Keep a Level Eye

Picture from WikipediaWhen I was a kid, I belonged to a church club for children. I suppose it was somewhat equivalent to Girl Scouts, although I've never been to a Girl Scout meeting to investigate similarities. Anyhow, we had a pledge which we recited by memory weekly, that went like this:

"By the grace of God I will be pure and kind and true. I will keep the JMV law. I will be a servant of God and a friend to man." JMV meant "Junior Missionary Volunteers," and they obviously didn't have their gender inclusiveness in order, as I never had to pledge to be a friend to women.

The pledge was followed by reciting the Law of our club. It went like this:

"The Law is for me to keep the morning watch, do my honest part, care for my body, keep a level eye, be courteous and obedient, walk softly in God's sanctuary, keep a song in my heart, go on God's errands."

I was thinking this morning about that phrase, "Keep a level eye." I wondered as a kid what it meant, and I don't recall anyone ever explaining it. But I think that, at an intrinsic level, we all understood it.

Keeping a level eye means that you stay steady and calm through the insanity of this world. Keeping a level eye means that you keep your internal gaze on the horizon so that you always have your bearings in life. You know what's a passing storm and what things will stay solid in life. Keeping a level eye means that when others around you may be saying crazy things, you are grounded and can navigate through them without letting them overturn your boat. Keeping a level eye means that you have your internal balancing mechanism tuned on a daily basis. Keeping a level eye makes you less susceptible to manipulation, power plays, or threats. It means having the sense that you can "go through with God" without getting knocked down, run over or having to escape using unhealthy strategies.

And not coincidentally, if you look back at the law we memorized way back then, three steps precede keeping a level eye, steps which make it possible: meet with God in the mornings, live honestly, and care for your body.

Keep a level eye.

Alien Gospel?

Seattle Folklife Festival, May 2007"Most people reject the gospel, not because it is false, but because it is alien to them." --Dr. D, in our Bible study on Jan. 19

Is that true?

Frosty Mornings

All photos are of my car windows last week in Vancouver, Washington

Jack Frost

by Gabriel Setoun

The door was shut, as doors should be,
Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
And left your window silver white.

He must have waited till you slept;
And not a single word he spoke,
But pencilled o'er the panes and crept
Away again before you woke.

And now you cannot see the hills
Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane;
But there are fairer things than these
His fingers traced on every pane.

Rocks and castles towering high;
Hills and dales, and streams and fields;
And knights in armor riding by,
With nodding plumes and shining shields.

And here are little boats, and there
Big ships with sails spread to the breeze;
And yonder, palm trees waving fair
On islands set in silver seas,

And butterflies with gauzy wings;
And herds of cows and flocks of sheep;
And fruit and flowers and all the things
You see when you are sound asleep.

For, creeping softly underneath
The door when all the lights are out,
Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe,
And knows the things you think about.

He paints them on the window-pane
In fairy lines with frozen steam;
And when you wake you see again
The lovely things you saw in dream.

Discipleship

Right now in the Bible study class to which I belong, the university's theologians are leading out in a series of studies on discipleship.

Last week during our study, I learned to my surprise that there were some disciples that I thought had come from poverty, who were actually not poor. Our teacher pointed out that James and John, when Jesus called them, left their father and the hired men behind. A family who owned fishing boats and had hired men would not have been poor.

Furthermore, the gospels record that Jesus went to the house of Peter's mother-in-law when she was ill. A woman in that time and place was expected to be dependent on the men around her, and for Peter's mother-in-law to have her own house meant she was a woman of means.

Our teacher pointed out that Jesus did not choose his disciples for their diversity. They were all men, they were all Jewish, they shared a similar culture and background, and with the exception of Judas they all came from the region of Galilee. In fact, they had accents that betrayed them as being from the Galilee region. People in Judea, our teacher noted, didn't respect the Galilean accent. There's record that tells us Judeans didn't let Galileans read from the Torah in their synagogues, because their countrified accents were offensive to the more "elite" Judeans.

But besides Judas coming from outside of Galilee, our teacher asked, what was different about him from the other eleven disciples? He was Jewish, he shared the same faith, he didn't stand out from the rest of the disciples particularly.

I thought and thought and thought about that question. What was it that ended up separating Judas from Jesus? The disciples were generally critical and quarrelsome, and Judas was certainly critical of the woman who washed Jesus' feet, so he fit right in with the crowd. All twelve followed Jesus around for three and half years. They all listened to all the lessons, and they all went out two-by-two and preached and did miracles, including Judas. What brought him to a different endpoint than the other disciples, all of whom had human flaws and wrong expectations just as he did?

In the end, I came to this conclusion: While each disciple had his own agenda, Judas was the one disciple who was willing to force his own agenda beyond the agenda of his master.

So, if you are a disciple of Jesus, what's your agenda? Are you willing to force that agenda beyond the will and purposes of your Master?

Lost in Translation

Husband and I brought back some Ritter Sport chocolates from St. Petersburg last summer and stashed them for some day when one of us would be hit with a chocolate craving. Today was one of those days. I reached way up in the cupboard and pulled out a Mousse au Chocolat bar. Unlike the package pictured above, most of the writing on it was in Cyrillic alphabet. But there was some German on the back.

Across the fold where the package is sealed were three words: "Quadratisch. Praktisch. Gut."

Husband--who comes of good German stock and speaks hardly a word of it--looked at the package thoughtfully. "This one," he said, pointing at the middle word, "means it's practical. And this one,"--he pointed at the first word--"means it makes your legs itch. And this one," he finished off, pointing at the third word, "tells you that it'll give you a big belly."

Maybe our next trip should be to Germany. He clearly has it down pat.

Parable of the Trees

Recently I described the havoc wreaked when a windstorm hit our valley on January 4. Trees were down everywhere, but especially in the city center where there are old homes and old growth trees.

Yesterday I took my parents to "Neither Here Nor There," a local Lake Wobegon-like show put on at Building 270 near the county airport. It's a radio show that's not on the radio. But that's not surprising; folk in this valley can be quirky that way. The valley residents who put on this folksy program have time to do it just once a month, so that's how often they do it.

During the show yesterday they brought Kevin up to the microphone. He's a geologist who studies microclimates in our area. Sam, the show's emcee, asked Kevin to talk about what happened on January 4 from the viewpoint of one who keeps track of the weather. Kevin gave us some very informative stuff on wind patterns, barometer readings, and suchlike.

Then Sarah the co-director asked him about why so many trees fell.

It was mainly the trees in town that fell, Kevin said; they have root systems close to the surface because they are irrigated. They don't have to go deep to find water, so they are more easily toppled. He went on to explain that trees that are less protected build up strength because they are having to resist the wind. The winds in our valley usually come from the south or southwest, and the trees have built up a strength that "leans" that direction.

Over in a nearby town, Kevin said, there was a summer thunderstorm a while back. The storm created a change in the pressure so that the winds came from the north instead of from the south. "The trees went down like matchsticks," he said. "They hadn't built up resistance to pressure from that side." In fact, he went on, in the Biosphere in Arizona, the scientists thought they'd created the perfect environment for life to thrive. But the trees put out branches and then dropped them because there was no wind to build up their strength, even to hold up their own branches.

He that has ears, let him hear what the Spirit has to say in this matter.

Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet

I found this at another blog this morning, and was deeply touched. I'm posting it today in honor of my dear friend Pedrito, whose Mama went to sleep in Jesus early this morning in Jamaica. Pedrito, you are in my prayers today.

Here's the story of this song as written by Gavin Bryars, who put the song together.

In 1971, when I lived in London, I was working with a friend, Alan Power, on a film about people living rough in the area around Elephant and Castle and Waterloo Station. In the course of being filmed, some people broke into drunken song - sometimes bits of opera, sometimes sentimental ballads - and one, who in fact did not drink, sang a religious song "Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet". This was not ultimately used in the film and I was given all the unused sections of tape, including this one.

When I played it at home, I found that his singing was in tune with my piano, and I improvised a simple accompaniment. I noticed, too, that the first section of the song - 13 bars in length - formed an effective loop which repeated in a slightly unpredictable way. I took the tape loop to Leicester, where I was working in the Fine Art Department, and copied the loop onto a continuous reel of tape, thinking about perhaps adding an orchestrated accompaniment to this. The door of the recording room opened on to one of the large painting studios and I left the tape copying, with the door open, while I went to have a cup of coffee. When I came back I found the normally lively room unnaturally subdued. People were moving about much more slowly than usual and a few were sitting alone, quietly weeping.

I was puzzled until I realised that the tape was still playing and that they had been overcome by the old man's singing. This convinced me of the emotional power of the music and of the possibilities offered by adding a simple, though gradually evolving, orchestral accompaniment that respected the tramp's nobility and simple faith. Although he died before he could hear what I had done with his singing, the piece remains as an eloquent, but understated testimony to his spirit and optimism.

Reflections on Foot Washing

My church follows the practice of foot washing before taking communion four times per year. I remember pondering the mystery of it all as a child. In Malaysia many of us wore rubber slippers, and our feet really did get dirty there, although not on the day we went to church. Even if we knew it was foot washing day, people would make sure they came to church with their feet already clean so as not to put off the person who would be washing our feet as their act of humility.

Our practice was that you were not to participate in communion until you had been baptized, and you were not to be baptized until you were "of age" to understand what you were doing. So that meant many years for me (up to the age of fourteen, in my case) of sitting on our wood-slat pews and watching how it was done by the adults. First there was the "ordinance of humility," which meant that you left to wash feet with someone of your same sex. Then there were the tiny glass cups with grape juice handed out, to be drunk in synchronization with everyone else after the awaited quotation from Jesus was recited. And finally there was the eating of the cracker bread made without yeast. It usually looked pretty yummy to my childish eyes.

Curiously, I don't recall where exactly the foot washing took place, but it was likely in one of the children's rooms of the church. I pondered why men and women had to be separated for the foot washing in those days, but never asked nor heard the question asked. It seems that the older generation thought it was not okay for a man to wash a woman's feet. Frankly, I think it would have been okay with them if it were the other way around.As a visual learner all my life, I remember looking at the feet. There were many brown feet with thick whitish calluses from going barefoot, feet exposed to the elements. I pondered the cracks in these calluses compared to my young feet, wondering if I would ever get those cracks around my heels when I got older. (I do.) There were women's feet misshapen by years of wearing pointy-toed shoes with heels, the bunions sticking out and their toes still pointing even without the shoes on. There were feet with thick toenails that, in my opinion, needed clipping because long toenails are just gross. The first time I ever saw feet with polish on the toenails during the foot washing ceremony, I was surprised. It seemed wrong.

To me at that age, everyone was old. One old lady would go get a white-painted tin basin with a tiny bit of water in it and a snowy white little towel, and would come back and grunt her way down into a kneeling position, taking her partner's bare, callused, cracked, pointy, long-toenailed foot tenderly in one hand, using the other cupped hand to ladle water over the foot. No soap to make it clean. Usually the task was done so quickly, you almost wondered if the foot had gotten properly wet.

I was fascinated the first time I saw a woman in hose sit down to have her feet washed. I had wondered what she was going to do, but her partner calmly put the hose-clad foot into the water, ladled and sprinkled the water on it almost up to her ankle, and then dried it off. The hose was still moist, but that didn't seem to bother anyone. The women valued staying modest, and moist hose dried quickly.

Each person had a fresh basin of water for the washing of her feet; I'm sure it's a luxury Jesus and his disciples didn't have. After the feet were washed, the water was emptied into a tin pail, the damp towel used to wipe out the basin. The towel went in one pile, and the basin on the stack of used basins to wait for the next communion service three months later. All the women sat around then, singing hymns until everyone was done. Sometimes you'd see a couple of women pray together after they partnered for foot washing. It seemed a very sacred thing.

But it also seemed very odd. No matter how old I get, no matter how many times I've participated in the foot washing service, it seems counter to the human comfort zone. This is not because I have a difficult time humbling myself. The concept of service--if not always its outworking--is ingrained into my missionary kid DNA. And yet, my spirit does not want to do foot washing.

Perhaps some of this reluctance is because, while it was a typical service of hospitality in the time of Jesus, we don't wash feet at any other time in our culture. Touching people's feet is a very odd thing to do. But even further than that, I think the reluctance comes from this: those bare, callused, cracked, pointy, long-toenailed feet in our hands remind us of the humanity and mortality of the flesh-and-blood person sitting in front of us, and I--at least--want to look away. It seems too personal, almost to painful to face. I have been raised, whether anyone intended this or not, on ideals and perfection and health and life everlasting. Facing the calluses, the cracks, the bunions, the bent bones and the sharp thickened toenails of someone's feet intuitively reminds me of the calluses, the cracks, the bunions, the bent bones and the too-sharp toenails of life.

It is from this that I want to turn away. It is the admission of this that I instinctively try to avoid. And that is precisely why I know I need to participate. I need to be like Jesus in giving that personal touch, in that reminder of service to a flesh-and-blood fellow human being. I also need to be jolted out of a comfy Christianity; I sense that in its purest, godliest form, Christianity is not comfy. And finally, I need to participate in touching unfamiliar feet, pondering the aging and imperfections as a reminder of the botched-up, transitory nature of life and our desperate need for a Savior.

Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. John 13:14,15

Claudel, Dupré and Hone

Landscape by Evie Hone, found here along with the other illustrations in this postYesterday evening I attended Evensong at the University. The program was a set of fourteen poems written by Paul Claudel on the Stations of the Cross, along with fourteen meditations written for organ by Marcel Dupré to go with the poems. Dupré (1886-1971) played these each year for Lent at the church of St. Sulpice, where he was the organist.

I was particularly taken by Claudel's poetry, read by one of our professors emeriti. Claudel surprised me continually with the thoughts he expressed as he meditated on each of the stations of the cross, applying the events and principles to our lives today through deep reflection. This is not the kind of thing you sit and discuss at length with people after the event. It was too personal an experience.

Unfortunately, I have not been able to find a translation of Claudel's poems to which I could refer you on the internet. So I have chosen to use Irish artist Evie Hone's ink-and-wash drawings as illustrations along with the last line of each poem, which I wrote down on the program as I listened to them. Consider:

The First Station: Jesus is condemned to death
"One last time his eyes are turned on us, those eyes full of tears and blood. What could we have done with him?"

The Second Station: Jesus receives his cross
"We must carry the cross before the cross carries us."

The Third Station: Jesus falls beneath the weight of the cross
"Save us, from the first sin that we commit, by surprise."

The Fourth Station: Jesus meets his mother
"She says not a word as she gazes on the holy of holies."

The Fifth Station: Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus to carry the cross
"He carries it firmly, so that nothing of the cross drag on the ground or be lost."

The Sixth Station: A holy woman wipes the face of Jesus
"...that image which is made of his blood, his tears and our spittle."

The Seventh Station: Jesus falls a second time
"Save us from the second fall that we commit willingly, out of boredom."

The Eighth Station: Jesus comforts the women of Jerusalem
"What will happen when the wood is dead if this is the way when the wood is green?"

The Ninth Station: Jesus falls the third time
"Jesus falls a third time, but it is at the summit of Calvary."

The Tenth Station: Jesus is stripped of his clothes
"Have pity on us ... and on that terrible love that we must tear out of our hearts."

The Eleventh Station: Jesus is nailed to the cross
"This God is enough for me, who is held by four nails."

The Twelfth Station: Jesus dies on the cross
"Do you still have need of me? Am I what is lacking before all things can be fulfilled?"

The Thirteenth Station: Jesus is taken down from the cross and given back to his mother
"Here the cross is finished and the tabernacle begins."

The Fourteenth Station: Jesus is laid in the tomb
"Lord, how your creature is opened, and how deep."

Preceptress

My grandma Rena (the preceptress) and grandpa Enos on their wedding dayPsalm 119:27, 45 Let me understand the teaching of your precepts; then I will meditate on your wonders. . . . I will walk about in freedom, for I have sought out your precepts.

My mother's mother was described to me many times as I grew as having once been a "preceptress" in Michigan before she married in her thirties--considered in the 1920's to be terribly late in life for a woman to marry.

I did some sleuthing around on the internet and found out that "preceptress" is generally defined as "A woman who is the principal of a school; a female teacher." As I recall there's one other definition that I've heard, and that's a woman who used to serve as the "house mother" of young ladies in a boarding school dorm. My grandmother may have done both. I do know for sure that she was a teacher (now she would have been termed a "professor") of Home Economics, with her particular interest being in cooking and nutrition. Whichever gene sparked the interest in teaching, reached me. Whichever gene drew her to cooking and nutrition as a passion, has never surfaced in my particular gene pool.

Hannah Webster Foster wrote a book printed in Boston in 1798 that must have been wildly popular, entitled The Boarding School; Or, Lessons of a Preceptress to Her Pupils: Consisting of Information, Instruction and Advice, Calculated to Improve the Manners, and Form the Character of Young Ladies. It went into fifteen editions. Fifteen! A bestseller, to say the least.
The word "preceptor" is not dead and gone. Stepdaughter #2 used to tell me about her preceptor, the hospital nurse who mentored her in her nursing school practica in northern California. A good preceptor would guide her, but would involve her in the decision-making and care for the patient. Much like the preceptress of Hannah Webster Foster's book, Stepdaughter #2's best preceptors would give her information, instruction and advice, calculated to improve her skills and form her character as a nurse.

A "precept" is a "command or principle intended especially as a general rule of action," according to Merriam-Webster online. In other words, precepts are meant to guide behavior. Precepts shape the character, particularly if one chooses to live by them. A life lived by precepts is deliberate, focused, and--in my opinion--more likely to be successful.

Around me there are some who live according to precept, deliberately choosing their actions according to solid, enduring principles. And then there are others whose lives tend to drift, whose integrity drifts along with their life, and who are letting year after year pass without being meaningful. It hurts just to watch and reflect on their behaviors.

In the texts referred to above, I particularly like the one in which the psalmist sings, "I will walk about in freedom, for I have sought out your precepts." I have rolled this around in my mind with some delight, for several reasons. First of all, a walkabout in Australian lingo means travel. Anyone who knows me knows that I love traveling fairly frequently, so going on a "walkabout," even if the psalmist didn't mean that, catches my attention.

More seriously, I have enjoyed reflecting on this verse because it's so paradoxical and full of truth. Some people see the believer's life as limiting. What a paradox that living by God's precepts would set you free! But they do. When anyone chooses to live by good solid principles, whether religious or not, it's going to be a walkabout of freedom. You're no longer pulled and tugged by the winds of people's wants and approval. You're free of those limiting social factors because you've already committed to the principles that make decision-making easy.

So really, it seems to me that a "joyful woman" will be, as such, a woman who lives by precepts. She has sought them out, understood them, and chosen which ones will be a guide for her life. And then, because women quite naturally do this, she will mentor the next generation into the freedom of living by godly principles. And that's what makes it a very honorable thing to be a preceptress.

Treadmill Tip: Resonant Leadership

Last week--on the treadmill, for the record--I finished Boyatzis and McKee's book, Resonant Leadership: Renewing Yourself and Connecting with Others Through Mindfulness, Hope and Compassion.

In my opinion, I could have saved myself the time by reading the entire title and saying, "Oh," and then going away to focus on living a Christlike life and keeping my antennae up for what's happening within myself and with others around me. Seriously.

This book was written to help driven business leaders, including middle managers, learn some emotionally intelligent behaviors for improving their balance in life and the way they treat others. Essentially, they point out how out-of-whack a leader's life can get, how blind they can become to warning signals in themselves and around them. And then they try to get you to pay attention, be positive, and treat others kindly.

Hope and compassion are integral to a Christian life, so I'm very familiar with the power of those two principles. It is helpful, however to be reminded over and over about is to slow down and listen to one's body, emotions, and the underlying messages one picks up from colleagues at work. That mindfulness is essential in not missing important information. However, I'm not sure that this book did the best job of teaching about mindfulness. Good intro, but there are probably books that do a better job of making it practical. This is where I could use help; my problem is that I don't remember to stop and be mindful. So perhaps that's where it would be useful to go back to the previous book I reviewed--Emotionally Healthy Spirituality--and put to work the principles described there for maintaining connection with God and balance in life.

There go you; you've gotten the basic summary and won't have to read this book! Use your reading time to digest Scazzero's book (and the other ones he recommends in his bibliography) instead.

Windstorm

A house on College Avenue
I'd planned to walk to work on Friday, but a strong wind was blowing and bringing in dust from the fields in and around our valley, and I didn't feel like getting grit between my teeth. So I drove. As the morning went on, the wind strengthened more and more until it was a roaring windstorm. According to the website for our local paper (afternoon delivery; I don't think our paper deliverer even tried to get ours to us on Friday afternoon), the gusts in our town were up around 50 miles per hour; at the airport gusts were clocked at 78 mph before the wind knocked out power to the measuring instrument.

I had been in a committee in our windowless conference room when I saw an e-mail come in from my husband on my handheld device. The e-mail told parents at his school that they were closing down because of the storm had closed down several streets and things were pretty dangerous outside, though it was safe inside the school. The teachers would hold the students inside, the e-mail said, until whenever parents could get there safely.
Surprised, I went back to my office where I saw the mess going on outside. Our P.R. folk had just sent out an e-mail advising everyone of the severe weather warning and the need to be cautious. As our president was out of town, I e-mailed our employees, letting them know that the nearby elementary school was calling for parent pickup (many of our employees have children attending there), and suggesting they do whatever they needed to take care of themselves and their families.I was sure the electricity was out at our house, so I stayed at work in our new administration building, which was staying safe and warm. It was amazing, looking out my office window. Fire trucks were going by regularly on College Avenue. The wind was so thick with dirt that at one point I could barely make out the outlines of the dormitory across the street. An evergreen was down by the corner of that dorm. Few cars were out, which was probably a good idea. I was glad I hadn't parked under a tree.As parents arrived to pick up their students, my husband heard reports of the damage and passed them on to me. Streets were closed because of fallen trees and power lines. Word was that the main highway coming into town was closed because of semis that had been blown over. A lot of people were losing shingles from their roofs.

I called George, our director of security, to ask how things were on campus. He cheerfully told me that most buildings had power, including our crucial-to-keep-powered biology research labs, and that very little damage had occurred on campus thus far. "About a dozen trees down," he said, "and some shingles off the roof on Bowers Hall, and a tree fell on our fence next to the ball field, causing some damage. But that's all." He said he was busy helping someone cut some branches off a tree that had fallen next to a truck.At two o'clock I thought I'd better go check on my parents; I could only get a busy signal when I tried to call them. First I drove to our house and tried the garage door opener. No response, which meant the power was out. Driving to my parents' neighborhood I saw that the 3rd house from them had the entire siding pulled away, flapping in the wind. It was an awful sight, even for me who was not the homeowner.At my parents' home the garage door was up and they were gone. I walked through their house, which was dark and quiet because of the power outage, and wondered where they'd gone. Turns out they decided to go find someplace where there was power, which meant the Chinese restaurant for lunch, and then to look up an old friend at the nursing home. Check out my dad's fortune in the fortune cookie message from lunch.I'd heard that Walmart had closed, but it hadn't. After meeting my husband for a quick lunch at Subway where there was power (the line of people stretched all the way to the door even in the midafternoon), I dropped by Walmart. Good move. People in line were full of stories, and it was amusing to see the older lady in front of me, when she heard there was another ice freezer in the store, actually run across the store to get a couple of bags of ice before anyone else could clean them out.

In the mid-afternoon our power was restored at home, but my parents' wasn't. So we had them over for a quiet Friday evening where everyone fell asleep by the fire. I felt so guilty, looking down on the neighborhood below us and seeing no light at all. Driving through town to an appointment at the church, I found myself making my way down eerily dark streets. The only island of light was our university. (The newpaper website says this morning that 20,000 households lost power from the storm.) Husband went across the street to help our friend Alice get a fire started for the old lady she takes care of over there. He came back cheery and smelling of woodsmoke, and said they were quite toasty-warm over there now.
And so the storm raged, finally ending at about 10 p.m. as predicted. Saturday morning Husband and I went out for a long walk to survey the scene in our town. The pictures with this post are from our walk.

I learned some lessons, walking around town. First, don't plant evergreens near your house if you're in a place that could get strong winds. It was the evergreens that came down on houses and cars; apparently they don't have a strong root system. The other huge old trees dropped branches, but far fewer of those old trees fell. Second, the houses that lost shingles seemed to be the ones with older roofing. At our 6-year old house there wasn't a shingle of damage, for which we were grateful.So there you have it, the windstorm that opened 2008 for us. Word from the newspaper is that this was a byproduct of the storm that has hit California, but it didn't hit the big city 45 miles from us; it just hit our little valley--good and hard. Odd how nature works. Now we'll just hope there's no rain until people get a chance to fix or cover their roofs.

And That's All I Have To Say About That

This woman is not joyfulSeveral times recently I've felt like letting fly with a one-liner of what I see as wisdom, followed by "and that's all I have to say about that." Allow me a huffy moment or two to get a few of them out of my system. My, how quickly the list grows.

1. If you or your employee puts a commitment in writing, you are responsible to keep that commitment ... preferably with a kindly smile on your face.
2. Stink-talking against any family member speaks worse of you than it ever could of them.
3. And I don't want to hear it.
   
4. If your paycheck comes from a religious organization with a written or generally acknowledged culture or set of standards, anything you do publicly--and even some things you do privately--should be congruent with that organization, or you rob them and yourself.
5. If you're going to be cluttered, at least keep it in tidy stacks.
   
6. An employee can only survive being overruled or attacked very few times before the boss loses their loyalty.
7. Getting a laugh from the public does not make it worthwhile to cash in on your dignity, particularly in a sacred moment.
8. Get a backbone, for Pete's sake.
   
9. Just because the Bible says something literally, doesn't make it a religious principle; going the extra mile to love someone else always trumps any "teaching."
10. You'll quickly lose the support of your direct reports if you take the credit for their work. [And its corollary: you put "points in the bank" with your direct reports when you credit them publicly for their work.]
11. If you have it, and it's extra, and you don't need it but someone else does ... give it away.
    
12. A good parent doesn't trade in their kids' needs for anything else (tangible, experiential or prideful) that they might value.
13. If you want change, quit either your bellyaching or making veiled statements; be specific about what and why.
    
14. The ability to express a genuine empathic response is crucial to successful leadership.
15. Sometimes you need to just spring for the Viva paper towels and the Charmin toilet paper even if the Brawny and the Scott Tissue are cheaper.
16. If you are the pastor of a church, the platform is not your own personal stage for showcasing your greatness or your family.
17. Too many people don't understand the difference between "being called" and trying to fill a need within themselves.
18. You need to get out of the United States for a bit and get real about this world.
19. Leaders who only delegate and don't participate in the grunt-work may be leaders in name, but not for real.
20. Your way is not the only right way.
    

And that's all I have to say about that.

It Took Me By Surprise

My husband [his blog here] has warped me. He always plays with words and double meanings and we laugh about it, and now he's got me doing it. And just when I do it he goes all literal on me again, and that makes it funnier. At least, it is to me. Let me report this morning's shower conversation to you.

Husband: [Yak yak yak] ... and it took me by surprise.

Me: Hmmm.

Husband: Hmmm what?

Me: Oh, I was thinking about that phrase, "it took me by surprise." Like, what does it mean that something "took me?" And "took me" where? And what does it mean to be taken "by surprise?" How do you do that?

Husband: Maybe it's like "Uncle George was out driving with Aunt Ruth, and he took her by surprise."

Okay. Maybe you'd have to understand that his Uncle George and Aunt Ruth live in Surprise, Arizona.

Well, at least I thought it was funny!

Treadmill Tip: Emotionally Healthy Spirituality

In the interest of transparency: If you've been a long-term reader of my blog, you know that my book reviews are entitled "Treadmill Tip: [title]." The series title arises from the fact that I usually read when I'm on my treadmill. But the weather's stayed pretty dry lately and I've enjoyed my walks outdoors, so this book was read while sitting in the recliner in front of the fire rather than while sweating it out on the treadmill. That said, here we go with the review...

I just finished Emotionally Healthy Spirituality this morning while the sunshine streamed in through the windows from the 20-degree (that's -6.7 for those of you who live with the sanity of Celsius) weather outside.

The sunshine, I think, is symbolic of the light shed by this book. It's the most down-to-earth, spiritually practical and inspiring book I've read in a very long time--since Douglas Rumford's Soulshaping, which I read over 2 years ago.

Peter Scazzero, the author, makes the point that you may be spiritually committed, yet so emotionally unhealthy that it renders you spiritually unhealthy. He states that unless we deal with our emotional immaturity we can't be effective or whole as Christians, and in fact it can cost us everything. Scazzero, transparent and humble in his writing, describes how his emotionally unhealthy spirituality took him to a place where it nearly cost him his marriage and his young daughter's life.

Scazzero moves quickly as he deals with his topic, outlining the problems caused by being emotionally unhealthy, and then surveying what is needed to become emotionally healthy in our Christian life. He taps into spiritual truths from the Bible, but also draws significantly on the body of research and theory including what we've learned about family systems, spiritual development, and emotional intelligence. His chapters in this section are titled thus:

• Know Yourself That You May Know God: Becoming your authentic self
  
• Going Back in Order to Go Forward: Breaking the power of the past
• Journey Through the Wall: Letting go of power and control
• Enlarge Your Soul Through Grief and Loss: Surrendering your limits
• Discover the Rhythms of the Daily Office and Sabbath: Stopping to breathe the air of eternity
• Grow into an Emotionally Mature Adult: Learning new skills to love well
• Go the Next Step to Develop a "Rule of Life": Loving Christ above all else
  

A little more about one of those chapters, as an example: Two of the most powerful approaches to becoming and staying emotionally healthy in our spiritual walk, according to Scazzero, are observing the Daily Office (silence, prayer and study) 3-4 times a day, and keeping Sabbath as a day to "stop, rest, delight, and contemplate." As a Sabbath-keeper myself, I know experientially the transforming power of stopping, resting, delighting and contemplating on Sabbath. But the Daily Office is something I'm interested in trying. Intuitively it makes sense that this would keep me more in tune with God during the other days of the week. Scazzero doesn't propose a rigid approach, but gives the general principles to the Daily Office, resources to tap into, and then essentially says "figure it out so that it works for you." Nice.

As I read the book, I recognized many truths that I've picked up in reading and in listening to friends who are in the fields of counseling and psychology. Scazzero moves quickly through this territory about which many books have been written, so I was glad it was familiar subject matter for me. Yet as I consider it, he gets the principles down clearly and explains them in ways that would also make sense even to people lacking that context. At very least, you'll see where you need to "take the bull by the horns" in your own life. Then if you are a courageous (or desperate) person, you'll leave this book and look for resources to help you address those areas. The bibliography at the end of the book helps you to find some of those resources.

I found myself finishing this book with an immediate wish to start at the beginning again, underline, take notes, meditate on it, read it more slowly, and take action as the Spirit impresses me. And I wanted to buy a copy for each of about fifteen people in my life. That, my friends, is the mark of a life-changing book.