This Old House

The house my parents bought. The before and after photos will be great. It's really hasn't had much done to it since 1973. I think any updates were done in, oh, maybe 1980. Should be fun! They're excited, but a little scared. They've lived in their house for 31 years and not only are they moving, but they're tackling major a re-do. Shhhh. Don't tell them what they're in for!

Back on Line...Again

Well, Internet has been down again since Thursday morning. We're up again, but who knows for how long. We're not sure if this is still remnants of the ice storm, or maybe a bigger problem. Anyway, we're learning to live with the uncertainty. Fortunately since it's the holidays neither of us have much work to do, so we're enjoying the respite a little bit, and don't mind feeling "out of it" just a little. Not too much though. Nice to have it back and feel like we're in touch with the world again.

My parents closed on a house on Thursday two streets over from ours. My plan was to take a photo of it Thursday afternoon and post it, but since we had no Internet I scrapped that plan. It's a great little house, but it needs to be totally updated. What an adventure! We've been there, done that and promised we'd never do it again. But this house is really worth it. We're using the same contractor that we used for our house and for Kyle's mom's house...and we swore we'd never do that again either. But, we should have known better and remembered that we NEVER say never. I'm proud of my parents for tackling this. It will be good to have them closer to us, and the time is right for them to make the move. We've all been talking around it for several years, but the right house just never came on the market. This one is close, on a good street, and has a great floor plan. So that will be our little project for the New Year. It will be fun to watch it go from 1973 to 2008. I'll post a picture tomorrow, IF we're still on line.

Some Christmas Photos

Liberation

We're waiting to light the Christ candle. We lit the other four advent candles over the past several weeks. We've read scripture and talked about what it meant for the first-century Jews to be anticipating, waiting and looking for their liberating King; the Messiah who would rescue them; the Savior who would lead them out of oppression. He came, but God sent Him in the most unexpected way: a baby born in a stable to poor teenagers and worshipped by smelly shepherds. And really, isn't it just like God to do something in a way that is out of our realm of expectation? I like the idea that God doesn't desire to save the world in a way that makes sense. And I like it that He uses the most unlikely, humble, broken, out-of-the-way people to do it. I think God sent an important message in the way that He chose to liberate not just the Jews, but all of us. So tonight we are thinking about the ways that Jesus enters into our world - into our heart, and how he saves us from ourselves. And tomorrow, and the next day and the day after that, I want to remind myself that God uses people like me...and you, to bring heaven to earth and continue the liberation.

Tonight I am thinking about all of those that we love who are far away. You are all in our hearts as we wait and anticipate. Merry Christmas.

A Few Family Christmas Party Photos

But not nearly enough. I haven't been taking as many photos lately, so I'm out of the habit of getting in everyone's face with my camera. I really need to regain that annoying attribute. I know my children have missed it. We had our Jackson Family Christmas party last night. I mostly took photos of the babies, since I can't believe that now our children are having children. In the fourth generation group of cousins the oldest already has two sweet little girls. The girls are definitely outnumbering the boys, but aren't they cute?!!!!

Can We Stop the Madness, Please?

I'm sitting here watching "Jingle All the Way." If you haven't seen the movie, here's a quick synopsis: A Dad forgets to get his son the hot Christmas toy of the year, TurboMan, and so he has to go out on Christmas Eve and accomplish the impossible: find the toy that everyone else has already purchased.

It's a silly comedy, and I don't care for the Governator, but it reminds me of the year when Kyle and I decided to get up for one of those ridiculous 5 a.m. sales so that we could find Furbies for our kids. Furbies were the hot toy that year and we were determined to have two under the tree on Christmas morning. We thought we were ahead of the game, and that we would beat the crowds. Not so. The crowds decided to get up at 5 a.m. also, and so we were joined by about 200 people who were already standing in line at the Big Box. So we hurried over to another big box thinking that everyone was at the first Big Box and we would circumvent the system. Not so. They were there also. So, we headed to mall (collective groan on cue, please) and the small toy shop was shooing people out of the store because it was exceeding capacity according to the fire code. That was the end of the Furbie road for us. We went to breakfast at Village Inn and decided to explain to our kids that Santa couldn't find any Furbies that year. We also promised each other that we would never, ever, ever, never, hit the early morning sales and join the frenzy of the Hot Christmas Toy of the Year. And we explained the situation to the kids about the Furbies and Santa not being able to come through. They were completely understanding and when the store shelves were overstocked with Furbies in mid-January they didn't even want one. So I'm watching this movie and realizing that even though it's a silly comedy, there is much more than just an element of truth in the story.

Pastor Chris Seay tells the story of his church, Ecclesia, and their quest to put Christmas back into proper perspective. One way they did this was to talk to the children of the church about what Christmas is really about. Jesus, they answered. So if Christmas is about Jesus, who should we give presents to? They didn't miss a beat: Jesus, they answered. Then he asked them, "How we do that?" And the children talked amongst themselves and came up with this answer: "We give something to people who are in need." Now that's a broad group. Isn't everyone in need in some way, shape or form? I suppose everyone has to decide for themselves what that might mean, but I don't think that it involves cramming in some shopping for an Angel Tree kid in the middle of our obsessing over the Hot Christmas Toy of the Year. Maybe giving to someone in need means spending time with an elderly neighbor who needs some company during what can be a very lonely season; or helping a single mom hang Christmas lights; or building bridges with someone you have been holding a grudge against. Or maybe, just spending time with those we love instead of cheating them out of our time while we overdo the season with shopping, decorating, and partying.

This year, Kyle and I have been struck by how crazy it all seems. I drove by the mall tonight and the parking lot was packed, and some woman who was driving out of the parking lot cut in front of several cars and I could see her yelling as she hunkered behind the wheel like a madwoman. Wow. Something has gone terribly wrong when Christmas becomes the pursuit of happiness via "stuff." I hate to be kind of scroogy about the season, but it just seems that Christmas has become a commodity. This silly little movie seems far too realistic. I pray that we can move away from the consumerism that has come to define this season and reclaim the beauty of Advent. I'm trying to figure out how to do this myself. It seems to be a somewhat new concept for me. Wish me the best...

Who Remembers This?

I do. Has it really been 23 years? I remember listening to this song over and over the Christmas that it came out. I didn't really know where Ehtiopia was, and now I know that I really didn't understand famine either. I'm kind of glad I didn't see the video too many times though. When I watch it now, all I can think of is that there are too many baggy sweatshirts, big hair, men in makeup (I'm afraid Boy George might scare the African children) and lots of artists who have fallen into oblivion. Bono and Sting have stood the test of time, but only because they changed their hairstyle and got some decent clothes. Of course I'm kidding. Love 'em both. Still, I think Feeding the World sounds like a good idea.

38 Windows!!!

After about six weeks of selling the beautiful notecards (click on the title of this post to see the Story of the Notecards) I am so totally humbled, amazed and grateful to be able to say that we have funded 39 windows for the psychiatric hospital in Azerbaijan. Actually, I said it all wrong. WE did not fund the windows. We were simply the vehicle that God used to get the story out about these precious women, their talents and gifts, and the way that God is present and active even in places that are beyond our comprehension. This hospital, as one of my friends who has visited it says, "is not a place you would want to stay for five minutes." This is mostly true, although I find it to be the kind of place that God seems unbelievably present. More about that later. The reason I cannot take credit for the windows is because there are all these generous people that heard the story and opened their hearts and gave their resources to make life better for women who live on the other side of the world. One couple decided that they wanted to give a Challege Grant - and fund half....HALF! of the windows as a way to get others to give over and above the price of the notecards. There were many dear friends in our Community at Asbury who bought far more notecards than they will ever use because they wanted to be a part of this. One Asbury member gave us $500, another $1,300, and the United Methodist Women gave us $1,000. Every time we sold cards we heard "keep the change" (the notecards were $8...we received tens and LOTS of twenties). When we asked for Crocs for Ethiopia people gave over and above what Kyle could carry. And people are still buying the notecards, so we will continue to sell them and fund over and above the amount for the windows. There are so many needs at the hospital, so we are going to fund another project - to be announced.

And why do I feel such a strong sense of God's presence in the hospital? It's hard to explain, and I'm not really sure I completely understand it myself. I think, however, it has something to do with who we're supposed to be inviting to the party. In Luke 14:13, Jesus is talking to the Pharisees, once again turning their world upside down about who matters in the Kingdom of God. This is what he says: "But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed..." In the previous verse, he says that if you invite your brothers, your relatives or your rich neighbors, they'll just invite you back, which means that you get repaid. There is something about inviting those who can't repay - who can't invite you to their party because they can't have a party - that pleases God. Maybe I sense the presence of God in the psychiatric hospital because serving these patients pleases God. He is present in that place, with the least of these...and He is present with us when we love them and serve them. It has been an honor to provide windows for the women - and to invite them to the party.

Back On Line!

Our modem just lit up - all four buttons are nice and green, and so we are back on the Internet. The phones are still out. I don't care. I was even getting used to not having Internet. It started to feel sort of normal...and I didn't miss it so much after a while. But notice how quickly I sat down to post, and have already checked my email and answered a couple, so maybe I'm not as weaned as I thought.


We closed the shelter this morning because the Red Cross decided to consolidate the folks at one location that was more centralized. I was signed up to work the afternoon shift so I didn't see how many people were there this morning, and how many people were shuffled to the other location. I realized that most of the people that I met I will probably never see again. I hope they are back home and that their power is on, and that maybe in the midst of the nightmare of the past week we were able to give them a little bit of hope, and make life easier for them for the time they were with us. Some people worried that we were being taken advantage of...that maybe people were sticking around when they didn't need to because we were feeding them so well. So what? If you're going to give a cup of cold water, you just give the cup of cold water for goodness sakes. If you're going to take the risk to throw your arms around people, then sometimes you'll get taken advantage of, right? If you worry about that, you'll end up with empty arms.

So we're cleaning the place up after our guests have left, but a mess never looked so good.

Perspective

This is the post I wrote yesterday. I'm writing my posts at home then coming to my parents house to actually access the Internet.

FRIDAY
We got our electricity back on Thursday night. We spent four days and four nights without it – no heat, lights, television, computers, Internet, phones. Our days were spent at Asbury. It seemed like a refuge in so many ways. We NEEDED to be there. Today we didn’t go, and it was a little bit of a crummy day actually. We did some Christmas shopping and restocked our refrigerator and did some cleaning up around the house. I wondered about my new friends: Ricky, Grace, Marietta and all the other people whose names I didn’t catch, or can’t remember. They asked last night if we would be back and we told them we wouldn’t because we had to get our lives back in order just a little. I’m sure they wished they could do the same. It’s funny. I felt more in the Christmas spirit when I was there than I did today in the crowded Big Box or the mall. I’m all for the Christmas tree, and the music and the parties, but it was good to step outside of it all for a few days as we served and gave and received and felt things in a deep way.

I’m sitting in my warm house now, in front of the fireplace with lights on and some football game blaring on the television in front of me. We still don’t have Internet or phones but I don’t care. It’s interesting to remember back about three months ago when we lost our Internet for about a half a day and we were going crazy. We called our provider and pleaded with them in a panicky voice, and wondered how we were going to cope if we couldn’t check our email or hop on the web. Now it seems like such a small thing. Maybe I won’t be saying that in a week, but I truly haven’t missed it. I find places to post and check my email. I have a cell phone and electricity to charge it. Every time I think that I might whine about it a little, I remember how cold it was in our house, and how we walked around carrying a flashlight while candles burned on all our tables and countertops. And then a crowd of faces surfaces in my mind. Many of them will go back to their homes when the electricity is restored and their lives will still be hard. They will still be poor, still unable to get decent medical care. Some will be afraid about losing their jobs, or being abused by their husbands…or dying alone in a house they’ve lived in for sixty years. And for some of them, the electricity will come back on but they will still feel hopeless.

So I’m not worried about what I don’t have because I still have so much more than so many. Perspective can be a tough thing to maintain for those of us who are so very blessed. Perhaps we need to be reminded of it every now and then by cold, dark houses, trees across our driveway, a refrigerator full of spoiled food. Or by stepping out of our comfortable suburban fortresses to see that there is a world of people on our doorstep who need shelter from the storm.

Sheltering

TUESDAY
Yes, the electricity went out. Two days ago. We are still without power and I am sitting here in the dark, and the cold. I’m in front of the fireplace with candles surrounding me and I look like I’m trying to call some dead soul back from the grave. The neighborhood looks like a war zone. The ice weighted down everything – power lines and trees. There are giant broken limbs and entire halves of trees scattered in yards and across streets. Last night it was foggy, and driving through the neighborhood felt eerily surreal, like this was not my home at all. Our city has 218,000 people without power. It’s the largest loss of power in our state’s history. Power crews have been brought in from all over the country to help work the lines and restore electricity to the city and the state. Our house is so cold that I might actually be able to see my breath… if I could see. This morning, there was nothing to do but leave. And so we did. We went to church. Actually, we went to the church building, which had been amazingly transformed into a Red Cross shelter. The night before the building had been home to over 300 people from across the city. We arrived about 11 a.m. and were just there to meet our teenagers who were being dropped off by the people they had spent the night with. We weren’t prepared for what we saw. We had no idea. My friend Mary Ann, who also happens to be our Global Outreach director, walked into the room where we were standing and looking across the sea of people who were sheltering in our church. She had tears in her eyes so I asked her what was wrong. “It’s just a mass of humanity,” was all she could say. Kyle and I looked at each other in confusion. By the end of the day we completely understood. We didn’t leave. We were there all day. There was no way we could walk out of our church today. I looked around at all the weary faces, the crying babies, the old people who shuffled through with oxygen tanks and the groups of special needs adults that had been brought in by their caregivers. And in the midst of it there we were. All of us. The church. We were wearing lanyards with bright yellow tags that read “Volunteer.” We were talking to people, serving them food, carrying their babies, wiping away tears. Touching. Listening. Loving. There was no way we could leave.

Kyle and I sat down at the check-in desk that was located by the dozens of front doors that welcome people into Asbury United Methodist Church. And through those doors there was a steady stream all day long – a mass of humanity. They were cold, and one older woman sat with tears streaming down her face and said, “I just can’t do it any longer. I have a heart condition. I’m scared.” Single mothers came in with multiple children and they looked exhausted and in need of a shower. Sons and daughters brought elderly parents because they had no electricity either and the motels were full. A familiar looking older woman came in and began to fill out the intake form. “We’re glad you’re here,” I chirped. She looked up from the form with tears in her eyes and said, “This is my church. I go here. I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She and her husband were well-dressed, and I had to tell them that we didn’t have any cots left. “I don’t know if I can get up and down from the floor. I don’t know. We just don’t have anywhere else to go.” I didn’t know what to say.

Our building is three years old and we have a decorating committee that likes to keep it looking very polished and spotless and…decorated. It’s kind of a swanky place really. Not overdone, but people are often impressed with how put together it is. Today, there were diapers being changed and coffee spilled on the carpet in the Sunday school rooms. Some people had muddy shoes. People dragged their pallets and pillows and lay down on the carpeted areas beneath the giant sweeping staircases in our foyer. The bathrooms were a mess, and people were washing their faces and hair in the sink. There were all kinds of smells that converged and commingled all over the place. Our building has never been used in a more beautiful way.

Ice Day

Tomorrow there is no school. Ice Day. We have more ice days than snow days, and tomorrow everyone will be home because the streets will be slick. In addition, the power lines will be weighted down which means that we could be without electricity. The power has flickered off and on about six times in the last fifteen minutes. We have lanterns positioned around the house and I'm dressed in warm layers of pajamas. Our house is very drafty, so we're hoping that now that the power is back on it will stay on. But if not, we're prepared. Somehow, the thought of not having power for my computer panics me more than not having heat in the house. How warped is that? Actually, if all the power goes out, it could be a good thing. I have a book light, and a very thick book by Dallas Willard called The Divine Conspiracy to keep me company. I'm not moving through it very quickly because it seems that every paragraph deserves more than one read. I'm double-reading, as my friend calls it. So I'm looking at the glass half full, and figuring that if there is no electricity I won't have much to do but double-read this wonderful book. Last year, some areas in the southern part of the state were out of electricity for almost two weeks. That's something that could certainly reposition your perspective. Yikes. Here's hoping the lights stay on. Better hit publish now, just in case.

We're Not So Different

I stood in front of a group of women today who were well-dressed and had just eaten a nice luncheon of lasagne and some sort of gooey chocolate dessert. We gathered in a church that was warm and comfortable, and we hardly remembered that it was hovering somewhere around 40 degrees outside. Friends sat together at tables and talked about Christmas, and family, and shared blessings with one another. It was all good, and as I looked out across the faces in front of me I thought about another group of women. The women that I had come to talk about seemed so far away, and so very different from us...and it was very easy to believe that we had nothing in common with them. But nothing could be further from the truth.

The women in the Psychiatric Hospital I visit in Azerbaijan are women like us. Some are young, and some are old, and some are in between...like me. Some have lots of energy, and some just hobble along because they are tired, or sore, or battling arthritis and creaky bones. Some women put on make-up every day, and some women prefer not to mess with it. Some women like to primp, some don't. Some women like to talk, others just listen. They have good days, and bad days. They have hopes, and dreams, and wishes and opinions. They want to know that someone believes they have worth and value. And they all really want to be loved. Isn't that what we all want?

Women in Ethiopia, Azerbaijan, China, Peru and all across the globe are not so very different from me. Sometimes it's easier to believe that we are worlds apart because if I believe that then it becomes easier for me to turn my eyes away from them. If I walk through the front door of the women's ward of the psychiatric hospital and convince myself that I have absolutely nothing in common with these women then I can out the back door and not give them another thought. But it hasn't quite worked out that way. The first time I walked into the hospital, these women amazed me. One young patient was standing in front of a mirror decked out in the same dress she wore every day. She was putting on lipstick. "She does this every morning," said our friend who works in the hospital. "She gets all dressed up and made up just in case her father decides that he wants to come and get her. He put her here because his new wife didn't like her. She wants to look pretty in case he comes back for her." In her face - all painted with eyeshadow and blush and lipstick - I saw the yearning for love, and the hope that it would find her. We are not so different, really. I would be devasated if someone I love dumped me in a psychiatric hospital. I would probably paint my face every day also.

I haven't been able to get these women out of my head...or my heart. I see myself in them. But I also see something else. Jesus told us that when we stop long enough to do something for the least of these - those who have been thrown-away, dumped, forgotten - then we have done it unto him. Jesus resides with those who we would like to believe that we have nothing in common with. Jesus comes to those who we might think are the least like us. So when we recognize him in these people, and determine that we are going to love them, and serve them and make the world a better place for them, then we see Jesus with a clarity that can be blinding.

On Forgiveness

Kyle and I were due for a night out. We were busy all day Saturday - Erin and I at a Youth at Heart party, Kyle hanging Christmas lights (He definitely drew the short straw). So we had looked forward to dinner at our date place...Cafe Ole in Brookside. We were just pulling into the parking place when the phone rang. Caller ID showed it was a call from "Home." Erin was babysitting Alison. This probably wasn't a good sign. I answered it, and Erin said something like this: "The hamster is dead. Really dead. What do you want me to do?"

I repeated her words to Kyle, and then asked her what happened. She didn't know. Alison was crying too hard to tell her. I knew it was time to head for home, so I motioned for Kyle to put the car in reverse, and said, "I guess we need to head for home." He didn't make a move. "Are you sure she's dead?" I asked Erin. "Maybe she's just hurt." No, Erin said she was not moving and her eyes were open, and that through her sobs, Alison had said something about Pierre. Kyle held out his hand for the phone, talked Erin through returning the hamster to the cage until we got home and talked soothingly to Alison, promising her that we would bury the hamster when we got home and go to the pet shop tomorrow to get another hamster. I took the phone back, told Erin that we would be home shortly and to cuddle Alison until we got there. "She seems okay now," Erin said. "Did you tell her she's getting another hamster?"

Children are resilient. We consoled ourselves with this reality as we entered the restaurant. Now, you may judge us if you want to for being really bad parents and not rushing home to our daughter, but by the time Erin was back on the phone with me, Alison was hopping around anticipating a new hamster. What would you have done?

So Alison is fine and dandy. Kyle took her to the pet shop today and they picked out another hamster - a baby girl hamster that Alison named Rocky (after she had been through two other names....Tiffany and Hannah). So all is well. Except for the fact that we are all having a little forgiveness issue with the sweet little White Westie who has been bred to hunt rodents. We know that it is part of who he is...find the rodent, kill the rodent. But we can't escape this fact: he found the rodent and killed the rodent when we were conveniently gone for the evening. Is this coincidence? I think not. Is he a smart dog? Yes he is. I am going to make a leap here and give you what I believe was the thought process of one particular West Highland Terrier on one particular Saturday evening in December: Alpha Male (not my term...the dog's) is leaving with Alpha Female and they are giving out detailed instructions. This means they will be gone for an extended period of time. White Westie sees this as a good thing. The rodent has been making him a nervous wreck for about two weeks now. He knows that this is not a rodent he can hunt because it has a nice cage that sits inside the house and the Little One who loves White Westie carries the newly arrived rodent around in her cupped hands or in her pocket. This is no ordinary rodent, and so White Westie determines that he must watch carefully to determine the lay of the land here. He's not absolutely sure of the rodent's status yet, but he's getting a good idea. And he doesn't like it. See, the Little One has loved him dearly for as long as he can remember. Every day after school she comes home to him and he is her constant companion. They lay on the chair together and watch Arthur. They play outside, where she will sometimes put White Westie on the trampoline with her. He doesn't mind. He loves to be loved. But things have been changing over the past several weeks. The little rodent seems to be taking his place in some small way. He's been trying to hide his anxiety, but everyone in the house can see right through him. They see how he paces, how jumpy he is, how he is drawn to the Little One's bedroom to see what might be happening in there with the rodent. And then, on date night, he sees his opportunity. And he takes it. No one will ever know what really happened because Alpha Male and Female are not around, Little One's big sister is busy cooking dinner, and Little One loves him too much to ever tell anyone what really happened. So he makes his move. The result: One hamster with a broken neck.

We buried Twinkles the Hamster in the flower bed in the front yard while White Westie watched through the glass door. Since then, he has been slinking around the house looking oh-so-pitiful and making little groaning sounds when he tries to crawl up in someone's lap. We not speaking to him much right now. We know it's time to forgive and forget. Alison has. We must put aside his conniving plan to annihilate the tiny pet while we were out of the house. Perhaps he has learned his lesson. As I type he is laying on half of my lap, forcing me to wrench one arm in a strange position and slant my wrist at an impossible angle. He keeps looking up at me with these eyes and I think he might know that I am writing a post about him and spilling the whole story. He's desperate. And I'm a sucker for a dog with sad eyes, so I'm forgiving him. But the next time it's date night he is definitely spending the evening outside.