Author: Shirleyjdietz

I'm still finding out what I'm about but I think it has something to do with writing and connecting with people and serving God. I don't believe I have to understand it all in order to do it and am pretty content with what comes my way, day by day. I believe there is a God who created all of us, the world we live in, the science we think disproves Him, well, everything. I know my natural tendency is to think I don't need God and I need to be saved from that. I know I need a savior and I'm thankful I have one. The small glimpses I get from the here and now of what my real home is going to be like when God restores it all - that's what fuels me, stirs my sense of adventure, and keeps me going. Until then, I write about what is.

A Lesson Through Family

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family blog postAnd by “through family” I mean through the experience of having children and to some extent by being a child.  I can hardly begin to name or number the  “aha!” moments when something going on between me and my children has caused me to stop and wonder if I am being taught a lesson.  I have so come to believe that the family was intended to be God’s school of life, teaching us how he wanted us to view him in his role as father, teaching us how to grow strong, smart, productive and fulfilled as children.

So lately, I am alongside a few family members who are struggling with feeling significant, cared about and noticed.  They are on my mind daily, sometimes hourly and sometimes for every minute of the hour.  I want them to know I love them.  I’m not a person who routinely stalks others or obsessively calls or texts (well, maybe a little too free with the texting…) but I do get desperate at times – wanting them to know how I value them for just being themselves.  I love them.  I want a word better than love to describe how I feel.

For these reasons, something in my reading today just leaped off the page for me.  Here it is: “Love always wants to be known.”  Have you felt the truth of this?  It’s also true that I want to be loved but this is talking about the giving side of the equation, not the receiving.  I somehow feel that if I could communicate love to someone, it would help them.  They would not view their circumstances in the same way.  They would not feel alone. They would have their “I AM LOVED” armor on and it would protect them.

And then I get it, suddenly, a richer, wider view of God.  This is what he wants me to know, really know.

 He loves me.  That’s where my experience of him is supposed to start. 

Okay, there is Jesus giving up a previous position, going through the human thing and dying for my sin.  That’s big, but honestly, I sometimes have trouble relating to it.  I sometimes miss the “why” behind it all.

 He loves me and wants me to know it.

In his book “The Divine Conspiracy” Dallas Willard quotes another writer, Julian Norwich, “…for God wishes to be seen, and he wishes to be sought, and he wishes to be expected, and he wishes to be trusted.”  In my frustrating, doubting times,  I’ve wondered how I could become convinced of this.  More often, I’ve wondered how I could convince others of this.  I think I know how it’s happening with me.  Again, Dallas Willard explains it in a way I totally understand.

“Persons rarely become present where they are not heartily wanted. Certainly that is true for you and me.  We prefer to be wanted, warmly wanted, before we reveal our souls — or even come to a party.  The ability to see and the practice of seeing God and God’s world comes through a process of seeking and growing in intimacy with him.”

I have to want God, want to be loved by him and to know him. And maybe that is the question for many.  Who is God that I should want to know him?  Is that your question?

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I Really Want To…

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I was listening as my friends were talking about Christmas. “Have you been able to slow down and enjoy the season?” was the question. Amid various reasons why it had not been possible or only momentarily possible I detected this mixture of wanting to slow down and yet not.  I mean isn’t Christmas always like this – too many things we love to do and we must race to get it all done?  I was almost afraid they would ask me if I was ready, and they did.  I would have been content to listen, but they asked.

“I haven’t done any shopping for gifts.  I’m allergic to stores during this season.”  I then went on to explain that I have had some traditional Christmases but I’ve also not “kept” Christmas for many years.  It can be done, even if you’re a Christian.  If I really want to slow down, I know how to do it.  Unfortunately, I felt like I’d thrown a wet blanket on a lovely fire and the conversation ended feeling uncomfortable (hello Scrooge). I think I can understand that people don’t really want to hear that the season is not about all that busy-ness that they claim to struggle with.

You know how ideas, culture, custom can kind of take on a life of their own? The idea of what Christmas is begins to be pushed on us in October actually.  It’s purely a marketing ploy brought on by the custom of gift giving.  People like to get gifts and give them as well (but especially the getting). By November everyone is talking about programs, their holiday schedules, their travel plans.  By December it’s all in full swing, and the non-stop Christmas music starts, the decorations, the baking, the parties.  If you have been raised in this culture, not doing all these things leaves a very obvious, gaping hole in your December experience.  You have built a large backlog of Christmas memories and a hefty expectation of what future Christmases should be.

And you are ripe for disappointment.

Expectations can be hard to fulfill.  When the finances aren’t adequate, when illness or death interferes, when family can’t or doesn’t want to show up, when everything doesn’t turn out picture perfect, when the stress of it all makes you start to wonder “why do I do this?”…

Back to the conversation with my friends – I did not mean to introduce a spirit of judgment on them for celebrating and I hope that is not what they were feeling.  I see where they are coming from and I have heard them speak their heart.  They know what Christmas is really about.

I won’t accept a spirit of judgment for myself either.  It is fairly common knowledge among Christians that December probably wasn’t when the birth of Christ took place and that most of the customs of modern Christmas have been added for various reasons, not all of them holy.  And I can take comfort in knowing that I am doing everything Christ asked to be done for his birthday.

 I am being thankful for it.

Every day.   

If it’s really about Christ and what his coming means for me, I don’t have to worry about Christmas being disappointing.  If it’s really about his plan to make a way for me to have a relationship with God then I don’t have to worry about being lonely during the holiday.  If I know he’s provided a way to make things new for me, I don’t have to worry about things being perfect now.  If I know he loves me, I don’t have to experience the hollowness or the ache of unmet expectations.

The story of Jesus’s birth is beautiful, amazing, mysterious, something only God would do, and I love it.  I sing the songs about Bethlehem and the angels and Mary and Joseph and Jesus.  I feel loved and I feel loving. I’m just saying that it can be about Jesus, not just on December 25th but every day, and I (or you) can slow down and enjoy that fact – if I really want to.

Second Verse, Same as the First…

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Four generations of sons

Today, walking around in the yard, I met a jet black cat with one long white tooth visible on one side of his closed mouth.  I had seen him other times and to this point he had always made himself scarce when he saw me noticing him.  Today I stretched out my hand and spoke softly and he immediately turned and approached me.

Years ago, as I remember it, our neighbor who was doing yard work, came to us to report finding a batch of feral kittens.  He knew there were die-hard animal loving children in our household and figured we would help solve his problem. He was right, of course.  We raised this batch and my daughters named them after famous people.  One that became a favorite of Julie, my oldest, was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.  He was Hammy, for short, and continues to live with her today.  His unique characteristics are that he is small and compact for a male cat, has a sociable nature in a cat-like way, and is mostly black with a few crazy white marks.

In shape, size and nature today’s kitty was a match for Hammy and I wondered what genes they might share and if they had both started life in this same neighborhood.  The tooth was a little unnerving but other than that this little guy was fun to pet.  I think we have a bond going and I am calling him Snaggletooth.

The theme continued later this morning as Mom and I were conversing about our family relationships and how they also do replays.  My dad often told stories of his early years at home and the influence his dad had on him.  Even as he married and went out on his own, his dad was always involved in some way, giving feedback and support.  Interestingly, my dad also has a very similar relationship with one of his sons.  And taking it one step further, that son has a very close, remarkable similar relationship with his only son.  And by now, it is almost beyond surprising, that this third generation son is very much the same with his fourth generation son.  The sons may not have always agreed with the fathers (how rare, right?) or the fathers with the sons but there developed a high degree of compassion and appreciation in each case.  After a few generations of repetition these things start to jump out and be noticed.

Further on in our talk Mom’s early childhood came up.  She had a younger brother who was born last in the family and spent a lot of time with her.  They were often together as children and she would pass the time making up stories to tell him.  Their mother died when they were still young adults which added another layer of closeness to their brother – sister relationship.  As she talked about it, I noticed how much it sounded like the way I feel about my youngest brother.  Another comforting familial replay…

I’m not sure what all of this means, except that awareness of family influence and nurture might cause us to think more carefully about our parent – child interactions.  Seeing patterns over such a long time period might give new meaning and strength to biblical references about blessings or cursings that last to the third and fourth generation, or longer.  Just saying, it is interesting and food for thought.

The Real Stuff

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I’m not snobbish about many things.  I feel there is a time to be meticulous and a time when it makes sense to take short cuts.  I’ve done both.  But I can think of one thing that is so much better when it is the real stuff, that the substitutes don’t even come close to satisfying.

Whipped cream.

I made some tonight and was reminded of how beautiful it can be when it’s just right (when it’s not beaten into hunks of butter or so thin that it separates).  It is so soft, almost luminescent, gently curving and swirling in the bowl.  A little dab of it will sit pretilly on top of that chocolate cake or surround dark red strawberries with creamy white visual contrast.  Who would have guessed that combining fat and air could make this magical stuff? I love it.

A little sugar.

A little vanilla.

Real whipped cream. Sorry. Nothing else comes close. 

Oh. My. Goodness
Oh. My. Goodness.

My Visual World: This Weed

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20151203_072243.jpg
You are just too cute!

I saw this little weed in a flower pot yesterday.  Doesn’t it just jump out at you because of it’s detail, symmetry, and well, it’s just plain pretty!  I couldn’t pull it out. I want to see what it looks like when it grows up. It is my visual for the day.  Something to wonder about. Finding it felt like a message and a gift from a creative, somewhat playful, imaginative mind. Yeah, that’s what it was. Just sayin’… glad I was looking.

Dear Amanda…

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This is not the first time an email like this has appeared in my inbox.  Believe me, I can understand how the need for skin care products can constitute an emergency (right, hmm…) but, I must tell you that I choose my customers rather than letting them choose me, for exactly this reason…

From Amanda Godowns to me:

I need you to place a swift Order for me and also want to be your new Customer and also take you as my Future Rep. since my MK Rep. is no longer active.  My Boss would mail  you a Cashiers Check for the total amount of the Mary Kay Order, the shipping fee and the tax.  Since I don’t operate CREDIT CARD and my only method of payment is by sending you a payable Cashiers CHECK which will be made payable to your name after you give me your info. and the payment would be mailed to  your address.  Mind  you, the Check MUST arrive and cashed before placing my Order.  Here is the product I will want you to place for me:

Item Description

TimeWise Repair Volu-Firm Set x 2   $410.00

Please confirm to me if the products all hand-packed ?? Kindly email me back with your Full Name (Payee Name), Address or your P.O. Box Address and Cell Phone Number for immediate payment and will my Order be shipped to me directly from the Company?? My address will be enclosed on the check while my zip code is 33884.

Awaiting your swift response.  Thanks…

My dear Amanda, since you are in such a hurry I would suggest that you go back to the Mary Kay website where you got my address and get a representative in your own area.  You can meet with her and skip all that cashiers check rigamarole – just give her the cash and get your product immediately.  And we really don’t have to involve your Boss (like, why would you do that?) at all.  Oh, and I think someone’s hands pack every Mary Kay order, so yes hers would be hand packed too.   Your friend, Shirley

 

 

 

Six Months

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Remembering Dad
Remembering Dad

That’s roughly how long it has been since my father died. November 16th, today, would have been the end of his 87th year.

There are many things I have enjoyed doing, and I plan or hope to do them again. And there are people I love and enjoy that I plan on seeing again.  It’s possible I may not do those things, or see those people, but since I don’t know that, I don’t even think down that road.  Death however, is different.   As Mom put it, “you know he’s not coming back”.  You know your experience of that person on earth is over.  Final.  Done. You know.

That sadness of missing someone is so much like wave action.  It’s suddenly there with a force that catches me off guard.  Since I wasn’t living close enough to see Dad on an every day basis, it’s not as bad for me.  In fact, my days are very much like they were when he was alive.  It’s when I look at the pictures of last Thanksgiving and other visits home that it’s very real to me.  He’s right there, washing the dishes, watching the Packer game, sleeping in his recliner. This will be the first year without him and I know it will be a bit difficult.

But what have the last six months done for me?

  • I realize what a planner Dad was.  He saved and set aside what was needed for Mom to continue without making drastic changes in her manner of living.  It was a gift, and now we know what it is like to receive that blessing.
  • I realize that I’m not just missing the person Dad was the day before he died.  I miss the entirety of his life and all that I remember about him.
  • I recognize the parts of him, the habits, the attitudes that I’m probably going to perpetuate in my own behavior and I have an oddly protective stance toward those parts.
  • I resolve to be mindful of my relationships and the time spent on them. I am so thankful for the extra visits home I was able to make the last couple of years. They were so worth it.
  • Lastly, I realize how much 60+ years of marriage can affect someone, and how much my Mom is missing Dad. I want to make sure that she knows others are remembering and missing him too. I want her not to feel alone.
Dad, hard at work, last Thanksgiving. Such a great time.
Dad, hard at work last Thanksgiving. Such a great time.

I haven’t posted much lately. Everything I write sounds strange and awkward to me. I’ve decided it’s a stage and it will probably pass, so I’m not worried.  But I couldn’t let November 16th pass without acknowledging Dad’s birthday. I might also add that any sorrow I have is purely earthly, not eternal.

Mirror, mirror…

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Disclaimer: don’t think I’m suggesting that anyone do this at home. I’m not. 

I’ve been learning some new things as a result of my latest remodeling project.  Some of these things about mirrors you might want to know someday so here goes…

Our house was built by a contractor who also did a lot remodeling jobs for other people, and of course he salvaged a lot of useful things. Things like mirrors. Shortly after we moved in he offered us some mirrors that he thought were way too good to throw away and we took them.  Back then we were still in the stage of life when we took anything that didn’t have a price tag on it.  For years now I have had a 4′ x 6′ heavy (HEAVY) piece of reflective glass leaning against the wall in my rec room. I only mind it when I have to clean behind it because it can hardly be moved.  I also have a triple mirror medicine cabinet attached to the wall in the master bedroom because that was the only wall big enough to hold it.  It’s wider than our king size bed and at least four feet tall.

The master bath is our present project and from it we removed a 4′ x 7′ mirror which has been leaning against the wall in the hall.  Getting a bit overwhelmed with large mirrors, I began to investigate what might be done with them.  The answer is, not much.  They are heavy, as I mentioned, and actually dangerous.  They aren’t made from safety glass so if they break the pieces are sharp and unpredictable.  You don’t just throw them in your pick up truck either.  They require a special method of transport.  I thought maybe I could use half of one mirror in the remodeled bath but the glass and mirror company would charge me $100 to come to my home and cut it.

A couple days ago I got tired of looking at the monstrosity in the hall and began to think about where I could put it, out of my way, until another day.  Because I don’t like to be talked out of my plans to move heavy, awkward furnishings, I don’t usually tell anyone I’m going to do it. I think about the plan at night when I should be sleeping or during random times in the day, until I know what I’m going to do, and then, I wait until the perfect time to carry out the plan.

The perfect time was last Tuesday after the remodeling handyman left.  I could have asked him to help but I’m thinking there will be lots of years when I have to ask people for help and I don’t want to start too soon and wear them out.  I had decided to put the mirror in the rec room since there was already one odd, huge mirror there anyway. They could kind of balance each other. I cleared the path of furniture and rugs and slid some of those handy, plastic furniture sliders under the edges of the mirror – let’s just give him a name. Waldo, I think.

Waldo and I successfully slid down the hall and into the rec room.  This was the first place there was room to put him flat on the floor.  Why do this, you ask?  Wally had been sitting on his long side in the hall and I needed him to stand up in order to fit in the spot I had chosen for him.  We do not have cathedral ceilings anywhere in our house, which means that in order to stand him up without hitting the ceiling, I had to lay him down first and then raise him up on his short side.  Those of you who have moved big bookcases or other tall things will know exactly what I’m talking about.  It’s an art.

You might be expecting this story to end in a display of cracked glass and a bloody trip to the ER, but no.  I planned well, and would have had no trouble at all if it had not been for the ceiling fan which I forgot to figure into the equation.  I was shaking from the exertion but quite satisfied with the end result, Waldo, leaning against the wall behind a dresser.  I’m just sayin’, I needed a mirror there anyway, right?

Waldo the mirror, after his trip down the hall.
Waldo the mirror, after his trip down the hall.