A week of Fridays and cheap unity

After the fun and relaxation of the Thanksgiving break, I went back to work full-tilt and was astonished when Tuesday felt like Friday, when Wednesday felt like Friday, when. . . you get the picture.  My, what a long week!

Add to that a few mind-racing early  morning ponderings on the topic of cheap unity.  In our staff's study of the book of Philippians, we came across that phrase, and it has been challenging me all week.  So what is cheap unity?  It's unity that doesn't seem to have a cost, that doesn't require much. 

At three this morning (sigh) I realized that cheap unity, getting along with no conflicts, but also no expectations, is actually quite costly.  I won't grow, you won't grow, and actually, dealing with the same unresolved frustrations inherent in such relationships might be more work than actually having a little conflict to solve the problem.

I'm worried that the majority of us are so conflict-averse that we sometimes choose to avoid problems rather than to have hope that maturing people can finds ways to solve them.  Speaking the truth in love is too scary, too fraught with the possibility of rejection.  But, as a wise person once said to me, "It might also push you forward to something good.  What's the worst thing that could happen?  What is the best thing that could happen?"

Much to chew on. . .

Count It All Joy

Count it all joy.  I love those words from the apostle Paul.  This weekend, joy looked like:

Mom's face when Joel walked into the kitchen on Thursday.  Our family--I repeat OUR FAMILY--kept a secret (amazing!), and Mom was overwhelmed.  Thank you, Joel, for flying in from Phoenix and making us all very happy!

Hanging out with my sister Em and her family--love you all!

Having Ben around, learning new board games, critiquing old episodes of "Parks and Recreation", admitting, finally, that Leslie Nope DOES act like an 8 year old (but I will still like her) and laughing, laughing, laughing together. . .

Hearing from Maria that her Texas Thanksgiving was wonderful, filled with hiking, good food and the warmth of new friends. . .

And finally, introducing Allie to his first U.S. Thanksgiving feast and telling him about the leftover meal that would follow just 3 hours later. . ."You're kidding, right?"  "No, I am not."

All joy.

a poem, maybe 2

poetry in Iowa  3/29/11

earth's dirt-smudged cheeks
covered with graying stubble
awaiting spring's rain



Flight 1570 to Seattle  11/2/11

He pulls the lavatory door open
Startled, sees himself in the mirror
A moment of recognition, wide-eyed
The door closes

Could we have a guild?

Last night, at the fundraiser for Ruminate Magazine, a "little magazine" that encourages us to chew on life, faith and art, the speaker talked for a few moments about guilds.  He spoke of how the magazine has provided a space for thousands of artists, writers and readers to respond to each others' work, to encourage one another, and to enjoy the power of words and art.

Since I'm a reader, I guess I'm part of that guild.  However, as an occasional writer, I'd also like to be part of a more intimate guild where others respond to my  ideas and words. Since I don't have a writers' network in place, this blogging world may be the primary place to share writing.  But since I currently only have an audience of two (Hey, Ben and Maria!), I may need to work out a few more details for this plan.  Hmmmmmmmmmmm. . .

Can Seinfeld be in my cloud?

I read an interesting piece in the magazine Ruminate where the author talks about the "cloud of witnesses" who are present in her writing.  Voices, snippets of conversation, emotions. . . it started me thinking about the voices in my head that speak out in my writing and conversation.

Of course, there's Mom's clever use of language, Dad's sparkle in his eyes telling yet another adolescent joke (or perhaps the same one), Jerry's valiant effort to keep a straight face and psuedo-earnest gaze as he says something both clever and understated. . .

To be honest, however, I find that much of my inner dialogue (and occasional outer dialogue as well) has a distinctly Seinfeldish tone.  My response yesterday to a bumper sticker-covered car ("My son is a Marine!  I love the Marines!  Semper Fi!") was to ask with feigned interest to the anonymous (and unhearing) driver ahead, "So, what does your son do for a living?"   Elaine and Jerry chortled with me.

When Seinfeld was first popular, people worried that the show was about "Nothing--how could a whole show about nothing?  Is our existence so banal?  Is there no meaning or purpose beyond existential angst?"

Whatever (eye roll, thank you, Elaine.) 

I prefer to find pleasure in mining the absurd, the comical, the ridiculous, and the just plain funny.  It makes me laugh and occasionally feel clever.  Sometimes VERY clever.  And if my audience of one is amused, all the better. 

So. . . that's it.  No  profound point. . .

Fiestaware musings. . .

I was in an antique store and started talking Fiestaware with the owner.  Her eyes lit up as she described how her mother would take them at Christmas to the store in Knoxville that carried Fiestaware dishes.  They would pick out one new color each year.  She went on to tell me about how much fun they would have arranging place settings at the 4H fairs, using all the different colors.  When she finished talking, we grinned at each other, knowing that we both are part of the Fiestaware fan club for life.

As a person who doesn't care much about stuff, I'm a little surprised at how much I enjoy looking at all the pretty plates in my cupboard.  A little bit of beauty, a delightful blend of colors, mixing and matching. . . an occasional visit to a garage sale or  ebay to add one more color. . .

My children are bemused by this hobby, Jerry is perplexed. . . but my niece is starting a set, my nephew has a set, and Maria is gladly taking the latest set of 8 Fiestaware plates I found at a garage sale.   Gotta love it :)

Love covers a multitude of sins. . .

Our after-church discussion landed on the verse "Love covers a multitude of sins."  Having exhausted the I Corinthians passage on wonderful actions done without the benefit of love (and how they thus meant nothing), we found solace in knowing that with love, even our imperfect attempts at patience, civility and generosity are draped with a wondrous blanket of grace.  One participant in the conversation marveled that with our love, another's sins (a multitude no less) are somehow covered. I found comfort in knowing that our actions of love also cover over a multitude of our own messy, hurtful sins.

It's what I love about God--layer after layer of meaning, speaking to each of us, challenging us to love deeply, preparing us for tomorrow's encounters, frustrations and joys.

A good Sunday. . . 

bluegrass musings

I was listening to an interview with Gillian Welch today, and I realized anew that there is a bluegrass girl hiding in this soul.  I felt every line as I sang along to "Orphan Girl", though I have a mother, a father, a sister, and a brother. 

I can't listen to an Emmylou CD without singing every part, imagining that Neil Young just might show up for a singalong at MY house too, and that Allison Krauss is welcome with her fiddle at any time.

I put out a facebook request for a bluegrass jam, and I do believe people thought I was joking.  I AM NOT.  I don't need to be on stage, I don't even need to learn to play another instrument.  I just want a group to sing in as many parts as we want, sitting around my living room.

Are there any other bluegrass wannabees out there?