First Day

As I shook off the last remnants of sleep this morning, I heard the school bus go down the street, scavenging for any highschooler unlucky enough to have neither a driver’s license and a car nor a friend willing to pick him up.  It’s the first day of school.

Just the sound of the bus can conjure up the feelings of anticipation when, as children on the first day of school, we realized that we had come one more step closer to paradise—that day when we would be adults and school was out for us forever.  We would be free to do what we wanted, with no one ordering us around, no homework, and we wouldn’t be confined to a desk seven hours a day.  We had no idea that we were one step closer to the ultimate disillusionment:  adulthood would never be as carefree or unrestricted as any childhood day of summer vacation.  But we didn’t know that then.  We looked forward to seeing friends, finding our new classroom, and finally opening that new box of crayons.

Now I teach young people on the cusp of adulthood.  In a couple of weeks, they’ll leave their parents and homes, and move into our dorms.  They will look forward to studying the field they’ve chosen, making lifelong friends, and perhaps finding that one true love.  It will be their first taste of what adulthood will be like, and it will be a shock.  Yes, there will be parties, but there will also be laundry.  Yes, there are no enforced bedtimes, but there will be 7:15 classes.  Yes, there will be freedom to go out for Taco Bell every night, but such indulgences will cost precious spending money, and Mom’s not around to hand out  a twenty. 

For now, let’s just revel in the remembered smell of pencil shavings, sweeping compound, sweaty children, and chalk dust.  Good luck on the first day of school; may it really be all you’ve dreamed.

I bought myself a new box of crayons.

In the 45 minutes before the next class. . .

here is my November list of small things I am thankful for:

• the alum that just walked through my door to pick up his yearbook. His compliments to our school have put a smile on my face that won't be fading anytime soon. Interesting--he was not one of my students.
  
• the ability to be creative. I love teaching, but my real creativity comes out when I work in the arts.
• my cleaning person. When I go home this evening, my house will be spotless, so I can concentrate on being with my husband and preparing for guests this weekend. I won't be frazzled by having to make sure the house passes the white glove inspection.
• facebook. While facebook may make our lives too transparent, it has given us the ability to stay in contact with people we don't see regularly--but would like to.
  
• my iPod. It has to be on my list of those unnecessary possessions I would hate to live without. Right now, Brahms is playing in my office.
• interruptions. Since I obviously can't prevent them, I'll try to enjoy them. One of the reasons God gave us the church was so that we would be connected not just to Him, but to each other. Every interruption is a chance to connect with another person, usually a brother or sister in Christ.
  
• ears that work. For most of the last month, my ears have been plugged up, so my hearing has been distorted. I am appreciating being able to hear with clarity.
• new friends--and old ones. New friends are always exciting, since there is so much to find out about the other person. Old friends know you and your flaws. There is no awkwardness, since your flaws are already known, and you have the joy of a shared history.
• the Coffeepot of Consolation (the Keurig machine in my office). Sheldon Cooper might joke about offering a hot beverage to someone who is depressed, but being able to be hospitable in a small way is a great joy. There are not many more pleasurable activities than sharing tea (or coffee, or hot chocolate, or chai, or--you get the idea) with someone along with a conversation. It's even better when there's a little leftover Halloween candy in the drawer.

May you all find small things that enrich your life.

The Path Back

I have not always been a good money manager. If it weren´t for my husband, who is good at money, and the radio advice of Dave Ramsey, I'd be far worse off than I am. But through hard work and discipline, I can say that the family funds are pretty healthy right now. Discipline is not pleasant; our culture preaches the value of immediate gratification, and credit cards make purchasing our "wants" now all too easy. Eventually, though, the day of reckoning will come, and the hard choices have to be made--and they will be even more painful since we have become used to living beyond our means.

If a household is spending more than it takes in, there are really only two choices: cut spending or increase income. Digging out of the financial hole will be quicker if you do both methods at once, but even with a second job, you're in for an austere time. Instead of eating steak, it will be Aldi's brand Chicken Noodle soup, with generic peanut butter on no-name bread. No eating out, no vacations, no new clothes, no luxuries until the bills are caught up.

With this in mind, I would remind our elected officials--who have been spending like teenagers with a new credit card, paid for by Daddy--that the bills will come due. Our national debt is disgraceful and dangerous to our security, and we must mend our ways. Unfortunately, this means cutting spending and/or increasing revenue. Since no one in Washington seems to grasp this concept and put forth a plan, here is mine:

Immediately chop the budget of all departments 10%, across the board. (Note that 10% is in today's budget, not the expected increase in the budget.) Each department head decides where the 10% comes from, whether to lay off employees, reduce salaries, or turn off the air conditioning.

Eliminate pension benefits for all federal employees under age 45. They will have the ability to use IRAs just like the rest of us. Pensions for those between 45-55 will be only 1/2 the current amount. Those over 55 will receive whatever pensions they have today.

No new federal programs--for anything--unless a federal program is eliminated, and the savings must meet or exceed the cost of the new program.

Every wage earner must pay federal income tax, with a new minimum tax rate of 5%. When all pay, fewer people will clamor for benefits paid for by others.

Every federal worker must contribute, out of pocket, to his/her own health insurance plan.

Pensions for congresspeople, and senators will be prorated, based on 20 years of service. Anything less gets a smaller pension--just like the rest of the working world. Their pensions will also be subject to the pension rule above: if you're under 45, you don't get one.

Forget "prevailing wage" rules. Contracts go to the lowest bidder, and if that means carpenters made $25/hour instead of $30, so be it. We can no longer afford "Cadillac" payouts.

This is obviously not a complete plan, but it is, at least, a start. As I tell my English students, it's easier to revise something that exists, so get something down on paper and go from there.

My Life Right Now

Reading: churched: one kid's journey toward God despite a holy mess, by Matthew Paul Turner. This is a gift from my daughter and son-in-law, who know I enjoy funny books about religion. So far, it's sarcastic--and depressing. The idea that some of us have to come to love God in spite of our church is just sad. But the writer's style is enough to keep me reading, even though I don't really want to see myself or my church in what he writes.


Enjoying: The Daily Audio Bible, read by Brian Hardin. This is strangely addicting. I've read the Bible over and over, but this is really the first time I've heard it. Free podcast, available on iTunes. Check it out.


Hearing: The Priests. They have a couple of albums out now, both of which I have. 3 guys, singing sacred music, most of it classical.


Drinking: Celestial Seasonings English Breakfast Tea, from Professor Perrey's Coffeepot of Consolation. This may be the only coffeepot with its own facebook group.


Planning: Meaningful assignments for the fall semester of Reading, English Comp. I, and College Study Skills.


Knitting: a shawl of variegated pink silk and gray sparkly mohair, and a baby blanket of blue acrylic that I wish I liked better than I do.


Forgetting: Lunch, again. Sigh.


Wishing: for vacation time. Maybe the end of July?

The Winter of My Discontent

I’m not sure that 2010 has had much to recommend it so far. Bitter cold, rain, fog—the whole month seemed to be one long, dank ice cave. And then it got worse.

I tripped over my own feet coming out of church and fell down. A mighty boom it was, with an impressive owey. I fractured the head of the radius up near the elbow. For the 98% of us who don’t know what a radius is, let’s just say I broke my right elbow. Instantly, my life changed. Simple things like dressing and eating were now difficult. Fixing my hair was impossible—as was dressing without assistance. Turning the page of a book was agony.

Now, a week and a half later, with 3 physical therapy sessions, I am better. Not great, but improved. I can dress myself, and if the fork is long enough, eat. I can knit and read, but not without pain. Vicodin and I don’t get along well, so I don’t fear turning into the English professor version of Dr. House, but I understand how chronic pain can make sunny tempers turn thunderous.

So now, the great lessons (for what good is life experience if you can’t draw lessons from it?):

· Pain can, indeed, draw you to God. It’s much easier to find time to read the Bible when the only thing you can do is read (or listen).

· You’ll be surprised at who cares about you—and who does not. At the church I’ve served week in, week out for more than 20 years, only one senior staff member called (or facebooked or emailed or snail-mailed) to check up on me. Facebook friends have been free with their prayers, as have students. The church where I play the piano once a month, though, sent a card signed by nearly all the regular attenders.

· It’s OK to ask for the help you need.

· Your safe, secure life can be turned upside down in an instant.

I’m looking forward to spring, which the groundhog assures me is only 5 weeks and 6 days away. May it be sunny and warm, and may I learn to walk upright (without training wheels).

Angry Conservative Rant

I am an angry conservative. Maybe I’m a little less angry today than yesterday, but angry nonetheless. I am more than tired of being ignored, and when I can’t be ignored, belittled and treated as though I am too stupid to realize my ideas don’t matter. I think it is past time for politicians to wake up and remember that they are public servants.

Yes, I said servant. That means that my elected representatives are there to represent me and my neighbors—to serve our interests, not to determine them. When we can no longer call, email, or write our elected representatives and get any kind of response, favorable or not, the servant has forgotten his/her position. Our public servants are absolutely convinced that they have become our masters, and now want to tell us what we must or must not do. We must buy certain kinds of insurance (but not too much, lest we have more than our neighbors). We must not resell children’s toys, furniture or clothing (because manufacturing rules have changed, and we are not competent to determine what will be unsafe for younger children—who must be more fragile than the children who preceded them). We must allow them to spend ever more of our money for nonsensical things and not say a thing. Should we whimper about the injustice, we are condescendingly reminded that it is our duty to support those who have less, whether or not their poverty is the result of poor choices.

It is time to remember Joseph, the biblical example of the good servant. Though he was involuntarily a servant, the Bible tells us that he served so honorably that his bosses (Potiphar, the jailer, and finally, Pharoah) had no care because Joseph was in charge. He could be trusted to deal honestly, wisely, and to his master’s benefit with everything under his care. Our current public servants must be watched like unhousebroken puppies. When out of our sight, they will tear up the furniture, sleep on our pillows, and then pee on the rug. When discovered, they will put on the innocent face, hoping we will love them anyway.

Sorry, Congress. You’re not a lovable puppy; puppies can eventually be trained. You are the corrupt sociopath who has no conscience. You will do anything to maintain your own power and further your own agenda. So do not be surprised when your masters—us—find you revolting and throw you out.

And be glad you’re not a puppy. Untrainable, aggressive dogs get put to sleep.

Ask a Grown-Up

Yesterday I heard an ad for Dial-a-Psychic, giving a sample question. It occurred to me that what the caller needed was not a psychic; any competent adult could have given him decent advice after asking a few logical questions. A better service could be provided by eliminating the psychic component and renaming it Dial-an-Adult.

So many problems could be fixed with just a little Adult advice. Dating issues, child-rearing problems, and budget troubles could all be cured with a little input from someone with her head screwed on straight. Take these examples:

Caller: Joe isn’t the kind of guy I’d want to marry, but it’s OK to have a couple of dates, isn’t it?

Adult: And what is the purpose of dating if not to find a marriage partner? Don’t waste your time (and maybe your life).

Caller: I don’t understand why my kids won’t behave. I love them so much, and I just want to be their friend.

Adult: Kids don’t want parental friends; they want PARENTS! Get up and discipline them. Use time-outs, deprivation of favorite activities, and good, old-fashioned chores. If your children don’t behave, it’s probably because you were so concerned that they wouldn’t like you that you abdicated your role as the grown-up in your household. You must consistently, lovingly, and sometimes physically assert your dominance. They may tell you they hate you, but somewhere down the road they will thank you.

Caller: My credit cards are maxed out, and I just don’t know how I’m going to provide Christmas for my kids this year. Can you recommend an agency to help?

Adult: Sorry. Sometimes the best lessons your kids learn are hard ones. You messed up your credit? Too bad; your kids won’t have a Toys-r-Us Christmas. This year, you will have to do your Christmas shopping at the thrift store and garage sales or make items from what you have on hand. If your budget is underfunded, have a family meeting and let your kids know that sacrifices have to be made by everyone. Then cut up those cards and begin to pay your debts.

Adult advice could help many people. Unfortunately, most people don’t want to behave like adults because responsible living means self-denial, delayed gratification, and hard work. Dial-an-Adult is a great idea which will never work. It’s easier to call a psychic.

Anybody need a mint?

Several weeks ago our church hired a new senior minister. The getting-to-know-you phase is almost over, for which I’m sure everyone is grateful. One of his first sermons dealt with making the most of evangelistic opportunities, and he encouraged us to invite someone we knew to church. To remind us, we were handed Lifesaver mints with instructions not to eat the mint until we had invited one person.

I thought this was a hokey idea, and my first inclination is always to balk at orders, but I saved the mint, and it looked at me in silent reproach each time I opened my change purse. You see, between working here at the college and volunteering at the church, I know almost no one who isn’t already a Christian and active in a home church. Even my next-door neighbors on one side attend our church, and the ones on the other side have made it pretty clear that they don’t like to be repeatedly invited. So, I kept the mint for a month and finally tossed it out; it was pretty hairy-looking, even through its plastic wrapping.

But the idea wouldn’t die. Last night I went to get my hair cut and the grays covered. The stylist was very busy, and we started late. I thought my hair was almost done when she sighed, exasperated, and said, “This is just unacceptable—we’ll have to do it over.” My stubborn gray roots had not processed correctly, so I knew I was in for another hour at least, dashing my hopes of stopping by Kohl’s to see what was on sale. I made an offhand comment about my husband being at Journey to Bethlehem practice so he wouldn’t mind if I were late. At that point the conversation turned. My stylist said she and her family had come to Journey every year since she was 12, and she was looking forward this year to bringing her boyfriend and their little boy. I waited for my hair to process, and she went on to her next clients, a little girl and her mother. I sat in the next chair while she turned the girl into a princess, and began to get excited as she invited the girl and her family to attend Journey.

After they left, she went back to finishing my stubborn hair. By this time, the salon was empty, and she became more serious. She had not had any religious training as a child, and she said the first time she heard the Christmas story was at Journey. Now that her son is 2, she is looking for a church where she can find out more about Jesus, a church where her son will be welcomed so that he won’t have to wait for a pageant to learn about Christ. I explained the many opportunities for Bible study at our church, and made sure she had the service times. As I left, I wished her a Merry Christmas and told her I would see her in January. She said, “No, I think you’ll see me Sunday.”

Sure wish I had a mint.

My Thankful List

When I ask my students to name things for which they are grateful, they are fond of giving Sunday School answers. They are thankful for Jesus, for safe travel, for the college’s free tuition, and so on, but I wonder if they—and I—forget the small, ordinary blessings we have, those things which escape our attention until we don’t have them. Now, before I have them make their lists, I will make my own.

These are the small things I am thankful for:

1. An inviting house to come home to every night. It’s even better when my husband gets there before me and has the fire going and candles lit. Getting Pug Therapy while relaxing in my Happy Chair makes the trials of the day fade.

2. My Kindle. I hate to be bored, but I just can’t take enough books around with me to be sure that I will have a book with me that I want to read. My Kindle holds an entire library and fits in my (grandmother-sized) purse.

3. Sunsets over Creve Coeur Lake. The sun sets at just about the time I go home, and the colors of the sky over the lake and the Missouri River remind me that God still has all of the crayons in the celestial crayon box.

4. Watching students spontaneously stop to pray with one another. They are building friendships with each other and growing closer to God.

5. My iPod, with its semi-custom fitted earphones. Christmas music in your ears does wonders on a gloomy November day.

6. The ability to make things. I love to give gifts, particularly gifts that are spontaneous. My stash of stuff helps me turn out cards and projects quickly.

7. Starbucks instant coffee. Ready when I need it—usually about 2 in the afternoon.

8. My car, the Reverend Mother. It’s not small, but it gets me where I need to go, comfortably. I don’t want a new car as long as this one runs.

9. The DVR. We can watch shows without having to endure the temptation of commercials, and the shows consume less time. We can go to bed at an earlier hour without feeling we are missing something.

10. Podcasts. The ones I listen to are free, and range from the best parts of Prairie Home Companion to Bible study to knitting. I put in my earbuds, press a button, and get education and entertainment while I accomplish something else, like knitting.

My list could continue, but ten items are enough for now. Enjoy the small things in your life, and remember that God doesn’t just give us the huge blessings; he cares enough to let us find joy in small things, too.

Eight Years Ago Today

Eight years ago today dawned bright, clear, and beautiful—the perfect September day. My family busied itself getting ready for the day, just like any other normal Tuesday. I remember curling my hair, listening to the radio reports of a plane flying into the World Trade Center. I had visions of a tragically off-course Cessna, and hoped no great damage had been done to the buildings. During breakfast, my son and I watched TV coverage, and realized that the hole in the building was much too large for a private plane. About that time, we saw the second plane hit the other tower. (I did not realize at that time I was watching the sister of one of my internet friends die; she was a passenger.) My son and I looked at one another as the reality of what we had seen dawned on us: this was a planned event, and the United States was under attack.

Unable to discern the best course of action would be, I headed off to work, listening to my car radio. A reporter inside the Pentagon described a loud noise, then said he had to get off the air. He was being evacuated. A short time later, the radio announcer reported that all airspace was being closed and no civilian takeoffs would be allowed. My college was under the flight path for planes using Lambert Field, so you could always see contrails overhead. That morning, one by one, those contrails dissolved into the clear blue sky and were not replaced. At that point, I realized how accustomed I’d become to sounds of planes. Suddenly, it was quiet.

Lacking any directives otherwise, I went to my class, but no teaching was accomplished. Instead, I answered what questions I could. My students, all 18-20 years old, wanted to know about the draft and whether I thought it would be necessary. They knew, immediately, that we were at war. Students who were members of the National Guard and the reserves received orders to make ready to report for active duty.

After class, we watched replays of the towers crashing. We would watch the same scenes, over and over, for days, still trying to process the idea that this was real, not cinematic special effects.

The rest of the day was a blur. No one knew who had attacked us, or why, or even how many planes were involved. We knew there had been 4 crashes; we didn’t know if there were more. Reporters, lacking confirmed information, repeated any rumor they heard. What we did know was that we were terribly proud to be Americans, and we grieved the loss of all as though they were our own family.

I was the faculty advisor for Campus Crusade for Christ. The members of the club sensed what was needed on campus, and went about arranging a prayer service. That day, the whole campus—students and faculty—came together to pray for the families of the dead, the leaders of the country, and ourselves. That day, the small gathering of Christians on a secular campus was the church—unified and loving. That day, we all remembered to say “I love you” lest we not have another chance.

No one hopes for another tragedy. Too bad tragedy was what it took to realign our values. Let’s not forget again—be the people we were 8 years ago today.

Today's Gratitude List

1. Picture of a smiling granddaughter as my computer wallpaper. She’s happy and healthy, and we are blessed.
2. Better than expected papers from my English class. We won’t have to spend as long on the beginning steps, so there will be more time to learn to write well.
3. Good attitudes from students, which make it easier to maintain a positive outlook myself.
4. My dinner menu is planned, and I have everything on hand to make it. Now we can eat and still have time left to enjoy the evening after dinner’s over.
5. Not even one person has asked me a computer question today, so I have had time to do my own work uninterrupted.
6. The shuffle feature on the iPod works well. I’m not even skipping the Christmas songs today.
7. My dogs still love me--especially when I have bones in my hand. I think my husband loves me, too, though I don't tempt him with bones.

Perspective

I lost a friend yesterday morning. She died, too soon, of a malignancy that all of the skill of the doctors couldn’t stop, in spite of all the fervent prayers offered on her behalf. She had accomplished all that God had for her to do, and he took her. She now has no need of faith, for she is in the presence of the Lord. Since there is no time in Heaven, it seems to her as though she has always been there, and this thought comforts us.

We were young women together. For the first couple of years we knew each other, one of us was always pregnant. We started a church together. I helped start a Christian school; she and her husband established a Christian daycare. Another friend and I gave her a baby shower for her second son; she threw me a party when I had my own surprise baby a year later. She sang in the choir; I played the piano. We sang in a trio together, and watched our children grow. Our church grew, too, and she worked in children’s ministry and continued in the choir. We attended Bible study together. Her husband helped mine lay my kitchen floor; in May, my husband returned the favor and helped lay the hardwood in her hall. We commiserated through remodeling projects and bought hot tubs. We drank pots of Nicaraguan coffee over after-church desserts. Once our children were all grown, we would meet in Branson for vacation. We shared an amazing night last Christmas watching the Silver Dollar City tree lighting show, and then closed down a restaurant in town (in Branson, that happens at 8 p.m. in December).

Last Easter, we went to church, where her husband, dressed as a high priest, served as a visual aid for the sermon. Afterward, we all went out to dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant where we laughed over the live goat that was part of the service, and then the conversation turned to our middle-aged aches and pains. She complained of a backache, which we all thought was because of a fall at Jazzercise. We swapped names of chiropractors. Ordinary meal, ordinary conversation—we just didn’t realize it would be the last time on this earth we could sip hot tea and linger over a meal. By the next weekend, she was deathly ill.

If we were younger, her death would be looked upon as a tragedy. She did die too soon—but not unusually young. For those of us in late middle age, losing a friend is a circumstance we will face with increasing frequency, until we keep our own appointment with eternity. If we live long enough, our circle of old friends will grow smaller and smaller, and there will be fewer and fewer people who remember us before our faces wrinkled and our hair turned gray. Our task now is to remember how short our time together on earth might be, and to appreciate each moment we spend. We have great and precious promises, and eternity will indeed be grand. I look forward to it with all my heart. But for now, I miss her.

Defriended

Dear (former Facebook) friend:

It has come to my attention that you “defriended” me on Facebook. This is surprising, since we have been friends close to 45 years, and a friendship of that long standing should be able to take just about anything. I am confident that I did nothing to offend you; rather, one of my family members responded critically to one of your posts. You probably think I agree with him. I do agree with his sentiment, but he was harsh. To be fair, you were commenting about recent events at my church, which used to be your church, too.

Understand, friend, that I love my church. My family has sacrificed 28 years of our lives to establish and build the body of Christ in our area. We have spent time, money, and treasure, and prayed and wept over it as much as over any member of our family. We don’t always agree with the decisions of the elders, but since my husband has served as an elder, we understand how difficult some decisions can be and how much soul-searching goes into the process. We also understand that the elders are our God-given leaders, and as members of this particular body, we must submit to them as a spiritual discipline. Unless the elders do something in conflict with scripture, submit we will. If we feel they have handled a situation poorly, we are to handle this as any other conflict—privately.

You have chosen to publicly criticize our body, and you’ve obviously reacted rashly when you were called out for this. I urge you to temper your comments with good will, since you still have friends (including me) at this church. Wish us well, as we wish your church to prosper. We may no longer worship at the same place, but we still worship the same God, and I expect to spend eternity with you. I’m just sorry, that for the time being, we won’t be practicing fellowship now.

So Long, Michael

Michael Jackson will be buried tomorrow, and the world is fascinated. Fans and the merely curious have submitted their requests to attend the funeral, and the lucky (?) have been chosen, most to honor someone they had neither met nor seen. The hoopla over the “services” strikes me as odd at best, pathetic at worst. Yes, he was a public figure. Sure, he influenced pop music for years. Of course, we are saddened—50 is too young to die, especially when you look backward, not forward, to 50.

But I am not mourning his death. MJ was a decent musician. He could carry a tune without a lot of electronic processing, but much of his music was hardly uplifting. He was a talented dancer, but his costumes and movements could be found under the dictionary entry for “lewd,” especially in his later years. His personal conduct was hardly admirable, with multiple accusations of pedophilia, a couple of sham marriages, and less than stellar parenting methods. He should have been rich beyond counting, but he did not manage his fortune and was deeply in debt. If news reports are to be believed, he also had a problem with prescription drugs, and seemed to be obsessed with transforming his appearance from black male to white female. He was most definitely not a role model for our children.

Our reaction to Michael Jackson should more properly be pity, not admiration. We cannot judge what his ultimate eternal destination will be, but we cannot reasonably say that most of his adult life brought glory to God or caused his fans to think of anything that was true, noble, right, pure, lovely, or admirable. He had great potential and squandered it along with his fortune. The willful waste of his life is the real tragedy.

In Praise of Followers

I heard a commercial yesterday for a large private university near here, advertising their mission of producing exceptional leaders.  My own college's mission statement is similar, proclaiming that we will produce servant-leaders, a mission I wholeheartedly support, since we are in the business of training ministers and leaders of ministries.  But the commercial did set me to wondering whether or not we really want everyone to be a leader, not to mention that making everyone a leader is contrary to the word’s definition. I think the time has come to get a dose of reality and train people to be educated, discerning followers.

All of us have to be followers.  All people have some authority over them--yes, even President Obama.  All of us have to learn to submit and obey.  Most of us will exercise leadership only within very narrow limits, perhaps only in our own homes, so we will spend considerably more time following instead of leading. Hence, understanding the characteristics of a good follower is important.

So what makes a good follower?  First, understanding that a follower is not the leader.  The follower must submit to the authority of the leader.  This does not mean that the follower is the slave; rather, he is the supporter and helper of the leader. The leader will go nowhere on his own, and opposition will slow or halt progress for all.

The follower, though, has an obligation to make sure the leader is heading in the right direction.  Blind following may lead to an undesirable place.  Therefore, the follower has to use discernment in choosing which leader to follow, and must be ready to speak his mind and advise the leader of obstacles.  Good leaders rely on their helpers and will listen; poor leaders will find themselves leading no one.

So we must learn to choose leaders wisely and to hold them accountable for their leadership.  We must pray for our leaders and do all we can to make the pathway smooth for all of us.  But if our leader is leading us in the wrong direction, we have an obligation to stop following.  We need to remember the saying we heard from our mothers: “If ____ told you to jump off the cliff, would you?”

The Aftermath

Our daughter got married last weekend. She married a fellow we really like, and they are very well suited to each other in terms of intellect and interests. Weddings are always stressful affairs for the families involved, but I think we managed to make it through without too much difficulty. There were glitches, but the end result was achieved: a new family was formed, with much rejoicing.

This is our 3rd child to be married, so we are familiar with the range of emotions that we can expect. This time, though, the son-in-law has lived with us for almost a year, so we didn’t just lose one person from the household; we lost two. So we scramble to find a new, temporary normal—the “baby” leaves for college at the end of the summer. Then, after almost 33 years, the husband and I will be alone again.

Do we dread this? No, not much. We enjoy our adult kids, and we also enjoy our freedom. If we want to eat dinner at 4:30—or at 8:30—we can. I can run around in my pj’s after supper and not care if my sags and bags are apparent. We can eat food our kids still find disgusting. We can rediscover what we saw in each other B.C. (Before Children). We can take hot showers (hooray for a huge water heater and only the two of us).

So here’s to the natural order of life. My spouse and I intend to enjoy our “golden years” while we can, preferably with lots of grandchildren (hear that, kids: multiply!).

My New Career

Apparently the Department of Homeland Security has decided that my next career is that of right-wing extremist.  Since I believe abortion is evil, all immigrants should be legal, the Second Amendment is still valid, big government is dangerous, and Tax Day Tea Parties are just an exercise in the right of free assembly, I definitely fit DHS's definition of extremist.  Oh--I also belong to a conservative religious group.   Oh, well.  I've changed careers before, and I guess one more time before I retire won't kill me.

Hey, Janet Napolitano--you are invited to my office for a tea party.  Have a seat on my couch and I'll brew you a cup of tea and maybe feed you a scone if I have any left.  Enjoy the lilac candles and the classical music playing on my iPod.  We'll talk.  Maybe the tranquil atmosphere will calm you down.  If not, I have a Hallmark panic button for you to press.  Get to know me, and you'll see just how extreme I really am.  I'm about the least likely person to pose a physical threat to you, but I might just threaten your own left-wing extremist view of me as a danger to the New Society.  Maybe if you left your insulated Washington hideout and met real middle Americans you wouldn't have such a phobia about us.

So Janet--see you on my couch.  

My New Hero(ine)

I watched Sarah Palin's speech last night at the RNC. I usually abhor political speeches; they're generally badly delivered, cliche-ridden propaganda pieces, and I flatly don't trust any politician to tell the truth. Maybe Palin didn't tell the truth either, and her speech had its share of old jokes and awkward pauses, but I like her. She has strength of character.

Since she was named as the VP nominee, Palin and her family have undergone nothing short of persecution. The media made sure we knew about every possible flaw: pregnant daughter, violent ex-relatives, her husband's 22-year-old DUI, special needs son. Oh--she also goes to church and urges graduates to pray for the country's leaders! The audacity! When the media begins to comment on the candidate's dress, hairstyle, and "twangy" voice, you can be sure of one thing: they are afraid of her. Since they can't find any substantive failings, media pundits resort to personal attacks.

Through all of the attacks disguised as reporting, Palin stood tall. She treated the media barbs with all the respect they deserved: she ignored them. She upheld her family, including the pregnant daughter and her gutsy soon-to-be son-in-law, and then got down to the business of making her potential boss look good. She fulfilled the traditional attack dog role of VP with well-placed barbs, all the funnier because she pointed out the truth.

The sexist attacks on Sarah Palin anger me. I, too, came of age in an era where women's roles were changing. Growing up, I thought my life would be a stay-at-home mom, not because I wanted it, but because that's what women did. I am grateful that we can now have whatever career suits us, provided we are willing to make the sacrifices. I resent deeply the intimation that Palin cannot raise her children properly without being at home. No one asks whether or not Obama or Biden should seek office because it might take time away from the kids. Palen's husband seems to be supportive and ready for a role reversal. His opinion of her running is the only one that matters.

In the words of a famous book, "Go, Sarah, go. Run, Sarah, run. Win, win, Sarah."

Emails, IV's, and a Logic Exercise

We got the coolest email yesterday from our son and his wife.  He had recorded their latest doctor's visit on his iPhone, and sent us a recording of our grandchild's heartbeat.  In the background you can hear the doctor explaining which heartbeat belonged to Mom and which to the baby.  My daughter-in-law is only about 11 weeks pregnant, but the doctor says very plainly, "And the faster one is the baby's."

Our admissions director at the college is also about 11 weeks pregnant.  She's having a bad time, and came to work over the weekend dragging an IV to keep her hydrated and fed.  Even though she feels ill most of the time, she smiles when she speaks of "the baby," and says, dreamily, "It will all be worth it."

Notice:  both babies (embryos, fetuses, buns in the oven, etc.) are babies.  Not just to their mothers, but to everyone around them--including the doctors.  Both young mothers have endured unpleasantness.  Pregnancy is neither easy nor romantic.

That got me thinking.  Last week the Obama/McCain town hall debate asked when a child was entitled to full rights.  McCain answered definitively, "at conception."  Obama waffled and said something about that being above his pay grade.  For someone who wishes to be the most powerful person in the world, he should know that there will be no one above his pay grade, so it is his duty to make up his mind.  I fear what he was trying to avoid saying was that human rights are to be reserved for the convenient, the wanted, and the perfect.  To acknowledge that view would be to acknowledge that he doesn't really believe in human rights at all, if the one needing the rights would cost time or money.  To Obama, "All men are created equal," but apparently there is debate either about what constitutes a human, or when, exactly, creation of said human has reached enough maturity to be deemed complete.  Such uncertainty about definitions ultimately leads to no definition at all.  The age at which one becomes eligible for rights could be redefined at will, so any given characteristic could mean that one was not really human.  Such was the logic that allowed the Holocaust.

Obama needs to go hear a few ultrasounds.

Here's to welcoming new babies--born and unborn!

Renewable Energy

The lights went out at church today, midway through the 3rd service.  We had just finished one set of songs, and we were about to begin another, more worshipful set, when there was the "pop" of electrical gadgetry suddenly silenced.  We were left with only the dim lighting of emergency lights--several hundred people with no sound system and no video screens.  In a church the size of ours, you come to depend on technology for sound, lighting, and climate control, but there would be no modern conveniences today.  The worship leader shifted gears in midstream, and I was glad my parents taught me to memorize hymns (both words and music).  Instead of our carefully practiced worship set with band accompaniment, we had just one singer, one piano, and a congregation relying on long-remembered hymns like "Amazing Grace."

While staffers and interns scrambled behind the scenes to find enough candles to shed light on the minister's Bible, the minister relied on his memory of the Word.  There was quiet in our building as all concentrated on hearing one voice in a place built for a thousand people.  Once in a while you could hear a baby's cry, but mostly what you heard was the silence of people straining to hear a godly man proclaim his next-to-last sermon after 60 years of preaching.

In the dim silence, God began to work.  People sang old familiar words with their hearts.  Though no one asked the congregation to stand, many stood, raised their hands, and worshiped.  At the end of the service, many came to ask for prayer.  Communion time was the most meaningful in recent memory.  At the conclusion of the service, people were reluctant to leave and stayed in their seats, praying.  The lights came on as we were dismissed, but the church was slow to empty.

All in all, this power outage made heavenly power visible.

Here's to darkness that reveals the light--the true source of renewable energy.