Living-Deliberately.com

Take, for instance, the idea to grocery shop every two weeks, according to payday. I live far away from stores and was tired of crying one day out of every week in Walmart, so I thought, “why not consolidate this a bit?”
I already meal plan and make a list like some sort of shoppin’ nazi. And I figured I could make a half time run for milk and produce. No problem ‘eh?

Bad. Bad. Bad.

It’s the end of the pay cycle and things are running thin. Okay. Not just things. I can feed the kids porridge every day. I can fast and work up a good attitude about it. I can search the pantry, get creative, and discover my wealth of blessings (see old post about having a manna week).

But.

I.

Do.

Not.

Do.

“out of coffee”

Very.

Well.

Hmphff.

It’s difficult to estimate how much of one item a family will go through in 14 days. Difficult to manuever around illnesses, growth spurts, spills, and forgotten ingredients. When money is tight, and on a Total Money Makeover, it’s TIGHT, one does not stock up on multiples over and above one’s meal plan.

And….let’s go ahead and differentiate between “out of coffee” and “withdrawl from coffee”. They are different. Very, very, very different. I am foggy. I can’t remember what the first word in my kids’ question was by the time they get to the end of the sentence. This post is frought with bad grammar and spelling mistakes.

Okay. Maybe that last one can’t be blamed on caffine withdrawl. But the dull, throb under my hair can. The way I keep longlingly gazing at my pillow can.

Grocery Day is not until Thursday. You can find me in Starbucks.

I’m having so much FUN with this!! The actual writing doesn’t start until November 1 but I’m getting little snippets of time for research here and there and feeling an almost giddy sense of creation bouncing around!

My plot came to me quickly, before I even knew National Novel Writing Month was coming up. And  to my complete and utter surprise, my plot wasn’t so far-fetched. It’s actually happened and has become a court case!! So I’ve tweaked it a little, mostly through the creation of my main characters. Somehow the suggestion came to me to twist the plot based on who these people are and what their motivators would be.

I’m coming up with names and profiles for them now. More FUN! So far it’s a tight cast telling a big story; I expect once I start the writing that it will open up a little.

I’ve got this little office nook created in half of my closet; it’s got a desk, my scrapbook stuff, my sewing machine, and my laptop. The wall in front of me is blank and white and I  LOVE that. Pure canvas, there to let my imagination wander. I’m sure it will be crammed with bits of paper, miscellaneous photos, post it notes, and other fodder within a few short months. The point is: it’s mine. My little creative space near a window, with a door. It might as well be a palatial studio for all the love I feel for it, and here is where I’ll write.

Lay aside for a few moments what you think about iconography. This was a really neat explanation of perspective I read this weekend.

This is called Christ Pantocrator of Sinai (think I got that right). It is known to be a particulary powerful image, one that seems to see through you and penetrate one’s thoughts as they gaze upon it.

The following quote is from another Frederica Matthewes-Green book called “The Open Door” and it offers a breakdown of a sort as to why this image draws the viewer in so well.
“One way the iconographer has achieved this intense effect is that the perspective is intentionally distorted. Look at the Gospel book; it towers upward, as if we’re standing on the street looking up at the corner of a sky scraper. But if you look at the figure of Christ, it’s as if we’re facing him squarely, with our head coming up to His chest. What’s more, the whole image of Christ gets subtly wider as it goes back into the picture. Why is that?

You’ll remember from elemenatry school art lessons that ‘perspective’ means that when you look at a picture of railroad tracks, far in the distance the tracks converge. The place where everything collapses into a tiny spot is called the ‘vanishing point’. That’s the rule in most western painting. A canvas shows a scene as if you’re looking into the box of a theater stage, with everything smaller as it goes back. That kind of perspective invites you into the frame of the picture, as if you’re entering a room and joining the characters there.

With many icons, however, perspective is reversed. Christ’s ears and hair are wider than his face. His shoulders seem to go on forever. Things are getting larger as they go back, and smaller as they come toward you. This means that the convergence point is in front of the picture, right about where your’e standing. You’re the ‘vanishing point’. ”

From “The Open Door”, pages 16 and 17, by Frederica Matthewes-Green.

This weekend we watched part of Sister Wendy’s The Story of Painting. She has an equally wonderful way of breaking down the elements of a painting so that it not only leaps to life in your mind, but causes you to feel the humanity and desire for beauty the artist had and was trying to communicate. Inspiring stuff.

Who am I? What am I? (Yes, I know that I said yesterday I wasn’t going to ask these questions right now but go with me here a moment).

I am not really anyone of signifigance in anyone’s eyes but a few family and friends. I’m curious. I’m hungry. I’m interested. I’m prone to want to share my journey in hopes of being understood, maybe cheered on from the sidelines, maybe even joined.

But I’m not an authority on much.

The last few weeks I’ve been learning about something that excites me because it soothes my parched heart with hope. I like to talk about things that make me bubble over but that doesn’t necessarily make me a fair representive of it. I certainly am in no position to defend it and don’t want to either. Defending something you don’t yet own not only gets really confusing, it also sabatagues the journey.

I’m going to keep sharing what I’ve learned. What I find that’s thrilling me, or confounding me, or causing me to wonder. But if in listening you find you have questions that pertain more to the ideas and less to my own experience, please go get a book on the subject, written by a first hand source. I’d be happy to send anyone to great websites I’ve found or toss out a few titles to look at the library for.

I talk too much and this is one way to quiet some of the clamor. I need to listen.

I read this today and would like to share it. It is the blog of an Orthodox priest and it ministered to me today, a day that has brought me a weariness with naval gazing a desire to look more to Christ, more to the ancient, to the without. It’s a day where I’ve decided to lay aside asking how I’m doing and where I’m at, to begin asking who is He and where is He. I’ll ask and I’ll wait for “the echo, the Yes.”

Glory to God for All Things

”

But as the years have gone by, I have come to see something I never saw before - the Presence within the absence. I don’t mean to sound too mystical here - only that I see in the hiddenness of God a revelation of His love. The Creator of us all draws us towards Himself and knowledge of Him, with hints and intimations, with seen and yet unseen signs.

The strange deniability that He leaves us is the space in which love is born. Love cannot be forced, cannot be demanded. It must come as gift, born of a willingness to give. To give God trust that what I see is indeed evidence of the wisdom in which He made all things is also a space - one which God fills with Himself and the echo, the Yes, that the universe shouts back to us.

It is where I grow weary of the arguments - not because they need not be made - but because it becomes hard to hear the silence in the noise of our own voices - a silence that invites us to hear the sound of the voice of God that rumbles all around us.”

and he loves shoes, which he says like, “ssshhhzzzz”.

He’s had pancakes and is now dancing to U2, holding his sipper cup in one hand, stark naked except for the blue Keds on his feet, fat little cherub rolls jiggling while he laughs and runs.

W went through a brief naked stage when he potty trained; I have beautiful beach photos of his little backside headed into the surf.  I don’t think R has potty training on his mind though; more like delight in the glorious freedom it must seem, the power to remove his own dipe and go stash it in the trash while mommy isn’t looking.

My only hope that this stage contains itself within the walls of our own home and that streaking out in public isn’t something that crosses his mind….

” Without you I was broken
But I’d rather be broke down with you by my side”

from Jack Johnson’s “Broken”

Today we’ll bake a buttermilk cake

frost it in chocolate and
there’s a little pile of presents he’s been begging for

worse than a child and

we’re all so thankful for the way
he plays and laughs and teaches us

to pray and

when he drives up to a blue house with windows glowing gold

and smells wood smoke from the chimney

supper will be waiting served with 5 smiling faces

happy he’s home.

Today:

with my eyes, I saw cherry juice turn white whips of cream to pink

with my ears, I heard the dry leaves left on the trees on the hill, blowing in the wind. It sounded like waves of the ocean

with my tongue, I tasted the sharp tang of parmesean cheese

with my nose, I smelled the cinnamon apple spice of a jar candle

with my skin, I felt the gritty grains of Comet as I cleaned my kitchen sink

defined: ” To make an effort to hear something, pay attetention to”

A few weeks I heard something. It sounded instantly different than what I thought I understood; it was in direct contrast to how I would have described it, had someone asked me the day before. I recognized my own ignorance; my curiousity was raised. I decided to tune in.

That thing was Orthodoxy and Catholicism.

It is not enough for me to have an opinion of these two approaches to faith that is regugitated through the mouth of another. I realized I no longer found myself able to say, “I am not these” simply because other people told me these views were incorrect (an extreme oversimpification of what they’ve said, actually).

If I’m not going to be Orthodox or Catholic, it going to be because I know what they believe and I because I know how I disagree with it. And how can I learn that if I don’t first listen?

This is different approach than the one I’ve had in the past: know what I believe and assume everyone else is then wrong.
I’ve been thinking about how to listen.

Can I do it well if I am arguing with the teller while they are speaking? Can I do it well if I approach it with my mind predisposed to disagree? Can I listen well if I interrupt, or I am afraid of them, or if I treat them with suspicion?

Can I listen and defend at the same time? Can I say I’ve really listened to what another thinks, if rather than hearing from them, I heard it from a third party who may or may not be honestly representing them?

I’ve recently been reminded of how threatened others can feel when someone is trying to listen to another. Not unike a petulant sibling who wants Mom’s attention all to themselves, and is jealous and angry that little brother has her ear. Even though I know this to be the case, I still wonder why it’s true.

Listening is not deciding. And someone who respects another’s intelligence will afford them the space to listen and contemplate with integrity.

I think everyone wants to feel heard. And every idea has a person behind it. It’s okay to get to know the souls behind the concepts.

And what a wide, wonderful world it is when you can see the eyes of a human, their needs, their desires, their cares, instead of just their idea.

The other day an old post of mine on Kathryn Sansone got a couple of new comments. This happens from time to time; her book is still a hot topic for some I guess. Being very involved over the last few days with bigger fish to fry, I didn’t reply to the comments but last night, when I was suposed to be dreaming I think, some thoughts came to me instead that this morning I’d like to express.

Carolyn said, “Both Duggar and Sansone should be appreciated for having the courage to publish useful tips to other mothers.
Hopefully neither one of them will ever have to read the less than charitable comments/critiques thrown around about them online.
Both families clearly have a lot of love which is what really matters…whether we’re rich and send our kids to school or living simply and homeschooling. Why don’t we spend our free time encouraging each other rather than comparing?”

Why compare indeed? Well here’s why:

• Kathryn Sanson wrote a book, putting herself out there, inviting the world into her life. Responsible, intelligent people won’t just read stuff; they will think about it, they will filter it through their worldview. One way or another they will form an opinion. Maybe they will gain encouragment from a book like this; many women found it disheartening. I wrote a review of what I found it to be, but I think it’s important to say that what I said wasn’t personally motivated. Kathryn Sansone, and Michelle Duggar for that matter, became almost analogies for a “kind” of mother in our society, both on opposite ends of the spectrum. I’m sure they both love their families and they both show it in radically different ways. It’s okay to compare methods.
• one my mottos: method matters. Or one could say, “the ends don’t justify the means”. Something may be very well worth doing, for instance, mothering, or making time for oneself, or making extra money. But HOW it is done matters. Looking at how another does something is one way to see what their method resulted in, what kind of consequence, and then makes it easier to decide if that’s a similiar path one wants to follow.

One thing I found interesting in the reaction to Woman First, Family Always, was the idea that she was being criticised for “being rich and putting her children in school”. I wonder if these people really read the book! Kathryn Sansone advocated much, much more than just using a schooling source than homeschooling, and really, that is so NOT the issue. I myself contrasted her with Michelle Duggar, not because I think the Duggars do it the “right” way but because she was her polar opposite in how time was spent and how priorities were arranged and yet here is a woman who appears every bit as satisfied and assurred in her role. She didn’t need to farm out her kids and over extend herself to the point of napping the bank teller line (a real story KS not only tells but recommends) to acheive it and I thought that was worth noting.

Comparisons can be valuable things. Even scripture recommends we hold up our faith and behavior in order to acheive what we should have as our goal. As we listen to other viewpoints and ways of doing things (more on that in another post), at some point we have to compare it against what we do and decide if we’ll keep, discard, or divide it. I don’t find doing so either encouraging or discouraging; there’s a person behind each idea. The idea is what is being compared here, not the individual.

Rember that on Little House on Prairie? Anything Dr. Baker couldn’t handle, they’d pack a basket of sandwiches, a neighbor would keep the other children, and they’d drive off with the child for the long journey ahead.

Ours wasn’t quite like that. We left long before dawn, the car covered in ice (note to self: get a scraper), nearly hit a little bunny on the way, and arrived at Children’s Hospital just as rush hour was gearing up in downtown Knoxville.

Andrew had an ultrasound on the mass in his leg. It is not, as we’d feared based on an appointment on Monday with our version of Dr. Baker, Soft-tissue Sarcoma.  It is a lymph node grown to nasty proportions. It could still be a number of worrisome things, like lymphoma or other stuff, but it’s not the BIG one that made us sob and hold our breath in terror.

I don’t fear man much but I sure fear what man’s body can sometimes do within itself. Cancer is right up there at the top. Cancer in one of my kids is off the charts.

I ditched Dr. Baker and went instead to the doctor I’d selected in Maryville earlier this year. I like her; I trust her. She was WELL worth the drive. She measured it, did blood work. sent stuff out, listened to Andrew and helped him with his own anxiety over this.

First thoughts are that it’s a crazy virus. Both Mono and Cat Scratch Disease can do weird things with organs and the body and it could be that. The blood work should help there. She also changed his antibiotic to something more appropriate. We’re going to wait for test results, watch the lump, and check back in a week. If it’s still there, likely we’ll schedule surgery to remove it and test it. The only way to make sure it’s not cancer is to remove it.

So we’re home. And feeling calm. There are other big trials going on that have largely been shelved until we can get over this hump. Plates are only so big and can handle so much at one time, no matter who wishes we could do more.

What has been really tender is hearing Wheaton and Celia pray, prostrate on the floor, at the table, in their beds, in the car, and nearly anywhere in between that their brother will be healed. They are children who understand, up close and personal, that sometimes childhood illness doesn’t end the way one wants it to. We didn’t ask them to pray for him; they did it on their own and it’s a beautiful thing. I think right now, we’re all feeling a  peace, feeling all the prayers, and making it through another day.

that’s how I feel right now.

I’ve had a lot of thoughts today:

what causes people to lift ideas so high that all they can see is the idea…and forget there is a real, feeling person on the other side?

what causes so much shortsitedness ( metaphorically speaking) that one would rush a situation, putting undo pressure on others, in search of a nice, tidy, controlled package?

prayer is an amazing thing. I haven’t been able to personally pray for quite some time now, but others have stood there for me and have prayed on my behalf. I can feel it. You lifted my burden today; you know who you are.

PPO’s are great things. Imagine that I can just pick who I want to see and make an appointment? Who knew? No referralls!

big boys can still be snuggly. big girls can be comic relief. little boys are adorable riding bikes. and babies are kissable goodness.

it’s always good to have chocolate in the house.

If You Want Me To by Ginny Owens

The lyrics:

The pathway is broken
And The signs are unclear
And I don’t know the reason why You brought me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I’m gonna walk through the valley
If You want me to

Chorus:
Cause I’m not who I was
When I took my first step
And I’m clinging to the promise You’re not through with me yet
so if all of these trials bring me closer to you
Then I will go through the fire
If You want me to

It may not be the way I would have chosen
When you lead me through a world that’s not my home
But You never said it would be easy
You only said I’d never go alone

So When the whole world turns against me
And I’m all by myself
And I can’t hear You answer my cries for help
I’ll remember the suffering Your love put You through
And I will go through the valley
If You want me to

When I cross over Jordan,
I’m gonna sing, gonna shout
I’m gonna look into Your eyes and see
You never let me down
So take me on the pathway that will lead me home to You
And I will walk through the valley
If You want me to

Yes, I will walk through the valley
If You want me to

the mountains may get snow. The dew, at least, will freeze. The sky is filled with early-winter clouds, which are, of course, premature.

It’s been a quiet day; refills on coffee, pajama’d boys not allowed outside for their coughs, books, the smell of wood smoke.

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
e. e. cummings

• it’s a lump the size of a tangerine in his upper thigh. We found it yesterday and he’s going to the doctor today or tomorrow, depending on who’s open and what we can work out. It’s been hurting and there for several weeks; he just now told us about it. If you would, say a prayer for Andrew, and for us, who against our rational minds, tend to feel the same fears every parent does when something isn’t right with their kids’ body.
• in the category of: “ahem…yeah…no, can’t go there” is skirt shopping in a dimly lit thrift store and finding my co-shopper is a guy. Not a husband standing holding his wife’s stuff while she shops. A guy. Apparently shopping for himself. Rather than instinctively say, “eewww”, and remembering that Oak Ridge, Tennessee has a comparitely small community of cross dressin’ men, I’ll think instead of the approaching Halloween and costume time. It’s his business and I went to look for jeans.
• there are several huge, black crows heavily flying between now-bare Walnut trees and almost-bare Poplars. My rooster bothered to crow this morning; unusual as he only does this about once a week and when he does, sounds like Bill the Cat being strangled. Not very roostery. I wonder if it is because he’s never been raised around other boy birds and was bred for slaughter before he ought to have learned to crow.