This morning, I was watching news coverage of the disaster in Haiti and my seven year old, Christian, joined me. He said, "There are tornadoes and hurricanes and fires and floods and blizzards and..." He listed about 8 different natural and man-made disasters, cataloging all the possibilities for destruction.
Then, he needed a lengthy explanation of what he was seeing and told me that there might be an earthquake in New England (how does the kid know about New England?) and half the United States might break off . I explained that earthquakes are more common in coastal areas and islands, but he wanted reassurance about the possibility of earthquakes here. I told him that there actually is an earthquake fault running through Missouri and Memphis and into North Mississippi, called the New Madrid, and that some scientists believe we might have a pretty big earthquake here someday.
"What causes earthquakes?" Oh, for Pete's sake, I thought, but I dusted off my Earth Science memories and tried to describe Plate Tectonics just a little bit. I compared a fault to the seam in his clothes and told him that when the pressure built up along the seam, it had to release the pressure, and so the earth shakes to adjust itself. Have you ever tried to describe to a 2nd grader what causes an earthquake? He listened intently and seemed to be satisfied, whether it made sense or not.
Then he asked if our buildings would be destroyed like the ones in Haiti. Some, I said, but Haiti is a very poor country and many of their structures are not built with the best materials or the best technology. We might do better, but it would still cause a lot of damage.
Then he brought up his plan for an underground house, dreamed-up during a tornado warning a few months ago. We could be safe there. All of our neighbors could join us there.
I just wanted to scoop him into my arms and tell him not to worry about any of those things, and that he was safe. I did tell him that the chance of any kind of natural disaster destroying our house was pretty remote, but I'm not sure he bought it.
Tens of thousands of babies and little boys are living this reality in Haiti tonight. I want to shelter my child from the horror, but he is old enough to be aware now, and he needs to understand that even if we have a wonderful, safe life, there are many in the world who don't. We need to find ways to help them.
When I was his age, a tornado swept through Inverness, Mississippi, just down the highway from where we lived in Itta Bena. Most of our community had gathered in our church basement that night, the sturdiest underground shelter in the area. The roof of the Methodist church in Inverness collapsed onto the pews, as I recall, just minutes after evening service had dismissed. We drove by there a few days later to see what it was like. And we had another tornado drill in school the next week, gathering in the hallway with our heads between our knees. I'm thinking that wouldn't have helped much.
At about the same time, I was learning to duck under my desk to be protected from nuclear radiation. I'm darn sure that wouldn't have helped a bit. And the next year, Hurricane Camille devastated the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where most of my mother's family lived.
I wasn't sheltered from the horror, nor can I keep my son from learning about these horrific things. What I can do is let him know that there is a God who shields us all in his love, no matter what may happen. "Though the mountains fall, though the earth should shake, though the sea should roar with all the heartache. Though our throats be dry, we will lift Your Name on high! You have been a shelter, Lord, to every generation...to every generation. A sanctuary from the storm, to every generation, to every generation, Lord." We need to be reminded of the One Who is our sure foundation.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Turning 50 -- 73 Days to Go -- Earth shaking in Haiti
About 30 hours ago, a devastating 7.0 earthquate rocked the island of Haiti. I heard about the earthquake last night but had to attend a funeral this morning and have spent the remainder of the day in "office isolation," preparing for a conference this weekend. So when I got home this evening at 10:30 and heard the estimates of several thousand to half a million dead, I suddenly lost perspective on everything.
I flipped to one "news channel" and found nothing but political haranguing and light-hearted banter about the coming demise of the democratic party. I flipped to two other news channels and was assaulted by the images of death and destruction in Port au Prince. I tried to settle on a drama or a sitcom in order to unwind and get ready for bed, but I was just ashamed for my escapism.
If the high estimates are even half right, Wikipedia is already estimating that this will be the 5th most deadly natural disaster in human history. In one of the smallest nations in the world.
Tonight, I am ashamed of my abundance and insulation. God, help me to live outside myself, to live as you died -- willing to pay the price.
The Psalmist said, "When the foundations are being destroyed, what does the Righteous One do?" Big-R, Big-O -- He is seated on His throne, and He has compassion on His children. Other versions use little-r, little-o -- that's you and me, the ones who call on His name. What are we doing?
I'll be 50 in 73 days. Just when I thought it couldn't be any worse, it suddenly is. God, help us all.
I flipped to one "news channel" and found nothing but political haranguing and light-hearted banter about the coming demise of the democratic party. I flipped to two other news channels and was assaulted by the images of death and destruction in Port au Prince. I tried to settle on a drama or a sitcom in order to unwind and get ready for bed, but I was just ashamed for my escapism.
If the high estimates are even half right, Wikipedia is already estimating that this will be the 5th most deadly natural disaster in human history. In one of the smallest nations in the world.
Tonight, I am ashamed of my abundance and insulation. God, help me to live outside myself, to live as you died -- willing to pay the price.
The Psalmist said, "When the foundations are being destroyed, what does the Righteous One do?" Big-R, Big-O -- He is seated on His throne, and He has compassion on His children. Other versions use little-r, little-o -- that's you and me, the ones who call on His name. What are we doing?
I'll be 50 in 73 days. Just when I thought it couldn't be any worse, it suddenly is. God, help us all.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Turning 50 -- 75 Days to Go -- Profane and Profound
I've been gratified by the response I've received to the blog the last few days, and I've had a long day, so I thought I'd share a couple of those responses with you. Forgive my brevity, and I promise to elaborate tomorrow night on today's events. For now, just enjoy!
The first is from friend Kay, for many years my number one spiritual mentor and still a precious sister/friend:
"Since you're casting off all restraints (or most of them), I thought this might save you some money and still speak of freedom:
'Good news for all you wine lovers out there!
'Wal Mart announced that, sometime in 2010, it will begin offering customers a new discount item...Wal Mart's own brand of wine. The world's largest retail chain is rumored to be teaming up with Ernest & Julie Gallo Winery of California to produce the spirits at an affordable price - in the $2 to $5 range.
'Wine connoisseurs may not be inclined to put a bottle of the WalMart brand into their shopping carts, but "There is a market for the inexpensive wine." said Kathy Micken, professor of marketing at University of Arkansas, Bentonville. "However, branding will be very important."
'Customer surveys were conducted to determine the most attractive name for the WalMart wine brand. The top surveyed names in order of popularity were:
10. Chateau Traileur Parc
9. White Trashfindel
8. Big Red Gulp
7. World Championship Riesling
6. NasCarbernet
5. Chef Boyardeaux
4. Peanut Noir
3. I Can't Believe It's Not Vinegar
2. Grape Expectations
1. Nasti Spumante
'The beauty of WalMart wine is that it can be served with either white meat (possum) or red meat (squirrel).
'P.S. Don't bother writing back that this is a hoax. I know possum is not a white meat.'"
I've laughed all day about that one, and wished for a little Nascarbernet of my own.
But on a more serious note, dear friend Mari Carley Stermer sent this beautiful prayer, written by her for another friend who turned 50 in December. Would you say it for me? I'll be praying for you, too.
"Prayer for Kathryn
"Does she rejoice, this woman of light, upon reaching her fiftieth year;
As she recalls her nomadic days, the liberty well-lived, well-loved?
Does the looking glass reveal to her the lines or how they were won?
When, in prayer, she opens her heart, does she know you are enthralled?
"Show her you will spend this year redeeming her regrets.
Give release from what enslaves, bring your contented rest.
Return to her what she thinks lost, raise her spirit closer to yours.
And, send her dancing rejoicing as she returns in Jubilee!"
Profane and profound, laughter and tears, "shock" and Awe. That is life. That is what Turning 50 is all about. Thanks, Kay and Mari. You both bless me more than you can imagine, you amazing women of light.
The first is from friend Kay, for many years my number one spiritual mentor and still a precious sister/friend:
"Since you're casting off all restraints (or most of them), I thought this might save you some money and still speak of freedom:
'Good news for all you wine lovers out there!
'Wal Mart announced that, sometime in 2010, it will begin offering customers a new discount item...Wal Mart's own brand of wine. The world's largest retail chain is rumored to be teaming up with Ernest & Julie Gallo Winery of California to produce the spirits at an affordable price - in the $2 to $5 range.
'Wine connoisseurs may not be inclined to put a bottle of the WalMart brand into their shopping carts, but "There is a market for the inexpensive wine." said Kathy Micken, professor of marketing at University of Arkansas, Bentonville. "However, branding will be very important."
'Customer surveys were conducted to determine the most attractive name for the WalMart wine brand. The top surveyed names in order of popularity were:
10. Chateau Traileur Parc
9. White Trashfindel
8. Big Red Gulp
7. World Championship Riesling
6. NasCarbernet
5. Chef Boyardeaux
4. Peanut Noir
3. I Can't Believe It's Not Vinegar
2. Grape Expectations
1. Nasti Spumante
'The beauty of WalMart wine is that it can be served with either white meat (possum) or red meat (squirrel).
'P.S. Don't bother writing back that this is a hoax. I know possum is not a white meat.'"
I've laughed all day about that one, and wished for a little Nascarbernet of my own.
But on a more serious note, dear friend Mari Carley Stermer sent this beautiful prayer, written by her for another friend who turned 50 in December. Would you say it for me? I'll be praying for you, too.
"Prayer for Kathryn
"Does she rejoice, this woman of light, upon reaching her fiftieth year;
As she recalls her nomadic days, the liberty well-lived, well-loved?
Does the looking glass reveal to her the lines or how they were won?
When, in prayer, she opens her heart, does she know you are enthralled?
"Show her you will spend this year redeeming her regrets.
Give release from what enslaves, bring your contented rest.
Return to her what she thinks lost, raise her spirit closer to yours.
And, send her dancing rejoicing as she returns in Jubilee!"
Profane and profound, laughter and tears, "shock" and Awe. That is life. That is what Turning 50 is all about. Thanks, Kay and Mari. You both bless me more than you can imagine, you amazing women of light.
Turning 50 -- 74 days to go...
What a day yesterday was! Drove 124 miles one direction to see a new gynecologist for my annual exam. Why, you ask? Well, this is a small town. The only gyn group includes an old friend I sang with in the high school church choir (male), and I don't know why, but I'm just not comfortable going there. When I lived here before, I went to three different gyn's over the years, and they all fit safely within the parameters of "my mother's doctors," so it was okay.
The first was the one my mother drug me to when I was a teenager and menstruation hit me like the Jericho wall falling down. Years of that monthly experience, complete with fainting from pain and many unmentionable embarrassing moments later, I had an endometrial laparoscopy, but nothing suspicious was found, so I suffered through until I turned 30 and finally surrendered to taking birth control pills to abate the symptoms. Worked like a charm and I wondered why I waited so long.
Anyway, the first fellow was a member of the church we attended, though I didn't really know him in that setting since my crowd was all in high school. He knew I sang, and so, at the beginning of each exam, we would chat for a few minutes about the country music he loved and composed, and then he'd get down to business, so to speak. I must say, neither his folksy chat nor the funny posters on the ceiling made the experience any less appalling.
The second one was an old, grandfatherly GP who was father to one of my favorite junior high school teachers. He was safe, and had an old, grandfatherly bedside manner, and saw me through my mid-twenties until I finished my master's degree and could no longer go to the university health clinic.
The third was our longtime church friend and family practitioner, but since I had no unusual health concerns that required a specialist, his care was more than adequate. And, he took an entire morning to perform a thorough physical every year, with extensive blood work and long discussions about various health issues. I loved it and felt well-cared-for. Those were the early years of my international travel and he was fastidious about making sure I wasn't bringing home any unusual bacteria or infection.
When I moved off to the big city, I just followed my friends to their favorite doctors, first to our GP, and my first female physician, until she retired. And then, finally, to a real gynecologist in a real healthcare clinic for women, but a man. This fellow saw me through an endometrial ablation in 2007, necessitated by a large uteran fibroid and increasingly painful cycles, even with The Pill. The ablation ended my need for pills, and for any feminine products, too.
When it was time to choose a doctor this time around, I just knew I didn't want to be face-to-face, in a manner of speaking, with that old friend from the high school church choir. So, I asked around a bit and discovered that the daughter of one of my favorite women at church is now a gynecologist. It never occurred to me that she might feel the same discomfort in treating me that I had felt at the thought of being treated by Joe Choir. When I walked into her office yesterday afternoon, we exchanged a big hug, and then it dawned on me that she might be feeling a bit awkward. "Are you okay with this?" I asked. And she said, "Are you?" And we made it through with lots of laughter and I left feeling cared-for and heard in a way I haven't for a long, long time. If you need a good gynecologist, try Karen Cole at Jackson Healthcare for Women in Flowood.
Okay, maybe that's WTMI - Way Too Much Information - but a woman doesn't turn 50 without thinking through some of these things. I'll do my best to be discreet. When I told a friend about seeing Karen, she said that she just loved her, had been in Bible study with her years ago, and that a female gyn would probably be much better than a male, but that she would probably stick with her guy to the grave. Convenience, habit, familiarity, all that. And my guy-gyn in KC was great, so I've discovered the gender of the gyn doesn't really matter.
But it got me to thinking...these doctors are people who are with us at our most vulnerable moments. Some are really sensitive to that and some are not. Dr. Karen was great. She's a girl. She gets it. She was perfectly respectful and thoughtful, but she didn't lose the warmth of her humanity. Some try to make it so strictly professional that they become detached and cold. And truthfully, while I want proper decorum and distance, by nature of the examination, I find myself having to clamp down the lid on my emotions and my tongue to keep from spilling every thought and feeling I have when I'm at my annual exam! I don't want a doctor who is trying so hard to keep it professional that I end up feeling like an idiot for feeling! Or for getting flustered while I'm trying to keep my wits about me in that situation.
I mean, really, I have GOT to start making a list before I go in for my annual exam. By the time I've been flattened for the mammogram, impaled for the blood work, humiliated for spillage when filling the little bitty teeny weeny plastic cup, and examined from sunrise to sunset...well, my brain is just mush and I can hardly remember my name, much less whether I have "issues" that need to be discussed.
These days, my issues are so many and varied that it's almost funny to start listing them. I have hot flashes day and night, summer and winter, sinking spells with what I call "hormone surges," (kind of like sugar lows, but not), arthritis in my hands and hips, an increasing number of skin tags all over my body, trouble getting to sleep, and staying asleep, and then waking up, inflammation in my right rotator cuff, plantar fasciitis in both feet, ketatoderma in hands and feet, weight gain, cramps, digestive issues. And that's just my physical ailments. Care to hear my emotional and relational issues? I'll spare you. For Pete's sake! I'm still 74 days from 50!
If I wasn't already feeling old, the AARP decided to make sure I was properly informed by sending me an invitation to join their club just 2 days after the first of the year! It's true...aging is irreversible.
It's late and I need to try to go to bed so that when I wake up after 3 hours, I can still hope to catch another cat nap before I have to get up for real. You know, I really don't mind all this stuff happening, and I know with a bit of weight loss and some regular exercise, both of which I am already doing, I can abate some of these unpleasant symptoms. The reality is that I have always liked getting older. From the time I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teenager, and as a young woman I could hardly wait to be a middle-aged and wise (doesn't that make you laugh?). And while I'm not ready to be old, yet, I certainly don't mind some of the perks that come with having lived this long...
I've had a lot of experiences, good and bad, enough to let me know that I can survive just about anything with God's help and some good friends around. I've learned that people come and go, and while it hurts like the dickens to lose them, in time, God will heal the hurt and help me to open my heart again. I've been blessed to have a rich treasure-store of precious friends in my life, and most of them are still "in the box." I am regularly receiving dividends of their love and good intentions toward me, and vice-versa, I hope.
And I've learned that the annual trek to the gyn will come to pass...
So, I hope Dr. Karen will be around a while to help me through this phase of femine development...disintegration? I'm sure her expertise will be really helpful from time-to-time, but it's her friendship that I really value, and I'm glad that finally, I have found a physician who seems to share the same perspective.
The first was the one my mother drug me to when I was a teenager and menstruation hit me like the Jericho wall falling down. Years of that monthly experience, complete with fainting from pain and many unmentionable embarrassing moments later, I had an endometrial laparoscopy, but nothing suspicious was found, so I suffered through until I turned 30 and finally surrendered to taking birth control pills to abate the symptoms. Worked like a charm and I wondered why I waited so long.
Anyway, the first fellow was a member of the church we attended, though I didn't really know him in that setting since my crowd was all in high school. He knew I sang, and so, at the beginning of each exam, we would chat for a few minutes about the country music he loved and composed, and then he'd get down to business, so to speak. I must say, neither his folksy chat nor the funny posters on the ceiling made the experience any less appalling.
The second one was an old, grandfatherly GP who was father to one of my favorite junior high school teachers. He was safe, and had an old, grandfatherly bedside manner, and saw me through my mid-twenties until I finished my master's degree and could no longer go to the university health clinic.
The third was our longtime church friend and family practitioner, but since I had no unusual health concerns that required a specialist, his care was more than adequate. And, he took an entire morning to perform a thorough physical every year, with extensive blood work and long discussions about various health issues. I loved it and felt well-cared-for. Those were the early years of my international travel and he was fastidious about making sure I wasn't bringing home any unusual bacteria or infection.
When I moved off to the big city, I just followed my friends to their favorite doctors, first to our GP, and my first female physician, until she retired. And then, finally, to a real gynecologist in a real healthcare clinic for women, but a man. This fellow saw me through an endometrial ablation in 2007, necessitated by a large uteran fibroid and increasingly painful cycles, even with The Pill. The ablation ended my need for pills, and for any feminine products, too.
When it was time to choose a doctor this time around, I just knew I didn't want to be face-to-face, in a manner of speaking, with that old friend from the high school church choir. So, I asked around a bit and discovered that the daughter of one of my favorite women at church is now a gynecologist. It never occurred to me that she might feel the same discomfort in treating me that I had felt at the thought of being treated by Joe Choir. When I walked into her office yesterday afternoon, we exchanged a big hug, and then it dawned on me that she might be feeling a bit awkward. "Are you okay with this?" I asked. And she said, "Are you?" And we made it through with lots of laughter and I left feeling cared-for and heard in a way I haven't for a long, long time. If you need a good gynecologist, try Karen Cole at Jackson Healthcare for Women in Flowood.
Okay, maybe that's WTMI - Way Too Much Information - but a woman doesn't turn 50 without thinking through some of these things. I'll do my best to be discreet. When I told a friend about seeing Karen, she said that she just loved her, had been in Bible study with her years ago, and that a female gyn would probably be much better than a male, but that she would probably stick with her guy to the grave. Convenience, habit, familiarity, all that. And my guy-gyn in KC was great, so I've discovered the gender of the gyn doesn't really matter.
But it got me to thinking...these doctors are people who are with us at our most vulnerable moments. Some are really sensitive to that and some are not. Dr. Karen was great. She's a girl. She gets it. She was perfectly respectful and thoughtful, but she didn't lose the warmth of her humanity. Some try to make it so strictly professional that they become detached and cold. And truthfully, while I want proper decorum and distance, by nature of the examination, I find myself having to clamp down the lid on my emotions and my tongue to keep from spilling every thought and feeling I have when I'm at my annual exam! I don't want a doctor who is trying so hard to keep it professional that I end up feeling like an idiot for feeling! Or for getting flustered while I'm trying to keep my wits about me in that situation.
I mean, really, I have GOT to start making a list before I go in for my annual exam. By the time I've been flattened for the mammogram, impaled for the blood work, humiliated for spillage when filling the little bitty teeny weeny plastic cup, and examined from sunrise to sunset...well, my brain is just mush and I can hardly remember my name, much less whether I have "issues" that need to be discussed.
These days, my issues are so many and varied that it's almost funny to start listing them. I have hot flashes day and night, summer and winter, sinking spells with what I call "hormone surges," (kind of like sugar lows, but not), arthritis in my hands and hips, an increasing number of skin tags all over my body, trouble getting to sleep, and staying asleep, and then waking up, inflammation in my right rotator cuff, plantar fasciitis in both feet, ketatoderma in hands and feet, weight gain, cramps, digestive issues. And that's just my physical ailments. Care to hear my emotional and relational issues? I'll spare you. For Pete's sake! I'm still 74 days from 50!
If I wasn't already feeling old, the AARP decided to make sure I was properly informed by sending me an invitation to join their club just 2 days after the first of the year! It's true...aging is irreversible.
It's late and I need to try to go to bed so that when I wake up after 3 hours, I can still hope to catch another cat nap before I have to get up for real. You know, I really don't mind all this stuff happening, and I know with a bit of weight loss and some regular exercise, both of which I am already doing, I can abate some of these unpleasant symptoms. The reality is that I have always liked getting older. From the time I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teenager, and as a young woman I could hardly wait to be a middle-aged and wise (doesn't that make you laugh?). And while I'm not ready to be old, yet, I certainly don't mind some of the perks that come with having lived this long...
I've had a lot of experiences, good and bad, enough to let me know that I can survive just about anything with God's help and some good friends around. I've learned that people come and go, and while it hurts like the dickens to lose them, in time, God will heal the hurt and help me to open my heart again. I've been blessed to have a rich treasure-store of precious friends in my life, and most of them are still "in the box." I am regularly receiving dividends of their love and good intentions toward me, and vice-versa, I hope.
And I've learned that the annual trek to the gyn will come to pass...
So, I hope Dr. Karen will be around a while to help me through this phase of femine development...disintegration? I'm sure her expertise will be really helpful from time-to-time, but it's her friendship that I really value, and I'm glad that finally, I have found a physician who seems to share the same perspective.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Turning 50 -- Day 2 -- Red Hat Ladies
Yesterday I was so full of eager anticipation about the challenge of this blog. I was certain that I would daily sit to record my thoughts, confident that I would know just which direction to go, whether to reminisce and reflect, or dream and celebrate. Well, I've been thinking about today's post for more than 24 hours, and the theme has only come to me in the last 30 minutes, after much mental thrashing about. I sure hope it comes easier as I go on!
Anyway, I thought today it might be good to answer the question, "What's the big deal, anyway?" I've had quite a few comments already, a surprising number, to tell you the truth, and they've come from almost every perspective. Friends who have already passed this milestone (and other, greater ones, I might add) have written to offer encouraging words, like, "Enjoy! It's the beginning of the best time in your life!" Several friends have written to say, "Fifty! No way! You are much too young for that!" Not one person has yet said anything patronizing like, "Oh, honey, just wait. Fifty is nothing," though I'm sure several have thought it. And a few people have actually thanked me for launching this journey and expressed their desire to walk through it with me. I'm humbled, truly.
There have been enough interested responses that I started asking myself today, "Well, Lee Ann, what is the big deal, after all?" So, I have ruminated and thrashed about, and finally came up with an analogy at the end of this long day. Any men reading this post will not completely understand, so forgive me, but I think most women will answer with a resounding, "Amen!"
Twenty-five years ago, I comforted myself, in assessing my increasing girth, with the fact that I had my father's "big bones." Truth is, my bones have been so thoroughly encased in a cushion of flesh and fat for so long that I have no idea how big they are! When I was a tiny little girl, my bones were boney...skinny, knobby, pencil posts. When I became a teenager and started developing curves, I think my bones were still fairly small, but it didn't take long for my protective covering to obliterate any clear vision of the bones. Well, these days, I'm just downright fat. There, I've said it. We'll deal with that on another day.
Back to the analogy at hand... My generous proportions have to be made presentable to the world every single morning. So I begin my daily routine by strapping myself in with rubber and lycra and metal hooks, and cinching up the shoulder straps as tightly as I can stand, and then hope that my jostling and jiggling will be neither distracting nor disgusting to anyone I am with during the day.
And when I come home, the first thing I do is release myself from the bondage! Yep, I come in the back door, pass through the kitchen and living room, make a quick left into my bedroom, and shed myself of the wretched contraption before I pet the dog, stop in the toilet, or even hug my son. Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!
Maybe I can help you men understand a bit. Wearing this innovative fashion accessory for 12 to 15 hours every day might be akin, I think, to wearing an athletic cup for that same length of time. It is not God-given equipment, and its function is more for utility than for comfort. It binds and pinches more and more as the day goes on, and fairly screams to be removed by days' end.
And what does that have to do with Turning 50? Well, in some ways, I feel that I have lived the first half-century of my life (there, isn't that optimistic?) in similar bondage. In an effort to live well, fit within the cultural norms of the day, make myself presentable, and even in recent years, cover some of my flaws, I have taken on "unnatural equipment," emotionally and spiritually, for certain. The result, at the end of the day, is a sense of bondage in some areas of my life of which I am ready to be shed.
When we lived in Kansas City, we would often see small and large groups of women clad in purple with red hats, joining the ranks of Jenny Joseph's old women casting off aged sobriety in favor of unrestrained youth. I have vowed that I would never dress that way in public (or private, for that matter), but I do like the sentiment. Why do we do this to ourselves? We play tapes in our heads every minute of every day that remind us to sit up straight, don't talk with our mouths full, use our inside voices, speak only when spoken to, and on and on and on until we remake ourselves in a socially respectable form that little resembles the glorious, free creatures God has made us to be.
As I am Turning Fifty, I want to cast off restraint. No, I do not intend to indulge in all of the fleshly pursuits of youth that I missed. Shoot, I didn't miss that many of them, nor did they provide any real satisfaction or pleasure when I was indulging! Nor do I intend to start permitting myself to say and do anything at anytime, and to heck with the consequences! But here are a few of the things that I would like to cast off so that I can begin this second half with more freedom and joy, and thus, bring a little more joy to those in the wake of my journey:
Anyway, I thought today it might be good to answer the question, "What's the big deal, anyway?" I've had quite a few comments already, a surprising number, to tell you the truth, and they've come from almost every perspective. Friends who have already passed this milestone (and other, greater ones, I might add) have written to offer encouraging words, like, "Enjoy! It's the beginning of the best time in your life!" Several friends have written to say, "Fifty! No way! You are much too young for that!" Not one person has yet said anything patronizing like, "Oh, honey, just wait. Fifty is nothing," though I'm sure several have thought it. And a few people have actually thanked me for launching this journey and expressed their desire to walk through it with me. I'm humbled, truly.
There have been enough interested responses that I started asking myself today, "Well, Lee Ann, what is the big deal, after all?" So, I have ruminated and thrashed about, and finally came up with an analogy at the end of this long day. Any men reading this post will not completely understand, so forgive me, but I think most women will answer with a resounding, "Amen!"
Twenty-five years ago, I comforted myself, in assessing my increasing girth, with the fact that I had my father's "big bones." Truth is, my bones have been so thoroughly encased in a cushion of flesh and fat for so long that I have no idea how big they are! When I was a tiny little girl, my bones were boney...skinny, knobby, pencil posts. When I became a teenager and started developing curves, I think my bones were still fairly small, but it didn't take long for my protective covering to obliterate any clear vision of the bones. Well, these days, I'm just downright fat. There, I've said it. We'll deal with that on another day.
Back to the analogy at hand... My generous proportions have to be made presentable to the world every single morning. So I begin my daily routine by strapping myself in with rubber and lycra and metal hooks, and cinching up the shoulder straps as tightly as I can stand, and then hope that my jostling and jiggling will be neither distracting nor disgusting to anyone I am with during the day.
And when I come home, the first thing I do is release myself from the bondage! Yep, I come in the back door, pass through the kitchen and living room, make a quick left into my bedroom, and shed myself of the wretched contraption before I pet the dog, stop in the toilet, or even hug my son. Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!
Maybe I can help you men understand a bit. Wearing this innovative fashion accessory for 12 to 15 hours every day might be akin, I think, to wearing an athletic cup for that same length of time. It is not God-given equipment, and its function is more for utility than for comfort. It binds and pinches more and more as the day goes on, and fairly screams to be removed by days' end.
And what does that have to do with Turning 50? Well, in some ways, I feel that I have lived the first half-century of my life (there, isn't that optimistic?) in similar bondage. In an effort to live well, fit within the cultural norms of the day, make myself presentable, and even in recent years, cover some of my flaws, I have taken on "unnatural equipment," emotionally and spiritually, for certain. The result, at the end of the day, is a sense of bondage in some areas of my life of which I am ready to be shed.
When we lived in Kansas City, we would often see small and large groups of women clad in purple with red hats, joining the ranks of Jenny Joseph's old women casting off aged sobriety in favor of unrestrained youth. I have vowed that I would never dress that way in public (or private, for that matter), but I do like the sentiment. Why do we do this to ourselves? We play tapes in our heads every minute of every day that remind us to sit up straight, don't talk with our mouths full, use our inside voices, speak only when spoken to, and on and on and on until we remake ourselves in a socially respectable form that little resembles the glorious, free creatures God has made us to be.
As I am Turning Fifty, I want to cast off restraint. No, I do not intend to indulge in all of the fleshly pursuits of youth that I missed. Shoot, I didn't miss that many of them, nor did they provide any real satisfaction or pleasure when I was indulging! Nor do I intend to start permitting myself to say and do anything at anytime, and to heck with the consequences! But here are a few of the things that I would like to cast off so that I can begin this second half with more freedom and joy, and thus, bring a little more joy to those in the wake of my journey:
- I want to stop second-guessing every conversation I have. If I say something I shouldn't, I want to learn to ask forgiveness when needed, or just have a good laugh at myself for stupidity.
- I want to stop being so cautious about expressing my thoughts. If I say something that you don't agree with, you and I should be able to laugh and love one another, and stumble through until we either agree to disagree or find the truth together.
- I want to stop carrying around the dust of disgruntled villagers. Remember when Jesus told the disciples to speak peace to any place they entered? He went on to say that they should stay as long as they were welcome, but if they were rejected, they should just go, shaking the dust off their feet as they went. I've been carrying around too much dust. I don't want to be callous or indifferent to those I might offend, but I also don't want to have my feet so weighted down by disappointment and discouragement that I fear entering another village.
- I want to stop avoiding some things because others might disapprove. I learned a long time ago that God's laws were given, not to deny me of pleasure, but to protect me from harm. At this point in my life, I have no desire to enter into debauchery, I'm just too old and tired! But there are some things in life that some of my strait-laced friends look down upon, and which I avoid in order not to raise any eyebrows. Well, I want to be done with that. I'm going to enjoy life. I'm not going to harm anyone, and I'm not going to set a bad example. But I am also not going to occupy this holier-than-thou podium anymore. My mother used to quote some Christian leader who said he feels that when we get to heaven, God will say, "I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it more. I certainly intended for you to do so!" I'm going to throw off prudity in favor of the pleasure He gives.
- I want to cast off bitterness and unforgiveness. That's a big one. I'll deal with it more and in greater depth as I make this journey. But more than any other bondage, it is my refusal to fully forgive, to extend the grace that is not earned and the mercy that is not deserved, that keeps my own heart bound up in darkness and despair. Enough. God helping me, I'm going to learn to be like Jesus in this.
I suppose that's enough for today. And gracious, please don't write back tomorrow asking me if I'm free, yet! Jesus said, "[She] whom the Son sets free is free indeed." Paul echoed the thought with, "It is for freedom that Christ has set you free. Stand firm, then, and don't let yourselves be burned again by a yoke of slavery."
I'm throwing off the yoke, people! Join me!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Turning 50
It's true and I can scarcely believe it. 2010 has finally come and so in less than 3 months time, I will reach my 50th birthday. This is a milestone, no doubt about it, and I want to make the effort to do it well. I have been so haphazard about so much of my life, letting too much of it happen to me, reacting rather than responding, passively watching too many days, weeks, months and years trickle away. Well, now it is time to become more intentional about living again, and to hold myself accountable to this goal, I am going to share the process with you, dear reader. Let me hear from you occasionally, and feel free to gently encourage me to move forward and not dwell too much in the past. But please be gentle.
I intend to do some backward looking -- time to remember and celebrate, to reflect and grow. I intend to make the effort to take stock of what I have accomplished thus far in life, and with God's help, determine whether any of it is of lasting value, and then do better to invest myself in things of eternal worth. During this year, I hope to arrange several celebrations of life, with special friends, and I will share those with you. I also intend to set some goals for growth, not the least of which is the daily commitment to write this blog about turning 50.
I don't know how long I shall continue to write about the process, but since I am beginning some 75 days before my birthday, I shall probably continue to record the change process for at least that long afterward. That will see me through Lent, Easter, and Pentecost, which might just be a good outline for this momentous time in life.
Do I think that my experience of Turning Fifty is more important than anyone else's, or that I have any particular insight that will shatter the world? No, not at all, but I do want to do this well, and set a course for the second half of my life (well, sure, it's already begun, but better late than never) which will take me to the end in victory.
Yes, I am going to make some resolutions, and some of them will be the same old tired ones I've been making for 25 years or more, but if I don't try again, then I will just percolate in the same juices until I am thick and no good, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I shall try to share those resolutions with you, and my progress in them, as I undertake to make the changes. If I fail to record my progress, let me know! Again, accountability and encouragement are part of the method of my madness.
About 20 years ago, my then elderly friend Eleanor told me about another aging woman she knew who lived alone. This woman knew that she was losing some physical and mental acuity, but had no family nearby to help her make changes that might keep her safe. So, she spoke to the postman and the beat-cop, both of whom were good friends, and asked them to follow her in their automobiles from time-to-time, when they saw her out and about in her car. If they noticed that she was making poor decisions or reacting slowly and felt that the time had come for her to give up her auto-mobility, they were invited to speak directly to her. She wanted their input and recognized that she would not always be able to see her own needs and limitations clearly.
So, I am inviting you to do the same, not only in this post, but in the years to come as we both grow older. As I said, please be gentle. "A bruised reed he will not break." I want to grow, not just be reminded of how far I have yet to go, or of how poorly I have yet done.
And I don't intend for this exercise to be a belly-gazing, myopic, self-absorbed meditation on me. The whole point is to learn to live well, to live better, and that means to learn to live a more other-focused life. I want to learn to love more freely, forgive more readily, and laugh more heartily. Join me! We just might have fun!
I intend to do some backward looking -- time to remember and celebrate, to reflect and grow. I intend to make the effort to take stock of what I have accomplished thus far in life, and with God's help, determine whether any of it is of lasting value, and then do better to invest myself in things of eternal worth. During this year, I hope to arrange several celebrations of life, with special friends, and I will share those with you. I also intend to set some goals for growth, not the least of which is the daily commitment to write this blog about turning 50.
I don't know how long I shall continue to write about the process, but since I am beginning some 75 days before my birthday, I shall probably continue to record the change process for at least that long afterward. That will see me through Lent, Easter, and Pentecost, which might just be a good outline for this momentous time in life.
Do I think that my experience of Turning Fifty is more important than anyone else's, or that I have any particular insight that will shatter the world? No, not at all, but I do want to do this well, and set a course for the second half of my life (well, sure, it's already begun, but better late than never) which will take me to the end in victory.
Yes, I am going to make some resolutions, and some of them will be the same old tired ones I've been making for 25 years or more, but if I don't try again, then I will just percolate in the same juices until I am thick and no good, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I shall try to share those resolutions with you, and my progress in them, as I undertake to make the changes. If I fail to record my progress, let me know! Again, accountability and encouragement are part of the method of my madness.
About 20 years ago, my then elderly friend Eleanor told me about another aging woman she knew who lived alone. This woman knew that she was losing some physical and mental acuity, but had no family nearby to help her make changes that might keep her safe. So, she spoke to the postman and the beat-cop, both of whom were good friends, and asked them to follow her in their automobiles from time-to-time, when they saw her out and about in her car. If they noticed that she was making poor decisions or reacting slowly and felt that the time had come for her to give up her auto-mobility, they were invited to speak directly to her. She wanted their input and recognized that she would not always be able to see her own needs and limitations clearly.
So, I am inviting you to do the same, not only in this post, but in the years to come as we both grow older. As I said, please be gentle. "A bruised reed he will not break." I want to grow, not just be reminded of how far I have yet to go, or of how poorly I have yet done.
And I don't intend for this exercise to be a belly-gazing, myopic, self-absorbed meditation on me. The whole point is to learn to live well, to live better, and that means to learn to live a more other-focused life. I want to learn to love more freely, forgive more readily, and laugh more heartily. Join me! We just might have fun!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
"Strangely Clear"
Remember the old song, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus/ look full in His wonderful face/ and the things of earth will grow strangely dim/ in the light of His glory and grace"?
Quoting Philip Yancey from Christianity Today, July 2009: "Church historian Mark Noll remarks that the song...plainly errs when it says, 'and the things of earth will grow strangely dim...' No, he says, the rest of the world grows clearer, not dimmer, in the light of Christ. God created matter; in Jesus, God joined it."
I know what the old hymn writer meant. He was talking about the ugliness of this world, when trouble seems to blind us to grace, and hardship strips away our peace. In times like those, as we focus on Christ, the difficulties seem to fade just a bit as the glory of God restores hope. He was right, just as in the song Bette Midler made popular, "From a distance, the world seems blue and green and the snowtopped mountains white...God is watching us...from a distance." In the same way as the old hymn, the contemporary song speaks of the truth that God sees the big picture, the end of the story, the final triumph, the right side of the tapestry rather than the knots of string below, the forest and not just each individual tree. It is a message of hope.
But I also know what Mr. Noll meant when he said that the things of this world grow clearer as we welcome Christ into our lives. An intimate walk with Jesus changes our perspective on everything and enhances our view of all things.
With Jesus in my heart, though I may hear a diagnosis of cancer, I am strengthened by the knowledge that He took stripes on His back to provide for my healing, and that even if I die, I will live eternally with Him.
With Jesus in my heart, when I feel alone and lost, I have hope and peace because He has promised never to fail me or forsake me.
I was 24 years old when I first experienced the forgiving grace of Jesus in a truly profound, life-altering way. By that time, I had been a believer and follower of Christ, by my own volition, for 15 years. But I had also strayed from Him and found myself living at the bottom of a deep pit of despair. When I knew in my heart that He loved me, cleansed me, and welcomed me back into fellowship, my entire world changed. My spiritual perspective was certainly new -- the darkness in my heart was flooded with the light of His love and I knew that I was forever free from guilt and condemnation. My emotional perspective was transformed, as well -- the heaviness of shame had almost crippled me in relationships, and now I found myself able to give and receive love again.
In addition to seeing things differently in my very soul, the essence of my being, I also noticed immediately that I began to see things in the physical world differently. Suddenly, I had eyes to see the beauty of creation in ways I never had before. It was as if my spiritual blindness had also rendered me near-sighted with regard to things physical. Now, even barren winter branches had a stark beauty that took my breath away. The sky was bluer, the sun brighter, colors were deeper and had more contrast. With Christ nearer, the world was clearer. The Creator had come into my life in a new way, and He opened my eyes to see all things created with new eyes -- the veil was gone and I saw, literally, without the shadow of sin.
Of course, seeing more clearly also means that one sees the meanness and ugliness that has infected our world more clearly. But that clarity of vision only serves to spur me on to do more to affect the world in positive ways, because of His love, because of His intended and eternal purpose for beauty to surround us, because He longs to fill our lives with Himself instead of the brokenness that threatens to overwhelm us.
A couple of days ago, after a solid month of heavy rains (20+ inches in just 3 weeks, a record-setting September for rainfall in Mississippi), I awoke to a crystal clear sky, with stunning deep blues and a crisp fall breeze. Not wanting to waste even a moment of what might last for only a day or two, I suggested that we pack a picnic and make the trek to Jeff Busby State Park, where, at 603 feet above sea level, Little Mountain towers over most of Mississippi. We could see forever! And, oh, what a sight we had! It's much too early for the best fall color here, and truthfully, Mississippi doesn't get the startlingly beautiful shades of autumn that are on display in New England and other places where the sap runs to oranges and reds, but the greens we saw that day were deep and verdant and throbbed with life.
A little closer to where our feet trod, we saw nuts and pods, spiders and bugs, toppled timber and hollow logs, even a pretty little finch that had met its life's end earlier in the day. We marveled at the creek appearing here and there below our trail, and we stood amazed at the incredible variety of wildlife all around us. We even built a shelter (a very small one) of logs and sticks and bark, and dreamed about how we might be able to survive a night on the Natchez Trace, where Indians and postal carriers used to travel on horseback.
I'm sure that many people never have to be awakened from darkness in order to appreciate beauty like this, but I must admit that I believe that I enjoyed it that much more because of the last six weeks of darkness. Since we moved from Missouri to Mississippi 42 days ago, we have had more rainy days, literally and figuratively, than we have had in a long time. The move itself would have been enough darkness, but it was compounded with all the frustrations of lost mail, delayed bank accounts, too much rain, scattered possessions, the aching loss of friends and community, of fellowship with believers we knew and loved well.
I needed some sunshine in the darkness of my heart. I have grasped at every glimpse of His Light in my daily quiet time, and when He allowed the sun to shine so brightly on Mississippi this Monday past, I was compelled to rush into it, with arms and heart open wide for whatever new vision of His loveliness I might find.
"And the things of earth will grow strangely CLEAR in the light of His glory and grace." I know you agree with Mr. Noll, at least from this perspective, as I do. I pray your eyes are open to see.
Quoting Philip Yancey from Christianity Today, July 2009: "Church historian Mark Noll remarks that the song...plainly errs when it says, 'and the things of earth will grow strangely dim...' No, he says, the rest of the world grows clearer, not dimmer, in the light of Christ. God created matter; in Jesus, God joined it."
I know what the old hymn writer meant. He was talking about the ugliness of this world, when trouble seems to blind us to grace, and hardship strips away our peace. In times like those, as we focus on Christ, the difficulties seem to fade just a bit as the glory of God restores hope. He was right, just as in the song Bette Midler made popular, "From a distance, the world seems blue and green and the snowtopped mountains white...God is watching us...from a distance." In the same way as the old hymn, the contemporary song speaks of the truth that God sees the big picture, the end of the story, the final triumph, the right side of the tapestry rather than the knots of string below, the forest and not just each individual tree. It is a message of hope.
But I also know what Mr. Noll meant when he said that the things of this world grow clearer as we welcome Christ into our lives. An intimate walk with Jesus changes our perspective on everything and enhances our view of all things.
With Jesus in my heart, though I may hear a diagnosis of cancer, I am strengthened by the knowledge that He took stripes on His back to provide for my healing, and that even if I die, I will live eternally with Him.
With Jesus in my heart, when I feel alone and lost, I have hope and peace because He has promised never to fail me or forsake me.
I was 24 years old when I first experienced the forgiving grace of Jesus in a truly profound, life-altering way. By that time, I had been a believer and follower of Christ, by my own volition, for 15 years. But I had also strayed from Him and found myself living at the bottom of a deep pit of despair. When I knew in my heart that He loved me, cleansed me, and welcomed me back into fellowship, my entire world changed. My spiritual perspective was certainly new -- the darkness in my heart was flooded with the light of His love and I knew that I was forever free from guilt and condemnation. My emotional perspective was transformed, as well -- the heaviness of shame had almost crippled me in relationships, and now I found myself able to give and receive love again.
In addition to seeing things differently in my very soul, the essence of my being, I also noticed immediately that I began to see things in the physical world differently. Suddenly, I had eyes to see the beauty of creation in ways I never had before. It was as if my spiritual blindness had also rendered me near-sighted with regard to things physical. Now, even barren winter branches had a stark beauty that took my breath away. The sky was bluer, the sun brighter, colors were deeper and had more contrast. With Christ nearer, the world was clearer. The Creator had come into my life in a new way, and He opened my eyes to see all things created with new eyes -- the veil was gone and I saw, literally, without the shadow of sin.
Of course, seeing more clearly also means that one sees the meanness and ugliness that has infected our world more clearly. But that clarity of vision only serves to spur me on to do more to affect the world in positive ways, because of His love, because of His intended and eternal purpose for beauty to surround us, because He longs to fill our lives with Himself instead of the brokenness that threatens to overwhelm us.
A couple of days ago, after a solid month of heavy rains (20+ inches in just 3 weeks, a record-setting September for rainfall in Mississippi), I awoke to a crystal clear sky, with stunning deep blues and a crisp fall breeze. Not wanting to waste even a moment of what might last for only a day or two, I suggested that we pack a picnic and make the trek to Jeff Busby State Park, where, at 603 feet above sea level, Little Mountain towers over most of Mississippi. We could see forever! And, oh, what a sight we had! It's much too early for the best fall color here, and truthfully, Mississippi doesn't get the startlingly beautiful shades of autumn that are on display in New England and other places where the sap runs to oranges and reds, but the greens we saw that day were deep and verdant and throbbed with life.
A little closer to where our feet trod, we saw nuts and pods, spiders and bugs, toppled timber and hollow logs, even a pretty little finch that had met its life's end earlier in the day. We marveled at the creek appearing here and there below our trail, and we stood amazed at the incredible variety of wildlife all around us. We even built a shelter (a very small one) of logs and sticks and bark, and dreamed about how we might be able to survive a night on the Natchez Trace, where Indians and postal carriers used to travel on horseback.
I'm sure that many people never have to be awakened from darkness in order to appreciate beauty like this, but I must admit that I believe that I enjoyed it that much more because of the last six weeks of darkness. Since we moved from Missouri to Mississippi 42 days ago, we have had more rainy days, literally and figuratively, than we have had in a long time. The move itself would have been enough darkness, but it was compounded with all the frustrations of lost mail, delayed bank accounts, too much rain, scattered possessions, the aching loss of friends and community, of fellowship with believers we knew and loved well.
I needed some sunshine in the darkness of my heart. I have grasped at every glimpse of His Light in my daily quiet time, and when He allowed the sun to shine so brightly on Mississippi this Monday past, I was compelled to rush into it, with arms and heart open wide for whatever new vision of His loveliness I might find.
"And the things of earth will grow strangely CLEAR in the light of His glory and grace." I know you agree with Mr. Noll, at least from this perspective, as I do. I pray your eyes are open to see.
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