Monthly Archives: May 2007

One Trumps All

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When I’m holding forth on some topic and make an assertion from a statistical level, it is interesting to me how forcefully someone will disagree if their personal experience conflicts with my proposed reality.

Naturally “your reality is reality,” but if facts are presented that contradict your reality, well… then we have… global warming. Both sides. <rant warning>

Ugh. Enough already. When you have something new for the average citizen to do, I’d love to hear it. As long as you’re recycling sidebars from 1985 (yes, I know how much you love to recycle) quit beating us over the head: Real or unreal, give us some candles or stop telling us we suck up all the light.

<rant over>

*sigh*

I was just talking with someone last week about how much charting can help improve the chances of conceiving and the woman standing next to me insisted it didn’t work for her.

“Well, I haven’t interviewed you yet,” I said, trying to sound light about it. But really it made me think of a relative who used the phrase, “Well, when I was growing up…” about four times in 20 minutes.

He was talking about all the dangerous things he’d survived as a kid, using his experience as a measure of what he was comfortable with for kids.

Without thinking (certainly without considering the negitive impact this might have on familial relations) I chirped, “I think it’s great how your sample-size of one trumps all.”

But really, isn’t this how we all are?

In some things (knowing my body is different than anyone else’s) this make sense as a directer of choices.

But in other things (say– turning your pack of 8-year-olds loose at the local swimming hole) personal experience shouldn’t override protective sense.

I’m still working at listening well enough to a broader reality that doesn’t match mine, but mostly, I’m trying to learn the difference between the things I should trump and the things (if this is the right term) that should make me fold.

Carpe Diem… Patiently

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Having a long-term perspective for a number of goals (my novel, children, guitar) has resulted in an interesting…dichotomy (if that’s the right word) for me.

As believers we are called to make the most of every opportunity.

I think what can happen as a result of this “only now matters” perspective (which is correct in its own way), is that we can lose our eternal perspective, and even forget it is not our efforts that accomplishes significant things.

I’ve quoted this before, but it fits here too:

“God does not have to depend on human exhaustion to get His work done. God is not so desperate for resources to accomplish His purposes that we have to abandon the raising of our children in order to accommodate Him. God is not so despairing of where to turn next that He has to ask us to go without sleep for five nights in a row. Chronic overloading is not a prerequisite for authentic Christianity. Quite the contrary, overloading is often what we do when we forget who God is.”

“Someone has said, ‘God can do in twenty minutes what it takes us twenty years to do.’ Let’s trust more and do less. Is it busyness that moves mountains…or faith?”.

What I’ve found myself dwelling on more is gratitude at the amount of time we’ve been given.

~ ~ ~

Yes, yes, I know its not guaranteed, or even truly mine, but when time stops for me, I’ll be in eternity so the shortness of what time I had here won’t matter to me.

By being obedient I don’t need to worry about when this will all end. (Look at One Year to Live).

~ ~ ~

What I think of is how many years I have ahead of me to (for example) progress in guitar. When I hit my Silver Anniversary with Jay, I’ll have more than 20-years’ experience in guitar-playing.

Think how many exercises I struggle with now that will be second nature by then!

~

I am challenged now by what and how I will teach my children, but in 10 years they will all be solidly entrenched, and we’ll be doing it.

When I am temped to fear, I remind myself I have nearly two more years to prepare, and many faithful who have gone on before me.

This is a quintessentially doable task.

~

Things that I wish I’d started 20-years ago, as a child, if I actually do start them, will eventually have 20-years of experience behind them.

You can get good at something 20 years.

This is what I think of when I think of having lots of time.

~

I remind myself that goals are to be worked for, and not having abilities instantly is okay, because there is always time.

For those who want to argue my time may be cut short, I’ll simply point out that seeing Jesus face-to-face will more than make up for my not being fluent in Spanish.

Until I am gone I hope to enjoy the world and the wit our Creator gave me, and since my interests, inclinations and abilities can pull at me frantically, this reminder of time is a peaceful way for my patient Heavenly Father to slow me down and help me enjoy where I am now, even as I pursue the next goal.

5-9-07 ETA:
This is my WFMW this week. This idea of allowing myself time to reach my goals is a blessing I wish for other moms “stuck” in the less-productive “nows.”

Try to remember that not everything really needs to be done *Today!* and I think you will find things growing more peaceful.

“We have tomorrow,” and “Morning is wiser than the evening” are both good mantras for those many days when we reach the end of the day before the end of the list.

The Third Witch– a Tuesday Tale

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From Barbara Leonie Picard’s The Faun and the Woodcutter’s Daughter.

A young king, lost in a forest, found his way to a cottage in forest’s heart.  The three women who received him had matching golden eyes. Scoffing away the idea of money, they told him he could work for his bed and board.  Each of the next few days the task he was set to took the entire day and all of his strength, so he was compelled to stay the next night, repeating the cycle.

Each day he survived (each task put him in mortal danger) one of the older women was gone, until only the youngest and most beautiful remained.

Smitten, the king asked her to return with him and be his queen. She warned him that she was a true witch, and would not care for him in the least. In fact, she told him, she could not even grow to care for him, for her heart was made of stone, and if it ever softened enough to love, it would break, killing her.

The young king heard all this, but was confident he had enough love for them both.  His only request for her was to refrain from practicing her magic while she lived with him, for he disliked the dark arts intensely, fearing their wickedness.  The young witch agreed to this and became his bride.

There were a number of times over the succeeding years when the husband’s resistance to magic was tested. His wife would approach him, reminding him she held a simple solution, if he would only ask. Horrified, he always refused, even when it meant a drawn-out war, and, later, the death of his beloved brother. The witch, in her turn, was not offended or put out by his refusals. She only offered because it was courteous, then watched impassively as he endured the costs of living without magic.

However, despite the king’s heartbreaking resistance to the solutions offered by his wife, the rumor that she was a true witch continued to grow, making the kingdom afraid. The day came when the people stormed the castle demanding the witch, and the soldiers did nothing to stop them.  Seeing the king ready to throw his life away in defense of his beloved queen, his own bodyguard subdued him and held him back as she was taken from him, telling him it was for his own protection.

The king, no longer fearing the darkness as much as he feared for his wife’s safety, called to her to do whatever she needed to in order to escape. The queen only laughed– unafraid. Knowing her own power the threats of the crowd meant nothing.

As they carried her to the burning place, the queen calmly considered how best to make her escape.  A lioness, to rend some and frighten the rest? A bird, to soar above their angry reach?

But as she considered a string of creative options, the result became obvious:  The kingdom’s accusation would be confirmed that the queen was a witch, and that the king had concealed it.  Her transformation would be the proof that destroyed him, the proof that caused his own people to turn against him.

The witch realized she didn’t want her husband to be hurt. She realized that she cared for him. Even loved him. At that moment her heart of stone cracked, and she died.  But there was such a look about her in death that the very people who had been ready to burn her felt ashamed.  There were whispered questions from those who saw her face. Murmurs rippled, questioning whether she had really been an angel, after all.

And the place where she was to have have been burned in disgrace became instead a burial mound that was held in honor for generations afterward.