So.  Basically I really hated yesterday’s prompt and had a rebellion.  You’ll be left forever wondering what it was, why I hated it and what I might have responded to it if I’d stopped kicking over the traces long enough to actually think.  My tiny little excuse is a really really bad case of hives that is apparently caused by the sun.  I have turned into a vampire.

Har.  Just kidding.  Some meds I take for seizures are causing sun sensitivity which, in my case, causes hives.  This has happened before in the past 5 or years since I started this new drug, but I’ve never been in the sun as long as I was on Friday (riding a tube down the Shenandoah).  So the hives were mighty and cursed this time.  Prednisone has become my new best friend.  However, I had so much fun on that tubing trip I’d do it all again … I’d just give in and go to the doctor’s sooner

Today’s prompt is this –

What’s the first thing you notice about a man when you meet him? A woman?

The first thing I notice about men and women is their eyes.  Maybe it’s because I was taught to look people in the eyes when being introduced.  Or maybe I just love eyes.  Or whatever.  Who knows … I could spend all day rationalizing, but the bottom line is I dig people’s eyes.  I love eye shapes and sizes and colors.  I love the way a person’s eyes define their face and their mood.  I love the way eyes sparkle and gleam.  I think the most fun I ever had in a class was when I took a class on portraiture and learned how to draw eyes.  I got so much perspective from that experience.

The second thing I notice is their hands.  You can tell a lot about a person from their hands.  You can see how they feel about themselves in the way their hands are carried and used in a conversation.  You can see how they relate to the world in how they take care of their hands and how their hands are used in their line of work.  When they shake hands with you, you can tell a lot about how that person perceives you and your status vis a vis them.  Personally, as a woman, I love it when a man gives me a good firm handshake.  I hate the namby-pamby woman shake that I’m subjected to in the name of chivalry or whatever.  It sucks.  It’s like expecting a great bowl of good chocolate ice cream and you get a tiny dish of half melted soft-serve instead.  Bleh.  I also like good hugs but only from friends.  Stranger-hugging is weird in my book.  And there is entirely too much hugging here in the south (from my northern perspective).  But I digress … as you may have noticed I also love hands.  And lately, I’ve loved watching as my children’s hands are developing from pudgy kid hands into adult hands.  They are beautiful.  The same is happening with their friends and cousins.  It’s like a small marker of passage through time and is enjoyable to watch as they cavort through life together.

What about you?  What do you notice when you first meet people?  Does it differ with the genders?

So, I’m a day late … you’ll have to decide whether or not I’m a dollar short.  I was off the grid yesterday, floating down a river in a tube with a group of teenagers and their moms (and a few dads).  Well … we each had our own tube.  There are now sunburns aplenty and at the end of the day a lot of smiles, weary arms, and tired legs, but we had so so much fun.  What a grand day it was.

Yesterday’s prompt – How do you feel about the name given to you at birth?

I was given Sonja by my parents.  It is an odd name for my cohort generation.  Most girls with that given name and spelling were first generation immigrants from an eastern European nation.  I am not.  I’m all English and some branches of my family tree can be traced back to the Mayflower, others to the Revolutionary War.  But I do not have any Eastern European roots (an unfortunate state of affairs).

I hated my name in elementary school.  I was surrounded by Peggys and Kims and Marys and Beths.  Growing up in a tiny backwoods Vermont town where everyone had known each other for several generations, I was the odd child, with the odd name.  Teachers couldn’t pronounce it because of the pesky silent “j” or they persisted in making the “o” long rather than short.  Sometimes they would forget entirely and call me “Tanya,” then wonder at my lack of response.  Children couldn’t pronounce or remember my name either, so I lived on the fringe for a lot of elementary school.

I remember asking my mom to change my name at some point.  She suggested that we could do so, but it would be to the second place name (the also ran) that I did not get named when I was born.

Nellie.

I was horrified.  For those of you who know me on Facebook, you know my maiden name begins with “N”, so I would move from the merely strange to the geeky and weird world of alliteration.  That was an unacceptable alternative.  I stuck it out with “Sonja.”

I’m glad I did.  As I got older it became who I am.  I began to learn more about the name.  It is the Slavic version of “Sophia” and means wisdom.  I’ve always loved that.  I was thrilled when LightHusband when to Germany once and came back with a mug with my name on it because you never see my name on anything here.  Ever.

All throughout grade school and high school I was the only “Sonja.”  It was just me.  I began to really enjoy that in a deep down quiet way.  Then in my senior year another Sonja came to the school!  And she was a senior!!!  To make matters worse, she was absolutely stunningly beautiful and kind!!  AND … because of the way things worked out with our last names we were put right next to one another in the year book.  It was the ultimate irony.

Now I have embraced my name and really love it.  I don’t mind when people mis-pronounce it, but I still don’t respond to Tanya.  I do correct the spelling if it’s important because I love the “j” and as a visual person I think putting a “y” or an “i” in there makes my name look like someone else.  I know that’s stupid, but there it is.  Most of the time I leave it alone, though, because it’s a petty thing.  I get a huge and silly thrill out of running across other women who spell their name like me.  I don’t know why, but I think we should start a club because there are not so many of us.

So that’s about all there is to know about my given name.  Some day I’ll write the story of my middle name and how I had a major depressive episode (that’s what they call nervous breakdowns these days).

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, ‘What does love mean?”    The answers they got were broader  and deeper than anyone could have imagined See what you think:
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‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her  toenails anymore.  So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got  arthritis too. That’s love.’ – Rebecca- age 8
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‘When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.. You  just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’ – Billy – age 4
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‘Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne  and they go out and smell each other.’ – Karl – age 5
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‘Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French  fries without making them give you any of theirs.’ – Chrissy – age 6
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‘Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.’ – Terri – age 4
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‘Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip  before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.’ – Danny – age 7
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‘Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of  kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.     Mommy and  Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss’ – Emily – age 8
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‘Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.’ – Bobby – age 7
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‘If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,’ – Nikka – age 6
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‘Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.’ – Noelle – age 7
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‘Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still  friends even after they know each other so well.’ – Tommy – age 6
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‘During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked  at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling.  He  was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore.’ – Cindy – age 8
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‘My mommy loves me more than anybody  You don’t see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.’ – Clare – age 6
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‘Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.’ – Elaine-age 5
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‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.’ – Chris – age 7
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‘Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.’ – Mary Ann – age 4
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‘I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.’ – Lauren – age 4
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‘When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.’  – Karen – age 7
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‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn’t think it’s gross.’ – Mark – age 6
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‘You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.’ – Jessica – age 8
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The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.  Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.  When his Mother asked what he had said to th e neighbor, the little boy said,                       ‘Nothing, I just helped him cry’

In the spirit of coming to Jesus as little children, take a shot at it in the comments – what is love to you?   Where do you see the concept we call love manifest in action in your life?  Or … which one of these was special to you and why?

Happy Valentine’s Day!

In his own words the Blind Beggar, Rick Meigs is going home!!

Tuesday, August 11, 2009 11:54 AM, PDT

This is Rick sending greetings! Will be going home Thursday and hope to be online more. I’m using a computer at the rehab. center and doing this with left hand, so I’ll keep this short.

Rick Meigs

Two months to the day after his near-death accident, Rick is going home.  He spent weeks in a ICU in Boise, ID.  Two more weeks in a regular ward in a Portland, OR hospital.  Then a little more than a week at nursing home center in Portland and has been in the Rehab center since August 1.

Rick, his wife Fran and sons will continue to need prayer for his continued healing.  That he will continue to be able to carry on his business and that their re-adjustment process will go well.  Most of all that they will be able to lean into the process and rest, just as if they were floating away on Aslan’s breath.

If you’ve been reading me during the last couple of weeks, I’ve alluded to something being up.  That I’ve been busy with a big project.  It’s really big.  It’s a tribe.  Missional Tribe.

And the cat is climbing out of the bag.  Bill (Kinnon) has been writing about it.  Rick (Blind Beggar) Meigs has been writing about it.  Peggy (Virtual Abbess) Brown has been writing about it.  The rest of my fellow Instigators (Brother Maynard, Kingdom Grace, and Brad -FuturistGuy- Saargent) have been more demure.

Our beta test period is almost done.  Our virtual space is going live on Epiphany.  January 6.  Be looking for Missional Tribe then.

Missional Tribe is a social networking space with a purpose.  As Rick wrote:

It is a space for “… those involved in any aspect of the missional movement can gather for virtual communitas, will launch. It is a space where story and praxis is given emphasis over the theoretical and conceptual. It is a kinship of diverse people who practice “the way of Jesus,” a way that informs and radically transforms their very being. It is a place where the great conversations around the missional paradigm can be brought together so they are evergreen and accessible.”

So … be looking for more information here early next week.  I’ll be posting more about it then.

The gloves are off.  Brother Maynard issued a pancake challenge.  Complete with photos.

Never one to shrink away from such things, I’m stepping forward with a recipe of my own.

Now … I do not make cute bears.  Or things like that.  I have been known to experiment with initials branded in mine.  But my kids are devout fans of my blueberry pancakes.  So is anyone else who has ever had them.   This is a result of the first blueberry pancakes I ever had in Machias, Maine.  They were blueberries … held together with pancake … and a taste of heaven that I have been attempting to recreate ever since that moment of serendipity in August of 1977.

This recipe is an amalgam of other recipes and ideas.  I first thought about making my own pancakes from scratch when I encountered the ideas of a writer by the name of Amy Dacyczyn.  She used to write a monthly newsletter called The Tightwad Gazette which had tips for money saving and living more simply.  In one issue she noted that food manufacturers were able to charge exhorbitant prices for the cheapest ingredients in pancakes, notably flour, sugar, baking powder and salt by combining them and calling them pancake mix.

I find that offensive.  So I make my own.  Most of the time.

I begin with oats … because they’re good for you and because they make the pancakes stick your ribs.  A trick my mom learned when I was little and she’d make pancakes for lunch.

Scald 1/2 c. skim milk in the microwave and pour it over
2/3 c. rolled oats

Stir to thoroughly combine in a small bowl and set aside so that oats can absorb the milk.

Dry Ingredients –

1 1/2 c. flour (I often split this and use 1 c. white and 1/2 c. whole wheat or 1/2 c. cornmeal)
3 Tbls. sugar
3 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt

Whisk all dry ingredients together and make sure there are no lumps.

Wet ingredients –

1 egg + 1 egg white
3 Tbls. oil (or melted butter)
1-1/2 c. buttermilk

Whisk together eggs and oil til light and frothy.  Add milk and combine thoroughly.  Add oat mixture and combine thoroughly once again.

Make a well in the dry mixture and add wet ingredients to dry.  Combine wet with dry in several quick strokes.  DO NOT over beat.  Stir just enough to dampen dry ingredients.  Use a light hand when mixing.

Me, I use the Fanny Farmer cookbook for my culinary wisdom.  Mine is so worn that the binding has been replaced with duct tape.  My all time favorite griddle is my mother’s.  And it’s at camp in Vermont.  I believe it’s cast aluminum.  I have never found anything that can cook pancakes better than that griddle.  Good cast iron is a passable second.  Here are the cooking directions from Fanny:

Lightly butter or grease a griddle or frying pan and set over moderate heat until a few drops of cold water sprinkled on the pan form rapidly moving globules.  (Aside – my favorite part of the process)  Measure out about 1/4 c. pancake batter per cake onto the pan.  (I use my large cooking spoon to ladle it out)  Bake on the griddle until the cakes are full of bubbles on the top and the undersides are lightly browned.  Turn with a spatula and brown the other sides.  Place finished griddlecakes on a warm plate in a 200F (95C) oven until you have enough to begin serving.  (Aside – BroM makes a great point here … never turn a pancake more than once or you’ll have shoeleather).

When I add blueberries I use the following method:  If they’re fresh, I rinse and pick them over for leaves and twigs.  If frozen I keep them frozen til the last possible moment.  In either case, I use about 2 c. of blueberries and toss with flour til all berries have a fine coating of flour on them.  Then I stir in with the dry ingredients prior to adding wet ingredients.  Everything else is as usual.

There … now you have two pancake options for 2009.  It’s an inexpensive treat that really brings the family and friends together.  Enjoy!

It’s been an odd year, or I should say an odd Advent season.  We haven’t done anything really Advent-y.  I feel cheated somehow.  It’s no one’s fault, but I missed somehow.

We were late with everything.  We didn’t get our tree til the tree people were nearly gone.  We just decorated last night.  I haven’t waited that late in the season to decorate since I was a kid.

We’ve had a lot of fun.  I made a lot of gifts.  Not all of them are finished.  Some still have to get into the mail (LightMom and BostonAunt).

I’ve gotten a couple of early gifts that are wonderful.  One I have to wait til Epiphany to tell you about.  The other came in the mail about a week ago.  It arrived in an inconspicuous box from BostonAunt.  She e-mailed me with a note saying to open it … it was NOT for Christmas.  So I did.  Inside was a treasure.  On top was a packet of my letters to my grandmother spanning about 2 decades that she’d saved.  It was funny to read the old me.

Underneath the packet was an old Bible.  It had belonged to my great uncle.  He died at the age of 98, in 1996, in Woodstock, NB, Canada.  He’d lived most of his life in Maine and served as an itinerant Sunday School teacher.  That was his ministry.  Apparently, he’d also been a Gideon as this is a Gideon Bible from the 1940’s.  In the frontispiece is a note which says “Dad’s last verse Deut. 33:25.”  There are a couple of other notes in his cramped old-style hand.  There are notes here and there throughout.  But the best thing about this Bible are the bookmarks.  They span decades; from the 1930’s through the 1980’s.  There is a ribbon which he wore identifying him as a worker at a Billy Graham crusade in 1953.  There is a ribbon which he got as a singer in a choral society in 1930s.  There are multiple tiny newspaper cutouts; obituary’s, articles, church announcements, etc.  The bookmarks are absolutely fascinating.  Finding and deciphering what he was reading when he marked his spot is engrossing.  The Bible is, of course, King James and is a self-pronouncing version.  That is, there are diacritical marks over all the names.  Even simple names such as Moses and for some reason I find that vastly amusing.  Yet of all the things that could be done to make the Bible approachable, why not?  Why not make it so that those funny names are easy to say and not intimidating?

I think the Gideons were on to something with this version of the Bible.  I’m not a huge fan of the King James, although I’ve been known to read it for fun sometimes.  When I’m reading for context, I’ll go for NIV or the Message or NASB.  But even in those versions, the names can still be sticky, foreign and difficult for those who are not familiar with them.  What a great way to bring the whole thing to people who might not be ready …

Now that has a familiar ring to it.  Bringing a new thing to people who weren’t quite ready for it.  That’s what Christmas is all about after all.

May the incarnational hope, grace and peace that are the tidings of Christmas be yours in the New Year and beyond.  From the LightFamily to yours …

Feel:  The Power Of Listening To Your Heart by Matthew Elliott

This book was a breath of fresh air for me.  Sort of.  Matthew Elliott wants very badly to believe what he’s writing.  But I never quite got the feeling that he really did.  And I want to believe it too.  Whenever there’s been a dust up in my life, I’ve heard this: “You’re too emotional.  Why can’t you ________?” Fill in the blank with one of the following:

• get a thicker skin
• blow it off
• ignore them/him/her; they’ll get bored and quit
• just calm down
• stop being so irrational/emotional/unreasonable

So it was a huge relief to read a book that was devoted to the idea that emotions are not scary.  Emotions are not bad.  Indeed, emotions are a necessary barometer that help us navigate and negotiate through life.

Mr. Elliott’s premise is that, contrary to popular psychology, ancient Greek philosophy and most modern thought, emotions were and are to be trusted.  They are an inner compass to the dance of the Holy Spirit.  It is when we cease to listen to our emotions that we are most at risk for not hearing from God.   He even laid to rest the horrible train visual that has scourged so many of us for so long:

The promise of God’s Word, the Bible — not our feelings — is our authority. The Christian lives by faith (trust) in the trustworthiness of God Himself and His Word. This train diagram illustrates the relationship among fact (God and His Word), faith (our trust in God and His Word), and feeling (the result of our faith and obedience) (John 14:21).

The train will run with or without a caboose. However, it would be useless to attempt to pull the train by the caboose. In the same way, as Christians we do not depend on feelings or emotions, but we place our faith (trust) in the trustworthiness of God and the promises of His Word.

Thus have thousands been coerced into distrusting their innermost compass.  There is a grain of truth to these statements, but there is also a pound is dishonesty.  Sorting it out takes finesse and maturity.  Neither of which seem to be encouraged in the church of today.

Matthew Elliott takes great pains to prove his premise … but he does so in a very rational, logical manner.  I found this both comforting and paradoxical at the same time.  He makes the fine point that the notion that emotions cannot be trusted dates back to Plato and thus may be traced through Augustine in our church history.  He then traces its path through modern psychology and Darwinian thought to the present.  But the reality in the Bible is that God, His people and our relationship with Her are all rooted in emotion from the very beginning.

For those breaking free of any kind of emotional straight-jacket this is a must read.  Mr. Elliott also has a blog and throughout the book encourages participation on it.   There is also a website with study guide resources for individual and small group study (this book would be fine for both).

Hokey Pokey: Curious People Finding What Life’s All About by Matthew Paul Turner

I remember being small and pestering my mother with “what if” questions til she’d finally cry “Uncle.”  “We’re not playing the ‘what if’ game today.”  I was a curious child and have continued to be a curious adult.

It was that curiosity that lead me to chase down God; only to find He hadn’t exactly been hiding.  I simply hadn’t been looking very effectively.   No matter, we met up.  That’s the good news.

The bad news is that the many of God’s messengers here in earth have done their level best to squelch my inborn curiosity about life, living and all things to with the here and the hereafter.  I tried to contain it for a long time.  Then I tried to channel it into respectable outlets, but I’m a woman so there aren’t really any for me.  I taught youth group, I taught women’s classes, but they all got too deep and I continued to ask too many questions.  Silly me.

So I liked this book and I didn’t like this book.  And for the same reason.  It challenged me to get off my duff once more and dance.  Life’s been sorta painful these last couple of years.  The last few times I’ve “put my left arm in and shook it all about …” I got it ripped off and clubbed with the wet end (as my grandfather was fond of saying).  I’m not so anxious to try again.  I’m not even certain I want to listen to the music at this point, but let me finish telling you about the book.

I do highly recommend Hokey Pokey (although I really wish for a better title) for those seeking validation of their curious nature and for those beginning to ask questions but wonder if it’s okay (yes, it is).

Honestly, when I first cracked this book open I wondered how much there could be to write on the subject of curiosity.  Mr. Turner takes the subject far more seriously than his title suggests.  Along the way he manages to deal with calling, the silence of God, mentors, negative relationships, community, waiting on God, our image in God as well as several other fairly deep topics (these are what struck me).  Far from being a light read, I found this to be challenging on a level that I wasn’t anticipating.  Hokey Pokey would make a good book for a small group study for a group that has been together for some time and knows one another well.  It would also make a good book to read and journal through with a friend or on one’s own (as I plan to do later this fall).  It also made for enjoyable reading on it’s own and I found a lot that I simply relished; not the least of which was that many places were familiar as Mr. Turner lived and worked in the DC area and he managed the coffee house where I used to go to church.

One of the places I follow along loosely is Porpoise Diving Life.  The editor is Bill Dahl.  He’s a very interesting guy with a neat purpose for the site.  But he needed to take this year off and do some writing, reading and growing.  So he asked around for some help to keep things going.  I think it’s been a great success.  Each month a different person has stepped forward to take the helm and organize the content.  The result has been startling, refreshing and riveting.  Like the difference between cold clear mountain spring water and fizzy sassy mineral water.  Both taste wonderful and slake your thirst, but they have a remarkably different feel in your mouth.

Patrick Oden (of Dual Ravens) and I decided that we’d handle the wheel for month of August.  Patrick is also the author of  It’s A Dance, a wonderful conversation about perichoresis … the dance of relationship between the Trinity and us.  I fell in love with the book.  Then I read The Shack and we had visions of doing something that would cross-pollinate the two books.  But that never took off.  So we’re focusing, instead, on the differences between perichoresis and hierarchy.  And best of all … we need you.  Yep.  You.  You with the great ideas, poems, photos, stories, articles, etc.

You see it’s like this:

The Trinity is hard to understand.  It’s far too complex to have been made up, and no where do we have it explained to us with any kind of absolute understanding. We’re faced with the fact there’s one God, and yet there is the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  They’re all different.  But there’s only one God.  Unity and Diversity.  Three in One.  How does this work?  Well, there have been a lot of suggestions over the centuries.  The latest prevailing attitude has been to see the Trinity as a hierarchy. The Father, then the Son, then the Spirit.  But that’s not quite right, because there’s a lot of discussion in Scripture that doesn’t make it all that neat.  The Father gives all his authority to the Son, who sends the Spirit, who had already sent the Son.  It’s unusual.

Add to this the fact it’s not the kind of relationship we’re used to dealing with in organizations. They love each other. It’s the love and the relationship that is the bond. God is love. There’s no intimidation or manipulation or ambition or dissension. There’s just relationship.  And this kind of relationship has been given a name. Perichoresis.  Basically this is a big word to say something not that hard to understand, but almost impossible to live.  Instead of being a hierarchy, the persons in the Trinity are continually circling around each other, interwoven, interdependent, interpenetrating. Or to put it more simply… the relationship is kinda like a dance.

When the idea of hierarchy really was getting attention it was thought that churches should be modeled on this.  So, churches became about authority. From Father to Jesus to Apostles to Pope to Bishops to Priests to the People.  Some churches are still like this either explicitly or implicitly.

Notice who is left out. The Holy Spirit.  Paul tells us the Holy Spirit works in all of us, and makes a very interesting metaphor.  We’re not a hierarchy.  We’re a body.  Yes, Jesus is the head. But we, the Church, are to be a body. Gathered together in unity, expressing the diversity of the Spirit who works through all of us in different ways.  We too are a unity and diversity.   However, we still aren’t comfortable with that. The Trinity doesn’t have sin or ambition.  We do.  In our gathered communities we still tend to manipulate or seek authority or otherwise intimidate others and try to prove we’re somehow better. This seems worth considering.  Not leadership or organization topics. Rather ‘dance’ versus ‘power and manipulation’.  Perichoresis versus hierarchy and power.  This isn’t only something for those high in the hierarchy to consider.  We all face this.  We all use the tools at our disposal to gain an advantage, stand out, and sometimes push others down and aside.

When we use the tools at our disposal to engage in power and manipulation to subdue others in our presence … by whatever means, we are negating the power of the Gospel in the very space that the Gospel is to be transcendent.   So … how should we dress, act, engage? Well … that’s up to you and your particular dance with the Holy Spirit. See, none of us is the same. The rules are all the same, yet they’re all different. All we can do is ask questions of each other … where do you live? How do your neighbors dress?  What is your context?  What are the local standards? What is welcoming amongst them? How do you create a welcoming environment in your space, where you are free to proclaim the Good News to people so they will hear it from you?”

Please consider writing, musing, considering music, church liturgy, and other forms of God’s call in our lives that has been distorted by grabbing power rather than dancing with the Trinity.  We’d love to have articles, poems, stories, videos, paintings, photos,  … anything that you create that speaks about the Dance.

If you feel that that tug on your sleeve calling you to join us, please let me know in the comments and I’ll get in contact with you with more details about the whole process.