Mozart and Haydn

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)
Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809)

Mozart lived 35 years.  Haydn lived 77.

Mozart produced 600 pieces across all genres, in half the lifetime of others.  He came from a sort of musical royalty, his father being a well-respected musician who had inroads to the courts throughout Europe.  He started at age 3, started composing at 5, touring at 7, worked night and day and lived a lavish and undisciplined life. 

Haydn, is much less tragic of a figure and would unlikely be the subject of a movie (like Amadeus.)  His beginnings are humbler, with a mother and father who were laborers.  Compared to Mozart, he was a late bloomer, already being 6 when he was apprenticed to be a musician.  He had a steady job all his life and lived within his means.

If Mozart is Jimmy Swaggert, then Haydn is Joel Osteen.  Mozart's Dennis Rodman to Haydn's Michael Jordan; John McEnroe to Michael Chang.

van Gogh without his ear

I've used the two as symbols of the unwritten but understood imagery of the pathos and angst of the creative and artistic.  Why is it that we think of artists as tortured souls like Mozart, Beethovan, van Gogh?  What about the steady, hard-working, successful Haydn, Cezanne?

My limited knowledge of Mozart can't tell me whether his parents raised him well, or not, or if he had a spirit that led him down a slippery path.  I know he was lead around by his father performing for various nobility and royalty.  But then as an adult, he lived a miserable life and died young.  Haydn, not having the ticket to the courts, actually had to work hard to stay fed.  His cook mother nor his wheel maker father could get him the posh positions that Mozart got.  Is it that Haydn had to work for his art while Mozart was coddled?  Is this the classic saga of the silver-spoon vs the boot strap?  Maybe Wolfgang was just a finicky, high-strung baby while Franz Joseph sat docile with fewer fluctuations in pulse rate.

As I transfer my mind wanderings from the abstract to the reality of my little musician, I wonder how I will get him to be a Haydn, not a Mozart.  No worldly success, even for the sake of Art and Creativity, is worth the misery of a pathetic testimony of a life as Mozart.  Must Creativity be miserable? or as we are coming to understand through research, does Creativity come with plain ol' steady work?  "Genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration*," and all that.

The Genius of Greek Poetry

In the days of Greeks and Romans, Genius and Creativity were creatures that lived outside of ourselves and visited mere humans to inspire them to artistry.  It was something outside of the human experience.  Then the Renaissance came, and that gods, the sprites who lived in walls and tapped our shoulders with golden dust, were now inside of us.  Suddenly, we humans were Genius and Creativity.  We had made ourselves gods.

It seems to me, that we sunk ourselves by putting so much pressure on our frail, little human selves.  Might it be better to think of Creativity, well, maybe not as a god like the Greeks did, but from something, somewhere outside of ourselves that we get to express?  Can we separate ourselves from our creativity and see ourselves as valuable outside of our art?

Might I remember to praise my son for his hard work and long practice instead of just his talent?  Might I encourage him that he is more than his talent?  That it is a gift that can be used (or not) for the benefit of himself as well as others?  Then one day, if he breaks his hands or develops a disease, that he'd still be valuable? precious?  talented? hard-working?

Hence, I pray to the God of Creation.

* Thomas Edison

The Final Sunrise

"The hours go slowly but the years go swiftly."

or something like that.

Each day, often filled with the drudgery of responsibilities - being at the office, going to meetings, shuttling your kids around, picking up toys, weeding.  Somewhere in there you rest, relax, enjoy the family.  Then you flop down into bed.

Only to find at each birthday, each anniversary, each milestone, that the years have gone by.  Your 2-year old is now 9, 18, 24.  I love watching Boo grow, I love seeing the person he is, the person he is growing into.  But I also feel a sadness as I watch him.  Why?

I am also a  bit sad as my husband and I mark our anniversaries.  I know that one day, one of us will be left here without the other.  Will the remaining one find another to fill the days?  I don't know; I can't say.  I know now though that I never tire of him, he is my best friend and confidante.  I can't imagine finding anyone else to be with.

We mark each hour.  The days go marching by.  Then it's a year gone by.  Then 5.  Then 10.  Why the wistfulness at life going by?  Are we mourning the coming of the end of our story?  Do we have a longing in us to be eternal?  Is that why men build monuments?  leave a legacy?  I never felt this way when I was young.  Is it that as we age, we crest the hill and see in the horizon our Final Sunset? 

Do we not enjoy the beauty of the sunset, only because we know there is a sunrise?

Am I not wistful and sad because we were never meant to see the end?

Death Be Not Proud

Death is the Enemy

What if after the Final Sunset, we knew there was an eternal Sunrise?  Here in the quiet hours, as I have faith that there is a tomorrow, and the sun will rise again, would I continue to mourn at each passing year if I knew there were more years to come?  That I could live eternally?

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, so that

whoever believes in Him

shall not perish but have everlasting life."

.

If

If I could, I'd sing. I'd stand on that stage, belt out a song.  Without a frizzled nerve.  If I could sing like this:


Heart


or this: (Sorry for the visuals. This is the only one of this song I could embed.)

Kathy Mattea

or this:

Linda Ronstadt

If I could sing, that is.

Black and White and Read All Over

.
You know the old riddle, don't you? I think it's for 3rd graders plus or minus.

What's black and white and read all over?
A nun falling down the stairs.
A zebra with diaper rash.
A newspaper.

A few days ago, I was waiting to get my feet x-rayed.

X-ray. Doesn't that sound really retro? Like x-ray glasses. X-ray gun! At one time the epitome of high tech. Now when you look at those clunky metal film cartridges and the cross beam, it all seems so Dr. Who-ish.

I was contemplating what socially redeeming book to take with me but remembered there would be tattered, Pig Flued copies of People and Sports Illustrated in the waiting area. It's amazing how immersed I can get in the gossip about celebrities.

And there are fewer and fewer that are familiar to me. Because most of them are young enough to be my kids. Hey you - Kleinblower and McAuldy - it'll happen to you too, so don't sit there all young and cute with a puzzled puppy look on your face.

So I get there and it's a choice between golf, housekeeping and - angel choir voices and bright lights - EBONY.

I have never picked up a copy of Ebony. In fact, I looked in the racks at my local grocery today and didn't find a copy of Ebony. Or Essence. Not even O. So why the angels and lights? Because I read it. And liked it. Then an interesting thing happend. I'm lost in the articles and and there's this little tinging in the back of my consciousness that everyone. Everyone. In this magazine is black. Except for the one white man contributor. And some women in a tampon ad. And I thought.

Everybody should read Ebony.

If you're not black, do you ever think to pick up Ebony? And yet, blacks are expected to read Glamour or Cosmo or Good Housekeeping like it's "normal."

Pick one up somewhere.

Get immersed. . . .

Get a glimpse of the world from another side.

I now realize how ture it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts people from every nation who fear Him and do what is right. - Acts 10: 34,35

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!" - Revelations 7:9-10

49er

I usually don't do this kind of rambly this-is-my-life kind of post, but today, I just feel rambly and this-is-my-lifey. A little dithery and flighty, too. If you know me in real life, I am so not flighty. Cotton-brained, but not flighty. As a friend of mine said, "Don't underestimate the power of the cotton brain." I need a t-shirt with that on. If I believed in slogan t-shirts.

Today is my birthday. As my present, I am having a party on Saturday. I can't think of anything better than being with a bunch of girlfriends and yacking away the evening. Well, being with HH would be better, but you know what I mean. BTW, if you're reading this blog and you live near me, come on over! Chinese food at 6:30! I totally mean it. Boo can't seem to understand that the party IS my present. He keeps asking, "But what's your present?" This morning, he came to me all crazy-haired and no-pantsed and said "I know what can be a part of your present!! Lots of HUGS!" Those are the moments, aren't they?

So I'm keeping a stiff upper-lip an' all, but if you look in my eyes and ask me how I'm doing, I'll get all blubbery and start to weep. I mean, I love my life. I love that I'm wiser, I love my husband, I love our house, I love our little warty town. We're healthy. My hiney's sore from going roller-skating with Boo the other night and HH and I have various health annoyances, but nothing life-threatening. Praise. The. Lord. But maybe, maybe. Maybe I covet this life. Maybe I don't want it to end. You know, Death is the enemy. My pastor said that to me the other week and as long as I've been a Christian, I've never thought of it that way. We say "death and taxes," but death is not natural, from a Christian point of view, that is. I can't speak for the other religions. But God created us (Adam and Eve) to dwell with him forever in paradise (the Garden.) It was only by eating the fruit that made us die. Not drop dead right there at the trunk of the tree, but death would come to us. And don't ask me why God let evil in. Remember, this is going to be flighty and rambly.

The other reason, if I will admit it, is that I have regrets. I live my life living for today and looking for tomorrow - glass half full - but really? Honestly? I have regrets. I wish I had studied harder. I was one of those annoying people that studied just hard enough to get A's and B's. And get awards. And go to an Ivy League university. And get a Masters degree. I'm not bragging, because what did I have to do with inheriting a big brain from my PhD father?!? I think it's the fact that I was given this mind and that I sqandered it that makes me all the sadder. Many regrets aren't even my fault, but I am still sad about them. Molested, put down, misunderstood. Its only in my 40's that I've gotten it together. How much more glorious my life could have been.

So, I confess: 1) I covet this life, and though I don't like to think about it, 2) I wish I had lived a freer, more joyous life. I know, I know "This is the first day of the rest of your life."

Oh and one other thing. I now have wrinkles. My cancer scare and HH's health problems aged me 10 years. That totally sucks. Whew - this post is really depressing. I'm still told I look like I'm in my 30's, so maybe that's credential enough to post my How To Stay Young list:

1. Genetics: get birth parents that age well. My dad is in the middle and he's 80. The guy on the right is like 20 years younger.


2. Birth Order: be born last. Your family will always treat you as the baby, and you will always act like one.




3. Marriage: marry an "oldest." He will always act the oldest and adore you and take responsibility for all sorts of stuff so you can lay around and watch TV. Or blog.

4. Appearance: try to stay hip. But not too hip. You don't want someone getting close to you and realize "OMG, she's old!" Like Clinton and Stacey say: no miniskirts after 35. And as a male friend said: No bare midriffs after 18. OK, 20.

5. Expressions: be very animated with your facial muscles so you look like a little kid while you talk.

I'll take the tongue outta my cheek now. Have a good day.

*

No Meme Ma'am

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

This was one of the questions of a New Year meme I've been meming to do. (ha ha get it?) But I had a problem. I had nothing that I got really, really excited about. I'm just coming out of the "raisng a small child" stupor and it's time to consider seriously what I am about now.

I am not going back to find the "splendor in the grass," trying to recapture something gone by. For many of us women, it's the days of being thinner. Believe me, I'd like to be down a dress size...or two. But I am different now. In many ways. And I'm not going to spend all my time worrying about a svelt waist. I have this wonderful opportunity to look up from the haze of being consumed by Adorable Male Child.

Who am I? What do I like? What do I want to do? and most importantly, what will I wear??





**

Confessions of One Tugged Heart

Every once in awhile, I get a hankering. A hankering, a hungering, a longing.
For another child.

I go to a "waiting child" site and look at all the little ones waiting. Waiting for a new mama. A third mama, a fourth mama . . . a Forever Mama. One waiting one will tug at me, calling to me, like this one:


There's something about him that reminds me of my Boo:


Maybe they don't look alike at all. Maybe it's a little sadness, a little uncertainty so common with children waiting for a new mama. We are waaay past the regulation age limit. HH has some health issues. I have some health issues. Boo, our only, is just right for us. I've thought this through a hundred times. Two hundred times.

"La coeur a ses raison que la raison ne connait point."
- Blaise Pascal

*

UPDATE: Here he is at what must be around 16-18 months:

Good Hair

I have good hair.

It's strong. Shiny. Black. OK, so I have a handful of white hair, but what do you expect at 48?

I have tried to compartmentalize my thoughts, since my recent health news. There's hardly anything more boring than someone going on and on about their health problems. I promise I won't. But I can't help but let potential scenarios float into my consciousness.

If, and I emphasize if, I end up having to go through treatments, I will inevitably lose my hair. And that is how I came to realize how vain I am about my hair. "Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting," God tells us in Proverbs. If I haven't been exactly vain in the classic sense, swinging my hair about like a Breck girl, I certainly have grown attached to my hair and don't want to have to sport a Mr. Clean look! Isn't there a saying that you don't know what you've got til it's gone? (Sing it, Joni!)

I figure, it's always good to rid oneself of vices. So I shall contemplate my newly discovered vanity and try to grow from it.

What's your secret vice?

*

Ms. Oh

That was my name, pre-HH. Oh, for Organized. I had my closet arranged, (of course!) but in addition, the hangers were color-coded. Oh, for OCD.


Then I decided to become a mom. This is my adoption binder. This does not include the Attorney binder or the Post-adoption binder or the Trauma Disorder binder. Or the Infertility folder. Or the Miscarriage folder.

To the right is our application, what we call the "big app:" 71 pages. What you don't see is all that went into the 71 pages: getting the child abuse clearance, the criminal check, social worker's interviews, photographs of our home and neighborhood, going to the IRS to get copies of our back w-2's, getting our birth certs, writing our autobiographies, including information about our nuclear families and our philosophy of child-rearing. When people ask me if we'll have a second, it's not a uterus I'm worried about; it's my carpal tunnel! I did all this while still working a more-than-full-time corporate job and commuting 48 miles each way. Did I say each way?


What is my point?


Oh yes. Boo comes home. Traumatized. Hyper-vigilent. Not sleeping. Not playing. Not looking at me. Clinging. No. That is not an adequate description. Velcroed. No. Is there a word for "suctioned on?" My OCD served me well. I kept his world very consistent. And constant. Any changes were made (and recorded) incrementally. I kept a minute-by-minute log of his first year with us. I have the notebooks to prove it.

I did loosen up and through those years of being home full time, raising and healing this toddler. Now this toddler has mysterisouly become a little boy. A little boy wearing size 13 XW shoes! Over the years, I stopped being so organized. I kept a rigid schedule of meals and sleep, and all but totally let go of everything else. It's time now to pick up the pieces of Ms. Oh and get Organized again. So that I can be a good steward of the 6 hours he's at school.

It's not as easy as it sounds. In fact, I should be getting organized right now!

A Child of My Own

Do you have children? if you don't, do you want to? Did you ever think why you want children? I mean, really, really think about it?

• Is it because you always saw yourself as a mom/dad? and that is your identity?


• Did you have a great family and you want that same happiness?


• Did you have a dysfunctional family and you want to do a better job?


• Because that's what you're supposed to?


• Because you got pregnant?


• Because you want to live on and leave a legacy in your children?


• You want to see yourself/ your spouse in these little ones you created?

A girlfriend of mine and I used to say that when God gave out the motherhood gene, we were out picking flowers or something, because WE did not get that gene. We never oohed and ahhed at cute booties and blankets. We never thought about cute names or dreamt about family outings. We never looked at babies with misty eyes, clouded by longing. Nope. Not us. Clear-eyed and sure. We didn't long for a child of our own. Don't get us wrong, we loved babies! Like each of our nieces and nephews - the ones you could give back at the end of an outing.

Once I married, I asked many people, "Why do/did you want children?" Not to question their judgement, but to solve a mystery for me, to have them explain the incomprehensible equation. Like approaching a Calculus T.A. The most common answer was, "I don't know," accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. I would even feed them the list of questions, and none of them seemed to ring true. They would agree hesitantly to one or another, but there weren't any "Ah ha!" responses. Here again, I was the odd one out. Nobody seemed to really care why they wanted a family. They were not intrigued by my question, but rather, saw it as a distraction, as if your spouse asked you during The Game if you wanted broccoli or carrots with dinner.

In the end, I decided that wanting children is a primal thing. It is something in the depths of our being, planted there by our Maker. Somewhere along the line, between Eve eating the fruit and here, my friend and I lost that gift that God gave us. That makes me sad now, now that I am a mother because I think I still lack something in my Being.

When the time came and we chose to create a family, we made a family through adoption. So this brought about a whole 'nother round of questions about what it means to want a family; be a family. I don't know if I love my son as much as if he had come from my body, because he is and will be our Only. I do know though, that I love him fiercely; as fiercely as any Momma Bear. I know of a couple who wants a family in the worst way, but he refuses to even consider adoption. Let me be clear: adoption is not for everyone. Neither is parenthood. But I have to wonder, does he really want to come together with joy or is it something else? What do you consider is a child of your own? Do you want a baby or do you want something of yourself? Do you want to give of yourself or get something yourself?

I'm understanding parts of the equation, but there are steps that are still murky to me. I need a Parenting T.A.

Bail Out

Religion and Politics. Two "no-no" topics. I write plenty on religion because it's me; who I am. Politics? Important, but not so much me. Oh yeah, I have lots of opinions, but not on this blog and not every day. A friend of mine had to make a brunch date with me to hear my political views. She paid, so I figure that was a good deal!

I don't care how the finanical bail out happens. I just want these 3 things to happen:

1. Those financial institutions must pay back every cent, plus interest. (Just like Chrysler did, by the way.)
2. Those CEOs and Sr. VPs have to give up their bonues. (39 Billion for just 5 institutions.)
3. The individuals with the bad debt must be given grace by the institutions.

*

No Conditions

Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the LORD your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to. There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land.
- Deuteronomy 15:10-12


Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless;
maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed.
Rescue the weak and needy;
deliver them from the hand of the wicked.
- Psalm 82:3-4


A generous man will himself be blessed,
for he shares his food with the poor.
- Proverbs 22:9


Be generous and share your blessings...without conditions.

*

Please, I Want to Get Off!

I've had a trying 24 hours.

• I forgot to pick up the church bulletins from the printer. The place isn't open on the weekend. So I had to do them all over. I only had obnoxious pink paper to copy them on.
• I dropped and shattered a bowl. Of kimchee.
• Boo was having a hard time. At a store ofcourse. In public. I was unsympathetic and harsh. Which made him go into melt-down mode. I think I'm pretty tuned-in to this Only of mine, but yesterday, I totally missed the mark. We came home and I knew he just had to have a nap. Then I fell asleep, too. (It's heck when you've had insomnia for 22 years.)
• Which made us miss an appointment with a friend.
• Which made her really mad. The proverbial last straw.
  
  I recently wrote about Friendships in response to the Internet Cafe Chat: What is the hardest thing about friendships?

When words fall out of our mouths, dead, dry, and pile up in the space between us. One thing you can count on with us women-folk: WE CAN TALK THINGS OUT! But when that fails? Well, I lose a little Hope. . . .

This is what's happening with me and this friend. I cry "uncle" cuz that's one of those American sayings that'd be appropriate, but I never did understand it. Please, God, can I take a break and get off of Life for just a little bit?

. . . live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble. . . .to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing. 1 Peter 3: 8,9 (NKJV)


*

Hang Gliding

I sent Boo to camp at a local Christian church. The theme was Surfing. The set-up was fabulous. You could tell that these folks were committed and hard-working. The verse for the first day was "Be Obedient."

The video prepared by the denomination showed a surfer dude teaching the kids to be on a surf board. "Walk forward - balance - jump! Walk backward - balance - good...now jump! Obey your body!" The video continues...gliding right over that phrase. Stop. Think.

Obey your body?? Wait! I thought this was about Obeying Jesus. At the very least Obeying God. Obey your body? What if it wants to steal or kill?

Another day, the catch phrase was "Free to Believe." Free to believe...what?? Never was that sentence completed.

If I sent Boo to a synogogue for a program, I would expect him to learn the heart and core of Judaism. If I sent Boo to a madrasa, I'd expect him to learn a thing or two about the Ko'ran. I wouldn't be offended. Would a Jew be afraid to teach their beliefs? Would a Muslim fear to speak of the Ka'aba? I don't think so. Why are we then, as Christians, so willing to accept watered down beliefs? Why are we taking Christ out of Christian?

I thought the theme was Surfing, you know, the water sport. But they must have meant Surfing as in: don't dig in. . . don't immerse. . .just glide over for a superficial view.



"because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth." - Revelations 3:16

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Internet Cafe Chat

Kim over at Internet Cafe Devotions asks a good question:



What is one thing that you absolutely love about friendships? Why?


On the other side, what is one thing that you find absolutely difficult when it comes to friendships? Why?







At some point in the past decade or so, I have come to expect less of friendships. Does that sound sad? defeatist? negative? No! Bear with me. Actually, it has been freeing and enriching for me and I can only assume, for all of my friends.



Please - beg to differ if this isn't true for you. It seems that most of us women defined our friendships as little girls. The giggling, the passing of notes, the co-miserating, the shopping. The physical intimacy of whispering, doing each others' hair. The emotional intimacy of sharing something secret. Then as we aged, it seems that we kept looking for that kind of intimacy, but with more adult topics to whisper about, designer lables to shop for.



So what do I mean that I expect less of friendships? I mean this: I do not expect any one person to fill all my friendship needs. I have learned to accept my women friends as they are, and enjoy the parts that connect. Whatever other commonalities we discover, or intimacies forged are accepted gratefully, delightedly. I no longer look for the best friend of childhood, to fill some hole in me. And in that, there is tremendous freedom.


I actually have a best girl friend. I have known her since college days and have gone through many phases and stages of life. We remain best friends because we have committed to be that for each other. I have disappointed her, I am sure, and she has disappointed me. But even this best girlfriend of mine, I have removed expectations from, so that she can be free to be who she is, who she wants to be, for me. I only want what she wants to give; what she can give.


I'm not really answering the first set of questions, but they made me ponder the notion of friendship. So, my mind wandered. The second question? The most difficult part is when a friendship dies. I don't mean when life takes us in different directions. I mean when words fall out of our mouths, dead, dry, and pile up in the space between us. One thing you can count on with us women-folk: WE CAN TALK THINGS OUT! But when that fails? Well, I lose a little Hope. I had this happen once, in a particularly painful way. The cause, I think, was unmet expectations.


I am blessed with many friends, literally across the country. Some are close and intimate. Some are far away, but nonetheless precious to me. Each friend offers me something that is unique. I try to allow them to be. To enjoy and appreciate what they are.


And I offer myself . . . just as I am.



*

Fate vs Destiny

I was watching one of my favorite shows, Tell Me You Love Me. One character runs into her old love at the very place where they broke up. She shares this with her therapist, who asks a question (as all therapists do,) "So you're saying this was destiny?"

Jamie thinks, then says, "No, more like fate."

This led me to wonder the difference: Destiny or Fate?

Destiny. Fate. Fortune. Kismet. Gam Zu Letova*. Amor Fati**.

I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: some day I wish to be only a Yes-sayer.
- Friedrich Nietsche

Sounds romantic, but what is this saying? "Destiny" appears to be what is working out in a natural order of things. "Fate," like fatalism, is something that has come to be, that has happened. So Jamie believes it was inevitable that she and her love reunite, through a force beyond them. Nietsche, wants to love what happens to him, to understand all things as beautiful and thereby be able to create beauty.

There was a time when destiny implied Divine ordination, like Manifest Destiny. Kismet, from an Arabic word, has been filtered through a couple of languages and arrives in our language as something magical. It seems to have originally meant something as orderd by Allah. But as with all these words, the Divine has been stripped of Its role. Demoted, I guess. It's easier for us to accept a lame god, one that lets things happen, who we can change the mind of, that we can understand. A wimp. Then we'll give this emperor some new clothes by naming it Destiny. Fate. Fortune. Because, for some reason, we can understand a Power that only has Power to the extent that we want. I read a poem of sorts somewhere, that said something like this: I don't want a God that is strong and powerful, I only want 50 cents worth. Not enough to make me rich and fulfilled, but just 50 cents worth - just enough to hold in my hand and put away in my pocket when I want to.

It would be too hard to think of an All Knowing Power Who orders our lives for all things to work out well for those that love this Power. Can't wrap our head around that. Can't have that. A Power so much greater than us, eternal, loving. IF the Power is so much, well, shouldn't it be so that, we are not able to fully understand??

Again, we've thrown away the Creator for the created. What we created. Fate. Destiny. I think it the turtle who said "I have seen the enemy, and it is us."

* "this too is for the best"
** "love of one's destiny" whether good or bad

Sympathy for the Devil*

I consider myself a pretty worldly sort. I've sown my wild oats and keep an eye out for cultural trends. Not a whole lot can shock me.

Today, I was shocked. Dismayed. Scared. I visited a MySpace page and found that this person, who I am related to, belongs to a bulletin board group called "F* Religion." You know, with 3 letters instead of the asterisk.

The irony of it is . . . and actually their naivete is, that everyone has Religion. They can pretend they don't have one by refusing to codify and organize it. Because, they'd actually have to THINK about it. Then they'd, you know, have to be HELD to it.

* title from a Rolling Stones song

A Good Father

Our Father, Who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be Thy name. . .

I grew up in a milieu of sexism, with the background of the Women's Movement. (Not that either are gone.) I believe that women and men can be equally capable of doing most anything.

But I do not flinch at calling God "Father." I don't consider it sexist or biased or male-dominated. You may think it's easy because of my religious views, but I have had to search through to get where I am. Plenty of people of various religious stripes have problems with calling God "Father." They remember a father that was forceful, cruel or absent. They equate that word with sadness, pain or shame. Should they be made to call their God "Father" when they received such trauma? Some might say "How can he make me call him Father, when saying that word only evokes pain for me?" Some would say that God is neither woman nor man. . .that as spirit, as tenderness, God could and should be called "Mother." Wouldn't He understand?

I don't know why God says to say "Our Father." But for all of us who had difficult fathers, do we not know that a Father is supposed to be kind, loving, protective? Isn't that understanding deep in our souls? So, even if we had a tough dad, we know what the ideal dad is supposed to be. If we had a tough dad, it can be hard to really trust in God, a God that asks to be called Father.

Maybe instead of having a world-perspective, we should have a Heaven-perspective. Instead of putting the qualities of our earthly father onto the Heavenly Father, we should think on Him as the Perfect Father. . . the Father we never had, but now have. . . forever.

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The Power of Positive Thinking, Part I

Wasn't it over 7 decades ago that this notion was brought to the public's attention by a famous Christian pastor named Norman Vincent Peale? It has become such a part of our social consciousness that I doubt many people know what his initial concept was about.

But for now, consider this:

" . . . whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things . . . "

- Philippians 4:8 [NKJV]

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Glimpses

God gives us glimpses of Who He Is in ordinary ways. Certainly, God gave us the Word and the Spirit. But when we marry, and "two shall become one," we get a glimpse of the trinity, by experiencing the joining of two separate beings into one unit. When we have a child, we see how separate lives join together to form a family.


God has blessed women with the ability to "beget" within herself another being. In this gift, we get another glimpse into His Being. Though I have heard mothers say that the baby can seem like a stranger, surely the baby knows no such strangeness. He knows only to Be with her. He is no Id, no Ego, without her. In fact, he doesn't even know of "her," but merely Is.


In this cruel world of ours, sometimes that little being is torn away. In this civilized world, we do something called "adoption." Adoption is a wonderful thing, but were it not for the series of bad choices, or sequence of evils, it would not be necessary. But this "adoption," is surely grace from God to salve the wound of the tear.*

That little being doesn't need to learn to bond with his mother. In his mind, in his very being, he IS her. But my son, who was torn away three times, needed to learn to bond to me. We are now wonderfully bonded, but the scars are there, and I have to consider sometimes whether his stitches are tearing. We paid a painful price to get where we are, but like a birthing, we tore through the pain, and now he lays in my arms and heart as my son. More importantly, I lay in his heart as his mother.

Just as my son was torn from his earthly mother, we were torn from our Heavenly Father at the Fall. In His mercy, He provided a way for us to be adopted; adopted heirs to His Kingdom. How glorious! How amazing! He has created a way that allows us to re-create the bond to Him that was broken in the Fall. But not without a painful price. Blessedly, that painful price was paid by Jesus.

How painful it was for God to lose fellowship with Adam and Eve. But God longs to bond to us. To have the oneness, the connectedness that He had with Adam and Eve. In paradise. So, He went through the pain of wrenching His Son from Himself, to pay the price for our adoption. Does He live in your heart as your Father?

*pun intended