Completer

I answer my phone this afternoon to hear some really crazy news. Lisa and her sister Shelley have taken themselves off to our local bargain store. And guess what the two of them have discovered crammed in amongst the what-not littering the shelves in Bargain Basement? Polish pottery! The real deal--- and they would certainly both know exactly what they were seeing! So I hop in the car and race off to Bargain Basement. Oh. My. Goodness. Yay! We gorge our little peepers on all the pretty bits of pottery exclaiming over the fun of finding such treasure in this unexpected place.

I received a beautiful creamer and sugar bowl as a surprise gift a while back after posting my wish to build a coffee and tea service. (And yet people ask why I blog?!) I have since added a matching spoon, but today we found a little tray in the matching pattern to hold the whole lovely set. Shelley, quick with the rationalizing, suggested that the tray was a good buy because it both completed my sugar and creamer set and it was a lovely decorative item for my kitchen.

Calendar Crunch

Birthday, birthday, birthday. Erin's birthday is almost here. Unlike her siblings who would be on some demented Birthday High at at this point, Miss Erin is looking forward to the day we celebrate her, but she is too busy for much self-absorption. She has dancing lessons today, and on Thursday she has two friends coming for dinner, a rehearsal for Children's Choir and a second practice immediately after choir for her role as a shepherd in the grown-up Christmas programming.
Here's where it gets sticky. There are two more rehearsals on Saturday. When we have scheduled a birthday party. While waiting on confirmation, there is hope that Erin is not in either of the sections rehearsing this weekend since both appear to involve primarily the speaking roles for the Children's Choir production. I suspect that Erin would be perfectly fine with racing from rehearsal to birthday party, but her grandparents would probaby like to see her at some point on Saturday rather than racing along with her from one activity to the next. Had Erin's mama made the minimal effort to read the rehearsal schedule prior to last night, then the stress level of possibly squeezing too much stuff into too little time could have been avoided, or at least minimized. Bad Mama.
At least I know that she is a shepherd now. There was confusion created by requests for information from the costume mistress last night for Erin's clothing sizes because I still had not seen the script for Imagine (the show where Erin will serve as one of four shepherds reading Luke 2). The motivation to look back at a previously received message regarding Children's Choir came as I realized that, in addition to not knowing her specific role, I had no earthly idea what my child was doing, where she was committed to be, or when. Uh-oh. Not knowing the role was because the scripts had not been sent to the children yet, but the schedule whoopsie is all on me because that was sent two weeks ago and has even been referred to by two other moms!
The days of the December festival will make for one crazy weekend. Erin will perform not only in the two productions, but her ballet class will likely dance during the intermission. And her Daddy is playing bass in both the adult productions of "Pop Goes Christmas" and "Imagine". Oh, Boy. This is why I needed to not be involved in the organization roles for the intermission performers. I can hardly keep track of two performers--- much less a whole list of them!

Whoops.`

Sorry. I worked in an Operating Room for a couple of years. Cuts and bruises don't faze me, but I do apologize for giving others a turn. Not intentional, so much as unthinking. If you have not already read "Multitasking", then the apology will make little sense. The offending photo of Miss Erin's eye injury has been pulled down to avoid causing any unintentional "Ewwww."

Multitasking

Our weekend involved a series of commitments that kept us on the run right up until our youngest caught a frisbee with her left eye during a party--- just as we were preparing to take our leave to head for her school carnival. Instead, we headed for the E.R. where little missy's eye was determined to be undamaged although painful. The M.D. made it glow-in-the-dark which was exciting. She wore shades to church yesterday and to school today because she finds the look of her now full-blown shiner unappealing.

This week will be no more quiet than the last one. We have company coming for the weekend (my parents), the opening of a friend's daughter's play Wednesday evening, a pair of kids visiting Thursday night for dinner before they and Erin go off to choir rehearsal, what may be a full house for a our Second Friday Potluck, and a herd of second grade girls for a birthday party on Saturday, and the baptisms of five children belonging to two families dear to us.

So. While I ought to be doing things to prepare for the craziness of later this week, I am in no mood to do anything because it is a cloudy, somewhat rainy day which makes me want to curl up and sleep despite the household chores that need doing. Which is precisely what I will do while the modern conveniences of the washing machine, dryer, and dishwasher proceed to wash clothes and dishes for me. That is my kind of multi-tasking.

Not Polish

Whoa. Shelley and I had some yummy Polish food at lunch yesterday because the sklep is also a restaurant. Everyone else... mmm. Not so much. Because the results of our hours shopping for ingredients and preparing a really... um, involved meal were not so good. I will spare the details of our thoroughly misguided attempt at preparing pierogis (dumplings) and sernik (Polish cheesecake). Thankfully, we did have kielbasa to salvage the dinner.

Unfortunately, we also had the cheesecake. I was sadly going to forgo eating any of the delicious sounding cheesecake topped with a layer of thinly sliced peaches, meringue, and finished off with a crumb topping. (The operative word in that sentence was "sounding".) Everyone at the table sampled a bite of the treat that oddly resembled scrambled eggs with peaches. Shelley looked thoughtful. Don proceeded to scoop up a bite of the stuff to offer me saying, "You won't be breaking your fast [from sweets] with this..." before putting the single most vile bite of food into my mouth ever created. Holee cow. I can now say that I have eaten something so vile that I spontaneously cried. Wow. Whoo. Oomph. Apparently there are two kinds of "twarog" cheese, and we did not use the right one. Imagine dry cottage cheese with (Oops.) twice the butter called for in a dish that ended up reminiscent of cake batter with cottage cheese, a hint of peaches, and finished off with a highly bitter aftertaste. Oh my, my, my.

I still stand by the company. Despite five hours invested in a meal that I would feel guilty serving the dogs, I can honestly say the day was fun. I am not a Polish cook. My appreciation of good Polish food grows every time I attempt to prepare it. But I would not trade the fun of watching Shelley try to get instructions from three women all speaking rapid-fire Polish as they each weigh in on how much bacon we need for the pierogi filling... only to discern that one of them is underestimating because there are two pounds left in the meat counter--- and she wants one pound. Or watching the girls roll out the dough and cut circles for the dumplings before everyone gathered in the kitchen to begin filling and sealing our little pockets of potato, cheese, and bacon, followed by all three kids anxiously peering into the pot to see if we had any "floaters" that were ready to eat. Or the combination of chagrin and laughter at the discovery that the carefully filled pockets had all stuck together on the plate while waiting for cooking. Any day filled with laughter is okay in my book even if I eat something that literally brings me to tears.

Polish American

Yay! My favorite Polish American or Amercian Pole is home for a bit. Last night Shelley and I met at my favorite coffee shop in Suburbia just to hang out for a bit... and make plans for today's festivities. Today is something of a "Celebrate Poland" day at our house. Shelley learned to make pierogis in Poland. I made some truly bad Zurek (a kind of soup) for our family after returning from Poznan last Spring. Today, the opportunity to make both will be part of our day as Shelley comes to visit. I'll meet Shelley and her Mom to go have lunch and fulfill our specialty shopping list at a Polish grocery (sklep) in a nearby suburb. (The grocery store photo is from a previous grocery trip with Shelley... except it was a Polish grocery that was in Poland rather than Suburbia.) Then Shelley and I will be attempting to duplicate the feat of making pierogis which will be part of our dinner along with what will hopefully be good Zurek.

In addition to Don and I, the kids, and Shelley, Shelley's sister Lisa and Lisa's husband John will complete our dinner party! Hooray! While I am sincerely hopeful that the dinner will be wonderful, I know the companionship will be the best. After our yummy Polish dinner, we will all load up for the drive to the church. Erin is performing tonight (along with her adorable friends from dance class) at the church's monthly artist's gathering where original material is shared. It is awesome that we are all sharing so much with one another tonight from our home, to Shelley's Polish cooking expertise, to John and Lisa's ready laughter, and the children's corny jokes and talent. Whatever we each bring to the evening, it's bound to be memorable. Both my glimpse into Shelley's Polish world and her American world will come together tonight. What's not to love?!

Footnote:

Last night Shelley shared the raw footage of her support-raising video with me. As we watched, it struck me that several talented people were in the building who might share their expertise with her to create a piece that would truly communicate the spiritual need in Poland. We showed the video to our church's generally brilliant programming director Jan who had a couple of helpful comments, but was not really struck by the images that had me turning away from the screen to avoid sobbing. The message was not coming across in the video. First thing this morning, my phone rang. Those images that were not communicating the needed message did stick with Jan. So much so that she was calling with a makeshift verbal storyboard communicating the very real spiritual starvation in Europe. Whoo-Hoo!!! I am hoping that Shelley will be able to communicate why she goes out through the images and words with the addition of Jan's keen mind and eye to the creative process.

Requiem

Last weekend one of our pastors shared a quote from Calvin Miller, "Love smiles, Hate grins." The words caught my attention and imagination. An hour later, I mentioned to Steve that the quote was extremely appealing. So what was his response? He said, "Have you got a minute?", and when I responded in the affirmative he headed off back down the hall toward his office. Steve returned with a hardback volume in its dust jacket (Oooh, a dust jacket. Around here we still hide those so no one colors or writes on them!) which he extends to me.
This offering is wholly unexpected. I liked the words he spoke earlier, but I am already not moving along at the pace intended in my reading or an internet learning series I have committed to following. Despite the internal voice accusing me of being too busy to read something else right now, my hand is outstretched to reach for the slim book proffered by this man who is wiser than I, but for whom I have yet to see my admiration diminish--- a rare thing in a world needing grace and often characterized by disappointment. Perhaps some measure of the brilliance will be reflected if I read the words contained in the book proffered? Light reflected still illuminates.
And what words. The book waited with a small sense of accusation for a day or two before I creased the cover to begin the adventure it promised. In addition to Steve's comparison of Calvin Miller to C.S. Lewis, the book jacket contained praise for Miller saying, "...work in the tradition of Milton's Paradise Lost and J.R.R. Tolkien's "Ring Trilogy."" Really?
Really. And how. A Requiem For Love by Calvin Miller is genuinely a must-read. The description of Worship in the second chapter is stunning and the third chapter describes the oh-so-human need for touch and companionship despite an undiminished love for man's Creator with clarity and yet simplicity. Thus far, the book can be characterized as a sweet, sweet song. A song that remains with the hearer well after the notes fade. Oh, my.

Cobbler

In amongst the mail was a journal. Since it had a high-heeled shoe printed on the front and swirly pattern decorating the interior pages along with the phrase "Walk By Faith" across the cover, Don assumed it was intended for me. (Could've been for one of the girls, but... Nah.) I have no idea where it originated, but if the giver was a reader, then consider yourself thanked. We had a ball speculating on the journal's origin, but eventually gave up since whomever it was clearly wanted anonymity.
Just yesterday a dear friend asked me when I am going to get around to writing that book that is in me somewhere. She also asked if I journal, to which I replied that "I blog." The blogging actually came out of the same friend's encouragement to write. Which was followed by the cheerleading of several friends who were amused by my tales of "Whoa!" and dismay regarding the fat chick who haunted my mirror after Evan was born and the rebellious jeans that no longer came up over my child-bearing hips. There is an ordered mind required to write with purpose, and I find my disordered life likely indicative of a disordered mind. (Several specific disorders come immediately to mind.) Perhaps there is a book in there somewhere waiting to emerge from the chrysalis into lines of characters that march across page after page.
Or perhaps the testimony is not to be found in my beloved words. Perhaps there is nothing so finely crafted as the life I have been given. And nearly lost again and again because this body does not work quite as it ought to sometimes leading me to questions without answers and pain without release. Because I am not done. But that wee book has captured my curiosity about words and how they can be cobbled together into whatever tale is there to be told.

Tender Ignition

I'm thinking of more than one meaning. Legal tender as in what sort of currency or barter can one utilize in the exchange of goods and services. Or the verb indicative of offering something like tendering one's resignation. I'm also thinking squooshy. (Mmmm. Squooshy.) My heart needs to be squooshy; otherwise, I will cease to feel and care.
That means I am open to hurt. I tender the risks of pain and sorrow out of hope for love. What all will be placed in this offering? Name it. Hopes, dreams, disappointments, wonder, defeat, sacrifice, time, money, thoughts, hurts, joys, desires, words, but, most of all, want will be placed on the altar. I tender my heart because it must be tender or it becomes hard. What I want will be in submission to what I hope. And rather than a cold, hard heart, I will burn with the all-consuming fire that refines.

Go Out, Send Me

It's likely to be a wild day at my usual Tuesday morning coffee date. There is a difference that makes today a not-so-usual Tuesday aside from the U.S. elections. I sort of invited a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses in to visit at a friend's house a couple of weeks ago, but then I had to leave. And I had an infusion last week which kept me at home causing the hostess to push back the planned visit. So we are having coffee with a pair of very nice JWs who wish to convert a batch of Christian women. Ought to be interesting.
I do not consider the visitors to be presumptuous. I am interested in hearing what they believe, and it will be held up to Scripture for testing. I do admire that the JWs go out and take the likely uncomfortable step of knocking on strange doors to share their beliefs even though I probably do not agree with them. Yes, having heard comments and arguments about "shoving religion down the throats" of those either uninterested or otherwise believing people, I am aware that witnessing or sharing one's faith is unpopular in our culture. It's considered largely intolerant. And yet. I say that I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God who died for my sins so that I could regain communion with God the Creator of the Universe and not endure eternal torment. If I truly believe this, and I say that I care about someone, how could I possibly consider their "comfort zone" or their desire for "tolerance of other beliefs" more important than their souls?!
The ladies in the photo are not unlike the JWs we will meet with today in their desire to reach out and share their faith. All three inspire and ignite me by simply living their lives. To Krista and Shelley who say both "I'll Go" and "Send Me" and to Janene who ministers closer to home, but in ways no less powerful, I can look for examples of whose I am.

The Same, Only Different

"One of these things is not like the other. One of these things is not quite the same." That was a lyric from a song that played on one of the kiddies' Sesame St. videos as an accompaniment to an activity intended to teach "different" and "same" by showing similar pictures side by side. The song pops into my head from time to time when struck by images and situations where it is inappropriate to sing it out loud.
This photo of two 13 year-old boys bowling, one of whom is our son and the other is a friend's son, definitely has me humming my inappropriate little song. It was hugely encouraging to hear from the parents of the other young man that some of the issues we deal with are not related to Evan's diagnosed conditions, but are simply results of being a thirteen year-old guy. It was even better not to be told what we "ought" to be doing to parent him. While the differences between our son and the other young man were glaring, the similarities were comforting because they offer demonstrable proof that we are not so far off the beaten path despite the sometime feeling of wandering in the wilderness while trying to parent Evan. The constant struggle to guide the Boy toward increasing independence without pushing him out of the nest prematurely and simultaneously trying to protect him from the perceptions of others leaves me tired.

Anonymity

Yesterday I cried. I cried because one of our older neighbors shared a celebratory moment with us. Well, she shared the news of the birth of her first grandson with "Kelly" and "James". Somehow a couple of our neighbors have mistaken mine and Don's names for others at various points in time, but too much time has passed to correct the errors without potentially having the neighbors feel foolish. And we are not really that concerned about whether or not these sweet people know our names. It gives a certain anonymity to the ways in which we are able to serve them by listening, mowing their lawns, carpooling on occasion... generally whatever is needed.

In much the same way that that Grandma told us of her good news, other neighbors have told of frustration and fears due to health challenges, financial crisis, difficulty with relationships, and assorted other uh-ohs. How human to need to share the joys, burdens, and day-to-day what-not of our lives with another. My tears were due to my sadness that so many people seem to have few close personal relationships which meet this need to share. So I care. I watch for the eyes that seem to be communicating more than "Hi!", or for the pause at the end of "Fine" as a response to "How are you?" that means there are many more words that can follow the expected response if I will make the time to listen and care. How precious are those moments when we are able to say without words, just by listening, that someone is precious and that what matters to them matters to someone else.
Today, I am thankful for "Kelly" and "James". I hope they will become ever more present.