The Importance of a Definition

Last week I was listening to a presentation at work. The guest presenter made a statement to the group of about 30 employees, and then stopped and wondered aloud why there was no response to what he thought had been an extremely profound statement.

"It's because we're academics and we want to know what you mean by that term," I explained.  In its most magnanimous definition, his statement would have been inspiring.  But in it's least magnanimous definition, it would have been threatening.

The difference between "inspiring" versus "threatening" hangs on a definition.  Wow.

Let me give another example.  One time I commented to a colleague that I had gotten "spanked" by someone else for not following up on a task that had been assigned to me.  I meant that I had felt the gentle reproach keenly, knowing that I had deliberately avoided the task because I was fearful of it.  I was ashamed as I admitted my avoidant behavior.  My colleague, however, took the term to mean that I had been severely criticized by the other individual, with the sense that the criticism had been overly harsh toward me.  The difference in our definitions rested on the difference between "deserved" and "overly harsh."  I found myself trying to clarify my definition in face of a very clear image that my words had created in his mind.  Oh dear.

Definitions are not just an academic quirk.  They are crucial to real life.  You may be able to think of examples from your own family life.  For example, more than once my husband and I have had to clarify definitions with each other when the other person looked taken aback or responded in a completely different vein to what we thought we'd said.

Definitions make the difference between good communication and miscommunication.  And the responsibility to define the terminology lies with the speaker, mainly.  Listeners can ask for a clarification, but listeners don't always do that.  They often walk away making assumptions about what our words meant, and we never know how our words have changed shape after leaving our brains and mouths.  In some cases years can pass before we discover how our words were defined by the listener.  We may never get the chance to clarify.  In the meantime a connection may have been severed, or a grudge cherished into full-blown bitterness, and we have no clue as to why.

And so I ruminate about definitions, how to recognize when to stop and clarify our meanings, and what we can do to encourage others to ask us to define our words.  It's a funny world, isn't it, for us humans and our proclivity to use and misuse our words?

Small Town Miracles

This morning we got up at what I'd call "an ungodly hour" per American colloquialism--except that I believe God was there--and got ourselves to the airport to watch the next step in a series of small town miracles in our valley.

In our valley of 50,000 inhabitants there are two hospitals and a motley assortment of physicians and other health care professionals.  As the pictures of Haiti on the TV sank in, Dr. Bob (I'm not using real names) felt a calling last week to go help out.  His colleague, Dr. Doug, said, "I'll join you."  Then they decided they needed more surgeons, so they called over to a surgeon from the Caribbean who works at the other hospital in town.  Her nurse answered the phone and said curtly that Dr. Julie could not go.  She was too busy.

Five minutes later, Dr. Julie herself called Dr. Bob back.  "My nurse doesn't have a clue," she said.  "I'm going with you."  It turned out that Dr. Julie comes with a bonus:  she speaks French.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Dr. Bob.  "Can your partner cover for you while you're gone this next week?"

"No, she can't," said Dr. Julie.  "Because she's going to come too."

Other small town miracles fell into place.  The pharmacy director at one of the hospitals never carries her cell phone, but on impulse picked it up on Friday morning.  As she was shopping on Friday afternoon a call came:  "We need you to come over and sign off on $5000 worth of narcotics we're sending with a team going to Haiti."  She got back to the pharmacy in time to get the order through and fulfilled so it would be ready to go with the Sunday morning flight.

And so it went.  One miracle after another fell in place.  The supplies they needed were available in our little valley.  Alaska Airlines sold tickets to the group for half price, even though it was last-minute.  And they said, "You can check as much supplies as you want into baggage, and we won't charge you."  American Airlines is flying them from Florida to Haiti at no cost.

Okay, you can call it coincidence or the generosity of the people of our valley, or airlines looking for good press, but when you pile one thing on top of another, it eventually gets harder and harder to explain away our small town miracles.

So about 30 people showed up at the local airport in the wee hours of this morning to see the doctors check in their luggage, pray for them, and send them off.  One of the 8th graders from Husband's school showed up with two big tubes of toothpaste; it's what they use in their nostrils over there to reduce the stench of dead bodies as they breathe.  A reporter from our one local paper showed up, as did a couple of guys with video cameras from the one local TV station in the valley. 

The doctors will be back next weekend.  It will be fascinating to hear "the rest of the story."

Dreaming of a World at Peace

I wish each child could be born into a world where people--both at the macro and micro levels--were at peace with one another.  Why is it that people put their properties, pride, and pet punchlines before these little ones?  Why are we so reluctant to set our own rubbish aside for the sake of the next generation? We can delude ourselves that they will be free of our burdens, but they will not.  A look backwards over our own shoulders will tell us the truth.

A Gaping Hole in U.S. Education

Photo found on the internet

This last week a news story caught my eye.  It told of a pilot who landed his plane before reaching the destination.  The reason?  A 17-year old Jewish passenger had wrapped his tefillin on for prayer during flight, and because the crew hadn't known what it was, they had panicked, thinking it was some terrorist act about to go down.

Come ON!!!  This never needed to happen.  Anyone who is aware of world religions and their practices would have known right away what was happening and the whole embarrassing episode and inconvenience to the passengers wouldn't have happened.

This is my point: American education does nothing to require students growing up in our multicultural society to understand the religions around them and how the varied belief systems interact with our society.  When 9-11 took place, everyone was scrambling to understand what kind of belief system would drive humans to commit such atrocities against innocent people who had every reason to think of themselves as being safely at work.  Those with an understanding of world religions had some clues.

Do you know why sikhs wear a turban and carry a little dagger?  Do you know why many Muslim women wear a head covering, and that Muslims don't eat pork or drink alcohol?  Do you know what Confucius and Lao-Tze taught and how their ideologies drive Chinese thought?  Do you know that Baha'i believers consider October 1844 to be significant, and why?  Do you know who the most powerful Hindu gods are, and why they're considered powerful?  Do you know the main beliefs of Buddhism, and whether it's a theistic religion or a philosophy?  Do you know in what ways Native Americans experience the Great Spirit and what beliefs are common among the tribes?  Or start looking at the divisions within Christianity:  Can you describe the differences between Methodists and Presbyterians, Episcopalians and Catholics, Baptists and Pentecostals?

Yet every day in our country American citizens practice these religions, let them guide their lives and decide their actions.  Every day in the United States we do business and make agreements with people and governments all over the world whose worldviews are more often than not guided by different beliefs and practices than ours.  So how on earth can we ignore the great hole in our educational system?  How is it that we settle for poorly equipping our next generation to operate capably in such a diverse society?

I think we've scared so many people away from mentioning God at all in public schools, that we have created a void that operates under pretense that knowledge of religions is unnecessary.  It's not appropriate to teach religion in public education, but we've gotten so hung up on that, that we don't teach about religion, either.  And in neglecting religious education under such a definition, we have done the United States and her people a great disservice.

If that air crew had been required to take a course on religions in high school, perhaps they would not have wigged out when a 17-year old American lad who had boarded the plane early in the morning simply wanted to catch up on his prayers.  Puh-leeze.

Goers

A young women's Bible study group meets in our home every other Wednesday evening.  When the women arrive I have candles burning, hot water in the kettle and various teas to choose from, and "munchies" of whatever type the designated person brings along.  There are 8-10 regulars.  And then there are the others who have come and gone.

This last week there was another e-mail announcing a "goer."  She needed to simplify her life, she said, and this was one of those things that she was choosing to drop.  It wasn't anything against us, and she was grateful for the welcome she'd felt in the group.

In the past I've fretted about the "goers" from various groups I've hosted or led.  But I guess I'm growing up.  I recognize those cycles in life and have experienced them myself, several times.  You start--usually when you're feeling a need for companionship or novelty--by adding interesting activities, joining up with each irresistible opportunity that comes along.  One by one they creep into your schedule until you find yourself running from one good cause to another. 

We need down time.  We need time to be with family, and we also need time alone.  We need time to think, to read, to veg out in front of the TV once in a while, to get on the phone and call a faraway friend.  The more good things that we add in to fill our lives, the less time we have to recharge our inner batteries, or our relational ones. 

There comes a tipping point when you've added one or two things too many.  At that point it's time to hit the RESET button.  You start flinging off things left and right, skipping events or activities that formerly seemed important or worthy, and hunkering down in an effort to regain acquaintance with yourself and what's truly important in life.

That's why I'm no longer troubled when "goers" cite the need to simplify. Every now and then it's healthy and wise to hit that RESET button.  The hope is that we recognize it before it's too late.

Impulsivity

Casting nets on the Sea of Galilee

 Throughout my life as an educator I have noticed the struggles of students who are impulsive, and have had a great sympathy for them.  My teacher in elementary school said once, in exasperation, "Ginger, you're never one to just use one finger with the paint.  You always end up with all ten fingers in it!"  It was a little glimpse into my own tendency to jump in wholeheartedly, often before considering the entire task that lay before me.

And so I have cared for other children and college students with the same ailment.  They tend to get themselves into a peck of trouble when they act without thinking, as with the college student who saw some kids playing by the river on a school day.  My student was out gathering specimens for his botany class, and, being goofy, pulled out his driver's license, flashed it and told the kids they were in trouble for swimming in the river.  Stupid?  Yes.  Mean intentions?  No.  But the kids told a ranger back at the parking lot, and before he knew it, Mark (not his real name) was under some intense questioning for "impersonation of a law officer."  It cost him his first student teaching placement, as the principal at that school was not comfortable accommodating him, once she heard about the incident.

On the other hand, Mark was one of the most warm-hearted, talented young men I met as a college professor.  He had big dreams, and he realized more of them than many others, because he was unafraid to give them a try.  That is typical of impulsive people.  They stumble into great trouble, but they also can create great things, and know great love.  They are there in the present with you, paying attention (although their attention may wander quickly if you don't keep things moving).

I have met several men like Mark in Matthew 4: 18-22.  Jesus was ambling along the lake and saw Simon and Peter fishing.  He gave that well-known invitation:  "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people." 

"Immediately they left their nets and followed him."  How impulsive was that?

And then the three of them continued along the lake and encountered James and John mending nets with their father.  Again the invitation was given.

"Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him."  Again I'm left breathless by the seeming impulsivity.

Could it be that Jesus had a special spot in his heart for impulsive, hands-on, ADHD disciples?  Somehow that changes my idea of a sedate group of thirteen men wandering around the Palestinian landscape in those days.  Now they're scrapping about this or that, or saying (in the midst of a point Jesus is trying to make) "Hey!  Look at that over there!", or hugging each other and dancing around when they're excited, or suggesting that they call down fire from heaven on someone who's come at cross purposes with them.  I can just see Jesus rolling his eyes from time to time, reminding them of who they are and where they are, and loving their open-book, impulsive hearts.  They are "ten fingers in the paint" kinds of men.

Why would Jesus choose disciples who had a bent toward impulsivity?  My guess is that He saw their open-hearted energy and willingness to act as being a bonus for the Kingdom.  They didn't sit down and analyze an issue or a goal to death before moving.  These were people who recognized a call and responded to it immediately when it came, arriving on the scene when they were still needed.  Sure, they got themselves into trouble as much as any impulsive person does, but their hearts were devoted and their intentions were good.

That's why I think impulsivity is not as bad as it's cracked up to be.

Treadmill Tip: Same Kind of Different As Me

I didn't like the book at first.  Not at all.  It was depressing, and it talked about a kind of life very different than mine.  I've not lived in the South, as both writers always have, nor have I even traveled very much there.  And I haven't done much circulating with wealthy businesspeople, particularly not with people who are active in the modern art world.

I kept reading, during my mornings on the treadmill, because the book was given to my by one of my direct associates, and I felt it to be a duty.

Then suddenly, just after one of the main characters had an affair that nearly wrecked his marriage--another depressing link in the chain of depressing life circumstances described in the book--the story turned a corner.  In short succession the wife decided to stand by her man, they gave their efforts to building a relationship with each other and with God, and she felt a call to serve the homeless in their city.  It was as though her huge disappointment and sense of betrayal kicked her life into new territory and a sacred journey. This brought them into the world of Denver, the other main character who had long been living a miserable, violent, homeless life.

They had me with them now.

From there it was one divine appointment after another, with all the main characters facing themselves, each other, change, God, and the challenges those commitments demand of a person.  It's not an easy book, mainly because it's a true story and people just don't get happily-ever-afters, for the most part.  I won't say much more, since this is a book I am happy to recommend, and I don't want to spoil the story for you.  I'm just saying: if you have a similar reaction as I did to the first part of the book, stick with it.  It provides a story that, along with the circumstances of your own life, can change your thinking and open your eyes to things you wouldn't otherwise see.

Help Haiti

"For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.  Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."  Matt. 25: 35-36, 40

Please give right now to your preferred relief organization.  They need you.

Delhi

My family in front of the Taj when I was about six or seven.

This  morning I got an e-mail from a friend who is arranging our team trip to India this spring break to consult for a Christian school there.  I was just reading it when Husband came through the room where I was sitting.

"Husband!" I said.  "It looks like we'll be we'll flying into Delhi on our spring break trip."  My next thought, having been there before, was to suggest a side trip to see the Taj Mahal while we're there.

"Oh," said Husband.  "Maybe we can get a sandwich!"

I'm still giggling.  We don't quite have that mind-reading thing down yet.

My brother and I sit by a reflecting pool at the Taj Mahal on a very hot day, just before the sandstorm hit.  I still remember clearly being annoyed at those kids getting in our picture and staring at us.

The Full Plate Diet

Now and then some cool self-help book comes along and you respond with a sense of "Hurrah!  At long last!  Something that makes sense for my life!"  Or sometimes it's "Hurrah!  I've been doing this, but now I'm seeing it in a different light, with ways to do it even better!"

I first met up with this book when our administrative team was reviewing it during a meeting; Human Resources was suggesting that we buy a copy for every employee in our organization.  It was written by two doctors and a nutritionist from an organization that we're acquainted with to some degree:  Lifestyle Centers of America.

I was curious.  I turned a few pages and was mightily intrigued.  The writing was crisp and tight and seemed to have a wry smile to it, the photos were bright and inviting. The lists were clear and the schematics were attractive. It was easily understandable.  But better than all that was the premise:  you can eat a full plate of food, do not have to count calories, and will lose weight.  Who could resist that?

No, I didn't flip a lid and start spouting rubbish.  Stay with me here.

What's the catch?  The catch is that you have to count grams of fiber (you're shooting for 40+ grams per day), drink at least six glasses of water per day, and stop eating when you're no longer hungry.  But hey, folks, when it comes to adding food high in fiber I rather like the idea of trying to reach a number, rather than trying to limit yourself to a number (as with calories)!

I borrowed the book and brought it home, and have been reading it bit by bit.  It's really fascinating and fun to read.  And it's changing the way I eat.  I've had such delicious meals today:  toast with peanut butter and applesauce for breakfast; salad with lots of yummy additives to it, boiled potatoes and gravy and cooked mixed veggies for lunch; and for supper there was whole wheat pasta with pesto and sundried tomatoes, and a bit of trail mix for dessert.  Yummers!

As I read over what I've written, it sounds like fluff.  This book is not fluff.  You can buy it at Amazon.com, or you can go to their website and read more about it here.  And rather surprisingly, the Full Plate Diet website has a way for you to access the book for free, as well.  Go check it out. And may you be inspired toward a more healthy diet.

Rain on Your Own Parade

Photo of these grim, determined lasses comes from here

 

"To follow Jesus is to ask for it to rain on your own parade."  --Alex Bryan

When our pastor stated this last year, I just about fell off my pew.  I wrote it in the little book that I carry to church with me, the one that looks like it's from northern India with inlaid mother-of-pearl, and has lots of blank lined pages and fits nicely in my purse.  I've looked back at that quote several times.  Each time I look at it, the original context has faded a little bit but the wallop of the quote remains.

The point is not that living the Christian life is miserable.  It is, sometimes, but so is living a non-Christian life.  And the point is not that Jesus is some sort of sadistic monster who intentionally causes us pain.  Reading the gospels to understand who Jesus was and what His approach was makes that fallacy plain.

The point is this:  this parade, yours and mine, is one that highlights ourselves as though we were right, righteous, good, interesting, worthy, impressive, and worth celebrating.  And we are some of those things.  I think that most people intend (and sometimes succeed) to be good, to be helpful to others.  And people are worth celebrating in terms of their value.  But what we are not, is righteous or impressive.  We are all capable of, and occasionally commit, great evil.  We are all centered on ourselves nearly all the time.  We're laser-focused how to feel good and comfortable and superior to those around us, whether they be in our family, our workplace or our social milieu.

When you choose to follow Christ, you take up a cross.  In other words, you submit to something and someone greater than yourself, and therefore have to give up one of the most precious things in your life--your self-gratification, self-justification and narcissistic tendencies.  You have to take that immense, paradoxical step of admitting that your personal worth is not much ... and yet it is everything, because God gave of himself--even to the point of experiencing death--out of love for you.

And then the new parade is not about you.  Let the rain fall on that old one, because it's going to.  You've been marching in a grim parade anyhow, one that doesn't recognize a greater purpose, and doesn't accept  submission to God and his purposes, one that I suspect is rather lonely and cold when you belly-up and admit it.  The rain has to fall on your own parade because you have to give up your self-righteousness, your pride, your shabby bits of flamboyance about who you are, your willingness to set yourself up critically against the next guy and show the hardened edge of unforgiveness.

"To follow Jesus is to ask for it to rain on your own parade."  The odd thing is that at this point in my life, having experienced some torrential downpours on my own parade, I find Alex's quote to be an extremely winsome and hopeful statement.  I'd like to take my participation to that other parade, thanks.

A Place of Sure Guidance

Mosaic in the Basilica of Sant' Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna, Italy. From Wikimedia. Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy." (Matthew 2:7-10, NRSV)

Did you notice that star? It had risen and guided the wise men (foreign priests) to Jerusalem. And when Herod told the wise men where the messiah was to be born by prophecy, the star still went ahead of them, even though they knew where they were going and it was a very small village, and it led them to the Christ child. They knew where they were headed, but they had guidance anyway.

I've thought about guidance a lot. Most of us experience a deep desire for guidance in the decision-making of our lives, particularly for those major life decisions such as marriage, career, and so on. But for those of us who are leaders, who know well our failings and our lack of wisdom to lead effectively from time to time, guidance is HUGE. We need guidance because our decisions not only affect our own lives and a small circle around us, but they can affect the lives of many, many people in significant ways. Those of us who are believers pray daily and fervently for guidance. I've longed for it. I've begged for it.

So when I read of guidance so thorough and persistent that it led the wise men even though they knew where they were going, I experience a moment of jealousy.

And then I realized: their guidance wasn't for everyday decision-making, or even for purposes of spouse or career selection. They were seeking guidance to find the One would would change the world, who would set things right, who would save them. We don't know exactly how they understood the significance of the child to whom they bowed down and gave their best gifts, but the point was this: Their guidance brought them surely and unrelentingly to God in human form, the savior.

And that is a comforting thought. The story of Jesus promises a confidence that, while guidance is not always evident in our daily lives, or even sometimes in the Big Decisions of our lives, there is one place that it is always sure: If we truly seek God, He will lead us to Him. That guidance may take us through swamps, across deserts, and fording rivers, but we will find Him. That guidance may draw us in from the fields where we're watching our sheep, but we will find Him. That guidance may bring us in as Gentiles who remark caustically about dogs getting the crumbs from the table, but we will find Him. [Note to Pedrito: I hear your "Amen! Preach it sister" from the back of the sanctuary.] That guidance may bring us to shore from the smelly work of filling our nets with fish, but we will find Him. That guidance may bring us from our prayers under the fig tree, but we will find Him. That guidance may compel us to take His cross on our backs and carry it for a while, but we will find Him!

And then, my friends, watch out for Delight to walk in your door. Because when they found Him, the wise men were "overwhelmed with joy!"

Playing Games

Granddaughter #1 ooohs over the Cracker Jacks in her Christmas stockingWe spent the Christmas break in California with the family--three kids, attached spouses, and three grandkids. And much of that visit was taken up with playing games. I noticed for the first time, quite acutely, that different families, and even different parts of families, have preferences for different kinds of games. That got me to thinking about the whole culture of games.

The first game we played, on Christmas eve, was a game in which we sat around the edge of an open space on the carpet and objects were laid out on the floor. We each were to match clues from a paper list with the objects. Following that, we were each handed a paper with rebuses on them, and we were to write down the name of the Christmas song that went with each rebus. I was okay with the games, and became even more comfortable when people started to talk to each other and help each other to figure out the riddles. But two of those games were enough for me. And as fate would have it, we only played two games, going on to the unloading of our Christmas stockings.

There were other games, though. The man of the house where we were celebrating Christmas eve set up a Wii bowling game on the TV monitor, and immediately several people, including our 4- and 5-year old grandkids, were glued to the game, practically to the exclusion of everything else. I found it fascinating since I'd never seen a Wii in action before. I found myself analyzing the game, how it worked, and whether it was really "exercise" to bowl Wii-style, considering that you don't have a heavy ball at the end of your arm that requires muscle tone. I have a vague sense that I am not philosophically in favor of the Wii world at this point, but I can't verbalize exactly why. I'll work on it.

At the end of the evening I heard the woman of the house wish aloud that we'd been able to play more games together, rather than becoming participants and observers of the Wii games. That fascinated me as well, and I poked around in my perceptions and intuition, trying to figure out what values she held that made the group games more desirable than the virtual bowling. Was it the sense of "togetherness" inherent in a group game as opposed to having the majority of the group watching and commenting on the few who were involved in playing the virtual game? Either way we were all in the same room, and either way we were all talking to one another. But I'd agree with her that the feel of the activity was different and less desirable.

The next evening we were at another home, celebrating Christmas with a different family. (You get to do this when you're spending time with the in-laws of your kids. It really is lovely.) This family, too, enjoyed playing group games together, mainly table games. We finished the evening by playing a long game of Balderdash. Someone reads a word or name, such as "Francesco Lentini" from the"Peculiar People" category, and everyone has to write a description and then guesses as to which of the descriptions--when they're all read out loud including the true one--is the correct description.

Francesco Lentini, by the way, was a three-legged man.

I noticed, playing Balderdash, that when you play a game that requires high interaction and critical thinking (guessing), it creates its own bond among the people playing together, especially for those with high verbal skills. Some of the definitions and descriptions had us all laughing hysterically, and simply mentioning the word later to each other got us laughing again. There's something to be said for creating a shared history, even if it's through a board game with memorable elements to it.

Another kind of game we played with the kids during the vacation was the simple strategy game. I liked these the best. They work your brain, but everyone--both the verbally gifted ones and the less articulate ones--is on an even playing field and can play together lightheartedly, finish the game and move on to the next activity with little mental baggage. Blokus is one of these games, one I found quite fascinating. I played it two or three times and got the general hang of the strategy, but not so well that I wouldn't be challenged to learn more. That's the kind of game that keeps you coming back to play again.

In my own family of origin games have also been an important part of holidays and vacations ... and weekends. The all-time favorite has been Scrabble. While we don't play with the crusading fervor of some people I know, most of my family has been pretty serious about Scrabble. We kept a huge Oxford dictionary beside us as we played, plus a two-letter dictionary, and we allowed players to look up words in the dictionary prior to playing their turn. How else would you learn new vocabulary and definitions?

Playing good words is plenty fun, but the real trick is to line them up so as to get maximum points. That's where the more conniving ones of us would excel, and the others would regularly admonish them to "Don't be so greeeeeeedy!"Another game we and our friends played a lot when I was on college vacations--okay, that was lots of years ago--was Rummikub. It's still around. This, too, didn't require any special verbal skills, and somehow the time flew by as we matched up sequences and patterns. My friend Rosie always comes to mind when I think of Rummikub; I learned the game at her house in central Washington when my parents were still missionaries halfway around the world and my Christmas and spring vacations stretched long with a need to be filled. Games were just the thing.

Games, I find, always leave me with pictures in my mind. One picture that remains from the Christmas break just past is the house we visited in which an entire closet had been devoted to table games. They were all organized, box after box, row after row in the closet, creating an amazing array. I had never seen anything like it. I'm the sort to look at something new like that and think, "Huh! Another culture I've not met up with before." And I did think that and move on. But it was still remarkable.

I haven't reflected very much here on outdoor games, perhaps because I'm writing this in the winter and there's a higher likelihood of being indoors during these vacations. But I do know that some families are much more oriented to getting out and doing physical activity, either through games or sports, than to playing table games indoors. They fit their outdoor activities and games to the weather, and thus are not limited to being indoors regardless of what is going on outside. I suspect they are, as a rule, more healthy.

So have you noticed a difference between the kinds of games your family chooses to play, and what others play? Do you think the preference of games goes with a personality type? What makes the difference between a person who likes to play a lot of games (not just during a school break) and a person who chooses other activities to fill their time? I'd be interested in any and all comments, or even memories.

Turn of the Decade

I remember the first time I clicked over a decade in my life. It was December 31, 1969, and the church young people had gone on a campout to an uninhabited island, taking me along. Our youth group was very tolerant of the missionary kid tag-alongs.

As I recall, I was sharing a tent of some sort--we didn't have much available in the way of camping gear in Malaysian stores--with a girl named Suelina, from the youth group. I recall a tropical downpour on new year's eve as we laid in our tent, and talking about 1970 and what it meant to be entering, YIKES!, the Seventies.

The turns of the decades have been significant years in my life. In 1980 I graduated from high school in Singapore and made that memorable flight across the Pacific Ocean to start college in the United States. In 1990 I made the transition from teaching in multigrade classrooms to team teaching in two sixth-grade classrooms, and published my first children's book. In 2000 I received my first e-mail from Husband, and that summer we started dating; a life changing journey was underway and it wasn't long until I was in love!

So here we are in 2010. I started this day in sunny southern California and am blogging this on the way home via rainy, cold Seattle. It's a long way from that tropical downpour on an uninhabited Malaysian island on January 1, 1970. And I suspect the coming year holds just as memorable experiences as have happened in the preceding turns of the decades. Stay tuned for what that might be. It's still shrouded in mystery.