Tuesday, February 28, 2006

In Which I Repudiate Anxiety

I'm a cautious--or maybe an arrogant--soul. I don't like to announce success and then experience failure. Maybe that's why I waited until the end of February to announce my motto for the year.

I admit, it isn't super spiritual. And it sounds rather cliche-ish. But I'm going to inflict it on you anyway...it is simply this:

"Do the next thing."

And whatever it sounds like, my motto is really a statement of surrender.

This spring will mark the third year that has passed since my highschool graduation. And I've given up trying to figure out the future.

My hunger to have the game plan for the next ten years, five years, or at least one year of the future has abated recently. God has given me bliss in ignorance. There is no way I can obey Him for ten years in one blow anyway. Obedience will always be a day by day duty. Even if He did give me a peek at the future, life would still have to be faced one day at a time. And His pleasure in me will never come from me knowing where I'm headed tomorrow; His delight will always stem from the obedience of today.

And so I am willing to wait on the future. If He shows me the road two or more steps ahead, I'll thank Him (I think). If not, that's okay too (at the moment). I know He knows, and I know I can trust Him. Either way, I'm determined to stick with my motto and tackle first things first.

And in case you didn't notice, I'm still playing it safe. This is a motto, not a resolution. Come August or September, you might have to remind me I said this.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Spring Is Expensive

I welcomed the first signs of oncoming spring this year with open arms.

So did my sister.

Personally, I love the flowers.

But much as she likes flowers, I sometimes think she loves dirt more.

The growing season is about to begin here in Southern Oregon, and Abigail has donned her t-shirt (but no shorts) and ventured forth to break up the sod for a brand new garden.

Gardening is not for cowards. Finding help desirable, she struck a bargain with innocent Peter. If Peter helps her prepare her garden, she will pay him with seeds so he can plant his own garden. He enthusiastically agreed, and the duo has managed to turn over quite a lovely little patch of sod. Barefoot, to boot.

Abigail meanwhile is faced with another difficulty. Cheap as her labor came, she must still finance the venture. For this, she decided to begin an ironing business.

This time it was innocent I who was ensnared.

"Did you say you had clothes to iron?" Abigail asked sweetly, this evening.

"Yes, but I don't want to iron them tonight." I replied, rather shortly. Abigail has been begging me to iron her clothes when I finally get around to actually ironing my own.

"I could iron them for you tomorrow," Abigail said. But before my eyes could grow wide with surprise and delight, she added the catch, "for a small fee."

At fifty cents per article of clothing, she is about to earn enough to buy dozens of seed packets. Remember, most of my clothes have just come out of storage. And I don't have a lot of extra time these days.

It's not such a bad deal in the end. Abigail weeds, worries, and revels in the dirt all summer; I wear pressed clothes and eat fresh vegtables come fall.

But I can't wait that long for flowers. I spent four dollars on daffodils last time I went to the grocery store.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

It Ain't Over 'Till It's Over!

I am about as star-struck as any schoolgirl when it comes to figure skating.

To watch, that is. I tried ice-skating last fall and I loved it, but I've got news for you: it isn't as effortless at it looks! Disillusionment aside, my enjoyment in watching this beautiful sport has not diminished. I love watching it every four years when the Winter Olympics roll around.

And I will admit, there is something about the Olympics that strikes a unique cord within me. I can go weeks, months, years without thinking twice about sports of any kind. But let the Olympics come around and I don't limit my range to figure skating. I'll watch any sport that comes up...even the brand-spanking new "snowboard cross" that almost makes me want to hold my breath and turn my head lest someone be killed before my eyes.

No one was killed in the women's "snowboard cross" finals, but I did see something else that I won't be forgetting soon. I watched an American lose the gold. Why? She later explained that she fell losing her balance. At the time, the newscaster assumed that she had become overconfident after gaining a huge leading margin in the race.

Whatever the real explanation of her fall: for me, it was a warning. A warning against complacency in my walk with the Lord.

Sometimes, after I have reached one "milestone" or another in my walk with the Lord, I feel that somehow, in that moment, I have "arrived." I have "beaten" some wrong thought pattern or recurring sin. Or perhaps I have learned something new about God, something even life changing. Maybe I haven't reached the finish line; but I feel that I am at least far enough ahead of where I started that I can relax for a while.

I become complacent and proud.

And then I stumble and fall.

The Christian life has been compared to a race many times. And this week I have seen that as I "press on" towards Christ, it isn't enough to get a good start on a life of godliness. It isn't enough to be godly for a month, or a year, or two years, or ten. It isn't enough to stand on "higher ground" today than I did yesterday.

That is all good--necessary, indeed, for spiritual growth.

But I can't be forgetting...it isn't over until it's over.

"[I speak] not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect...I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Let us therefore, as many as be perfect, be thus minded: and if in any thing ye be otherwise minded, God shall reveal even this unto you."
Philippians 3:12-15

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Moving Pains

Considering how much Oregon has to gain by adding new taxpayers to its ranks, one would have thought that the process of becoming a naturalized Oregonian would be fast, easy, and fun. Or at least cheap. In reality, I suppose that might have been a viable hope only if the government hadn't been involved, and if I always behaved like a responsible adult.

As it was, my hope of an easy transition was quelled within two weeks of our move. That was when I realized that I couldn't prove to the government that I was a legal resident of Oregon. I mean, normally one assumes that if one is eating, sleeping, working, and paying taxes in a place, one is therefore "living" in that place. Think again. In this crazy place, if one is living in a hotel, one must live there for six months or more before being considered a resident of the state.

So, when we moved here and domiciled ourselves temporarily in a motel while we looked for a home, we were merely "transients."

This presented some practical challenges. For example, since we were no longer living in Washington, our insurance agency there informed us they could no longer cover us. Without a valid Oregon driver's license, the insurance agency here informed us they would be unable to begin covering us.

Possibly I don't need to point out that we were at this point living in a state of acute "catch 22." But I will anyway.

And in case you missed out on the word "acute," please to note that my insurance policy happened to be due to expire around that time.

Some pitying insurance agent, bless her, was able to get us covered and we moved on with our life-in-limbo. My hopes for an easy transition only became higher with the delay.

I don't like life to be complicated.

When we moved into a house in December, I had a short to-do list.
1) Celebrate Christmas.
2) Get mail at my new house so I could get a driver's license.

That was before I learned that an Oregon driver's license is not for poor men. Or, as I was forced to ruefully concede, jobless girls. That was also before I realized that in order to get a job I would have to order a replacement Social Security Card from the Social Security Administration because my card was somewhere in storage.

I now cherish a somewhat illogical grudge against the Social Security Administration. Anyplace that makes their customers wait for longer than thirty minutes to be helped should invest in comfortable chairs.

It wasn't until early February that I decided I could pass muster with the Department of Licensing. With my first two paychecks safely obtained, a brand new Social Security card, a statement from my insurance company for proof of residency, a head full of knowledge to take the required knowledge test, and an afternoon off to spend in yet another government office, I was ready to go.

This is where the part about (im)maturity and (lack of) personal responsibility comes in. I had withdrawn a couple of hundred dollars from the bank to cover licensing fees. When it came time to go, I couldn't find the money anywhere.

Instead of becoming Oregonized, I spent most of the afternoon hunting in obscure nooks and crannies of my bedroom and moaning my unfortunate habits of disorganization.

By the time my wonderful mother, bless her, found the money...it was too late and the visit had to be put off another week.

When I arrived at the licensing office yesterday, I was calm and collected. No one could have told, looking at me, that it had taken three hair-pulling months to get everything ready to change my lisence over. No one saw my inward grimaces when I was quoted $175.50 in fees to change my lisences over to Oregon.

And when I came up with only $171.00 and had to use the ATM machine, no one knew the inward pain it gave me to pay the $1.09 fee required to withdraw the $4.50 I needed to pay my total bill.

And no one knew that I was inwardly promising myself to stick around Oregon for a good long time. Lord willing. This is not a process that human nature is designed to endure too many times in a lifetime.

This is the stuff gray hair is made of.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

My "Sevens"

Some of you have probably noticed the "sevens" that have been floating, with minor variations, through blogosphere. I am taking my turn like a good girl. If you haven't done it yet, consider yourself tagged.

1. Seven things to do before I die:
Learn to obey God without question.
Go on an archeological dig .
Eat potatoes and honey together.
Visit Greenland.
Make cookies with my grandchildren.
Weave a basket.
Write a book.

2. Seven things I cannot do:
Fold a fitted sheet neatly.
Be humble.
Whistle.
Not smile when I'm happy.
Cry on demand.
Sulk.
Spell correctly.

3. Seven qualities I find attractive in the opposite sex, assuming godliness tops the list:
Gentleness.
Compassion for people.
A sense of humor.
Storytelling skills.
Good looks. =)
A far reaching vision for the future.
A strong prayer life.

4. Seven things I say most often:
"Lord willing."
"Thank you for calling Sprint together with Nextel"
",like,"
"You know...."
"Not me."
"Have a great day."
"You are/that is correct."

6. Seven movies I would watch over and over again:
Sound of Music.
Pride and Prejiduce.
Seargent York.
It's a Wonderful Life.
St. John in Exile.
Life is Beautiful.
Time Changer.

7. Seven foods I regularly consume.
Beans.
Rice.
Peanut butter (preferably with tomatoes).
Oatmeal.
Ice-cream.
Nuts.
Raisins.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Quality, Not Quantity

"We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity...I learned a long time ago that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something.
A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something.
He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quanity may be insignificant."
- Chaim Potok

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Rooting for The Home Team

I am not normally what you might call sports-conscious. Nevertheless, it has filtered through my consciousness that the Seattle Seahawks are playing in the Super Bowl this Sunday.

I still haven't figured out who they're playing against, but since I hale from Washington...here's hoping that the Seahawks are eating their wheaties!!