This evening I was trying to think of a theme for my Christmas column, which is due on Thursday. I think. I just sent my Lancaster, Pa, editor a note asking her when she wanted it. Hopefully it wasn't supposed to appear last week.
I often find big themes a bit intimidating. It's tempting to go all generic. This year, the dissonance between how we are supposed to feel and the tribulations facing many of us is great.
I thought of the folks who came into the prayer room at church on Sunday. Sometimes no one shows. At the service where I prayed with congregants, we went overtime.
Illness. Tragedy. Anger management problems. I stayed in the tiny room, once an entrance to the church, weighed down by the sadness I'd felt in this room.
I forgot that I wasn't charged with helping these folks feel better -- or get better. The most I could do was walk beside them for a few moments. And then lay their sadness at the foot of the cross. Where someone is waiting, has waited, and will wait to bear it up, as He always has. And will.
There's a sermon here, a column, a way forward. But apparently it's only through the cross.
From the Matt Redman song
I will love You for the Cross
And I will love You for the cost
Man of sufferings, Bringer of my peace.
You came into a world of shameAnd paid a price we could not pay
Death that brought me life,Blood that brought me home.
Death that brought me life,Blood that brought me home.
And I love You for the cross,I'm overwhelmed by the mystery,
I love You for the cross,That Jesus you would do this for me.
When You were broken, You were beaten,You were punished, I go free,
When You were wounded and rejected,In Your mercy, I am healed.
mardi, décembre 16, 2008
dimanche, décembre 14, 2008
Restored
Today with my son went a long way towards restoring my faith in men.
He made cheddar cheese sandwiches for us so that we'd have something for lunch.
He came home from playing with local friends because I'd promised him we'd play chess.
And he called from a friends house to say that he was invited to stay for dinner, but he didn't want me to be lonely. If I did feel sad, he thought Inky the cat would eat with me.
Well, as it turns out, Inky is nuts about corn bread. So I don't think I'll eat by myself. I better bring the spray bottle. It's bad enough the cats sleep on the chairs -- they've got a lot of gall to try to get on the table.
He made cheddar cheese sandwiches for us so that we'd have something for lunch.
He came home from playing with local friends because I'd promised him we'd play chess.
And he called from a friends house to say that he was invited to stay for dinner, but he didn't want me to be lonely. If I did feel sad, he thought Inky the cat would eat with me.
Well, as it turns out, Inky is nuts about corn bread. So I don't think I'll eat by myself. I better bring the spray bottle. It's bad enough the cats sleep on the chairs -- they've got a lot of gall to try to get on the table.
Ain't misbehaving...
Goodness knows, I've run into a lot of different types of men online. But the ones who continue to baffle me are those think I should be honored because they want to jump into bed with me.
Am I missing something? Is this a case of upper middle class, middle-aged entitlement gone amok?
Blue collar workers generally don't try this on with me. It's the lawyers and bankers who seem to think that I'd be game for a mental and physical romp engaging those parts below the waist and above the shoulders, but not involving the heart.
It happened again yesterday. When I told someone I respected that I wasn't a romantic, he said he wasn't, either. Then he asked me to ponder some episodes of between-the-sheets fencing.
I didn't have to ponder, I told him.
I may not be ready for the white picket fence, but I'm not casual about my relationships.
Clearly, the Internet emboldens some of these men to suggest hooking up. I can't imagine having these chats over a nice bottle of merlot at a Main Line brasserie.
It's not as though the would be rakes are slime molds, by any means. But it sure doesn't show them at their best.
Should I be insulted? Should I "ponder" the theory that these fellows think I'm so desperate that I would shed my principles and my clothing for a few moments of fun and perhaps a nice dinner out?
I don't think it's quite that simple. But I do wonder at the psychology of the middle-aged man who thinks that you can still play around with casual sex in your forties and fifties and not get hurt.
I wonder how many women say yes.
Am I missing something? Is this a case of upper middle class, middle-aged entitlement gone amok?
Blue collar workers generally don't try this on with me. It's the lawyers and bankers who seem to think that I'd be game for a mental and physical romp engaging those parts below the waist and above the shoulders, but not involving the heart.
It happened again yesterday. When I told someone I respected that I wasn't a romantic, he said he wasn't, either. Then he asked me to ponder some episodes of between-the-sheets fencing.
I didn't have to ponder, I told him.
I may not be ready for the white picket fence, but I'm not casual about my relationships.
Clearly, the Internet emboldens some of these men to suggest hooking up. I can't imagine having these chats over a nice bottle of merlot at a Main Line brasserie.
It's not as though the would be rakes are slime molds, by any means. But it sure doesn't show them at their best.
Should I be insulted? Should I "ponder" the theory that these fellows think I'm so desperate that I would shed my principles and my clothing for a few moments of fun and perhaps a nice dinner out?
I don't think it's quite that simple. But I do wonder at the psychology of the middle-aged man who thinks that you can still play around with casual sex in your forties and fifties and not get hurt.
I wonder how many women say yes.
jeudi, décembre 11, 2008
Busted?
When Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson went to Congress to ask for 700 billion to bail out the banks, he didn't have to do much explaining. In fact, there weren't a hell of lot of strings attached.
Well, guess what? Paulson gave 300 billion to the banks -- who are sitting on it, refusing to lend to desperate homeowners, or restructure mortgages or do a lot to get the economy rolling again.
When the automakers, and the union, say that they may go bankrupt, some Republicans in the Senate (and in the House) say...no way can they get a loan -- unless we can break the union.
Personally, I think union folks need to share in the hard times and make major concessions.
But for some ideological neanderthals from the South to use a national crisis to score against a once mighty union is revolting.
Accountability? Of course. Restructuring? Probably. Negotiations about union benefits? You bet. There's lots of pain for everyone.
But what's happening now is that the wealthy are getting bailed -- and the less wealthy are performing the bailing.
Hopefully the brain trust on the Hill will create some kind of agreement that asks everyone to share the pain. To do anything else would be a travesty.
Well, guess what? Paulson gave 300 billion to the banks -- who are sitting on it, refusing to lend to desperate homeowners, or restructure mortgages or do a lot to get the economy rolling again.
When the automakers, and the union, say that they may go bankrupt, some Republicans in the Senate (and in the House) say...no way can they get a loan -- unless we can break the union.
Personally, I think union folks need to share in the hard times and make major concessions.
But for some ideological neanderthals from the South to use a national crisis to score against a once mighty union is revolting.
Accountability? Of course. Restructuring? Probably. Negotiations about union benefits? You bet. There's lots of pain for everyone.
But what's happening now is that the wealthy are getting bailed -- and the less wealthy are performing the bailing.
Hopefully the brain trust on the Hill will create some kind of agreement that asks everyone to share the pain. To do anything else would be a travesty.
mercredi, décembre 10, 2008
Facebook friend
Something kind of neat happened last night. I got a friend request from a guy on Facebook. Sad to say, I didn't recall the name, although it looked vaguely familiar. But that could have been because he played baseball for the Phillies, or I had reviewed one of his books, or any number of peculiar reasons.
So I wrote him back and said: "You look interesting, and you have a beautiful daughter and girlfriend," but I don't know who the heck you are.
When he told me he'd been on a dating site, but left about six months ago it came back to me. We had some really interesting email exchanges. As different as we are, he seemed like a genuinely empathetic, nice guy with a strong commitment to being a parent - an atheist of course. Aren't they all? (grin)
I confess that I felt a touch of envy as I read his profile, and wondered how he'd stumbled across the gorgeous girlfriend professor online. I was baffled that he sought me out again, but Facebook is an odd place. It's good for introverts who want to make friends promiscously, and not have to see them in the morning if they don't want to.
Maybe my destiny is to be Platonic buddies with smart men.
Yikes, I sure as heck hope it gets a little more complex, and fun, then THAT.
So I wrote him back and said: "You look interesting, and you have a beautiful daughter and girlfriend," but I don't know who the heck you are.
When he told me he'd been on a dating site, but left about six months ago it came back to me. We had some really interesting email exchanges. As different as we are, he seemed like a genuinely empathetic, nice guy with a strong commitment to being a parent - an atheist of course. Aren't they all? (grin)
I confess that I felt a touch of envy as I read his profile, and wondered how he'd stumbled across the gorgeous girlfriend professor online. I was baffled that he sought me out again, but Facebook is an odd place. It's good for introverts who want to make friends promiscously, and not have to see them in the morning if they don't want to.
Maybe my destiny is to be Platonic buddies with smart men.
Yikes, I sure as heck hope it gets a little more complex, and fun, then THAT.
lundi, décembre 08, 2008
Just a little RESPECT
One of my colleagues at the blog I write for penned a smoking post on Lisa Miller's piece on gay marriage in Newsweek. It wasn't a post you could be tepid about. Basically, what we had were two kinds of advocacy journalists squaring off against one another.
I'm not delusional enough to think that we are getting lots of attention from Miller's readers. But, as I said to my pal Doug, I wonder if they read us and comment under other names.
What bewilders me, as many times as I've encountered it, is how commenters feel amazingly free let their worst selves out of the closet. I have grown to feel affection for some of our commenters. I'd love to have a beer with some of them. But others, frankly, are not people I'd like to get to know better. There's a reason for all of them, however -- and sometimes the grumpiest are the folks who contribute in the most surprising ways.
I'm not delusional enough to think that we are getting lots of attention from Miller's readers. But, as I said to my pal Doug, I wonder if they read us and comment under other names.
What bewilders me, as many times as I've encountered it, is how commenters feel amazingly free let their worst selves out of the closet. I have grown to feel affection for some of our commenters. I'd love to have a beer with some of them. But others, frankly, are not people I'd like to get to know better. There's a reason for all of them, however -- and sometimes the grumpiest are the folks who contribute in the most surprising ways.
dimanche, décembre 07, 2008
A few steps towards freedom
I admit, it's a little insane. But it's the kind of crazy I've been yearning for.
Which shows how staid my life is right now.
When I started going to physical therapy a couple of months ago, I was such an achy collection of joints that I thought I'd have to retire to the back porch and...do crosswords? Needle point? (hehehe) Put on long underwear and freeze, because this is no time to sit on the back porch?
But I don't have to do any of that dumb stuff. At least not this past Saturday.
After I finally got myself into the car around 4:30, it was snowing. Not a lot of snow, but enough to coat the Wallace streets with white.
And when I started running, it was closer to five, and what daylight we had was almost gone. But it was still beautiful, in the way that grey winter days with a touch of snow are beautiful.
The megamanse that I thought was sold has an open house on Sunday -- the night before lights glimmered in the windows, awaiting the banker or lawyer who still has enough money to pay the mortgage.
On the other side of the road the park was getting darker. Now and then, I thought I heard a gunshot, but nothing close enough to the road to frighten me.
Overhead, a flock of geese honked at one other -- I want in! Get out of my way!
On a side street a dog parked piteously, waiting for his or her owner to realize he was done with the cold and wanted to come in.
Why are those people walking around in the farmers yard? I wondered, until I saw their big white tails.
Almost no one else was out --certainly not walking as dusk turned to evening.
It was close to glorious.
Which shows how staid my life is right now.
When I started going to physical therapy a couple of months ago, I was such an achy collection of joints that I thought I'd have to retire to the back porch and...do crosswords? Needle point? (hehehe) Put on long underwear and freeze, because this is no time to sit on the back porch?
But I don't have to do any of that dumb stuff. At least not this past Saturday.
After I finally got myself into the car around 4:30, it was snowing. Not a lot of snow, but enough to coat the Wallace streets with white.
And when I started running, it was closer to five, and what daylight we had was almost gone. But it was still beautiful, in the way that grey winter days with a touch of snow are beautiful.
The megamanse that I thought was sold has an open house on Sunday -- the night before lights glimmered in the windows, awaiting the banker or lawyer who still has enough money to pay the mortgage.
On the other side of the road the park was getting darker. Now and then, I thought I heard a gunshot, but nothing close enough to the road to frighten me.
Overhead, a flock of geese honked at one other -- I want in! Get out of my way!
On a side street a dog parked piteously, waiting for his or her owner to realize he was done with the cold and wanted to come in.
Why are those people walking around in the farmers yard? I wondered, until I saw their big white tails.
Almost no one else was out --certainly not walking as dusk turned to evening.
It was close to glorious.
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