I have a lot of scriptures that are favorites as my lifeline for each new morning when it’s time to start over on the food battles for the day. Some days are uneventful; even peaceful, and for those I’m thankful. Other days are simply challenges from the moment I wake up---from that first bite at breakfast I’m ready to eat anything that hasn’t moved. Those are the days where this ‘starting over’ concept is most helpful. The next morning and the new start is always a blessing.
Starting over is colorful, like the colors of a rainbow. The rainbow scheme reminds me of the emotional ride through the day that can accompany the new day’s eating regimen. Let me travel through the colors with you:
RED – the starting over is bold, and daring, like this bold color; there’s some pain involved. It’s here I can remember how I went off track with my eating the day before and need to accept it and move on.
ORANGE – next I sense the brightness of a new harvest; it’s time to cash in on a new experience for the day.
YELLOW -- I’m joy-filled and excited for these new chances in this new day.
GREEN – As the new day continues I can feel mellow/ calm and steady; I maintain the refueling that a new start brings.
BLUE – I feel peaceful; as the day proceeds, I can either maintain this peace, or start to feel ‘down’
INDIGO – a dark color reflecting a darker mood as I reflect on this day’s events and how I handled food choices accordingly. I’m either melancholy or reflective.
VIOLET – the deepest but possibly the most beautiful color of all; this color represents the beautiful complexity of emotions that accompany the eating cycle of the day.
It’s God and his grace that keeps me going. Psalm 5:3 (NLT) “Listen to my voice in the morning, LORD.
Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.” Yay, God!
Tip of the week:
Restart every day, every meal, or every hour if you need to. But simply restart. The only way to fail is to quit.
Striving to increase my faith each day, a little at a time, and lose the things that weigh me down.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Moderation Schmoderation
Still on the rollercoaster ride—not the amusement park of the beach resorts or any of the Great Adventure parks, but my own Great Adventure on the ride of moderation in my eating habits.
Food is still an addiction for me. It’s like an old friend and an enemy at the same time. The worst kind of enemy is one who hangs closely with me, every day; I cannot choose to knock it out of the park and skip it altogether—which is why I constantly struggle with figuring out how to live with it. The all-or-nothing discipline doesn’t work with food in the long run; the need to face moderation head-on becomes necessary for success. The skills for losing these 100 pounds are different from the skills I’m using to maintain the loss. One of those skills is this dreaded “m” word: moderation.
Moderation is not fun to me. It requires more discipline than any all-or-nothing training can provide. I realize, however, after all these years of regular exercise, which I honestly don’t enjoy, that I have learned the skill of moderation by continuing to stick to a routine. Perhaps, just perhaps, this skill can be transferred to eating food. If I can engage in something I generally dislike (exercise), and still continue to participate in it, then maybe I can use these same skills with something I love (food)!
A fortune cookie saying I mentioned in a prior blog and I’ll mention again: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” Now that’s another concept altogether. Time for a snack.
Tip of the week:
Water! I have found that there are many times when I think I’m hungry that I’m not---I’m actually thirsty instead. This is another reason I will grab a drink of water first before diving into the meal or a snack; it helps clarify whether my body ‘needs’ the food or simply ‘wants’ it!
Food is still an addiction for me. It’s like an old friend and an enemy at the same time. The worst kind of enemy is one who hangs closely with me, every day; I cannot choose to knock it out of the park and skip it altogether—which is why I constantly struggle with figuring out how to live with it. The all-or-nothing discipline doesn’t work with food in the long run; the need to face moderation head-on becomes necessary for success. The skills for losing these 100 pounds are different from the skills I’m using to maintain the loss. One of those skills is this dreaded “m” word: moderation.
Moderation is not fun to me. It requires more discipline than any all-or-nothing training can provide. I realize, however, after all these years of regular exercise, which I honestly don’t enjoy, that I have learned the skill of moderation by continuing to stick to a routine. Perhaps, just perhaps, this skill can be transferred to eating food. If I can engage in something I generally dislike (exercise), and still continue to participate in it, then maybe I can use these same skills with something I love (food)!
A fortune cookie saying I mentioned in a prior blog and I’ll mention again: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” Now that’s another concept altogether. Time for a snack.
Tip of the week:
Water! I have found that there are many times when I think I’m hungry that I’m not---I’m actually thirsty instead. This is another reason I will grab a drink of water first before diving into the meal or a snack; it helps clarify whether my body ‘needs’ the food or simply ‘wants’ it!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Who's the Cop Chasing?
It’s time to drive more cautiously; y’know—stay within the speed limit. No, no speeding tickets for me recently, but SOMEone out there got them.
Two driving occasions: the first one—I was driving along on a highway, just around (okay, above) the speed limit, but going with the flow of traffic. I’m somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless. My attention span increases exponentially with the bright flashing lights of the cop car in my rearview mirror. Not a fun sight. The ‘uh-oh-did-I-get-caught’ thoughts went flying through my mind; admittedly, the ‘oh, man, how much is this going to cost me?’ thoughts were in there too. Seconds later, the police car passes me on the left to chase someone way out in front. Whew.
Second driving occasion: inching slowly on a congested road in town; again, I’m somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless. A police car is off to the right shoulder of the road in front of me. Within seconds, he puts on his flashers and cuts out in traffic in front of me to go after someone up ahead. At least this time I was sure I wasn’t speeding.
I am still thinking about these incidents because they remind me that the rules haven’t changed; I simply didn’t get caught. How many of us are living like this---somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless? The rules I speak of here are the speed limit signs; decades of driving experience dictate that I am aware of speed limit signs and what they mean. Decades of driving experience does not change the fact that I am to adhere to these signs. Even when I’m staying within the rules, as in the second example when I was driving slowly, I could still be more attentive to the signs.
Why mention all this? I know it’s the same with my weight loss journey and with my faith journey. Like the driving, I need to continue to be alert with my weight and faith; to be more than somewhat attentive and not at all mindless; to not only know the rules but to follow them too. The wakeup call of a police officer’s flashing lights are occasionally needed as reminders, but I’m planning to make sure I don’t need too many of those reminders. God is there every morning and so am I, talking with Him. That should be enough of a reminder.
Tip of the week:
Keep it simple! In these summer months, preparing and cooking meals can be challenging for our schedules as well as our heat levels! I find salads, quick-fix sandwiches and simple fruits and vegetables to be a helpful resource, particularly now.
Two driving occasions: the first one—I was driving along on a highway, just around (okay, above) the speed limit, but going with the flow of traffic. I’m somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless. My attention span increases exponentially with the bright flashing lights of the cop car in my rearview mirror. Not a fun sight. The ‘uh-oh-did-I-get-caught’ thoughts went flying through my mind; admittedly, the ‘oh, man, how much is this going to cost me?’ thoughts were in there too. Seconds later, the police car passes me on the left to chase someone way out in front. Whew.
Second driving occasion: inching slowly on a congested road in town; again, I’m somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless. A police car is off to the right shoulder of the road in front of me. Within seconds, he puts on his flashers and cuts out in traffic in front of me to go after someone up ahead. At least this time I was sure I wasn’t speeding.
I am still thinking about these incidents because they remind me that the rules haven’t changed; I simply didn’t get caught. How many of us are living like this---somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless? The rules I speak of here are the speed limit signs; decades of driving experience dictate that I am aware of speed limit signs and what they mean. Decades of driving experience does not change the fact that I am to adhere to these signs. Even when I’m staying within the rules, as in the second example when I was driving slowly, I could still be more attentive to the signs.
Why mention all this? I know it’s the same with my weight loss journey and with my faith journey. Like the driving, I need to continue to be alert with my weight and faith; to be more than somewhat attentive and not at all mindless; to not only know the rules but to follow them too. The wakeup call of a police officer’s flashing lights are occasionally needed as reminders, but I’m planning to make sure I don’t need too many of those reminders. God is there every morning and so am I, talking with Him. That should be enough of a reminder.
Tip of the week:
Keep it simple! In these summer months, preparing and cooking meals can be challenging for our schedules as well as our heat levels! I find salads, quick-fix sandwiches and simple fruits and vegetables to be a helpful resource, particularly now.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Skinny Minnie
Several months ago, I had an experience while attending a conference at a hotel that I still can’t wrap my mind around: a stranger called me “Skinny Minnie.”
I had just finished a sweaty, refueling one-hour workout at the hotel’s fitness room and decided to finish my morning with breakfast at the lobby buffet (before I took my shower!)
“Wow,” the waitress said to me, “I wish I had the chance to work out too. Then I could be a Skinny Minnie like you are!” I chuckled nervously and thanked God for the reminder not to go too crazy on the buffet food. The reason for my sense of being uncomfortable, though, was that I have never been called “Skinny Minnie” in my life and didn’t know what to do with the label. I was stunned, actually, particularly since the waitress was small-to-average sized but still asked me for advice. I didn’t get it.
What I do get is that I look and feel better than I did before. It has been years since I’ve stayed thinner, but I am still getting used to this new ‘me’. I even look normal and blend in; I find I’m almost invisible as an average-sized person. But to be set apart as Skinny Minnie was unsettling; it was as uncomfortable as the time I couldn’t ride the kiddie amusement park ride with my son because I was too large. As for the waitress: I was no smaller than she was. Her comment to me was simply a reflection of her own perspective on how she looked and felt, not how I looked. No matter what our size, it’s the size we have of ourselves in our minds that seems more tangible than the view in the mirror. Our mind’s mirrors are distorted with years of insecurities, expectations, and self-esteem all wrapped around the outer layer of our selves that contain the sense of who and what we are, regardless of our outward appearances. We want to separate the physical from our intellectual and emotional selves, but we cannot. As I continue to wander down the path to self-identity as an average-sized person, I continue to blend the various parts of myself into a complete being.
Despite being uncomfortable, I am grateful for the “Skinny Minnie” comment; it gave me the chance to share my story of losing over 100 pounds with that waitress. It gave me a chance to share my faith journey, and to remind her that she was beautiful just as she was. I find it interesting to have the opportunity for a conversation simply because my t-shirt was sweaty. Time for a shower.
Tip of the week:
Taking the time to work out on a regular schedule, despite the time of year or vacation plans, is key for my sanity and commitment to being healthy. Endorphins aside, I always feel better in so many ways after my workouts. When I don’t feel like starting my workout, I remember it feels better when I’m finished, and with that reminder it’s easier to begin.
I had just finished a sweaty, refueling one-hour workout at the hotel’s fitness room and decided to finish my morning with breakfast at the lobby buffet (before I took my shower!)
“Wow,” the waitress said to me, “I wish I had the chance to work out too. Then I could be a Skinny Minnie like you are!” I chuckled nervously and thanked God for the reminder not to go too crazy on the buffet food. The reason for my sense of being uncomfortable, though, was that I have never been called “Skinny Minnie” in my life and didn’t know what to do with the label. I was stunned, actually, particularly since the waitress was small-to-average sized but still asked me for advice. I didn’t get it.
What I do get is that I look and feel better than I did before. It has been years since I’ve stayed thinner, but I am still getting used to this new ‘me’. I even look normal and blend in; I find I’m almost invisible as an average-sized person. But to be set apart as Skinny Minnie was unsettling; it was as uncomfortable as the time I couldn’t ride the kiddie amusement park ride with my son because I was too large. As for the waitress: I was no smaller than she was. Her comment to me was simply a reflection of her own perspective on how she looked and felt, not how I looked. No matter what our size, it’s the size we have of ourselves in our minds that seems more tangible than the view in the mirror. Our mind’s mirrors are distorted with years of insecurities, expectations, and self-esteem all wrapped around the outer layer of our selves that contain the sense of who and what we are, regardless of our outward appearances. We want to separate the physical from our intellectual and emotional selves, but we cannot. As I continue to wander down the path to self-identity as an average-sized person, I continue to blend the various parts of myself into a complete being.
Despite being uncomfortable, I am grateful for the “Skinny Minnie” comment; it gave me the chance to share my story of losing over 100 pounds with that waitress. It gave me a chance to share my faith journey, and to remind her that she was beautiful just as she was. I find it interesting to have the opportunity for a conversation simply because my t-shirt was sweaty. Time for a shower.
Tip of the week:
Taking the time to work out on a regular schedule, despite the time of year or vacation plans, is key for my sanity and commitment to being healthy. Endorphins aside, I always feel better in so many ways after my workouts. When I don’t feel like starting my workout, I remember it feels better when I’m finished, and with that reminder it’s easier to begin.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Speed Limit 45. (part 2)
Last week’s blog post referred to an unusual speed limit sign. Instead of the customary “Speed Limit 45” out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sign that said something extra. It said: “Speed Limit 45. This IS your warning.”
I continue the warning theme this week with some reflections on that sign. I’ve noticed more speed limit signs since then, all of which simply state the speed limit number. I continue to ponder the implicit warnings, however and ask myself: What do I need to pay attention to? What is my warning sign, really?
One easy way to reflect on my life’s priorities is to consider what I would do today if it literally was the last day of my life on earth. Geneen Roth writes some wonderful pieces in her Good Housekeeping essays which discuss food and health issues; one such article referred to “priority-setting” exercises she uses in her food addictions workshops. Geneen described a workshop exercise where participants are asked to list what they would do differently if they knew they had only one year left to live. Then they list what they’d do differently with only six months left to live. Then three months. Then one month. One week. One day.
Keeping a focus on these one-day items on my own mental list helps me know why I wouldn’t want to need another warning sign to accompany the familiar “Speed Limit 45” message. My one-day list includes my faith. Prayer time. Slowing down. Purpose-filled activities. Family time including lots of snuggling with my husband and kids. One thing Geneen noticed is that her workshop attendants included “eating anything they want”, “bingeing”, “chocolate” and similar entries in their one-year and six-month lists, but as the timing got shorter and hit the one-week and one-day levels, the bingeing wasn’t on the list anymore. When we know that our time is really short, we don’t want to waste it on our food obsessions. My own personal warning: if I had one day to live, bingeing would not be on my one-day list. And so I proceed along my process, one slow step at a time, to reducing my food obsessions and increasing my faith obsessions. I want to take my warning signs seriously.
Tip of the week:
My very favorite way to start the day is my prayer time. After that, though, I exercise! I exercise regularly because I need to exercise, NOT because I love it. Like other activities which are NOT my favorite, I find getting them done early in the day (along with filing paperwork, paying bills and planning dinner!) can make them easier to accomplish and frees my mind for enjoying the rest of my day!
I continue the warning theme this week with some reflections on that sign. I’ve noticed more speed limit signs since then, all of which simply state the speed limit number. I continue to ponder the implicit warnings, however and ask myself: What do I need to pay attention to? What is my warning sign, really?
One easy way to reflect on my life’s priorities is to consider what I would do today if it literally was the last day of my life on earth. Geneen Roth writes some wonderful pieces in her Good Housekeeping essays which discuss food and health issues; one such article referred to “priority-setting” exercises she uses in her food addictions workshops. Geneen described a workshop exercise where participants are asked to list what they would do differently if they knew they had only one year left to live. Then they list what they’d do differently with only six months left to live. Then three months. Then one month. One week. One day.
Keeping a focus on these one-day items on my own mental list helps me know why I wouldn’t want to need another warning sign to accompany the familiar “Speed Limit 45” message. My one-day list includes my faith. Prayer time. Slowing down. Purpose-filled activities. Family time including lots of snuggling with my husband and kids. One thing Geneen noticed is that her workshop attendants included “eating anything they want”, “bingeing”, “chocolate” and similar entries in their one-year and six-month lists, but as the timing got shorter and hit the one-week and one-day levels, the bingeing wasn’t on the list anymore. When we know that our time is really short, we don’t want to waste it on our food obsessions. My own personal warning: if I had one day to live, bingeing would not be on my one-day list. And so I proceed along my process, one slow step at a time, to reducing my food obsessions and increasing my faith obsessions. I want to take my warning signs seriously.
Tip of the week:
My very favorite way to start the day is my prayer time. After that, though, I exercise! I exercise regularly because I need to exercise, NOT because I love it. Like other activities which are NOT my favorite, I find getting them done early in the day (along with filing paperwork, paying bills and planning dinner!) can make them easier to accomplish and frees my mind for enjoying the rest of my day!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Speed Limit 45. This IS Your Warning.
“Be careful. I love you.” It’s what my Dad always says when I leave the house.
On a recent road trip, I noticed an unusual speed limit sign. Instead of the customary “Speed Limit 45” out of the corner of my eye, I saw something extra. It said: “Speed Limit 45. This IS your warning.”
How interesting, I thought. A speed limit sign with a message attached. Actually, multiple messages come to mind. Today’s message relates to a lifetime of my dad’s cautionary reminders. “Be careful!” my dad always said as I rushed out the door to test my new-found driving skills at the ripe old age of 16. Now, almost 35 years later, he says “Be careful. I love you.” I realize that the “I love you” add-on is the real message. It’s not only about reflecting his fear, but also about sharing his concern and love for me when he reminds that he hopes I return from another driving road trip with all my limbs—heck, my life—intact.
Most of my life I have been aware of my dad’s cautionary nature. “Don’t trip.” “Watch out.” “Don’t drop it.” Of course, I usually did trip, or drop whatever it was I was carrying. The mental images come from the second half of message itself; instead of telling me what not to do, it might’ve been more effective if he suggested what I should do instead. The speed limit sign interests me in its reminder that I often take the common messages out there to simply be precursors to the real warnings. When we’re children, the idea of a warning system is appropriate, but as adults, it’s a challenge and a priority to kick up my attention a bit so that the familiar signs serve to be the warnings in my life, too.
My own message today is a reflective one of gratitude for my father, despite his cautionary warnings over and over in my life, on this week leading up to Father’s Day in which I honor and celebrate him. I celebrate the love that underlies the warning messages; I celebrate the care, concern and loyalty with which he always stands by his family, and I celebrate the familiar messages that include the follow-up meaning: “I love you” whether or not those precious words are actually spoken.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
================
Tip of the week:
Watch out for those familiar “FOOD” messages in television commercials! If I find the commercials triggering suggestions about eating that I choose to avoid, I simply turn off the TV temporarily, or breeze through the commercials by fast-fowarding through them on pre-recorded shows.
On a recent road trip, I noticed an unusual speed limit sign. Instead of the customary “Speed Limit 45” out of the corner of my eye, I saw something extra. It said: “Speed Limit 45. This IS your warning.”
How interesting, I thought. A speed limit sign with a message attached. Actually, multiple messages come to mind. Today’s message relates to a lifetime of my dad’s cautionary reminders. “Be careful!” my dad always said as I rushed out the door to test my new-found driving skills at the ripe old age of 16. Now, almost 35 years later, he says “Be careful. I love you.” I realize that the “I love you” add-on is the real message. It’s not only about reflecting his fear, but also about sharing his concern and love for me when he reminds that he hopes I return from another driving road trip with all my limbs—heck, my life—intact.
Most of my life I have been aware of my dad’s cautionary nature. “Don’t trip.” “Watch out.” “Don’t drop it.” Of course, I usually did trip, or drop whatever it was I was carrying. The mental images come from the second half of message itself; instead of telling me what not to do, it might’ve been more effective if he suggested what I should do instead. The speed limit sign interests me in its reminder that I often take the common messages out there to simply be precursors to the real warnings. When we’re children, the idea of a warning system is appropriate, but as adults, it’s a challenge and a priority to kick up my attention a bit so that the familiar signs serve to be the warnings in my life, too.
My own message today is a reflective one of gratitude for my father, despite his cautionary warnings over and over in my life, on this week leading up to Father’s Day in which I honor and celebrate him. I celebrate the love that underlies the warning messages; I celebrate the care, concern and loyalty with which he always stands by his family, and I celebrate the familiar messages that include the follow-up meaning: “I love you” whether or not those precious words are actually spoken.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
================
Tip of the week:
Watch out for those familiar “FOOD” messages in television commercials! If I find the commercials triggering suggestions about eating that I choose to avoid, I simply turn off the TV temporarily, or breeze through the commercials by fast-fowarding through them on pre-recorded shows.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Prayer is a Commitment and it takes Time
I had the privilege of speaking at the church ministry in Allentown called RiPPLE where Pastor Tom and the Ripple-rs inspired and encouraged each other with stories of ‘ripple’ effects; sharing how one good deed can lead to another, and particularly when we are following God’s will in our lives, the results are amazing. I presented my “Gain Faith, Lose Weight” concept including tips on how to pray with a greater focus on God and see the resulting increase in faith for ourselves. One of the key points in the talk is this: Prayer is a commitment, and it takes time.
For today, I am taking the time to expand on this concept in the hope that the inspiration to hang in there with prayer can be shared and reinforced.
All great stories, including mine where I’ve lost over 100 pounds within five years with God’s help, have at their core, a significant event; a turning point. There is no way to make great strides in this world whether it be in relationships, in personal goals, in quality of life, without a turning point where we discover for ourselves that the pain of change is actually less than the pain of remaining the same.
Those turning points in our lives can be triggered by prayer. I observe that when we’re in our deepest crises and in our highest joys in life, there’s a natural response “God, help!”, or “Thank you, God!” Why not implement this same desire in the mediocre parts of our life journeys; the straightaways on the roller coaster of life, where it seems nothing is happening but actually the energy to ride up or down that hill is being built. Prayer is critical, not only in the highs and lows of life, but all those points in between. And so the concept: Prayer is a commitment, and it takes time---comes into play.
I have found that a turning point in my life combined with the commitment to prayer is truly powerful. This prayer commitment is its own time scheduler; there is nothing else in my life that can or should interfere with it. Only then does the prayer “work” for me; only then do I know I’m on the right path, at least.
If I’m not committed, or if I’m not willing to put the time into it, my prayer life becomes stale; mundane; ineffective. All it takes is a mustard seed of commitment and a small time slot of my day, and I am back on track. Life, with its ups and downs, is still a smoother ride. Amen!
For today, I am taking the time to expand on this concept in the hope that the inspiration to hang in there with prayer can be shared and reinforced.
All great stories, including mine where I’ve lost over 100 pounds within five years with God’s help, have at their core, a significant event; a turning point. There is no way to make great strides in this world whether it be in relationships, in personal goals, in quality of life, without a turning point where we discover for ourselves that the pain of change is actually less than the pain of remaining the same.
Those turning points in our lives can be triggered by prayer. I observe that when we’re in our deepest crises and in our highest joys in life, there’s a natural response “God, help!”, or “Thank you, God!” Why not implement this same desire in the mediocre parts of our life journeys; the straightaways on the roller coaster of life, where it seems nothing is happening but actually the energy to ride up or down that hill is being built. Prayer is critical, not only in the highs and lows of life, but all those points in between. And so the concept: Prayer is a commitment, and it takes time---comes into play.
I have found that a turning point in my life combined with the commitment to prayer is truly powerful. This prayer commitment is its own time scheduler; there is nothing else in my life that can or should interfere with it. Only then does the prayer “work” for me; only then do I know I’m on the right path, at least.
If I’m not committed, or if I’m not willing to put the time into it, my prayer life becomes stale; mundane; ineffective. All it takes is a mustard seed of commitment and a small time slot of my day, and I am back on track. Life, with its ups and downs, is still a smoother ride. Amen!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
RiPPLE Ministry: guest speaker this Sunday!
Announcing a new Meetup for RiPPLE -The Lehigh Valley Emerging Christianity Meetup!
What: First Sunday Celebration featuring Lisa Tomarelli - potluck supper follows after
When: Sunday, June 6, 2010 4:00 PM
Where:
The Caring Place
931 Hamilton Street
Allentown, PA 18101
(610) 433-4680
Gain Faith, Lose Weight?
is a concept developed by Lisa Tomarelli. who spent more than 40 years of her life struggling with weight issues. Naturally goal-oriented, she battled to lose weight through diets, exercise and self-help systems?yet she failed year after year.
Then something changed: she lost more than a hundred pounds. In addition, she has kept it off. Her secret? Faith.
This is still a faith journey for Lisa, every day. Through her ?Gain Faith, Lose Weight?? program, she invites others to walk by her side. Her message: through prayer, God?s love is abundant enough to help us all!
Come and hear Lisa's inspiring story. Feel free to check out her website ahead of time at, www.lisatomarelli.com.
Following our meeting we will be holding a potluck supper for those who attend our meeting. Bring something to share with the rest of the group. We'll be welcoming our summer intern who will be joining us beginning on June 6th.
See you there!
Learn more here:
http://www.meetup.com/RIPPLE/calendar/13642748/
--
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To unsubscribe or to update your mailing list settings, click here
Meetup, PO Box 4668 #37895 New York, New York 10163-4668 | support@meetup.com
What: First Sunday Celebration featuring Lisa Tomarelli - potluck supper follows after
When: Sunday, June 6, 2010 4:00 PM
Where:
The Caring Place
931 Hamilton Street
Allentown, PA 18101
(610) 433-4680
Gain Faith, Lose Weight?
is a concept developed by Lisa Tomarelli. who spent more than 40 years of her life struggling with weight issues. Naturally goal-oriented, she battled to lose weight through diets, exercise and self-help systems?yet she failed year after year.
Then something changed: she lost more than a hundred pounds. In addition, she has kept it off. Her secret? Faith.
This is still a faith journey for Lisa, every day. Through her ?Gain Faith, Lose Weight?? program, she invites others to walk by her side. Her message: through prayer, God?s love is abundant enough to help us all!
Come and hear Lisa's inspiring story. Feel free to check out her website ahead of time at, www.lisatomarelli.com.
Following our meeting we will be holding a potluck supper for those who attend our meeting. Bring something to share with the rest of the group. We'll be welcoming our summer intern who will be joining us beginning on June 6th.
See you there!
Learn more here:
http://www.meetup.com/RIPPLE/calendar/13642748/
--
Please Note: If you hit "REPLY", your message will be sent to everyone on this mailing list (emergentchristian-44@meetup.com)
This message was sent by Elisa (proud2blefty@yahoo.com) from RiPPLE -The Lehigh Valley Emerging Christianity Meetup.
To learn more about Elisa, visit his/her member profile
To unsubscribe or to update your mailing list settings, click here
Meetup, PO Box 4668 #37895 New York, New York 10163-4668 | support@meetup.com
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Barstool, Barbeque or Church Pew?
There’s a local bar in my neighborhood that is directly across the street from a church; I pass it every week when attending my own church which is a bit further down the same road. I recall one day several years ago when my young daughter and I waited in traffic and watched as the people left their church to walk across the street to get to their cars which were parked in the lot behind the bar. She didn’t realize the parking lot was there and asked: “Why does everyone leave church and go to that bar afterwards?” I laughed. Ohhh, so many responses to that one. Instead, I acted responsibly and explained that there was a parking lot there and the people were going to their cars, not the bar.
Some thoughts I read recently on the local bar from Chuck Swindoll’s book, “Encourage Me”:
“The neighborhood bar is possibly the best counterfeit there is to the fellowship Christ wants to give to His church. It’s an imitation, dispensing liquor instead of grace, escape rather than reality, but it is a permissive, accepting, and inclusive fellowship. It is unshockable. It is democratic. You can tell people secrets and they usually don’t tell others or even want to. The bar flourished not because most people are alcoholics, but because God has put into the human heart the desire to know and be known, to love and be loved, and so many seek a counterfeit at the price of a few beers.”
I am reminded of the need for fellowship, bonding, being known and being loved as we near the first holiday event of this summer—Memorial Day weekend. It brings to mind the concept of remembering those who serve our country, but it is also about gatherings, whether they be at the barbeque, the bar or church. Why do we get together? We simply want and need each other—to know and be known, to love and be loved. The gatherings we have in our churches are breathtakingly beautiful when the connections made there are safe, accepting and inclusive. Aware of my bias, I attend my own church, Daybreak Community Church (www.enjoydaybreak.com) because I know these types of connections can be made there. Our church has always worked towards being this type of environment which means more to me than the building or the organ music—because true fellowship and connecting can heal and bring hope in our otherwise busy, crazy world.
Tip of the week:
It’s finally sunny---and taking our workouts outside can be a welcome change. When I enjoy my workouts outside, whether it is to play some tennis or go for a walk, I get a double-dose: sunshine and sweat—a perfect combination!
Some thoughts I read recently on the local bar from Chuck Swindoll’s book, “Encourage Me”:
“The neighborhood bar is possibly the best counterfeit there is to the fellowship Christ wants to give to His church. It’s an imitation, dispensing liquor instead of grace, escape rather than reality, but it is a permissive, accepting, and inclusive fellowship. It is unshockable. It is democratic. You can tell people secrets and they usually don’t tell others or even want to. The bar flourished not because most people are alcoholics, but because God has put into the human heart the desire to know and be known, to love and be loved, and so many seek a counterfeit at the price of a few beers.”
I am reminded of the need for fellowship, bonding, being known and being loved as we near the first holiday event of this summer—Memorial Day weekend. It brings to mind the concept of remembering those who serve our country, but it is also about gatherings, whether they be at the barbeque, the bar or church. Why do we get together? We simply want and need each other—to know and be known, to love and be loved. The gatherings we have in our churches are breathtakingly beautiful when the connections made there are safe, accepting and inclusive. Aware of my bias, I attend my own church, Daybreak Community Church (www.enjoydaybreak.com) because I know these types of connections can be made there. Our church has always worked towards being this type of environment which means more to me than the building or the organ music—because true fellowship and connecting can heal and bring hope in our otherwise busy, crazy world.
Tip of the week:
It’s finally sunny---and taking our workouts outside can be a welcome change. When I enjoy my workouts outside, whether it is to play some tennis or go for a walk, I get a double-dose: sunshine and sweat—a perfect combination!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Thoughts on Bread
Mmmm. Crusty bread from the oven, steaming hot, ready to be slathered with butter. There’s nothing like it. Baking homemade bread is a simple process with simple ingredients: flour, water, eggs, and the most critical ingredient of all—yeast.
Ironically, I find that the interesting thing about the yeast is that it’s rather boring in and of itself. Those little packets we get at the grocery store are unassuming. Open one, and not much seems to be going on in there. Mix it up in the right proportions with just a few other ingredients, though, and the result is not only a tasty bread, but a bread that has risen to more than double its original size because of the chemical reactions between the ingredients, including the yeast.
The requirement for this chemical reaction resulting in bread that has risen to its indulgent fluffiness is patience. Once the ingredients are mixed, they need to sit. And so we wait. And wait. And wait. This waiting period is like the various preparation periods in our lives where we don’t know what to do; where to go next, whether it be a job, a relationship or a decision. The waiting is critical though. It’s critical for the yeast to work with the other ingredients; it’s also critical for me to understand what my next move should be according to God’s plan, and that involves waiting.
Only in the waiting can I be prepared to move to the next stage: the stage when the heat is on. For the bread that has risen, it’s oven time. In the heat of the oven the bread finishes to perfection in all its crustiness; rises to its maximum doughiness, and becomes ready for the table in its best form yet. When I take the time to wait, I can take the ‘heat’ of life more easily. I will not only withstand the tough stuff, but thrive instead. Like the baked bread, I can become more than what I was when I started, and still be a perfect combination of the ingredients that make me who I truly am.
Tip of the week:
Salsa! Okay, whether it’s the salsa dance to add to your exercise repertoire, or the salsa condiment to top off your potatoes or scrambled eggs, it always works for some extra spice in the perfect format to enhance any weight loss effort. Enjoy!
Ironically, I find that the interesting thing about the yeast is that it’s rather boring in and of itself. Those little packets we get at the grocery store are unassuming. Open one, and not much seems to be going on in there. Mix it up in the right proportions with just a few other ingredients, though, and the result is not only a tasty bread, but a bread that has risen to more than double its original size because of the chemical reactions between the ingredients, including the yeast.
The requirement for this chemical reaction resulting in bread that has risen to its indulgent fluffiness is patience. Once the ingredients are mixed, they need to sit. And so we wait. And wait. And wait. This waiting period is like the various preparation periods in our lives where we don’t know what to do; where to go next, whether it be a job, a relationship or a decision. The waiting is critical though. It’s critical for the yeast to work with the other ingredients; it’s also critical for me to understand what my next move should be according to God’s plan, and that involves waiting.
Only in the waiting can I be prepared to move to the next stage: the stage when the heat is on. For the bread that has risen, it’s oven time. In the heat of the oven the bread finishes to perfection in all its crustiness; rises to its maximum doughiness, and becomes ready for the table in its best form yet. When I take the time to wait, I can take the ‘heat’ of life more easily. I will not only withstand the tough stuff, but thrive instead. Like the baked bread, I can become more than what I was when I started, and still be a perfect combination of the ingredients that make me who I truly am.
Tip of the week:
Salsa! Okay, whether it’s the salsa dance to add to your exercise repertoire, or the salsa condiment to top off your potatoes or scrambled eggs, it always works for some extra spice in the perfect format to enhance any weight loss effort. Enjoy!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Mr. Martin's Marbles
There’s a Mr. Martin in every neighborhood. You know: the old man or old lady who’s alone and once they catch anyone’s ear, the stories begin. In this case, Mr. Martin is almost 90 years young, whose wife died a few years ago, and who can remember every last detail of his childhood, challenges and choices in life. He’s from the “what’s the world coming to?” era and can remember times when there were no coins to rub together; not just being poor, but destitute. The Depression did that. There were lessons to learn and along the way, basic needs to be met, destitute or not.
One recent story I heard from Mr. Martin revolved around one of his favorite childhood games: marbles.
He could still remember the one and only time he actually had to punch somebody. There was another kid—a bully—who was stealing the other kids’ marbles. And one day, it was Mr. Martin’s marbles he was after. As one who generally prefers to avoid conflict, the young Mr. Martin startled the bully and himself by punching him in the nose to get his marbles back. The kid dropped all the marbles, including his own. Mr. Martin picked up his marbles and left.
The clincher? Mr. Martin said he wondered if that kid ever went back to get his own marbles again. Mr. Martin picked up his own marbles after the fight and left the rest—the marbles that belonged to the bully—in that very same spot.
What started as a lesson in dealing with bullies ended as a lesson for me to see yet another side of Mr. Martin—the one with integrity. Honesty and integrity are not just skills, they are character traits.
I’m so glad Mr. Martin still has his marbles.
=========================================================
Tip of the week:
We all need each other to help us in our health and weight loss efforts. When the going gets tough, call a friend! The distraction and the delay may be helpful in avoiding a potential binge.
One recent story I heard from Mr. Martin revolved around one of his favorite childhood games: marbles.
He could still remember the one and only time he actually had to punch somebody. There was another kid—a bully—who was stealing the other kids’ marbles. And one day, it was Mr. Martin’s marbles he was after. As one who generally prefers to avoid conflict, the young Mr. Martin startled the bully and himself by punching him in the nose to get his marbles back. The kid dropped all the marbles, including his own. Mr. Martin picked up his marbles and left.
The clincher? Mr. Martin said he wondered if that kid ever went back to get his own marbles again. Mr. Martin picked up his own marbles after the fight and left the rest—the marbles that belonged to the bully—in that very same spot.
What started as a lesson in dealing with bullies ended as a lesson for me to see yet another side of Mr. Martin—the one with integrity. Honesty and integrity are not just skills, they are character traits.
I’m so glad Mr. Martin still has his marbles.
=========================================================
Tip of the week:
We all need each other to help us in our health and weight loss efforts. When the going gets tough, call a friend! The distraction and the delay may be helpful in avoiding a potential binge.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Shattered Glass
Recently, I've been reminded that as I eat less, I want to scream more. Here's a fiction piece to remind myself that I need to watch my words, too, not just what I eat:
==================================================================================
"You make me sick!"
She watched as her son instantly withered into a dried-out autumn leaf. The promise of his newfound interest in archery crumbled under the heavy footprint of her words. She looked at those shoulders which were just starting to display the broad frame of the man he would become and the slight fuzz of darkness across his upper lip. He sunk into his favorite spot on the sofa and said "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to lose the arrow."
She was so excited to finally have a hobby to share with her son, who desperately needed his father in his life right now--and spent all her extra cash from the coffee can to buy him his first quiver, bow and handmade arrows with feathers in his favorite color--green.
She had so many words to say, to scream, to yell, to whisper, and yet the fewest of them created the most damage--the shattered glass of her son's soul was about to crumble into a messy heap. She knew she needed another outlet for those words; it was the only way to pick up the broken pieces, even if not to put them together.
She opened the phone book and found the listings under 'P'. Psychiatrists.
=================================================================================
Tip of the week: Do whatever it takes--scream, yell, run around the block--to walk away from the fridge when it's clear that the answer is not in there!
==================================================================================
"You make me sick!"
She watched as her son instantly withered into a dried-out autumn leaf. The promise of his newfound interest in archery crumbled under the heavy footprint of her words. She looked at those shoulders which were just starting to display the broad frame of the man he would become and the slight fuzz of darkness across his upper lip. He sunk into his favorite spot on the sofa and said "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to lose the arrow."
She was so excited to finally have a hobby to share with her son, who desperately needed his father in his life right now--and spent all her extra cash from the coffee can to buy him his first quiver, bow and handmade arrows with feathers in his favorite color--green.
She had so many words to say, to scream, to yell, to whisper, and yet the fewest of them created the most damage--the shattered glass of her son's soul was about to crumble into a messy heap. She knew she needed another outlet for those words; it was the only way to pick up the broken pieces, even if not to put them together.
She opened the phone book and found the listings under 'P'. Psychiatrists.
=================================================================================
Tip of the week: Do whatever it takes--scream, yell, run around the block--to walk away from the fridge when it's clear that the answer is not in there!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Mountain Madness part 3: Coming DOWN
Whew. A group of us climbed up the mountain, enjoyed the view from the top, and now it’s time to head back down.
Wait a minute. I don’t want to go down. I don’t want to head back to the place I was before; I don’t want to deal with hectic schedules, another day of running around, heading off crises while taking care of a family and a home and, oh yea, myself. This trek up a mountain with the beautiful view from the top leaves me changed. I see this experience as one of those times in life I cannot remain the same. For now, though, I need to simply hold onto that experience like another item in my backpack, and take the challenge of heading back down the mountain.
My friend said it was steep. The signs say it’s steep. But I didn’t know “steep” until I was going backwards down the rock formations to get to the next lower level. Like before, I was given suggestions to help my footing—walk sideways, take small steps, have one foot braced before moving the other—but I was taking those suggestions more seriously this time. I was trying to remember any scripture that could be dusted off in my memory about standing on rocks or having my feet grounded, and all I could think of was “trust in the Lord.” Yikes. Can’t I do that while standing on level ground? Apparently not, sometimes. Sometimes I need to be heading down the sliding board of a mountainside to realize that I am truly freaked out. I was actually quiet since I couldn’t talk and concentrate at the same time.
Trust and gratitude. It was about all I could feel—trust that God will get me back down because there’s nothing left to trust, and gratitude for my friends and their practical tips along the way. They even helped out by carrying some of my things—my water bottle, the camera.
It really is the same as life, isn’t it? When things are tough and I’m freaked out beyond my own abilities, it’s then that I know God will show up. And He even sends my friends to help me out, not in those intangible “I’ll pray for you” ways, but hands-on help by carrying my load, and practical tips and suggestions on making the way easier, safer, smoother. In these mountain reflections, I’m reminded that I want to seek after God’s presence in my life on level ground, too. I know God is there, but I forget. This mountain madness adventure was a much-needed reminder about dependence on God. Trust and gratitude; so simple but so challenging.
Tip of the week:
Last week, I suggested something “new” in the routine to boost health/fitness goals; this week, I’m suggesting we try something “old”. We all have a favorite food item, walking path, recipe or technique that has worked for us in the past—let’s do that again. For me one of those old techniques was to pray to God and promise that I wouldn’t blow it with my eating that day (or that hour, or that minute—whatever it takes!)—I can do that again, and again, and again—whatever it takes!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Mountain Madness part 2: At the Top
The view from the top of a mountain. Breathtaking. Silent. Overwhelming. Colorful. Dizzying. Misty. Bigger than myself.
I continue this discussion of my recent adventure hiking up a mountain during a retreat to consider the view from the top. As I was climbing, I remember thinking: just get to the top, just get to the top. That focus helped me to keep going, despite the fear of heights that permeated the core of my being. “Just get to the top” helped to override the thought “One slip and I’ll fall wayyyyy down.” For some, it’s not heights, but other fears—no matter what the fear, it can override our rational thoughts in any circumstance. The view from the top was my reward for pushing through the fears. And boy, was it beautiful.
It was interesting to see the treetops from the top. Hey, when I look at a tree, I see the top, but from the ground instead. It reminds me how I see life’s situations from a certain angle, but forget I can see the same thing from another perspective with new clarity and insight. It was also fun to be higher up, and though my intellect knew I wasn’t actually in the clouds, my imagination let me think I was. And what if a bird flew by and I was in its path? Waterfalls also look way different from the top than from the side of the mountain. I wonder what else I need to view from the top: perhaps my goals in life, my relationships, my daily decisions, and my desire for control. Oh yea, it’s God who’s in control, and God’s view from the top has a clarity that I’ll never understand, but I can imagine is beautiful; breathtaking; peaceful.
Our group shared a prayer circle up there; and although I know my God is everywhere, at the top and at the bottom of a mountain, I can say it felt like we were truly closer to God. The dependence on Him at the top, to hold us up, to be that Rock I was standing on, to stop and notice His presence, was worth the hike. Really.
In 2 Samuel 22:32-34 (NIV) it says: “For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God? It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he enables me to stand on the heights.” There’s no way to be up there without a prayerful moment. Those are the moments that keep me going, whether up or down the mountain, and it’s for those moments I’m always grateful.
Tip of the week:
When the going gets tough and I need new motivation for my health and weight loss goals, I find something new: a new Scripture to put on my fridge, a new recipe, a new fruit or vegetable to try, or a new exercise routine adjustment. This newness reminds me I’m always starting over and keeps me going in the many restarts.
I continue this discussion of my recent adventure hiking up a mountain during a retreat to consider the view from the top. As I was climbing, I remember thinking: just get to the top, just get to the top. That focus helped me to keep going, despite the fear of heights that permeated the core of my being. “Just get to the top” helped to override the thought “One slip and I’ll fall wayyyyy down.” For some, it’s not heights, but other fears—no matter what the fear, it can override our rational thoughts in any circumstance. The view from the top was my reward for pushing through the fears. And boy, was it beautiful.
It was interesting to see the treetops from the top. Hey, when I look at a tree, I see the top, but from the ground instead. It reminds me how I see life’s situations from a certain angle, but forget I can see the same thing from another perspective with new clarity and insight. It was also fun to be higher up, and though my intellect knew I wasn’t actually in the clouds, my imagination let me think I was. And what if a bird flew by and I was in its path? Waterfalls also look way different from the top than from the side of the mountain. I wonder what else I need to view from the top: perhaps my goals in life, my relationships, my daily decisions, and my desire for control. Oh yea, it’s God who’s in control, and God’s view from the top has a clarity that I’ll never understand, but I can imagine is beautiful; breathtaking; peaceful.
Our group shared a prayer circle up there; and although I know my God is everywhere, at the top and at the bottom of a mountain, I can say it felt like we were truly closer to God. The dependence on Him at the top, to hold us up, to be that Rock I was standing on, to stop and notice His presence, was worth the hike. Really.
In 2 Samuel 22:32-34 (NIV) it says: “For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God? It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he enables me to stand on the heights.” There’s no way to be up there without a prayerful moment. Those are the moments that keep me going, whether up or down the mountain, and it’s for those moments I’m always grateful.
Tip of the week:
When the going gets tough and I need new motivation for my health and weight loss goals, I find something new: a new Scripture to put on my fridge, a new recipe, a new fruit or vegetable to try, or a new exercise routine adjustment. This newness reminds me I’m always starting over and keeps me going in the many restarts.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Mountain Madness part 1: Going UP
Ingredients:
- A group of women at a retreat near the Pocono Mountains
- A clear blue sky
- Brisk, spring breezes
Combine at low speed with a large block of free time and you have your recipe for a long mountain hike.
This city girl was all set to stay in at the quiet, roomy lodge. Y’know: relax, perhaps do a DVD workout, read, or watch a movie. Somehow the idea of a hike, which was furthest from my mind as a free time activity, made it into the realm of possibility and I surprised myself when I agreed to join the group on the “Nature Trail.”
The first stage of this trail walk was the path UP. Hmmm: “Nature Trail.” It sounded safe. It sounded like it was only slightly adventuresome. It sounded like a slow but steady trek along a clearly defined flat path where I could possibly view interesting grasses, flower buds, or an unusual bird or two. It sounded safe, I thought.
About twenty minutes into the walk, my panting and sweating confirmed that there was nothing flat about this trail. While picking across some rocks alongside the stream, I wanted to stop and really look at the beauty around me. But I couldn’t. Why? There was quite a way to look—DOWN. I finally admitted to my fellow hikers that I’m afraid of heights, especially these kinds of heights, where a slight misstep or unstable rock could send one of us careening into the depths below.
Suddenly, I was surrounded. Both in front of me and behind me, a couple of women watched my steps and gave lessons along the way. It was too late to go back; too late to change my mind, and so I would press forward, but with help this time. Suggestions and techniques were stated clearly: “Stay on the balls of your feet when going up.” “Make sure your foot is steady and grounded before moving the other foot.” “Make sure you take small steps.” “Walk sideways if you need to.”
Like life, we find ourselves on adventures we hadn’t anticipated. We may be surprised at the effort it takes to travel a seemingly flat trail when instead it becomes a rocky terrain to get to the next yellow tree marker. When I admit my fears, like in this case my fear of heights, the help I need comes easily. My fellow hikers, who I think were part-women-part-mountain-goats shared tips for my journey to make it safer and easier for me. For that, I’m grateful. This trip on the “Nature Trail” became a new adventure and a reminder that I can still learn lessons while going uphill on this mountain of life.
Tip of the week:
To stick to your exercise routine, plan it a week in advance and write your plan on a calendar. Then you simply need to check your plan and start moving, without having to think about it. I use the ‘mile system’ with Leslie Sansone’s DVDs and decide how many miles I’m doing each day, and which day or two I have off.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Constitutional Walking Tour
A recent trip to Philadelphia included the constitutional walking tour of the city’s historic sites. A walking history lesson for 1 ½ hours. I think I would have enjoyed learning this stuff in seventh grade if we got the chance to walk around and see the places where the historic events occurred. Back then, I simply read the text, memorized the dates, and repeated the answers correctly on the written exam. This time, it was fun to learn the same old information.
My favorite takeaway impression from this adventure is the common theme of common men attempting to make courageous changes in their worlds. Our tour guide shared the basic history facts, but he also included the fun facts. I enjoyed learning that Independence Hall wasn’t always called Independence Hall, and yet still is the building of “National Treasure” movie fame. I learned that the Liberty Bell now resides in a security-laden pavilion only because of the crazy man who tried to hit it with a hammer to release the spirits of the long-dead presidents. I learned that the pennies tossed onto Ben Franklin’s grave are there for no apparent reason. I learned that Betsy Ross’ body is buried at the Betsy Ross house, but was originally buried elsewhere and got moved there so she could be next to her third husband.
This new way of learning the same old information is reminding me of new ways I’m diving into the Old Testament stories of the Bible. Instead of simply reading the text, I’m enjoying the fun stories behind the scenes. In this way, I find the Old Testament stories relatable and glean appropriate insight for my own life today. Yes, today’s times are different than 2000+ years ago, but the fundamentals remain: the desire for freedom, for choices, for understanding. The few courageous men who dared to challenge the British traditions in the startup of America were similar to the prophets of the Old Testament days who dared believe in an all-Sovereign God despite what the people of their neighboring towns believed.
I’m grateful for my American freedom; I’m even more grateful for freedom in Christ. Like the walking constitutional tour, I want to live my life as if it’s a walking Christian woman tour. Keeping it fun; keeping it true. And maybe I can keep learning new things along the way.
Tip of the week:
If necessary, utilize the dish soap destruction method for food that calls your name and you need to resist. Just last week I had a few chocolate chips too many for a recipe, and disposed of the rest of the chips with the perfect shot of green soap on top to be sure I didn’t eat them. It works!
My favorite takeaway impression from this adventure is the common theme of common men attempting to make courageous changes in their worlds. Our tour guide shared the basic history facts, but he also included the fun facts. I enjoyed learning that Independence Hall wasn’t always called Independence Hall, and yet still is the building of “National Treasure” movie fame. I learned that the Liberty Bell now resides in a security-laden pavilion only because of the crazy man who tried to hit it with a hammer to release the spirits of the long-dead presidents. I learned that the pennies tossed onto Ben Franklin’s grave are there for no apparent reason. I learned that Betsy Ross’ body is buried at the Betsy Ross house, but was originally buried elsewhere and got moved there so she could be next to her third husband.
This new way of learning the same old information is reminding me of new ways I’m diving into the Old Testament stories of the Bible. Instead of simply reading the text, I’m enjoying the fun stories behind the scenes. In this way, I find the Old Testament stories relatable and glean appropriate insight for my own life today. Yes, today’s times are different than 2000+ years ago, but the fundamentals remain: the desire for freedom, for choices, for understanding. The few courageous men who dared to challenge the British traditions in the startup of America were similar to the prophets of the Old Testament days who dared believe in an all-Sovereign God despite what the people of their neighboring towns believed.
I’m grateful for my American freedom; I’m even more grateful for freedom in Christ. Like the walking constitutional tour, I want to live my life as if it’s a walking Christian woman tour. Keeping it fun; keeping it true. And maybe I can keep learning new things along the way.
Tip of the week:
If necessary, utilize the dish soap destruction method for food that calls your name and you need to resist. Just last week I had a few chocolate chips too many for a recipe, and disposed of the rest of the chips with the perfect shot of green soap on top to be sure I didn’t eat them. It works!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
A Writer's Life
I recently returned from a writing conference: three days of workshops and conversations with other writers, publishers, editors and agents. My mind is still spinning with the information and new ideas to process. Being around all that creativity stirs the creativity within me. I reflect on my own writing life as a result and realize it’s similar to the health-conscious life I lead with a forever focus on food, exercise and weight.
There’s an aspect of being a writer that is never ‘turned off’. Ideas are everywhere, when I’m awake and when I’m asleep; when I’m driving and when I’m in the shower; when I eat and even when I sit down to write. All those ideas need to be considered, indulged, sorted and shared. It reminds me of when I went to college part-time in the evenings. The only way to survive those eight long years of work towards the goal of that college degree was to accept what felt like the never-ending nature of school assignments. The only break was between semesters, but during those class sessions, there was always something else to read, something to write, something to study for.
The role of being health conscious, too, is never ‘turned off’. Food is everywhere, when I’m awake and when I’m asleep; when I’m driving and when I’m in the shower; when I write and even when I sit down to eat. All the food needs to be planned, purchased, cleaned, cut and cooked. Every day. Three times a day, at least. Unless I choose to fast for some period of time, there really is no break. Ever.
Another aspect of being a writer is the need for discipline within the creativity. Over and over again in workshops and conversations I hear about keeping our writing lives a priority; making sure to take the time to write whether or not the muse strikes. When writing is a paid job, there is attention to the task at hand; there is a tangible deadline and paycheck that results from the act of writing. When writing is part of a bigger goal, such as a book, there is the discipline required to persevere in its writing, editing and promoting. There is the unknown end date; the unknown deadline, but the need to continue remains intact. The need for daily attention to the writing task is simply disciplinary in nature.
Being health conscious is always disciplinary in nature. A self-professed lack of discipline is what causes most people to see the eating and exercising as ‘on’ or ‘off’ tasks, but instead there is more success in remaining healthy when we see the tasks as ‘forever’ tasks; never ‘off’. Only then can we gain the tenacity to stay with it day after day without throwing in the towel on our health efforts.
I claim the right to remain creative while being disciplined. I claim my identity as a health-conscious writer. Forever.
Tip of the Week:
To stay on my eating and exercise program, I really must pray. Not the ‘bless this food’ prayer rituals, but really pray. Every day. This week, I commit to revisiting the focus on prayer; making sure my prayer time is a higher priority than the million other things I need to do. Amen.
There’s an aspect of being a writer that is never ‘turned off’. Ideas are everywhere, when I’m awake and when I’m asleep; when I’m driving and when I’m in the shower; when I eat and even when I sit down to write. All those ideas need to be considered, indulged, sorted and shared. It reminds me of when I went to college part-time in the evenings. The only way to survive those eight long years of work towards the goal of that college degree was to accept what felt like the never-ending nature of school assignments. The only break was between semesters, but during those class sessions, there was always something else to read, something to write, something to study for.
The role of being health conscious, too, is never ‘turned off’. Food is everywhere, when I’m awake and when I’m asleep; when I’m driving and when I’m in the shower; when I write and even when I sit down to eat. All the food needs to be planned, purchased, cleaned, cut and cooked. Every day. Three times a day, at least. Unless I choose to fast for some period of time, there really is no break. Ever.
Another aspect of being a writer is the need for discipline within the creativity. Over and over again in workshops and conversations I hear about keeping our writing lives a priority; making sure to take the time to write whether or not the muse strikes. When writing is a paid job, there is attention to the task at hand; there is a tangible deadline and paycheck that results from the act of writing. When writing is part of a bigger goal, such as a book, there is the discipline required to persevere in its writing, editing and promoting. There is the unknown end date; the unknown deadline, but the need to continue remains intact. The need for daily attention to the writing task is simply disciplinary in nature.
Being health conscious is always disciplinary in nature. A self-professed lack of discipline is what causes most people to see the eating and exercising as ‘on’ or ‘off’ tasks, but instead there is more success in remaining healthy when we see the tasks as ‘forever’ tasks; never ‘off’. Only then can we gain the tenacity to stay with it day after day without throwing in the towel on our health efforts.
I claim the right to remain creative while being disciplined. I claim my identity as a health-conscious writer. Forever.
Tip of the Week:
To stay on my eating and exercise program, I really must pray. Not the ‘bless this food’ prayer rituals, but really pray. Every day. This week, I commit to revisiting the focus on prayer; making sure my prayer time is a higher priority than the million other things I need to do. Amen.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Taylor Swift: Fearless
High-pitched screaming. Cheering. Arms waving. More screaming. Through my earplugs, I could still hear the excitement. Yes, I am the parent of a Taylor Swift fan. And yes, I, too, am Fearless.
Among thousands of groupies at the recent concert as part of her “Fearless” tour, I was fascinated by Taylor Swift. She lives up to her reputation of being beautiful, energetic and connected. I have never seen a performer work so hard at making sure she exuded a sense of one-on-one connection with each of her fans. She displays a sense of gratitude and humility while sharing her talents as an artist and a person. Taylor Swift may only be nineteen, but is wise beyond her years. There were moments during the concert when I intentionally sat down and looked around. The joy of seeing my daughter experience this concert was palpable. Watching others, however, I understood the appeal of this young artist. The wide range of ages among the Swift fans—girls as young as four years old up to women who must’ve been older than me (oh, the horror)—were all singing along to those familiar lyrics of a female’s life. Dreams of being a princess; finding our own way in this world; recovering after being treated badly by a boyfriend—all common themes and perpetually relatable. It has been a long time, but I could still recall being “Fifteen” at the prompting of Taylor’s lilting rendition of teenage life.
I was also fascinated at the purity of the concert experience. Growing up in the era of rock ‘n roll rebellion, I associated concerts with radical dynamics, not the music. This time, the music itself was a welcome treat, as if I was chatting with my best friend or reading a great book.
As we stumbled along with the rest of the herd to exit the concert, a young girl next to me exclaimed my favorite comment: “This will be the topic of discussion for the rest of my LIFE!” Now that’s quite an impression.
Among thousands of groupies at the recent concert as part of her “Fearless” tour, I was fascinated by Taylor Swift. She lives up to her reputation of being beautiful, energetic and connected. I have never seen a performer work so hard at making sure she exuded a sense of one-on-one connection with each of her fans. She displays a sense of gratitude and humility while sharing her talents as an artist and a person. Taylor Swift may only be nineteen, but is wise beyond her years. There were moments during the concert when I intentionally sat down and looked around. The joy of seeing my daughter experience this concert was palpable. Watching others, however, I understood the appeal of this young artist. The wide range of ages among the Swift fans—girls as young as four years old up to women who must’ve been older than me (oh, the horror)—were all singing along to those familiar lyrics of a female’s life. Dreams of being a princess; finding our own way in this world; recovering after being treated badly by a boyfriend—all common themes and perpetually relatable. It has been a long time, but I could still recall being “Fifteen” at the prompting of Taylor’s lilting rendition of teenage life.
I was also fascinated at the purity of the concert experience. Growing up in the era of rock ‘n roll rebellion, I associated concerts with radical dynamics, not the music. This time, the music itself was a welcome treat, as if I was chatting with my best friend or reading a great book.
As we stumbled along with the rest of the herd to exit the concert, a young girl next to me exclaimed my favorite comment: “This will be the topic of discussion for the rest of my LIFE!” Now that’s quite an impression.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Spring into Exercise...Again
Warmer weather. The reprieve from the harsh cold and imposing snowstorms of the winter are over. (Well, maybe.) It’s not spring yet, but the smells in the air, the robins on the roofs and the smiles and skip in the steps of people everywhere indicate that we’re close to this next season.
I find it interesting to see a lot of people get excited about exercise again at this time of year, too. Whether it’s the seasonal change itself, or the fear of getting back into shorts and bathing suits again, the exercise industry seems to benefit from the renewed interest. Admittedly, it’s great to experience a walk in fresh air, not a sweaty gym, and to hear new sounds, tackle new hills in the neighborhoods and simply to be outside for a change.
I also find it interesting to hear people say they have a stronger commitment to exercise because of the weather. In some cases, it’s true. In most cases, though, it’s simply another phase. I’m more impressed with people who start a new exercise regimen in the winter, or perhaps that infamous January 1st start date, and are still in their exercise routine today—three months later. Then, if they say it’s time to take it outside, I am pretty confident it’s simply a new twist on an old routine, which is healthy.
Where will all those outside-weather-exercisers be with the first rainstorm? On their couches, I presume. Time to break out the at-home workouts, or head back to the sweaty, smelly gym again. Boy, isn’t exercise fun?
I find it interesting to see a lot of people get excited about exercise again at this time of year, too. Whether it’s the seasonal change itself, or the fear of getting back into shorts and bathing suits again, the exercise industry seems to benefit from the renewed interest. Admittedly, it’s great to experience a walk in fresh air, not a sweaty gym, and to hear new sounds, tackle new hills in the neighborhoods and simply to be outside for a change.
I also find it interesting to hear people say they have a stronger commitment to exercise because of the weather. In some cases, it’s true. In most cases, though, it’s simply another phase. I’m more impressed with people who start a new exercise regimen in the winter, or perhaps that infamous January 1st start date, and are still in their exercise routine today—three months later. Then, if they say it’s time to take it outside, I am pretty confident it’s simply a new twist on an old routine, which is healthy.
Where will all those outside-weather-exercisers be with the first rainstorm? On their couches, I presume. Time to break out the at-home workouts, or head back to the sweaty, smelly gym again. Boy, isn’t exercise fun?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Penny Candy
Ahhh. The smell of spring. School recess time. Jumping rope and penny candy. Red hot dollars. Root beer barrels. Sugar daddy lollipops. And my favorite: boxes of chalky, yummy candy cigarettes. Oh, and the soft pretzels too.
Sugar and carbs. What more could a kid want to refuel mid-day? When I was a kid, we could buy candy and soft, doughy pretzels at recess time. We squirreled away our coins to indulge in our favorite treats. The pretzels were a bonus; hey, it was Philadelphia—the pretzels were a requirement. The money transactions on the blacktop were simple enough: exchanging coins for smiles. The grueling chores of school life were briefly replaced with sugary ecstasy; penmanship was exchanged for pretzels with just the right amount of salt.
Unhappy dentists must have rebelled, though. Today, school age kids are lucky to even have twenty minutes of recess time; twenty minutes is not much time for fresh air, for running around. Oh, and forget about buying candy. Or pretzels.
Back in elementary school, I still remember one method of discipline that was used on Patrick, who was the kid in my class who talked too much. The teacher made him sit in the closet. No, it wasn’t a time-out on a chair facing the closet; he was IN the closet. One of those days, Patrick rose to the occasion, though. He sat in that closet and ate the recess candy. It was a delicious victory for all of us.
I believe God wants us to enjoy the good things in life—in this case, sugar and carbs. It doesn’t seem right to go too far to the other extreme without the goodies; without the fresh air. The moderation is the challenge. Like my fortune cookie paper said: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”
Sugar and carbs. What more could a kid want to refuel mid-day? When I was a kid, we could buy candy and soft, doughy pretzels at recess time. We squirreled away our coins to indulge in our favorite treats. The pretzels were a bonus; hey, it was Philadelphia—the pretzels were a requirement. The money transactions on the blacktop were simple enough: exchanging coins for smiles. The grueling chores of school life were briefly replaced with sugary ecstasy; penmanship was exchanged for pretzels with just the right amount of salt.
Unhappy dentists must have rebelled, though. Today, school age kids are lucky to even have twenty minutes of recess time; twenty minutes is not much time for fresh air, for running around. Oh, and forget about buying candy. Or pretzels.
Back in elementary school, I still remember one method of discipline that was used on Patrick, who was the kid in my class who talked too much. The teacher made him sit in the closet. No, it wasn’t a time-out on a chair facing the closet; he was IN the closet. One of those days, Patrick rose to the occasion, though. He sat in that closet and ate the recess candy. It was a delicious victory for all of us.
I believe God wants us to enjoy the good things in life—in this case, sugar and carbs. It doesn’t seem right to go too far to the other extreme without the goodies; without the fresh air. The moderation is the challenge. Like my fortune cookie paper said: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Gravy Connections
My mom’s homemade gravy, bubbling and steaming, is prepared exactly the same way Nana cooked it. Small spatters of red on the white stove mark the perfectly stirred combination of puree, meatballs, sausage, a carrot, an onion and spices. Recipe sharing was done only in the kitchen, in front of the pot, with the appropriate stories shared along with the instructions. My mouth watering, I look around for a slice of pure white bread to dunk into that pot; I used to sneak the bread-dunking routine when I was a kid. It’s fun that I can dunk in front of Mom now. Mom tells me her mother-in-law taught her all the family’s Italian recipes. It was the in-law rite of passage.
What’s so interesting and delicious are the feelings evoked with the wonderful smell of that gravy—the nurturing, the sharing, and the indulging. The traditions themselves don’t matter; what does matter is the closeness they represent. How perfect that our traditions are about “gravy”. The expression “it’s gravy” means it’s “extra”; similarly, our traditions with the food result in the connections which are the “extra”. Why, I’ve always wondered, is it always about the food? Sharing a meal forces us to slow down enough to sit and talk with each other. These connections are lost in the usual schedules of our lives. No wonder I love the gravy so much. Pass the white bread please.
What’s so interesting and delicious are the feelings evoked with the wonderful smell of that gravy—the nurturing, the sharing, and the indulging. The traditions themselves don’t matter; what does matter is the closeness they represent. How perfect that our traditions are about “gravy”. The expression “it’s gravy” means it’s “extra”; similarly, our traditions with the food result in the connections which are the “extra”. Why, I’ve always wondered, is it always about the food? Sharing a meal forces us to slow down enough to sit and talk with each other. These connections are lost in the usual schedules of our lives. No wonder I love the gravy so much. Pass the white bread please.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Grocery Math
Every time I go to the grocery store, I think I should bring my calculator. I used to bring the calculator so I could estimate my food bill as I shopped, so I knew when to stop according to my budget. Now I have to estimate the food bill in my mind because I need the calculator for grocery math.
Why do hot dogs come in packs of 10 but the rolls are packs of 8 or 12? How many packages of hot dogs would I need to be equivalent to the number of packages of hot dog rolls? Hey, who wants a hot dog without a roll anyway? Gotta pull out the calculator.
When soda is on sale, how do I quickly calculate if the two-liter sale is better or worse than the price for the individual cans? Gotta pull out the calculator.
Why is it that when I used to buy pre-packaged shredded cheese, I knew it contained two cups? It said so on the package. Now there are packages that contain two cups, but others that contain one and one-half cups. Is it worth buying a second package of cheese to get the other half cup? Then how many packages would I need to get an even two cups, which I need for most recipes, again? Gotta pull out the calculator.
Don’t even talk to me about the nutrition information on those food labels. What is a serving size, really? It used to mean a suggested portion for a reasonable serving of a given food item. Now it has changed so that it means how much of that packaged food equals about 100 calories. We’re all into this hundred-calorie thing now, admit it. And so my cereal has completely lost its mind. One type has as its serving size to be ½ cup, another is 1 ¼ cups and yet another is 1 cup. How much cereal should I be eating? Calculator time again.
The most critical use of the calculator: popcorn math. I have calculated and re-calculated a variety of popcorn labels to determine how many calories, fat and fiber are in two tablespoons of popcorn and in an entire bag of popcorn. Why do I need to know the number for two tablespoon if that’s not what I’d eat anyway? Does 94% fat-free popcorn mean it contains 6% fat? Okay, forget the calculator now. Just pop the popcorn.
No wonder I’m tired and hungry after I get groceries. Time for a snack. Start calculating.
Why do hot dogs come in packs of 10 but the rolls are packs of 8 or 12? How many packages of hot dogs would I need to be equivalent to the number of packages of hot dog rolls? Hey, who wants a hot dog without a roll anyway? Gotta pull out the calculator.
When soda is on sale, how do I quickly calculate if the two-liter sale is better or worse than the price for the individual cans? Gotta pull out the calculator.
Why is it that when I used to buy pre-packaged shredded cheese, I knew it contained two cups? It said so on the package. Now there are packages that contain two cups, but others that contain one and one-half cups. Is it worth buying a second package of cheese to get the other half cup? Then how many packages would I need to get an even two cups, which I need for most recipes, again? Gotta pull out the calculator.
Don’t even talk to me about the nutrition information on those food labels. What is a serving size, really? It used to mean a suggested portion for a reasonable serving of a given food item. Now it has changed so that it means how much of that packaged food equals about 100 calories. We’re all into this hundred-calorie thing now, admit it. And so my cereal has completely lost its mind. One type has as its serving size to be ½ cup, another is 1 ¼ cups and yet another is 1 cup. How much cereal should I be eating? Calculator time again.
The most critical use of the calculator: popcorn math. I have calculated and re-calculated a variety of popcorn labels to determine how many calories, fat and fiber are in two tablespoons of popcorn and in an entire bag of popcorn. Why do I need to know the number for two tablespoon if that’s not what I’d eat anyway? Does 94% fat-free popcorn mean it contains 6% fat? Okay, forget the calculator now. Just pop the popcorn.
No wonder I’m tired and hungry after I get groceries. Time for a snack. Start calculating.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Google Wonder
Googolplex and infinity. What is googolplex? Well, I googled it. It’s defined as a number; the number one with the exponent of googol; googol is defined as the digit one followed by one hundred zeros. All of this is not to be confused with “infinity”, which is more of a concept than a number; the number that never ends.
What ever happened to those beautiful concepts; the ideas like infinity and creation, which allow us to use our brain cells to wonder about things? We are born to wonder; it’s how we learn. As infants, the learning process seems more intuitive and evolves as a process of trial and error, but somewhere post-toddler years and before school age years, the sense of wonder takes hold and a child’s imagination is born. Imaginary friends; imaginary situations; imaginary colors—all the stuff of blending what we already know with what is unknown. The unknown factor is what makes it interesting.
And then came google. How many colors are really in a rainbow?, I might ask at the dinner table one night. Out comes the blackberry and it’s googled. Answer found. What makes a bubble round?, I wonder. Out comes the blackberry and it’s googled. Answer found. How fast could a skier really fly down those moguls?, I say, as I watch the Olympics with wonder. It’s googled.
The googling has got to go. I wish for the wonder to return. I tire of the possibility of quick answers without thought. I prefer to wonder; to exchange ideas; to rediscover things that may have already been discovered and researched. And so, I prefer the number infinity. You can keep googolplex. How long would it take to write the number googolplex on paper? I wonder.
What ever happened to those beautiful concepts; the ideas like infinity and creation, which allow us to use our brain cells to wonder about things? We are born to wonder; it’s how we learn. As infants, the learning process seems more intuitive and evolves as a process of trial and error, but somewhere post-toddler years and before school age years, the sense of wonder takes hold and a child’s imagination is born. Imaginary friends; imaginary situations; imaginary colors—all the stuff of blending what we already know with what is unknown. The unknown factor is what makes it interesting.
And then came google. How many colors are really in a rainbow?, I might ask at the dinner table one night. Out comes the blackberry and it’s googled. Answer found. What makes a bubble round?, I wonder. Out comes the blackberry and it’s googled. Answer found. How fast could a skier really fly down those moguls?, I say, as I watch the Olympics with wonder. It’s googled.
The googling has got to go. I wish for the wonder to return. I tire of the possibility of quick answers without thought. I prefer to wonder; to exchange ideas; to rediscover things that may have already been discovered and researched. And so, I prefer the number infinity. You can keep googolplex. How long would it take to write the number googolplex on paper? I wonder.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Snowdog
Things aren’t always as they seem.
It’s a winter with snow. Lots of it. Almost two feet of it, brightening, calming, silencing the landscape. Its beauty is in its ability to outline all that we see already, or do we?
My daughter and I declared the time to be snowman-building time. We climbed through the piles in our backyard and picked the perfect spot for our snow creature to stand. Closer inspection revealed the snow to be the fluffy stuff; sifted confectioner’s sugar, to the highest level of slippery smoothness. We’d repeatedly gather a handful and squeeze it together for the starting snowball to begin building our snowman, only to result in another crumbled pile of white remnants at our feet. Brushing off the crumbs from my gloves one more time, we switched gears and changed our task. We must reinvent the crumbly snow and create the wet stuff we need for perfect snowballs and snowmen and snow forts.
We had two approaches to the problem: 1) a thermos of water to wet the snow, and 2) the search for already-wet snow to use for our snow building task. Pouring water onto the small pile we made, we were pleased at the hardening ice to keep the pile from flattening. The snow-watering was tedious, though, and we were convinced plan 2 would be an easier solution. I went around to the front of the house and discovered a spot where dripping water from the roof caused a section of snow to be the perfect icy, wet stuff. My daughter took the assignment of snow-watering to keep our pile strong. Imagine the crazy scene: my daughter watering snow, and me carrying piles of wet, usable snow from the front of the house around to the back so that the snowman-building project could continue. No, we weren’t crazy. We were inventing.
Eventually, our pile became large enough to sculpt into the round shape needed for the classic snowman. Determined to gather just one more pile of wet stuff, I went to the front of the house and discovered a small boulder left over from the driveway being plowed. I picked it up, carried it back and gingerly placed it on top of the mound. It’s a snowdog, my daughter said. And so it was. What we thought would be a snowman became a snowdog. Sometimes we need to just leave things alone, even if they aren’t as they seem.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Man In The Window
Once upon a time, there was a school bus stop. The neighborhood near the school bus stop was a quiet one, although the rows of houses in the little development were quite cozy and close together. Every day, anywhere between five and ten children gathered at this school bus stop, ranging between five and ten years old, and they waited together each morning with their parents for the yellow bus to arrive.
One of those children was different from the rest; instead of acting like the other children, jumping and giggling and chasing the other children in tag, she watched. An audience of one, she observed every nuance; every word spoken loudly or softly, every bird flying above, every car driving by. The bus stop was at the intersection of a busy road, so she had to wait for the cars to pass so she could observe the interesting houses across the road which stood all by themselves on little mats of grass, like the special kindergarten mat she had in school a couple years ago. Each house occupied just enough space to exist but not enough space to be noticed--much.
One day, the little girl was at the bus stop again and saw that the small white house across the road had its curtains opened for the first time ever. There was an old man standing at the window, watching for the school bus, too. He looked across at the children and looked at his watch. When the bus finally arrived, the man looked at the children again, lifted his arm, and waved. He waved to each one of those children as they got on the bus, and then he closed the curtain.
The afternoon came and the school bus returned back to the neighborhood. The girl got off the bus and looked back across the busy road. The curtains were open again. The man waved again. She glanced over but didn’t respond.
The next day, the old man was at the window again when the morning bus arrived. He waved as each of the children got on the bus. And then the curtains were closed again. When the afternoon bus dropped the children back home, she noticed the curtains were open again and the man waved a greeting.
The third morning, the old man was at the window. He opened the curtains and stood at the window. Waiting. Again. The bus was a little late this morning. The girl looked across and saw him checking his watch and checking back at the road. And waiting. This time, the man waved from the window but the bus wasn’t there yet. Hesitantly, she waved back. When the bus came, he waved as each of the children got on the bus. The bus driver noticed the old man, too, and gave a friendly honk as he took off.
Several months went by. The old man was at the window almost every morning, and when the curtains were drawn, the children finally expected him to wave to them. They all waved back now. They actually noticed.
One day, the girl said to her mother at the bus stop: “We should visit him one day.” Her mother said, “Fine, honey; let’s do that some time.”
Two more weeks went by and the girl said it again. “We should visit the old man one day.” Her mother said “Okay. We’ll go over together after school today.”
That afternoon, the girl and her mother went across the road. They went to visit the old man. The butterflies in the girl’s stomach were jumping and giggling as she knocked on the door. And the old man answered the door.
The girl and her mother found out that the old man had a wife who died two years before; he was alone and said he remembered that someone waved to him at his school bus stop when he was a little kid. And so he passed the heritage on.
The next morning, the girl went to the school bus stop. The first thing she did was wave to the man in the window. Then she jumped and giggled and chased the other children in tag. And the man watched and smiled. And the girl noticed.
One of those children was different from the rest; instead of acting like the other children, jumping and giggling and chasing the other children in tag, she watched. An audience of one, she observed every nuance; every word spoken loudly or softly, every bird flying above, every car driving by. The bus stop was at the intersection of a busy road, so she had to wait for the cars to pass so she could observe the interesting houses across the road which stood all by themselves on little mats of grass, like the special kindergarten mat she had in school a couple years ago. Each house occupied just enough space to exist but not enough space to be noticed--much.
One day, the little girl was at the bus stop again and saw that the small white house across the road had its curtains opened for the first time ever. There was an old man standing at the window, watching for the school bus, too. He looked across at the children and looked at his watch. When the bus finally arrived, the man looked at the children again, lifted his arm, and waved. He waved to each one of those children as they got on the bus, and then he closed the curtain.
The afternoon came and the school bus returned back to the neighborhood. The girl got off the bus and looked back across the busy road. The curtains were open again. The man waved again. She glanced over but didn’t respond.
The next day, the old man was at the window again when the morning bus arrived. He waved as each of the children got on the bus. And then the curtains were closed again. When the afternoon bus dropped the children back home, she noticed the curtains were open again and the man waved a greeting.
The third morning, the old man was at the window. He opened the curtains and stood at the window. Waiting. Again. The bus was a little late this morning. The girl looked across and saw him checking his watch and checking back at the road. And waiting. This time, the man waved from the window but the bus wasn’t there yet. Hesitantly, she waved back. When the bus came, he waved as each of the children got on the bus. The bus driver noticed the old man, too, and gave a friendly honk as he took off.
Several months went by. The old man was at the window almost every morning, and when the curtains were drawn, the children finally expected him to wave to them. They all waved back now. They actually noticed.
One day, the girl said to her mother at the bus stop: “We should visit him one day.” Her mother said, “Fine, honey; let’s do that some time.”
Two more weeks went by and the girl said it again. “We should visit the old man one day.” Her mother said “Okay. We’ll go over together after school today.”
That afternoon, the girl and her mother went across the road. They went to visit the old man. The butterflies in the girl’s stomach were jumping and giggling as she knocked on the door. And the old man answered the door.
The girl and her mother found out that the old man had a wife who died two years before; he was alone and said he remembered that someone waved to him at his school bus stop when he was a little kid. And so he passed the heritage on.
The next morning, the girl went to the school bus stop. The first thing she did was wave to the man in the window. Then she jumped and giggled and chased the other children in tag. And the man watched and smiled. And the girl noticed.
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