Settling Down and Settling In

Settling down and settling in.

Thinking about those two this morning. 

Thinking about how hard it is to sit down and write with all the undone and unknowns swirling in my wee widdle brain. 

I heard that phrase again yesterday from a writer who said something to the effect that he didn’t know what he was really thinking until he settled down to write. 

Amen and pass the plate on that one.

But how do you settle down when sitting down to think/write just seems to make your problem of jangly thinking/living/being more apparent?

Hnh.

Problem. 

The more chaotic things are here…the less I’m home…the more projects in process I have…the more times I have to pick up and travel…come home…unpack and start again…the more excruciating it feels to try to settle down and settle in to write. 

Isn’t life supposed to get simpler as we get older?   Can I ever remember a time when life DID seem settled? 

Semi-routine maybe.  Never what I would call settled.

Burp.

Could be that I’m losing my ability to filter the chaos of 21^st Century chatter from that which I need to fully focus.

Focus. 

There’s a word right up there with God in its utter inscrutability.

I was thinking it was just me, until I went to church with Kate on Sunday. 

Valley Church.  Good speaker who talked a lot about courage that comes from God.  This guy’s day job is financial advisor, so he knows maybe more than the rest of us, the angst and anxiety of this past year.  It was a good sermon…had me looking up King Hezekiah in 2Kings this morning, which is no small coup for any preacher.

He opened his talk with this question:  “How many here are glad that 2009 is over?”

There was a rumble and resounding “I am!” across the hall. 

I blinked at the people around me.  Huh?  You mean OTHER people are having a tough time besides moi? 

He went on to say that Iowa lost 40,000 jobs this year.

40,000 in our shoes.  Maybe even worse shoes than ours.

Huh?

40,000 people for whom focus has now changed – and that’s not counting their wives and husbands and kids and parents.

Tough year.

He went on to read scripture and share personal stories about how our courage and confidence come from God.  That God is above and beyond all these circumstances. 

Fresh spring air.

That speaker started to change my focus. 

Here’s my biggest takeaway from his sermon:  When things start tanking, instead of asking ourselves…How long will this pain LAST?  Maybe we can start asking ourselves…How long will I have this particular opportunity to reach out to people who need God now like never before?  Because it’s in the tough times that people are most open to the gospel.

Nice.

****

This morning, I started thinking about this brand new 2010 and some of the things I’m grateful for:

Here…in no particular order:

Tom and I are still chugging along.  31 years, now.  It’s pretty much a miracle. 

After all the holiday hoopla, I’m only 2 pounds up from my all-time low weight (on Weight Watchers – you know – this time) and still down almost 25 from my all time high.  I am totally breaking new ground here.

Living in Waukee.  It’s pretty good being close…but not too close…to the kids.  

Restaurant coupons.

Brett Favre.

The Farm – Tom and I both love it – for very, very different reasons. 

Hope…finally…for a normal gait after foot surgery.

Restaurants with great, big, fat salad bars (Ruby Tuesday – you GO, girl!)

Our 401k  is mostly back.

Living exactly 1 mile from Fareway Foods.

The brand new YMCA, not much more than spitting distance (if you’re a really good spitter)…72,000 square feet of workout bliss.

I have people in my life who love me.  Some even like me.  Ditto and back atcha.

The next season of American Idol starts January 12^th – 2 hour premiere – I get to laugh hysterically at dorky people singing badly.  My guiltiest pleasure (not really).

There’s more…but that’s good for now.

Happy New Year.

Spiritual Roots

My aunt, who was a pretty good Baptist in her day, told me once that it’s common knowledge that at the end of time there will be a Great White Throne Judgment.  This is something we will all face (according to the Southern Baptist Convention brochure from 1964 she loaned me)…saints AND sinners.  It will happen after the Good Guys kick the Devil’s butt at Armageddon and we all crowd in for a good spot at The Judgment Seat of Christ.  This is when the sheep are separated from the goats.  And all us sheep and goats get to stand around listening to the sins of our brothers and sisters. 

That could take a few hundred thousand years, I’m thinking.  I wonder if there will be snacks.

I say to Auntie:  “Where do they get this stuff?”

Her jaw drops.  “Revelation, of course!”

Oh.  The Book of Revelation.  Right. 

Not one of my favorite books.

Anyway. 

According to the brochure, IF we have accepted Jesus and are therefore technically a sheep…but still have some sinful stuff left over in our lives…before we can get into heaven, we will have to go through some kind of spiritual blast furnace which will burn off the rest of our bad stuff and leave us with incorruptible bodies like burnished gold. 

Even though this was all supposed to be common knowledge, it was definitely news to me.

So, here’s my question.  If, God forbid, I don’t manage to take it off before I die, will that 50 pounds of sinful eating and lusting after heart-unhealthy food be burned off in one horrendous hell-like blast?  Or will my penance be to lug it around for the next couple million millennia?  Or…might I have to atone by spending my first few hundred thousand years in heaven eating Nutrisystem at the folding table with the other fatty Christians instead of being invited to sit at the grownup table? 

Because, really.  Either way you look at it, it could be a problem.

 

Flashback to 1968.  It’s summertime, and I’m downhome in the Missouri Ozarks, visiting Grandma Weter.  All the city cousins (who want to) get to spend 2 weeks with Grandma during the summer. 

I always wanted to.

There was a lot to love about Grandma’s in the summer, and a big part of it was spending time with my cousin, Sandy.  She’s 2 years older than I, and we almost look like twins.  Red hair and freckles.  About the same height and chubby.  She’s smart and funny, just like me.  We’d decided that we were going to get married to cute cowboys and have a horse ranch someday.  The horse ranch thing was more Sandy than me, but I was all about having a cute husband.  Preferably with a British accent.

Sandy’s momma, Mary, was Assembly of God.  So, Sandy spent a lot of her time in church.  Every Sunday morning and evening.  Wednesday night Bible studies.  Back then, being A/G meant you couldn’t drink or swear or dance or listen to pop music or go bowling or to the movies or watch tv or play cards or wear fingernail polish or swim with boys or cut your hair (or shave your legs or armpits). 

City cousins were “of the world.”  We were tolerated, but looked upon with grave suspicion.  I’m pretty sure that Mary thought the only place Sandy was safe from me and my worldly ways was in church.  So, if I wanted to spend much time with Sandy, I had to go to church with her.

Whispering and giggling in the back pew of Sparta Assembly of God Church on one hot Sunday night, Sandy is catching me up on every nuance and expression of her latest crush, Galen.  Galen’s dad owns a horse ranch which makes him the ultimate Ah! and potential mate for Sandy.  Plus, they have study hall together.

After 5 minutes of an in-depth telling of how Galen picked up her pencil off the floor and then teased her to get it back and wondering out loud if that meant anything, Sandy does a casual Where-is-Mom-and-is-she-looking-at-us? scan and is met with The Look.  From the front of the church, Mother Mary is turned around giving us the stink eye over her left shoulder.

“Stop it NOW!” her eyes warn. 

We both know that Mary is nobody to fool around with.  She has been known to completely forbid us from seeing see each the whole time I’m downhome.  Sandy immediately straightens up and goes blank-face.  I freeze and stare straight ahead, suddenly engrossed by the little red-faced preacher in the too-tight suit, hopping and sweating and pounding the pulpit. 

In a bit, heads still forward, we side-glance at Mary.  She shoots us one last hard, narrow-eyed look, and turns back around.

We give it 30 seconds, 45 tops, and start sliding slowly down the pew, under the adolescent delusion that if you aren’t visible to the Stink Eye, she’ll forget you’re there.

Sandy pulls out a paper fortune teller she made.  “Pick a number,” she whispers.

“Seven.”  I whisper back.

 “One – two – three – four – five – six – seven.”  She opens and closes the fortune teller back and forth. 

“Pick another number.”

“Seven.”

“Not seven again.  Something different.” she hisses.

“I like seven.”

“One – two – three – four – five – six – seven.” 

“Look inside and pick a color.”

“Yellow.”

“Y – E – L – L – O – W.”  She pokes her head up to make sure no one is turned our way.  “Pick another color.”

“Green.”

“G-R-E-E-N.  Pick another color.”

“Blue.”

Sandy unfolds the blue flap to reveal my fortune.  “You will marry Paul McCartney.”

I’m going to marry Paul! I knew it!   I make an exaggerated swoony gesture, rolling my eyes, pretending to make out with my hand, then wrap my arms around myself so it looks like somebody is hugging me.

Sandy snickers softly.

I snicker back.

She titters.

I titter back.

She snorts OUT LOUD.

We slide further down the pew, giggling in earnest.

THIS IS NO PLACE FOR LAUGHING.  Laughing in church is dangerous…life-threatening even.

We know this without a doubt.  A fact which is suddenly so completely hilarious that we start convulsing.  We hold our breath and pinch our noses to stop the avalanche of hee haws…clap our hands over each others’ mouths.  Trying to muffle the worst of the noise…because GOD KNOWS, THIS IS NO TIME FOR LAUGHING. 

We laugh and laugh and laugh.  Painfully.  Helplessly.

And then…just when we think we’ve gotten ourselves under control (by trying to think of something sad, like dead kitties or being grounded for life or Paul eloping with Jane Asher), somebody snorts or hiccups and we’re off again.  We’re laying on our sides in the pew, the top of our heads touching, gasping for air and laughing.  We’re doomed.  We know it. And totally incapable of saving ourselves.

 

About 30 years after that happened…and it didn’t end well, I can tell you that…there was this thing that went through some churches called Holy Laughter.  When the rules of what was considered good church behavior changed radically.  People would hoot like monkeys and roar and squeak and laugh uncontrollably, and some people got really excited, thinking it was God manifesting something very important. 

I thought…Dang…what a great cover THAT would have been for me and Sandy acting up in church.  I sure hope somebody got some mileage out of it.

Finding Foci

Today is Ash Wednesday.  I know that because the church Tom and I have been attending sent this email reminder: 

 

 

 

 Ash Wednesday Services

Hope WDM

Noon & 7:00 pm

NorthBranch Station in Ankeny
7:00 pm

  

For more information about hopeslist or to volunteer please click here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not used to email ads for Lenten services.  In fact, I’m not used to Lent at all.  Which is bringing up some random thoughts that need a little collating.  

 

Lent sounds very Catholic and/or Lutheran.  I’ve never been either one, so there’s that. 

That said, I’m open to maybe finding some value in Lenten stuff…if it’s not just one more thing at which to fail.  If Lent just means giving up chocolate or coffee, and starts playing out like another diet to cheat on OR an experiment in asceticism (which…in reality would just be another diet for me to cheat on) for a month and a half, I’m not really on board. 

 

Some people write that Lent is really more about what we DO than what we don’t.

 

I’m interested in seeing if Lent will actually help me to focus on Jesus and what he did for us in these weeks leading up to Easter.  Too many years Easter comes and goes and I’m left feeling like I missed something BIG.  I’ve spent too much time thinking about coloring and hard boiling and Reese’s Eggs and daffodils and decorating in pastels. (God, I can be SO shallow.  I know this thing.).  With too little focus on what’s really going on.

 

To actually get some spiritual truth from this holiday this year?  That would be an answer to prayer.  The  prayer that goes something like this:  “Halloo??  Remember me? Where did you go?  I’m LOST. (again)  Can you help me find my way back?” 

 

Immediately realizing that those kinds of prayers can be tricky…I qualify that I’d like to avoid terminal cancer and/or paraplegia and/or another really crappy haircut and/or an unplanned pregnancy (which would be a miracle akin to Abraham’s wife, Sarah, given my age and mood and post-meno status.)

 

Technically, of course, we’re supposed to let God decide what we need to grow spiritually (ESPECIALLY at Lent…I’m just guessing here), but I can’t help but think that there’s a reason for concern when you pray that stuff.  Especially when you read all the things that brought people so much closer to God. Not that I think God has it in for me or anything, but you never know what he might come up with when you pray for growth.  I’m not telling him how to do His bi-ness (exactly), I’m just asking him to keep an open mind on the subject. There are things I’d rather NOT have happen for my spiritual edification.  It’s a control issue, I know, but I’m a spiritual wimp and it makes me feel like I’ve covered my bases.

 

Anyway.

 

I’ve been feeling this tension for some time now in my writing.  A tension between my Smart Ass Self (who just wants to make people laugh and relax a little at the absurdity of life and relationships…well, the absurdity of MY life and MY relationships) and the reality of myself as a Christian and my walk/stumble toward a closer intimacy with God.  A walk which…all jokey joking aside…is immeasurable in its impact on me…because it informs virtually everything I do and am.

 

Being Christian is who I am…even when I’m not myself.

 

It’s a terrible thing to lose hope. Really, really awful.   I know this because I’ve done it.  A few times. 

 

Completely lost sight of who I am as a spirit and as a human being.  Forgot about who I was before, what happened, and who I am today.  Why I’m still here. Sometimes I forget that my life, unconventional as it may be, is still relevant and needed.

 

God…and our bumbling search to know him…somehow…mysteriously…strengthens our spirits.  Centers us.  Slides his hope underneath our hopelessness.

 

Humor reminds us that we’re all human.  We all belong.  We all screw up.  We all have our tics and twitches.  We all have our moments of transcendence.  We’re all loved by God.

 

In the land of blogdom, “they” are pretty specific that once you get some regular readers, they can feel abandoned and even betrayed (and pissy) when you change the focus of your blog.

 

But, lots of times when I’m stuck with my writing, it’s because I’m stuck on something spiritual.  I don’t blog much about it here, because I haven’t been sure if this is the venue.  I’ve thought of starting a second blog…that’s what all serious bloggers do, I guess.  But I think we can all agree that I’m not that serious. 

 

All that to say…I’m expanding my foci…at least through Lent.

 

Sometimes, you’ll hear from Cherie-the-Smart-Ass.

 

Other times, Cherie-the-Seeker.

 

And sometimes?  Cherie-the-Smart-Ass-Seeker.

 

 

 

 

 

Acute Entropy Disorder

The other day I was reading up on entropy on the Internet.  You have to be careful with online info, of course, because people can write that entropy is monkey lipstick and 10,000 people pick it up and put it on their websites and the next thing you know, it’s in Wikipedia.  Or used in a quote by Abraham Lincoln.

 

Anyway.  

 

In case you’ve forgotten your high school science class, entropy is an actual law of physics and everything…Number 2, to be exact.  To put it simply, entropy means that an organized system will decay into disorganization (lose energy and structure) if energy (which has to do with the First Law of Physics) is not continuously applied. 

 

(Though, apparently the law of entropy is being re-written, or at least amended, to make room for evolution theory, which assumes that matter and energy are getting more organized all the time.  FYI.  Rewriting physics to support a theory.  Knew you wanted to know that.)

 

Entropy sort of rests on the assumption that matter and energy got organized a long time ago and is now falling apart (Big Bang…expanding universe).  Winding down. Slowly losing energy and organization. 

 

Let there be light…and there was light.

 

This is important information…in case you’re thinking Not So Much. 

 

Well, actually, not so much important if you’re trying to use it to prove the existence of God.  Which smarter people than you and me have tried to do.  It’s actually much more important than that.  It finally explains why I have started (and continue) to lag in the organization department.  It’s a freaking physical law of the universe!  It’s all making sense.  I’m running down. 

 

I have Entropy.  (Don’t be surprised when you see commercials for medications to treat Acute Entropy Disorder.  You can thank me later.)

 

Finally.  It has a name.

 

You know what?  Here’s something else about me you may not know or care about.  I love, Love, LOVE 17^th and 18^th century British literature.  I got totally hooked on it because one of the underlying assumptions (by the writers of that time) is that creation came about when God brought order out of chaos. 

 

There was chaos – the dark and void – and then God reconfigured matter and energy into Creation.  Which is actually very scriptural, if you know Hebrew.  According to old Brit writers, we are most like God when we are creatively separating things into organized patterns.  Which is also one definition of art.

 

17^th century writers and artists were all about putting things in their proper place. 

 

I am totally on board with that (in theory).  But…it’s an ideal I support a lot more when I’m feeling more organized and/or artistic.

 

Apparently, according to the Laws of Physics, we have to apply energy in order to keep things organized.  My problem, it seems, is that I’ve been using all my energy to blog and work out and search the internet for the perfect cheap bar stool and the meaning of entropy and fast forwarding through the commercials on Top Chef.

 

No wonder I’m cranking out so much cosmic clutter. 

 

 

 

 

 

Little Black Bag

I lost my purse yesterday.  Not the big honkin’ overnight bag that I usually carry.   This is the cute little black bag I carried to the TSO concert Saturday night.  And then again to Kate and Kris’ church on Sunday.  Just had a credit card, driver’s license, lipstick, 2 cough drops, my cell phone (Kate’s old hand-me-down I still carry since I lost mine) and more cash than I want to lose (which would be ANY cash).

 

I didn’t even notice it was gone until I went to pay my lunch check.  The last time I remembered seeing it was when I slipped some notes from the sermon into it, and then when I moved it out of the way of a really cute baby that wanted to use it as a teething ring.  I don’t remember if I carried it out of the church.  After I heard they were giving away free travel mugs and music CD’s to visitors, I started chanting to myself to not forget to stop by the Welcome Desk on my way out…from then on, everything gets a little fuzzy until I’m shooting Help Me eyes at Kate and Kris across the lunch table, since I don’t want to wash dishes to pay for my Buffalo chicken sandwich.

 

After going back to the church to take a look and then doing most everything we could to try to make sure people at the restaurant could contact me – since I’m still carrying my old driver’s license from Lowden which would direct any potential Good Samaritans about 150 miles too far east – I came home and called Tom.  Told him my sad story.  He asked me if I wanted him to pray.  Oh, yeah. 

 

He didn’t immediately start demanding that God return my purse and smite on the head any would-be lost purse opportunists – which was the prayer I was gearing up to nod vigorously and say Amen to.  Instead, he prayed for God to bless whoever found it, even if they decided to keep everything.  Told God that we realized that they might really need that money right now.  That we understood that it was God’s will, and to please bless them at this holiday season. 

 

What a prayer. What a great prayer.

 

Shifted my attitude…from this thing being all about ME-MY-MINE!!  To reminding me that there are so many hurting people right now.  And that the holidays makes hurts sharper.  People without jobs. Or good health.  Without family or friends.  People who slip through the cracks.

 

Lately, I’ve been praying that God would show me where he wants me to donate some time.  Feeling that gentle prodding to open myself up to go where he wants me to go, to help where he wants me to help.   Tom’s prayer (and a couple of other things I won’t go into now) stirred something that’s been simmering on the back burner.   I feel the Lord moving me in a direction.  Just not sure where yet. 

 

 

 

Riding the Cherie-go-round

You prolly do not know this.

 

I used to be a Mormon… 

 

And a Buddhist (for about 15 minutes)… 

 

And a Methodist (at least I think I was a Methodist…I was only about 4 or 5 when I thought I was a Methodist).

 

And a Presbyterian, agnostic, and Baptist.  Not necessarily in that order.

 

I eventually ended up Christian.  Which totally pissed off all my agnostic friends and eventually mellowed out my cynicism and smart ass attitude (a little). 

 

Being one of those people who hops around a lot, it took awhile before I was really sure I was going to stick this thing out.  The Christian thing, I mean.  So, I didn’t tell anybody for awhile.  But that was 1980 and I’ve told a few people since then.  So, I’m pretty sure it took.

 

I told God early on (shortly after making The Deal with him about my life…where I said I would relinquish all, most, or some of my control…if he promised to love, honor, and cherish me) that I would go to church anywhere…except the Assembly of God Church. 

 

So, for the past 17 or 18 years, we’ve been members of Cornerstone Assembly of God Church in DeWitt, Iowa.

 

One of God’s little jokes on me. 

 

I was dragged kicking and screaming (well…pruney faced and disapproving) into a Pentecostal service one Sunday morning…only to find it was a breath of fresh air, spiritually speaking.

 

Pastor Curt and his wife, Gloria, are caring, intelligent, honorable, genuine, committed, and balanced.  And pretty much everybody else at church is too. Which, frankly, I didn’t expect from the Pentecostals.   Heck, Gloria even wore fingernail polish…which forced me to totally rethink my idea of what kind of people hang out in Assembly of God churches.  The A/G I was familiar with forbade movies, dancing, cards, bowling, make up, AND shaving your legs AND underarms.  It’s only occurring to me now as I write that that maybe THAT church was the aberration instead of the one I landed in…

 

Huh.

 

So, now…they’re there and we’re here.  And since nobody from my church family seems even remotely interested in packing up their instruments and Bibles and serving me church in Waukee every Sunday…I’m forced to go church shopping.  Which is turning out to be a bigger deal than I thought (maybe didn’t think is more like it). 

 

First, I have to get my brain around SCALE and SCOPE.  Cornerstone is small, intimate. I got my peeps. They got me.  I know where the bathrooms are. I know who to ask what’s what.   I am snug as a bug in my cozy little comfort zone.

 

City churches, on the other hand, seem almost obscenely HUGE (and if they’re not, you wonder WHY not? What’s wrong here?). There is a LOT going on and the same people don’t seem to be doing all the jobs…so that makes it hard to figure out who’s important and who’s not. 🙂

 

I started by visiting a few of the bigger Assembly churches…ert.  No love connection.  Kate’s church is a possibility, but…I’m still not feeling that thang…that you feel when you think this might actually be The One. 

 

So, yesterday…since everybody except me and Caleb was out of town having fun…we hit the 11 o’clock at Hope Lutheran.  I’d visited one other time, which just happened to be the Sunday when the pastor was giving a tearful surprise announcement that he was going on sabbatical because he was totally wasted from too much work and not enough not work.  Seemed like a nice guy.  Didn’t look too Lutheran-y.  He was crying, but not like Jimmie Swaggert sobbing or anything…so I was only mildly freaked out.  Their building was under construction back then. (a fact I really appreciate now that I found out that there’s this huge dining area where you can get FREE breakfast before the services).  Anyway, back to that first visit…you had to pick up your folding chair on the way in the door and then jockey around for a spot in the crowd, which was no small task.  This is an ENORMOUS church…probably the biggest I’ve ever been to this side of St. Louis.  But I think I might like it anyway.  The prayers seemed humble and sincere.  People actually sang along with the worship team…

 

Which I always thought was a given until I visited another local church called Point of Grace (love the name…and another mega mega…but like…5 minutes from me!), which I think is supposed to be a non-denom.  I was pretty excited to visit Point of Grace, because it’s got this really interesting architecture…multi levels and multi colored…but mostly  that Location! Location!  Location! thing.  But…and I don’t say this lightly…the church strikes me way as more about Christian entertainment…and way less about bringing me up in the ways of the Lord, so when I am old, I won’t depart from them. 

 

Worship was something besides worship.  The main singer was on all three screens pretty much all the time.  They put up words to the songs, so supposedly you could follow along…but they were superimposed on the singer, you couldn’t read them without being distracted by his big mug.  And they didn’t do you much good anyway, because he was improvising so much there was no following along even if you wanted to, which I tried to do at first but embarrassed myself too many times by singing words when I should have been scatting.  Which explains why nobody in the seats is singing. 

 

Is it just me or is this something new?  Where the worship team worships for you instead of leading you?

 

And…then…the main singer guy?  He kept putting his arms out like Jesus on the cross, with his head tilted back with his eyes closed…and he did this a lot…and it really started to annoy me.  The camera was on him pretty much on him all the time, except when it panned to this one lady in the choir who was really cute and liked to jiggle.

 

I kid you not.

 

I checked out their website (church shopping has become a lot like looking for real estate that way), listened to a few pod casts of their sermons, and figured out pretty quickly that this was a church that had salvation on the mind 24/7.  I’m not arguing w/the subject matter, just the degree.  It’s like everything else…like say, oh, spiritual growth…was like…taboo or something.

 

New neighbor Monica called it a “Seeker’s Church.” 

 

Well, I actually consider myself a seeker, but this is not my church.

 

Anyway, back to Hope…it is also one of those huge amphitheater types with the three screens.  Contemporary service.  People in shorts and sleeveless tops.  Lots of rug rats being hauled out for cranking up in the middle of the service.  On the surface, not so different from Point of Grace, but very different in worship and prayers and focus.

 

The main speaker was a woman, which piqued my interest right away, because I’m all about theology that gives women equal access to ministry and church organization.  They’re studying the book of Mark this summer. 

 

“Who do you say I am?”  Jesus asked. 

 

Good question.

 

Hope also has a service called Immersion on Thursday nights which starts at 7:37 which…even the time…Seven thirty seven?? …is strange and a little intriguing.  My stint as a Baptist made me think at first that it must be a service for people who want to be baptized the old fashioned way.  I thought:  Been there. Done that.  But apparently Immersion is for people who want to go deeper with God. 

 

Deeper sounds good.