transitional meltdown revisited

Things finally came to a head today. I'd been feeling the malaise (or ennui, if you will) coming on, and I'd been doing various creative, spiritual, and mental/emotional health exercises to stave it (that is, the malaise/ennui) off. But I knew that at some point, something was gonna give. I asked the house church to pray for me yesterday, so I knew that God would get something done, one way or the other.

God seems to answer my prayers in the grocery store a lot. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Sort of.

So this afternoon, I got ready to go to the grocery store. Crest, to be specific. I finally remembered to bring along my cloth bags and Klappkiste (? a foldable plastic box, great for carrying stuff, staple in every German household). I debated taking the cloth bags into Crest with me and asking the bagger simply to bag my purchases in my personal bags. I decided against that, though, figuring it might throw the bagger for too much of a loop.

Because, as you know, friends and neighbors, baggers don't like to be thrown for loops. I didn't know that before this afternoon, but I sure as turkey-at-Thanksgiving know it now. My leaving the cloth bags in the car must have been prophetic. But again, I'm getting ahead of things.

Went to Crest. Shopped for groceries. Couldn't find chicken broth. Found lots of new food for Pippin. Gave up on chicken broth. Chicken broth and catfood not related.

When I arrived at the cash register, I told the bagger that I'd like for him to place all my groceries directly in a cart without bagging them. The bagger in question made an affirmative noise--"Mmhm" or "Okay" or somesuch. I turned my attention to the cashier and the growing total on his screen as he scanned my groceries.

A few moments later, I looked to my right and saw the bagger putting my squash and northern beans into a paper bag.

"Oh, I'd like for the groceries to go into the cart," I said again, thinking maybe he didn't hear me the first time. "I don't want any bags."

He bagged a can of catfood. "Well, I'm really not supposed to let you do that."

Wha....?

My brain tried to process for a second. Didn't succeed. See, this is the part where the cultural transition issues come into play: I couldn't grasp all the implications of what he was saying. It was literally impossible for me to shift gears in my mind. I grabbed onto the first thing that popped into my head, probably chipping off a few mental teeth in the process.

I would love to say that I replied to him with gentle, polite, but firm insistence.

Instead, all that came out was, "What happened to 'the customer is always right'?" And it was rather snippish, too. I was mortified at my own rudeness, but plowed ahead anyway. "I really don't want any bags."

"Well," said he, "we've been having problems with people stealing food."

I felt my mouth drop open. Rationality was making a hasty exit. I looked from him to the open exit door...seven or eight feet away. How would I steal food, going from this register out that door? Do you want to watch me?

Aloud, I said, "I'll be going from here--" pointing at my feet "--to there--" pointing at the doorway close at hand.

He glared at me. At least, it seemed like a glare. It could have been an expression of abject disappointment in the way his day was going. I don't know. He kind of mumbled something. I gestured in the general direction of the shopping cart. "Please just put the groceries in the cart. I really. Don't. Want. Any. Bags."

He began taking catfood, beans, and other items out of the bags and putting them into the cart. As I turned away with a world-weary sigh, he muttered, "All right, but it won't be my fault if you get stopped."

I forbore replying to that. This whole time, the cashier had continued merrily scanning items and sending them in the general direction of the recalcitrant (!) bagger. The total had risen, but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to get out of there.

I finally got out of there. I told the bagger, "Thank you for your cooperation," and said it with a smile. I pushed my cart the seven or eight feet from the register to the open doorway. I neither stole food, nor did anyone accuse me of any crimes. I drove home and put away the groceries.

Ed walked in the door, and I cried because I hadn't cooked anything and had bought the wrong kind of light bulbs.

"All I wanted," I wailed, "was to do something good for the environment! I wanted to save some trees! I just wanted to shop the German way!"

A big part of why I'm okay now is that I have a husband who listens, who doesn't care that there's no food, who's perfectly happy to make his own supper, and who lets me cry when I need to. He's amazing. God is amazing, for blessing me with Ed.

So there's the most recent story of my cultural transition. We're approaching the one-year mark, and I think I'm doing pretty well. I'm aware of moments like this afternoon, I recognize them for what they are, and I process them. I don't fret about why this is happening to me or about whether or not this is ever going to go away. I know that eventually, because I have God, I'll be fine. No matter what happens. He has brought me through worse than this.

It's funny, though, how my major meltdown moments are connected with stores. This one at Crest, a previous one at Buy-for-Less. A few years ago on furlough, I had one at Wal-Mart, and in Chemnitz, I had one at IKEA (a sofa and a credit card were involved). That just goes to show what an integral part necessities-shopping is in culture.

And that's all I have to say about that. :o)

in which i admit to linguistic failings of my own, gasp and egad

;o)

People who know me know that I'm kind of a stickler for correct spelling and grammar, which might possibly be the understatement of the millennium. But the millennium is young yet, so we shall see. Anyway, if you care to peruse the menus on the right side of my blog, you'll find my "Grammar and Spelling Pet Peeves," or some title to that effect. Clicking on that link will take you to said peeves, where you can view my personal collection of observed grammar and spelling errors. Maybe there are a few of you out there who actually care about that sort of thing. I don't know. Maybe the course of the millennium will discover some converts to my way of thinking.

Or maybe not.

;oD

Anyway, the point is...the point is....("Oh...I've forgotten the point." --"The point is that when Mr. Larabee finds out I'm not really Eunice, he's gonna think you tried to put something over on him, and it's bye-bye twenty-thousand smackers.")

Um.

Coffee?

So, I'm editing Chapter 16 of my book, and a spelling error caught my eye. This wouldn't be such a big deal--it could just be a typo, y'know--except that I've observed the same error in multiple places in the manuscript. Details as follows:

Apparently, I don't know the difference between "rein" and "reign."

Of the two, the one I *need* most in the story is "rein"--as in, the reins of horses, taking the reins, reining a horse (or a person) in, etc.

What I actually *used* in my first draft is "reign"--as in, a monarch's reign, the reigning ruler, etc.

Note to self: There is quite a difference between

"I reined in the horse"

and

"I reigned in the horse."

The latter would be, I imagine, fairly uncomfortable, not to mention a thing of impossibility in our dimension. Unless, of course, you happen to be Groucho Marx. Which I don't.

the one where i make another creative discovery

...said discovery being the realization that the laundry room of our apartment complex is an excellent place for working on my novel. Especially because I'm usually the only person there.

Procedure is as follows:

1. Take laundry to laundry room.
2. Stick laundry in washers.
3. Set up laptop.
4. Begin writing with no distractions, namely:

a. Internet
b. books
c. chores
d. Internet
e. paperwork
d. other that I can't think of right now
f. have I mentioned Internet?

5. Keep writing.
6. Take laundry out of washers.
7. Put laundry in dryers.
8. Write some more.
9. Keep writing.
10. Have a very productive writing day.

This completes Courtney's Ten-Step Laundry Program For Creative Writing.

elitism tastes good sometimes

"I don't have scientific data to back me up, but I've anecdotally witnessed a direct relationship between someone's willingness to read and their level of education, success, expectations for themselves, and general, uh, interestingness they bring to the table. I guess that makes me one of those 'elitists' we keep hearing about, but with that in mind, you may understand why it's been pretty...important to me that I instill a love of reading in my kids."

--Wil Wheaton
in his blog


If this were a Commonplace Book, and my profs were leaving me Post-It Note comments in it (which they did in my real Commonplace Book back in the Dark Ages of 1997), they would tell me that my posts are "heavy on Wil Wheaton" (in 1997, it was "heavy on Elton John). Guilty as charged (on all counts, past and hypothetical present).

That admitted, I really do enjoy Wil's thoughts. I won't say that I agree with him 100% on this particular quote: It doesn't apply to everyone; personally, I know plenty of highly interesting people who aren't big readers; but I do believe that the willingness to read affects education level and expectations for self.

In some ways, it can even determine education level and expectations for self.

Reading swings my verge!

in honor of and reference to memory

Why is it so difficult to say what we really mean?

Why, when we try to communicate something important to us, do we so often send a message we didn't want to send, and end up hurting the other person without wanting to?

What must we do in order to learn to ask the right questions?

What must we do in order to learn how to listen for the answers?

Honestly: Is it so difficult to stop talking, open the heart, and let the soul truly comprehend what the other person is saying?

Why is what we want to say usually so much more important to us than that which the other person needs to say?

Why do we block others from unburdening their souls?

Why do we espouse total honesty, yet we cannot accept it when others are totally honest with us?

Are our relationships truly that fragile?

Are our relationships truly that shallow?

How can we have been so misled?

Why didn't anyone tell us?

Why can't we admit that the fault is our own for not having sought and delved more deeply?

Why do we lack courage?

Where is the safe haven?

Why do we paint love a color only we can see?

in which i don't know whether or not locusts and cicadas are the same thing

I intended to write about this weeks ago but forgot.

A few weeks ago, on a warm spring evening (as opposed to the hot spring evening we are currently experiencing--25 degrees Celsius at 22:00!), Ed and I were sitting in the office with the windows open, doing the kind of nothing that people do in their offices at home on warm spring evenings.

(An aside: I just now sneezed and hit my head on the edge of my laptop. Ow.)

As we sat there, doing nothing, I gradually became aware of a noise. I'd been hearing it for quite some time but hadn't consciously taken note of it. When I finally did begin paying attention to it, I knew immediately what it was: a locust!

Some people find them creepy. Some find them annoying. I find locusts completely fascinating, both in appearance and in lifestyle. ("Lifestyles of the Green and Bug-Eyed!")
As I told Ed on that do-nothing evening of a few weeks ago, the sound of locusts takes me back to childhood summers in Oklahoma, lying awake at night, sweltering in the heat, listening to the locusts as they sang me to sleep.

I've been a lot of places and heard a lot of things, but so far, for me, the sound of locust song is unique to Oklahoma. There's just no other sound like it. And because I associate it with the wonderful, boisterous, adventurous summers of my childhood, it's a sound that is very dear to me. I love walking out into a warm, humid summer evening in Oklahoma and hearing the locusts as they "sing" so loudly, they're almost deafening. Every time I hear them, there's a split second when I'm a kid again.

"Reeeeeeeeeeeeee!" said Ed, imitating the locust. "How would you like it," he asked me, "if your whole purpose in life were to crawl out of the ground in the spring, stretch, look around, and then start making that noise?!"

I laughed.

Oh, and speaking of humid, tonight is definitely the night for that! Earlier, I walked outside, and I could smell the heat and moisture rolling through the air. Like the locust song, this smell is unique to this place. No other place I've been smells quite like this. Germany has its share of humid summers, but they smell different: woodsier somehow, scented with tree mold and green, deep and dark and growing.

Oklahoma humidity smells like earth and rain and wind. It's a wild smell, scented with power barely restrained, occasionally threatening with a hint of ozone. This, too, takes me back to childhood, when storms meant running out into the rain for the sheer joy of getting drenched and seeing the lighting; when climbing water towers didn't seem foolish; when simply everything was possible.

a few items of randomness

The title says it. No further introduction.

--Tonight, Ed and I dropped by Buy-For-Less (not Best Buy! I'm getting it right this time!) after our dinner date. We strayed into the international foods aisle and pored over some of the items. This time, I didn't cry! And we bought Spätzle (Swabian egg noodles)!

--This week, I spent two days babysitting the Antwines' great-grandson, Ethan, since Clyde had surgery on Tuesday and Queenie couldn't take care of husband and toddler at the same time. (Imagine that!) Let me preface my following remarks with this: Ethan is adorable; an incurable flirt; and the best-behaved one-year-old I have ever met. The second day, he didn't feel well, and even then, he was still easier to take care of than nine out of ten other kids. He and I had great fun together, and when he came to me and wanted to be cuddled....well, to say my insides melted would be an understatement.

However, I also must say that I'm thankful that babies come in much smaller, less mobile packages at first. Going from no-kid straight to take-care-of-toddler absolutely wore me out. I can't remember when I was last as tired as I was at the end of those two days. And the fact that he needed my near-constant attention...well, I'll put it this way: I wouldn't be able to be a writer and take care of a baby at the same time. It just wouldn't happen.

So, for now, I am perfectly content to be the writer. Nothing against anybody or anybody's babies. It's not you, it's not them, it's me. So many of my friends and family have had babies over the last few weeks, this subject has been on my mind quite bit. My conclusion is that I am wholly selfish in this: I'm not willing to give up my time and energy for a child right now. That being the case, I have no business having one, and I currently have no problem with being selfish in this way. Yes, I would like to have a baby at some point...but not now.

Just in case anybody was wondering. ;o) Maybe this will forestall any comments such as, "Courtney, you need to have a baby." I haven't heard a lot of those since the miscarriage (thankfully, people do have a sense of tact!), but the number of such comments has been increasing of late. It hasn't gotten to the point of severe irritation yet...but I have found myself replying mentally with fairly snarky remarks that I'm not going to repeat here.

I didn't want this to turn into a baby-thoughts post, so that's all I'm gonna say about that for now.

--By the way, I whacked my head on the corner of the bathroom cabinet almost two weeks ago. The huge knot has disappeared, but it still hurts a little. I don't think I've ever hit my head that hard before. I actually saw spots, went to my knees, and thought I might pass out on the edge of the tub and probably hit my head a second time. Thankfully, that didn't happen, and I didn't even throw up (in which case I would definitely have passed out), but still.... God knew what he was doing when he designed that skull, lemme tell ya.

--Our email didn't work properly for a month, and I am still catching up on the piled-up inbox. There were over 250 emails to sort! I narrowed the must-answer ones down to about 70, and I'm slowly working my way through them. I'm down to 23. Of course, that's not counting the ones that have come in since I started sorting.

Verily, verily, I say unto thee, I am seriously tempted to boycott email and tell everyone that if they want me to write them, they'd better send something through snail mail, 'cause I ain't doin' this no more. I am tempted, mind you. I'm still resisting.

(Resistance is futile; I will be assimilated? Hmmm....)

Okay, enough with the random. Ich gehe jetzt ins Bett, und damit basta!

(English-only speakers, make of that last what you will, but I truly didn't say anything indelicate!) ;oD

new year's resolution

I will be more connected to Jesus in 2008 than I was in 2007.

Wherever you are, I hope you'll see many blessings during the next year of your life!

taking time for treasures

In about four hours, I have to get up to get ready to drive to a funeral that’s about 5 hours away. so technically, I don’t have time to be writing this, because I need to be sleeping. But part of my brain is telling me that I won’t be able to sleep anyway, unless I get these thoughts out of my head, so here I am, writing.

Today, in a box stuffed into a shelf in the attic, Ed found something that I have been missing for almost six years, ever since we moved to Chemnitz: my old journals. Not a big deal to some; a priceless treasure to me. When he brought that box down from the attic and I realized what was in it, I whooped for joy. Literally whooped. Not many people in my life have had the experience of being in my presence when I whooped, but Silke and Guido had that experience today, because they were here when it happened. I whooped.

Anyway…my old journals. I have them back. And I’m very happy about that. These are my journals spanning most of my teens and my early 20s. These are pre-blogging journals. These are pre-*typing* journals. The only drawback to finding them is that I now see how terrible my handwriting used to be. (Some might claim it’s still terrible, but for now, that’s neither here nor there nor anywhere.)

The earliest one starts out like this: “Hello. My name is Courtney Anne Weger. I am 14 years old…” And so begins the saga. Cute, eh? What’s funny to me, as I page through these written treasures, is to see that that 14-year-old had quite a few mature insights and quite a bit more wisdom than the 17-year-old or 19-year-old who was to reveal herself in later writings. Something happened to me between the ages of 14 and 17. I think it was hormones, because most of my journal entries from my later teen years seem to concern boys. Good grief…did I not think about anything else?

I would be mortified if anyone read some of the things I wrote back then. But I’m also finding lots of happy memories, moments that I described in detail because they meant so much to me. I read them, and I find myself thinking, “Hey, I *remember* that…” even though I hadn’t thought of it in years. I remember now what happened, and I remember who I was, and I find that I don’t dislike that girl of years ago as much as I thought I disliked her.

Someone once said that a woman’s heart is a deep ocean full of secrets. Sometimes, a girl’s heart is deep that way, too. Another someone once said that we can’t know who we are and where we’re going until we know who we were and where we came from. My journals help me know these things. I’m thankful to have them again.

'you gotta ac-cen-tuate the positive...' /singing

No, I don't *really* have time to do this......but I found the idea on Patricia's blog and thought that even though time is running swiftly through my fingers, I *need* to take the time to do this. It's a little 'spoonful of sugar' that will help improve my attitude, lower my stress level, and remind me to stay positive in the near future.

Okay, so here goes:

10 Things That Recently Made Me Happy

(...Although, overly analytical as I am, I must note that I know nothing can "make" me happy; nothing has that power; the way it really works is that I choose how I react to things and people; my emotions are within my own realm of responsibility. Sorry for the psychological tangent, but I needed to go off on it for my own benefit. ;o) /tangent

Take 2!

10 Things To Which I Recently Reacted In A Most Positive Manner (lol, much eye-rolling) ;oD

In random order....

1. Spending time with lots of sisters at the Ladies' Retreat in Filzmoos, Austria.
1b. Recording with the "5 Sächsy Angels"! ;oD
2. Talking with Matt and Ben, 2 Vienna students who stayed with us last weekend.
3. Allison's email telling me that she enjoyed our talks in Filzmoos.
4. Elsa's statement that Jim isn't lost; we know exactly where he is.
5. Hearing that God had worked things out for Van, Ja-9 and Isa for their university studies.
6. Remembering how much I enjoy autumn.
7. Hearing how much friends and family in Oklahoma are looking forward to seeing us soon.
8. Realizing yet again that God is always there for me and is working to take care of me, especially 'behind-the-scenes' where I am not able to see.
9. Being part of Alex and Barbara's wedding with loved ones and seeing old friends!
10. The privilege of being in a position where I can watch the spiritual growth of people I care about a lot.

And lots of other things too numerous to list. There are so many happy things in life, if we'll only take the time to think about them honestly and write them down.

PLEASE......stop the madness!!!!!!!

Hidy-ho, friends and neighbors! This is yet another friendly public service announcement!

I know, I know, I've posted a lot of "check this out" and "do this" and "don't do that" lately. I'm sorry, but I just gotta. It's all relevant! It's all for your own good!!!!! ;o)

Anyway, today's helpful hint is, yet again, about those pesky EMAIL FORWARDS! Today, I am taking to task those who hit "forward" without checking their facts first. You know what I'm talking about. Those emails saying such-and-such a network is gonna air such-and-such a program that violates every ethical and moral principle that every sane and pure human being holds dear. The emails saying that Celebrity A has been talking trash about ______________, while Celebrities B and C just donated 10 years' worth of movie-made money to some liberal organization that supports killing infants and small fluffy dogs.

Yes, my sarcastic streak is showing.....but c'mon, guys, enough is enough! Imagine a friend comes up to you and says, "Did you hear about Person XYZ? Well, you'll never guess what he did......"

Do you believe every "fact" whispered into your ear?
Do you rush home, whip up a "fact"-sharing email and fire it away to everyone in your address book?

No. Of course you don't.
Especially not without checking to see if all these "facts" you just heard are true.

And why don't you do that?

Well, because it's called "gossip."

And that, my friends, is all a tell-all, tattletale email forward is. It's gossip. It's telling a story about someone you don't know, with facts you can't verify, all to rile other people's emotions up into a frenzy of email-forwarding busybodiness. When you forward an email like that, you're gossiping. And it isn't pretty.

Especially when other people can, upon receiving your gossip, immediately head over to sites like these to check on whether or not your gossip is true:

Hoaxbusters
Hoax Busters
Snopes.com
ScamBusters.org
Truth or Fiction? (thanks for the link, Alisha!)

Sarcasm aside, guys.....please check one of these sites before you hit "forward"! They all have search engines that pick up on key words from that email you want to send on to your friends.

You wouldn't gossip in non-Internet life. Don't be a gossip over email.

procrastination gets a kick in the rear

Today, boys and girls, I'm pointing you in the direction of a place on the web that offers some helpful hints on how to stop procrastinating. If you've been putting off looking up the definition of 'procrastination,' then you've come to the right place: 'Procrastination' means 'putting something off.' 'Not doing something when you know you need to do it.' In other words, ' not gittin' 'er done.'

These people here have some great suggestions on how to turn not gittin' 'er done into 'gittin 'er done. No, I don't always care for their choice of words, but I can live with them. Besides their principles are excellent, and these are their ideas, not mine. I'm not into plagiarism simply to avoid resting my eyes on bad language. ;o)

All of that to say...go check out that link up there. Do an 8-minute dash on something. Git 'er done. I'm gonna go dash something now. :o)

bloomin' plants!

My aloe aristata are blooming!
I didn't even notice those nifty stalks growing until, suddenly (it seemed to me), there were these nifty bloomy thingies at the top.

Why is this event blog-worthy, you might ask? Well, because I, Faithful Readers, was once in possession of a rather black thumb.

Over the years, I've had steadily more and more success in keeping plants alive. But flowering plants have always been the bane of my existence. Especially succulents (of which the aloe is one). I also have a jade, which I nearly killed; and the aloe barely scraped by when I first got it. (It started life as a single plant and eventually grew into seven.)




I've known for a long time that the aloe were propsering (the growth from one plant into seven was a pretty good clue), but I had no idea they were doing well enough to bloom. I didn't even know that these plants could bloom!

So, I'm excited. It's official: I am no longer a bane to the plant world. I don't kill plants anymore. I have a green thumb! Yay me.







Yay for my aloe aristata! Aren't they beautiful!

joggers are happy people

This is the conclusion I have come to over the last month. Recently, I took up running. Sort of. I do a fast walk from our house to the park, which takes about 8 minutes. Then, I run around the pond and back home the long way around, which takes about 15 minutes. I haven't done this during the last twelve days, simply because our schedule was so full while the campaign was underway. But for about 3 weeks, I was in a really good rhythm of running at least 5 days a week. I plan to get back into it over the next few days (provided I don't get another sinus infection, which currently seems to be coming on) and start working my body up to running longer.

'Cause yeah, I know that 15 minutes of running doesn't sound like a lot. But for a former heart patient who has never EVER been a runner in any shape or form, 15 minutes is a major breakthrough.

Anyway, about the happy joggers. I have noticed, on my morning runs, that the 'other' athletic people (I put 'other' in quotation marks because, while these people are actually what one might call 'athletic,' I am not.) always make eye contact with me as we pass each other. And not only do they make eye contact, they actually smile.

Why is this significant? Well, it's significant because these are Germans. At least, I assume that they're Germans and that it's not only we foreigners who get out early in the morning and go do something exercisey. ;o) But one thing about German culture: In general in Germany, strangers who meet each other on the street rarely make eye contact with each other, and even more rarely do they smile. This is not a right or wrong thing, and it doesn't mean that they're unfriendly. It doesn't even mean that they're unhappy, which the flippant title of this post seems to imply. Eye contact and smiling simply aren't ways that Germans connect with strangers on the street. Which is why I was surprised to find it happening with my 'fellow' intrepid exercisers on my morning runs.

And there are several that I see on a regular basis. And we even say "guten Morgen" to each other. I cannot describe how this just makes my day.

I figure that maybe worldwide, people who exercise are just happy. It's probably adrenaline, endorphins, and sweat. Who'dathunk? I never knew that working out could feel so good. Outside and in. :o)

to talk or not to talk--and i usually forget the "not"

Here's something I found online last year. It's been knocking around in the drafts section of my blog for too long, so I decided to post it today. Sorry if the link doesn't work anymore.

The Talkative Woman
by Sandy Fiedler

Chatter chatter chatter.

Trivial statements lacking significance. Chatter chatter some more. I stare straight ahead at the two-lane Texas highway hemmed in on both sides by sky-scraping pines. Three hours there and three hours back from our day trip. I want to think my private thoughts. I am tired. If I stay politely subdued, maybe she'll take the hint, I thought. But it was not to be. The quieter I grew, the more she talked. Then it hit me like a blow to the head - this is exactly what I do to my husband. How many times have he and I driven along with today's roles reversed? Oh, Lord, he's been sitting there annoyed, wishing I would shut up. I wish I had shut up! The Holy Spirit convicted me. I repent, Lord, of selfishness and insensitivity with my words, and I want You to change me.

"Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips." (Psalm 141: 3 NIV)
Every drive, however, with my husband isn't that miserable; many times we have stimulating, profound discussions sparked by a topic introduced from somewhere, something he has just read, we have heard on the news, or discovered about life.

What are some differences between men and women in the area of talking?

Women like to talk. It is a sociological fact that American women have an emotional, mental, even physical NEED to speak several more thousand words per day than men do. Why God made us that way, I don't know. Toward the end of a perfectly good day of conversationless solitude, I will spontaneously begin talking aloud to myself and I didn't even know I was about to speak until the sound of my own voice startled me. Women, more verbal than men, use both sides of their brain for most activities and can process many subjects at once - dinner plans, the child's poison ivy, the car making a funny noise, the latest scandal in government, those suffering religious persecution in China, the success (or usually failure) of the latest diet, the pressure to perform at work, the need to reapply moisturizer to her lips, and on and on, all at once.

Men are not so. They most often use only their left brain, the logical half, approaching subjects one at a time. How novel! How boring! And have you ever noticed that men speak to each other in numbers? The hard drive has 5 million gigs. The deck posts are 4 by 4s. The airplane he used to fly was a 172 or a 182. My husband is a '49 Ford sedan, slow, steady, reliable, who will get from Point A to Point B, while I am like a hummingbird that darts so fast from flower to flower that you don't know it is there until it hums away.

What men don't like:
Too many words
A know-it-all wife or being overtly taught by a woman
Bad timing; e.g., hit with a list of problems as soon as he comes home after work
Excessive questioning, nagging, belittling, mothering
References to what another man does or thinks

What men do like:
Good timing. Of course, you often must bring up the business of living when it occurs, but sometimes you can make an appointment to discuss an important topic when you both can fully tune in.
Peace and quiet
Stimulating, intelligent discussion; a woman with mystery
Interest in and understanding of him and what concerns him
Respect, admiration, and love

How can a wife use her nature to complement and edify her husband?
First of all, generously spend some of those thousands of necessary words on other women.
If you listen to women in a office setting, what do they talk about?
Diets, recipes, relationships, husbands, kids, health, shopping, feelings. Do you ever hear men talking in the office or on the phone about the minute details of making refrigerator strawberry pie? Women in a group feed on these subjects both because of their need to talk about them and because they instinctively know that their husbands don't really want to listen to them. Because I do not have biological sisters, through the stages of my life, I have sought and been blessed with women friends. When my three children were babies, I NEEDED to talk with women about the unfolding mothering topics I was experiencing from breast-feeding to balancing housework with family's demands.

One friend and I talk about spiritual matters, current events, history, business. In fact, we jot down little notes to ourselves about topics we need to mention when we get together. Once the topics are addressed, with a sense of relief we toss the scribbled notes away like the used grocery list.

Another friend and I talk about a mutual work situation. When my 20-year-old daughter and I get together, we both spew out many happy words like sparks from a fireworks display. We have a blast.

Be willing to keep quiet. It is so hard sometimes, like an alcoholic trying to keep from grabbing that drink. I am a morning chatterer and I have to make myself get busy doing something to prevent my mouth from starting up on a long soliloquy to my husband.

1 Peter 3 1(b) reads, "if any do not obey the Word [of God], they may be won over not by discussions but by the [godly] lives of their wives."
(Amplified) This clearly says that conduct is more effective than words in presenting Christianity to a husband.

...Read your husband like a book - his face, his body language, between the lines of his sentences. He is fascinating subject matter. Pray for an open door to a topic that you want to discuss. Like Esther (Esther 4:16), difficult issues may require that we fast, pray, and prepare a time to meet our husband-king.

These guidelines work well, you might remark, if the husband is a godly man, but what if the husband doesn't give God preeminence in his life? Even so, from past experience (years ago my life shipwrecked in divorce and God has blessed me now with a godly husband), I can counter that question with this challenge: name a place besides Esther's position of prayerful humility that can be safer and yield results more pleasing to God. Where else can God work out a woman's true liberty and fulfillment?

After the eye-opening car ride with my chatty friend, I decided that my next long drive with my husband would be special. I would be pleasant, attentive, and, above all, quiet. After about fifteen minutes of quiet, he had settled in and gathered his thoughts. He said, "You know the book I am reading about the scripture in Matthew?" And thus began a satisfying, deep discussion that melted us together even more in mind and spirit. In the right atmosphere, a man's wisdom, character, personality, and thoughts naturally drift out. The woman must help create that atmosphere. And when she speaks in turn, her words will find a welcome lodging in her husband.

"In like manner you married women, be submissive to your own husbands - subordinate yourselves as being secondary to and dependent on them, and adapt yourselves to them. So that even if any do not obey the Word [of God], they may be won over not by discussion but by the [godly] lives of their wives,
When they observe the pure and modest way in which you conduct yourselves, together with your reverence [for your husband. That is, you are to feel for him all that reverence includes] - to respect, defer to, revere him; [revere means] to honor, esteem (appreciate, prize), and [in the human sense] adore him; [and adore means] to admire, praise, be devoted to, deeply love and enjoy [your husband]." I Peter 3:1-2 The Amplified Bible

happy birthday to me.....sort of

So. Today, I am chronologically 30 years old. Contrary to what one might expect, being 30 doesn't bother me in the least. Actually, I think it's kind of cool. I like getting older. It means I'm learning and growing. Besides, I wouldn't want to be 20 again even if you paid me.

However, what does bother me about having a birthday today is being sick. Yes, once again, I'm sick. Or maybe not again, but still. I did start feeling a lot better last week. But over the weekend, things started going down the tube again. I went back to my earnosethroat specialist this morning, and she gave me the lovely news that I have some sort of virus. Woo.

So I've cancelled my birthday coffee that was supposed to take place this afternoon, I can't go to rehearsal tonight, and I'm "written sick" the rest of the week. The doctor said this could take two weeks to run its course. What's really frustrating is that if I'm still having problems on Saturday, I am under orders not to sing in our "concert" on Sunday. (More on that later.)

I'm trying to remain factual here and not complain.....but may I say that I AM MAD ENOUGH TO SPIT?! Not at my doctor, of course.....but at my weak immune system and at the situation.

In other news, I spent the weekend at the Advanced Bible Study Seminar (or is it Series?) (ABSS) in Gemünden (near Frankfurt). The lessons were excellent, and especially the one on Sunday morning really struck me. At some point this week, I'll write something about it and post it here. Or maybe I'll actually update Have Some Water for the first time in over a year.

Stay tuned! I'm gonna have a lot of time on my hands this week. ;o)

1. Corinthians 13 made practical

Bri posted something on her blog yesterday that I think is worth posting on mine, too. Here it is, followed by an expansion of the comments I left on Bri's blog:

1 CORINTHIANS 13 (For Missionaries):

If I speak the language like a native,
But have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.
And If I have all the answers,
So as to convert millions, but have not love,
I gain nothing.
Love is patient with the home congregation
And kind to demanding converts;
Love is not jealous of fellow missionaries,
Boastful because it is American,
Nor rude to its hosts.
Love does not insist on its own mission methods,
And does not become frustrated nor embittered.
It does not rejoice in the failures of its fellow workers,
But truly rejoices at their successes.
Love will stand all criticism,
Give consideration to all advice,
Help all beggars,
And endure all visitors.
Love never ends;
As for methods, they will pass away;
As for language, it shall cease;
As for cultural understanding, it will pass away.
For our understanding is imperfect;
But where love abounds, such imperfections are overshadowed.
Before I went into the field, I knew all the answers;
When I became mature I pondered my presumptiveness.
For then I saw romantically and confidently,
But now realistically and humbly;
Then I thought I knew the heathen,
But now they have come to know me.
Cultural understanding,
Methods,
And Love abide, these three,
But the greatest of these is love!

(paraphrased by Dan and Joyce Hardin)
(Taken from Christian Woman, January 1974)

My thoughts:

Ouch. I've had a copy of this for several years, and I take it out and read it about once a year.....and I'm thinking it's been too long since the last time I read it.

One of the most difficult things for a missionary--or any leader in the church, for that matter--to do is keep focus, keep the right perspective. Frustrations do build up.....and as for me, sometimes I erroneously feel like I'm not allowed to voice them. After all, I'm supposed to be setting an example of longsuffering and faith, right?

Right. But part of longsuffering is being able to voice frustrations--and release tensions--with the right attitude. And my attitude is wrong so very often. I am critical, I am judgmental, and I am proud. (I don't care how you try to euphemize it.....being proud is a sin. And when I give in to it, I am hurting instead of helping people around me. But I'll write on that subject more extensively another time.)

I think this paraphrase of 1. Corinthians 13 applies not only to "missionaries". After all, what is a missionary? One who goes out to tell others about Jesus. Another word for such a person is evangelist.

Or Christian.

Because every Christian, by definition, is supposed to be an evangelist. Every Christian is supposed to be a missionary. Not necessarily in the context of going to a foreign country (or coming back to their own country) to evangelize. But every single one of us is supposed to be living, thinking, speaking, loving, breathing in such a way as to represent Christ on earth. If you are a Christian, you are an ambassador from God, sent to reach out to those who don't know him.

It's not the preachers' job. It's not the elders' job. It's not the missionaries' job. It's not the Bible class teachers' job.

It's your job.

I'm not writing this to inspire guilt in anyone. This isn't supposed to be a why-aren't-you-out-there-doing-your-job? kind of post. But the paraphrase above got me thinking, since it's subtitled "For Missionaries". We need to expand our definition of the word "missionary." The current definition seems to be "someone who goes to a foreign country and leads and teaches in a local church" or something like that. But I believe we need to re-think that.

Ephesians 6 describes Christians as soldiers in a spiritual war against evil. C.S. Lewis describes us as soldiers sent behind enemy lines to sabotage Satan's plans. If you're a Christian, God has put his armor on you, he has given you the weapons you need, and he considers you ready for battle. He has led you into battle, and you have followed. You are now behind enemy lines, and your job is to help free the captives.

You can do it with your words. You can do it with the decisions you make each day. You can do it with a smile, with encouraging words, with the time that you give to another. You can do it by being a shoulder to cry on. You don't have to leave your country, your city, or even your neighborhood. Maybe all you need to do is step out your front door (remember what Bilbo said!) and start a conversation with the guy next-door. Just brighten your corner of the world with the love that Jesus is giving you every moment of your life.

To be the soldier that God has made you, just open your eyes, look closely at the people you see......take those loving concepts from 1. Corinthians and start living them.

today is my real birthday

 
As part of my ongoing effort to grow in faith and to focus on God's will instead of the will of the culture in which I live, I would like to ruminate briefly upon the subject of birthdays: 

Why do Christians celebrate the day of their physical birth? Oh yes, I understand all the reasons: It's nice to have a special day on which we can tell each other, "I'm glad you're here, I'm glad you're my friend, and I want to express my appreciation for you." That's all fine, and I have no problem with that whatsoever. 

But that begs the question as to why we honor the person who was born, instead of showering appreciation upon the woman who gave birth to that person, or both the woman and the man without whom that birth wouldn't have been possible. 

But that, conversely, begs the question as to why we don't use that birthday to shower praise and honor solely upon the Creator without whom neither mother nor father nor birth would ever have been, since he is the only one who truly deserves praise for the existence of anything. Hmmmmm....... 

And, as Christians, why don't we celebrate the day of our spiritual birth with even more enthusiasm and excitement than we do our physical birthdays? 

So, in the spirit of these thoughts, I would like to share this with all of you: 

Today is my birthday! Sixteen years ago today, I was immersed into Christ for the forgiveness of my sins and to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. As of today, I have been alive in Christ for sixteen years. And that life is great.

thoughts about the church

 
These are some thoughts I posted as a comment on someone else's blog. They are also things that I've been thinking about for a long time. I might write more extensively on this subject at a later date, but for now, here are a few brief lines on my general thinking: 

We need to take the phrase "go to church" out of our vocabularies. "Church" isn't somewhere we "go." The phrase alone indicates a deeper mindset that "church" is a location, a building, an event, (an entertainment?), something we can attend. 

By Biblical definition, it's not possible to "go to church" or "attend church." Because church isn't somewhere we go....it is something we *are*. 

After all, think of our families: We *are* family. We don't "attend family." We don't "go to family." We *are* family. The statement indicates a certain mindset, and it's the same mindset we should have when thinking of the church. 

It isn't possible to open or close the doors of the church, because the church doesn't have any doors other than Jesus Christ. When our family assembles to worship God, we should want to worship God *with* them. Not "attend a service" so that we can say we were there. But anytime our spiritual family is assembles in order to praise God, we should feel a drive, a burning *need*, to praise God with them. 

I believe that if we try to change our mindset about "going to church" vs. *being* the church, it will go far toward resolving some of our inner conflicts about "life in the suburbs" (meaning our everyday, do-this-do-that-rush-to-activities habits) vs. true spiritual life. If we can learn to think of ourselves as *being* the church, perhaps this can help us refocus our priorities, so that the accumulation of status symbols and the living-out of the social life become less important. 

In closing, a thought about the kids and the soccer games and the medals and the ribbons (which kids receive even if they haven't earned them, because we want to boost their self-esteem): Why do we allow our children to get sucked into this you're-ok-I'm-okay culture? I'm all for academic achievement.....but why do we push it so hard? We want our kids to grow up and go to college and get goods jobs. From a young age, kids say, "I want to be a fireman, a police officer, a teacher, a vet when I grow up." 

But I've never heard a kid say, "When I grow up, I want to be a faithful Christian." I've never heard a parent say, "When my child grows up, I don't care if s/he goes to college, I don't care what job s/he has.....as long as my child has an active, healthy relationship with God." 

If we as parents want to keep our kids out of the everybody's-okay culture, we're going to have to change our own priorities first. 

"The world we have created is a product of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking." 
~ Albert Einstein

thought-of-the-day

 
Some humans improve with time and age. 

And some don't. 

 

Fare thee well, and good night. 

 

Jan. 27 Addendum: 
I want to emphasize that this thought 
is not in reference to any particular 
person. It's simply an objective 
observation on the human condition. 

--C.