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.

The Things I Hate.

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Just now I have only a few things on my mind, but perhaps I’ll add to this later.

I’m talking here about… local things; things I have seen/participated in, rather than the huge things like genocide and child abuse.

(I’d hope those things can go without saying.)

Because today they’re on my mind:

  1. Smashing cake in your beloved’s face, on the day you vowed before God and Man to honor and cherish him/her until death. I think something dies there. Starting with trust.
  2. Making course jokes about the wedding night at a bridal shower. I *hate* watching something sacred made cheap. Especially when it’s done at one person’s expence (e.g. embarrassing the bride).
    1. This is simply unkindness, and has no place among true friends. I’m sorry to say I’ve seen this more than once.
    2. Clue: if the bride’s toes are curling, you’ve already gone too far
  3. (Speaking of “things sacred”) Saying to a mother marveling over the perfection of her newborn, “Hard to believe she’s just a little sinner, huh.” (I’m happy to say I’ve never actually heard this from someone with children of their own).
  4. People saying, “I bet you’ll be glad when they go off to school!” I look these people in the eye and say I’m planning to homeschool. This seems to flummox them into complements for some reason.

I’m happy to say only 3 and 4 have happened to me personally, but you may guess I take flack as a wet blanket on the other two.

I’ve noticed with 1 and 2 people either agree with me or don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. I try to explain my reasoning graciously, and find some people have never thought of it that way before.

Some people get defensive, but those are the types where I tend to question their definition of fun.

If you find pleasure in other people’s discomfort it’s time to reevaluate.

Fighting in Marriage

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I was Stumbling around and came across these rules for fighting fair in marriage.

Because of my background, very little on this topic is ever new to me, I’ve been around the material so long it begins to all sound familiar (in the same way that few sermons are very new to me).

I think you music types get this feeling when you’re familiar with a composer.

Anyway, I wanted to highlight it, because I thought the article was well done, and because one thought was wholly new to me:

5. If your spouse says you do, then it’s true
When confronted with an issue, your first response may be to hide behind statements such as, “No I don’t” or “You’re just exaggerating.” When your mate states that you’re doing something irritating, trust him or her. Consciously choose to look past your defensive walls and ask your spouse, “Why does this bother you?” Then listen to what is being said. Try to see his or her point of view, and be willing to change for the good of your marriage.

Just something new for me to think about.

Letting the Cork Out

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More than once I have seen the advice about keeping your writing projects to yourself.

The idea runs that if you are impelled to write about something, but talk about it before you write it, the writing may never happen.

There are a couple explanations for this:

  • The psyche’s subconscious need to tell the story/information has been satisfied
  • You use up your enthusiasm talking, and have no energy left for writing
  • You begin doubting the idea and self-editing before you even start

This “dire” warning weighs on my mind occasionally, for more than one reason.

First of all, I can see that it’s right. I can use talking about (and organizing) my writing projects to avoid actually working on them. Or I’ll feel an element of one or all of the bulleted points above.

The other reason I think about it is because it doesn’t apply to me.

Yeah. Makes sense to me too.

I’ve said before I process by working through (talking– or writing– about). Writing as a Second Language promotes a corner of the way I think: hash it it the the language you know best (speech) and that will help refine it your second language (print).

The question I face is, How do I reconcile my personality with the prudence to be more closed about my work?

To learn internal processing makes the most sense.

Yeah…I’m working on that…

(Starting a new project. Not going to tell you about it. ;) )

Here comes the wedding night…

(Information for the virgin bride-to-be)

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Let’s see, how shall I begin?

I am so proud of you, that you’ve decided to maintain your virginity until you are married.

While it is true that millions (billions, more likely) of young brides have eventually “figured all this out” on their own, it really is a disservice to you not to share the simple, practical things we “older brides” have learned.

If you choose to read-on, know that plain-speaking commences immediately. Continue reading »

Now the Babies (a discussion about sign language)

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Speaking of Sign Language, I am a big cheerleader for anybody who wants to sign with their baby.

I think teaching a child to sign “please” (flat hand circling on the chest) substantially reduces the amount of whining pre-verbal babies engage in.

My belief is that the majority of whining from older babies is the result of frustration.

The child knows what she wants, but has no way to ask for it.

My WFMW tip this week is to depart from “Sign with your Baby” curricula at two points.

  1. Teach your child “please” instead of “more.” They function the same way for the child, but “please” introduces that important word sooner, and in my experience is better for the grown-ups’ sensibilities.
  2. Make a special effort to help the child absorb “please” for an automatic response. Set up situations and move the child’s hand yourself while you show him how you want the sign used.

This differs from the way you’re “supposed” to teach signs.

Garcia (the author of one baby signing book) insists that one should allow the signs to develop naturally– as spoken words do– by the child mimicking the adult in his or her own time.

In my experience (maybe I’ve just never waited long enough) I’ve never seen a child take up using a spoken please without coaching and prompting from the parent, so I see no inconsistency in “making” a child sign “please.”

When I was 18 I “trained” my 9-month-old niece in about 15-minutes with a bowl of fruit loops.

I would not make the same decision today as a mother ;o)

It was very Pavlovian, I admit, but the reduction in whining and the sweetness that developed along with her ready and eager “please” convinced me she was improved rather than scarred by it.

As a side-note she did eventually learn “more” somewhere, and there was a real distinction in attitude for how they were used, confirming for me the desirability of “please” as a substitute, in the beginning especially.

Make it Better

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I once admitted to my mom that I sometime feel I could fix nearly any challenging situation if I could just find the right story to tell the people being the problem.

My difficulty just seems to be finding that perfect story.

She laughed and said it was better than thinking I could fix any problem if I just had a big enough stick.

The Dispute in Sign Language– a Tuesday Tale

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A lowly chicken farmer agreed reluctantly agreed to engage in a debate with the king of the land.

Arriving with one of his chickens in the basket on his back, the Jewish man knew that this was only an attempt to justify the king’s desire to expel all the Jews from his realm.

Approaching the throne the poor man saw the king rise and show one finger.

Stopping where we was, the chicken farmer responded by holding out two fingers.

The king seemed surprised, but continued by holding out a lump of cheese. The Jew replied by showing the king an egg.

Next, the king reached into his pocket and scattered a handful of grain.

The chicken farmer then released a hen from the basket on his back and watched her eat every seed.

“You have answered well,” the king said, breaking his silence. “In all justice I must allow your people to remain.”

Confused but relieved the poor man left, richly rewarded, and the courtiers clambered for the king to explain the exchange.

“First I held up one finger, claiming there is but one king. The Jew recognized the near-blasphemy it was and rightly countered with his two fingers that there are two kings, one in Heaven.

“Second I held out a lump of cheese that he should divine if it came from a black or brown goat. He held up an egg to counter with the question of whether it came from a white or golden hen.

“Finally, I threw out the grain to remind him how scattered and abandoned are the Jews, and he set loose his hen to remind me that the Messiah will return to gather all his people.”

Back in the Jewish quarter The chicken farmer gave his version of the events.

“First he stuck out one finger, as if to warn me he’d put out one of my eyes, so I held up two fingers, to say I’d take both of his eyes if he tried.

“Then he showed me a lump of cheese to remind me I was poor and needed his help, so I took an egg out of my pocket to show him I don’t need his charity.

“In the end he threw a bunch of grain on the floor, and I thought, Best to not let it go to waste...”

A Poem

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My Work
Henry Van Dyke

Let me do my work from day to day,
In fields or forests, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market place or tranquil room.
Let me find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
“This is my work – my blessing, not my doom –
Of all who live I am the only one by whom
this work can best be done in my own way.”
Then I shall see it, not too great or small,
To suit my spirit and arouse my powers.
Then shall I cheerfully greet the laboring hours,
And cheerfully turn, when long shadows fall
at eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work was best.