One of my favorite Christmas traditions is ringing bells for the Salvation Army. I've been volunteering for about 10 years now and I look forward to it every year. The closer to Christmas I can schedule my shifts, the happier I am. Christmas Eve is always the best - people in the Christmas spirit throwing coins and money into the kettle and giving you a hearty "Merry Christmas".
I have rang bells at many locations in Bismarck and Mandan. Some of the venues were busier than others. Some of the retailers were more accommodating than others. Some of the stores allow you inside and others prefer that you do your ringing in the entry way or outside the store. Over the years, the clappers in the bell have been replaced with paper clips. It gives a nice little tinkle without driving the clerks over the edge.
The two hour shifts go quickly as you ring your bell, wish the passersby Merry Christmas and hand out candy canes. Those hours have given me time to engage in one of my hobbies - watching people. And there has been much to see. Some people will greet you with a sincerely hello and others will not make eye contact at you as they walk by. There are those who look harried and tired. Others seem ready to take on the world. The little children will approach you timidly with a coin tightly clutched in their hand and give their gift. Others will give as they pass by almost as if they hope you don't notice them.
A couple of people have stopped and talked to me as they passed by. One woman told me that the Salvation Army had saved her brother's life many years ago and she was grateful for their kindness in the midst of his misery.
It seems, in some cases, that those who look least likely to be able to afford to give are more generous than those who pass by in nice clothes carrying shopping bags from high end stores. I am not there to judge or make anyone feel guilty. What you do or do not give is between you and God.
I was talking with a dear friend earlier this week who felt God leading her to a helping agency in our community. She was given the first name of a child whose family will have a very bleak Christmas. She had a blast shopping for clothes and gifts for this child and her family. As we were talking, my faithful dog, Lucy, was laying at my feet snoozing. It hit me at that moment that my pets live better than some people in my community. She always has a warm house and safe shelter. Lucy has food and treats every day. Her medical needs are taken care of promptly and preventive care is done by the vet of my choice at my convenience. She is always cared for by kind people who treat her well. The fact that people in my town struggle every day without essential needs.
About five years ago, I began setting aside time for our elementary after school church children and our youth group to ring bells. Not only is it a worthy organization, but it helps them remember that there are many in our community that are much less fortunate than they are. This is, by far, one of the kids' favorite activities. Our church family took a day of bell ringing at a retail store and were blessed for the experience.
Giving of yourself during this Christmas season is an amazing gift. In the case of the Salvation Army, they know that kettles that have volunteers ringing bells collect more money than those kettles without a volunteer. Giving of your time,which is a precious commodity, is one of the greatest gifts. You have to look no farther than your own children to know what a difference your time makes.
I pray that God would lead you to give of yourselves, your time and your heart this Christmas. It truly is the gift that keeps on giving.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
"Festing" in a Small Town
Early this summer, my parents were moved from South Dakota to serve three churches in rural North Central North Dakota. My father's ministry has taken us to many small towns in Vermont, Montana, Minnesota and North Dakota. I'm a small town person at heart.
Sure, I like the conveniences of big city living - large stores that are opened 24/7, ready accessibility to health care and entertainment (movies and concerts) that come right to your doorstep. But, I also miss the spirit of community in a town where everyone knows almost everyone. People look out for each other. Sometimes, they keep watch a little too closely. As a teenager, I knew that any infraction I committed would be reported to my parents before I got hom. I guess it really does take a village to raise a child.
My parents' new home hosted a Midsummer Fest in June and I thought I would mosey up and take in the festivities. I took my trusty companion and giant Golden Retriever, Lucy, with me for company. We headed off early in the morning, Lucy riding shotgun, in search of some fun. The car passed through the city limits about 9:30 a.m. and I could tell we were in for some big "doings"! The parade was already getting lined up, but there were still some choice seats to be had. We dragged the lawn chairs and I was dragged by the dog to a great vantage point. Joined a short time later by my brother and his family, we enjoyed a small town parade. My nephews got more candy in half an hour than a good night of trick-or-treating. When the veterans reached a point in the parade. Everyone stopped, got off their floats and sang the national anthem. Wonderful!
We stored the chairs and Lucy at the parsonage and headed off to the City Park for a free lunch. People were lined up at the shelter serving hot dogs. Everyone was very pleasant as the new Pastor showed off his family. Until now, most of them had only seen the back of my head as I sat in worship. We spotted a place to sit on the grass and enjoyed our hot dogs, baked beans, chips and lemonade. After lunch, we enjoyed a small craft sale in the park, the boys won soda at the local FFA booth and I caught a couple minutes of the bed races. Yes, they really push beds down the street. It was brlliant!
We took in all of the festival - rummage sale at the Lutheran church, a not so silent auction at the school and a dinner at the community hall to raise money to repair the baby pool. By the time Lucy and I climbed into the car, it was almost nine and I was tired. As I pulled out of town, people I didn't know waved and waved right back. Lucy gave a farewell "woof" and we were gone.
October found Lucy and I on the road once again to Bowdon, North Dakota for their annual Duckfest. My mother has a talent for crocheting necklaces and we had signed up to have a table at the craft fair. We were once again met by friendly folk who helped us find our way around and pointed out some of the activities to us as we settled in. The school has been closed since 1993, but the town has kept up the building well as they have dreams of turning it into a hunting lodge someday soon.
I wandered down to the cafe' on Main Street for some lunch. As I opened the door, I was reminded that it is duck season and three fourths of the customers sported camo. It was a busy place and I as I placed my order to go, I watched many people come and go. One of the local business people ran in to pick up her to go order and took along silverware promising to bring it back at coffee time. The phone rang and the waitress answered and took a message to have Bill call home when he came in for coffee. The wife needed something at the grocery store across the street. A trio of hunters from Georgia were quite familiar with the waitress and helped themselves to drinks from the cooler and pies from the counter.
Our day was prosperous and we celebrated by taking in the German meal before leaving town for the day. It was a freewill offering and I was amazed at their trusting nature as I looked the spread - knoephla and kraut, knoephla soup,borscht, cheese buttons, two kinds of potatoe salad and kuchen by the tableful. Everyone was there from the local law enforcement to a couple celebrating 70 years of marriage the following Sunday. It was wonderful and the meal was delicious.
We returned the following day and my father and I returned to the cafe for breakfast. Many of the same people were at the restaurant and I felt like they were good friends. The Georgia hunters were in need of a chest freezer and were inquiring as to the possibility of buying one. One of the other customers overhead their requestand offered use of their freezer. An address was given; problem solved. I bet lots of problems are solved at the cafe. We were soon joined by my brother and his family. We spent the day enjoying more German fare, enjoying the unseasonably nice weather and watching the boys have fun. They cleaned up at a carnival held at the community center and now have more tractors than most implement dealerships in our area. Sales for my mother were brisk and I tried my hand at crocheting. My mother can make a necklace in about 20 minutes; I can churn out one every four hours on a good day. At the end of the day we were tired and ready for a good meal and a long nights' sleep.
We headed back to my parents' homebase and sampled a homemade pizza at a restaurant that had opened recently. As we watched UND send a better part of their football team to the hospital, we met a colorful waiter and enjoyed a family meal. Once again, I pointed the car south and Lucy watched for deer. It was so nice to give the boys a look at small town living where you can walk just about everywhere. Everyone knows everyone's business and it makes life a little easier to have someone help you carry that burden.
I live in a great town and have amazing friends. When tragedy strikes, people are there with a casserole and a helping hand. People call if you don't show up for church. Your family is their family. They cry with you, laugh with you and eat with you. We don't need a "fest" for that. It's all about community.
Sure, I like the conveniences of big city living - large stores that are opened 24/7, ready accessibility to health care and entertainment (movies and concerts) that come right to your doorstep. But, I also miss the spirit of community in a town where everyone knows almost everyone. People look out for each other. Sometimes, they keep watch a little too closely. As a teenager, I knew that any infraction I committed would be reported to my parents before I got hom. I guess it really does take a village to raise a child.
My parents' new home hosted a Midsummer Fest in June and I thought I would mosey up and take in the festivities. I took my trusty companion and giant Golden Retriever, Lucy, with me for company. We headed off early in the morning, Lucy riding shotgun, in search of some fun. The car passed through the city limits about 9:30 a.m. and I could tell we were in for some big "doings"! The parade was already getting lined up, but there were still some choice seats to be had. We dragged the lawn chairs and I was dragged by the dog to a great vantage point. Joined a short time later by my brother and his family, we enjoyed a small town parade. My nephews got more candy in half an hour than a good night of trick-or-treating. When the veterans reached a point in the parade. Everyone stopped, got off their floats and sang the national anthem. Wonderful!
We stored the chairs and Lucy at the parsonage and headed off to the City Park for a free lunch. People were lined up at the shelter serving hot dogs. Everyone was very pleasant as the new Pastor showed off his family. Until now, most of them had only seen the back of my head as I sat in worship. We spotted a place to sit on the grass and enjoyed our hot dogs, baked beans, chips and lemonade. After lunch, we enjoyed a small craft sale in the park, the boys won soda at the local FFA booth and I caught a couple minutes of the bed races. Yes, they really push beds down the street. It was brlliant!
We took in all of the festival - rummage sale at the Lutheran church, a not so silent auction at the school and a dinner at the community hall to raise money to repair the baby pool. By the time Lucy and I climbed into the car, it was almost nine and I was tired. As I pulled out of town, people I didn't know waved and waved right back. Lucy gave a farewell "woof" and we were gone.
October found Lucy and I on the road once again to Bowdon, North Dakota for their annual Duckfest. My mother has a talent for crocheting necklaces and we had signed up to have a table at the craft fair. We were once again met by friendly folk who helped us find our way around and pointed out some of the activities to us as we settled in. The school has been closed since 1993, but the town has kept up the building well as they have dreams of turning it into a hunting lodge someday soon.
I wandered down to the cafe' on Main Street for some lunch. As I opened the door, I was reminded that it is duck season and three fourths of the customers sported camo. It was a busy place and I as I placed my order to go, I watched many people come and go. One of the local business people ran in to pick up her to go order and took along silverware promising to bring it back at coffee time. The phone rang and the waitress answered and took a message to have Bill call home when he came in for coffee. The wife needed something at the grocery store across the street. A trio of hunters from Georgia were quite familiar with the waitress and helped themselves to drinks from the cooler and pies from the counter.
Our day was prosperous and we celebrated by taking in the German meal before leaving town for the day. It was a freewill offering and I was amazed at their trusting nature as I looked the spread - knoephla and kraut, knoephla soup,borscht, cheese buttons, two kinds of potatoe salad and kuchen by the tableful. Everyone was there from the local law enforcement to a couple celebrating 70 years of marriage the following Sunday. It was wonderful and the meal was delicious.
We returned the following day and my father and I returned to the cafe for breakfast. Many of the same people were at the restaurant and I felt like they were good friends. The Georgia hunters were in need of a chest freezer and were inquiring as to the possibility of buying one. One of the other customers overhead their requestand offered use of their freezer. An address was given; problem solved. I bet lots of problems are solved at the cafe. We were soon joined by my brother and his family. We spent the day enjoying more German fare, enjoying the unseasonably nice weather and watching the boys have fun. They cleaned up at a carnival held at the community center and now have more tractors than most implement dealerships in our area. Sales for my mother were brisk and I tried my hand at crocheting. My mother can make a necklace in about 20 minutes; I can churn out one every four hours on a good day. At the end of the day we were tired and ready for a good meal and a long nights' sleep.
We headed back to my parents' homebase and sampled a homemade pizza at a restaurant that had opened recently. As we watched UND send a better part of their football team to the hospital, we met a colorful waiter and enjoyed a family meal. Once again, I pointed the car south and Lucy watched for deer. It was so nice to give the boys a look at small town living where you can walk just about everywhere. Everyone knows everyone's business and it makes life a little easier to have someone help you carry that burden.
I live in a great town and have amazing friends. When tragedy strikes, people are there with a casserole and a helping hand. People call if you don't show up for church. Your family is their family. They cry with you, laugh with you and eat with you. We don't need a "fest" for that. It's all about community.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Packing
My youth group and I will soon journey to a bible camp on the shores of beautiful Lake Sakakawea for a Labor Day weekend retreat. It is a great time to for our new youth group members, who were only a year before still with the "little kids", to integrate into the youth group. The weekend also provides the opportunity to eat junk, play, hang out, stay up late, eat late night snacks, sleep in late, eat brunch.... well, you get the idea.
Just as side note, there really isn't anything better than a pastromi sandwich at 1:00 a.m. Give it a try!
To prepare for this 48 hour trip resembles nothing short of a full military maneuver. The vast amounts of stuff that you need is truly amazing! I'm not taking about my personal luggage - limited to one bag and a sleeping bag. I mean all of the items and implements for bible study, devotions, games, communion, worship, etc. It usually takes one vehicle just to haul the foodstuffs for two days. Those of you who have kids at home know how much they can eat. I can sit in awe as a teenage boy puts away an entire pizza and could still handle a half a pan of rice krispy bars. Amazing! On retreat, without their parents' supervision, they are allowed to make their own food choices and they do it with abandon! Hot dogs, pizza and pastromi sandwiches for breakfast, macaroni and cheese cold from the frig and pop and candy until they can't handle the buzz. Who could ask for more?!?
I have never had children of my own, but I am beginning to understand what a mom goes through when packing for a trip with her family. She doesn't just pack what she will need, but also what any other member of the family may need and would never pack for themselves. Extra towels, pillows, blankets, sunscreen, bug repellant, washclothes, toothbrushes (new, never used!), Tylenol, Advil, Benadryl, tissues..... Wow!
When going on a trip with the youth group, I must also take a first aid kit if our destination does not supply one. We never fail to need a first aid kit. Last year's retreat featured a piece of playground apparatus that was duly dubbed "the swing of death"! Imagine one large pole about 30 feet tall with a cross bar on top that had a swing on each side (two swings total). The cross bar rotated so the two swings are going around in a circle. We figured out early in the weekend that if you put a littler youth on one side and a bigger youth on the other side, that the litter youth would just fly! To make this piece of playground equipment even more lethal, it had a motor that would make the cross piece swing without help from the participants. Thus, the swing of death. I gave first aid to two youth and filled out at least two incident reports before deeming the swing off limits. I have to admit that I tried the swing myself after enduring much peer pressure from the other chaperones. I think one of the youh even gave me an extra push to send me into orbit. At one point in the ride, I was pretty sure I would meet Jesus really soon!
We must plan for rain or shine. Shine is great because we can be outside enjoying our beautiful surroundings. The youth make their own fun and it's always a blast. We can enjoy the lake and get burned to a crisp. Good times. If it's rain, Plan B goes into effect. Movies, popcorn, games, Wii, naps, more snacks, grousing about the rain, repeat cycle. We're praying for shine!
I really enjoy our Labor Day trip. The kids mix and mingle and your youth leaders begin to emerge. You find out who will watch out for the younger youth, who will step up whe I can't figure out how to use the DVD player and who will stick by the youth that gets a stomach ache from too many gummy bears. You also discover who has the gift of encouragement for those kids who aren't as athletic as the other kids, who has a beautiful singing voice and who is brave enough to into words what God has laid on their hearts. Our weekend will include quiet time to talk with God and to be still.
I have often thought and even written that if people really knew how awesome my job they, too would consider a career change. To see the difference a weekend can make in a youth group is a marvelous phenomenon. We'll come home tired, a little grumpy and well, not April fresh. But we come home a group.
Better get the pack mule saddled up!
Just as side note, there really isn't anything better than a pastromi sandwich at 1:00 a.m. Give it a try!
To prepare for this 48 hour trip resembles nothing short of a full military maneuver. The vast amounts of stuff that you need is truly amazing! I'm not taking about my personal luggage - limited to one bag and a sleeping bag. I mean all of the items and implements for bible study, devotions, games, communion, worship, etc. It usually takes one vehicle just to haul the foodstuffs for two days. Those of you who have kids at home know how much they can eat. I can sit in awe as a teenage boy puts away an entire pizza and could still handle a half a pan of rice krispy bars. Amazing! On retreat, without their parents' supervision, they are allowed to make their own food choices and they do it with abandon! Hot dogs, pizza and pastromi sandwiches for breakfast, macaroni and cheese cold from the frig and pop and candy until they can't handle the buzz. Who could ask for more?!?
I have never had children of my own, but I am beginning to understand what a mom goes through when packing for a trip with her family. She doesn't just pack what she will need, but also what any other member of the family may need and would never pack for themselves. Extra towels, pillows, blankets, sunscreen, bug repellant, washclothes, toothbrushes (new, never used!), Tylenol, Advil, Benadryl, tissues..... Wow!
When going on a trip with the youth group, I must also take a first aid kit if our destination does not supply one. We never fail to need a first aid kit. Last year's retreat featured a piece of playground apparatus that was duly dubbed "the swing of death"! Imagine one large pole about 30 feet tall with a cross bar on top that had a swing on each side (two swings total). The cross bar rotated so the two swings are going around in a circle. We figured out early in the weekend that if you put a littler youth on one side and a bigger youth on the other side, that the litter youth would just fly! To make this piece of playground equipment even more lethal, it had a motor that would make the cross piece swing without help from the participants. Thus, the swing of death. I gave first aid to two youth and filled out at least two incident reports before deeming the swing off limits. I have to admit that I tried the swing myself after enduring much peer pressure from the other chaperones. I think one of the youh even gave me an extra push to send me into orbit. At one point in the ride, I was pretty sure I would meet Jesus really soon!
We must plan for rain or shine. Shine is great because we can be outside enjoying our beautiful surroundings. The youth make their own fun and it's always a blast. We can enjoy the lake and get burned to a crisp. Good times. If it's rain, Plan B goes into effect. Movies, popcorn, games, Wii, naps, more snacks, grousing about the rain, repeat cycle. We're praying for shine!
I really enjoy our Labor Day trip. The kids mix and mingle and your youth leaders begin to emerge. You find out who will watch out for the younger youth, who will step up whe I can't figure out how to use the DVD player and who will stick by the youth that gets a stomach ache from too many gummy bears. You also discover who has the gift of encouragement for those kids who aren't as athletic as the other kids, who has a beautiful singing voice and who is brave enough to into words what God has laid on their hearts. Our weekend will include quiet time to talk with God and to be still.
I have often thought and even written that if people really knew how awesome my job they, too would consider a career change. To see the difference a weekend can make in a youth group is a marvelous phenomenon. We'll come home tired, a little grumpy and well, not April fresh. But we come home a group.
Better get the pack mule saddled up!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Life With The Top Down
I am delusional. This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. I truly believe that each season of the year will be calmer, more routined and less stressful than the seaon before. During the school year, I tell myself that once summer vacation comes, I will have more free time to... well, I'm not sure what I would do with free time, but I'd like to give it a try on a trial basis. When summer wraps up and September is just around the corner, I think that once school begins my schedule will be more routined and less stressful. You get the idea.
My parents are in the midst of moving, which is a code blue, three alarm kind of stress. In order to get all of their possessions and vehicles from hither to yon, they left my father's convertible at my house on one of their early trips to North Dakota at the beginning of June. My father left me the keys in case the car needed "to be moved". Guess what? It did need to be moved!
I soon found myself driving everywhere with the top down. Even the smallest errand is an adventure when you put the top down. People become more friendly, waving at you as you pass by. It's like being in a perpetual parade. I have even tried out my princess wave (elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, touch your crown and blow a kiss). Add a 120 pound dog the size of a small pony and you get even more waves and a couple of stares. Lucy loves riding in "shot gun". The wind is still in her ears but not in her face. She even smiles as we cruise town.
While traveling in the convertible, I can't talk on the phone as the wind has a rushing sound that makes hearing the caller virtually impossible. When on the interstate, even the radio has to be pushed to the highest volumes to be heard over the passing cars. Lots of problems, questions and prayers are sent heavenward while I motor along. It's been good for my soul.
Driving the convertible at night is amazing. I like to taake time to look up at the stars. God promised Abraham that his descendants would be more numerous than the stars in the sky. One of those stars up there was lit for me.
Almost everyone likes to ride in a convertible. My youth group kids all want to ride with me when I've got the rag top. Unfortunately, their music tastes are a bit different from mine. I have had to endure rides down Main Street with Lady Gaga blaring at an amazing level. Adults love to take a leisurely tour of the City and see how the gardens are faring.
My brother once asked me if I take the long way to work when I drive the convertible. My answer: I take the long way everywhere when I drive the convertible!
As I drove home from work one beautiful North Dakota day, it occurred to me that God probably meant for us to live our lives with the top down. We should take the long way whenever possible. Look for the things you pass by everyday and never see. Smile and wave more. Enjoy bright sunny days. Take the simple pleasures that you are given and squeeze every bit of happiness out of them. Wear sunscreen.
My parents are almost finished with their move. I imagine my father will want his convertible back before Thanksgiving. It will be a sad day when I have to hand the keys over. Maybe I can stall until Christmas.
My parents are in the midst of moving, which is a code blue, three alarm kind of stress. In order to get all of their possessions and vehicles from hither to yon, they left my father's convertible at my house on one of their early trips to North Dakota at the beginning of June. My father left me the keys in case the car needed "to be moved". Guess what? It did need to be moved!
I soon found myself driving everywhere with the top down. Even the smallest errand is an adventure when you put the top down. People become more friendly, waving at you as you pass by. It's like being in a perpetual parade. I have even tried out my princess wave (elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, touch your crown and blow a kiss). Add a 120 pound dog the size of a small pony and you get even more waves and a couple of stares. Lucy loves riding in "shot gun". The wind is still in her ears but not in her face. She even smiles as we cruise town.
While traveling in the convertible, I can't talk on the phone as the wind has a rushing sound that makes hearing the caller virtually impossible. When on the interstate, even the radio has to be pushed to the highest volumes to be heard over the passing cars. Lots of problems, questions and prayers are sent heavenward while I motor along. It's been good for my soul.
Driving the convertible at night is amazing. I like to taake time to look up at the stars. God promised Abraham that his descendants would be more numerous than the stars in the sky. One of those stars up there was lit for me.
Almost everyone likes to ride in a convertible. My youth group kids all want to ride with me when I've got the rag top. Unfortunately, their music tastes are a bit different from mine. I have had to endure rides down Main Street with Lady Gaga blaring at an amazing level. Adults love to take a leisurely tour of the City and see how the gardens are faring.
My brother once asked me if I take the long way to work when I drive the convertible. My answer: I take the long way everywhere when I drive the convertible!
As I drove home from work one beautiful North Dakota day, it occurred to me that God probably meant for us to live our lives with the top down. We should take the long way whenever possible. Look for the things you pass by everyday and never see. Smile and wave more. Enjoy bright sunny days. Take the simple pleasures that you are given and squeeze every bit of happiness out of them. Wear sunscreen.
My parents are almost finished with their move. I imagine my father will want his convertible back before Thanksgiving. It will be a sad day when I have to hand the keys over. Maybe I can stall until Christmas.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Holy Hubbub - Part 1
Growing up on the other side of the parsonage door gives you a completely different perspective on high holy days. Planning for an Easter worship service an hour in length takes weeks of preparation, research and prayer. Throw in Ash Wednesday, six weeks of Lenten services, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and extemporaneous obligations, throw in a funeral and perhaps some family time and you have an exhausting schedule.
Most of the time that my father has been a pastor in the Dakotas United Methodist church, he has ministered to two or more churches in one parish. Double the above schedule and you will understand why Easter lunch is often followed by a coma that lasts until Tuesday!
As an adult serving in ministry to a local church, I, too, spend hours preparing for Lent and Easter. And I love it! Our clown team ministry has been practicing for the Good Friday for months.
This year, we appeared on the noon show of a local television station. It was an exciting time, trying to see the Good Friday Passion Remembrance from the other side of the camera lens. Would people understand what we were trying to portray? Is our interpretation of the Gospel scripturally accurate? Does everyone's hair look OK?
Being on television was an interesting experience to me. Minutes before leaving for the interview, I was still trying to decide how my hair looked up, down and half up/half down. Seeking counsel from my brother, who wears his hair the same way every day, was of very little help. I flew out of the door with moments to spare, imagining the cloud of wildness that my hair had become from all of the extra primping. The interview was far less stressful than actually being on television. The interviewer was amazing and instantly made me feel at ease. Once the camera was on, the words flowed from my lips in mostly-intelligent sentences. The five minutes went quickly and I was surprised when the lights went out and I was free to go. Cool!
Our church offers a prayer labyrinth during Holy Week. Participants are guided by narration from a CD as they move from station to station. As the labyrinth begins the journey toward the center, you are encouraged to shed those worries, fears and unforgiveness that keeps you from a closer relationship with God. The center of the labyrinth is a time of communion with the Lord, a time of quiet listening. As you start the journey back out of the labyrinth, you are prepared to take your experience out into the world to share God's love with others. It is a powerful experience that provides quiet, healing and sanctuary to many who walk the prayer path.
An amazing encounter with God is something you just can't keep for yourself. We decided to open our prayer labyrinth to the public and promote this opporunity. The local paper called and offered to do a story on the labyrinth. A very kind, capable reporter came to my office to do an interview and the paper's photographer came the next day to take pictures at the church. Our church secretary met the photographer and he took an extraordinary picture of her lighting candles. A masterpiece! Then he came to my office to take my picture for the story. He is a patient, talented photographer who was got a good shot. My parents thought it was adorable! Vanity set in as I looked at my picture and ... surprise, surprise - interesting hair day!
In the midst of Lenten planning, I got a chance to do a radio interview with a local Christian radio station. Now this is my medium. I really like talking, I can use my notes and I can't be seen. The host was wonderful, asked great questions and helped me convey the message to the listeners. It was tons of fun and I liked watching them work with the technology that is radio. The word was out there. Now, we just needed to pray that people's hearts would be moved to come.
As I arrived at work after the interview, my brother came out to my desk to compliment me on the interview. I was flying pretty high. As a parting remark before he returned to his office, he told me that my hair had looked great on the radio!
Our youth group is preparing for the Good Friday Sunrise service on Easter at 7:30 a.m. They always do a terrific job leading this service and they leave their fingerprints all over it. Even sleep deprivated teenagers know that they have an important message to convey - Christ is Risen! Last night found our youth group practicing a song that will open the worship service. A liturgical movement (that on Easter morning could be more accurately named a lethargical movement!) opens our service. It's an upbeat version of the hymn "It Is Well" and they do it so very well. It is definitely worth getting up early for!
In the midst of the busyness of preparations and services, it is easy to lose focus. I do take deliberate time to "be still and know" that He is God. I will take my hour in our church's prayer vigil tomorrow morning. I will walk the prayer labyrinth, opened to His words spoken to me. My life has been purchased with a high price -- the life of Jesus, the Son of God. I am truly not worthy of that sacrifice. Yet God so loved me that He gave His only Son that if I would believe in Him would have eternal life. How do you thank God for such a gift? With prayer, praise and enthusiastic service! Let the hubbub begin.
Most of the time that my father has been a pastor in the Dakotas United Methodist church, he has ministered to two or more churches in one parish. Double the above schedule and you will understand why Easter lunch is often followed by a coma that lasts until Tuesday!
As an adult serving in ministry to a local church, I, too, spend hours preparing for Lent and Easter. And I love it! Our clown team ministry has been practicing for the Good Friday for months.
This year, we appeared on the noon show of a local television station. It was an exciting time, trying to see the Good Friday Passion Remembrance from the other side of the camera lens. Would people understand what we were trying to portray? Is our interpretation of the Gospel scripturally accurate? Does everyone's hair look OK?
Being on television was an interesting experience to me. Minutes before leaving for the interview, I was still trying to decide how my hair looked up, down and half up/half down. Seeking counsel from my brother, who wears his hair the same way every day, was of very little help. I flew out of the door with moments to spare, imagining the cloud of wildness that my hair had become from all of the extra primping. The interview was far less stressful than actually being on television. The interviewer was amazing and instantly made me feel at ease. Once the camera was on, the words flowed from my lips in mostly-intelligent sentences. The five minutes went quickly and I was surprised when the lights went out and I was free to go. Cool!
Our church offers a prayer labyrinth during Holy Week. Participants are guided by narration from a CD as they move from station to station. As the labyrinth begins the journey toward the center, you are encouraged to shed those worries, fears and unforgiveness that keeps you from a closer relationship with God. The center of the labyrinth is a time of communion with the Lord, a time of quiet listening. As you start the journey back out of the labyrinth, you are prepared to take your experience out into the world to share God's love with others. It is a powerful experience that provides quiet, healing and sanctuary to many who walk the prayer path.
An amazing encounter with God is something you just can't keep for yourself. We decided to open our prayer labyrinth to the public and promote this opporunity. The local paper called and offered to do a story on the labyrinth. A very kind, capable reporter came to my office to do an interview and the paper's photographer came the next day to take pictures at the church. Our church secretary met the photographer and he took an extraordinary picture of her lighting candles. A masterpiece! Then he came to my office to take my picture for the story. He is a patient, talented photographer who was got a good shot. My parents thought it was adorable! Vanity set in as I looked at my picture and ... surprise, surprise - interesting hair day!
In the midst of Lenten planning, I got a chance to do a radio interview with a local Christian radio station. Now this is my medium. I really like talking, I can use my notes and I can't be seen. The host was wonderful, asked great questions and helped me convey the message to the listeners. It was tons of fun and I liked watching them work with the technology that is radio. The word was out there. Now, we just needed to pray that people's hearts would be moved to come.
As I arrived at work after the interview, my brother came out to my desk to compliment me on the interview. I was flying pretty high. As a parting remark before he returned to his office, he told me that my hair had looked great on the radio!
Our youth group is preparing for the Good Friday Sunrise service on Easter at 7:30 a.m. They always do a terrific job leading this service and they leave their fingerprints all over it. Even sleep deprivated teenagers know that they have an important message to convey - Christ is Risen! Last night found our youth group practicing a song that will open the worship service. A liturgical movement (that on Easter morning could be more accurately named a lethargical movement!) opens our service. It's an upbeat version of the hymn "It Is Well" and they do it so very well. It is definitely worth getting up early for!
In the midst of the busyness of preparations and services, it is easy to lose focus. I do take deliberate time to "be still and know" that He is God. I will take my hour in our church's prayer vigil tomorrow morning. I will walk the prayer labyrinth, opened to His words spoken to me. My life has been purchased with a high price -- the life of Jesus, the Son of God. I am truly not worthy of that sacrifice. Yet God so loved me that He gave His only Son that if I would believe in Him would have eternal life. How do you thank God for such a gift? With prayer, praise and enthusiastic service! Let the hubbub begin.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
School Lunch
While digesting the Sunday newspaper, I often like to make a stop at the school lunch menus for area schools. Its interesting to see what culinary mastepiece my nephews will be enjoying in the coming days. I get an inside view of my nephews' school lunch experience when they visit my brothers' office right after school. Sometimes I will ask them what they had for lunch and how it tasted. Menu items that sound delicious often get a mere "it was OK", while other entrees receive an immediate thumbs down.
There is a definite difference between menus for public schools and private schools. The private school students are often dining on tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches or hot dogs and chips, while public school students have more processed foods - nacho boat and french toast sticks.
You may wonder why I have such an interest in school lunch as I am a bit more mature than the average school aged teen. Well, I remember back in the day when I was a fresh faced student staring down macaroni and cheese and hamburger gravy over instant mashed potatoes. There were definitely favorites on the menu, like hot dogs and grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. There were also infamous lunch choices that no one ate willingly such as tater tot hotdish (or as we called it, tater tot snot squish -- sorry for the squeamish!) and weiner bean hotdish. Those were the days before government regulated nutrition, salad bars and nachos.
Cold lunch was not always an option, but occasionally I was granted permission to carry my Strawberry Shortcake lunch box to school filled with a summer sausage sandwich. Lucky cold lunch students could make trades amongst themselves and sometimes I would even score a twinky!
I have been reading an blog written by an elementary school teacher called Fed Up With School Lunch. This teacher has challenged herself to eat school lunch for a year while anonymously documenting her meals and taking pictures of her tray on the sly. Fear of job loss has kept her from revealing her identity, so there is no identifying informtion or school location hints. I have enjoyed reading her critiques of school pizza, chicken nuggets and kid friendly fruit cups. From her comments, I have decerned that she prefers organic foods and eats very little meat at home. Being a steak fan who thinks that organic is code for "expense", I take some of what she writes with a grain of salt.
However, she makes a great point when she observed that the average lunch break at her school is only 13 minutes long. Talk about hog and jog! These children have thirteen minutes to stand in line, get their food, find a place to sit, eat, put their trays away and get back in line to go to their classroom. I can't even imagine what would happen if they have unpeeled oranges on the menu!
I believe that it's important to feed our school students a nutritious, kid friendly, tasty meal. I also know that doing all three at once is almost impossible.
When my after school kids come to church on Wednesday afternoons, snack is the first item on the agenda. They are ravenous! We try to provide more than just a cookie or a cupcake because some of the children have passed on an unpopular lunch choice and haven't eaten since breakfast. Their favorite snack is pizza with a sweet treat on the side. I have seen them consume everything in sight and come back looking for more.
I'm sure we all have those school lunch stories -- the good, the bad and the ugly. So, speak up! I'd love to hear your thoughts!
There is a definite difference between menus for public schools and private schools. The private school students are often dining on tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches or hot dogs and chips, while public school students have more processed foods - nacho boat and french toast sticks.
You may wonder why I have such an interest in school lunch as I am a bit more mature than the average school aged teen. Well, I remember back in the day when I was a fresh faced student staring down macaroni and cheese and hamburger gravy over instant mashed potatoes. There were definitely favorites on the menu, like hot dogs and grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. There were also infamous lunch choices that no one ate willingly such as tater tot hotdish (or as we called it, tater tot snot squish -- sorry for the squeamish!) and weiner bean hotdish. Those were the days before government regulated nutrition, salad bars and nachos.
Cold lunch was not always an option, but occasionally I was granted permission to carry my Strawberry Shortcake lunch box to school filled with a summer sausage sandwich. Lucky cold lunch students could make trades amongst themselves and sometimes I would even score a twinky!
I have been reading an blog written by an elementary school teacher called Fed Up With School Lunch. This teacher has challenged herself to eat school lunch for a year while anonymously documenting her meals and taking pictures of her tray on the sly. Fear of job loss has kept her from revealing her identity, so there is no identifying informtion or school location hints. I have enjoyed reading her critiques of school pizza, chicken nuggets and kid friendly fruit cups. From her comments, I have decerned that she prefers organic foods and eats very little meat at home. Being a steak fan who thinks that organic is code for "expense", I take some of what she writes with a grain of salt.
However, she makes a great point when she observed that the average lunch break at her school is only 13 minutes long. Talk about hog and jog! These children have thirteen minutes to stand in line, get their food, find a place to sit, eat, put their trays away and get back in line to go to their classroom. I can't even imagine what would happen if they have unpeeled oranges on the menu!
I believe that it's important to feed our school students a nutritious, kid friendly, tasty meal. I also know that doing all three at once is almost impossible.
When my after school kids come to church on Wednesday afternoons, snack is the first item on the agenda. They are ravenous! We try to provide more than just a cookie or a cupcake because some of the children have passed on an unpopular lunch choice and haven't eaten since breakfast. Their favorite snack is pizza with a sweet treat on the side. I have seen them consume everything in sight and come back looking for more.
I'm sure we all have those school lunch stories -- the good, the bad and the ugly. So, speak up! I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Requiem for Rosemary
A very special person passed quietly from this world on the nineteenth of Febrary. My Aunt Rosemary, having suffered from lymphoma for over four years, went softly on that morning to meet the Jesus she spoke about so often. She was a shaping influence in my life, especially in the last ten years, making me wake up, take notice and welcome each day as a gift.
As a child, I saw very little of my extended family. My father's churches were too far for a weekend visit and most major holidays are also busy times for the congregations he served. The few memories I have of my aunt center around her home at the edge of the Badlands outside of Belfield and in her studios. Rosemary was a professional artist, enjoying several mediums with which she expressed her love for God's creation.
Her curiosity spurred her to experiment with different techniques and I have one of her "practice" pages of watercolor that she used to practice with alcohol and table salt. The salt made fireworks patterns on the watercolor. Although meant to be a scrap, it would look handsome matted and framed. Rosemary once told me that she had created a sculpting "clay" with wonderbread and Elmer's glue as she felt that was the only realistic use for wonderbread. She was very involved in the art community and designed the cover for a recent art show that featured Christmas elves.
Getting reaquainted with my aunt took place during a marathon after Christmas road trip to my folks' home in South Dakota about five years ago. I drove late into the night and we talked. Her extravagant vision of the simple was truly amazing to me. She didn't simply enjoy a sunset. The detail of the sun's rays against the field, the birds' flight plans and the cooling as the sun was put away for another day opened my eyes to the world around me in a new and amazing way!
Rosemary was a musician and we gathered at my parents' piano in the evening, my stumbling accompaniment and our voices blending singing until we were hoarse. A few years ago, following the Spirit's prompting, she wrote a Mass. She was quick to point out that God created the Mass; she was just the instrument through which it was given. I was gifted a handsigned, embellished copy of this music. Playing the triplets and the somber repentence measures gives you a glimpse at her relationship with her Jesus.
Much of the time I shared with Rosemary in the last few years was spent at her hospital bedside. The first diagnosis of lymphoma was met with courage and her brave willingness to face the chemotherapy with her typical humorous response, "let's get this circus train rolling!". That was the visit that I donned tights and wings to present myself to her as a fairy. My brother will likely never forgive me as we attracted attention at the elevator from a man who could hardly contain his bursts of laugher until the doors closed.
She would greet me with "hey, girlfriend" as I would enter her hospital room after a long day. Sitting beside her bed, we talked about everything -- sketchings and projects she wanted to do, food, family and even funeral requests. No subject was off limits and she always believed that I could handle any conversation topic she threw out. After a while, I believed it too. While it was hard to think about my life without her here, I knew that it was another adventure she would embrace with a passion.
My last visit with her took place about three days before she passed away. She was no longer responsive, having suffered a stroke. A couple of friends filed in to her room and introducted themselves. They knew us from her conversations about us, bragging about her "curly haired ball of wonder" as she often referred to me. Those moments were beautiful as they began to us how much they loved her. She has the gift for making everyone in her midst special and it was evident that these people came to thank her for being part of their lives. One man stood by her bedside and prayed the Rosary as we cherished that time with her. When the time came for me to leave that last evening, he asked if he could stay a bit longer, no doubt wanting a few more minutes with that amazing woman.
Rosemary was often perplexed that people sought her out, like a sage on a mountain top. I wasn't surprised at all. She had so much wisdom and she was so accepting of each person that came into her presence. I, too, will miss making those mini pilgrimages to sit at her feet and soak up her affirming advice.
Her funeral mass was quite large and it would have given her joy to hear the music and be in the company of her many, many friends. They came from all walks of live, people in business suits and farmers, children and the elderly coming to pay their respects to this wonderful woman. The lunch after her funeral service was provided by the cafe where she had worked. Vast amounts of mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables and cheese buttons were enjoyed as people laughed, talked and remembered.
In the spring, Rosemary will be laid to rest in a small country cemetery. She picked out the spot and talked about how beautiful it was there; so peaceful and quiet. Her God fashioned that prairie place, perhaps knowing that she would rest there.
As a child, I saw very little of my extended family. My father's churches were too far for a weekend visit and most major holidays are also busy times for the congregations he served. The few memories I have of my aunt center around her home at the edge of the Badlands outside of Belfield and in her studios. Rosemary was a professional artist, enjoying several mediums with which she expressed her love for God's creation.
Her curiosity spurred her to experiment with different techniques and I have one of her "practice" pages of watercolor that she used to practice with alcohol and table salt. The salt made fireworks patterns on the watercolor. Although meant to be a scrap, it would look handsome matted and framed. Rosemary once told me that she had created a sculpting "clay" with wonderbread and Elmer's glue as she felt that was the only realistic use for wonderbread. She was very involved in the art community and designed the cover for a recent art show that featured Christmas elves.
Getting reaquainted with my aunt took place during a marathon after Christmas road trip to my folks' home in South Dakota about five years ago. I drove late into the night and we talked. Her extravagant vision of the simple was truly amazing to me. She didn't simply enjoy a sunset. The detail of the sun's rays against the field, the birds' flight plans and the cooling as the sun was put away for another day opened my eyes to the world around me in a new and amazing way!
Rosemary was a musician and we gathered at my parents' piano in the evening, my stumbling accompaniment and our voices blending singing until we were hoarse. A few years ago, following the Spirit's prompting, she wrote a Mass. She was quick to point out that God created the Mass; she was just the instrument through which it was given. I was gifted a handsigned, embellished copy of this music. Playing the triplets and the somber repentence measures gives you a glimpse at her relationship with her Jesus.
Much of the time I shared with Rosemary in the last few years was spent at her hospital bedside. The first diagnosis of lymphoma was met with courage and her brave willingness to face the chemotherapy with her typical humorous response, "let's get this circus train rolling!". That was the visit that I donned tights and wings to present myself to her as a fairy. My brother will likely never forgive me as we attracted attention at the elevator from a man who could hardly contain his bursts of laugher until the doors closed.
She would greet me with "hey, girlfriend" as I would enter her hospital room after a long day. Sitting beside her bed, we talked about everything -- sketchings and projects she wanted to do, food, family and even funeral requests. No subject was off limits and she always believed that I could handle any conversation topic she threw out. After a while, I believed it too. While it was hard to think about my life without her here, I knew that it was another adventure she would embrace with a passion.
My last visit with her took place about three days before she passed away. She was no longer responsive, having suffered a stroke. A couple of friends filed in to her room and introducted themselves. They knew us from her conversations about us, bragging about her "curly haired ball of wonder" as she often referred to me. Those moments were beautiful as they began to us how much they loved her. She has the gift for making everyone in her midst special and it was evident that these people came to thank her for being part of their lives. One man stood by her bedside and prayed the Rosary as we cherished that time with her. When the time came for me to leave that last evening, he asked if he could stay a bit longer, no doubt wanting a few more minutes with that amazing woman.
Rosemary was often perplexed that people sought her out, like a sage on a mountain top. I wasn't surprised at all. She had so much wisdom and she was so accepting of each person that came into her presence. I, too, will miss making those mini pilgrimages to sit at her feet and soak up her affirming advice.
Her funeral mass was quite large and it would have given her joy to hear the music and be in the company of her many, many friends. They came from all walks of live, people in business suits and farmers, children and the elderly coming to pay their respects to this wonderful woman. The lunch after her funeral service was provided by the cafe where she had worked. Vast amounts of mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables and cheese buttons were enjoyed as people laughed, talked and remembered.
In the spring, Rosemary will be laid to rest in a small country cemetery. She picked out the spot and talked about how beautiful it was there; so peaceful and quiet. Her God fashioned that prairie place, perhaps knowing that she would rest there.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
This Isn't What I Thought It Would Be
When I was a child, I couldn't wait to grow up and be an adult. Adults didn't have an early bedtime. They could eat whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Apparently, adults prepare snacks and eat them after the children are in bed; cool stuff like popcorn and sauerkraut and dumplings (you have to know our family - getting sauerkraut and dumplings was like a Right of Passage). Nobody to tell you what to do. Boy, that would be the life. I couldn't wait!
Well, now I'm all grown up (well, mostly) and I have found out quickly that being a grown up is not all it's cracked up to be. You have quite a bit of freedom, but you also have quite a bit of responsibility.
Now I can go to bed anytime I want, which is usually early than I actually get to bed. I babysit my nephews from time to time and when their bedtime comes, they begin the negotiation and stalling part of their day. The boys never want to go to bed. Now, auntie, on the other hand, wishes someone would tuck her in to bed about 8:30 p.m. Being an adult teaches you that you can go to be at any time you want, but the alarm still goes off at 6:30 a.m. You can either be well rested or sleep deprivated. That's your choice as a grown up.
I am the first to admit that some of my meals are not as nutritionally balanced as they should be. I have had popcorn for supper, eaten dessert first and cooked menus made up entirely of starches and carbs. I also know that I am solely responsible for my health, so I buy carrots, yogurt and other vegetables that I refused to eat as a child.
As an adult, you have to call and make appointments to get your own booster shots even when you don't want to. You go to the dentist because you know you have to. You willingly schedule root canals, colonoscopies and surgical procedures even when you don't want to have any of these procedures done! Time and gravity catch up to all of us eventually and you want to keep your body upright as long as possible.
Instead of spending my entire paycheck on candy, clothes and toys, which still sounds pretty fun, you pay bills, buy groceries, fill your car with gas and put whatever money may remain in your savings account for a rainy day.
As an adult, children believe you to be responsible, caring and unafraid of the dark. Two out of three ain't bad! I'm still afraid of the dark, especially after a scary movie.
Sometimes it amazes me that I'm in my thirties. I don't feel older. Sometimes I don't act older. Time sure flies.
Well, now I'm all grown up (well, mostly) and I have found out quickly that being a grown up is not all it's cracked up to be. You have quite a bit of freedom, but you also have quite a bit of responsibility.
Now I can go to bed anytime I want, which is usually early than I actually get to bed. I babysit my nephews from time to time and when their bedtime comes, they begin the negotiation and stalling part of their day. The boys never want to go to bed. Now, auntie, on the other hand, wishes someone would tuck her in to bed about 8:30 p.m. Being an adult teaches you that you can go to be at any time you want, but the alarm still goes off at 6:30 a.m. You can either be well rested or sleep deprivated. That's your choice as a grown up.
I am the first to admit that some of my meals are not as nutritionally balanced as they should be. I have had popcorn for supper, eaten dessert first and cooked menus made up entirely of starches and carbs. I also know that I am solely responsible for my health, so I buy carrots, yogurt and other vegetables that I refused to eat as a child.
As an adult, you have to call and make appointments to get your own booster shots even when you don't want to. You go to the dentist because you know you have to. You willingly schedule root canals, colonoscopies and surgical procedures even when you don't want to have any of these procedures done! Time and gravity catch up to all of us eventually and you want to keep your body upright as long as possible.
Instead of spending my entire paycheck on candy, clothes and toys, which still sounds pretty fun, you pay bills, buy groceries, fill your car with gas and put whatever money may remain in your savings account for a rainy day.
As an adult, children believe you to be responsible, caring and unafraid of the dark. Two out of three ain't bad! I'm still afraid of the dark, especially after a scary movie.
Sometimes it amazes me that I'm in my thirties. I don't feel older. Sometimes I don't act older. Time sure flies.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Would You Like A Cardiologist With That?
We have a family friend from Nigeria. He is a physician who has lived in this country from many years. He had once made the observation that the United States is the only country that refers to food as "junk". A very thought provoking statement. Billions of people go to bed hungry every day, some of these people live in the US, the land of excess.
We have taken junk food to new heights. I have taken a liking to a show on television that shows gluttony at its finest. The host travels the country highlighting restaurants that claims fame by challenging people to eat outrageous amounts of food in exchange for the glory and gastric distress that inevitably follows. The host has tried ingesting sushi, seven pound hamburgers and pizzas the size of a helipad. It brings to mind the "Old 96er" that haunted John Candy's character in the movie "The Great Outdoors".
The television show also visits eating establishments known for their specialtiest. I have sat in my living room practically drooling as visions of heavenly fried chicken and light-as-air waffles are served to hungry patron down South. They have paid visits to the most amazing barbecue joints in Texas. I was ready to board an airplane and strap on the feedbag.
One of the restaurants located in Atlanta, Georgia was featured for their over-the-top burgers. Now, take your cholesterol medication and image this-- two half-pound hamburger patties between three grilled cheese sandwiches (grilled cheese, hamburger patty, grilled cheese, hamburger patty, grilled cheese). Top the burger patty on top with two fried eggs, eight slices of cheese, ten strips of bacon and mayo on the side. Wow! I'm pretty sure this burger must come with a side order of nitroglycerin and a defibrillator!
Few groups gets more excited about food as my youth group, especially the junior high boys. These young men are eating machines. I am often in wonder of how they physically handle the amounts of food I have witnessed them consume! Well, all it took was the suggestion that this burger did indeed exist and they were ready for a road trip. Due to budget restraints, we decided to recreate this burger in our church kitchen for the group to sample. One burger, twenty five people. Now that sounds a bit more civilized. Our weather has thwarted our plans in January, so our tasting have been pushed back to February. What a disappointing turn of events.
There is a magazine circulating that has a feature called "food porn". The article brings to light those restaurant and grocery store items that are so bad for you that the Surgeon General should have a warning on them. Unfortunately, many of the items that come up on the naughty list sound wonderful. Cheese, sour cream, sugar, fat, calories - mmmm! Of course, as adults, we should try to feed our human machines nutritious food that keeps us healthy and fit. However, foods that have nutritional value whatsoever are so much better tasting. I SHOULD have an apple for a quick snack, but a scotcheroo sounds like a better use of my tastebuds.
Our hectic schedules and ramped up lives leave us catching meals on the run and using convenience foods that can be packed with fat, sodium and calories. Our society revolves around food. Methodists believe that we need to feed you physically before we can feed you spiritually --- and I think we are right. I'm not sure if John Wesley would concur, but he hasn't been to one of our potlucks.
Life is short and, under certain circumstances, I do believe that you should eat dessert first. Do you think any of the woman on the Titanic were glad they skipped desert right before the boat sank? There has to be a happy balance there somewhere.
We have taken junk food to new heights. I have taken a liking to a show on television that shows gluttony at its finest. The host travels the country highlighting restaurants that claims fame by challenging people to eat outrageous amounts of food in exchange for the glory and gastric distress that inevitably follows. The host has tried ingesting sushi, seven pound hamburgers and pizzas the size of a helipad. It brings to mind the "Old 96er" that haunted John Candy's character in the movie "The Great Outdoors".
The television show also visits eating establishments known for their specialtiest. I have sat in my living room practically drooling as visions of heavenly fried chicken and light-as-air waffles are served to hungry patron down South. They have paid visits to the most amazing barbecue joints in Texas. I was ready to board an airplane and strap on the feedbag.
One of the restaurants located in Atlanta, Georgia was featured for their over-the-top burgers. Now, take your cholesterol medication and image this-- two half-pound hamburger patties between three grilled cheese sandwiches (grilled cheese, hamburger patty, grilled cheese, hamburger patty, grilled cheese). Top the burger patty on top with two fried eggs, eight slices of cheese, ten strips of bacon and mayo on the side. Wow! I'm pretty sure this burger must come with a side order of nitroglycerin and a defibrillator!
Few groups gets more excited about food as my youth group, especially the junior high boys. These young men are eating machines. I am often in wonder of how they physically handle the amounts of food I have witnessed them consume! Well, all it took was the suggestion that this burger did indeed exist and they were ready for a road trip. Due to budget restraints, we decided to recreate this burger in our church kitchen for the group to sample. One burger, twenty five people. Now that sounds a bit more civilized. Our weather has thwarted our plans in January, so our tasting have been pushed back to February. What a disappointing turn of events.
There is a magazine circulating that has a feature called "food porn". The article brings to light those restaurant and grocery store items that are so bad for you that the Surgeon General should have a warning on them. Unfortunately, many of the items that come up on the naughty list sound wonderful. Cheese, sour cream, sugar, fat, calories - mmmm! Of course, as adults, we should try to feed our human machines nutritious food that keeps us healthy and fit. However, foods that have nutritional value whatsoever are so much better tasting. I SHOULD have an apple for a quick snack, but a scotcheroo sounds like a better use of my tastebuds.
Our hectic schedules and ramped up lives leave us catching meals on the run and using convenience foods that can be packed with fat, sodium and calories. Our society revolves around food. Methodists believe that we need to feed you physically before we can feed you spiritually --- and I think we are right. I'm not sure if John Wesley would concur, but he hasn't been to one of our potlucks.
Life is short and, under certain circumstances, I do believe that you should eat dessert first. Do you think any of the woman on the Titanic were glad they skipped desert right before the boat sank? There has to be a happy balance there somewhere.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Battles of Winter
On my way in to work this morning, a national news commentator referred to the wind chill in North Dakota this morning as "ridiculous". Interesting choice of words. I've heard "frigid", "brutal", "painful" and other words that people mutter under their breath as they fight to do what needs to be done in this frozen tundra we like to call home.
This morning, I awoke and stumbled from my bed to find the actual temperature was -15 degrees with a wind chill of -37 degrees. Not exactly balmy, but I've lived through worse. It's just one of the joys of living on the Plains.
Winter is a fact of life here in North Dakota - cold, snow, drifts, travel advisories - it's all part of the experience. You would think that we would get accustomed to the inconvenience and downright danger that can be a North Dakota winter, but walk into any small town cafe and you will hear a fair amount of complaining about this season.
Personally, I love winter until the first real snowfall. That's when reality kicks in. People need to learn to drive all over again. (Oh, yeah. It really does take fifty feet to stop at an intersection!) I spend hours shoveling and reshoveling after the plow comes by. Scraping windows and warming up vehicles leave me a little grouchy. My puppy was housebroken in January and she knows how to get out and back in the house in 60.7 seconds.
Up until three years ago, I had been an apartment dweller for several years. I didn't have to do any snow removal and most of my landlords were good about getting the snow moved quickly and efficiently. When I moved into the house it was a whole other story. I have a decent amount of sidewalk in front of the house and a double parking pad in front. My garage has alley access and I have a fairly long driveway in the back. Last winter, we had close to record snowfall. After one blizzard, it took me six hours of shoveling to get my car out of the garage. We ran out of places to pile the snow. Drifts were so high, I couldn't throw the snow over the drifts anymore. Rescue came in the form of a kind apartment owner across the hedge who did my snow removal in exchange for "storing" the apartments buildings' snow in my yard. Heck, if he was willing to clear my snow, I would have let him store it in the guest room of my home!
I really thought that I had won the battle of snow removal this year when my father purchased a used snowblower for my use. I could hardly wait to do snow removal in a fraction of the time and save money on massage therapists and icy-hot.
The real test came Christmas day as a blizzard dumped nine inches of snow on a large part of North and South Dakota. After the worst of the weather had passed, I went out to try and start the snowblower, which has a pull cord. Nothing - no signs of life. My father gently reminded me to turn on the gas line. Still nothing. Well, if it didn't start, at least it made a nice lawn ornament.
After a few days of being homebound, the calvary arrived - my brother and his father-in-law and brother-in-law. His father-in-law messed around with it for a few seconds, pulled the cord and it sprang to life! I was so happy I had to restrain myself from hugging him. After a few quick lessons on the choke, gas line and steering, I was set.
This week brought snow and terrible wind chills. Tuesday and Wednesday brought 6.2 inches of snow and my day began by clearing the front sidewalk. Why not use the snowblower, you ask? Well, in a sad twist of fate, my snowblower can't fit on either the North or South side of my home. This will work well for my neighbors as I will have to clear snow to get to the front. The snow was light and fluffy, so it was easy to move. I was patting myself on the back for starting the day with some exercise.
After work, I shoveled off the drifts in the front and made my way to the back. My brother had attempted to start the snowblower earlier in the day and it had sputtered to life and died as quickly. I had wheeled it into the garage to warm it up and tried to start it in the shelter before moving it out to the driveway. After turning the key, checking the choke, opening the gas line and priming it, the snowblower roared to life. Yippee! I was a stud muffin! I opened the garage door and headed out to the driveway. It gasped once and died. I retraced my steps and pulled the cord again -- and again --- and again. Nothing. Seriously?!? Back into the garage we went.
Now, I'm not mechanically minded. I have no clue why I have a choke or what exactly it does. I had a tough time believing it was too cold to run the snowblower as it is build to perform in cold weather, but I thought maybe that was the reason. I tried everything short of tucking it in with an electric blanket and a cup of cocoa.
So, with the garage door opened and the snowblower in sight, I began to shovel the driveway. The heat from my anger and the cold wind made the shoveling go quickly. I was done in just under an hour. When I finished, I stumbled back into the house with no feeling left from my feet to my hips. Lucy greeted me at the door with a cold nose and a warm body. Hours later, I was still chilled and went to bed with socks and extra blanket.
As Lucy and Monster snuggled closer and the wind chill dropped, I drifted off to sleep knowing the there is plenty more snow in my future. The battle wages on. Fortunately for me, I have amazing neighbors, kind strangers and a shovel.
This morning, I awoke and stumbled from my bed to find the actual temperature was -15 degrees with a wind chill of -37 degrees. Not exactly balmy, but I've lived through worse. It's just one of the joys of living on the Plains.
Winter is a fact of life here in North Dakota - cold, snow, drifts, travel advisories - it's all part of the experience. You would think that we would get accustomed to the inconvenience and downright danger that can be a North Dakota winter, but walk into any small town cafe and you will hear a fair amount of complaining about this season.
Personally, I love winter until the first real snowfall. That's when reality kicks in. People need to learn to drive all over again. (Oh, yeah. It really does take fifty feet to stop at an intersection!) I spend hours shoveling and reshoveling after the plow comes by. Scraping windows and warming up vehicles leave me a little grouchy. My puppy was housebroken in January and she knows how to get out and back in the house in 60.7 seconds.
Up until three years ago, I had been an apartment dweller for several years. I didn't have to do any snow removal and most of my landlords were good about getting the snow moved quickly and efficiently. When I moved into the house it was a whole other story. I have a decent amount of sidewalk in front of the house and a double parking pad in front. My garage has alley access and I have a fairly long driveway in the back. Last winter, we had close to record snowfall. After one blizzard, it took me six hours of shoveling to get my car out of the garage. We ran out of places to pile the snow. Drifts were so high, I couldn't throw the snow over the drifts anymore. Rescue came in the form of a kind apartment owner across the hedge who did my snow removal in exchange for "storing" the apartments buildings' snow in my yard. Heck, if he was willing to clear my snow, I would have let him store it in the guest room of my home!
I really thought that I had won the battle of snow removal this year when my father purchased a used snowblower for my use. I could hardly wait to do snow removal in a fraction of the time and save money on massage therapists and icy-hot.
The real test came Christmas day as a blizzard dumped nine inches of snow on a large part of North and South Dakota. After the worst of the weather had passed, I went out to try and start the snowblower, which has a pull cord. Nothing - no signs of life. My father gently reminded me to turn on the gas line. Still nothing. Well, if it didn't start, at least it made a nice lawn ornament.
After a few days of being homebound, the calvary arrived - my brother and his father-in-law and brother-in-law. His father-in-law messed around with it for a few seconds, pulled the cord and it sprang to life! I was so happy I had to restrain myself from hugging him. After a few quick lessons on the choke, gas line and steering, I was set.
This week brought snow and terrible wind chills. Tuesday and Wednesday brought 6.2 inches of snow and my day began by clearing the front sidewalk. Why not use the snowblower, you ask? Well, in a sad twist of fate, my snowblower can't fit on either the North or South side of my home. This will work well for my neighbors as I will have to clear snow to get to the front. The snow was light and fluffy, so it was easy to move. I was patting myself on the back for starting the day with some exercise.
After work, I shoveled off the drifts in the front and made my way to the back. My brother had attempted to start the snowblower earlier in the day and it had sputtered to life and died as quickly. I had wheeled it into the garage to warm it up and tried to start it in the shelter before moving it out to the driveway. After turning the key, checking the choke, opening the gas line and priming it, the snowblower roared to life. Yippee! I was a stud muffin! I opened the garage door and headed out to the driveway. It gasped once and died. I retraced my steps and pulled the cord again -- and again --- and again. Nothing. Seriously?!? Back into the garage we went.
Now, I'm not mechanically minded. I have no clue why I have a choke or what exactly it does. I had a tough time believing it was too cold to run the snowblower as it is build to perform in cold weather, but I thought maybe that was the reason. I tried everything short of tucking it in with an electric blanket and a cup of cocoa.
So, with the garage door opened and the snowblower in sight, I began to shovel the driveway. The heat from my anger and the cold wind made the shoveling go quickly. I was done in just under an hour. When I finished, I stumbled back into the house with no feeling left from my feet to my hips. Lucy greeted me at the door with a cold nose and a warm body. Hours later, I was still chilled and went to bed with socks and extra blanket.
As Lucy and Monster snuggled closer and the wind chill dropped, I drifted off to sleep knowing the there is plenty more snow in my future. The battle wages on. Fortunately for me, I have amazing neighbors, kind strangers and a shovel.
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