Twins Separated by a Century

The Pathetic Chronicles

Every time I tell a story from my childhood, Robb ends up rolling on the floor laughing and then saying, "You have to write a book!" I'm never sure that is a good idea, but I was moved to tell this story and perhaps try out a few more on you Happiness readers. As a working title, I have dubbed these tales the Pathetic Chronicles, because most of my saddest tales are centered around my incredible naievity and timidity. This one has been in my head for the last couple of days because of the PAPA Prayer. One of the steps in learning to pray relationally to God is to attend to your view of God; in other words, who do you think you are speaking to? In asking myself this question, I recalled this story....


My daddy would have given me the world if he could have. I know he adored me and loved bringing us kids suprises...sometimes candy, sometimes a stuffed animal from one the trade shows he went to, sometimes to my mother's chagrin, a new pet. It was this characteristic about him that made this particular event so very memorable.

I must have been about 8 or 9 years old when he went to some trade show. As part owner of a agricultural business, he occasionally would go to these things and end up with little plastic trinkets from the various sales-booths. He called me in to the kitchen and told me to hold out my hands and close my eyes. His blue eyes twinkled as I trustingly put them out...expecting something very good. Something soft and vaugely sticky was released into my hands. I opened my eyes to the horrific sight of a life-size rubbery tarantula. I screached in terror, waving my hands to get that awful thing away from me and ran crying to my room. Dad laughed at first.

FREEZE. It was that moment that was imprinted on my memory. That feeling of expectation...that hopeful, trusting moment that was doused with the sickening, ice-cold horror. I was genuinely afraid of that spider. And I was genuinely crushed that my "gift" was something hateful.

Of course, after he realized how upset I was, I'm sure my dad felt terrible. He like to tease and play jokes, but I was a pretty serious kid and just couldn't take it. I'm pretty sure I remember him saying he was sorry.


*****

So all these years later, I am standing before my Heavenly Father, trying to figure out how I am picturing Him. I'm waiting for him to sell our house so we can get on with getting this church started. I'm trying so hard. I'm tired. I want Him to fix it. I know He can. I believe He can. I'm bewildered that He hasn't already.

This memory pops into my head, and I realize that this is how I have been viewing God...me with my hands open and outstretched...my eyes closed...expecting something good, and He hands me a rubber spider and laughs. That's how I've been viewing God.

Tears streaming down my face, I re-live that moment.

And then He whispers to me...

"Who among you, when your child asks for a fish, gives him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

Strange but True Confessions: 2

I have to be honest and say that I'm not exactly sure WHAT this thing does and I don't think I want to.

Strange but True Confessions

Sometimes, with my ebay junk, I just lose my mojo.

I didn't really know what mojo was, but I hear of people losing it all the time, so I looked it up: it originally came from voodoo, and specifically refers to carrying around a bag of herbs or bones that are supposed to give the bearer an upper hand. In our venacular, it just means that you're a little off-kilter and can't quite pull yourself together and do what you are supposed to or want to do. I lose it with ebay periodically...usually after I make some big sales and the Eyeore in me says that lightning can't strike twice, so I shouldn't try to sell anything for awhile because it'll just be junk and I'll be wasting my time.

It's surprising how superstitious we can be at times.

I also didn't know what a Geisha really is, so I looked that up too, while I was at it. It could be a Japanese prostitute or just a woman who was good at entertaining with caligraphy and playing stringed instruments. (Talk about range....)


So there are my strange but true confessions: I've lost my mojo, I didn't know what mojo was, I also didn't know what a Geisha was and I can be rediculously (and probably sinfully) superstitious if I don't consider the way I'm thinking. Back to work....

Anybody know what these things are?

I sometimes buy stuff to sell on ebay even though I don't really know what they are. Can anybody tell me what these two things are? One is tupperware, the other is pottery.

Where'd ya go?

Can't believe it's been so long since I blogged...but with Sara visiting and spring break, I have been a bit off my schedule.

I was really hoping Sara would get a chance to experience the wonderful weather of Arkansas, but it has more closely resembled PA weather for the last four days with drizzly rain and cold temps. We were wanting to do something special, but a zoo trip or Eureka Springs didn't seem like much fun in rain and cold.

We settled on a day-trip to Mansfield, Missouri, home of the Laura Ingalls Wilder home and museum. It was from this farmhouse that Laura wrote her books at the age of 65. Having read these books at least six times as a kid and once as a parent, it was a thrill for me. Mattie and Vin were gratifyingly excited about everything and Sara was happy to add another state to her list of places visited. And Robb of course, knows how to make his woman happy, so cheerfully made the 3 hour trip.


Laura's daughter Rose Wilder Lane was an established and well-known author in her day, and was an interesting character to get acquainted with through the trip. Some of the material I read even hinted that Laura's story was the backbone of the books, but Rose really fleshed them out with her skills as an editor. She was not particularly interested in writing children's stories, which is why she took no credit for her work on the books. Rose wrote several novels herself, though, one of which was "Let the Hurricane Roar" which I read at the library yesterday. It is clearly based on her parents and grandparents, and the main characters are named Charles and Caroline. Rose's book, though, gives an idea of the adult fears and struggles that Laura's books only make adults wonder over. I was deeply impressed by the fact that we are all struggling along, striking out at new and sometimes frightening endeavors in the hope that we will have something better. For Charles and Caroline, they started with some quilts and pillows, pots and pans, a team of horses and a wagon. I had a lot more strapped down to my "wagon" but the human hope of something better is very much the same.

After seeing all there was to see at Rocky Ridge Farm, it was only 2:30 and we were still ready for more adventures. So we headed down the highway to Branson, MO, which is a weird little mix of Nashville and Atlantic City...minus the ocean. I don't know if they actually have any casinos, but the drag is lined with music halls and flashing lights. We ended up at a Chinese restaurant for dinner after doing a bit of shopping at the outlet malls. While driving out, we were talking to Robb's parents on the phone and they asked about the plane crash. Apparently, we drove right by it and didn't even notice.

From Branson, we figured, we might as well take in the whole NWA experience and drove in the dark and pouring rain, through Eureka Springs, where we stopped at what we affectionatly call, BIG JESUS. Here, Sara and I ran through the rain so she could get a picture. As the lightening flashed around us, it occurred to us that this really is the tallest thing around for miles and maybe we should make it snappy...pun intended.

After another 40 minutes of driving through the curvy mountain roads, we were home. It was 9:30 p.m. We covered a lot of ground in one short day, especially considering we even slept in that morning!

Of PAPA Prayers and PMS

I have been absent from my blog for a couple of days and fell asleep last night composing this post, which had this title. I now can't remember why exactly, but it was really, really clever. And you apparently were sucked in by it...

Ever since I started reading this book Hubby recommended I have been reeling. I keep trying to get a hold of it, but so far, I am just overwhelmed. I have had seasons of good prayer, but mostly, it's been less than stellar. I know some really great pray-ers, and I hear them describe it and know that I am have been missing something. This book came into my life because of the vacuum created from my Lenten fast from ebay. I think God has been orchestrating events to get me to understand Him better and I'm deeply grateful that He has pursued me this way.

While Larry Crabb would never claim to have come up with something new, he has put to into words something that really makes sense to me. I deeply appreciate how starkly honest he is in the book about how he really felt about his prayer life and how I feel too...which is guilty, bored, and a little annoyed that it hasn't worked better before. And while I still can't actually pray just yet, because I'm so overwhelmed at how badly I have been doing it, I feel really hopeful that I might sometime very soon be able to really have a conversational relationship with my Father in heaven that doesn't feel like I'm just talking to myself. I'm usually afraid to do new things that I will probably not do well at, but I am excited at the prospect of this. I think something very good is on the horizon.

This post is not very clever, but it is my first stumbling attempt at trying to tell you that something big is happening.

Suddenly missing my basement...

Yesterday was a beautiful day, nearly hot, with lots of sunshine. But in the evening, a storm rolled through...one of the bad ones that swept the midwest. We have a satelite tv system, with no local channels. Around 10:30, we thought we'd better check the local news, so got online and turned on a radio only to learn that a tornado was headed our way. I called our neighbors to find out if they have a tornado siren here, and Charles told me that they do have a siren and if we heard it, we should head on down there to hang out in their basement. I wasn't worried until the golfball and baseball-size hail started to fall. Hollyhock House has a metal roof and it sounded like we were being bombed. We couldn't have gone out in it without being knocked out cold. This house has no basement and there is a window in the central bathroom, making it a bad choice to shelter in. We got the kids and climbed into the jacuzzi tub in our bathroom, though I had very little confidence in it for sheltering us, especially with the washer and dryer and a cast iron sink in the same room. I tried to think what else I would want with me and ended up with my shoes on, three books to put over our heads, and my purse, because I have a morbid dread of being killed without any identification on me (I know, weird). Robb paced and watched the sky and I held the kids while we sat in the tub. It was an eerie feeling. We lost the satelite tv coverage at one point, but the power didn't go out, which was comforting. In a few minutes, it passed. On the radio, people were calling in to report their damage and how the storm was hitting them and where. Mostly we heard that the hail had broken windows on people's cars and in a church. When it was calm, we headed out to check the Aztec and take these pics of the hail. Providentially, there was no damage, which just amazes me with the way that stuff was falling.

Everybody else okay? I know more Happiness friends had storms closeby....so check in to tell us your storm stories.

Jackie Kennedy, eat your heart out...

This is Mattie's costume for her History Festival. She is spotlighting Washington D.C. We were going to dress her as the Washington Monument, but realized it would not be easy to sit down. She's either a First Lady or a Tour Guide!

To Err is Human...

...and also, stinking annoying.

I just bombed 15 auctions because I changed the picture links by mistake. They ended before I realized that none of them had pictures.

Now I'm trying to figure out if my lenten fast of only doing 40 listings a week includes re-lists.

grrr..

Score!

Went to an estate sale this morning and spent $3.50. This is what I got:

5 hand-crochetted lace doilies, dresser scarves and collars.
2 quilt tops from the 60's. Won't be able to part with the orange one.
2 "yard-long" photos of soldiers from the 50's
A vintage tole-painting book
Jeanette Depression glass footed bowl, smoke color.
2 pieces of vintage Tupperware, which I read in Country Living, is now popular (Bring on the Brady Bunch! And keep your eyes peeled for PINK)
A funky belt buckle
Vintage black velvet purse
2 vintage scarves, screenpainted "Aloha" with a Hula Girl.

and of course, a VHF of the Muppets Take Treasure Island. (Gotta keep morale up for the troops.)

Estimated profit: $45.00

It's raining...

...and I'm pretty sure I can actually see the grass getting greener by the minute.

A Place Called Home

We have been looking at houses. Everyday a couple of them pop up on my screen that are in our price range and have enough bedrooms. They boast of gas log fireplaces and tile in wet areas and convenient subdivisions But mostly, they leave me cold. They have as much real beauty and craftsmanship as the items in Walmart's Razorback souvenier aisle.

"Wouldn't you like to live in a nice new house?" people ask me.
The answer is a blunt, "NO."

I didn't grow up in an old house. My parents built it when I was five and I distinctly remember the clean, good smell of new lumber and how afraid I was of the deep hole that began for the basement. It's a pleasant house, and with Mom's creativity inside and Dad's sweat outside, they've made a lovely home over the course of nearly 30 years.

My parents bought me a rosebush when I graduated from college. I loved it. At the time we lived on Staten Island and I had toiled as much in bringing beauty to that parsonage as Robb had bringing truth to the congregation. Long ago, Dr. Greer (of Cornerstone University) had grown up in that house. His father, an old Scotsman, was an avid gardener and filled the space with growing things. All that remained 25 years later were some blooming trees and a huge honesuckle bush. My rosebush was so happy. It bloomed the first year.

And then we moved and I greedily tried to take it with me. It died, of course.

It must be the Irish in me...which isn't very much as far as I know. But movies like "Far and Away" and "Gone With the Wind" and the book "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" resonate deeply with me. I desperately want a piece of land to own and manage and be a part of. When you move a lot like we have, you have to pull up roots and start over. I hate to be transplanted.

Living in an old house in a tangible connection with something that has been there long before you. It reflects the work of people that were there, living their lives, dreaming their dreams, raising their families, doing their jobs, long before I ever came to this place. It's a way of being grafted into something that has roots already. Not to mention the fact that they really don't make houses the way they used to.

On Sunday, we were driving around, checking out house-listings I had collected. We drove by a place I had noticed before which was obviously vacant and had signs out front. When we followed the drive to the back, we saw that the doors were off the place. We called the realtor on the sign (okay, we went inside first, if you must know) and he said, "Well, the house is worthless. You can have it to move it. I'm just selling the land and it is $200,000.00."

The house is NOT worthless. It is a charming cape cod, with red shingles. Hardwood floors throughout and the original 6 over 6 windows, which are like huge baby eyes looking out from the house's face. The kitchen has those old white cupboards that I have had in two other houses before. The counters are red...cherry red. A massive living room has been added to the front, making a huge gathering place with a warm fireplace. It sits squarely. The ridgepole is straight as a rod with no sagging. It has three bedrooms, a two car garage, two bathrooms, an eat in kitchen, and tongue and groove real-wood panelling that has been painted white.

All three houses on this property where we stay right now have been moved onto it. It could be done.

So I was up last night thinking about it in the middle of the night. I tend to love things that other people didn't want. Houses, A certain little girl we all adore, ebay junque. The fact that that house will just be demolished and I could have it for free... if I could move it... is killing me.

Those of you who understand my feelings of wanting to be connected to the past know what I am talking about. Those of you who don't, well, you don't. I doubt I can make you understand. I hardly understand this personality quirk myself. All I know is, I don't want to pay a mortgage every month for a house I don't even like if I can possibly find one that I do. I've never been picky about what I eat, what I wear, furniture, what area of the country we live in...but darn it, this matters a lot to me.

That's Entertainment

Since we have always been a part of churches (up til now) that employed a worship style that was pretty far off from what we would choose, I have hit an interesting speedbump in my thinking. Now that we are taking part in services where the music style IS what we would choose, I feel conflicted. I feel...guilty. It's too easy. Too glossy. Too well-done. Too comfortable. The critical voices are going on and on in my head. I suppose I will eventually get used to it, but I'd like to be able to think this through a bit.

I was telling a friend about this the other day. I said, "I don't know if I'm being entertained or if I'm worshiping!" She laughed and said, "What's wrong with being entertained?"

That took me aback. "Uhhh...hmmm....but "they" always say it's not supposed to be entertainment" was the only answer I could summon.

So I looked up the definition of "entertainment"

Entertainment is an amusement or diversion intended to hold the attention of an audience or its participants.

(Wikipedia)

I'm throwing this out for discussion because I can't seem to come to a mental conclusion. Obviously, thinking of a worship service as merely an amusement or diversion is bad. But the holding people's attention part...well, let's face it. Many of the churches I've been a part of worked pretty hard at NOT holding my attention. Is there such a thing as "too slick" or "too well done" ? Or am I just conditioned to feel that awkward = honest. And the saints preserve us from the thing I find most jarring...hokiness. Ultimately, I just want to not feel so conflicted in a worship service. Right now, I just feel rediculously self-conscious....and that exactly the opposite of what I should be.

My Longest, Most Detailed Listing Ever

Walk the Line

Jaye T and I had a great girls' night last night! We watched the movie Walk the Line. I loved it. Needless to say, I'll be checking out Man in Black from the library on my next visit.

My favorite line is when Johnny, strung out on drugs, is angrily trying to get the tractor up the muddy bank from the lake, after having another hateful encounter with his father at Thanksgiving in front of June Carter and her family as guests. They are all leaving, and June can see him struggling to move the tractor, yelling and cursing. June looks at her mother and says, "I can't go down there and help him." And her mother, portrayed in the movie as a strong Christian, says, "You already are."

It's another fine biography that made me deeply grateful for musicians. Their artistry gives another language to the human experience. For those of us who, at best can only say "please" "thank you" and "where's the bathroom?" in that language, I can't help being amazed by what they can do. Amazed and grateful.

This film also had the wonderful theme of how flawed individuals who have at times done ugly and hateful things, can be redeemed and love one another in ways that border greatness.

On top of it all, it was another good movie that gave a shout-out for Arkansas. I swear, there's a conspiracy to make me be proud of living here.

The Absurdity of the Rhetorical Question

****WARNING: HEAVY SARCASM*******

The answers to rhetorical questions are absolutley hilarious when you think about it.

For example, I got this one from customer who recieved a damaged box yesterday.

"Do you even know how to pack fragile items?"

Well, actually, sir, if you must know....I got 800 plus positive feedback sending out glass in paper bags. Everybody else just bought the insurance and we have a huge plan to defraud the Post Office, but you apparently didn't get the memo.



Feel free to post your favorite rhetorical questions. Let me get you started....

"Do you want something to cry about????"

On Hold

Apparently Michigan is being hammered with it's typical "March coming in like a Lion" weather and the house showing is being put off until either Saturday or next week, depending on how bad the storm is.

I have to say for the record -as I sit in my sweater with the window open-I don't miss the snow.

If you think of it...

Our new realtor (who I'm pretty sure has already done more in the last week than our old one did in 6 months) is showing the house tomorrow for the first time since January. If God brings it to mind, please pray it goes well.

Giving up Ebay for Lent

There is a family story about Robb's Grandma Ryerse. The first time she rode in a airplane, she was quite nervous. When the plane landed safely, as the story goes, she said, "I never put my full weight down in the seat."

It's such a funny story...that prim, birdlike woman thinking that if she just held herself up, the plane would somehow not crash.

I've been doing the same thing.

I'll just hold us up by trying harder and working longer hours and this household won't crash.

God has been dealing with me...gently, but also firmly. I'm going to sit down and put my faith in God to hold us up and not let us crash.

So out of faith, I'm giving up ebay for Lent....sortof. I am limiting myself to 40 items a week instead of 70. I never gave up anything for Lent before and never saw the need or value in it before. But, this year, I see it as an opportunity to express my faith in God and also my submission to Him....I will not hold back anything from Him. It may seem that I have already given up enough for Him in this year, but it's not enough. He deserves better from me. I'm confessing this publicly asking that you pray for me to be faithful in making a change that I need to make.

Death to my superwhatever.