Excuse me, did you know…

We’ve all seen it–that embarrassing thing that we can’t help but notice and can’t decide what to do about. Someone’s fly is open, their buttons buttoned up crooked. There’s spinach in their teeth, a booger hanging out of their nose. You can see down her shirt when she leans over–or worse, you can see her thong above her pants.

What do you do when something like that happens? Do you giggle to yourself? Do you point it out to a friend? Do you announce it loudly in the person’s hearing? Or perhaps you are too embarrassed by it to say anything at all.

If I’m ever that person, please, please do as my dear sister-in-Christ and coworker did today–take me aside to a private place and tell me what the problem is so I can fix it.

Thank you, Sarah, so very much!


Adios a los Estados Unidos. !Hola Mexico!

I’ve kept my summer in the realm of possibilities for months now–since last October when Caroline told me that she was looking for a tutor for Rebekah. At that time, I didn’t know which internship I would get into. I didn’t know what my financial status would be. I’m not even sure I had finalized plans for a job during my hiatus from school. So a summer in Mexico was only ever a possibility, not anywhere close to a reality.

But today I finally made the call that changed it all. Caroline is expecting me to meet them in Texas in the middle of July. She’s expecting me to be there for a month. I’m checking on prices for plane tickets, comparing them to prices for driving down. I need to talk to my boss about unpaid leave tomorrow. I’m on my way to Mexico.

It won’t be a vacation–but it won’t be a “missions trip” either. It’s my chance to minister to Jim and Caroline and to their children. It’s my chance to bless their family. I don’t have a lot to give–my Spanish is somewhere along the spectrum of bad to awful, sometimes I feel my faith is incredibly weak–but I can teach. I can teach grammar and spelling and reading and writing. I can teach math and science. Maybe I can help them develop healthy eating habits as they’ve requested that I do. I don’t have a lot. I don’t consider myself a missionary. Nor do I consider this a missions trip. Instead, it is a chance for me to serve God by serving His people.

“I could do that” was the first thing I thought when Caroline mentioned the need. But there was so much uncertainty. Where would I be? What would my finances be? I couldn’t say anything and get her hopes up and not be able to follow through. So I waited. The sense I had whenever I mentioned the possibility was the same as I had when I’d first heard God tell me to go to Florida. I was excited. I was scared to death. I wanted with all my heart to be obedient. I wanted with all my heart for God to call me to do something else.

“Mexico–Lord, what about my Spanish?”
I was Moses’ tongue. I can be yours too.
But work…
Do you trust Me, Rebekah?

It’ll be an adventure. It’ll be hard work. It’ll be exhausting. It’ll be exhilarating. But God didn’t call me to have a bag packed for no reason–He called me to pack my bag so I’d be ready to go.

So, adios a los Estados Unidos. !Hola, Mexico! Estoy viniendo a ustedes.


A VERY SPECIAL DAY!

I worked today. Not much to that. Eight plus hours of making recipes, smiling at customers, and cleaning up. If that were all I had to report, it would be a fair to middling day.

Last night, I received one of the largest scares of my life. It turned out to be nothing–just someone’s carelessness. After it was all over, I bawled and shook for about twenty minutes–then I got over it. Nothing scary happened today. That makes today pretty okay.

My family was all out of town today, enjoying themselves at da CLAN nonathalon. They started the morning early by racing in the fun run–I hear that Liz took first in the ladies 5K, Joe took second in the men’s 10K, Steve took 2nd in the men’s 5K, Joshua took 3rd in the men’s 5K, and Aaron(?) placed 5th in the men’s 5K. Pretty good showing for our modest clan :-P After a lunch of my mom’s runzas, the nonathalon began. Events included giant Jenga, Memory, croquet, and rope jumping. Then came the talent show–takeoffs on American Idol and Last Comic Standing. It sounds like it was a blast. I was working. It’s a bummer I couldn’t go. Today was pretty depressing for me…

or it would have been…

EXCEPT THAT
I arrived home to find
that my new roommate had arrived-
had completely moved in
and since she just happens to be
my very best friend,
that makes today
A VERY SPECIAL DAY!

Welcome home, my friend.


“In a relationship”

Facebook has six “relationship status” options. They are: “single”, “in a relationship”, “married”, “it’s complicated”, or “in an open relationship”. MySpace (who I will not link to because I am philosophically opposed to it) offers five options: “Single”, “In a relationship”, “Married”, “Divorced”, or “Engaged.” Does anybody see any problems in these options?

I do.

I see one glaring problem. Neither of them, anywhere, offers “dating someone” as a relationship option.

I know, I know, that’s what “in a relationship” means. Right?

Wrong.

According to my dictionary, “relationship” has four potential meanings. Definition 1: “The condition or fact of being related; connection or association.” It just so happens that I am related, connected, or associated to many people. I am in many relationships. “In a relationship” doesn’t really do it for me. Definition 2: “The connection of people by blood or marriage; kinship” Strangely enough, I am also connected by blood or marriage to a great deal of people–at least a hundred that I know of off the top of my head. “In a relationship” just doesn’t cut it. Definition 3: “A particular kind of connection between people related to or having dealings with each other.” As Pride and Prejudice might describe it: “a particular friend.” Well, I also have at least a handful of particular friends. “In a relationship” doesn’t really fit.

In fact, the only definition of “relationship” that relationship status option refers to is the fourth and last definition: “A romantic or sexual involvement.” This is (or should be) a singular type of relationship–one that is exclusive. But that’s not what the word “relationship” in its essence implies.

The problem is, despite the fact that the word “relationship” has three definitions that allow plurality and only one that implies exclusive romantic involvement, Facebook and MySpace have affected popular culture to such a degree that one cannot say “I’m glad our relationship is restored” after an argument without people making assumptions about the kind of involvement you have with one another.

This same sort of thing happened in our church when some people decided they didn’t like “dating” and prefered “courting.” Unsure of what to call the person that if they were dating would be referred to as “boyfriend” or “girlfriend”, they resort to the term “friend” in quotation marks. Problem is, when “friend” becomes redefined as “romantic object”, where does that leave those of us who actually are involved in platonic friendships?

I see more and more broad categories used to define connections between people (since I can’t use the word “relationship” anymore) narrowed to define only romantic relationships. Apparently, in the world in which we exist, where single person households compose the largest “family” group, platonic relationships no longer exist. And perhaps that is so. With the advent of “hooking up” and “shacking up” and “friends with benefits” are there any relationships (sorry, it’s the best word for it–as long as you can figure out what it really means) that aren’t sexualized?

But it shouldn’t be so. Sure, I was made a sexual being. But I was made something much deeper than that. I was made a relational being. I was made with the capacity to give and receive love, to understand and to be understood. I was made to be in relationship–and not just in “a” relationship, but in many. I was made to be interdependent–to be helped in my weakness, and to help others in theirs. I was made to reflect God’s image–to reflect a God who is so relational that He is three persons so perfectly related that they are completely one. While sin inhibits such perfect relationship among humans, that doesn’t mean that we are not called to walk in relationship with one another.

So I rebel against the redefinition of relationship in our current world. If you want to say that you’re dating, say dating. Don’t steal perfectly good words that have a whole range of wonderful other meanings and twist them to make them mean “dating.” We need those other words to keep meaning what they do–because without them, we may lose some of our most precious, well, relationships.

As an addendum, I also have difficulties with the current use of the word “Single.” It seems to me that if “single” is used as a “relationship status” it should mean “unmarried”. A person does not cease to be “single” simply because they are dating someone. It seems to me that until a man and a woman leave father and mother and cleave to each other and become “one flesh”, they are still each “single”.


The Power of a good book

Perhaps you’ve been watching the news and noticed the huge storm system traveling through the Midwest–it stretches from Mid-Kansas up to Minnesota.
weather map from weather.com
Now generally when you think of a storm system like that, you think of a system moving perpendicular to its line. You imagine it working like a squeegie, traveling across the nation. But that’s not what this system’s like–instead its like a string of beads being pulled along a table by one end. Which means that every point along the line experiences one storm after another after another.

I was just coming back from my final break at work when the tornado warning was issued for our area. I immediately started gathering co-workers and moving everyone downstairs. The tornado warning was scheduled to expire at 8:00–45 minutes later (when I was supposed to be clocking out).

Thankfully, I had been reading Pride and Prejudice on my break and still had it in my hand. After we learned how long we would be stuck in the basement, I offered to read out loud. Five women took me up on the offer. So I started, “It is a truth universally acknowledged…”

The warning was extended to 8:15. I read “Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate.” I had just finished “The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ending only with the visit.” when the announcement came that the warning had been extended to 8:45. I went for a drink, then returned to begin the sixth chapter. We were a page from finishing the sixth chapter when the warning was finally allowed to expire.

My coworkers said I need to come read to their children–they want their children to learn to read and learn to love reading, but they cannot help them. Three of the women listening were from Sudan, one was from Vietnam. None of them feel that they read well enough in English to adequately train their children. But they loved the book. And they want their children to learn to love such books too. So I have a standing invitation to come and read to their children.

I might just have to do so before too long.


Tradition and the Generation Gap

Advice columns and other popular parenting resources may not agree about much, but on one point they are firm: Your parents are hopelessly outdated and you will disagree with them about how you should raise your child.

This idea is so firmly entrenched in the minds of popular culture, that it seems unimaginable that it was ever not this way. But, believe it or not, the “generation gap”–which is now so great and seems to be still widening at an incredible pace–once was almost imperceptible.

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, people had lots of kids. The older children observed how their parents parented–and had “hands on” training while taking care of their younger siblings. The older children married and had children of their own in their late teens or twenties. They parented their children as they had been trained–in a manner very similar to how their parents had parented.

The younger children in the big family didn’t have little siblings to practice on–but their older siblings lived nearby with their own children. So the younger children of the first generation grew up observing how their older brothers and sisters parented–and helping their older siblings with their young nieces and nephews. The younger children of the first generation learned the same parenting techniques their own parents had used for them, only this time at the hand of their older siblings. Thus parenting practices were transmitted from generation to generation.

Compare that to today, when most of the experience young adults have had with children is from doing a bit of babysitting while they were teens. When they start their own families, the only experience they have is from babysitting someone else’s children–which anyone could tell you is a far cry from parenting one’s own. With no other frame of reference, these young parents rely on the advice of their peers, or of the “experts” for developing their parenting techniques. Thus every generation reinvents the wheel–learning from scratch how to raise their children, making up the rules as they go along, certain of nothing except the “conventional wisdom” that their parents’ parenting was necessarily wrong.


Another area in which I have noted the generation gap is weddings. Have you ever noticed that every generation has its own “traditional wedding”? –And that somehow each generation’s “traditional wedding” looks completely different than that of the preceding generation?

Most people today only start attending wedding or being involved in weddings when their peers marry. Their peer’s weddings and those that they have seen in movies or in bridal magazines are what inform their knowledge of wedding “traditions.” As such, nothing remains “traditional” unless it is profitable to the wedding industry.

As the older child of one of the older children of a large family, I grew up going to weddings–the weddings of my aunts and uncles. I learned what a “traditional” wedding looks like for my family. And let me tell you one thing–it doesn’t look a thing like what passes as a “traditional” wedding today. Sure there’s a white dress and a church ceremony–but that’s where the commonality ends.

In my family, a traditional wedding means a church ceremony–generally using a liturgy. It means everyone in the family has a part to play–although “bridesmaid” and “groomsman” may not be the part. While the closest sibling or best friend may stand up for the bride or groom, the real “wedding party” consists of the cake cutters, the gift carriers, the flower pinner, the guest book attendant, the punch pourers, and on. Each member of the family has a corsage or boutonniere identifying them as part of the party. The whole family takes pictures together before the ceremony–even though that means the groom sees the bride before the ceremony.

A traditional wedding in my family means a reception directly following the ceremony, in the church fellowship hall. The meal is set up buffet-style and consists of trays of bread, deli meats and cheeses, and other fixings that people can make their own sandwiches from, salads made by the aunts, and cake and punch, homemade cream cheese mints and nuts.

A traditional wedding in my family means that the men (my uncles and any of the groomsmen) gather together the children to go out and decorate the car.


The generation gap has grown as people have fewer and fewer children and wait longer and longer before getting married. Without siblings with which to interact, they learn to rely on their age-segregated peer group. Then, when they start making these monumental life choices, they rely upon their peers and the “experts” to inform their decisions. It’s too late for the parents to transmit their wisdom. Since the children have never seen, learned, nor practiced this wisdom, it all seems hopelessly outdated. The new tradition has become no tradition–starting over with each new generation instead.

I, for one, intend to break with the new-fangled tradition: I’m going to do it like my parents did. ‘Cause I’ve seen how they did it–and it works pretty well!


Cataloguing Bach

One of my many life goals is to be familiar with classical music. Part of this involves listening to and recognizing great works of classical music.

While I could build my collection of classical music one CD at a time at 12 bucks a pop, I have chosen instead to collect for free. To this end, I have spent several hours over the last week exploring Classic Cat, the free classical catalogue, downloading mp3’s, and organizing them within my mp3 player.

I just finished working on my collection of Bach. Johann Sebastian Bach was an incredibly prolific composer, with over 1100 works to his credit. Thanks to classiccat.net and dozens of performers who have made their recordings available online, I can listen to hundreds of those works at any time.

As of right now, I have complete collections of:

  • Inventions and Sinfonias (BWV 772-801)
  • Four Duets from Clavier-Ubung III (BWV 802-805)
  • French Suites (BWV 812-817)
  • The Well-Tempered Clavier (BWV 846-893)
  • Six Little Preludes (BWV 933-938)
  • Five Preludes from the collection of Johann Peter Kellner (BWV 939-943)
  • The Goldberg Variations (BWV 988)
  • Brandenburg Concertos (BWV 1046-1051)

That’s 106 works right there–but I have at least portions of 290 pieces.

Do you listen to classical music? There’s really no excuse not to when the music is so readily available for free. Check out Classic Cat and try some–for starters, I recommend Johann Sebastian Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos or Antonio Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons (listed as Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter on ClassicCat.) Try it. I think you’ll like it.


…as to the Lord…

And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not to men.” Colossians 3:23

I’ve always interpreted that Scripture to mean that I should always work as hard as possible–put everything I have into my work. But recently, I’ve been forced to re-evaluate that position.

We’ve been incredibly busy at work, putting in overtime and working at least six days a week. I’m blessed that my bosses have honored my decision not to work on Sundays–some of my fellow employees are working 8 or 9 days in a row before they get a break.

With the busyness, I’ve shifted into warp speed. I go into the dishroom every night about fifteen minutes before we close the serving lines and stay there until the last dish is cleaned, the machine is shut down, and the floors are mopped. It takes at least an hour and a half. During that time, I’m flying–running from one end of the room to grab some pans, rearranging dishes on the belt, putting pans on the line, scrubbing some pans for a while, zipping back to the belt, helping out with trays coming in, then back to more pans. Around and around I go, moving a hundred miles a minute. By the time the dishroom is done, so am I. Done for, that is. I can’t do anything else that evening. I’ve exhausted myself. I drop the moment I get home and can’t do anything productive until I drag myself to work the next morning at 11.

And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not to men.” If that means working as hard as possible, putting all that I have into my work, I’ve been doing it. But somehow, I’m starting to think that my original interpretation needs some tweaking.

See, when I’m moving a hundred miles a minute, I’m not doing it for the Lord–I’m doing it for me. I want to get done. I want others to see how hardworking I am. I want to take responsibility for everything. I’m doing it for the accolades. Ultimately, I’m doing it for my pride.

Heartily, as to the Lord. What does the Lord expect and require from me in regard to work? With what attitude would He have me work?

I did an informal word study on “work” today–and discovered that the primary reference to work in Scriptures is, amazingly, in reference to the Sabbath. God worked 6 days. Then He rested. Man is to do all his work in 6 days. Then he is to rest. What is the penalty for breaking the Sabbath? Death.

I’m beginning to formulate an idea in my mind. Maybe God doesn’t want me to give my all to my work. Certainly He wouldn’t have me be slothful. But maybe God’s plan is actually that I work diligently, with excellence, but in such a way that I am not consumed by work. I know we usually use the phrase “consumed by work” to refer to someone who lives, eats, and breathes work–and has no life outside of work. We use it to refer to a workaholic. But in reality, to be consumed means “to be used up, to be completely destroyed.” I’ve been working to the degree that work is using me up, destroying me. And that’s not honoring to God.

So maybe, just maybe, God wants me to not work so hard. Maybe He wants me to take a Sabbath–even at work. Maybe He considers me more important than my work, and wants me to do my work in such a way that I can remain healthy in the midst of it.

So this week, I have an assignment: to learn how to work heartily (with warmth and sincerity, thoroughly, completely, with zest or enthusiasm, with great appetite or enjoyment) as if working for the Lord instead of for my pride.


On being UNDAMNED

“Damn you, Rebekah!” someone told me today.

“You can’t,” thought I. “I can’t, and neither can anyone else.”

I didn’t tell this person what I was thinking. But I was thinking, “I’ve already been undamned, by someone with much more authority than you or I.”

Damn

  1. To pronounce an adverse judgment upon
  2. To cause the failure of, ruin
  3. To condemn as harmful, illegal, or immoral
  4. To condemn to everlasting punishment
  5. To swear at

It just so happens that I have already been undamned. The adverse judgment that once was upon me has been removed. My failure has been removed. My condemnation as harmful, illegal, and immoral has been removed. My condemnation to everlasting punishment has been removed. So the last definition of damn, “to swear at” has very little hold over me. “What can separate me from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus?” Certainly not man’s damning.


Forty Pounds of Fresh Spinach

Have you ever contemplated how many spinach leaves there are in 40 pounds of fresh spinach? I hadn’t. At least, not until I was given the task of stemming 40 pounds of fresh spinach.

If you didn’t already know, spinach isn’t very dense–a small weight fills a very large container. We had four cases, each with four 2.5 lb bags inside, to stem. We chose the largest tabletop mixing bowl and got to work. We filled that with half a case. We started on another. Then we realized that at this rate, we would require 8 large mixing bowls to complete the task. We pulled out the big guns. We drew out the freestanding “Big Bertha” mixing bowl and set it beside the table we were working at. I’m not sure how many times we filled that, because the cook’s kept coming in and taking a small (big) mixing bowl full of spinach from it to cook off immediately.

I didn’t count how many leaves there were in 40 lbs, but I do know that it took two people at least 4 hours and 45 minutes to complete the task. That’s 9 1/2 man-hours. That’s a LONG time. But in some ways, it was a wonderful time. After the first hour, I asked permission and permission was granted me to drag a stool up to the prep table. So I sat and stemmed spinach. It reminded me of my growing up years, sitting around the kitchen table with all the kids, stemming beans Mom had just picked. It wasn’t that bad, although it was a long time and a little monotonous.

What made it all okay though, was the company. One of our custodians offered to help me when the other cook had to go off to do his thing. I didn’t know Lien that well before we started stemming spinach together, but now I feel as if I know her well.

I learned that Lien and her family escaped from Vietnam in the 1970’s when the Communists were attempting to forcibly conscript her into their army. They escaped on a boat–and were lucky to be picked up by an American boat. Lien said that others were picked up by other boats–and that men did awful things to the women they picked up.

Lien was 19 when she arrived in the US, but instead of going to school, she went out and got a job. She was the oldest daughter of 9 children, and they needed something on which to live. Her mother stayed at home with the children. Her father had a job that paid $2.75 an hour. Lien worked from 9 in the morning until 11 at night seven days a week to support her family.

Lien learned English by talking to her coworkers, and continues to improve her English by listening carefully to how we pronounce words and structure our sentences. She is glad to have a good job at the University, where she usually works only 40 hours a week–and where she receives vacation time. She loves that she now has the opportunity to spend time with her 7 year old daughter.

I’m glad there are so many leaves in 40 lbs of spinach–otherwise I might not have had an opportunity to really know this remarkable woman.