Rust, AKA, Destructive Distractions

“My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” – Psalm 45:1

The Goal

Psalm 45:1 is certainly a lofty goal, and one I aspire to – in theory.

Friends and supporters have asked if I’m working on a new book. It’s been a year and a half since Belabored hit the “shelves” of Amazon, and my cheering squad (without whose encouragement and prayers this novel would still be languishing on my computer) is understandably curious about my next project.

My answer is always the same.

Not yet.

Or, more accurately, I haven’t felt led to take on another major writing commitment at this moment.

To put it another way, I’m rusty in the writing department.

I did, however, recently add an item to my authorial resumé: my piece, “Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today, and December 26^th,” appears in ’Tis the Season, a compilation of Christmas essays benefiting Samaritan’s Purse. And I have taken several steps to expand my social media output and presence. Discourse, after all, isn’t found only between the covers of books or relegated to print media in these times of virtual productivity.

It never was, actually. That’s why journals and speeches and correspondence hold such great interest for biographers and readers.

So, in what way, exactly, am I deeming myself rusty?

The Problem

Well, folks, it’s the age-old problem of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair. To put it bluntly, I’m exceptionally good at distracting myself right out of the writing game.

Oh, I haven’t just been stringing dandelions into necklaces (with no disrespect intended to physical crafters, whose dexterity and fine motor skills far outweigh mine). For sure I’m accomplishing some valuable things. It’s just that, to paraphrase someone wise, the good can often be enemy of the best.

I will credit myself with one thing, though. I've been ingesting huge amounts of other people’s writing, which is often touted by those who know as a vital step to improving one’s own. That being said, after studying others’ styles, at some point one needs to pick up one’s pen, sit down at one’s keyboard, or at the very least, dictate into one of the myriad text receptacles available these days.

But, truth be told, it’s a bit painful to reengage with the writing craft once one has interrupted the habit. That’s actually been my lifelong problem – staying engaged in written pursuits. I scribble in spurts, journaling or blogging with ferocity when I’m going through some sort of life challenge, then going dormant for months on end. That’s why it was so hard for me to complete a novel.

In contrast, one of my authorial heroes, Louisa May Alcott, used to fall into what she called a vortex when creating. She would hole up for hours/days on end, frantically inking (and I mean inking by hand) pages and pages until her manuscripts met with her satisfaction. Then, off to the publisher and back to the outside world she would trot, until the next bolt of inspiration chained her to her desk again. Between bestselling novels, though, Alcott constantly journaled and wrote short stories, effectively honing her skills for the next blockbuster.

The Eye Opener

Despite human frailties, God has ways of forcing an issue.

Last night He saw fit to visit me with a terrible dream. The particulars aren’t important; the message is. In this nightmare, I was UTTERLY DISTRACTED. I had one paramount goal, but it kept getting sidelined by details that were irrelevant. In addition, I was trying to meet some other people’s needs – demands that cropped up along the way to accomplishing my agenda – but in my futile attempts to assist others, neither their needs nor mine were getting met.

Don’t misunderstand me. Some of the urgencies trumpeting in my ear were PRETTY DARN BIG. A dying woman. The safe transport of children. Treating other people’s property respectfully. But – and here is a major BUT – in trying to tend to everyone’s needs (all at once, I might add), I was tripping all over myself and MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE.

Here’s the really important part (well, the whole dream seemed important, but this piece is especially noteworthy). Several well-meaning friends stepped in, suggesting solutions that held potential to yield smidgens of success. Even as those kind souls were offering time and energy to steady the course of my floundering vessel, the captain of that sinking ship took matters back into her own bumbling, distracted hands and capsized the boat once and for all.

As I reread that last sentence, I identify a huge part of the problem. I am not the captain. There is only one Captain, and His name is Immanuel.

I take orders from Him and would do well to remember that.

Even as I type this article, which has been patiently hanging around on my hard drive for a week, another diversion sirens me. Friends, I’ve been awake since the wee hours of the morning after having that disturbing dream, knowing FOR SURE God is giving me yet another opportunity to Sit. Down. And. Write.

Wouldn’t you know it? Life throws yet another monkey wrench into my plans and offers to distract me – at 5:45 AM!

An important disruption, mind you. Important enough that I could persuade myself that this latest urgency warrants interrupting my work.

But that would mean losing momentum.

Momentum which badly needs to be maintained after so many fits and starts.

The Need for Discernment

As I’m arguing with myself about pausing versus proceeding, the Lord uses Denzel Washington, of all people, to set me straight. I recall a movie he starred in years ago in which his character, Eli, had received a vital commission. Along the way, numerous troubling distractions threatened the fulfillment of that crucial task. At those fork-in-the-road moments, he audibly reminded himself, “Stay on the path. It’s not your concern.”

A case could be made that Eli should have taken a break from his calling to address some life and death situations affecting others. Perhaps that is so. But consider the following.

Corrie ten Boom told a story of being present while a fellow inmate in the concentration camp was suffering cruelly at the hands of an SS guard. Knowing she was powerless to help, Corrie allowed herself to look away and focus on the beauty of a skylark instead of the violence around her.

Was it cowardice that kept Corrie from trying to intervene? Or was it pragmatism? Had she said or done anything, she would almost certainly have been tortured and possibly killed along with the prisoner she was vainly trying to help.

Then who would have told her story to millions, giving a firsthand report of the carnage inflicted by power-driven Nazis, and offering the world hope even in the deepest of pits?

Corrie knew the horror she was witnessing that day – and it WAS HORRIBLE – was not her (immediate) concern.

The Greatest Man of Business

If that sounds callous, let us remember two things. First of all, just because something isn’t on our to do list today doesn’t mean God won’t put it there tomorrow. In the case of the beaten prisoner, the Lord guided Corrie to focus her thoughts on the glorious skylark He had provided so she could endure the unendurable in that moment. Later, after she was released, she would write about witnessing this monstrous act while performing the work God kept her alive to do.

Which brings me to my second point.

That which is not our concern is God’s concern.

Jacob Marley uttered these famous words in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol: “Mankind was my business!”

But there’s a caveat, isn’t there?

Not ALL mankind is MY business.

We know that because Jesus modeled it. He healed some, but not all. He knew when it was time to get alone with the Father and recharge His batteries. He avoided distraction so it wouldn’t destroy His overarching mission.

Getting Back to Rust

What does all this have to do with rust?

Been thinking about Matthew 6:19-20:

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.”

During this season of overwhelming busyness, I’m realizing that distraction is often a precursor to destruction. For example, being overly distracted this past week with holiday doings wreaked havoc with my eating habits. Attempting too many projects in too little time resulted in too many bad food choices. My overeating and overconsumption of Christmas goodies made me annoyed with myself, as well as sleepy and less able to produce good results with my tasks.

What are the moths and rust in each of our lives that threaten to destroy (or at least undermine) our relationship with God? What thieves are stealing our time with Him?

They say that realization is key to change, that recognizing the problem is half the battle. I’m challenging myself and others to search for the underlying causes why we drift from the Lord during a season which is supposed to be devoted to Him, and adjust accordingly.

The Remedy for Rust

It’s a simple one. A compound sold in any hardware store.

Naval jelly.

When applied correctly, this miracle mix eats away that which is eating away our valuables.

I find it fascinating that this stuff is called naval jelly. There must be a reason why, but I’m going to resist the urge to look it up because that would be, um, a distraction.

What’s interesting about the name of this wondrous substance is that it points to a navigator. Navies rely on navigators, and navigators rely on true north. Any old salt worth his salt (couldn’t resist) knows he must consciously seek true north. He can’t rely fully on his compass, because forces beyond his control
will throw that thing – and his whole vessel – off course.

It's been said that Jesus is our true north. But, like the old seaman, we must realize the limitations of our own devices and seek that which is true.

Make that, the One who is true.

God bless us, everyone!

 

Inscribed

Belated Sentiments

There’s nothing like being a few days (or months) late and more than a few dollars short.

At the rate I’m going, this article about the Jewish New Year will be ready just about when our country sings Auld Lang Syne.

All kidding aside, I’m trying to finish a piece that’s been lingering on my hard drive since September.

The part of me that's Jewish (50 per cent) recently celebrated the Jewish High Holy Days. Rosh Hashanah, as it’s known, is a time for reflection and renewal, leading into Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. Although I’m WAAAY behind the curve, I want to connect these holidays to my current quest for equilibrium. I’ve been writing about this a lot in articles such as Old Age Isn’t a Deal Breaker, Problems, and most recently, Rainy Days Ahead.

As I’ve noted, the Hebrew holidays have now come and gone. But to wait another whole year to publish on the subject seems silly (not to mention the fact that reflection and renewal are never out of season).

So, without further ado or apologies for tardiness, my take on the most sacred days of the Jewish calendar.

God’s Books

I guess what’s been on my mind most is the idea of having one’s name inscribed in God’s book. Turns out there are two such books. Here I would encourage my readers to buckle up because we’re not going to shy away from talking about eternity – what God’s word says about it, as opposed to the subjective notions many hold based on “feel good” theology and/or their own conjurings (in this case I mean cogitations, but in a world increasingly drawn to darkness and the occult, it seems regrettably reasonable to expand the definition of “conjure” to include mystical arts).

Quick rationale for the ground I’m standing on with regard to this whole topic. I’ve argued previously for the credibility of the Bible based on the research of well reputed scholars (see section 2, “The Basis,” in Reclaiming the Rainbow). That said, I’m linking to a few articles from Answers Magazine, which delve into archaeological, scientific, and prophetic reasons why the Scriptures can be trusted. On that solid foundation I rest my case regarding the two books of life described in God’s word.

The idea of being inscribed in God’s book seems to have dual meanings. Perhaps the best way to delineate the two is that to be inscribed as it is represented in the Tanakh (Scriptures Christians refer to as the Old Testament) means to reside among the living, i.e., not be physically dead. In contrast, having one’s name inscribed in the Lamb’s book of life (a New Testament concept) refers to enjoying eternal life in heaven after physical death has occurred. The other option would be to face God without Christ’s sacrifice having been applied to one’s spiritual account, and therefore, not meet the criteria for eternal life. This condition, tragically, results in one’s soul – a person’s spiritual essence which remains after physical death – being eternally separated from God.

Remember, I cautioned my audience that we were going to delve into heavy spiritual stuff.

For further information to distinguish between the two books of life, see What is the Book of Life? and Is there a difference between the book of life and the Lamb’s book of life?

Biblical Inscription

Now, let’s investigate the idea of being inscribed in God’s book.

We must first realize that “inscribe” and “engrave” are often used interchangeably in the Bible to express permanently writing a message. However, the two words in English have different connotations. The former often means simply writing words on paper, such as an author inscribing his book for a reader; the latter carries the idea of carving with a tool, such as engraving a wedding ring. This confused me a bit, so I wandered around on the internet and my research took me to language scholar Skip Moen’s website. His investigation into Isaiah 49:14-16, in which God vowed to inscribe Israel on the palms of His hands, yielded the following heart stopping conclusion: “It is worth noting that God’s son also had each of us inscribed on the palms of his hands when he allowed himself to be crucified for our redemption… Our names are engraved on his hands so that he will never forget us.”

I checked out these verses in three reliable versions of Scripture using the Blue Letter Bible.* The King James Version states, “Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.” The New King James Version renders it thusly: “See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” And the English Standard Version says, “Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”

Bottom line: engraving seems so much more permanent than inscribing. Ink fades and washes away, but carvings tend to have much greater longevity.

Perhaps that’s why God chose to engrave his commandments on stone tablets rather than inking them on parchment or papyrus. These statutes were so important to our creator that he issued them twice. The first time, the Lord etched the laws himself; after Moses impulsively destroyed this set in response to the Israelites’ idolatry, God commanded him to fashion new tablets and chisel the laws onto them while God dictated.

Inscription in Daily Life

I think of my life as having many parts. These include worship and ministry, tending to my health, nurturing family, caring for my home, managing finances and resources, and writing. These facets all must be prioritized and balanced, but at times one category will overtake the others in importance. For example, if I need to purchase a vehicle or change my residence, those pieces may dominate my life’s tapestry until I get them sorted out.

All these moving parts, though, are held together by my walk with the Lord, which is a function of my private spiritual life and how well I maintain it. In other words, I dare not let activities of daily living usurp the first order of business, which is time in God’s presence. This takes the form of private and corporate prayer and Bible study.

As I’m pondering this section of the article, I’m visualizing some activities as etched in stone, so to speak, while others can be treated with more flexibility. The reason people engrave/inscribe items is to showcase their importance and lend a sense of permanence. It would be profligate and meaningless to engrave every object one owns. What then would set apart the cherished from the trivial?

Viewed in this light, it becomes obvious which aspects of life should be treated with that level of respect and reverence, versus those to be held more loosely.

So, as I conclude (finally!) my discussion of the High Holy Days, perhaps my new year’s resolution should be to continue mining my life for the inscribable instead of getting caught up in the perishable.

L’shanah tova!

 

*To compare Biblical translations, the Blue Letter Bible (https://www.blueletterbible.org/) is an excellent resource.

 

My Take on the Tyranny of the Urgent

I didn't get Monday's to do list finished. Not even close. Lots of loose ends continued dangling, and I added one more for good measure - a popped tire. An act of sheer idiocy on my part - that's all I'm going to say about it.

After AAA came and changed my tire (this was my second claim in as many months - they'd better either make me a stockholder or revoke my membership), I fought off feelings of frustration and tried to work on updating my book proposal for Belabored. 

No, it hasn't yet been published. This is simply the newest iteration of my pitch to hopefully make agents sit up and take notice of a book I believe (if I do say so myself) has great merit and mind-changing potential. 

That said, the proposal at this stage is flatter than my tire was before the AAA guy swapped it with the donut.

Which reminds me - I'm not sure which is falling apart faster, my body or my car's. The tire has now been replaced, but poor Alex has more bumps and bruises than, well, than I do at this point, and that's saying something. My left shoulder is all out of whack, rebelling angrily anytime I tie on an apron or do a jumping jack (then again, my last round of calisthenics happened around the turn of the century, so no worries there). My right wrist, not wanting to be left out, decided to go on strike at the same time. 

But, hey, I can adapt. For instance, I can hold a glass in the left hand while directing traffic with the other. As long as I don't switch up the two, all's well. 

That'll come in handy if I'm ever called upon to bus tables during a pileup.

Getting back to to do lists, Tuesday's didn't fare much better than its predecessor's. In short, life right now is a series of unchecked boxes, a dog paddling routine, a waiting game. Too many agenda items, not all of them essential, but to me they feel important.

Following through on a promise I made to the guy who gave me stellar roadside assistance the other day. Lamenting the fact that I couldn't give him a tip, I took his card and offered to write him a good review. 

Review writing takes time.

Mailing out a check with a tip for the guys who skimmed my friends and me across the back bays of North Cape May last week. The boat ride was enchanting, but we didn't have a dime between us for a tip.

A few dollars, a few more minutes.

Getting this bleeping proposal tweaked and sent off to the publishing house which expressed interest back in June! Admittedly, I haven't just been playing Tiddlywinks all summer; the publisher suggested some market research to gauge interest might make the thing look more appealing to potential agents, so I've been doing that.

Time, time and more time. 

Financial business. Thank goodness I have finances to worry about, but that's just it - if I don't manage them, who will?

Ka ching! Time is money.

Someone once told me when God made time, He made enough of it. If only I could get my gut to agree with my brain on that piece of wisdom.

This blog entry pretty much wrote itself a couple nights ago when yours truly was trying to fall asleep. After taking care of the most pressing priorities, it was either type up my notes for this or work on the proposal.

I didn't even need to flip a coin.

OK, changing gears now. I no longer feel like being amusing (assuming I was successful in that effort in the first place). Having paused the article after that last sentence, I received news of a situation requiring my action in short order. Neither the circumstances nor the deadline excites me; quite the opposite, in fact. I now have a major new obstacle redirecting me from what I thought was my top priority, the book proposal (alright, so I back burnered that in favor of blogging - what of it?). 

I hear myself sounding whiny, and feel disinclined to change my tone. I am whining, doggone it! As I suspect is the case with many writers, it's extremely difficult to rouse oneself into the writing mode when one has gotten out of practice. Perhaps it's like riding a bike in some ways - the skill does come back quickly, but not without a few tumbles and the need to reacquaint oneself with the basic mechanics of the job. When that process keeps getting interrupted, the whole re-learning curve takes that much longer.

The Tyranny of the Urgent comes to mind. I once blogged about that subject, and am feeling the same kind of angst that I did then. 

My mother once pined after Dad was admitted, yet again, to the hospital through the ER, "Where do I go to accept this?"

I find myself reshaping Mom's question thusly: "Where do I go to prioritize all this?" 

The answer was then and still is the same: the cross.

"A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps."

Proverbs 16:9

Shadowing the Master

Yesterday was another fine day.

All but the ending, that is.

My priorities were solid. Spent time with the Lord and the body of Christ in prayer and worship. Did what needed to be done, but in the right order. Put Jesus and family first.

But I allowed a "Scrooge" to shake my serenity at the end of the day.

Why does there always have to be a Scrooge stomping around and making everybody miserable?

Maybe for the same reason Caesar and Herod threw their weight around during the first Christmas celebration.

The former did his best to keep Christ's homeland under oppression and taxation that could have ruined day to day life for His parents, had they allowed it. But instead they continued with their lives, preparing for the business of marriage and family building, with the understanding that a sovereign God was in control and in charge of their futures, present circumstances notwithstanding.

The latter took things a step further, using all the resources at his disposal in an effort to make sure the Savior never got a chance to do what He came to earth to do.

Both thugs used their respective power in such a way that kept Jesus's family on the go and even on the run.

Talk about "Bah, Humbug."

Think donkey travel (or foot travel, as some suggest would have been faster because of the ass's reputation for stubbornness) in the final months of pregnancy.

Yours truly spent a few hours on a train and a plane in my ninth month, which gave new meaning to the word "misery." I can only imagine the fun expectant Mary enjoyed on the back of a brute beast (or trekking on pregnancy-swollen feet) for days on end.

Think midnight flight to another country with a toddler, on pain of death.

True, He was the Son of God, but still.

The Bible says a servant is no greater than his master. So why should I expect my Christmas to be all glittery and magical when His was full of disadvantage and death threats?

Kind of puts things in a different perspective.

"Most assuredly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master; nor is he who is sent greater than he who sent him."  

-  John: 13:16

Wrapped Up in the Wrapping

Yesterday was a fine day.

I taught Bible study in the morning. While it wasn't my finest hour (I'm finding that sermons, no matter how inspiring when one is sitting in the pew, don't always translate well into group lessons), it did reflect my refusal to curtail the important in favor of the urgent.

Next, I did a few pressing chores (after all, Christmas is only a few days away), then went home and took a nap next to the Christmas tree. This seemingly dispensable activity comes under the category of what my brother-in-law once told my toddler nephew while filling his tiny mouth with a pacifier: "Here, Brian, don't forget your personality."

Never mind that unwrapped gifts are clogging every nook and cranny of my bedroom; this small concession to sanity is worth its weight in the gold those wise men brought to the Baby in Bethlehem (who, incidentally, also knew when to shake the world off His shoulders for a few hours).

Mental stability: one. Gift wrapping: zip.

A visit from my son, Aaron, his wife, Elise, and their newly-walking son, Luca (who just happens to be the only Christmas present I'll ever need), rounded out the day. Had I yielded to the urge to make stuffing and wrap gifts while they were here, I might have missed the opportunity to have an important talk with my kids, cook a meal with my daughter-in-law (whom I affectionately call my "labor-less" daughter, because she's just that wonderful), and witness my grandson climbing steps for the first time ever.

Family memories: one. Gift wrapping: still zip.

After they left, I puttered in the kitchen, trying to get a jump on the food I've promised for family gatherings over the next few days. I also checked in with a sick sister, as well as a dear friend who recently lost her mom.

Putting others at the top of the list: one. Gift wrapping: well, you know.

OK, true confessions time. I lost sight of the important while waiting for dishes to cool enough to stash in the fridge. Eschewing the leg and hip exercises which help my middle-aged body stay "oiled," for lack of a better word, I sat down with the TV remote and indulged in holiday nonsense till midnight. We're not talking classics like Scrooge and It's a Wonderful Life, either; this was modern drivel which I finally turned off after realizing I neither knew nor cared whether the star-crossed lovers would get back together for Christmas, yet I had allowed them to suck up precious time that my health and family deserved first crack at.

Holiday to do list: one. Gift wrapping, health and well-being: forget it.

I'm not beating myself up. A little down time is OK on vacation, and I give myself credit for ditching the show that was costing me sleep and serenity. But I do need to get back on track if I'm going to avoid feeling lousy in the new year because I prioritized poorly over Christmas.

In short, my goal over the next week is to bask in the glorious trimmings that accompany this magical time of year, while still making time for the day to day grunt work that enables me to enjoy it in the first place.

Bottom line: I hope to remain focused on the swaddle-wrapped Babe, as opposed to the wrappings the trash men will collect on December 26th.

For more like this, check out:

Thea, Thea 

Grinch Pinch

Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today, and December 26th

Low Branches

A Lesson Learned

“Hey everyone, I want to apologize for being overbearing yesterday. I was trying too hard to make a perfect memory for Aunt Jane. I forgot that nothing is ever perfect and it would’ve been better if I had just let things unfold naturally. The important thing was you all made the time and effort to be there for her special day. I love you all and am so glad and thankful to be part of this amazing family!”

This was the text I sent out to my loved ones after being a control freak the day before. My two sisters and I had planned a special birthday gathering at a restaurant for our eldest sister, Jane, who usually isn’t in town to celebrate on or around the appointed day. Last weekend, however, she had flown in to witness the graduation of our dear nephew from college, so we hatched this party plan for the following Saturday.

Only trouble was, I forgot to get the Lord’s take on our project.

I overbooked myself the day before, then stayed up later than was good for me. Consequently, I woke up late the morning of the event, which kept me from my usual routine of spending time with the Lord before jumping into the day. The stage was set for emotional disquiet and unmet expectations.

I over-organized everyone’s activities, buzzed around snapping pictures people didn’t want taken, then waxed surly when others didn’t dance to my tune. Hence, the need to apologize later for behavior which, while not outrageous, certainly did not constitute my finest hour. I let the god of hostessing make me forget that the sweetest thing I could do to honor my sister’s birth would simply be relax and keep faith at the center of the festivities. Like Martha, I lost sight of the fact that Christ’s presence makes every occasion just right, with or without the trappings.

Fortunately, I have a loving family, and all was forgiven.

^“But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.” 
~ Matthew 6:33

For more like this, check out: Reflections by Thea: The Eating of the Crow

Reflections by Thea: The Shame Game

Reflections by Thea: Household Gods

On Sacrifice

Absurdity

Something very precious is being lost in our country. The loss began happening with the advent of the women’s movement and has continued steadily over the past few decades. The notion that women are entitled to equal earning capacity due to their innate equality in brain power and inherent value has morphed into the idea that they are equal in every respect, including physical strength and protectorate capacity.

I recently viewed the latest Republican debate and was more than a little distressed that several key players ardently supported the mandatory conscription of women, should we revert to a draft. One candidate subsequently voiced his opinion that men should not expect women to protect them. Call me old-fashioned (and I’m sure some will call me worse than that), but I believe a woman’s willingness to nurture life from womb to adulthood should more than satisfy her protectorate requirements. Then again, many women these days are rejecting the former and haphazardly performing the latter, which perhaps has contributed to men’s lack of willingness to sacrifice for them.

Nevertheless, it used to be an insult to be accused of hiding behind a woman’s skirt or tied to her apron strings. Now this bearer of two X chromosomes fears that too many XY owners not only allow themselves to be carried by the women in their lives, but have come to expect it.

Masculinity

My dear friend, Cynthia, died several years ago. She was, in a word, brilliant. Her talents in drawing, music, writing, gardening and cooking were second to none.  Her wit was unparalleled. She could find wry humor in the mundane and, as a result, was a sparkling conversationalist. Perhaps Cynthia’s most remarkable feat was her evolution from an introverted, almost reclusive person into someone who forced herself out of her shell to the point where she came to know and love neighbors, perform at a music recital, and find love with an exceptional man named Bob.

Bob respected Cynthia’s independence and fought for it. When Cynthia’s boss mistreated her, Bob supported her decision to leave the position, even though she had no other employment prospects. He gallantly assumed the financial cares of the household, while she happily oversaw home projects. One of my most treasured possessions is a hutch he built for her. I assumed custody of this cherished piece after her passing, and found Bob had inscribed on the back the date of its completion, along with the date Cynthia approved its specifications – a tandem effort if ever there was one.

Possibly the quality which endeared Bob to me the most was his defense of Cynthia's honor. Among other things, my relationship with Cynthia was comprised of mutual barb-throwing. There was no truth behind the insults; it was all part of a complex relationship that spanned my entire lifetime and was based on raw humor and meaningless jibes. However, Bob let me know in no uncertain terms that assaults on Cynthia's character, even in jest, were not funny to him. He lived out his love for her, taking every opportunity to compliment her publicly and show his adoration for her.

When his wife received a cancer diagnosis, Bob joyfully cared for her body, soul and spirit, even in the midst of unrelated personal tragedy and his own health concerns. Although my friend had no health insurance when she fell ill, Bob drove her to appointments and assured his beloved they would find the money for her care. To this day, I suspect he’s still making payments on medical bills she incurred before they were even married.

To me, Bob is the epitome of what it means to be a man.

Maternity

The notion that women can and should gain as much education and career experience as their talents and pocketbooks allow is not only reasonable but essential in today’s society. The days when a woman’s primary concerns were the care of home and family are long past and, as a one who has had the privilege of being both a stay-at-home mom and a breadwinner, I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to spread my occupational wings a far greater distance than my mother did. HOWEVER, ability has brought with it a steep price tag. Many men have come to EXPECT their children’s mothers to give birth, fly right home from the hospital with barely a day or two to recover (sometimes less), and six weeks later be back on the job site pumping milk and rigorously performing  in their profession.

Since when did maternity become less a profession than teaching, ministering to the sick, or running a company? Last time I checked, motherhood required skills in all those areas, and many more. My parenting role has demanded more of me physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually than any paid position I’ve ever held, and the monetary compensation was zilch. No, make that negative numbers. The hours were longer and the stakes higher than any job I’ve ever worked (including waitressing, which is saying something), but the rewards have been commensurately exorbitant. My children’s successes have given me greater joy than any raise I’ve ever gotten, and lasted far longer than any paycheck I ever received.

Some mothers are horrors. I get that. I’ve seen it. Some are mediocre at best and abusive at worst. Should the lack of responsibility of a few denigrate the entire calling, any more than Kermit Gosnell should besmirch the whole medical profession? Should we not still do all in our power to heighten the prestige and purpose of so great a calling, even as we call to account the few bad apples in every bunch?

Sagacity

At the risk of incurring my younger son's ire, let me state unequivocally that my Christian faith informs and undergirds my views on this and every subject. About this, I am unapologetic. Indeed, the founders of this country, while not all practicing Christians, injected Biblical principles into the infrastructure of our democracy. Those same founders, not incidentally, fought for independence on behalf of their wives and sweethearts, who supported in ancillary roles. 

Women today, unlike their ancestors, have the choice to serve directly on the battlefield. Nevertheless, the difficulties of military service, horrors of war, blurring of lines between the sexes and blurring of gender in general all make the military an occupation that should be chosen by women rather than imposed upon them.

Profundity

"Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man, nor is man independent of woman. For as woman came from man, so also man is born of woman. But everything comes from God." 1 Corinthians 11:11-12

"So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise." Galatians 3:26-29

" Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her... In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church..." Ephesians 5:25, 28-29

Better Things Part 3, AKA, Juggling

In the immortal words of the Rolling Stones, "I try and I try and I try and I try," but I can't seem to keep all the balls in the air at once.

Take today, for example. I've cleaned the bathroom (and myself). I sorted through clothes to give to Purple Heart. I went through some papers. And I made a phone call, while showering (where would we be without cordless phones? oh, right, we'd be forced to do one thing at a time, like they used to in the good old days). Yet my to-do list remains unbearably long. 

My file cabinets are desperately in need of thinning and reorganizing. I have piles of papers atop said filing cabinets, which don't quite fit into any one category, but must be weeded through, for they're overtaking the room.

There are letters to write and coupons to sort. Oh, and did I mention children to be tended to? Granted, mine are pretty much grown, but they still come to me for advice and guidance (bless 'em, they haven't figured out yet that Mom's fount of wisdom is in dire need of new plumbing).

And let's not forget the holidays are coming. I have groceries to purchase in bulk so I can save a few dollars on a turkey (which nobody may be gobbling, since we're not sure yet who's eating where - guess that bird may have bit the dust for nothing). There are stocking stuffers to acquire and decorations to dust off. And, in the midst of everything, there's the minor issue of home repairs (that chimney isn't gonna clean itself, and the creosote is calling) and bill paying (those creditors don't seem to understand I'm busy). Oh, and dare I forget the minor issue of employers? At times I've been known to bemoan the fact that, "My jobs are really cutting into my free time!"

Despite all this confusion, yesterday I made a radical decision to spend quality time with a friend. I didn't have time for this, mind you, as elections are coming up (for which I am not informed), and I'm behind in my cooking (my son's been dutifully eating tuna fish and leftover chicken for the better part of a week, bless his indiscriminate little palate). Still, I threw caution to the wind and made the time. 

Granted, my friend didn't say much, but was quietly present while we went about rekindling our relationship, which these past few weeks has been somewhat neglected. We pored over a book and basically just chilled together. Although quite familiar with the text, he smiled slyly when something struck me as new that he was already well acquainted with. He seemed content to listen to me read, amused when the thin pages stuck together. He was in no particular hurry, and pretended not to notice my occasional glances at the clock as I contemplated the next things on my packed agenda. In short, my friend seemed not at all disturbed by the fact that I was less than fully present for our rendezvous.

When all was said and done, though, both of us realized the day was richer for the time we had spent together. And he never once made me feel guilty for thinking I had better things to do than hang out with the king of the universe.

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Life is a Full-time Job

Morsels for Meditation...: Better Things

Morsels for Meditation...: Better Things Part 2, AKA, Puddleglum's Save

Complete the Work!

"And in this I give advice: It is to your advantage not only to be doing what you began and were desiring to do a year ago; but now you also must complete the doing of it; that as there was a readiness to desire it, so there also may be a completion out of what you have. For if there is first a willing mind, it is accepted according to what one has, and not according to what he does not have." 

2 Corinthians 8:10-12

I came across this passage recently as I was preparing for an upcoming writers' conference. Paul's words spoke to me when I first read them, and they're speaking to me now. I've made a lot of progress in getting ready for the event and could even say I'm at a stopping point, if I want to be. However, since I still have over a week, why not use the time to the maximum so as to have the widest net to cast, so to speak? 

There was a time in my life when I was governed by procrastination and fear. Those time-wasting devils haven't left my life completely (as evidenced by the video-fest I allowed myself last night when I could've been doing x number of more important things), but by the grace of God, they are far less prominent than they once were. I've learned that tomorrow is a nebulous, unpromised concept that may or may not a) happen or b) be available for things I ought to have done today. So now I to try to hit the ground running as soon as the final bell rings for school "vacations" and the like. I put that word in quotes because for years my definition of vacation was simply the absence of schedule and structure - in short, an excuse to fritter away time and God-given talent. 

There is certainly a need to turn off one's mind and leave off responsibilities occasionally. My problem was (and might be again, unless I take care), every bit of down time became the occasion. I'm reminded of a funny story my father once told. Upon voicing concern to his only living brother about his continuing to smoke despite serious health concerns, my uncle replied that he only smoked occasionally. Dad retorted that he smoked every time they were together, to which Uncle Irv quipped, "That's the occasion!"

My prayer continues to be that God would show me the schedule and priorities for each day, regardless of whether every moment is predetermined by outside forces, or if long stretches of time present themselves. I desire to not only begin projects He guides me to, but also to work diligently and steadfastly unto completion.

For more like this, check out: Reflections by Thea: To Whom Shall We Go?

Reflections by Thea: Awake!

Life is a Full-time Job

Isn't it? Do you, like me, sometimes feel that 24 hours is far too short a time span to accomplish the tasks that lie before you? Do you struggle to keep up with the business aspects of your life, or maybe shortchange non-mandatory things like keeping in touch with a friend who lives at a distance, or visiting a sick relative? Have you ever felt your kids needed more of your time than you could spare because their needs were cutting into grocery shopping time or - heaven forbid - your obligation to the almighty work place?

I've had to take a step back recently and think about what's really important. I'm having a room renovated in my house, and there's spackle dust everywhere. Work has been busy; I have a weekend job, as well as my full-time job, and the demands of both have been heavy lately. I've been putting time into relationships with family and friends, both of which are essential to my role as a single mom. But, as a single parent, it's critical that I be available for my sons.

Where does God fit into all this?

For a long time, I used to offer up my schedule and priorities to the Lord on a daily basis. But of late I've been trying to fit it all in and squeeze in maybe ten minutes with Him before work in the morning. It's just not enough, and I've been feeling the results of trying to carry a load that was never mine to begin with.

So I've made it a point these last couple of days, when illness and fatigue kept me homebound, to put more effort into my "vertical" relationship. I placed communion with heaven ahead of earthly, "horizontal" affairs. An incredible thing happened. I spent a lot of time working on my connection with God, after which I still had time to tackle some of the matters that were being neglected. I guess Jesus was right when He told us to "seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (Matthew 6:33).

Life is a full-time job. But we must never forget that God is our employer.