled with what to wear, what time to go, walking in alone. All for naught, as it turns out.
Choices I made:
a) I went alone. That way I had to enter alone, but also could control the time. No nervous talking in my ear, either.
b) I went an hour late. Not the best choice, as I lost a lot of relational time, but good because the room was full.
c) I wore a somewhat dressy black thing. While there were folks in jeans and capris, many were very dressed up. I felt good and that always helps, doesn't it?

The first minute was very overwhelming. But one of my good friends was at the door to help me over that hurdle. And the rest of the night was one big spin. Literally, I could have just stood still, while people shifted. It was like pathwords. Hit, connect, connect, connect, get interrupted, and start again.

There was so much great conversation, but trying to sort it out the next day was virtually impossible, because there was simply no air time between people, to digest what had been said.

Things about our class that are still true:
a) We are a nice bunch of people. Teachers used to say we were a kind thoughtful stimulating lot, and that still seems to hold true.
b) There are always a few that contradict that. (enough said)
c) We love to talk, love music and dancing, and love one another.

I won the raffle, an iPod, loaded with 100 greatest hits from 1969. I was given a unique handcrafted necklace. I stayed very very late, and enjoyed every single minute. Saw some college friends, some of my siblings' friends, and reconnected with some who were very important in my growing up years. I did miss my very best friend's presence. We would have had a slumber party and rehashed the whole event, had she been there.

If you're the planner I would suggest:
a) nametags w/ the high school yearbook picture on them- some folks have changed sooooo much.
b) a polaroid of each person/couple as they walk through the door, to be later compiled into a book or onto Facebook.
c) a wall board of info about those who have passed away- this was a precious remembrance, reading about each one.

My recommendation: Get a great outfit and go. Don't worry about your hair or your weight or your age. Most the people in the room will look just as old as you. And you just might learn some things about yourself. I discovered people had some very nice things to say about me, and that was encouraging. Guess I wasn't quite as nerdy as I thought.

Class of 69. Still cool.

the reunion thing

2009-06-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

So my reunion is just a few short weeks from now, and I'm experiencing all the anxieties connecting with meeting up with people you haven't seen in 40 years.As A.A. Milne said, "All sorts of funny thoughts go running round my head..." and I'm just letting them run rampant at this point, because...well, because why not?

What if only a few people show up? And I don't know them, don't recognize them? What if they don't want to talk to me? Or what if we run out of things to say? What if they hang in groups and just give me that 'no one really cares about you look' that we all remember from high school? OR...what if I get there and have nothing to say to them?

I have a few nightmare thoughts as well. There's the obvious arriving without the right clothes, or worse yet, no clothes, only to have to flee, and return, this time without shoes, or shirt or to return, and no one's there. They've all disappeared. Or moved the party so I can't find it. Or...just ridiculous rantings, aren't they?

But...then really, what if... I get lost in my own 'old' hometown? Or can't find parking? Or...here's a big one...get all dressed up and everyone else arrives in capris? Or arrive in capris and everyone else is in cocktail attire?

I keep asking myself why I am going when my best high school friend is not, my good old safety net, safely nestled in Texas, far from all semblance of re-uning. I don't really have a good answer. Except that I'm curious, after all these years. And I like meeting people and hearing their stories. And they asked me, and some have even shown interest in seeing me. And I'm going to be right there for my annual summer visit to the area. And...because it's happening and I like a happening and missed the first two and...because I found out so many of them have died and I want to know why and...just because I can, I guess.

So, I'm going. I really am, if I can just remember to get that check in the mail. And if I can just be brave while entering alone. And if I don't get lost or stolen or strayed. And the biggest if...if I can find something to wear that makes me still look 18. ( I can hear that laughing, shhhhh...)

So I'm off to totally belabor the point. Send forth any reunion wisdom. Especially on how to dress.

Beach and Katie- June 20, 2009

2009-06-22T10:42:00.001-07:00

What a lovely weekend we had in Maryland, at Beach and Katie's wedding. Add it to the list of family weddings in recent years that are lots of fun, and a great chance to 'reune' together.

Barb and Terry, Nancy Liz, Don, Frank and Linda, Jesse and Brooke, Uncle Tommy and Aunt Nancy...represented our ever-increasing family. We shared a hotel, the pool and hot tub, lots of great food and much joy. It's really beautiful near Baltimore. Lots and lots of water and sailboats, bridges and islands, and one fabulous outlet mall.

Friday evening, we were treated by Tom and Jody to some of the best sushi I have ever eaten. This nifty little restaurant. We mingled with food and drink on a lovely porch, beautiful sun and breezes, and had a chance to meet Katie's family and all the young friends this couple has.

Saturday dawned with thundershowers, enormous humidity. By the time we reached the church, the sun had come out, little breeze, and the day reminded me of Hannah and Brad's wedding- pretty stiff temps. But those clever men didn't wear tux coats- just pink or lime green shirts, tie and suspenders, so they did pretty well. The girls wore brown with pink trim. The bride's dress was also trimmed in pink.

On to the reception. At a beautiful camp/conference center sort of grounds, surrounded by water, and pine trees and God's creation, they had a beautiful tent and some of the loveliest and most creative table arrangements- Stargazer lilies and pink roses. Old-fashioned canning jars w/ pink lemonade, lots of candles and Christmas lights.

There was dancing (on the dance floor imported from Buffalo by the groom and friends), and pictures, of course endless pictures, and laughter, and great food.

Beach surprised Katie with a honeymoon to Cancun, and Katie's dad surprised her with a stunning handcrafted cedar chest for their bedroom. I got to spend Sunday with Charlotte and her boyfriend (who is Katie's brother!), and at Katie's family home. They are really wonderful people and it was just neat getting to know them better.

Home again. Ah...the joys of marriage and family. We bless the Roe and Villwock families as they recuperate- physically, emotionally, and I'm sure financially. (insert smile here) God is smiling at this new union of families.

non-ellipsoidal

2009-05-25T16:42:00.000-07:00

isn't it sad when you just have nothing to say. I think perhaps I have run out. And here is the rest of it.

court-ordered

2009-05-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

I have been supoenaed. Wierd. Have to testify about my dog violence. The girl is arguing the charge: "violent dog".
Yeah, I can see how see might not be sure. ?????And here is the rest of it.

Pug-sickness

2009-04-26T17:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Tucker wherever you are,
I miss your lazy rising when I come down the stairs each morning. You aren't there to help me make the coffee, as you stand wistfully waiting for breakfast. I rush out the door to take Naomi to school, turn to bid you a 'be right back, Tucker' and you aren't there. I look for you every time I come into the house, go out of the house, walk into the yard, sit down in the living room. You just aren't there. It's ridiculously quiet. No toenails tapping on the hardwoods. No late night cuddles and popcorn together. No walks, or watching you 'escape' for a quiet tool through the neighbors' yards. We can't seem to get a handle on how much space you took up in our lives, on how much love you gave us, quietly and surely as the sun came up each day. There was Tucker boy, ready to love again.

How we took you for granted, sometimes just passing you by, or staying away from home a bit too long, or going away on vacation, not knowing it would be your last week of life.

What we would give for just one little snort at the foot of our bed.
Instead, we have this mound of dirt covered with flowers, courtesy of dear friends who share our sadness.
Love ya, sweet dog. Still.And here is the rest of it.

Sterling Po Tucker

2009-04-21T12:08:00.000-07:00

Last night, we said goodbye to our precious Pug, Tucker, who loved his family and all who crossed his path, and who brought much joy to our family. Tucker's passing leaves a hole that only a snorty Pug can fill. (warning of graphic description to follow, for those who want to stop here)

Two pit bulls invaded our backyard yesterday, jumped our fence, and attacked Tucker. The police responded to the 911 call within about 2 minutes, followed by 5 more police cars, the animal control people, all with weapons out. They first retrieved Tucker, who was still breathing, and we rushed off to the animal hospital near our home. We later learned that they shot one dog, chased the other a block away, and caught him, after disrupting the whole neighborhood, it seems.

Tucker suffered more than 30 punctures, major gashes and tears. He was unconscious, cold, and barely breathing. His legs did not respond, suggesting spinal injury, and his body temperature kept dropping. After 4 hours of medical attention, Jeff, Naomi, and I made the very difficult decision to put him to rest. We brought his body home, buried him gently in the backyard with his 'baby', wrapped in a family blanket, said prayers of remembrance, dedicated him to the Lord, and cried many a tear.

Today, driving home after a few brief hours at work, I felt led by the Lord to drive down the street of the pit bull owners. (I had been told by a neighbor where the dogs lived) As I drove past, a young woman opened the front door, the saddest woman I have seen in a long time. It was almost as if she was waiting for me to come, as she stood there just looking out.

I went to the door, she flew out the door, flung her arms around me, and we both wept. She kept saying, "I'm sorry, so sorry."
It was very very sad to see her anguish and depth of regret. We talked. The dogs were 15 months and 1 year old. The family has two children- a 10 year old and a 4 year old. The dogs have never shown any sign of violence or aggression, although they were 'rescued' as puppies out of a less than good situation. She, her husband, and family, are just shocked that their dogs could have done this. After hearing our story (no one had told them anything) they made the only decision possible- to put down the younger dog who had been taken away.

And so. We are sad. Very very sad. But we grieve not as those who have no hope. We know Tucker is in dog heaven with the Lord. Wherever and whatever sort of place, it is a place of no pain or sickness or trauma. We are thankful for the mercy of peace between two families who might easily have gone to war. We welcome your prayers, especially for our children, who were so deeply attached to this great dog of ours. We thank our heavenly Father for 10 years with Tucker. Good-bye faithful friend, snorty, snuggly, buddy boy dog of ours. Rest well, little Winston.
Love,
Your family

Things to know about high school kids if you want to do theatre with them...

2009-04-07T14:18:00.000-07:00

Lots of folks think I'm crazy for enjoying my work in the high school theatre world. Here are a few reasons why I love the challenge.

1. High school kids have lots of energy. Except at 3 pm, after 8 hours of school. The solution is to feed them. They will eat literally anything at 3 pm. But their favorites are subs, chips, milk shakes, and Starbucks. And pizza. Any flavor.

2. High school kids are very creative. Sometimes too creative. They want to incorporate every one of their ideas, which don't always work. It's best to let them try. The audience is a great way for them to learn what works and what doesn't. Although they really don't care if something doesn't work. They wear rose-colored glasses.

3. High school kids get emotionally involved. They cry (boys and girls, it turns out), they laugh (especially when you are trying to talk), they debate anything debatable, they worry (too too much), they love one another, expressly on opening and closing nights, when they get sentimental beyond belief.

4. High school kids are helpful. When asked. More than once. They will carry cases of water bottles, heavy beds with 20 mattresses on them, clothing and props, and pole vault pit mats, and each other. Across the stage. In the wings. Down the hall. To their cars. They might even carry cars if you ask. Twice.

5. High school kids are unpredictable. If you think they'll like the rehearsal, they won't. If you think they'll be too tired, they will ask to dance some more. If you think....well, best not to think. You'll never predict right.

6. High school kids are invested. In everything it turns out. Except maybe their homework. They do sports, and choir, and forensics, and Orchestra, and track, and Quiz Bowl. And Prom Fashion shows. And other shows. All right in the middle of your rehearsal schedule. Did I mention they aren't yet that skilled at juggling?

7. High school kids will try anything. Especially anything dangerous. Everyone will want to jump into the pit onto the mat, in a manner than makes one wonder if limbs will snap. And parents sue. Most everyone will want to do calisthenics on the bed that is 8 feet in the air. Without holding on. They are good for cardiovascular health. They force your heart to pump overtime.

8. High school kids like to sleep. Which is a good thing when you want them to lie quietly on the floor, to start a rehearsal quietly. Getting them to wake up is a trickier thing. See #1 for ideas.

9. High school kids don't really want to go home. This is a good thing during tech week when you want to work late. It is not a good thing when you are ready to go home, and they want to linger in the dressing rooms, in the hallways, or the light booth, or on the pole vault pad in the orchestra pit. Or when their parents are sitting in the parking lot waiting for them.

10. HIgh school kids will eat anything. Did I already mention this? It bears repeating. They spend many after school hours pondering food, asking for food, consuming food. You can feed them pizza and more pizza, salad, chicken, pasta (lots of kinds of pasta), subs, and fruit, and every salty snack imaginable, as well as every cookie imaginable. And more than 40 cases of water. They aren't at all picky about brands. That's a good thing.

11. High school kids will make you feel like a hero. Every time. If you just give them some love, and some discipline, and lots of leeway. Amazing. That's what high school kids are.

'under' the mattress

2009-02-28T18:26:00.000-08:00

There's this day, in the theatre world, when you've had just so many rehearsals under your belt, and the director (alias me) says with great hope and enthusiam in her voice, "Let's run Act One for the first time."

I forget, every time, what that will look like. A mess. It will look like you didn't get anything accomplished, in fact, the actors will actually go 'backward' in almost every aspect of their stage work. They forget their character; they forget where they are going, or where you told them to go; they miss massive spans of song lyrics, sing wrong notes, and in an effort to keep mouth, body, mind, and heart all active, they just positively reek. Except for two or three that keep you from contemplating the old cliff dive.

I have a new philosophy about this day that I plan to adopt before my next directing job. It will look like this:
a. I'll stop for a huge Starbucks cafe mocha. I'll be so high on caffeine that what they do won't matter.
b. I'll watch them less, and watch my script more. The less I see, the better I'll think they are. If an actor falls in the forest, who cares? There are 10,000 to replace him.
c. Better yet, I'll assign the day to my Assistant, and sit in Starbucks, waiting for his depressing report.
d. There is really no 'd', is there?

And then voila. Every single time. That is the low point. And you go in to the next rehearsal, and it's like this giant massive lightbulb goes on, and everyone (or at least many of them) GET IT. Why that run through works is a mystery. But it does. And it's never that bad again. And you discover that they indeed did figure out how to do that 'how-simple-can-you-get" comic bit.

Yup. Had that bad day Friday. Next week is already looking up, I can just tell. History repeats itself on the boards time and time again.

The Real Queen

the God's honest truth

2009-02-04T18:53:00.001-08:00

It happens this time every year. I MISS MY SISTERS. That's all. I just needed to say that. And thank you Jody, for calling at the exact perfect moment, not once, but twice in two weeks. Just totally made my day. Why is it again that we all live so far apart that we can't take winter break together?

25 random things about me

2009-02-03T14:12:00.000-08:00

My best friend from 7th grade inspired this blog, when she sent 20 random things about her. She's quite an interesting character an has had many adventures. I was thinking, could I even come up with 20 random things about me?Nope. Instead I came up with 25.

1. I don't know the Buzzard song.
2. I passed my senior lifesaving class in high school by sending a 200 lb attacker to the bottom of the pool with one swift kick.
3. I've never used those lifesaving lessons since.
4. My biggest dream is to squat in the sand on the coast of Africa, near the ocean, and teach the Scriptures to the women of the land.
5. I've never been off the continent. Except in my dreams (well, and in the ocean)
6. I once had to make a grand entrance on the stage absolutely soaking wet- wig, dress, and feet drenched in water. It wasn't easy singing while shivering. But it certainly was a spectacle.
7. I like to eat squid. And octopus. Grilled.
8. My favorite people group are 8th graders. They are intriguing and challenging, but loveable. And not easily swayed.
9. I taught ballroom dance, in my mid-twenties.
10. I also taught Jazzercise to elderly women.
11. I prefer movies to television, but always have one favorite show I follow. One of the first I can remember is the Ed Sullivan Show. All My Children made the list for some years, thanks to my mom and my sister Martha (ok, I've matured a little) ,MASH, China Beach, ER, West Wing (every single season). I'm currently trying on "Trust Me" after 2 years without a show.
12. I played a full set of tennis the day before I delivered my first child. Lost the set to my sister, Barbara.
13. I always wanted to be part of a rock band.
14. I am now part of a worship 'rock' band.
15. I have a frozen shoulder, due to a close encounter with a powerful wave on Lake Ontario.
16. Reading is like breathing. Daily. The longer the book, the happier I am.
17. I like to pray for movie stars. Someone should.
18. I literally have birthed the arts- a singer/actress/pianist/violinist girl, a designer/architectural/drawing girl, a singer/actor/dancer-in training guy, and a dancer/fashion/who knows what else is coming girl.
19. I always wanted to be a mother, and I love it...most days.
20. My motto is 'love the one you're with.' Prevents homesickness. Drives my hubbie crazy cuz I forget to call home.
21. My missions trips have been to: inner-city Detroit, and the local high school, mostly.
22. More teaching I've done- History, elementary school, French, homeschool, square dancing (really), Bible study, English to Japanese families...
23. I've also taught my husband (more than he'd like) how to ...diaper, do dishes 'properly', pick up his clothes, make lists, organize our paperwork, do laundry without shrinking my jeans...
24. My husband has taught me how to forgive, think of others more than myself, and serve without complaining. I'm still in those schools of learning.
25. I'm going to heaven...by the grace of a merciful God. My journey off the continent.

book worms

2008-12-08T14:54:00.001-08:00

"I'm looking for something to read- any suggestions?" is a question that comes to me regularly- from my daughters, my sisters, my friends. I should have been a librarian, a career I considered several times over in my teens. Guess, judging by the number of books I've loaned, maybe I am. Hey, why didn't I charge late fees?

Here are some reads for your consideration. The list-certainly not comprehensive, nor in any particular order, nor does it include much non-fiction. So sue me. For better or worse, I'm random abstract at heart.

There may be some language or subject issues for some of you. I'll leave you to censor yourself.
I'm told this kind of brain exercise keeps the mind in full form. Here goes.

When Crickets Cry
A Student of Living Things
When Madeline Was Young
Beyond the Blue
Run
The Kite Runner
The End of the Alphabet

Great Expectations (it's about time I read it)
Belong to Me
The Gathering
Love Walked In
Kissed the Girls and Made Them Cry
19 Minutes
90 Minutes in Heaven
23 Minutes in Hell

Guess I should write a book called 82,080 Minutes on Earth (that's how many I've lived approximately)

Love in the Time of Cholera
Pillars of the Earth (very violent)
East of Eden
Death Be Not Proud (how did I miss this?)
Night
Fall on Your Knees
Mother of Pearl
The Pleasure of Your Company: Lewis and Clark
Dance of the Dissident Daughter

Memory Keeper's Daughter
Peace Like a River
Map of the World
Someone Knows My Name
Rush Home Road
A Peculiar Grace
Daniel Isn't Talking

Vanishing Acts
Year of Fog
Plan B
The Innocent Man
The Double Bind
Family Tree
Louder Than Words
The Year of Magical Thinking
Act of Treason
Mary Magdalene
Three Cups of Tea

What's on my 'thinking about reading' list?
Team of Rivals
Do the Right Thing (written by my Presidential candidate of choice Mike Huckabee)
Mayflower
Audition (Barbara Walters auto)
A Mercy

Now, send me some good reading. And don't criticize my list. It's just off the top of an 82,080 minute- old brain.

wonder of wonders

2008-11-29T14:41:00.001-08:00

The day after Thanksgiving, for the first time ever, we put up Christmas decorations. O my gosh, never thought I'd be the one to do that. Here's how it happened...

First of all, Hannah told me she purchased an artificial tree and would put it up this weekend. This from one of the four children who have nagged me into a 'real' tree for the past 28 years (ok, maybe she didn't start nagging til she was 5). Unbelievable turn of events that started things rolling.

Second, Ethan offered to help me move the furniture around to make room for the houseful we will have in December. I am still nursing a bad left shoulder, so I couldn't turn down the handy assistance.

Then, he suggested that while the piano was cleared off, we might as well put up the manger. And...well, it emerged from there.

You will be proud of me. I am not the one on my street with TWO five-foot white plastic-pearled looking chandeliers hanging from my front porch. Just a few wreaths, a mantel of lovely green and golderies, lots of candles, and a space for a tree.

If only I could decide- real or artificial?

thanks given

2008-11-29T08:42:00.000-08:00

Turkey Day 2008. Calm, quiet, filling. Our guest list included Ethan, home from Western, and my niece, Rachel, who lives in Grand Rapids. My sister, Barb, said "They aren't guests." But I define guests as those for whom you have to clean the bathtub and put clean sheets on the beds, which pretty much makes any overnight visitor a guest, I suppose.

It was an easy cooking day, although I didn't do as well as I usually do making the dishes come out at the right time. This due in part to the over-large turkey I purchased, which filled the entire oven. Poor planning had me making a few dishes that needed to be long in the oven. Thankfully, it was a nice day, so I put the grill to use. Yes, the kids and hubbie helped...dishes, setting table, peeling and mashing, various little tasks, and good company.

We did a 2-day marathon of "Friends" in the morning hours, skipping the (gasp here) parades. Games are always involved in our holidays, although we almost came to fisticuffs over whether or not to play Euchre. In an unusual move, Ethan lost that battle. Lots of laughter, lots of loving on Tucker, lots of waiting on the crippled couch potato girl, lots of sleeping in.

And, I don't believe one fight or set of tears. (Thanks be to God, I kept it together!)

You can teach an old dog new tricks

2008-11-26T18:56:00.001-08:00

I am officially a skyper. Or a skype person. Or someone who skypes. I'm not sure of the grammatical vocabulary, but I now skype. It's pretty neat to sit and look at the person you are talking to, while sitting at your computer. I did resist the urge to put on makeup and comb my hair. Mostly, because we connected the camera, typed in two names, and voila, there was my sister, Nancy, right before my eyes. It almost made me cry to see her and her family. All the way over in Oklahoma. Not quite as good as being there, but pretty darned close. If I just squint my eyes, I can imagine we are seated across from each other at the lake. So, hey, skype me. Let's talk. And don't bother with the makeup. We're all friends.

The Foot Saga, continued

2008-11-24T18:44:00.001-08:00

Thank you to the many of you who offered prayers, calls and emails of concern and love. What a wonderful loving community we have. Just a few fruits from the prayers that were lifted up for Naomi:

Every single staff person we met today was kind and gentle and helpful. People went way above and beyond the call of duty for us.

Naomi's doctor was able to connect with a surgical specialist for the New York City Ballet, who gave him several tips about this surgery, which our surgeon had never performed. (It is rarely done).

The doc was very pleased with the surgery. (It will take many weeks to actually realize the physical results- 6 weeks in a cast, 2-3 months of therapy.)

The doctor was able to show us before and during and after pictures of the foot. He used his digital camera to document the bone and tissue he extracted, photos which he is going to email us. (isn't that wierdly cool?)

Naomi is resting well and pain is under control. Her parents are exhausted but deeply thankful for mercy and grace.

Now, we need to pray for my sister, Martha, who had a growth removed from her colon, and is in the hospital with excessive bleeding. Heaven sounds better every day, doesn't it? Love.

curtain call

2008-11-23T18:50:00.000-08:00

Closing Night. The post-show celebration began with fairly loud teenager music and rejoicing, amidst food and many kudos. As I met with several audience members to receive their encouraging words, I was approached by the saddest-faced man I have ever met. His eyes were filled with tears, his heart heavy. He proceeded to tell me his story. His son was murdered four years ago while travelling in Iraq.

Here's a mild paraphrase of what the man said: "You told my story tonight. I had a heart filled with hatred. I wanted to murder those who had murdered my son. I believed they should die. I wanted to die. I had no hope. My wife and I separated. I had lost everything and had nothing to live for. " He went on to tell me that someone who loved him took him to a 'conference' organized by Sr. Prejean's people- a project for the families who are survivors of violence to their children. There he was able to forgive the murderers, forgive himself for his hatred, and he became an active pacifist.

He told me how his heart was touched at a certain point in our drama. Just before his execution, the convicted murderer turns to Sr. Prejean and asks her if she is all right. Her (my) response: "Yes, Matt, I'm all right. Christ is here." I pointed to his heart and then my heart.

This man told me that when I made that gesture, he felt the love of Christ for the first time. As he wept, he told me that he had long admired a friend who knew Jesus Christ as his friend, and of his deep longing to know Jesus as well. I prayed with this man, who received the love of Christ into his heart.

It was a thrilling ending to a fulfilling albeit exhausting adventure on the boards.

Doesn't get any better than that.

Naomi's Foot

2008-11-20T16:30:00.000-08:00

In the continuing-since-July saga of Naomi's right foot, she will finally have surgery Monday 11/24. She's been on crutches for a month, and has continual pain, while unable to do anything- no walking, no dance, no fun outside. That's meant driving to school every day, and my generally overactive girl is literally climbing the walls with boredom.

Apparently, overuse and/or injury while she was at ballet camp are the culprits. Since her growth plates are still shifting (much like our Earth), two large heel bones have crushed some ligaments and tendons, squeezing out all the fluids, and the bones will need to be 'scraped and reshaped.' (possibly more information that you wanted, eh?)

Our prayer is for total restoration of her foot, so that she can not only walk, but also bike, and dance and do flips if she so desires. To that end, we would cherish any prayers you might offer on her behalf. For the doctor's steady sure hands (there are lots of nerves in the area), for skillful decisions and treatment, for quick healing.

In return, post a prayer need and we'll do a turn-about-fair-play.
Thanks.

Thanks...giving

2008-11-19T09:53:00.000-08:00

I am thankful...

to know the love of my Heavenly Father through Jesus. It keeps me through the trials of this life.

to know the love of my family, who have been endlessly patient as I learn to be more loving in return.

to have outlets for my gifts and talents, places to be creative and expressive.

to have a warm home, a wonderfully soft blanketed bed, extravagantly filling daily food and drink, a car, with money to purchase gas, and all the other luxuries of my life.

to live in a country that allows me the freedom of life, liberty, and the pursuit...

of Thanksgiving happiness.

Theatre life

2008-11-16T19:12:00.001-08:00

I am always astounded at the twists and turns of life in the theatre, which I suppose is some part of what keeps me there. This show has been unique in so many ways that are hard to articulate, but I shall try.

First, I was double cast, so I shared both rehearsal and performance time with a teen girl. It was very odd to be sitting in the audience watching 'your own show' on Opening Night. Since she and I had many of the same basic blocking moves, I found my self able to 'direct' myself, while watching her. Totally surreal.

Second, I literally never leave the stage the entire evening, with thousands of lines and acting time. Exhausting, but again, intriguing. Haven't had a perfect 'line' night yet. For a perfectionist like me, that's a terrible frustration and great challenge.

Third, I, once again, have been changed by a role. The Lord always has some challenge for me. Sometimes it's the stage work, sometimes the challenges of relationship in the cast, sometimes the character. This time, it was the script. I really had given little thought to the death penalty, or the effects of a murder on the parents of a survivor, or what it might be like to spend time on Death Row. I know now that I do not support the death penalty. To quote my character, "I just don't see any sense in killing people who kill people to show that killing is wrong."

Lastly, I have touched the deepest sorrow of collaborative art. After intense bonding onstage, you say goodbye. Last night, we lost our dear fellow actor, Bob. I met Bob twenty-seven years ago, and we have worked in many productions. He always called me "Sarie." He's played my father, my favorite Frenchman, my on and offstage friend. I've directed him, shared endless teacher talk, and loved him and his wife dearly. We laid a rose onstage in his honor and dedicated today's performance to him. What made it even more touching was that Bob's son, Clayton, even in his grief, chose to do the show today. Near the end of the show, I sing a song to the young man about to die by lethal injection. The lyrics go something like this:
" Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come follow me. And I will give you rest."
Good bye, Bob. Time to meet your Maker. It's been something special to make art with you, buddy.

o happy day

2008-11-15T12:14:00.000-08:00

Me wee grandbuddy is coming today to visit, with his mommy, while his daddy goes away for a week. Heaven. I plan to let her sleep and relax, while I shower him with lovings. But...
It's no easy task preparing, when you haven't had a little one in the home for awhile. I purchased a nifty portabed, after pondering whether I should borrow, but decided it was an investment in the future. What an ordeal, though.

If you haven't been to Babies R Us in ages, you wouldn't believe the number of investions (new word) you can make. Every kind of clothing, bedding, bathing, accessorizing you desire. And more. I was there for hours, and emerged happy, but laden with all kinds of goodies. A floor gym was just one prize.

I cleaned out the old game/arts and crafts cupboard and stocked a few baby toys, resurrected the cardboard books, and started a collection of 'little wooden people' that intrigued my own kids for years. It's easy to imagine getting carried away. Especially since he can't do much more than hold a rattle. And roll over. (see her blog for proof)

Lest you think I ignored the daughter, I shall bless her with a new fleece I found at TJ's house. They have collars that snap high on the neck, good protection against the first flakes that are supposed to fall tonight.

I'll try to post a few photos after-the-fact. And I'll try to remember to pet his hair, Martha.

Gotta love the grandparenting thing.

weary bones...

2008-10-31T21:27:00.000-07:00

I am soooo tired of...
1. cleaning my house, in particular, my refrigerator. ugh I hate that job.
2. my own voice. ready for rehearsals to end.
3. traffic. everyone is always going somewhere. me included.
4. having to think about money. wish we could just barter or swap goods for a time.
5. junk mail. why don't people write letters anymore? they were so wonderful.
6. living far away from my sisters. and my daughters. and my grandson. and...all of my beloveds.
7. telemarketers. sorry, jeff.
8. my cd collection- longing for an ipod.
9. the lack of selection at the video store, and the library, and Target's book corner.
10. this election. no offense, anyone. just give us a leader and let's get on with it.
Sorry. I'm just tired.

hollow een

2008-10-31T20:14:00.001-07:00

We've been all over the place about Halloween over the years. When the big girls were little, we went all out, scared the neighbors (well, that was the ex's idea), created elaborate costumes- beautiful butterflies, dancing princesses, superpowers, the whole gamut. Boy, things have changed since then.

I think it was when one of the girls was in 5th grade, and I was room mother, that my perspective shifted. That was the year of kids being 'Freddie Kruger', (I didn't even know who that was as I recall), and they came with fake knives in their chests, blood all over their shirts. There was so much evil that year in costuming that I was somewhat repulsed. After lengthy discussions with the kids, we decided to ban Halloween, in favor of a special house party. The girls were geeked, and we did makeup (white face as I recall), hid about $30 worth of candy all over the house, and had quite a rollicking time.

But everyone missed the fun of roaming the streets at night in the dark, laughing with friends, getting very thirsty and hot and over-sugared. Subsequently, we have done church harvest parties, bonfires in parking lots, back yard hooplas, until there just are no more little kids at this house.

So, tonight, it looked pretty different. The girl and eight of her freshman friends dressed up, well as much as high school kids dress up- a little face paint, or a mask, or a crazy tee shirt- and 'roamed' the neighborhood, talking, laughing, limping (in her case), ending up on our porch making way too much noise way too late for our quiet neighborhood, reminiscing about how fun childhood was.

Jeff went to bed after a hectic week, and I watched a movie.
A far cry from the old days. sigh...

...me and my grandbuddy

2008-10-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

They call it 'post-first-halloween party-smile syndrome'. Nothing left for the camera.

I wasn't always pro-life.

2008-10-24T15:44:00.000-07:00

I used to be pro-abortion. I was a staunch supporter of a woman's right to choose. Actually, I guess I still don't think the government should legislate what I do with my body, but I have separated that from the issue of life in the womb.

When I was in my early twenties, I participated fully in the abortion movement, participation that began by encouraging a panicked friend to take the 'easy', more comvenient way out of her unwanted pregnancy. I am saddened to say she did, and I am doubly saddened to say that two decades later, she was still struggling with the aftermath of her decision. Not an uncommon story.

The depths of my participation in the abortion movement did not end there. Fortunately for me, I have found forgiveness from the Lord for all my offense, but the scars that remain compel me to speak.

And then, at twenty-eight,I gave birth. Or rather, I experienced the miraculous life inside me, from its very first flutter to its emergence from inside me to outside me. And living that unbelievable journey was an awakening to the reality of God's creation in a way that I had never seen. The Psalmist states its clearly: "You formed my inward parts, You covered me in my mother's womb. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed, and in Your book they were all written, the days fashioned for me when as yet there were none of them."

God also says that 'Children are a gift of God." It is He that decides which little sperm will fertilize which little egg, at which moment, in whose body. The miracle is totally in His hands.

When I was in my mid- thirties, I attended a women's lucheon, mostly because a dear female friend of mine was to be the keynote speaker. The proceeds of the luncheon would fund the crisis pergnancy center in our city. As God was still in the process of melting my heart on the subject of abortion, I was a little 'on guard', as my friend began to speak. She began to talk about her sin, about the consequences she had suffered as a result. She confessed to three abortions, and the depression, the deep grief and sadness that had lain in her heart, as she had kept this, to quote her as I remember, 'secret insanity' for so many years. I watched her sobbing, and this deep cry that came from her to God, as she asked for forgiveness and said something that has stuck. She said, "I just didn't know it was a life."

That spoke volumes to my heart. But God was not finished with me that day. My friend, who was involved in radio communications, had spent a year gathering footage from abortion clinics. She warned us of the graphic nature. I wanted to look away. I had a thought that I would see 'emotional blackmail.' But I watched anyway.

I saw trash cans filled with miniature hands and feet, little holocaust mountains of baby bodies- every size imaginable. I also saw a video/sound footage that will remain with me for life- you could hear the tiny scream of the little-call it fetus but it's still- baby, about 9 weeks old. It screamed and you could see it shrink back from the vacuum that was ripping it to shreds.

And I knew the grievous nature of my own sin, of my participation in this murder of life.

God is not finished with me. As I work on this play about the death penalty, He is again challenging me. To quote my character, "I just don't see the sense of...killing people who kill people to show that killing is wrong." Truthfully, I had just never thought about it. But now I am.

I know now that I am a pacifist. Find peace, make peace, keep peace. I am glad I have not had to go to war, or had to make a decision to send people to war. I imagine I could kill someone who attacked my children, but I pray I won't ever have to make that decision now that I know how much each of our lives means to God.

I'll close this very long post with a set of statistics:
A total of 4,186 lives have been lost in the war in Iraq.
A total of 1.2 million babies in the womb lost their lives in 2005.
And so I'll vote for life. Because it's our most precious commodity.

What's for supper?

2008-10-22T19:32:00.000-07:00

I made the yummiest pasta dish tonight, involving two of my favorite flavors- spinach and bacon. Want the recipe?
Ingredients:
1 pkg natural grain pasta
1/4 lb bacon, diced
1/2 onion, diced
garlic, as desired
1 tomato, chopped
1 1/3 cu chicken broth
3 Tbl. fresh sage leaves (ok, use dried)
1 bag baby spinach
Parmesan.
Cook pasta. Cook bacon until crisp; add onion and garlic, saute til tender. Add chicken stock, tomatoes, and sage. Add spinach and heat until spinach just wilts. Sprinkle w/ parmesan. It would be good w/ chopped chicken or shrimp also, as a substitute for the bacon. But boy, it was yummy. And the leftovers will make another meal. Some days cooking just works.

Hurry, Mimi.

2008-10-19T16:55:00.000-07:00

I got this in the mail from my little grandbuddy, who probably made his mommy send it...

As you can see, he has that 'deer in the headlights' look on his face. Some might think it's because his daddy has a new camera with a very bright flash. Those of us who know better recognize his desperate need to be hugged by his grandmum again.

I'm off to meet his need this coming weekend.
Tough work but someone's got to do it.
the mimi

Why I like to when my husband comes home

2008-10-19T16:49:00.001-07:00

Of course, the warm snuggy mushy stuff. But, my guy just knows how to take care of a girl. Since he returned, he has:
a) changed the oil in my car
b) mowed, trimmed, and raked the gardens
c) made room in the garage for my car, so I don't have to scrape the frost off my windows in the morning.
d) picked up milk on his way home
e) helped me run my lines for the play
f) snored very loudly. (just threw that in there to see if you were really reading!)

What a guy.

Why I like it when my husband takes a trip

2008-10-15T20:46:00.000-07:00

I love my husband, don't get me wrong, but there is something very special that happens when he leaves home for a few days, or in this case, the whole week.
Everyone just relaxes a little bit. Why is that?We eat differently. Eggs and toast for dinner, or just sit on the living room rug at the coffee table. Or just food he would never be willing to eat. But it's oh so casual and spontaneous.

We tend to leave more mess. (Are you telling me that all the cleaning was for him in the first place?) Seems odd, and yet, when he leaves, we leave our beds unmade and hang our lingerie in the bathroom and just let things pile on tables. With just the two of us females, it really starts to look like chic heaven.

I hardly have to grocery shop; the laundry does not overflow the basket; we do impulsive things late in the day.

There is a bad side. I get stuck with the three D's: dishes, driving, decisions. But mostly, that's ok, because there's less of them with only one kid left. Hmm. The bed is definitely colder at night. And I feel more burdened with 'security issues' after dark. OK, maybe it's not the best, but I still really like the change. Shoot, look at the time. Got some cleaning to do and groceries to get. He'll be home tomorrow. What to have for dinner? Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

Homecoming 2008

2008-10-08T22:30:00.000-07:00

As promised.
The girl.
The dress.
The homecoming 2008.
Isn't she lovely?
More can be seen at Flickr.
Write me if you want to access them.

They don't call it FALL for nothing.

2008-10-05T20:33:00.000-07:00

I can't possibly be the only one who makes this horrendous transition into FALL every year. I FALL into this sort of bleak place for a few weeks, that's hard to crawl out of. I've blamed it on the following things:

a) not having a classroom to go back to
b) having a classroom to go back to
c) the lessening of sunshine
d) the dark mornings and dark dinner hours
e) the cooler weather
f) the moon
g) the approach of the parade of holidays
h) my husband
i) having too much to do
j) or nothing on my plate
k) the devil. (this is probably closer to the truth than the others)
m) myself. But then I blame everything on myself.

But I've finally figured it out. It's called 'autumnopause."
It's just a phase of life that cycles around every year.
Certainly connected with hormones, because what isn't?
It will cause me to have sleepless nights, crankiness, and frustration.
I will FALL but maybe not as hard as last year, because I might be smart enough to pray more and ask others to pray for me.
It will, like its relative, meno, pass.
Help me, I'm
F
A
L
L
ing.

Will I or Won't I?

2008-09-20T20:02:00.001-07:00

So I'm not sure if I qualify or not. My tub floor is bare... but I have lots of clocks. Hey I adore Twinkies, Oreos, and making chocolate chip cookies, but oh no...my medicine cabinet is bare, but, yes... I have many plants. Darn, they are outdoors. It's not looking good.

I have about 4 nightlights, they are all the same...but we do often leave then on for days at a time. My cupboard has a huge list of outdated phone numbers, no funeral home included. Oh dear. There are hundreds of photos, but not on walls, rather in drawers, mostly, wishing for frames or albums to materialize. It's looking rather bleak for me.

But wait. I have two magnets. Even better, three junk drawers. Even best. I have time, lots of time. And love. Oh, yes, I have a super enormous massive batch of love.

And the bestest. I adore Uno.

And...I'm going to get started on the glass bottles right away.

Will I or won't I be a good one? I will. Click below (or cut and paste) and see if you agree.

http://www.openwriting.com/archives/2004/11/how_to_be_a_gra.php

Tol'ja So

2008-09-20T19:31:00.000-07:00

How it really went with Cindy-rella. (possibly short for Cruella)
1. We started at Macy's, tried on 8-17 dresses. Found a very form-fitting-but-a-bit-too-low-cut quite stunning dark teal dress that needed a little work if it were to be the one. The work wasn't enticing to either of us, but it would have raised the cut and allowed the straps to at least rest on her shoulders. Nice price. $79. (can't do much better than that)

2. She rejected every choice I offered, although she was willing to try on one to prove to me its ugliness.

3. She complained of being so skinny nothing fit. Poor baby. Size 0. (I was a size zero in 4th grade)

4. After dress 8, she was in a wee small bad mood- lack of bosoms to fit in a dress, and lack of food.

5. Dinner at Olga's, my treat surprisingly, improved all moods involved.

6. Found better prices at JC Penney's. Unfortunately, dresses were stepsister ugly. (no offense to any stepsisters reading this)

7. Now complaining of hurting feet, and no nearer our goal, she decided to go with Dress #1. Back to Macy's.

8. After coercing (read 'forcing') her to just re-browse to see if we missed anything, "I", yes I, found a gorgeous dress. Everything she wanted. Perfect fit on top, modestly cut (well, with the new tank we added), gorgeous gently pleated skirting that twirls a perfect twirl. A real dancing dress. Sparkly. Very very New York chic.

9. Silver gray. Black accents. Cost... triple digits. Don't tell the man.

Cindy Goes to the Ball

2008-09-18T19:09:00.000-07:00

OK, so shoot me, but seriously, one of my favorite parts of having a daughter in high school is the 'shopping for a Homecoming dress thing.' For those who haven't had the pleasure, this is the day when she comes home totally geeked ...
...and has decided, as a freshman, that she's going to the dance, whether anyone asks her or not.

{For your information, it is only cool for freshman girls to go to the dance unattended; it's complete death for upperclassmen, who MUST have dates.}

So we're off in two days to find the perfect dress. The girl insists on a skirt with movement, short, different from 'everyone else', which will only be tricky because who knows what 'everyone else's dress' looks like?

Here's a guess (based on several formal-dress-shopping journeys) at how the journey will go:

She'll ask all about my opinion, pull what she likes (and I don't) off the racks. She will reject all those, and I'll be asked to bring additional options to the dressing room, only one of which she will like at all. There will be lots of comments about her figure (lack of this, too much that, although this girl doesn't have too much of anything!), and someone will get into a bad mood.

Silently, I will be praying the dress she chooses covers her whole body modestly. In the end, the dress she picks, after two or three store visits, will cost more than I want to spend (or more accurately, more than her father wants to spend), she will look fabulous, and ...well, the happily ever after thing is just a fairy tale, but bear with me. You never know.

It's such fun, this girl thing. Just some young teens spreading their wings. My job? Just pretend I've never done this before.
And keep my mouth shut. She really can decide for herself.

I'll let you know how the dress thing works out. Guess the color?

so...surprise

2008-09-14T20:52:00.001-07:00

I got cast as Sr. Prejean in "Dead Man Walking." The lead. Yikes.
Lots of work ahead for me, but let me tell you the most exciting part of the challenge. The production is a joint venture between a community theatre and a Catholic high school. The script is only given to schools to perform, with the condition that they explore the subject of the death penalty.

Heavy subject matter, but a great chance to sink my teeth into something that will be a stretch. Plus, I just love the idea of acting along side high school kids. There's always room for new growth, opportunities to share God's love. I'm hoping we do talk-backs at the show, so the audience and cast can dialogue on the subject of the sacredness of life. Hmm. I'm in for a stretch...

At a Loss for Words

2008-09-12T09:30:00.000-07:00

I am not usually paralyzed by questions, but recently, as I stood in a group of people, making some new acquaintances, I was asked this question, "How many are your family? " I couldn't seem to figure out how to answer.

That has become such a relative question (no pun intended), depending on how you are viewing it.

So let's see if we can figure this out.

For years, that question meant 'the family you were raised in,' which puts my answer at eight children, two parents, and one sometimes live-in grandmother. But no, she probably didn't mean that family, so I rethink my answer.

We have four kids, added to two adults, so our family is six...

But currently, the answer seems to be based on 'how many happen to be in the nest,' so two don't live here at all, and are off padding their own nests, so I should say four.

However, one of the four only lives here during the summer and holidays, so literally, we're three.

But then... the family is growing- add a husband, add a baby. So aren't we eight?

And truly, we should do a count of all the family- aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, but, oh my goodness, that's beyond my ability to calculate. As of last week's count, I think my family has about 28 grandchildren (at the moment, anyway).

So here I am, wandering all over the place in my mind trying to find the answer, and suddenly everyone is looking at me, laughing uncontrollably. "Don't you even know how many people are in your family?" comes the retort?

No. Just too hard a question for me... go ahead and laugh.

A rose is a rose is a rose.

2008-09-08T18:09:00.000-07:00

I'm a grandmother.
He calls me Mimi.
I'm in love.
God is so good.

waiting for baby

2008-09-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

Squeeeeak. That's what I sounded like the other night at the first audition I've done in about four years. Oh, my goodness. I stepped onto the boards (that's stage talk) and felt totally raw and unprepared, which, actually, I was. I hadn't read the script, hadn't seen the related movie, hadn't done my research.

And yet...it felt so good, so right. From the first second to the last line, there wasn't a shaky limb or a worry or fear that passed over me. I had such enormous peace and sense of challenge. Perhaps that comes from not being prepared or raising expectations, only to face the potential of failure or disappointment.

About all I did do right was to pray about going. The audition notice came my way a month ago, and I began to seek the Lord about it, but it was casual, because as I looked at the dates, they fell the week our precious Baby Rose was expected to grace us with his appearance. Yesterday morning, I realized I could, in fact, make the audition, since I was still waiting for the beckon. And I felt a tug from God.

Anyway, you should have seen me- the epitome of a beginner. I upstaged myself- twice- fell into a quiet voice repeatedly, totally misconceived one particular scene, which I didn't realize until I got home and actually read the script...

{Note here: A good actor always enters knowing everything that can be known about the script. For one thing, it helps to know if you're willing to participate in the material!}

...over-emoted, under-emoted, laughed inappropriately (and I mean totally) at something that happened onstage. That's also called 'breaking character', which you can't break if you don't have. You'll just have to trust me on that.

Who knows what will happen? Going was enough...almost.

Something Old (Me), Something...

2008-09-02T19:25:00.000-07:00

Who said you can't teach an old girl new tricks? I love new, sometimes.

Here's the 'new' in my life.

Let's see, I allowed my sister to cut bangs in my hair. Bangs. Haven't had those since I was in 7th grade. Those who have seen the Millard family album will understand the 'bang trauma' I endured. Cut about a half inch long, crooked, little hunks of hair that really did not flatter the face, if you catch my drift. I like the bangs. They're new. Thanks Jody.

Keeping with the hair theme, I tried 'Sun In' in my hair, and ended up streaking it all over with that crazy old product.
It was lots of fun and I've had innumerable remarks about the quality of color. Just a fun day at the pool with the teen girls, and voila. Rite Aid, before you ask, $4.99

We got new bedroom furniture, pretty adventuresome for us. It's comfy, and we should have done it years ago.

I made two new friends- and both of them are my age. That's been awhile coming. Most my friends are younger, and I had longed for a few new women in my life. They are both keepers. Neat and new.

And...well, I got new jeans, a new black corduroy jacket, destined to be my favorite, a new purse (perfect, with only the outside pocket missing, but hey, I'm flexible... that is so untrue, however, I'll endure it).

What else? Last kid finally in school to stay. That's very new and listen carefully to this 29 years later sigh of relief. I'm trying the half-the-day empty nest thing on for size. Give me a week and I'll report back, but I can expect to enjoy a breath of free time here or there.

Just in time, of course, for the new baby in our lives. He's so new, he hasn't even been born yet.

What's new in your life?

the less-needed mom

2008-08-29T19:29:00.000-07:00

So the college kid has vacated the ranch, taking everything that wasn't nailed down this time.
It seems they just get bolder and bolder about emptying the nest. So he's taken the weights and the dvds and several books, extra bedding, both new sets of towels. You get the idea.
Off he goes again. He promised this time to be better at calling, or at least answering the phone. In fact, he promised to connect once a week.
If you see me turning blue, remind me not to hold my breath.
Let me know if you want his address.
There must be someone out there who still sends snail mail.

Peevish

2008-08-29T10:30:00.001-07:00

I have always been known as persnickety (isn't that a great word?) It's just that certain things- actually many things- bug me. So I made a list of my 'Pet Peeves."
Pet Peeves:
1. Mouth spray on the bathroom mirror.

2. Dirty glasses on the sink.

3. Visibly non-handicapped drivers parking in handicap parking.

4. Sales clerks who don't look at their customers.

5. Computer-generated sales calls. For that matter..
Oh wait, I can't say that. My hubby makes those calls.

6. Crooked table cloths onstage.
Doesn't matter how good the acting is, all you can focus on
is the tablecloth.
7. The way commercials are louder than the tv show.

8. Litter.

9. The word "green" currently.

10. When people read my blog and don't write a comment.
Click and leave a peeve of your own.

On the waters

2008-08-28T09:31:00.000-07:00

I was praying this morning. A Scripture came to mind that says, when we pray, we are to
"ask in faith without any doubting,
for the one who doubts is like the surf of the sea
driven and tossed by the wind.
For let not that man expect
that he will receive anything
from the Lord."

So then I was remembering these two other water stories from the Bible- one, when the disciples were out on the lake in the boat and it was tossing and turning in the storm and Jesus came and calmed the sea. The other when Peter walked on water, because His eyes were fixed on Jesus, and then sank because he, Peter, began to fear, looking around him at the storm instead of the Lord.

It amazes me how many times my heavenly Father has calmed the storm around me and given me this wonderful peace, when I believe in Him. Believing meaning 'to put all my confidence and trust in Him.' Too many times in my life have I put my trust in man rather than the Lord.

Have you got a storm brewing on your horizon? Are you in the midst? Put all your confidence in God, that He can do exceedingly abundantly more than you can ever think or imagine. Go ahead. Ask Him. Whatever you need. But then the tricky part comes. You have to believe Him to work it out for the best...believe.

What am I believing for? Today, I'm believing that my God will give my daughter a safe natural delivery of this miraculous gift of child. I'm asking for no C-section, no pitocin, no trouble. I'm believing for wisdom for the doctors and nurses, for God's perfect timing for this little guy to emerge, for grace for his new mom and dad in every moment. I'm trusting my God to do what's best for all concerned. He's good at that.

Ah...the storm has calmed. His perfect peace just arrived. Just in time.

Lady in Waiting

2008-08-27T17:17:00.000-07:00

We're anxiously waiting for this little guy to make his entrance.

Isn't she a beautiful pregnant woman? That's my Hannah Rae.

All grown up, a husband and home of her own. Ready to take on her greatest teaching job of all time. She's gonna be one fabulous mother.

You go, girl! We're here cheering you on- praying, waiting, loving.

The whole family.

Baby Blues

2008-08-26T12:02:00.000-07:00

Today my baby started high school.

The empty nest is in full sight.

She cut 4 inches from her hair,

Donned fresh makeup

And a new outfit,

Set out with her best friend

Leaving me in her wake.

It never gets easier

This letting go.

Age Appropriate

2008-08-26T09:25:00.000-07:00

At every turn today, I'm hit with the subject of age. Someone viewing the family pictures noting how 'old' people are beginning to look. My middle daughter's birthday coming up and discussion of her age, and how much time has passed. A store clerk asking if I'm open to a 'senior discount'.

It is noteworthy how obsessed, in particular, Americans are with age- the glorification of youth, the abhorrence of aging. I can myself remember thinking how I would like to die by the age of forty, which, at nineteen, seemed ridiculously long enough to live, out of my mental grasp, and decrepit.

In fact, for years, age was central to my thinking, as well. The landmark becoming a teenager, sweet sixteen. The right age to get your ears pierced. Turning eighteen, the legal drinking age at the time. The last year as a teen. Old enough to vote at twenty-one. Over-the-hill at forty.

Well, the view from the grass on the other side of that thinking is quite different.

Birthdays seem rather insignificant in light of all that's going on in the world. Another year is just that- devoid of particular digital landmarks. No longer is there a right age to retire, or the specific age to become a grandmother, or the perfect time to cash in your IRA. Life becomes more marked by a child's marriage, the birth of a grandchild, a trip to Africa.

It's a good thing, I think. Age has become more of a wonder- that this body can endure despite carcinogenics and pesticides, tornados, and even modern medicine. That the new day is a thing to marvel at, each one becoming valuable for what it brings. Day by day living. Doesn't that sound good? Just one day to examine rather than these landmark milestones to hit?

With only one exception to that thinking. The senior discount? Bring it on.

Click comment

2008-08-24T18:52:00.000-07:00

Hey friends,

See that little comment thing below each post? Well, rather than send me an email, just click there and leave your feedback, jokes, sassy responses. Don't click 'send me an email', though, or I get it twice, not necessary. I welcome hearing from you and it's all part of the fun. Today I was particularly struck by the tremendous group of family and friends I have, all over the globe. Such a blessing to know you're loved and cared for.

Hugs from the homefront.

sarah

summer photos

2008-08-23T18:45:00.000-07:00

Here are a few photos from the lake. I just learned how to post from Flick'r. Whew. It wasn't easy, but next time I'll sort some other photos. You can click the Flick'r link above the photos and I think it will take you into the whole batch. Someone try it and let me know if you can see my photostream. Cool word- photostream. We're in action here...

Subscribe to this Blog (automatic updates)

2008-08-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

Three ways to get automatic updates:

1. Be one of the first ten people to email me (sarahhedeen@yahoo.com). I'll put you on an automatic Blogger list. You'll be notified every time there's a new post. But don't read it in your email-scroll to the bottom and click on blog link, rather than read the plain text, which will look dull and boring.

2. Click on 'subscribe to' on this page. Select 'posts.' Choose an option. If, for example, you have a Google account (whatever@google.com) or Yahoo (whatever@yahoo.com), you can select this option. It will add a section to your home email page that will update you when changes are made.

3. Subcribe using "Bloglines" only if you visit several Blogs, and are a little tech savvy. You can also visit www.bloglines.com directly. You will set up an account and can add all the blogs you regularly check, and visit just one website to get all your updates.

a) Go to website

b) Set up an account

c) Click 'feeds' tab top left corner

d) Click 'add'

e) Find field labeled 'Blog or Feed URL' and type in website you want to add, like ellipsesfromsarah.blogspot.com.

f) Click 'subscribe'

g) Check most recent feed, scroll down, and click 'subscribe'.

h) To check all your blogs at the same time, add Bloglines to your list of bookmarks. Click 'bookmark' tab. Then click 'Feeds'. All your blogs will be listed. The ones in bold type have new content on the pages. When you click the link, it will show you the title of any new posts. Click on the title of the post, and it will take you directly to the blog. Whew.

Remember. You can post comments on this blog any time, even if you don't wish to set up a Google/Blogger account. Just post under 'Anonymous' section.

Helpful? Post a question, and I'll try to help, which means I'll call Hannah, who graciously provided these instructions.

on becoming a grandmother

2008-08-22T10:17:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting here just waiting for a call that my eldest daughter is in labor, which will begin the process of changing my life in a way that is almost totally unknown to me. What does it mean to be a grandmother? I realize I have no frame of reference. All the burdens of responsibility that come with parenting seem to be lifted. And yet, I feel this impending sense of importance to this role. A need to be fully connected to this little being, to love unconditionally and somehow impart wisdom.

Whew, that feels huge- impart wisdom. Didn't really learn how to do that in college- there's no major in either parenting or grandparenting. So I guess this will be one of those 'learning-as-you-go' experiences.

Funny, I have always had this very stereotypical picture of a grandma- wrinkled and rounding, wire rim glasses, wearing an apron, tired, but never too tired to read or rock, or bake a batch of cookies, a little rickety in the bones, but smiling at the thought of a little one in her arms. But then I look in the mirror...ah, there she is...just waiting.

Holding Hands

2008-08-21T20:44:00.000-07:00

My young niece and I spent several days hopping waves and charging headlong into the lake. At first tentative, she gained courage daily, until she was tackling turbulent waters with ease. Always holding my hand, as the waves washed over her head.

One morning, the current was particularly strong, and the undertow quite dangerous for a girl light as a feather. Before we entered the water, I urged her to 'hold my hand' for safety.

It was a struggle for me to keep both myself and her upright, and the pull on my arm was almost painful. Until she did the unthinkable in such wild waters- she let go, thinking she'd be just fine on her own. She was whoshed away in a flash, and it was all I could do to bring her back.

Days later, as I pondered that moment in flashback, I realized that's how I am with God. He's right there, holding my hand, helping me through the calm and the storm, and impulsively, I just let go, thinking I'm fine on my own. Guess I'm still on the learning curve...

Getting Started

2008-08-20T19:58:00.000-07:00

One . is called an ellipsis. Three in a row, or dot-dot-dot, are properly entitled 'ellipses', and are used to signify unfinished thoughts. So here you'll find my unedited unfinished thoughts, as they come pouring out, totally affected by mood, weather, and time of day. If they inspire you or touch your heart, so much the better. But it's enough that they are mine...