"I'm truly sorry, deeply...for all the wasted years I wasn't trusting in you. For all the years I was not seeing how you really were in everything, looking ahead for me..."
"I know."
"I am sorry I tried to be in charge of everything...I believed in you, I prayed (and I admit, mostly when something was going horribly wrong). But it was no where near what I am finding now..."
"Yes."
"I had a real problem with organized religion for a very long time...I got past some of that, and I see the reason for gathering in your house now. I hope its all right...but I still have a problem with the idea of certain doctrines being the only way..."
"I am glad you think about it."
"You are??"
"You live a long way from California, don't you?"
"Well, in human terms, yes. A VERY long way."
"If you were to drive it, how would you go?"
"Well...I don't know. I guess I would have to look at a map and figure it out. An AAA Triptik would probably give me the best route to follow..."
"In terms of what?"
"Oh, they take into account road conditions, whether road construction or repair is being done, time, etc."
"So is their way the way you would go?"
"Not necessarily."
"Hmmmm. And your husband is a very seasoned traveler, much more than you are. Would you necessarily, going it alone, go the way he did?"
"Well, I value his opinion. But he would probably understand if I needed to alter his idea of the best route some."
"Why's that?"
"Well...because I am not good in a lot of traffic, because I detest cities. I would much rather take a more scenic peaceful route than arrive hours earlier. I just tend to need....I don't know....a quieter way to go."
"Uh huh. Answer your question?"
"What?"
"Why I don't mind that you question doctrines?"
"OHHHHHH! You are saying there is more than one way to reach you!"
"Yes, certain things apply of course, just as in driving to California. There ARE certain rules of the road....but a lot of roads."
"I understand."
"I thought you might."
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Legislators? Are You Listening?
My husband always called them "Serenity-isms". I gathered them into a collection called "The Wee, Wiley, and Wise". The fact is that my granddaughter, Serenity, at aged five could come up with some things that would make the wisest old man of the mountain give pause. Here is a REAL conversation I had with her when she was in kindergarten. I think we could all learn something from this kid!
"Nana? I thought school was supposed to teach you things?"
"Well it does, honey! Haven't you learned a lot this year in kindergarten?"
"Nana! I mean impor-nant things!"
"Well honey, you have learned important things! You know your alphabet and days of the week and how to count. You can even read a little bit!"
"Nana, I am telling you. A lot of kids don't know how to do something impor-nant!"
"What, honey?"
"Well at lunch, they don't say their prayers! And the teachers don't know how, either!"
"Nana? I thought school was supposed to teach you things?"
"Well it does, honey! Haven't you learned a lot this year in kindergarten?"
"Nana! I mean impor-nant things!"
"Well honey, you have learned important things! You know your alphabet and days of the week and how to count. You can even read a little bit!"
"Nana, I am telling you. A lot of kids don't know how to do something impor-nant!"
"What, honey?"
"Well at lunch, they don't say their prayers! And the teachers don't know how, either!"
A Textbook Case
I spent twenty-eight years in education, and watched it disintegrate from a world in which "common sense" ruled to one that was baited by the "almighty test" and driven from the first day of school to the last by that hook. I could rant for hours about the lack of "common sense" and the lack of genuine education and preparation for life that our educational system has come to. I thought of it as a mission field of sorts for twenty-eight years, and sometimes I feel as if I "bailed out" (which I did), but I can't say I miss it...
My family was one that threw away nothing. The least scrap of twine was tied to the end of another and rolled in a ball to be saved "in case". A piece of aluminum foil was carefully washed and folded away in a drawer to be used again, and again, until it finally wound up in pieces so small it could be used for nothing. That is how I wound up the family archives for a hundred years worth of old textbooks. They have all enthralled me...from the early books my grandfather went to primary school with in the 1800's, to the ones my father used in the 1930's and 40's.
I always hated math (to the chagrin of my father, an engineer, and my mother, a bookkeeper), and one day when I was well grown, I took a peek into my father's algebra book from high school. Instead of gibberish and numbers, signs and symbols, it was filled with word problems and explanations of how to use algebra to solve them. But these were not just ANY word problems...they were REAL LIFE word problems, and a farm boy could use them to figure how much acreage he needed for so many cattle, etc. etc. In other words, for the time and the life that boy would be entering (or girl...there were those things too), the book made SENSE. One could see the reason behind the numbers and signs and symbols....and I thought, "Now if MY algebra book had been like that, showing me the connection between the gibberish and things I would need to know or be able to figure...then I might have actually LIKED it, at least felt like the effort...rather than despising what I considered a complete waste of time."
Last night I picked up another of my father's old textbooks: "Treasury of Life and Literature", copyright 1938. I was searching for some favorite old poems and some well known early poets of the twentieth century. What I found was exactly that, interspersed with short stories and essays, all divided into topics such as: "Protecting Useful Birds", "Living Within One's Means", "Being Loyal to One's Work", "Saving the Forests", "Developing Bodily Vigor", "The Triumph of Good Work".
I was stunned. Our literature books today reflect our culture...and it is all about "me" and "personal freedoms" to "find oneself"...on a "me" basis. This book sought to build character using literature...where has that gone?
Now can you imagine how "politically incorrect" it would be to include this in literature books for students now? Can you imagine how "politically incorrect" many writers would consider this? How many would DARE to write of this kind of morality in these strong words even here? Yet....isn't THIS what made our country strong? And isn't THIS what we are lacking now?
"'Tis a lesson you should heed,
Try again;
If at first you don't succeed,
Try again;
Then your courage should appear,
For if you will persevere,
You will conquer, never fear,
Try again."
-William Edward Hickson
"Work!
Thank God for the might of it,
The ardor, the urge, the delight of it-
Work that springs from the heart's desire,
Setting the brain and the soul on fire-
Oh, what is so good as the heat of it,
And what is so glad as the beat of it,
And what is so kind as the stern command,
Challenging brain and heart and hand
Work!
Thank God for the pride of it!"
-Angela Morgan
My family was one that threw away nothing. The least scrap of twine was tied to the end of another and rolled in a ball to be saved "in case". A piece of aluminum foil was carefully washed and folded away in a drawer to be used again, and again, until it finally wound up in pieces so small it could be used for nothing. That is how I wound up the family archives for a hundred years worth of old textbooks. They have all enthralled me...from the early books my grandfather went to primary school with in the 1800's, to the ones my father used in the 1930's and 40's.
I always hated math (to the chagrin of my father, an engineer, and my mother, a bookkeeper), and one day when I was well grown, I took a peek into my father's algebra book from high school. Instead of gibberish and numbers, signs and symbols, it was filled with word problems and explanations of how to use algebra to solve them. But these were not just ANY word problems...they were REAL LIFE word problems, and a farm boy could use them to figure how much acreage he needed for so many cattle, etc. etc. In other words, for the time and the life that boy would be entering (or girl...there were those things too), the book made SENSE. One could see the reason behind the numbers and signs and symbols....and I thought, "Now if MY algebra book had been like that, showing me the connection between the gibberish and things I would need to know or be able to figure...then I might have actually LIKED it, at least felt like the effort...rather than despising what I considered a complete waste of time."
Last night I picked up another of my father's old textbooks: "Treasury of Life and Literature", copyright 1938. I was searching for some favorite old poems and some well known early poets of the twentieth century. What I found was exactly that, interspersed with short stories and essays, all divided into topics such as: "Protecting Useful Birds", "Living Within One's Means", "Being Loyal to One's Work", "Saving the Forests", "Developing Bodily Vigor", "The Triumph of Good Work".
I was stunned. Our literature books today reflect our culture...and it is all about "me" and "personal freedoms" to "find oneself"...on a "me" basis. This book sought to build character using literature...where has that gone?
Now can you imagine how "politically incorrect" it would be to include this in literature books for students now? Can you imagine how "politically incorrect" many writers would consider this? How many would DARE to write of this kind of morality in these strong words even here? Yet....isn't THIS what made our country strong? And isn't THIS what we are lacking now?
"'Tis a lesson you should heed,
Try again;
If at first you don't succeed,
Try again;
Then your courage should appear,
For if you will persevere,
You will conquer, never fear,
Try again."
-William Edward Hickson
"Work!
Thank God for the might of it,
The ardor, the urge, the delight of it-
Work that springs from the heart's desire,
Setting the brain and the soul on fire-
Oh, what is so good as the heat of it,
And what is so glad as the beat of it,
And what is so kind as the stern command,
Challenging brain and heart and hand
Work!
Thank God for the pride of it!"
-Angela Morgan
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Every Moment With You
Dedicated to my husband, Ed. He is always there for me, but lately a lot has gone down that I have needed his support to endure. As always, he has been there without fail. I wrote this a year or so ago for him. It was an award winner in a Blue Mountain contest....but the REAL Award Winner is Eddie.
Every moment with you…
I love.
After twenty years and more,
Every moment with you,
I love.
I love the shining gladness
In your eyes
When we have been apart and
Come together.
I love the lilt in your voice
When you answer the phone
And know it is me.
I love reaching over
With a hand or a foot
To feel your warmth
Beside me in bed.
I love that I can talk to you
About anything,
Anything at all,
And you listen.
I love that you think,
Really think,
When something is
Important to me,
And you try to answer
Honestly, and without
Judgement.
I love that I can trust you
With anything,
Even immaterial things,
With things of the spirit
And soul,
With secrets of the past,
With anything at all.
Every moment with you,
I love.
Thank You, Papa God, for giving me this man.
Every moment with you…
I love.
After twenty years and more,
Every moment with you,
I love.
I love the shining gladness
In your eyes
When we have been apart and
Come together.
I love the lilt in your voice
When you answer the phone
And know it is me.
I love reaching over
With a hand or a foot
To feel your warmth
Beside me in bed.
I love that I can talk to you
About anything,
Anything at all,
And you listen.
I love that you think,
Really think,
When something is
Important to me,
And you try to answer
Honestly, and without
Judgement.
I love that I can trust you
With anything,
Even immaterial things,
With things of the spirit
And soul,
With secrets of the past,
With anything at all.
Every moment with you,
I love.
Thank You, Papa God, for giving me this man.
Jailhouse Apathy in Hypothetical? Dialogue
Jill shifted uncomfortably on the bench. She felt humiliated and embarrassed here. She felt dirty here. She glanced toward her grown daughter beside her.
"I can't stand this."
"I know, Mom."
"This is not who we are! Not who our family is!"
"I know, Mom."
Jill glanced around at the people lining the walls, filling up the few hard benches, leaned against the walls. She could not believe how many children were running around the place.
"Can't believe they bring kids in here! Aren't they ashamed??"
"Shhh! Mom, they'll hear you!"
"Ought to just have a playground outside. Seems like this is a family outing!"
"Shhhh!"
"Well they do! They act like it is a social gathering!"
"Mom...for some of them...it probably is a pretty regular habit."
Jill hushed. She glanced at her watch. She did a double take. She looked again.
"The sign said visiting hours were at 5:00! It is 5:30!"
"Yup, an' apt to be six afore they git here." The skinny woman in blue jeans sitting on the next bench spoke for the first time.
"What?"
"Man opens the door...sometimes he don't git here til six, sometimes seven."
"Then why does the sign say 5:00???"
The woman shrugged, resigned. She flipped her shoulder length brittle gray hair over a bony shoulder. "He works sommers else first. Don't git off til nearly six."
"Well then they need to change their information posted!"
The woman shrugged again. "What list you on?"
"What??"
"What list you on?"
"To get in? Is there more than one? I don't know...maybe I need to check and see if I got on the right one!"
"Nah. They just put out one at a time. What time you get here?"
"4:30"
"You probably on the first list. You'll git in soon's he gets here and they git em downstairs. Unless yours on lock down. Good thing."
"Why?"
"Cause you git on the second or third list, it is apt to be 9:00 fore you git in."
"WHAT? The visiting times are in fifteen minute increments. That can't be right! Second list should be 5:15!"
"Ain't how it is. They bring em down when they want. An' sometimes they let one bunch visit nearly a hour. Depends on whose in it."
"What???"
The gray haired woman shrugged again. "That's how it is."
Jill looked incredulously at her. The woman looked like she knew what she was talking about. Jill didn't know whether to be incredulous that this woman seemed so well acquainted with the foreign environment, or incredulous that apparently a government institution had such disregard for the public.
"Then someone needs to talk to the jailer!"
"Good luck findin' him. I been comin' here fer nigh on six months. Ain't seen him yet. An' the rest of em ain't gonna talk to you either."
"Isn't this an ELECTED position??"
The woman shrugged.
Jill went to the restroom off the waiting area. There was no toilet paper. She returned to her daughter in a huff.
"NOT ONLY was there no toilet paper...there was not even an empty roll! NOR was there even any sign there had ever been a place to hang one! This is absolutely RIDICULOUS!"
The gray haired woman smiled faintly.
Jill watched another couple, who looked like they were a bit "better calibur" enter the waiting area, looking around uneasily. She felt for them. She understood quite well how "dirty" this entire experience felt to them. She could strangle her own son for putting her through this.
The couple stopped, and spotting Jill, apparently seeing in her "one of their own" asked, "Is this where we wait to see a prisoner?"
"Yes. But you need to sign the list over there..."
"Thanks."
They did, and came back to stand uneasily against the wall. The woman turned to her.
"We drove over two hundred miles...and thought we would never find this place!"
Jill nodded.
"There is no website, nothing! We tried to call, and couldn't get anyone to answer the phone."
"I know. If I had not had someone in town who could come up here and find the posted hours, I would not know when to be here either."
"And we sent a money order here so our son could have commissary, and he wrote us he never got it!"
A well endowed woman with bleached blonde hair and two inches of dark roots spoke up.
"You cain't do that. Got to be a postal money order, got to be made out right." She stabbed at the bulletin board with one thumb. "Ain't just like that, exactly like that...you can ferget it. An' don't go makin' it out for more than twenty bucks a week neither, cause they jus take it an' you don't git it back neither. All you can have at one time."
"But we live two hundred miles away!"
The bleached blonde shrugged.
"He said he wanted something to read, so we brought him some books..."
"Won't let him have 'em."
"What??"
"Won't let him have 'em. Gotta be new books, sent straight from a bookstore or somethin in the mail."
"Not even a Bible????"
"Nothin'"
"He said he hadn't even had clean underwear since he has been here!"
The gray haired woman stifled a laugh. "Nope. Ain't gonna have either unless you give him money to buy underwear at their prices in the commissary! You can't wash what he's already got and bring it in. They run the store!"
Jill gasped. The couple who had driven two hundred miles looked horrified...."What???" the woman fairly strangled trying to grasp this new reality. She swallowed hard. "What...what about people who live as far away as we do? And...and...what about the ones in here that don't have anyone to make sure they have just...well...just basic things??"
The gray haired woman shrugged and looked bemused at the folks who didn't seem to grasp that this was "how it was."
Jill looked at her daughter. "This isn't right!!!"
"Well, Mom. They're prisoners."
"Yes, but WE aren't!!! WE didn't do anything wrong!!!"
Her daughter shrugged.
"I can't stand this."
"I know, Mom."
"This is not who we are! Not who our family is!"
"I know, Mom."
Jill glanced around at the people lining the walls, filling up the few hard benches, leaned against the walls. She could not believe how many children were running around the place.
"Can't believe they bring kids in here! Aren't they ashamed??"
"Shhh! Mom, they'll hear you!"
"Ought to just have a playground outside. Seems like this is a family outing!"
"Shhhh!"
"Well they do! They act like it is a social gathering!"
"Mom...for some of them...it probably is a pretty regular habit."
Jill hushed. She glanced at her watch. She did a double take. She looked again.
"The sign said visiting hours were at 5:00! It is 5:30!"
"Yup, an' apt to be six afore they git here." The skinny woman in blue jeans sitting on the next bench spoke for the first time.
"What?"
"Man opens the door...sometimes he don't git here til six, sometimes seven."
"Then why does the sign say 5:00???"
The woman shrugged, resigned. She flipped her shoulder length brittle gray hair over a bony shoulder. "He works sommers else first. Don't git off til nearly six."
"Well then they need to change their information posted!"
The woman shrugged again. "What list you on?"
"What??"
"What list you on?"
"To get in? Is there more than one? I don't know...maybe I need to check and see if I got on the right one!"
"Nah. They just put out one at a time. What time you get here?"
"4:30"
"You probably on the first list. You'll git in soon's he gets here and they git em downstairs. Unless yours on lock down. Good thing."
"Why?"
"Cause you git on the second or third list, it is apt to be 9:00 fore you git in."
"WHAT? The visiting times are in fifteen minute increments. That can't be right! Second list should be 5:15!"
"Ain't how it is. They bring em down when they want. An' sometimes they let one bunch visit nearly a hour. Depends on whose in it."
"What???"
The gray haired woman shrugged again. "That's how it is."
Jill looked incredulously at her. The woman looked like she knew what she was talking about. Jill didn't know whether to be incredulous that this woman seemed so well acquainted with the foreign environment, or incredulous that apparently a government institution had such disregard for the public.
"Then someone needs to talk to the jailer!"
"Good luck findin' him. I been comin' here fer nigh on six months. Ain't seen him yet. An' the rest of em ain't gonna talk to you either."
"Isn't this an ELECTED position??"
The woman shrugged.
Jill went to the restroom off the waiting area. There was no toilet paper. She returned to her daughter in a huff.
"NOT ONLY was there no toilet paper...there was not even an empty roll! NOR was there even any sign there had ever been a place to hang one! This is absolutely RIDICULOUS!"
The gray haired woman smiled faintly.
Jill watched another couple, who looked like they were a bit "better calibur" enter the waiting area, looking around uneasily. She felt for them. She understood quite well how "dirty" this entire experience felt to them. She could strangle her own son for putting her through this.
The couple stopped, and spotting Jill, apparently seeing in her "one of their own" asked, "Is this where we wait to see a prisoner?"
"Yes. But you need to sign the list over there..."
"Thanks."
They did, and came back to stand uneasily against the wall. The woman turned to her.
"We drove over two hundred miles...and thought we would never find this place!"
Jill nodded.
"There is no website, nothing! We tried to call, and couldn't get anyone to answer the phone."
"I know. If I had not had someone in town who could come up here and find the posted hours, I would not know when to be here either."
"And we sent a money order here so our son could have commissary, and he wrote us he never got it!"
A well endowed woman with bleached blonde hair and two inches of dark roots spoke up.
"You cain't do that. Got to be a postal money order, got to be made out right." She stabbed at the bulletin board with one thumb. "Ain't just like that, exactly like that...you can ferget it. An' don't go makin' it out for more than twenty bucks a week neither, cause they jus take it an' you don't git it back neither. All you can have at one time."
"But we live two hundred miles away!"
The bleached blonde shrugged.
"He said he wanted something to read, so we brought him some books..."
"Won't let him have 'em."
"What??"
"Won't let him have 'em. Gotta be new books, sent straight from a bookstore or somethin in the mail."
"Not even a Bible????"
"Nothin'"
"He said he hadn't even had clean underwear since he has been here!"
The gray haired woman stifled a laugh. "Nope. Ain't gonna have either unless you give him money to buy underwear at their prices in the commissary! You can't wash what he's already got and bring it in. They run the store!"
Jill gasped. The couple who had driven two hundred miles looked horrified...."What???" the woman fairly strangled trying to grasp this new reality. She swallowed hard. "What...what about people who live as far away as we do? And...and...what about the ones in here that don't have anyone to make sure they have just...well...just basic things??"
The gray haired woman shrugged and looked bemused at the folks who didn't seem to grasp that this was "how it was."
Jill looked at her daughter. "This isn't right!!!"
"Well, Mom. They're prisoners."
"Yes, but WE aren't!!! WE didn't do anything wrong!!!"
Her daughter shrugged.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
My Son, My Sun
Dedicated to two very special friends (you know who you are) who feel this pain as deeply as I do. And to all the other mothers out there who have known the same.
God gave me a son
Who was my sun.
He gave me a son
And a cloud.
And I am still
Trying to find the son.
The sun is behind a cloud.
Since I can't see
What's in store for me,
Or worse...far worse...
For him...
God, please take care
Of my son
Find the sun...please...
For him.
Like a Child
Like a Child...
Like a child...
I block out the "logic",
I tear down the walls.
Like a child,
I open it, my chest
Vulnerable,
And say,
"Here I am Lord,
As much like a child
As I can be...
Do what you will."
And you do...
Except for what
I do not let go of.
And there always seems
To be something.
Like a child,
I always hold
Something back
In my greedy grasp.
Like a child,
Help me pull back each
Grasping finger
And let it all go...
Just let it all go...
And hold my open
Psalm.
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