Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Cape Cod
This afternoon we head down to the Cape to enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday with the Petersons. And boy are we looking forward to it! The weather forecast is predicting rain and temps in the 40's, but I'm eagerly anticipating a warm kitchen and all the cooking, talking and laughing that surrounds this holiday. There is something special about preparing the traditional holiday foods that warms the soul. And while doing that alone can also bring forth the right smells and tastes, thereis an added dimension when you share the occasion with family or friends. When the kitchen is crowded and there is a line to get everything in and out of the oven at the right time. When the leftovers mound up and you begin to wonder if it was wise to make so much food. While I agree it is not wise to gorge yourself everday... a holiday, a feast, is different. Food does help us remember, help us experience. From communion, to a passover sedar, to Thanksgiving and Christmas our holidays with their feasting traditions help us remember and enjoy. What a delight to be able to celebrate this year with dear friends, in a beautiful place. To have the time to linger over a meal, sip a glass of wine and share the pleasure of treasured friends. I can't wait.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Door to Door
A few days ago, I was approached on the street by 2 nicely dressed guys in their late teens. Tracts in hand, ties around their necks and name cards promiently displayed, I smiled and greeted them on my way to pick up my years stash of contact lenses. (You can take the girl out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the girl...) Their eyes lit up and immediately they began their spill. Now usually I am very amendable to a chat about the differences between Chrisitanity and Mormonism. I like to argue, I like to debate. Heck, you know me... I just like to TALK.
But, a few days ago, I was still recovering from the flu and had ventured out briefly to get the lenses and wanted to simply crawl back into bed as fast as possible. Extracting myself from the initial greeting with these two guys became difficult. Finally, I abruptly thanked them for their time, assured them I knew how hard it was to approach people they didn't know, but that I had been a missionary for the last 10 years in Africa. I was committed to my beliefs and they simply weren't going to convince me otherwise. Not with a tract. Not with a 20 minute conversation. Let me repeat... 10 years. Africa.
They were tenacious. Perhaps if I just prayed a little bit harder, with a more open mind, God would show me the error of my beliefs and I would come to recognize the truth. They could help me look at the scriptures and get a better understanding of what they were really saying.
It became uncomfortable, and I was sick, so I thanked them again and just walked away. Feeling annoyed and mostly violated. I found myself disgruntled. Wondering when it became okay to talk about something as deeply personal as religious worldview on the street with a stranger. When obviously they weren't interested in a real dialogue but had a particular script to follow and a bottom line to fill.
I felt the long ago angst, the college annoyance with "evangelism." With the door to door, let's talk with strangers about our faith. Let's enter into a relationship (short or long term) with no other motivation than to tell people that they are wrong and that we have the right answer. As if people are projects, or worse objects.
Do I think people should be honest about what they believe? Sure. As a person of faith, should I talk about my faith when asked? Of course. But rather than cold conversations, or evangelistic gimmicks, shouldn't we be engaged in activities, services, and works of faith that prompt curiosity and discussion from those around us?
And even though they annoyed me, last week, shouldn't I have offered to sit down with the Mormon Brothers over a cup of tea or coffee? Listened to their stories, engaged them in appropriate, honest conversation about our beliefs. Where they intersect, where they diverge. Shouldn't I have treated them like people, instead of walking, talking tracts? Spending some time to find out how they are enjoying their year of missionary service. What they hope to do in the future and how their faith plays into that.
I know I was sick, but it would have left a better taste in my mouth, if I could have practiced a bit of what I preach....
But, a few days ago, I was still recovering from the flu and had ventured out briefly to get the lenses and wanted to simply crawl back into bed as fast as possible. Extracting myself from the initial greeting with these two guys became difficult. Finally, I abruptly thanked them for their time, assured them I knew how hard it was to approach people they didn't know, but that I had been a missionary for the last 10 years in Africa. I was committed to my beliefs and they simply weren't going to convince me otherwise. Not with a tract. Not with a 20 minute conversation. Let me repeat... 10 years. Africa.
They were tenacious. Perhaps if I just prayed a little bit harder, with a more open mind, God would show me the error of my beliefs and I would come to recognize the truth. They could help me look at the scriptures and get a better understanding of what they were really saying.
It became uncomfortable, and I was sick, so I thanked them again and just walked away. Feeling annoyed and mostly violated. I found myself disgruntled. Wondering when it became okay to talk about something as deeply personal as religious worldview on the street with a stranger. When obviously they weren't interested in a real dialogue but had a particular script to follow and a bottom line to fill.
I felt the long ago angst, the college annoyance with "evangelism." With the door to door, let's talk with strangers about our faith. Let's enter into a relationship (short or long term) with no other motivation than to tell people that they are wrong and that we have the right answer. As if people are projects, or worse objects.
Do I think people should be honest about what they believe? Sure. As a person of faith, should I talk about my faith when asked? Of course. But rather than cold conversations, or evangelistic gimmicks, shouldn't we be engaged in activities, services, and works of faith that prompt curiosity and discussion from those around us?
And even though they annoyed me, last week, shouldn't I have offered to sit down with the Mormon Brothers over a cup of tea or coffee? Listened to their stories, engaged them in appropriate, honest conversation about our beliefs. Where they intersect, where they diverge. Shouldn't I have treated them like people, instead of walking, talking tracts? Spending some time to find out how they are enjoying their year of missionary service. What they hope to do in the future and how their faith plays into that.
I know I was sick, but it would have left a better taste in my mouth, if I could have practiced a bit of what I preach....
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Pause from my make-up rant...
To say that I am sick. Fever, cough, sore throat, achy and headache. Not fun. Fortunately, its the weekend AND because it is the big Exeter/Andover game day there are no Saturday classes. Kev is on it, being a sweetheart and taking care of the kids. Thus, I can collapse on the sofa and moan. Very thankful for the dining hall and ibuprofen.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Culture shock, rafts and lipstick
I don't really remember that much from our long ago class devoted to culture shock and how to deal with it. But I do have a vague memory of comparing our lives to floating down a river on a raft. Our rafts are made up of various pieces of ourselves and our culture and are roped and nailed together with various other cultural experiences and skills. Sometimes the rapids come and knock us up a bit, but overall after years of experience, trial and error, we find ourselves on a decent raft that suits our needs pretty well on the river of life.
Then, if you are really lucky, you enter into a new culture with widely different expectations and assumptions. What happens to your nicely crafted raft? It pretty much sails right off the top of a waterfall to burst apart at the bottom with pounds of water beating down on top of the pieces. Dramatic, huh?
The human spirit being what it is, and God's presence encouraging you on... the raft gets slowly, painstakingly re-built with new pieces and tied together in unthought of ways. And if not perfect, at least passably usable to keep afloat in this new situation. The rapids continue to come and you do get used to frequent dunkings and clamborings to get back up. About the time your raft is looking cool and stable, it is time to return. Over yet another waterfall...
Quite an introduction to my main point which is today make-up and general skin care.
What? Yes, seriously. In Uganda, it was a good day if I managed to shower, brush my teeth and glance in the mirror. While Kev and I liked to have regular "date nights" both in Bundibugyo and in Kampala, mostly, this meant nice food and some dedicated time spent on my appearance (10 minutes tops), before an evening devoted to reconnecting... to paying attention to each other. Despite my sister's dire warnings I wore not one lick of sunscreen the whole time. Perhaps a bit on my nose if we were on vacations, but beyond that nada. Believe me this was a big mistake. Facial cleanser? You've got to be kidding. And most make-up just did the humidity slide right off my face whenever I tried. So here I stand at the ripe age of 37, staring at a face that has seen kinder days armed with nothing but a 10th grade understanding of skin-care. Which was just about the same time I put on make-up on a regular basis. Let us just say that while fashion does come around in circles, the bright blue eye-shadow that I once sported will not. What's a girl to do? Let's not even devote ourselves to the theological questions surrounding application of make-up, lotions, recovery gels and the time or money devoted to personal vanity and appearance.
But yes, if I'm being brutally honest, which I know is one of my weaknesses, I have to admit that I like the way I look with make-up on AND I also like when my face is free of blemishes and red itchy dry spots. So here I am at the bottom of the waterfall and there is not one piece of my Ugandan survival raft that is of any use.
The flylady has been immensely useful in organizing and cleaning (I'll save that line of thought for another day) but for skin care and make-up tips I have learned to trust the cosmetics cop. My new cyber friend (although she hasn't a clue I exist) is Paula Begoun. My neice Christina, another skin-care diva, introduced me to Paula's book "Don't Go To the Cosmetics Counter Without Me" and I have been relying on her information ever since. Paula's website... found right there on the side bar has handy free advice on most products (cleansers, lotions and make-up) as well as step by step videos for the clueless, like me. Just go to the LEARN tab on the main page. She has a team of researchers that test and report on most of the beauty products for a given year (hence the "cop") and fill you, the average customer, in on which products actually do what they say they will and which are a bunch of overpriced crapola. In my 2 months of trial and error, she has steered me true every time. I'm still learning and experimenting. Mostly indulging in a little bit of peace in the bathroom while small children pull on my shirt trying desperately to rope me into solving their problems. Which are my current favorite products? This post is already too long, so that'll be next.
Then, if you are really lucky, you enter into a new culture with widely different expectations and assumptions. What happens to your nicely crafted raft? It pretty much sails right off the top of a waterfall to burst apart at the bottom with pounds of water beating down on top of the pieces. Dramatic, huh?
The human spirit being what it is, and God's presence encouraging you on... the raft gets slowly, painstakingly re-built with new pieces and tied together in unthought of ways. And if not perfect, at least passably usable to keep afloat in this new situation. The rapids continue to come and you do get used to frequent dunkings and clamborings to get back up. About the time your raft is looking cool and stable, it is time to return. Over yet another waterfall...
Quite an introduction to my main point which is today make-up and general skin care.
What? Yes, seriously. In Uganda, it was a good day if I managed to shower, brush my teeth and glance in the mirror. While Kev and I liked to have regular "date nights" both in Bundibugyo and in Kampala, mostly, this meant nice food and some dedicated time spent on my appearance (10 minutes tops), before an evening devoted to reconnecting... to paying attention to each other. Despite my sister's dire warnings I wore not one lick of sunscreen the whole time. Perhaps a bit on my nose if we were on vacations, but beyond that nada. Believe me this was a big mistake. Facial cleanser? You've got to be kidding. And most make-up just did the humidity slide right off my face whenever I tried. So here I stand at the ripe age of 37, staring at a face that has seen kinder days armed with nothing but a 10th grade understanding of skin-care. Which was just about the same time I put on make-up on a regular basis. Let us just say that while fashion does come around in circles, the bright blue eye-shadow that I once sported will not. What's a girl to do? Let's not even devote ourselves to the theological questions surrounding application of make-up, lotions, recovery gels and the time or money devoted to personal vanity and appearance.
But yes, if I'm being brutally honest, which I know is one of my weaknesses, I have to admit that I like the way I look with make-up on AND I also like when my face is free of blemishes and red itchy dry spots. So here I am at the bottom of the waterfall and there is not one piece of my Ugandan survival raft that is of any use.
The flylady has been immensely useful in organizing and cleaning (I'll save that line of thought for another day) but for skin care and make-up tips I have learned to trust the cosmetics cop. My new cyber friend (although she hasn't a clue I exist) is Paula Begoun. My neice Christina, another skin-care diva, introduced me to Paula's book "Don't Go To the Cosmetics Counter Without Me" and I have been relying on her information ever since. Paula's website... found right there on the side bar has handy free advice on most products (cleansers, lotions and make-up) as well as step by step videos for the clueless, like me. Just go to the LEARN tab on the main page. She has a team of researchers that test and report on most of the beauty products for a given year (hence the "cop") and fill you, the average customer, in on which products actually do what they say they will and which are a bunch of overpriced crapola. In my 2 months of trial and error, she has steered me true every time. I'm still learning and experimenting. Mostly indulging in a little bit of peace in the bathroom while small children pull on my shirt trying desperately to rope me into solving their problems. Which are my current favorite products? This post is already too long, so that'll be next.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
A MK's look at being sick
So Joe's been down with a flu-like sickness this week. Evidently it is flying around the middle school and on Friday he was in bed with fever, cough and sore throat. He's been miserable for the last few days. He wants to eat then gets full after a few bites... then throws up. His head hurts and he alternates chills with fever. Not fun. In response we have been pushing fluids, popsicles, ibuprofen and encouraging tons of time on the sofa watching Netflix instant play movies or TV shows. It is evidently a virus of some sort. And of course, being in America right now, the ever present question... is this swine flu? Hmph. Not sure, he's recovering today so my guess is no. But in the midst of fever, achy body, and known cases both in the community and the academy, who can say for sure. When Joe moaningly questions from the sofa, I answer with a vague "Maybe, it is tricky to know." Louisa, listening from the other room FREAKS OUT. She is positive her brother will die. I calm her down with lot's of reassurance and she seems fine.
This morning on our way to violin lesson, it comes back up.
"Mom, I thought swine flu was deadly?"
"It can be. But there are lot's of things that are deadly. Even normal flu can be deadly."
Lot's of silence.......
"Hmmm, well is it like Malaria then?"
"A bit. You can die from malaria and lot's of people do, but also you can recover from malaria."
"I almost died from malaria."
"Yes. "
"I turned blue."
"Yes."
"But then I got better and everybody who gets malaria doesn't die."
"Right."
Lot's of silence....
"Oh. So swine flu is a little bit like malaria, right? WHEW! I thought it was like Ebola."
This morning on our way to violin lesson, it comes back up.
"Mom, I thought swine flu was deadly?"
"It can be. But there are lot's of things that are deadly. Even normal flu can be deadly."
Lot's of silence.......
"Hmmm, well is it like Malaria then?"
"A bit. You can die from malaria and lot's of people do, but also you can recover from malaria."
"I almost died from malaria."
"Yes. "
"I turned blue."
"Yes."
"But then I got better and everybody who gets malaria doesn't die."
"Right."
Lot's of silence....
"Oh. So swine flu is a little bit like malaria, right? WHEW! I thought it was like Ebola."
The thing I love about blogs is the opportunity for long or at least some what long and introspective entries. It can border, I admit, on inspecting your navel and then broadcasting for all the world to hear. But in general, I like the feeling that I can cast my thoughts out into the internet wind and perhaps someone, somewhere gets a chuckle or too.
When I was little, perhaps 3, my mother made a bunny shaped birthday cake for me. My birthday flits around the Easter holiday and that year it was probably a bit close and viola a beautiful shaped cake. Since my sister and I are only 16 months apart, I am sure the said cake was not an easy task and when it was finished and iced Mom sat it in the middle of the dining room table and went upstairs to get me. I am sure I was so excited to bounce down the stairs and see the cake just for me and in the shape of a bunny no less. Instead as the table came into view there was my little sister. She had managed to climb on top of the table and was throwing junks of my now decimated cake at us. Tory was laughing, I burst into tears and my mom dashed for the camera. Her presence of mind is amazing, but it was also that need to record, to share what I am sure was not extremely funny at the time, rather than lose her cool. Of course, as the years pass it is one of our favorite family stories, fueled by that very picture of a grinning toddler with her hands full of cake. The emotion that could have been very negative flipped on its head to be something positive and funny.
I guess my blogs are a bit like that. In the past they have been attempts to squeeze the laughter out when we could of our time in Bundibugyo. To process out loud our furlough time in Durham, to plead for prayer this summer for Kev. A sense of connection and remembrance. As we continue to re-acclimate to the US and now to New England, the need to blog has decreased and my posts are sporadic. And now I have become newly attached to Facebook. Which promises connection with minimal effort. Not quite sure how I feel about it, except that it is cool to be able to keep in touch with lot's of people, to glimpse into their lives if only at the surface level. To share random thoughts and quick snapshots with friends both old and new. It feels a bit like the American definition of community. Ha! Now I know I'm going through culture shock.
When I was little, perhaps 3, my mother made a bunny shaped birthday cake for me. My birthday flits around the Easter holiday and that year it was probably a bit close and viola a beautiful shaped cake. Since my sister and I are only 16 months apart, I am sure the said cake was not an easy task and when it was finished and iced Mom sat it in the middle of the dining room table and went upstairs to get me. I am sure I was so excited to bounce down the stairs and see the cake just for me and in the shape of a bunny no less. Instead as the table came into view there was my little sister. She had managed to climb on top of the table and was throwing junks of my now decimated cake at us. Tory was laughing, I burst into tears and my mom dashed for the camera. Her presence of mind is amazing, but it was also that need to record, to share what I am sure was not extremely funny at the time, rather than lose her cool. Of course, as the years pass it is one of our favorite family stories, fueled by that very picture of a grinning toddler with her hands full of cake. The emotion that could have been very negative flipped on its head to be something positive and funny.
I guess my blogs are a bit like that. In the past they have been attempts to squeeze the laughter out when we could of our time in Bundibugyo. To process out loud our furlough time in Durham, to plead for prayer this summer for Kev. A sense of connection and remembrance. As we continue to re-acclimate to the US and now to New England, the need to blog has decreased and my posts are sporadic. And now I have become newly attached to Facebook. Which promises connection with minimal effort. Not quite sure how I feel about it, except that it is cool to be able to keep in touch with lot's of people, to glimpse into their lives if only at the surface level. To share random thoughts and quick snapshots with friends both old and new. It feels a bit like the American definition of community. Ha! Now I know I'm going through culture shock.
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