When John was two, he loved to play hide and seek. Except he would stand in front of you with his hands over his eyes and say, "go find me, mom, go find me." I guess he thought since he couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see him.
*****
Patrick. Joyce’s oldest boy. Next in age to the twins. Tow-headed and friendly and lovable as a pup. All these kids were good kids. They all had jobs of one sort or another the whole time they were growing up. And Patrick, especially, always seemed to look out for the younger kids.
One of the neighbors down the street had an in-ground pool in their backyard and they invited the neighborhood children over for a pool party one summer afternoon. They were an older couple, had no children at home, but they loved kids still. Moms were invited. I think they even served snacks. So the moms were standing around visiting and the kids were splashing and jumping and playing in the pool. For some reason Patrick was not in the pool. Probably he came over to ask him mom something. All of a sudden he yelled and dove into the middle of the pool and grabbed his little sister. She must have been about 6 or 7 at the time. They all could swim, at least a little bit, but I guess she got in over her head and panicked and started to gasp and choke. And in jumped Patrick to the rescue!
*****
One of the funniest childhood antics was the time Tom pitched a portion of our driveway out into the street. Not that he INTENDED to. It just "happened" the way things "happen" when kids are being kids.
This was during the several years of "station wagon" transportation for our six-member family. Tom was about 13 at the time. Old enough to want to drive, not old enough to do so. Except. My reward to him for helping me get the carful of groceries into the kitchen every week was to let him pull the car up into the driveway and park it. I would drive it barely onto the driveway from the street, we would lug the groceries in, and then he would move the car up on the driveway as far as it would go. We didn’t have a garage at the time so the driveway was only about 20 feet long.
This particular time, we had gotten home about 20 minutes before Jerry was expected, which was 5:30 p.m. Jerry was usually prompt. (These were the times -- you remember them, don't you? -- when families actually sat down and ate dinner together most every evening. In our family, it was also the time we asked each person, "and what did YOU do today?")
Once I got inside with the groceries I was oblivious to what was taking place in the driveway. Years later I learned it was my sons’s practice to drive the car back and forth, back and forth as many times as he thought he could get away with. This time, however, after he drove it back down toward the street, he decided to "nail it" going forward.
* * * * *
I have to digress for a moment and interject this bit of information. None of us knew this until our recent dinner at Pasquales Restaurant on Woodward in Royal Oak, Michigan, with my neighbor Joyce and her and my now grown family. We were reminiscing and my neighbor Joyce told us she just happened to be watching this entire incident from her front window.
* * * * *
When Tom "nailed" it, large junks of asphalt from the driveway went exploding from under the driveway into the street! The asphalt had been down for many years and was full of cracks. The stress from the weight of the rear spinning tires of a five thousand pound station wagon was just too much stress on that old pavement.
Inside I was oblivious to the drama being played outside but Joyce saw it all.
Tom knew his dad would be home any minute so he scrambled about getting all the pieces of asphalt out of the street and back into some semblance of order in the driveway. Somehow he managed to accomplish this before his dad arrived!
At our recent dinner, Joyce told us she just stood there at her window laughing and thinking, "Oh, Boy, Dawn is in for it now."
* * * * *
Another time, another place, another me . . . precious memories.
Sarah
You meet the most interesting folks at Bill Peach's "Socrates Cafe" group that meets at Meridee’s in Franklin. These groups are springing up all around the country and consist of folks who like to exchange their philosophical thoughts and perspectives in an atmosphere of conviviality rather than discord.
Last week’s presentation was given by a former Methodist minister, now an Agnostic, I believe. He told us about a small tribe of people living in the jungles of Brazil; the Piraha, who totally live "in the now". They have no written language; no memories, no culture, no art, no religion. The article he referenced was written by Dan Everett (for anyone wishing to "Google" this on the Internet.)
Another gentleman avowed his agnosticism, as well. When it came time to identify myself, I hesitated. How can I explain my beliefs in one succinct sentence? I thought.
I finally settled on, "well, I think I coined a new category, Buddhist-Leaning Red Letter Christian Conservative Liberal." I think they got it but I’m not sure.
Ever since then I’ve been wishing I had the opportunity to explain in greater detail. So here goes.
I am long past the point of arguing about whether God exists or not; I believe arguing is "pointless". Actually, I don’t much care. Whether there is a God or not, whether he coined the Bible or not, I have lived my life as though He is and did. Based on the values and teachings I found in this book, I like what it has produced in and for me. (I think that makes sense.)
It doesn’t matter to me whether the Bible is literally true or not; personally I do believe inspired men wrote it. On the other hand, it has been translated so many times by so many people, it probably contains errors. I don’t think, however, the errors are significant enough to change the ultimate valid message. Which mostly boils down to love. Love of God, love of self, love of neighbor.
If I had been born in the jungles of Borneo I don’t know what I would believe. But I wasn’t and I don’t worry about it. My belief is that if God is God (and I chose to believe He is) and if it is necessary to believe in Him, He will figure out how to make that happen. And if He isn’t, and it’s not, it doesn’t matter.
Because of what my parents taught me about life and love and God, because of what my churches have taught me, I am who I am today. I read that Book, I study that Book. (Although I must confess I still have problems with the story of Abraham and Isaac and the story of Job.)
Because of where I was born, when I was born, and who my parents were and what they believed, I grew up believing the Bible to be God’s word to us; it was a conservative Christian home.
Part of what I absorbed spiritually as a young girl was understanding that God was watching and listening. I knew I couldn’t lie or bullshit him. He knew. ‘Cause He Was Always Right There With Me.
It doesn’t matter whether this is true or not. It’s what I believed. Thinking this saved me a lot of grief one way or another.
Studying the Bible has made me into the person I’ve become and I am content to be that person. I like what I have learned about life and living from that Book. So if I find out some day it was all a fairy tale, I still would think following the teachings of Jesus would make the world a better place for all of us.
I believe truth does not conflict with truth. Whatever scientific truth there is, whatever religious truth there is, whatever the discipline, truth does not conflict with truth. If there are apparent conflicts, it is because we don’t fully understand what we are trying to understand. I believe all of creation fits together like a puzzle when complete; it is all sacred and connected.
I also think what I know compared to what there is to know is about the size of a grain of sand on the beach.
Through the years my ideas about God and what "life is all about", "why are we here?" have changed; evolved. Whoever it is that I now am, I am satisfied and content to be here.
Twenty years ago or so (twenty years??? time flies whether you’re having fun or not!) I decided to consciously make this admonition a part of my response to life:
"Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.
—Phil. 4:8, King James Version
If you look for good, you will find it.
If you look for bad, you will find it.
What you send out comes back (Karma).
Every . . . thing . . . matters (Andy Andrews (1).
I believe -
If you seek God, you will find Him.
If you do not seek Him, you will not find Him.
I believe He is as personal or impersonal as you wish Him to be.
I believe all cultures and societies create a God in their own image.
I think everything must have a beginning, a creator. I can’t conceive of something coming from nothing. (Notice I said this is what I think; others would dispute this.)
So something created us. So who created the being that created us? If some one, some thing, must be the creator of what is and you keep going back . . . your mind just finally goes into a mental spasm. Because there is no answer.
At some point you must simply decide – do I want to believe in a Master Creator, a Supreme Being, or not.
And then live your life accordingly.
That is the journey, the road, I have taken. It has worked wonderfully well for me so far. For me, God is as close as my thoughts. I talk with Him whenever, wherever I feel the need. I’ve done this since childhood. His answers come back to me in all sorts of ways. Sometimes by something I read, sometimes even by words and phrases that "pop" into my head. Sometimes by the words or the touch of a friend – or even a stranger. They say or do just exactly what I need at that particular time.
I continually experience the presence, the protection, and the love of God. Throughout my life He has intervened and protected me and my family. He has walked with us – sometimes carried us -- through the storms and the calm seas of life.
This is my reality.
Sarah
========
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"Here they come. Run!"
Suddenly six teenagers broke ranks and scattered in five different directions. It was nine p.m. on a summer evening in Huntington Woods, Michigan, in 1979.
Tom ran through Hall’s yard and hid behind one of their bushes. Pat ran two houses further down the street and hid behind three large garbage cans sitting by the side door of the Robinson’s home. John headed across the street, jumped a shrub fence, and hid behind the large fireplace chimney located on one side of Shafer’s house. Rob sprinted back the way they had come one house finding cover behind a stack of fireplace logs neatly arranged by the side door of the Moeggenberg’s. Caryn and Mary Ann ran off together and took cover behind Neff’s back porch.
Moments later, a police car drove slowly down the street, shining a big flashlight up and around each house it passed, first on one side of the street, then the other. Lucky for John they were coming east down the street instead of west or the probing light would have nailed him.
Whenever this group gathered together for their nightly excursions through the neighborhood, it was understood that spotting a police car meant "you scatter" which, of course, increased each individual’s chance not to get caught. They called it, "Hassle the Cops". And it was Grand Fun!
Just one of the many pranks pulled by this rag-tag group of boys and girls who lived across the street from each other back in those halcyon days of teen, pre-teen, youth in this suburban Detroit neighborhood. Their mothers were 'coffee cup’ neighbors who exchanged recipes, neighborhood gossip, and parenting tips along with their coffee. One had six kids, one had four. There was always plenty to talk about.
Getting together 20 years later to reminisce about those times, which in retrospect seem so innocent, made for an entertaining and enlightening evening.
* * * * *
My neighbor, Joyce, had six kids, all adopted. The two oldest were twin girls. They began babysitting for me when they were about 14. Next came Pat, a year younger. Then Robbie, a year younger than Pat. Then Tom, then Mary Anne.
My four were Tom, the oldest, John, a year and a half younger, then Caryn, 18 months younger than John. Lisa, my youngest, was mostly out of the loop as far as these group shenanigans were concerned. She was too little. Except she did earn the reputation of neighborhood delinquent. At the grand old age of two yet. Which I wrote about in The Story of Pie.
One of the funniest things occurred when Julie, one of the twins, was babysitting. Jerry and I had gone out to eat and to a movie. Julie and Joyce took turns sitting for us. This night it was Julie. She love to knit and crochet and often brought her projects with her for when the kids had gone to bed.
Whenever we returned from our evenings out, we would always ask the girls, regardless of which one had baby-sat, "How did it go? Did you have any trouble?" "No, no; the kids were great. No trouble at all." That was all we ever heard.
It was only years later we learned that their mother, Joyce, had told them when they first started babysitting, "if you’re old enough to babysit, you’re old enough to handle the problems." So, of course, we never learned of any problems.
That is, until years later. When my kids, now grown, began to "confess" to all sorts of activities and escapades that ended up being quite different from what I thought at the time.
The babysitting incident being one of funniest and least delinquent in nature.
One night Julie brought her yarn and sat happily crocheting and watching TV after she got the kids to bed. I don’t know how long it was before she realized what had happened. Quiet as mice, two boys had slipped downstairs. Hiding behind the two chairs facing the TV, they pulled off large amounts of yarn from the ball of yarn so Julie would have plenty of yarn at her disposal and not realize what else was going on. Then they started "weaving" the remaining yarn up the stairs, into the bedrooms, into the bathroom, down the stairs, into the hall, into the bathroom, et cetera et cetera.
I wish I could have been there when Julie finally reached the end of her available yarn and felt a tug at the other end!
When we got home that night, we asked our usual, "how we’re the kids?" "Oh, fine. Just fine," she said. Right.
We have all laughed about this many times through the years.
Too bad all their shenanigans weren’t so innocent.
*****
Like when I had to go to the police station to pick up my eldest, Tom. He was about 15 at the time. He sat there and I sat there and we listened to the officer explain that Tom and his buddy had been caught throwing lighted matches into the trash that had been set out by all the neighbors for pick up early the next morning.
"Oh, you’re mistaken. It wasn’t Tom; he told me so. And he wouldn’t lie. He’s such a good kid, really. You’ve just made a terrible mistake."
And then I started to cry; indignant and hurt that he would accuse MY son. The officer must have thought I was quite a Dip! I’m sure he had all he could do to keep his patience with me. It wasn’t until I got back home, talked with Tom some more, talked with Jerry, and finally got it through my head that Tom did. Do it.
*****
One of the favorite things the boys did was sneak out of their rooms after everyone had gone to bed. At the time their room was on the main floor; front room, right side. The grade school was just six blocks away with an Olympic-size swimming pool outside on the school property. My children had taken lessons and swam there every summer. Our community had an excellent school system and recreation program, which was one reason we had moved there back in 1963.
They would sneak out dressed only in their underwear (why? I still don’t know) and jog over to the swimming pool for a late night swim. Of course, if they encountered a police car patrolling the neighborhood, they played their usual game and took off running.
This particular night, however, Jerry and I had gone out and come home a little earlier than planned. Jerry stuck his head in the boys’ bedroom as a matter of course as fathers and mothers often do to check on their sleeping "angels".
Lo and behold, there’s no "angel" in the bed! And a window is ajar!
The "angel" had quite a surprise waiting for him a few minutes later when, after an hour or two of frolicking in the pool, he stuck his wet little butt through the window and found his father waiting on his bed!
*****
Then there was the time Caryn and Lisa, about nine and six-and-a-half or seven, were discovered smoking upstairs in our alcove by their father (a smoker).
Our house had two bedrooms and a bath downstairs and two bedrooms and a bath upstairs. One upstairs bedroom had a walk-in closet, however, with a short door that led to an alcove off the closet. You could stand upright in the middle of the alcove and we often talked about finishing it up as an extra bedroom with built-in beds on either of the sloped sides. But we never did.
It was a great play house for the kids, however.
(What prompted Jerry to discover them up there I have no idea. But discover them he did. And then he sat there with them and made them each smoke a cigarette--all the way--in his presence. Caryn cried and choked and spit and had a terrible time. "I’ll never, ever do this again, dad. I promise."
Then it was six-year-old Lisa’s turn. She didn’t choke. She didn’t spit. She didn’t cry. Not once. She smoked that cigarette all the way down as though she had done it all her life. That was Lisa. She would never let you see her hurt or cry. Except sometimes, me she did.
*****
There was one other time the police brought Tom and John home. I was at my part-time evening job at Sears in Troy. So they had to deal with Jerry and I heard about it later.
The police had discovered them in the park and accused them of smoking marijuana.
The story I heard was the police found the marijuana stubs on the ground near them.
Typical Mom response from me. "Well, I don’t think they did it. Did you see them do it? If we didn’t see them do it, then how can we accuse them?"
This from me because with four kids running around getting into each other’s stuff all the time I had always told them not to accuse each other of doing or taking something unless they saw the person do it. So when it came to disciplining them, I tried to follow the same rules I asked of them. I tried to practice not blaming them for something unless I had the facts.
In retrospect, I have learned this marked me as "a pushover, mom."
But that’s okay.
--To Be Continued
That’s the name of the game they’re playing in Congress. That’s the game they ALWAYS play. Kind of like the "my dad can beat up your dad" game.
Whaddaya wanna bet they will find a solution . . . just hours before the deadline on August 2nd.
Do the guys with the MOST money/resources get to keep it (by NOT raising taxes on the highest income--2% of taxpayers) or do the guys with the LEAST money/resources lose more (by cutting back on Medicare, Social Security, other gov’t services).
Wonder what they'll do?
Wonder what Jesus would do? (*)
(*)
21 And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, "You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me."
22 At this the man’s face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth.
23 Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, "How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!"
---Mark 10:21-23
As a child, growing up in Detroit on Fernhill Street from 1942-1952, there was a little old lady who lived in the corner house at the end of the block on our side of the street. There was a fence all around her house. Sometimes on my way to school in the morning, I would see her come outside in her bathrobe, her grey hair disheveled around her face. She would get her paper and go back inside.
We kids called her the "crazy lady" and we were all afraid of her. On Devil’s night, we formed a group and took chalk and wrote on the steps of some of our neighbors’ homes, "Kilroy Was Here."(*). Almost all the houses had front porches and steps. I never went inside the yard of the "crazy lady", however. I don’t know if my friends ever did or not.
That was the extent of my vandalism.
* * * * *
I told you that little story, to tell you this.
Last week I was in my yard laying mulch alongside my driveway. In order to move the solar lights I had placed there further back from the edge of the driveway – so my grand-daughter would stop accidentally knocking them over when she pulled out of the driveway.
I looked up to see an SUV pulling up to my curb. The portly black man inside waved me over. Smiling, he said, "Just wanted to let you know, you make me feel ashamed.".
"Ashamed? Why is that?" I asked.
"Because," he said, "you’re always out here working so hard in your yard. I saw you a few mornings ago as I drove off to work. You had parked your car on the side street at the back of your yard, and you were lugging bags of mulch from your trunk over into your yard. I can’t do that myself."
I laughed and said, "Well, I’m 73 but I can’t really take much credit for what I’m able to do. I’ve been blessed with healthy genes, I reckon. My dad was a little runt of a guy and he lived to be 87 years old. Besides, I love to work in the yard. And it’s good exercise," I added.
We talked a few minutes more and I explained that I had moved from a condo in Franklin where I had no yard, no garage, and people telling me what I could or couldn’t do. So I bought a house with a yard and a garage. I told him I spent the first day sitting in my car in my driveway clicking my garage door opener up and down at least ten times!
We talked a few more minutes and then he drove off. But not before I told him he had made my day!
And then, two nights ago, my doorbell rang about 7 p.m.
But I need to explain something first.
My son had loaned me a riding lawn mower at the beginning of the summer. Being the corner lot, my yard is bigger than most on my street. The riding lawn mower was fun but the blades were old and bent and left funny ridges in the lawn and the tires kept going flat. I couldn’t keep it repaired myself so a few days ago I went out and bought a cheap, light-weight, my size, little red push mower from Home Depot. They raised the rear wheels for me in the store so it would cut high and adjusted the handle and put it in the back seat of my car and away I drove.
I managed with some difficulty to get it out of the car – me ‘n God can do lots of things I can’t manage by myself – tightened the handles to the base – and away I went. Mowing lovely straight squares – for about 30 minutes. And then the left rear wheel fell off!
What?!!!! Oh, Fine, fine.
So I go get a wrench, place several old books from my future garage sale underneath the base, and proceed to tighten the screw bolt that attaches to the wheel. And away I go. And then the wheel falls off again. This happened 2-3 more times til I finally put the lawn mower up for the day.
A few mornings later, I was outside mowing again. The wheel fell off. Again. My across-the-street neighbor was outside in his yard and I called him over to ask if he could tighten the bolt. He did. The wheel stayed on and I finished mowing. A few days later my son stopped by and tightened it again.
The tire has not fallen off since. HAL - LAY - LU - YUR!
And now tonight the doorbell rings. It was my across-the-street neighbor. " Well, hello," I said.
"I hope you won’t think I’m being presumptuous," he said – and I’m thinking, "uh, oh, what have I done now?" --
– but my wife and son and I were talking about this and I just wanted to offer to mow your lawn for you."
I grinned and said, "well, that is so very thoughtful of you. But I hope you won’t be offended if I decline your offer. I really do love mowing my lawn and working in my yard. It’s hard sometimes, but I love it." And then I explained about my Franklin condo and why I moved here.
We chatted a few more minutes and then HE left.
* * * * *
I think I have become "that crazy lady at the end of the block"!!!
(*) "Kilroy Was Here" was a popular slang expression during and right after WWII; I believe it originated in the Military.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kilroy_was_here
How come I’ve always known I could never hide anything from God? That He is right there, listening to everything I say, watching every thing I do?
Sitting at my dining room table sipping my coffee, as usual, my heart is filled with thankfulness and water begins to drip from my eyes. As usual. This time in thankfulness for my precious little mom and dad. I don’t know specifically what they said or did but somehow I have known from childhood that He was always there.
Among the many twists and turns, failures and shortcomings in my spiritual path, the one I never had to overcome was realizing God was always there. Listening. Watching. Waiting. My brain still retains memories of being a child and talking to Him. Whenever. Wherever. I always knew He knew.
Sweet, precious mother of mine. Dearest Daddy. See my tears and feel the love and thankfulness I send up to you this morning as I count the many blessings in my life which began with you.
Your Grateful Child
I received an email today which said, in part:
"Since America is typically represented by an eagle. Saddam should have read up on his Muslim passages...
The following verse is from the Koran, (the Islamic Bible)
Koran (9:11 ) - For it is written that a son of Arabia would awaken a fearsome Eagle. The wrath of the Eagle would be felt throughout the lands of Allah and lo, while some of the people trembled in despair still more rejoiced; for the wrath of the Eagle cleansed the lands of Allah;
And there was peace. (Note the verse humber). Hmmmmm."
I have a copy of the Qur'an. There is no chapter called "Koran" in the Qur’an. It is divided into "Parts" and there are 30 of them. In each "Part" there are "Surahs" numbered consecutively through the book for a total of 114.
I read Part 9 -- the reference above does not appear in any place in this Part. There is no Eleventh verse. Part 9 begins with Surah (89).
If someone can provide DOCUMENTATION from the Qur’an/Koran for this scripture about the Eagle and cleansing the land and peace being restored -- please enlighten us all. It is an amazingly hopeful and encouraging statement.
Otherwise, I have (2) questions:
(1) Who is the FIRST person who INITIATED this email? He is either ignorant . . . or dishonest. If the former, why would he send something about which he knows next to nothing. If he is the latter, . . . nothing more needs to be said. Lord, have mercy.
(2) Who are the folks who receive this junk who blindly pass it along without verifying whether or not it is accurate/valid/true????
With all the problems facing this world, the need for cooperation and respect and working together despite differences is more important than ever.
There are peace makers among us. There are war mongers/hate-mongers among us, whose purpose is to divide and destroy.
Which are you?
* * * * *
Lest you misunderstand, let me make myself clear. I have legitimate concerns about the Muslim religion based on my knowledge or lack thereof. But I know that when people come together sincerely trying to understand each other, many of their fears are found to be unfounded . . . :)
Especially if they are willing to respect their differences and compromise for the good of all concerned.
Is America being invaded by devout Muslims who, when their numbers are great enough, will stop "playing nice" and subject/force us to accept their strict Sharia laws? Maybe. Maybe not.
This possibility, however, is why Christians like myself, so strongly AFFIRM separation of Church and State. I NEVER want the State/Government to be able to tell me who, how, and what I shall worship.
This seems to me such an obvious and ONLY choice in order to protect our religious freedom and yet it is an issue which clearly divides our citizens.
As far as Muslims taking over this country -- a valid concern and possibility -- I have to believe that if such a thing happens, it is part of God's plan and all I need to do in the meantime is practice the teachings of Jesus. Which means I practice love and mercy and forgiveness and walk humbly before Him.
Whoever does this will have nothing to fear regardless. And if the Majority of our citizenry would do this, America would have nothing to fear, as well.
And that's all I have to say about THAT! :) :)
God Bless!
