Miss Sue's Call

Every semester I have "the culture talk" with my students. We define culture, discuss features of American culture, and debate whether cultural changes are positive or negative. "What drives cultural change," I always ask?

Last night, I was surprised to see that the topic inspired many comments about cell phones and social media. Usually, my students consider these a "part of life" and they rarely pause to examine effects, consequences, trade-offs, etc.

Not this class.

I chimed in that just yesterday, I'd learned about the birth of a baby in my family, days after the event, via Facebook. I still find it "strange" to receive birth and death announcements via social media because I am, I guess, old fashioned. I prefer phone calls or, at least, an email when there is a major event.

In reality, I'm left to read about the passing of dear friends in the newspaper, sometimes too late to attend the memorial service or to pay respects. Sometimes I don't catch the story at all.

In reality, I don't see people just "popping in" or "borrowing a cup of sugar" much anymore. How can we be there to help at just the right time if we no longer take the time to visit?

I've often joked that people hesitate to invite us over to dinner because they are intimidated by the quantity of food that my four boys ingest. Or perhaps they are worried about broken chairs or muddy floors from four big football player-farmer boys sitting around the table.

This is why I'm especially grateful for Miss Sue's call.

Miss Sue is a neighbor and fellow church member. I'd tapped her husband on the shoulder a few weeks ago to describe my current situation and ask that he keep an eye on our house and the family. He owns a business that sends trucks out throughout the day and he owns the heavy equipment that we might need during a snowstorm. He agreed without hesitation.

At 9:00 a.m. Monday morning Miss Sue left a beautiful voicemail message for me. "Hi J. Just calling to see how you are doing. Do you need anything? Can we help? Ok. Just checking in."

It really meant a lot to me and I called her back this morning to tell her just that.

I work in an environment where people scratch and bite one another instead of team building. There's rarely a "good morning" or a "how is your day going?" exchanged. When I teach, I am in the one in a leadership/caregiver role.

So at the end of a "three job day" (throw in some orphaned lambs, severe cold weather, and a few energetic school-aged children), those were just the words I needed to HEAR.

Miss Sue's voice speaking my name... "just checking in."

Three Full Circles

Over the course of the last week, I've seen three situations/circumstances where life has come around "full circle."

1. Last year a young woman in crisis offered to give us her baby girl to raise (this is a story in and of iself). Saturday night we got to meet this mom and to hear that baby is doing well in her great aunt's home. The mom is getting healthier day by day. It was a strange, humbling, emotional experience for me to be able to hug her and to receive her thanks.

2. On Wednesday I worked as a sub in our local high school. I ran into a woman who had been my Biology teacher when she first started in our district. fresh out of college. Now, she teaches our two older boys. She went on and on about how she enjoyed having them as her students.

Now, back when I was her student it wasn't such a pretty picture...and I'm fairly certain she doesn't remember me (as the 15-year-old me, if you know what I mean). I haaaaated high school and she was a very gifted, but uncomfortable new teacher back then.

Imagine that! She would become one of my family's favorite teachers!

3. I've told this story a few times, but it fits the theme so I will share it again.
Many years ago I heard our pastor tell a story about parents who had lost an adult child while he was working out of state. They couldn't afford to bring his body home, nor could they afford a memorial service. So Pastor E. went to his car, grabbed his guitar, and held an impromptu memorial service right there in their trailer.

I vowed then that my own children would learn to play an instrument if, for no other reason, but to comfort others in this way.

On Saturday J played his snare drum (and both J and N sang in the choir) for the memorial service of a fellow farmer who lost his life after battling an infection in the area of a knee replacement. Midway through the performance, his widow was moved to stand up and salute the choir and J, on the drum. It was a very beautiful moment.

Speaking of performances, last night I went to see a play, where I saw my uncle and our large animal vet perform in drag for the duration of the show. I'm still trying to get my mind around that one! J, who is 7, announced, "that was weird." I rather agree.



If We Never Meet Again This Side Of Heaven
From "My Mother's Hymn Book"
Johnny Cash


Soon we'll come to the end of life's journey
And perhaps we'll never meet anymore
'Til we gather in Heaven's bright city
Far away on that beautiful shore

If we never meet again this side of Heaven
As we struggle through this world and its strife
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven
By the side of the river of life

Where the roses bloom forever
And where separation comes no more
If we never meet again this side of Heaven
I will meet you on that beautiful shore

All they say we shall by the river
Where no spurn clouds ever darken the sky
And they say we'll be happy in Heaven
In that wonderful sweet by and by

If we never meet again this side of Heaven
As we struggle through this world and its strife
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven
By the side of the river of life

Where the roses bloom forever
And where separation comes no more
If we never meet again this side of Heaven
I will meet you on that beautiful shore

"What Would My Dad Do?"

It has been a difficult time for our Pastor E. Two dear, long-time members of our church family passed away this week and several others are very, very sick. They are scattered, as patients, in hospitals from one end of the city to our west to the other end of the city to our east. Additionally, we had scheduled a "fun" event to chase away the winter doldrums this past Saturday - a slideshow of our Pastor's father's pictures taken during "The Bird Man's" many travels to and around Norway. Even if E. didn't hold a full time job away from the church, this might be a lot to "get the mind around."

(Side note about The Bird Man - he led the movement to bring back the dwindling Blue Bird population in our state, by building and installing hundreds upon hundreds of Blue Bird boxes).

Perhaps it was the process of going through his father's slides, or the fact that his father was a founding member of the church along with the missionary who passed away that made him ask this question, "what would my dad do?"

(Our building was once and abandoned, decaying church structure, filled with wild animals, cast away pews and furniture, and bee hives. It was "left for dead" until a small group of dedicated people prayed over it, bought it, and then God sent money, volunteers, and equipment to bring it back to life.)

The lesson in Sunday School was taken from his father's Bible. We looked at Philippians 4:6-7, the only two verses underlined by "The Bird Man of the Swamp" in his personal Bible. In the margin he'd written, "my two favorite verses."

From The New American Standard Bible (NASB)

6 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all [a]comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

In other words..."let God know what worries you and where you'd like to go and then, let God do the driving."

(I enjoy Laura Storey's song that speaks to this same idea, "I Can Just Be Me.")

It also occurred to me that I had never, at least that I could remember, asked myself "what would my dad do?" (I'd asked myself plenty of times, however,"what would my grandpa do?")

Until last night. When faced with a rock-solid, frozen, gallon and 1/2 bucket of Schwann's ice cream. I found myself laughing when I remembered that clearly, my Dad would have "thawed" it in the microwave.

Funeral March

Many years ago I heard our pastor tell a story. He had gone to sit with a couple who had lost a son while the young man was living in another state. The parents couldn't afford to bring his body home, nor could they afford to have a funeral service.

Pastor went out to his car, took out his guitar, and held an impromptu memorial service right there in the family's trailer.

At the moment I heard this story I vowed that my children would play music, if, for no other reason, but to comfort others.

Now the two oldest boys sing at funerals. I learned last night that a friend of ours who just passed requested that the choir sing "The Battle Hymn of The Republic" at his service. J, now 18, always plays the snare drum and adds a big, passionate ending to that song.

His performance reminds me of the song, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Please allow me to explain.

Last summer, at the American Legion Boys State, a drummer from the U.S. Army Band played for the participants and challenged them to drum duals. J sat by, quietly, until everyone present had been beaten. Then a kid who knew him, suggested he give it a go.

J is BEAST on the drum (think of The Muppet's "Animal.")He sweats, his tongue sometimes slips out, and his hands move in perfect rythem. The U.S. Army Band drummer admitted defeat.

I cried in public when he played The Battle Hymn for our annual fouth of July service. How will I keep it together during Terry's funeral?!

A woman very dear to me, from my childhood, was buried on Wednesday. This Sunday, we will celebrate the going-home of a long-time missionary to our church, Miss Winters. Last weekend we hosted two little boys while their parents spent hours, bedside, at the hospital where their grandfather was clinging to life. This has been such a long, difficult winter - so hard on the frail and elderly.

I found this today...

Be agreeable. Be sympathetic. Be loving. Be humble.

That goes for all of you.
No exceptions. No retaliation.
No sharp-tongued sarcasm.

Instead, bless.
That's your job. To bless.

from 1 Peter 3:9


Follow-up 3/3/14
the choir sang "Battle Hymn of The Republic" and J played the snare drum for the memorial service. Midway through the song, Terry's widow stood up and saluted them. It was beautiful. I cried and cried.

Friends in the Age of Facebook

What would the sitcom "Friends" have looked like if it took place in the digital world of Facebook? At first I imagine status updates posted on the apartment doors. Instead of conversations around the kitchen table, in the coffee house and in the living rooms, the characters message one another asynchonously or, by chance, log into the site at the same time (cue pop-up sounds).

It was time for me to take a Facebook fast.

At first, I couldn't verbalize exactly why I knew it was time. Since then, I've been asked to articulate my reasons. Here are a few, in no particular order.

1. A healthy mind is uncluttered. With the insertion of ads and the advent of the timeline, Facebook had begun to feel VERY cluttered. I felt overwhelmed by information and emotion inside the site. How was God's "still small voice" going to EVER get through all that clutter?

2. I want to be sure that I'm a good friend in the real world. Even though I can post encouraging words to people's walls, or post inpiring quotes on my own wall, I felt that my commitment to blessing others in the real-world had dwindled. Certainly, encouraging others in the physical world takes more time, money and effort. But what if we all started to lean toward "Facebook charity" instead of helping our neighbors in a real, physical way?

3. I had become uncomfortable with "too much information." Through Facebook, I was learning about parties, divorces, debts, hook-ups, and other sensitive topics that I probably shouldn't have seen. I could see judgement creeping into my heart, setting down its ugly, bitter roots.

4. This in non-violent resistance to the assumption that communicating on Facebook IS a relationship. People who used to celebrate holidays or visit with us now post a greeting on Facebook instead. They watch our activites and view photos of the children growing up. But they no longer stop in or call. Perhaps, they assume, they are still "keeping in touch" through the site?

Here's to hanging out, building deep relationships, writing long letters, and dropping in. I hope that these are things my children (and their FRIENDS) will still be able to experience in the future.

Digital Download Aggragators (or Digital Aggravation)

My oldest son's band just recorded its first CD. Two of the bandmates are now working on sound mixing and "cleaning up" the files from their recording sessions. Another bandmate is working on T-shirt design and production. They've printed CD jackets and they've produced several CDs for sale ($7! And, if you hurry, you can own one of only a few autographed editions).

Last night I asked the boy how we could celebrate this accomplishment. Because I'm headed to a record release party for another band, with a concert and a "meet and greet" session, it had occurred to me that we hadn't officially recognized the "birth" of his first CD.

"Money would be nice," he replied. He would also like our help to research and evaluate digital download aggragators. These are, in short, companies that work between small bands and Itunes, to negotiate and provide support for digital downloads...for a fee.

This is definitely not something I have much experience with. In fact, I've recently rejected Itunes and digital media libraries all together.

I'm no longer a fan of E-books. I'm done with music downloads. What was once digital enchantment has become digital aggravation.

I don't want to fight pop-ups, malware, buffering, and advertisements all day long. I don't want to see the oversexualized and sometimes violent images that creep up so often, even on reputable news sites.

Instead, I love to listen to entire albums start to finish. It's pleasant to lend them to friends, or to pass them on to charity imagining that someone else, a complete stranger, might enjoy the same experience.

A live concert? Even better! I'm really looking forward to tonight's City Harbor release party.

The Hazy Shade of Winter

I was born in the winter, and, as far back as I can remember, it snows on my birthday. This year there is a doosie of a winter storm in the forecast for Wednesday.

I'm celebrating 44 as if I were four...with paper and beads in shades of pink and purple. Filled cupcakes. Stuffed animals.

I realized, this year, that I'm not sure where I was living when I celebrated my actualfourth birthday.




The Hazy Shade of Winter
Songwriter: SIMON, PAUL
(as performed by The Bangles)


Time,
Time,
Time, see what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities.

I was so hard to please.
Look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Hear the Salvation Army band.
Down by the riverside's
Bound to be a better ride
Than what you've got planned.

Carry your gun in your hand.
Look around.
Leaves are brown.
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Hang on to your hopes, my friend.
That's an easy thing to say,
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend that you can build them again.
Look around,
The grass is high,
The fields are ripe,
It's the springtime of my life.

Seasons change with the scenery;
Weaving time in a tapestry.
Won't you stop and remember me

Look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.
Look around,
Leaves are brown,
There's a patch of snow on the ground.