no ordinary people

The challenge for last weekend in the Lenten series I'm looking at was to define the word "worth." Don't cheat. Don't use Webster's or Google. What does it mean, in essence? And the answer I came up with? Something of worth has a reason for its existence. The world would be poorer without it. If a person, place, or thing is of worth, that means that everything it touches would lose something if it did not exist.

Which caused me to think--what would it look like if we went around treating every human being we come in contact with like he or she is of worth? What if we really believed it? What if we believed it about ourselves? Do you act like the checker you meet at the grocery store, the cop who just pulled you over, or the family member who just irritated you for the fifth time today is someone that the world needs in order to be richer? Because she or he is.

One of my favorite essays by C.S. Lewis puts it this way:

"There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry , snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendours." (C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory)

I think it is not at all coincidental that, the day after this definition was in my devotional plan, I heard a fantastic message about this very topic. I pass it on to you with recommendation.(It's #1 on the list.)

http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/id292230187

Whom do you need to see as an immortal today? A family member? A coworker? Yourself?

thank you, baby bio

At the suggestion of a wise friend, I have tuned into the World Vision Lenten devotional program. http://www.worldvisionacts.org/?q=lent2011_relentless_acts_of_justice

The things I put down on paper yesterday seemed too good not to share.

Participants were asked to write down 30-40 things they are grateful for under one of the following categories: money, health, disease, faith, freedom, or education. Tough choice. We are all so blessed in so many of these areas. But I chose education, since I am fortunate enough to have 8 years of post grad papers and bills behind me. Plus, having been a teacher, it's kind of part of my reason for existence. And it really was not difficult to think of forty things. That says a lot right there. It is truly amazing to really sit down and think about what we have that we might not if we had never been granted the chance to go to those schoolhouses kids complain about so often.

I'm not saying people without education cannot attain these things. Some have them in abundance. But I am saying that for me, and statistically in general, education creates or greatly enhances these abilities or opportunities. And I'm not saying, look at me and all these great accomplishments. Please. That's why they're blessings--we don't earn them. So, here's what I came up with.

• A career I love. Too few can say that.

• I know how to research whatever I want to know. Within reason, I suppose. I probably don't know how to find out the temperature at the core of Pluto. But I don't really want to know, do I?I know how to adapt to life's curves. This comes from learning how to think through alternative solutions.

• I have a fairly good understanding of my gifts and abilities. And not-abilities. Good to know as well.

• I can read.

• I can write my name. And other stuff.

• I can learn from history's mistakes, having sat through classes in, yes, even The History of Nuclear Power.

• I can better understand others' point of view.

• I know basic math and cannot be cheated by people. Except maybe vacuum cleaner salesmen. No, I'm just too ornery to be cheated by them.

• I do not have to use a calculator for math, which is better than can be said for, say, my children, who are also supposedly educated.

• I can help my kids with homework.

• I can be an example to my kids for learning.

• I am more fortunate than 95 percent of the women in the world, as a guesstimate.

• I can encourage others through my writing.

• I have been given the courage to speak; thank you high school debate coach.

• I have the ability to think quickly; see above debate coach.

• I have the ability to reason through puzzles and complex ideas.

• I can make a living for myself. If I really have to.

• I can understand other languages. Sort of. Enough to have actual French and Spanish people smile benevolently at me and think, "Cute American. At least she's trying."

• I can understand other cultures.

• I have had the good fortune to travel.

• I can read my Bible. Which opens up so many more blessings I cannot being to list them here.

• I have a comfortable home and lots of things I want.

• I know how to drive safely, thanks to driver's ed. Theoretically, at least.

• I have a greater appreciation for what goes into creating things, whether it be material things or ideas.

• I have a greater appreciation for the intricacy of creation. Thank you, baby bio, botany, and geology in college. And FYI, Baby Bio was the term for those of us who were decidedly not on the pre med track. It had nothing to do with infants.

• I have a better understanding of other people's character through literature and history.

• I can not just read a book but enjoy one that I want to read.

• I am in touch with the great thinkers of the past. No, not in some weird, channeling sort of way.

• I have tools to reframe the future for myself, as it changes so quickly.

• I have the abilities and hope needed to carry out that reframing.

• I have an intellectual faith in my own belief system.

• I have connections with people from all over the world thanks to college and seminary friends.

• I have my spouse. Met in college. Perhaps he should have come farther up the list than #34.

• The ability to pay those school loans. Yes, it is a blessing to be able to write the check.

• The ability to critically analyze what the media feeds me so I'm not a blind follower

• The resources to help others

• I can give my girls the education they will need.

• I get to help kids on the Battle of the Books team, a great blessing I could not be part of if I could not read, right?

• I have clean water, food, shelter, and hope. And that right there should be enough. It's more than most.

OK, go. What's your list? Pick one of those topics today and think about it. I guarantee, you'll be surprised to discover forty things aren't so hard to come up with. Which only tells us how lucky we are.

i told you so

We interrupt this regular blogcast to bring you three words.

Colin. Firth. Rocks.

I have been saying it for years, and finally the world recognizes my wisdom.

I simply cannot write the blog post I had intended today because I have to gloat.

As I told the nurse who took my blood pressure this morning (perfect, by the way), I have not raved about a movie since Return of the King in 2003. Either I have high standards or just a thing about movies with the word 'king' in the title. I am talking, of course, about The King's Speech, the official best picture of 2010.

Go see it. And for those of you who may hesitate to see it because of its rating--the only reason for the 'R' rating is the dropping of a few F bombs. OK, quite a few. But, unlike standard Hollywood fare, they are not gratuitous but quite necessary to the plot (plus really, really funny).

So what does this have to do with the professed topic of my blog? A lot, actually. The message of the movie underscores so much of what I write about and am passionate about. Like,

• Letting down our masks and defenses is usually the first step to healing.

• Needing something worth fighting for is deep in the human soul.

• Don't overlook the less glamorous, less talented, or less confident. God actually seems to prefer working with them when he wants to do something great.

Most importantly,

• What people call you, even or especially not-so-great parents, does not define who you are.

• What you do in the face of difficulty, when others need you, does.
  

sugar cookie wars

I am not an extravert. This is not exactly shocking news to people who know me. I scored so far into the introversion range on the personality test for ministry prep in grad school that the adviser told me I might want to consider another field. I didn't.

But moving into our neighborhood fourteen years ago (OK,it's not really a neighborhood. It's a dead end street with twenty houses strung along it), I knew I wanted to get to know my neighbors somehow. Going out to meet them or inviting them over individually was about as likely to happen as going up and down the street in a bikini in January. (And trust me, going anywhere in a bikini at any time is not going to happen, ever. ) So, we began what became the annual tradition of the Richardson house neighborhood cookie exchange each December.

Now, at our house, this has always been a civilized event. But cookie exchanges can turn ugly. Because there is no fury like a woman whose Russian Teacakes are scorned. Watch this particularly, I am not kidding you, at a church cookie exchange. We all smile politely about it. We all pretend we don't care if people take more of Edna's chocolate krinkles than our pecan cherry delights. (And who wouldn't prefer the former, really?) But we do care, deeply. And we are watching that table like the lions watched Daniel to see whose cookies go and whose stay. Sure, we know Jesus is the reason for the season. But we also know Hershey's Kisses and a few well-sprinkled nonpareils might be the reason we go home feeling validated. I suspect that cookie exchanges in real neighborhoods, where people live closer to one another than they do on or street and interact more, are very similar. Oneupmanship lives.

So why do we allow the perfectly round circumference of a sugar cookie or the choice of chunky, creamy, or super chunky in our peanut butter blossoms to determine whether or not we believe the endeavor was worthwhile? And, by extension, whether or not we are?

Because it's easy. We may never be able to tell if we are the best listener in the neighborhood, or the best at watching out for the other kids. We may never see ourselves rated on being an encourager at church, or understanding the messages, or helping behind the scenes. These are not quantifiable. But we know without a shadow of a doubt whose cookie tray goes home the emptiest. And so there we can hang our worth. Which is a pretty fickle thing to bind our personal validity to. Cookies can let you down with the slightest change in temperature or butter versus margarine.

What kind of measurement are you using to decide whether you deserve whatever title it is you want today?

the eye of the beholder

And the scrapbooking saga continues . . .

The photos of the year we surprised my husband's family and drove to Colorado Springs for Christmas still bother me. They are beautiful photos. Seeing all the families' little girls lined up in the dresses grandma made for them is an adorable photo op. Remembering the 60 and 70 degree weather is a definite plus as well. But it put us in Colorado the Christmas everyone was reporting the news of the little Colorado girl found murdered in her basement, the six-year-old beauty pageant queen. It was very, very difficult to be right there at the epicenter of the news, seeing my own three girls and wondering how any mother could handle parting from any child, but most especially if you knew your child had suffered such pain. It was fourteen years ago, but I still remember when I look at the pictures.

Most disturbing to a lot of mothers, though were the newspaper and magazine pictures of little girls dressed up like a midget Angelina J1olies and parading in front of judges. The whole concept of beauty pageants for six-year-olds got a lot of press, and rightfully so. It disturbed me as well to imagine the messages that would send to little girls just like mine.

I never imagined something like the morning ritual of makeup would begin to present philosophical problems when I had kids.

“Mommy, why are you putting that stuff on your face?”

“To make myself look more beau . . . um . . . ah . . . becaaaaause . . . grown up ladies just like to change around their looks sometimes. For fun.” I just could not say the 'b' word. I told them on a daily basis that they were beautiful just the way God made them. And I believed it with everything in me. So how could I say I did not believe it about myself? Time to do some recalculating about Cover Girl on a more metaphysical plane.

This is not to say I gave up makeup. I do know my limitations. But I did start to watch what I said around my girls about looks, weight, and other things of that far-too-sensitive-to-women nature.

What happens to our girls when we send them messages that, on one hand, sex sells at the earliest age possible, but on the other, they're special just the way they are? “Sure, you're great kid. But nothing a little mascara and a push up bra won't make better.” That's why I found the concept of beauty pageants for little girls so abhorrent. Somewhere in that Christmas, I understood in a new way that I wanted to teach my girls to better themselves, not market themselves. Now they're young women, and the pressure to do so is far, far greater. I hope they still know they're beautiful, just the way God made them.

More lessons from scrapbooking Christmas pictures, fourteen years ago.

seasonal slacker

Pictures of the house decorated for the holidays remind me of my best laid plans. Years ago, I decided that every Christmas I would make one nice new decoration. One year it was a living room wreath. Another it was window swags. And then there was the year I saw garlands hanging around the doorways in the swanky stores in Geneva (Illinois, not Switzerland) and wanted some of those gorgeous things for myself. So I made two, full of ribbons and glass balls and silk poinsettias. they were, and are, beautiful, though they are showing their age.

Then something happened. Life. Three active kids suddenly meant that the last time I handmade anything was sometime in the early Clinton administration. Plus, doorway swags and endless strings of lights and wreaths made my Christmas boxes take up more storage area than a space shuttle parked in our basement. And I was starting to begrudge the time it took to put it all out rather than enjoy the season. Something was wrong in Whoville.

The part of me that wanted my house to be like the houses in the magazines collided with the part that knew sanity was the better part of happiness. So amid the pictures in later years, you'll see less décor (and fewer boxes). A focus on what is most important to me (my nativity set and angel collections). Not much handmade in quite a while. Unless you count 4H projects. But those were made by hands other than my own and are therefore more special.

For two years, I've let slide the annual cookie party. Am I turning into a slacker? I prefer to believe I'm just focusing on what really brings us joy rather than what seems necessary for some external reason we can't even label. For 2011, I leave you with this:

Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is the noble art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of non-essentials. ~Lin Yutang