Humans. Being.

Today we are just humans, being. Not humans, doing.

My Personal Brand of Crazy

I haven't checked out library books in years. But, last Saturday, while I was fretting about my job situation, Ali wanted to go do some genealogy research. Not wanting to slide any farther into the pit of despair I thought it would do me some good to get out of the house.

We sat in the genealogy room for a little while. I watched people come and go. I wondered what they were looking for. I'm a notorious eavesdropper so that kept me occupied for awhile. I noticed that the internet computers were all booked up and I wondered why every single one of those computers was being used by a middle-aged man. The answers I was coming up with were kind of freaking me out so I decided it might be a good idea to go browse the stacks for a bit.

I find the library to be so quaint. It's so polite. And quiet. There's an order and purpose that is so easily understandable in a world that seems so chaotic and dense. If you want a book you ask to borrow it. If someone else has it, you wait your turn. For every day you keep it too long you give the nice lady a dime.

In a world of $40 overdraft charges, the library is so straightforward and fair.

Some of my best childhood memories came from the Georgetown Public Library. My mother was a reader and she instilled the joy of being lost in the new worlds of books to my sister and I from a very early age. I could read before I went to school and remember being the only kid in my reading group in first grade. I loved having the teacher push me beyond "See Dick. See Spot. Good dog Spot!"

As I walked through the stacks on Saturday I thought about my mother and how she took Cindy and me to the library several times a week. At the end of each visit I left with armloads of books. I read at the table. I read in the car. I read at church, on the school bus, in my bed with a flashlight and under shade trees in the summer. I never left home without a book. And a book never left me with the whiney, "I'm bored! There's nothing to do!" syndrome.

In the summer of 1977 I was 12. The library had a summer reading contest that year. I won and I don't remember that it took a lot of effort. I remember that I read well more than 200 books that year. The prize for the contest was a charm for my beloved charm bracelet.

That little charm still lives in my jewelry box.

As I aimlessly searched the stacks on Saturday I found an author that I enjoy. I had just finished The Master Butcher Singing Club by Louise Erdrich on my Kindle and was surprised to see that she had about a half a shelf of books. I pulled three down and decided to have Ali check them out for me.

That's the thing about the library. It's a huge room full of Yes. Dare I check out three books by the same author? Of course! What if I don't like them? So what? Return them and try something different! Want the whole series? Sure!! No problem! yes! Yes! YES!

Where the rest of my life is tempered by moderation – sensible, restrained, within limits and disciplined – the library is a den of excess. Well, sort of.

The truth is, I don't even have a library card any more.

It's pathetic, but I don't like the pressure of having a deadline looming over me while I'm supposed to be reading for pleasure. You know that book is due in four days. . .you better hurry up with that. . .you should be reading!!

Even worse? I don't have one for the very same reason that my father taught me not to eat anything at a potluck meal that was made by someone who's kitchen you've never been in. The same reason he taught me to let someone else open a public door that has a handle you have to touch. The same reason I only ever touch a public door with my elbow, I don't touch stair or escalator rails and I punch elevator numbers with my knuckles, not my fingers.

I really need to let all that go. The benefits of the library outweigh my personal brand of craziness by a mile. At least.

Besides that, I just have to convince myself that whatever it is that all those middle-aged men are doing on the library computers means they aren't touching all the books I might want to check out. . .

My Birthday Pie!

My birthday is in 20 days. Not that I'm counting or anything. . .

Ali asked me tonight what cake I wanted her to make for my birthday. I chose a pie instead. . .Who wants to come to our house on the 15th for some of this???

Candy Bar Pie

3 (2.07-oz.) Snickers Bars
1 baked Pretzel Crust
1 1/2 (8-oz.) packages cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup sour cream
1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
2 large eggs
2/3 cup semisweet chocolate morsels
2 tablespoons whipping cream
1/4 cup coarsely chopped, lightly salted peanuts

1. Preheat oven to 325°. Cut candy bars into 1/4-inch pieces; arrange over bottom of crust.

2. Beat cream cheese and sugar at medium speed with an electric mixer until blended. Add sour cream and peanut butter, beating at low speed until well blended. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating just until yellow disappears after each addition. Spoon cream cheese mixture over candy on crust.

3. Bake at 325° for 35 to 40 minutes or until set. Remove to a wire rack, and let cool 1 hour or until completely cool. Cover and chill 2 hours.

4. Microwave chocolate and cream in a microwave-safe bowl at HIGH for 30 seconds or until melted and smooth, stirring at 15-second intervals. Drizzle over top of cooled pie, and sprinkle evenly with peanuts.

Lent Day 4 - Creation Project :: Lemons

My Lenten intention is to get "outside myself" a little bit more. The specific way I want to bring this to fruition is to create something every day - to bring something completely new into the world every day for the next 40 days. It might be words, photographs, art or the gift of giving something of myself to someone else.

Ali brought home our Creation Project for Day 4 – growing a lemon tree from a seed! Her co-worker Carol came into possession of a lemon that is a direct descendant from a lemon tree that her grandmother grew. Carol remembers always seeing it decorated and used as her grandmother's Christmas tree.

She hasn't had much luck growing her own lemon tree from seed so she asked if Ali and I would try. Being something of a specialist in lost causes, we thought it sounded like fun. I did some research and we came up with a plan. This is a much longer undertaking than Lent but here's to the beginning of a healthy, new lemon tree!

Step One:: Slice open the lemon. (Duh!)

Step Two:: Remove the seeds.

Step Three:: Place them in a glass of water and discard the ones that float. They are too immature to have stored enough energy to germinate.

Step Four:: Clean all the flesh from the remaining, good seeds.

Step Five:: Dry them and wrap them in a paper towel. Store them in your refrigerator for a month. This mimics the cold season they need to enable germination.

After a month in your butter compartment plant them in peat moss and place in a warm sunny window. They can take up to a month to germinate. With some sunshine, a little luck and about seven or eight years of patience you just might find yourself with your very own lemon tree!

Carol, can you wait that long to start that Lemonade Stand??

The Intention of Trust

On Wednesday night, during our little Ash Wednesday service, I had everyone write their intentions for Lent on a notecard. I wanted us to clarify how we needed God to shape and mold us for the coming 40 days. The plan was to give everyone their card back on Good Friday so we could see how our Lenten journey had unfolded.

Last night, while chatting with my friend Lou on Facebook about losing my job, losing my cool and the potential for losing my faith he asked me how I was feeling about that little card, stuffed into that envelope. Then he asked what I thought God might be thinking about that little card.

"I think She's probably laughing hysterically," was my response.

My Lenten intention was to be forced to get outside myself more. The specific way I wanted to bring this to fruition was to create something every day - to bring something completely new into the world every day for the next 40 days. I thought it would be words, photographs, art or the gift of giving something of myself to someone else.

The first two days of Lent had me making curtains for Scott. I thought and prayed for him as I sewed. I gave thanks for all the ways he has changed and challenged me.

Then the third and fourth days of Lent kicked me in the gut.

Can you really be forced outside yourself and your comfort zone much more effectively than by losing your livelihood and quite a bit of your identity in one fell swoop?

Then it dawned on me – it was so easy to pray for Scott while I sewed his curtains, so easy to give thanks for the ways he has impacted my life. Was it really that much harder to trust the God of creation while She changed and challenged me as well?

So far, I think the thing that is struggling to be born these third and fourth days of Lent is trust. God didn't cause or even allow me to lose my job. God is simply walking with me through a broken world, not leaving me abandoned in my fears. She will not find me a new job but will continue to love me into a fierce confidence born of the truth of perfect love and free will.

The birth of trust is not coming easily. You will notice that it's 4:47 in the morning. But this glimpse of trust has so much more potential than those curtains from just a few days ago.

I Went For A Walk

I went to the mall yesterday morning to walk for an hour, saw my boss who was also there walking and came home unemployed.

I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Business has been bad. The downturn doesn't seem to be righting itself in the printing industry. For the last two years he has been asking me what I think would make a difference for the shop. I've made suggestions. He came up with ideas. Not one single suggestion or idea has ever been implemented. We're a printing company with zero salespeople. . . What did he think was going to happen?

He followed me around one whole circuit of the mall yesterday morning talking. He cried. People stared. I was silent, listening, attempting to digest the fact that I came to the mall on a bright Saturday morning, full of plans for the day and instead, was faced with figuring out what the hell I'm supposed to do come Monday morning. (Technically it might be Tuesday morning. . .I asked if I was supposed to go to work on Monday. The answer was alternately no and then yes. I don't know. I'm showing up and waiting to be told to go home I guess.)

I feel terrible, not just for myself. He's a good man. He cares about the people he employs and he cares about our futures. Like any other interaction between people, a relationship is built between employer and employee. That's why it was so difficult when I left the mall yesterday morning not to say what was really on my tongue – "I'm sorry about all this too. But, I trusted you – with my house payment and my groceries and my car. Now what?"

Ash Wednesday Reflections

:: 40 candles in our small living room is beautiful.

:: Being with people who let you tell the truth is amazing.

:: Being given permission to doubt yourself creates space for faith to enter.

:: Church isn't an institution, a building or a system. It's humble, funny, quirky, fearful, seeking people.

You Are Precious In My Eyes

Ash Wednesday has always been the religious day that resonates most closely with my soul. I love the quiet, internal focus that it demands, coupled with the external actions that repentance brings about.

For a religious day that is mostly about death, sin and repentance, it seems strange that Ash Wednesday should bring me such deep joy and the closest I've ever come to actually feeling as though I were in God's presence.

Tonight we're going to celebrate it in a cozy little community way in our living room. I love to be creative on this day so tonight we will combine 40 candles, some ashes, a song by Adele and some clay to think about what it means when God says "You Are Precious In My Eyes."

You are humbly invited to join in. • 7:00 p.m. • Our House • You don't need to bring anything but an open heart.

Talk, Talk, Talk

I had coffee with someone last week. I've given myself a week to think about our conversation in order not to make a snap judgment about what was said or how I felt about it. He asked me some questions, told me what he thought about my answers and told me what he wanted from me.

During the conversation I worked very hard at not reacting outwardly to some things that were hurtful and, from where I was sitting in my own skin and looking through the lens of having actually lived what he was trying to analyze, felt somewhat naive and oversimplified.

Before we got up to leave the coffee shop I said to him, "You know, you've told me what you want me to do but not once did you ever ask what I wanted."

"I know," he said. "What you want doesn't really matter to me."

Since that evening I've felt that same semi-suffocating pressure that I used to feel when I was pastoring the church. It's the sense that I can't take a real breath because other people's expectations about who and what I am are sitting on my chest.

There's no neat little wrapped up ending to this story.

We're supposed to do an Ash Wednesday gathering at our house day after tomorrow. Right now, I don't want anything to do with it. I don't want to do Bible study either.

I guess I'm hoping that the writing of this encounter will diffuse it's power. That naming my discomfort and fear will put them into proper perspective. That the joy that Bible study was bringing me will return.

Because the one thing I promised myself when I left the church so long ago now, is that nothing would stop me from telling my truth ever again.

Evening View

This is what I saw tonight, standing at the washing machine, looking out the window towards the backyard.

I thought it was beautiful.

Snow Day!

There will be no Bible Study at our house tonight! In the last six days we've had about 2 feet of snow. . .and the legacy of all this snow is no parking on Hurd Avenue!

Want proof? Here's Ali in front of a snow drift in the Genco parking lot!

There's a lot of snow in Hancock County, Ohio!

I Believe

:: I believe that February will not last forever. Even though sometimes it feels that way.

:: I believe that the sun will indeed return. I know this because it's almost light when I get home in the evenings now!

:: I believe that I will survive February thanks, in no small part, to brownies.

:: I believe that the foot of snow we are expecting today will not last forever.

:: I believe all these things because yesterday afternoon I saw this. . .

Can't tell what that is? It's a tree full of big, fat, happy robins who are the first harbingers of spring. This flock was here and gone so quickly yesterday afternoon that I only managed to get my camera lens changed in time to snap one close up.

:: I believe that spring is on it's way! That is, after today's blizzard moves it's big old self on outta here anyway. . .

Consider Yourself Warned

I'm not kidding! Once you try this, you'll be hooked!

The One Minute Brownie

In a large coffee mug, combine:

4 T. flour

4 T. sugar

2 T. cocoa

2 T. vegetable oil

2 T. milk

pinch of salt

a few chocolate chips

Pop it in the microwave for 1 minute to 1 minute, 30 seconds depending on your microwave. Start short. . .you can always put it back in!

It's our new addiction!!

Ali thought we could share it – unless she was PMS'ing. . .then it's every spoon for herself!

Oliver and The Great Big Snow Day

We got about 6" of snow last night and 25 mph winds. Oliver thought today would be the perfect day to take off out the open garage door and go for yet another run down Hurd Avenue. The hidden blessing today was that there were no other dog tracks to confuse us as we followed him!

All's well that ends well as they say. These were taken in the back yard.

He's got to be the happiest dog I've ever seen. . .

And, proof that we truly live in the best neighborhood in the city. . . he lives across the street and about 6 houses down. . . and yes, this is our driveway and sidewalk!!

Sacrificial Giving

I ironed a shirt this morning. I haven't ironed in years and it took a little bit of excavation to find the ironing board and get it fired up and ready to go.

I'm not really an ironing hater. Like doing the rest of the laundry, I kind of enjoy the warmth rising off the clothes, the fresh scent of fabric softener and the opportunity to just be quiet and reflect on the task at hand. My mom taught me to iron when I was about 10 or 11. I still do it the same way she taught me all those years ago – start with the collar and shoulder yoke, move on to the sleeves (with the front side facing up), and finally arrive at the front panel with the button placket working your way around the panels until you come to the other side.

Mindless, but strangely satisfying work.

Suddenly, while standing there this morning I remembered an incident that I hadn't thought about in years. I must have been about 12 years old and I was in the dining room of our house in Georgetown. The ironing board was set up so that I was facing the wall and staring at the wallpaper covered in the images of a hunter on horseback that covered the walls in that very formal room. There was a large laundry basket at my feet, overflowing with my family's wrinkled clothing.

Like any good 12 year old, I was complaining. Bitterly. Without ceasing. I must have been getting on my Dad's nerves because suddenly he appeared in the doorway. He was angry and started talking to me in a low voice. Of course I don't remember his exact words but the gist of his message was this – when you love someone you willingly sacrifice your selfish wants and wishes to do whatever is within your power and abilities to make their life just a little bit better.

I probably didn't fully understand that lesson at the time. I must have quit complaining though, mostly because I don't remember the trauma of a spanking after that. But, the message certainly stuck with me.

As I ironed my shirt this morning I thought about our frozen pipes last weekend and Scott's willingness to drive to Findlay late into the night just to help. He gave up his entire Saturday to re-plumb our utility room – for nothing more than a hug and some hot tea.

. . .when you love someone you willingly sacrifice your selfish wants and wishes to do whatever is within your power and abilities to make their life just a little bit better. . .

As I walked out the front door this morning, wearing my freshly pressed shirt, I saw a roll of decorator weight fabric – 13 yards of it – propped up on the porch next to the mailbox. It made me laugh out loud. On his way home from work last night Scott left it there for me. He needs curtains and he doesn't know how to sew.

. . .when you love someone you willingly sacrifice your selfish wants and wishes to do whatever is within your power and abilities to make their life just a little bit better. . .

But here's the funny part.

Sewing curtains doesn't feel anything like a sacrifice.

I can only hope that plumbing on a Saturday didn't either.

Bible Study :: How To Pray

How do you pray when you have no words? When whatever you say feels like it wouldn't matter anyway? Join us tonight as we look at the most famous prayer – line by line.

Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy Kingdom come,

thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

the power and the glory,

for ever and ever.

Amen

Tonight • 7:00 p.m. • Our House • Bring your Bible!