tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73519165265584625702024-03-12T18:29:41.228-06:00One of the RemnantSo too, at the present time there is a remnant chosen by grace.
-Romans 11:5Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-56070787375123594242014-01-06T19:25:00.001-07:002014-01-06T19:58:43.060-07:00Dad<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">In a haze I boarded the plane to Texas, having purchased my ticket the night before at a special bereavement rate. I was trying to submerge the thought that it will be the last time I ever talk with my Dad.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Making my way through the airport, I felt marked, as if 'my Dad is dying' could somehow be readily obvious to strangers around me. But it wasn't. "How are you today?" "Fine, thank you." <em>"My dad is dying and I'm traveling to talk to him for the last time" </em>was stuck in my throat like a secret, for fear that admitting it aloud to airport personnel would rupture a swelling ache. And yet I wanted to scream it to relieve the building pressure. For those who inquired, I replied that the trip was to visit family. To keep my wits, that is what I kept telling myself too.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">On the drive 'over the river and through the woods to (my children's) grandmother's house' in Kerrville, I had mixed feelings: excited to see Mom and my step-brother Dan, anxious to meet Kayetta (the step-sister I'd never met), and dreading seeing my Dad in the hospital bed delivered just days prior by hospice. The nurse had then conveyed to me over the phone that I'd better come quickly if I intended to talk with him while he was still able. Mom greeted me at the door with a hug and tears in her eyes.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">He looked so gaunt. His eyes were already sunken and his lids droopy, his lips dry and his voice faint. He greeted me with a tiny smile (all he could possibly muster) and "Hello, daughter." Looking back, I wonder what crazy preparations my mom did to ensure he was awake and alert to greet me.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Throughout my life, he has always been a strong and muscular figure: a skier, even a pilot, a construction worker with a hard work ethic, and a manager and consultant. Working alongside my mother, his strong hands built the home in which he will ultimately die. It was hard for me to see him weak, shrunken and bony. I remember a time when he would swallow me whole in a too-tight bear hug, and now if I were to hug him, I fear he might snap. I caught him sleeping with his jaw agape and his body so still I had to watch his chest to ensure it continued rising and falling.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">During my visit, I did enjoy running under Texas blue skies, meeting Kayetta and seeing Dan (they both have his blue eyes). We were blessed to pray with Pastor Joe (their approachable yet sharp country preacher), their small group, and my in-laws who made a special trip to see him and support us. It was my first and last gathering of the entire Robert family.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Dad's final days are being punctuated with the careful yet loving fidgeting of my mother, gentle banter with family, friends, and neighbors, and dosing of his Parkinson's meds, pain meds, and an anxiolytic which all leave him intermittently fuzzy. During his lucid times, he'd recall happy memories or give advice about life or things to do after his departure. (Don't forget to fill the propane tank, make your IRA withdrawal.) When fuzzy, he'd simply stare into space, or ponder aloud his past wrongs and the hope of Heaven. I shared with him the story I'd heard at the A&M Church about the rooms God prepares for us in Heaven, and how there MUST be a '12th Gate' in Heaven where we Aggies (home of the 12th Man tradition) will rendezvous.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Occasionally he'd let slip a pearl of truth buried in the haze of his dehydrated drugged fog. But he always recognized me, except once on the day I left him in the capable hands of my my mom, when he called me his Doctor Wife. The margins of his confusion were wispy; even amidst his perseveration, when asked he accurately described the location of his safe deposit box key (after Mom's exhaustive yet unsuccessful search). Looking back, I'm not totally sure which conversations were lucid and which were fuzzy, or maybe they somehow coexisted. Nonetheless, I will treasure this pearl: "I love my children. You will go on. I am ready to go. There is nothing more I can teach you. Fabulous daughter. I love you, daughter."</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">As we parted, I hugged his stiffened frame and said to him: "I love you. This will be the last time we talk. I'll meet up with you again the other side of Heaven. I'm gonna miss you. Say hi to my Camille for me. We can meet at the 12th gate."</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">The last thing he said to me: "I love you. I hope it is not that far." </span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">And I to him: "I love you. Bye, Dad."</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">As the plane pointed north on its ascent over San Antonio tonight, I looked into the western sky toward Kerrville, which was painted flame-red in the beautiful sunset, trying to hold back tears for the sake of neighboring passengers. The sun has set on my time with him, just as it is setting on his life on this earth.</span></p>
<p>Dad, I hope it is not that far either.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-SUgNBp2l6Jg/UstniIVeLUI/AAAAAAAAAPM/7eltP7e-3AI/s500/Photo%252520May%2525201%25252C%2525202005%25252C%25252012%25253A12%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-SUgNBp2l6Jg/UstniIVeLUI/AAAAAAAAAPM/7eltP7e-3AI/s500/Photo%252520May%2525201%25252C%2525202005%25252C%25252012%25253A12%252520AM.jpg" id="blogsy-1389063440034.2021" class="alignnone" width="500" height="332" alt=""></a></div>
<p> </p>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-24236724651752540982013-02-04T20:08:00.001-07:002013-02-04T20:08:58.234-07:00Hemorrhage<p>Have you ever had one of those nosebleeds? Not the kind where you happen to catch some red with a routine blow, but a truly epic nosebleed? The ones when you finally give up blowing and instead fashion a nasal tamponade from toilet paper to act as a finger in the dike? The choking kind, the kind with after-shocks that quake for days? </p>
<p>Sadly, I am one of the afflicted. I can vouch that it is difficut to breathe with both nostrils stoppered. I keep Kleenex in the car, in my purse, in the office. I have been awakened in the middle of the night to the taste of blood, which I know all too well. I can also attest to the unpleasant sensation experienced by the nefarious meeting of styptic hemostatic pencil and mucous membranes.</p>
<p>Somehow it seems funnier when I relate it to a comedy sketch from the show The Kids in The Hall, circa 1989. In one episode, kids visit a freak show featuring a Chicken Lady (which you may, but hopefully, don't remember) and one off-attraction: the Man Whose Nose Bleeds at Will. The sketch was funny at the time (I was 17). Even less appropriate (but far more comical) is Randy, a character whose nose bleeds like a faucet in one infamous episode of How I Met Your Mother. (Warning YouTubers: content is questionable at best.)<br>
</p>
<p>I'm thankful that I've never been subjected to a terribly public nosebleed, nor a nosebleed (like Randy) on a first date, nor have I been put on display at the circus. Not yet.</p>
<p>My daily nosebleeds are not typically strenuous-- I can usually get them to stop within 5-10 minutes. But every couple weeks, I get a real doozy: the kind where I could waste a roll of TP, but instead have learned it is best to simply lean over the sink for 10-20 minutes, all the time praying my kids don't pop in and see all that red and think that I am bleeding to death. When you think about it, there is a strange beauty about blood. Although it is a taboo subject and often associated with trauma and death, it is truly essential to life. Anemic, we wilt. Excess, and we clot. One tiny chemical mistake in the complexity of the clotting cascade can cause exanguination. </p>
<p>Although I am inconvenienced by the occasional 'epic nosebleed', more than anything I hate to see all that life-blood wasted. Down the drain, literally. I don't know why I feel a loss-- it is not like I poured my sweat and tears into manufacturing that blood. Maybe the minor bloodletting is somehow to blame for my constant chills, my oft-lightheadedness, my slow running pace, or poor endurance on a hike? Maybe someone else could make better use of that blood vs. my plumbing? (Folks with frequent nosebleeds are not the best candidates for donating blood, I'm told.)</p>
<p>Now don't freak out: I had my blood count and platelets checked. I do not have some horrible disease like idiopathic thrombocytopenia purpura or leukemia. I just live in a rather dry climate and have nasal veins in close surface proximity, primed for launch. I should admittedly see the ENT doc and submit to coagulation to burn those veins beyond all recognition. Or maybe I should move to Seattle.</p>
<a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-bbHiNIxJtKU/URB3xu-FX5I/AAAAAAAAANw/tojtKZSOyss/s462/Photo%252520Feb%2525204%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A04%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="text-align: center; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-bbHiNIxJtKU/URB3xu-FX5I/AAAAAAAAANw/tojtKZSOyss/s462/Photo%252520Feb%2525204%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A04%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1360033737004.0674" class="aligncenter" width="390" height="462" alt=""></a><p>But for now, I will continue to disinfect my sinks and hands daily. It does make me ponder. (I freely recognize it is a leap to wax philosophical amidst a blog on nosebleeds, but that is the jump I am going to make, so grab my prose like an outstretched hand and climb alongside...)</p>
<p>How many gifts have we been given, intended to sustain and even enrich our lives, which go unwanted, unrecognized, or unused? Are we teeming with potential that lies untapped or even wasted? How many opportunities have we let slip through our fingers and down the drain? </p>
<p>What talents and passions are yet to be discovered, or even denied for fear of the taboo, unspeakable, unfamiliar, uncomfortable, intimidating, or difficult? What have you discounted as 'out of the realm of possibility'? </p>
<p>Whatever it is, when it pours out of us, I pray that it pours life into others.</p>
<p> </p>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-83342119709531921262012-12-03T21:38:00.001-07:002012-12-04T14:03:10.229-07:00Lessons from western Nebraska part 1: SculptWhat exactly have I learned from Nebraska, other than the actual existence of tumbleweeds as big as cars, hurricane-force winds sans the hurricane, and that Huskers are just as fanatical as Aggies?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ocYHFKlcZ6Ktg1enynCEB4JdS-i9frZSDda5z7SObXYR4F8dSGKC4cPegBHb6jZgULnz73aN9w8nI8S5hF01d1WIgDTN3glkOHIV6qOEJ1dFX0QMUGsgpjfqSFD2NKj9srcHvDT9yw4s/s1600/DSC01068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ocYHFKlcZ6Ktg1enynCEB4JdS-i9frZSDda5z7SObXYR4F8dSGKC4cPegBHb6jZgULnz73aN9w8nI8S5hF01d1WIgDTN3glkOHIV6qOEJ1dFX0QMUGsgpjfqSFD2NKj9srcHvDT9yw4s/s320/DSC01068.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yup, a car-sized tumbleweed.</div>
<br />
Western Nebraska has changed me for the better in many ways. It has allowed me to shake free from the indoctrination of my upbringing. It has helped me let go of old habits, mindsets, and opinions. When I look back on the lessons learned over the past 10 years, and the ways in which I have grown and changed, I see the positive impact of this community and its people on my life. Let me elaborate:<br />
<br />
1. Western Nebraska reacquainted Jon and I with the concept of 'neighbor'. Coming from San Antonio, we were accustomed to anonymity. When we moved into our home on Spruce Drive, we were welcomed with visits and baked gifts from our neighbors. Although we've seen many of them come and go over the past 10 years, we know them all by name (entirely different from our experience in San Antonio). I know the names of the staff at many of the local businesses and restaurants we frequent, but even when I don't, we recognize and acknowledge one another. (Recent discovery: drive-thru staff at Scottsbluff's Jax Gourmet Coffee & Snow know me only as 'Medium Chai in the Mini Cooper'.) I've observed Jon select a checkout line at Walmart not based on the length of the queue but on who is cashiering; his focus is to provide a word of encouragement. Cultivating love and moving from 'no one matters' to 'everyone matters' is a slow cultural shift we are still working on, but many of the seeds were planted here in Scottsbluff-Gering.<br />
<br />
2. My perspective on death (and therefore my perspective on life) has changed. The stillbirth of our daughter Camille in 2005 rocked our world. Its true impact may be best understood only by those closest to us. When Hurricane Katrina struck Louisiana a month later, observers distant to the storm felt sorrowful sympathy, but victims who weathered the eye of devastation were united by a unique bond. And so it is with our core friends and small group who provided support at the epicenter of our loss. As our family leaves here we take only memories of that time, unrecognized by new acquaintances and friends. The grief and support shown by our fellow Nebraskans will always stand as a witness to the scars that remain. For that, I thank you.<br />
<br />
The loss itself taught me two vital lessons: (1) death has a place, and (2) fear nothing. I can truthfully say that I have little fear of my own departure, even prematurely. I have loosened my grip on my expectations for this life, and I accept that I do not determine my future, nor the future of my loved ones. Kissing the fear of death goodbye has been very liberating, since there is little else to fear. AWOLNATION says it well:<br />
<blockquote>
Well I met an old man dying on a train.<br />
No more destination, no more pain.<br />
Well he said, "one thing, before I graduate...<br />
<i>never let your fear decide your fate.</i>"<br />
I say, "fly, fly, baby. Don't cry, no need to worry 'cause <br />
Everybody will die.<br />
Everyday we just go, go. Baby you'll go.<br />
Don't you worry, He loves you more than you know."<br />
(Or at least that's the way I hear it.)</blockquote>
With the fear of death eliminated, why would there be fear of something as small as judgment or marginalization or unknown or risk? Without fear, I can hike a mountain, travel great distances, challenge the status quo, blaze a trail, tackle a seemingly insurmountable task, and speak without constraint. I can align my life's priorities more closely to my values and my faith, even when it stands in resolute defiance to the expectations of others. <br />
<br />
Fearlessness has taught me trust. Fear has a tendency to breed worry. Without fear or worry, I've learned to trust in God and His plan for me. One of our family's current favorites is this Swedish House Mafia song:<br />
<blockquote>
My Father said, <br />
'Don't you worry, don't you worry, child. <br />
See, Heaven's got a plan for you. <br />
Don't you worry, don't you worry now.'</blockquote>
<blockquote>
(As an aside, our family thinks it sounds an awful lot like '<i>Seattle's</i> got a plan for you.' Judge for yourself <a href="http://grooveshark.com/s/Don+t+You+Worry+Child+Radio+Edit/4RtDAD?src=5" target="_blank">here</a>. Click at your own risk; you'll never hear it the same again.)</blockquote>
Fearlessness has taught another lesson: vulnerability. Although not intuitively related, vulnerability has grown out of the lack of fear of putting my genuine self on display. I've expressed the deepest sorrows of loss from a public forum. I've shed mutual tears with patients upon my delivery of bad news. In spearheading our electronic medical record at work, I have attempted to champion one of the most disruptive yet revolutionary changes in the history of Medicine, and in doing so, have become the target of resistance (and likely criticism). Vulnerability is not a highly-praised virtue among physicians and although it does not come naturally to me, I've always perceived Scottsbluff to be a place where my flaws are forgiven, and my personal best is an acceptable alternative to perfection. <br />
<br />
3. I developed endurance and perseverence while in Nebraska. Although I'd run a handful of 5K races in Texas, it was during my time in Scottsbluff that I truly became a runner. I will refrain from waxing philosophical about running, as I've already done so in my <a href="http://www.oneoftheremnant.blogspot.com/2010/10/run.html" target="_blank">Run post</a>. Suffice it to say that being a runner has profoundly changed my perspectives on pain, aging, goals, solitude, and time. Without the encouragement of equally fitness-minded friends, I doubt I would have ever bothered.<br />
<br />
That same perseverance has been put to the test in another arena. It was two months after Camille's stillbirth when Jon and I summited Mt. Harvard, our first Colorado 14er peak, spurred along by fellow WestWay hikers. (The occasional forty-five minute excursion around San Antonio's Friedrich Wilderness Park was my only prerequisite contribution to hiking.) Since then, a love of hiking has grown into a passion for mountaineering (which some would probably call an obsession). Nineteen peaks later, my soul is still refreshed every time with the glory of His creation. Nonetheless, I've yet to hike a 14er without encountering mental self-doubt at some point between the trailhead and summit. And yet, He gives me strength and endurance not only for the summit but also for the long descent back. During one winter hike, He gave our party the wisdom to turn back from a potential whiteout situation. Having summited on my second attempt, I finally broke down into silent tears of thanks during the descent below timberline as a quiet snow fell gently around me. I've learned on those mountain paths and running trails to listen for the quiet still voice of God. Funny that for me, hearing His voice has very little to do with being physically still.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQB3Qc1M84b7ygYPbL7gMoK_iiSIT80gMUPQuu8RwA_aD-kztSYPfeFGeqLEgE8ODafg7FxVCIt4W_HzyMz8t_t6R5ec0bH0E78a9ih0E1YwL1IOZa4IZNnckdlOg2ek3EB834VdhhznE/s1600/DSC00076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQB3Qc1M84b7ygYPbL7gMoK_iiSIT80gMUPQuu8RwA_aD-kztSYPfeFGeqLEgE8ODafg7FxVCIt4W_HzyMz8t_t6R5ec0bH0E78a9ih0E1YwL1IOZa4IZNnckdlOg2ek3EB834VdhhznE/s320/DSC00076.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A snow banner off Quandary Peak</div>
<br />
Then there are the more 'temporal' lessons:<br />
<br />
4. Nebraska's void of Tex-Mex served to break a decade of food cravings and the bad habits that often accompany them. Like forced fasting. I am leaving 20 unwanted pounds here.<br />
<br />
5. And yet, Nebraska surprisingly broadened my culinary horizon. Ironically, I (finally!) learned to like fish in a landlocked state. In the land of corn-fed angus, I learned not only to eat vegetables, but to like them, and to not berate, but appreciate a good vegetarian meal. While in Nebraska, I became acquainted with chai tea lattes and Starbucks. Back when we had a Starbucks...<br />
<br />
6. Our garden plot at WestWay reaped the double harvest of homegrown veggies and an appreciation of not only gardening and things organic, but the work involved to produce a harvest. Sophomoric as it may seem, gardening has taught me lessons applicable not just to my diet, but to my spiritual walk.<br />
<br />
7. It is remarkable that in a red state like Nebraska, I've learned moderation, become less polarized, and more politically tolerant. I do a better job of listening to and considering both sides of issues, and I acknowledge that Jesus would not depend on something as small as government.<br />
<br />
8. In Western Nebraska I've also learned to be more perseverant and tolerant of weather. Running and mountaineering would be difficult sports for the weatherphobic. I've run and hiked in wind, fog, snow, dark, rain, ice, sleet, subzero cold, drought, and yes, hail. Maybe this is a strange thing to praise, but it is a locally-learned skill that will come in handy, since we are headed to <i>Seattle, </i>the home of misty drizzle (so-called <i>mizzle) </i>for months on end.<br />
<br />
In fact, that is what seems so rich about our Western Nebraska experience: we have been molded with seemingly Divine intent. He has been sculpting our family for such a place as Seattle. I would never have dreamed of the chance to summit the heavily-glaciered Mt. Rainier without the training ground that the Colorado 14ers have afforded me. Similarly, all my other life experiences in Nebraska have been the training ground for the next leg of the race in Seattle. Without Scottsbluff, I doubt I would be prepared for Seattle's political culture, social tolerances, disdain for tradition, or their fitness mindset, less-than-conservative churches, organic bent, seafood cuisine, or even their weather. God knows our past, present, and future. He placed us in western Nebraska with great purpose.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxTWFyXrCEfTeLepqEl6s3mX9jbOduQrTQyNvFgRSJwaZzov2uQLnXPJHIjfkHomV_8XcGWqkvX8tvun8wfEaGI8FGjOvcNv4qWlJ7rqqVnbiqYwp9DO_AGLm9o4JSP9NtKS7WZ9RMSlt/s1600/DSC00595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxTWFyXrCEfTeLepqEl6s3mX9jbOduQrTQyNvFgRSJwaZzov2uQLnXPJHIjfkHomV_8XcGWqkvX8tvun8wfEaGI8FGjOvcNv4qWlJ7rqqVnbiqYwp9DO_AGLm9o4JSP9NtKS7WZ9RMSlt/s320/DSC00595.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sculpture from the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibit, Seattle</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
There is a scene in the movie Forrest Gump when the lead character reflects on the profound things he's learned from seemingly simple experiences in his life. The movie depicts a series of brief clips, like recalled memories, revisiting poignant moments and we realize how pivotal and integral they were. (Watch it <a href="http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ISJ0VsnCvDo" target="_blank">here</a>.) <br />
<br />
I think my heart is often like a movie player; I replay snipits from moments of significance. So many of these moments are encounters with the very Spirit of God. I will remember my time in Scottsbluff as a place where I became reacquainted with the awesome presence of God.<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
Many of my integral moments are encounters with the conduits of His love, His people. But the blog is long, so I shall continue that thought in another installment. Stay tuned for part 2...Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-9660236497243025282012-11-17T06:31:00.001-07:002012-11-17T20:26:09.734-07:00Love song<blockquote>
People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. But there's a whole lot of people in group number one. They're looking for a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever's going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences? <br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
-- Rev. Graham Hess (Mel Gibson) Signs, 2002</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Seattle was never on our radar. <br />
<br />
Yet, God is always moving, and this time He's called us to do the same. In 6 short months, my family and I will be moving to Seattle. People ask me why, and I struggle to explain. I am taking a 30-40% pay cut. My commute will be longer. I'll be working harder. Cost of living increases 150%, and real estate almost 200%.<br />
<br />
Looking back, Scottsbluff was never on our radar 9 1/2 years ago. We truly believe God led us here, and for a purpose. We trusted Him when real estate went up 200% <i>then</i>. And now?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JBu3r-mRn4EgwnzBCtyxevqz9vamwY1DkMG7ntEZR1D2EMxAeOzDHm-OD1MOuJRnEaQ42Kb0B5qC9Fz2cmIrZ59C0isMXNSN5OYMuXJoeu_7fLWwMIwXJXvfVdSSgoK7FvXrIQsiu_QA/s1600/compass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JBu3r-mRn4EgwnzBCtyxevqz9vamwY1DkMG7ntEZR1D2EMxAeOzDHm-OD1MOuJRnEaQ42Kb0B5qC9Fz2cmIrZ59C0isMXNSN5OYMuXJoeu_7fLWwMIwXJXvfVdSSgoK7FvXrIQsiu_QA/s320/compass.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'd been reading the job postings for years, looking for the 'ideal' job. I encountered ads for jobs in Virginia, Texas, California, Seattle, Iowa, Michigan, many others. In the hopes of fulfilling my dream to move into the shadow of the beloved Rocky Mountains, I interviewed for a position in Lone Tree, Colorado last Spring. The salary was lucrative, and the group was ready for me to sign on the dotted line before I left. Great location, but the job would be chock full of patients with pain due to personal injury and workers compensation cases (complicated by secondary gain, paperwork, manipulation). No, thank you.<br />
<br />
Funny: after that, Colorado never again came calling. Even my fallback option fell through-- never got a return call from my one 'guaranteed' lead in Colorado, despite multiple attempts. Meanwhile, I discovered that a former colleague had relocated to a PM&R job in Denver. I felt rather defeated. <br />
<br />
Months ago in the wake of this, I journaled the excerpt below (forgive the melodrama-- it is my journal, after all):<br />
<blockquote>
Goodbye love song for Colorado </blockquote>
<blockquote>
I've been having an affair for a long time. I have a good home, but my heart hasn't been there for some time. I am not speaking of unfaithfulness to my family or my spouse, but my state. I have denied my Nebraska in search of a deeper love. Colorado resonates with me: mountains, alpine lakes, churches, neighborhoods, pace of life, and even traffic. But alas, this is a love that is unrequited. As much as I love Colorado, and as much as God shows me His love for me through the beauty He has created in Colorado, I have given up the hope of ever making the move. I have been waiting for God to lay out the red carpet and welcome me, but no invitation has come. All my leads led nowhere. I've watched others who love Colorado less take hold of that which should be mine. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
What I struggle to understand is how God could place in me such strong passion, a pull not toward sin or self, but toward something good, the work of His hands; into a strong congregation with potential to grow me as a Christian, and toward a culture that reinforces a healthier lifestyle, and then deny me that. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Is my pinnacle too small for God? Does he have something bigger planned for me? Because I feel something stirring. Change is coming.</blockquote>
<br />
After reading an ad for a position with an Orthopedic group in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and speaking with their director and several physicians, I was offered an October interview. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile over Labor Day weekend, our family travelled back to Colorado. My appetite for mountaineering was strong, despite having recently been fed with a glorious trip to the summit of Mt. Sherman with my Westway family in August. Though I'd never been there, the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Sangre de Cristo mountains welcomed me home. I labored up the Lake Como road to summit Ellingwood and Blanca peaks, which exhausted my body but refreshed my spirit. It is hard for me to describe such a strange love; I can count on one hand the friends who understand this. We chose to lodge for the long weekend at the Zapata Ranch, a working bison ranch. We ate with a dozen other guests in the common dining room for breakfast, parted ways during the day for our hiking, ranching, branding, and sand-surfing endeavors, then regrouped for supper to recount our day's adventures. We were surprised one evening to find ourselves seated next to a retired couple who lived 30 years in Seattle. Instead of listening to tales of their day in the saddle herding buffalo, they blissfully framed a picture of Seattle as we listened intently.<br />
<br />
Upon returning home, I emailed the group in Seattle to follow up on the posted ad. Within days, I'd made contact with the recruiter and spoken at length by phone with the Medical Director, who described his vision for the department: a vision of quality outcomes, best practice protocols, and care excellence. This mindset is well-suited to weather the coming changes in health care reimbursement. It synced with me.<br />
<br />
I cancelled the October interview in Dallas/Fort Worth, and instead scheduled an on-site interview in Seattle. Worst case scenario: we'd get to spend a long weekend in the Pacific Northwest as a family, on someone else's dime.<br />
<br />
After our family enjoyed a short vacation at DisneyWorld in late September, I stuck around a few extra days to attend the AANEM conference in Orlando. Alone on the plane from Orlando back to Denver, I spent some time blogging about the Monument Marathon, then struck up a conversation with my neighbor in 8E. After getting through the pleasantries, she revealed that she works as a Neurologist. In Seattle. I unabashedly pressed her for information, and she willingly shared.<br />
<br />
A month later, the interview went well; better than expected. They are not needle-jockies like the Lone Tree group. They have financial sustainability and security. They are willing to let me sculpt and build my practice, and offered me a leadership role. The offer came quickly, and it was fair.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-fkQ4uZRN7fw/UKckb8-ubGI/AAAAAAAAAME/p_hiV6NObWo/s500/Photo%252520Nov%25252016%25252C%2525202012%25252C%25252010%25253A38%252520PM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="338" id="blogsy-1353158250415.144" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-fkQ4uZRN7fw/UKckb8-ubGI/AAAAAAAAAME/p_hiV6NObWo/s500/Photo%252520Nov%25252016%25252C%2525202012%25252C%25252010%25253A38%252520PM.jpg" width="500" /></a> </div>
<br />
Back in Scottsbluff, Seattle trickled its way into our day-to-day lives. I have lost count of the number of times I've been nudged. In fact, 'It's NOT a sign!' became a running joke in our home when these instances arose, such as the time Brielle came home from school bewildered that Seattle showed up in her schoolwork. When in San Francisco for business, I was browsing Chinatown with work colleagues when we stumbled across a rack of touristy personalized keychains. One of my fellow VPs stopped long enough to confirm that 'Michele' was not among them (there were plenty of 'Michelle'), and flippantly mentioned "Maybe if you find one with your name spelled correctly, you could take that as a sign to move out here to the West Coast!" In my heart, I thought back to our community tour in Seattle the week prior, where my sweet Autumn had pointed out a storefront sign that read 'Michele'.<br />
<br />
Which is the right choice? Is there a right choice? I trust that God gives us freedom to choose from among a number of opportunities. Our future is not predestined since the choice is ours, yet He knows the path we will choose to walk, even before we choose it. "Well then, Father God, feel free to clue me in. Let me hear your voice clearly," I prayed. Jon prayed. The kids prayed. Jon and I fasted. We asked for ears to hear the will of God. "I will go where you want me to go." And this time I prayed it without the tether of "but please let it be Colorado". And He spoke. Over and over. In a voice that only our family heard. We could not deny: it WAS a sign. A sign with my name on it. They all were.<br />
<br />
<br />
This fall, I stumbled upon a song with Autumn's name in it. For the sake of fair parenting, I felt obliged to scour iTunes for a song with Brielle's name (clearly a greater challenge than the elusive 'Michele' keychain). But there it was: 'Brielle' by Sky Sailing. Further investgation showed this to be the former one-man band of Adam Young, the gifted musician who now comprises Owl City. There in the discography was his song 'Hello Seattle':<br />
<br />
<address>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hello Seattle, I am a mountaineer,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in the hills and highlands.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I fall asleep in hospital parking lots.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Take me above your light.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Carry me through the night.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hold me secure in flight.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sing me to sleep tonight.</div>
</address>
<address>
<br />
</address>
I would later read this interview about the song:<br />
<blockquote>
"Seattle always seemed like the other side of the world to me. I remember staring out the window during class in high school imagining what it was like," Young said. "The irony of the track is that it's a love song to a place I'd never visited."</blockquote>
Researching Washington, I discovered that, although I will say goodbye to Colorado and the Rockies, I am not saying goodbye to the majestic works of His creation, and I am not abandoning that love which seems to thrive so fiercely within me. Online photos and Scottsbluff eyewitnesses reassure me of the beauty of the Pacific Northwest, abundant in rich green forests, flowing rivers, mirrored lakes, and yes, mountains. There are innumerable ranges including the nearby Olympics and Cascades, and Mount Rainier towers as the taller of two Washington 14ers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-jY0CM8dl-1o/UKckdI9WnrI/AAAAAAAAAMM/jh0YWzb2E60/s1024/Photo%252520Nov%25252016%25252C%2525202012%25252C%25252010%25253A37%252520PM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="375" id="blogsy-1353158250424.9219" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-jY0CM8dl-1o/UKckdI9WnrI/AAAAAAAAAMM/jh0YWzb2E60/s500/Photo%252520Nov%25252016%25252C%2525202012%25252C%25252010%25253A37%252520PM.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
And so begins my love song to a place I'd never visited. Hello, Seattle.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next post: Love song for Scottsbluff <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div id="blogsy_footer" style="clear: both; font-size: small; text-align: right;">
<a href="http://blogsyapp.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Posted with Blogsy" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="margin-right: 5px; vertical-align: middle;" width="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>
Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-30516392046637687202012-11-10T08:50:00.001-07:002012-11-10T09:09:18.881-07:00Goat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-h4mm0fkFsko/UJ5zTDTIjeI/AAAAAAAAALU/V5iQEr-OQxA/s677/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525206%25253A19%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignnone" height="500" id="blogsy-1352562586445.8716" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-h4mm0fkFsko/UJ5zTDTIjeI/AAAAAAAAALU/V5iQEr-OQxA/s500/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525206%25253A19%252520AM.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
I would like to introduce you to Peeka. (Not, Peeta, you Hunger Games fanatic.) Peeka is a beloved pet goat belonging to Dena Jones. Dena, who is an entrepreneurial veterinary technician, works as a professional pet-sitter. With the help of her husband Sam, Dena owns and operates the wildly successful business, Happy at Home Pets. (They are fantastic and affordable and you can find them here: <a href="http://www.happyathomepets.biz/" target="_blank">http://www.happyathomepets.biz</a>)<br />
<br />
Dena is infused with the love of animals, and she houses a veritable zoo of animal-friends at her home. She rescues strays, nurses the injured back to health, and builds shelters for the untamed. When she is not at home, she is visiting and caring for the animal friends of others (refer to shameless plug, above). Her Facebook posts are filled with pictures and stories of her pets and rescues, but my favorite stories are the ones that involve Peeka the goat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
Peeka has a mischievous spirit, which I suspect is typical of a goat. When Dena and Sam are working on projects around the house, Peeka gets in the way. Peeka can often be found sitting or standing atop Dena's car. In fact, Dena and Sam finally stopped popping the dents out, as it was weakening the metal.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-yOrOSH-md2g/UJ5zUMI7fbI/AAAAAAAAALc/GBuoiT2e8Mg/s509/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525208%25253A28%252520AM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="333" id="blogsy-1352562586437.4026" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-yOrOSH-md2g/UJ5zUMI7fbI/AAAAAAAAALc/GBuoiT2e8Mg/s500/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525208%25253A28%252520AM.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
Dena has several running Facebook posts about 'Peeka antics'. Here are a few:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1ZOT7g8s8XY/UJ5zW8ElfqI/AAAAAAAAAL0/vl8NeOyaFCU/s490/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525206%25253A25%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignnone" height="252" id="blogsy-1352562586469.56" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1ZOT7g8s8XY/UJ5zW8ElfqI/AAAAAAAAAL0/vl8NeOyaFCU/s490/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525206%25253A25%252520AM.jpg" width="490" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_dAkh8_WRNQ/UJ5zV9i4D8I/AAAAAAAAALs/RNX4aCZZbDs/s504/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525206%25253A25%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignnone" height="234" id="blogsy-1352562586506.2832" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_dAkh8_WRNQ/UJ5zV9i4D8I/AAAAAAAAALs/RNX4aCZZbDs/s500/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525206%25253A25%252520AM.jpg" width="500" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<br /></div>
Honestly, I think many of us can relate to Peeka. Do you ever feel like a misfit? A troublemaker? Do you feel you're just in the way, not one of the herd?<br />
<br />
Who would keep such a misfit of a pet? Funny thing is that Peeka the goat has a priceless and rare gift. Peeka is an ambassador. She is able to tame the wild. Many of the feral cats Dena encounters require medical attention, but they are unapproachable and afraid of people. Peeka somehow befriends the wild cats on Dena's property, and slowly over time Dena is also able to approach them and provide the aid they need. Seriously, what are the chances that a savior of wild animals would happen to have an animal-ambassador? It seems well-purposed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-sKtYao5PRAQ/UJ5zVMMFM2I/AAAAAAAAALk/l88Iwmdc-lQ/s493/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525208%25253A25%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignnone" height="183" id="blogsy-1352562586526.5176" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-sKtYao5PRAQ/UJ5zVMMFM2I/AAAAAAAAALk/l88Iwmdc-lQ/s493/Photo%252520Nov%25252010%25252C%2525202012%25252C%2525208%25253A25%252520AM.jpg" width="493" /></a></div>
<br />
As Christians, our job is to befriend the wild ones of the earth and ease the approach to their Savior who is feared, but who also loves them and knows what they need.<br />
<br />
I have previously blogged about my so-called 'spiritual gift': I have the gift of looking for and seeing the Divine in the secular. I embrace the redemption songs of Linkin Park, and welcome the fellowship and self-sacrifice shown in the Harry Potter series. I have experienced the discipline and brokenness of a long run. The Church frowns on the distorted truths depicted in the media; they are not Biblical. However, there are nuggets of resonant Truth therein, and if Truth is truly absolute, then it can be found outside our walls and our scriptures. (Granted, we must hold up the truths against what we know to be Truth from scripture. Contrarily, we discount the Holy Spirit that works within us when we limit Truth to that found only in scripture.)<br />
<br />
I see value in using Truth to reach the lost. To many, the Bible may seem mysterious or distant, but they can relate to the Truth they see sprinkled everywhere around them. An ambassador can discern Truth from falsehood and help make a way. Like a goat who leads a wild cat to safety.<br />
<br />
I always felt goats got a bad rap in the Bible. The sheep are clearly the chosen flock of God, with Jesus as our great Shepherd. Even today, goats are often depicted as a pagan deity, accursed in popular movies. Then there is the passage in Matthew “He will place the sheep at his right hand and the goats at his left...then the King will turn to those on the left and say, ‘Away with you, you cursed ones, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his demons." (Matthew 25 NLT) <br />
<br />
I left out a crucial part of the passage: “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world. For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me.’ (Matthew 25:34-36 NLT)<br />
<br />
There are times I feel like the goat, and not the sheep. Like Peeka, I can be exasperating and frustrating to others, and occasionally downright destructive. But God has given me this so-called 'gift', and I will use it to reach out and ambassador to others.<br />
<br />
Maybe whether I am a goat or a sheep doesn't really matter. Am I an ambassador and servant of God? And although the world (and sometimes even the Church) may see me as a goat, through His eyes, I'm a cherished lamb of His herd.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. (1 Corinthians 1:26-29 NIV)</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So we are Christ’s ambassadors; God is making his appeal through us. We speak for Christ when we plead, “Come back to God!” (2 Corinthians 5:20 NLT)</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div id="blogsy_footer" style="clear: both; font-size: small; text-align: right;">
<a href="http://blogsyapp.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Posted with Blogsy" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="margin-right: 5px; vertical-align: middle;" width="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>
Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-83785985688295661892012-10-25T21:05:00.000-06:002012-10-25T21:17:36.547-06:00Siri ParentingI have come to the conclusion that most of my parental instructions could be replaced by a digital version of me, programmed to say the same phrases over and over. Here are some examples of my so-called 'Siri Parenting' (disclaimer: may contain exaggerated or frankly nonfactual information):<br />
<br />
1. "Less chatting; more chewing." (<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">At mealtime)</span><br />
<br />
2. "You talk too much." (<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Any other time)</span><br />
<br />
3. "Clean your room. No, you may not play with the 'new' things you find."<br />
<br />
4. "Stop playing Cain and Abel. You are fighting over something dumb."<br />
<br />
5. "Keep your seat in your seat while you eat."<br />
<br />
6. "Life's not fair, and 'fair' does not mean what you think it means. It is not synonymous with 'get what I want.'"<br />
<br />
7. "You're crying over that? Life has so many more difficult challenges awaiting you."<br />
<br />
8. "Unless you're wearing a race number, no one gives out awards for being first."<br />
<br />
9. "Television will suck IQ points right out of you."<br />
<br />
10. "No, you may not get something from Starbucks; caffeine stunts your growth."<br />
<br />
11. "Sweetheart, if we keep every paper you came home with, we'd be neck-high by now." <br />
<br />
12. "Treat me with the same respect you would your teachers."<br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">With these handy Siri Parenting phrases, I simply need a robot to do the chauffeuring, laundry, yard, cooking, and housekeeping, and I could veritably escape to the mountains unnoticed</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="" class="biv-img" height="225" id="blogsy-1351221136990.878" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTxRMgS_pA33ZrXRZzN0uV_0DZmFu9tiKSAx7uqragCyW9DKIOi" width="225" /></div>
<br />
Here are some of my favorite parenting tidbits from others:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Bill Cosby: "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it."<br />
<br />
Christy Arnold (my sister-in-law): "How about you go outside and play in traffic?"<br />
<br />
Kim Holloway: "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit."<br />
<br />
Karen Robert (my mom): "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I still revisit that one from time to time...</blockquote>
<br />
Do you have any classics of your own? <br />
<br />
<div id="blogsy_footer" style="clear: both; font-size: small; text-align: right;">
<a href="http://blogsyapp.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Posted with Blogsy" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="margin-right: 5px; vertical-align: middle;" width="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>
Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-70455925580495972002012-10-15T21:42:00.001-06:002012-10-15T22:08:16.374-06:00CHabstainMy appetite seems to have missed out on my body's most recent news headline: <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fuel Demands Plummet in Wake of Marathon Completion </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Now that my weekly running mileage has dropped from 45 to zero, I must take a hard look at my fueling strategy. During those high-mileage weeks, I refrained from all-out splurging, but I did allow certain indulgences. Without all the calorie-torching mileage, however, I am destined to pack on about 2 pounds per week unless I make some dietary adjustments. If only my appetite were as logical as my marathon training program. <br />
<br />
This comes as no surprise. Every fall, I carefully tiptoe from October to December in the hope of avoiding the caloric sandbags from Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas parties, and Christmas Eve. I have a number of strategies to help me accomplish this task, considering my strong sense of discipline yet seemingly utter lack of self-control: daily weigh-ins (with graphs!), food journaling, checking online resources for nutritional information of various restaurant entrees, etc. I accept that I'll never be as lean as elite runners, and my current (hard-fought) weight is finally in range for my height. I know it sounds obsessive, but an additional 10 pounds can slow my next 5K by more than a minute. <br />
<br />
None of the above strategies is as fun as the CHUB plan, as I call it. You will not read this in any book. It is not a diet (I don't 'diet'). It is not grounded in much medical fact. No dietician will endorse this plan. But for me, it is easy to remember, and not difficult to follow. Most experts tell you never to cut out an entire food group (good advice). In this plan, however, I simply avoid the following CH- items till CHristmas (It has a nice ring to it when you sing it Beastie-Boys style: "No. CHUB. Till Christmas!"):<br />
<br />
1. No CHips. Loyal friends could wax philosophical of my fondness for tortilla chips. I find them irresistible: once I start, I am virtually unable to quit. The nutritional value of a tortilla chip is minuscule (so "slim to none, that Slim left town"). The "no CHips" mantra also applies to French fries (think Brit). Recently I've also had to boycott Stacy's Pita Chips, so tastily irresistible that I find an 8-serving bag lasts only 3-4 days.<br />
<br />
2. No CHocolate. This one would seem to speak for itself, but all chocolate is not equal. I permit a 4-8 oz. glass of chocolate milk for recovery after a run. (A 2006 study in the International Journal of Sport Nutrition and Exercise Metabolism found that chocolate milk is as good as or better than Gatorade for replacing glucose in fatigued muscles.) I also respect the high-antioxidant health benefits of dark (>70% cacao) bittersweet chocolate, so a small square once daily is OK. Bioflavonoids never tasted so delicious.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">
<a href="http://i247.photobucket.com/albums/gg158/MDA2008/MDA2009/darkchocolate.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignnone" height="282" id="blogsy-1350358860336.5159" src="http://i247.photobucket.com/albums/gg158/MDA2008/MDA2009/darkchocolate.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
3. No CHai. Not a coffee-drinker, I've found a chai tea latte to be a comforting coffee-substitute, which allows me to join the hot beverage and coffeehouse culture. There are a number of health benefits to brewed chai, which is a spiced black tea, with cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, cloves, and various other spices. It is the added sweetener and milk/cream that turn an innocuous cup of tea into a 350-calorie splurge. Brewed chai? Yes. Chai latte from the Jax or Starbucks drive-through? Not till Christmas. (This is admittedly the toughest in my list. Fall is made for harvest flavors, right?)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0hmuu1wFh1r44lur.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignnone" height="463" id="blogsy-1350358860325.6458" src="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0hmuu1wFh1r44lur.jpg" width="260" /></a>4. Nothing off the CHildren's plates. How many times have I polished off 200 extra calories just to avoid scraping it into the disposal? At a restaurant, I may diligently order a healthy entree, but then devour the remaining fries or bacon that my kids leave behind. (This should be a year-round rule, right?)<br />
<br />
5. Nothing with a CHaracter. If the food item needs a mascot, it probably isn't inherently good for you (think Tony the Tiger, Keebler Elf). <br />
<br />
Following a careful plan of CHabstention, I can allow other holiday indulgences and not feel cheated. Meanwhile, I can sensibly indulge in my CHub list the entire rest of the calendar year.<br />
<br />
Do you have any tricks to help prevent weight gain through the holidays?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div id="blogsy_footer" style="clear: both; font-size: small; text-align: right;">
<a href="http://blogsyapp.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Posted with Blogsy" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="margin-right: 5px; vertical-align: middle;" width="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>
Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-40946172625275527812012-10-08T20:49:00.000-06:002012-10-08T21:34:26.111-06:00Thoughts on training for the Monument Marathon<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">I call myself a runner. I am not a fast runner, but I am a runner nonetheless. I have been running and training for periodic races for about 6 years, and for 2 years quite steadily.
This weekend marks my third marathon attempt ('attempt', as I have yet to finish). I hope to run a PR (personal record). This is a lofty goal, given the course, and maybe a little unrealistic (a characteristic error that I seem prone to make). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">My preferred distance is the Half-Marathon (13.1 miles), which I view as a 'raceable endurance event', one in which I can use strategy and pacesetting. My marathon strategy, however, is solely about finishing as respectably as possible (preferably on my feet with my head up). Inevitably I reach the point of exhaustion well before the 26.2 mile finish, and during those later miles, the event becomes almost other-worldly: in both of my other marathons, I experienced the brokenness of dissociative suffering. My mind must separate itself from the flood of pain and exhaustion signals from my body, each step pounding that reminder up through my feet, ankles and shins, ricocheting through my spine into my brain, adding volume to the growing voice in my head that says "Walk. You want to walk. You want to sit. You want to quit." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Every training cycle has a story. This is the story of my 2012 season.
It begins with skepticism. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">My running goals for 2012: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Run consistently, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. Build base mileage. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Make 'friends' with hills.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. Churn out a few RunnersWorld holiday run streaks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. Run some safe, familiar races. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">WNCC threw me a curve ball when they announced the inaugural Monument Marathon slated for October 13, 2012. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Dayle, you had me at 'inaugural'.
My two prior marathons were both inaugural events in meaningful locales (the inaugural 2008 San Antonio Rock & Roll Marathon, and the inaugural 2010 Denver Rock & Roll Marathon). The Monument Marathon promises to be the FIRST race of its type in Western Nebraska, the product of a race director who's run many events ('run', meaning on her own two feet, as well as 'run', meaning she has successfully organized many others). Thanks to the hard work of Dayle Wallien, Tom 'TR' Rohrick, Denee and Paul Janda, and Katie and Jeff Bradshaw, we have a USATF-certified Boston-qualifying course in our own backyard. I could potentially sleep in my own bed the night before the event, and see familiar faces handing out timing chips and sports drink. I would look back on this and regret not running (admittedly a terrible reason to run). I reluctantly registered for the full marathon before the fee hike, and before I could change my mind. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Check out the Monument Marathon (or even register yourself) at <a href="http://www.monumentmarathon.com/" target="_blank">http://www.monumentmarathon.com/</a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Though you don't know it, many of you have already run the race with me, either in person or in thought. Join with me on a pre-race tour of the Monument Marathon course, seen through my eyes. (Or belabor me, since this is a therapeutic journey for me, and I have many to thank along the way.) </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Unbiased video of the route: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=uklKAIzZvqA">http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=uklKAIzZvqA</a> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">After running San Antonio, I recall the energy of the start line: this is MY town, MY Spurs, MY Riverwalk, MY Alamo, these are MY people. The cityscape filled me with pride. I can only hope that when I toe the start line at Wildcat Hills, I will feel that same sense of community and pride. I will undoubtedly be shivering in the cold while awaiting the starting pistol, but remembering the blazing-hot summer afternoon hike that Greg Elliott, Brielle, Katherine, and I did three months ago in Wildcat Hills in preparation for Mt. Sherman. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Once we peel onto Highway 71, it will be hard not to think back on my biggest injury of the season: During one early-morning long run along the dark shoulder of 71, I tripped and fell while engulfed in an oncoming car's high-beams, and experienced my first 'hip pointer'. If I can run 14 miles on the course with a bruised throbbing hip and a bloody stinging road rash, then I can do it on race day, right?
Assuming that 71 is partly-closed to vehicular traffic, I will make it to the Sandburg Road turnoff, where my friend Amber (who graciously volunteered) will be extending a cup of sports drink, a smile, and encouragement as I turn east into the Nebraska sunrise. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwohx_E-g_H8a0xmbItr31Gj2C_YqgcrtQDa0_ZOjBeo7jGDVbq8OCBduSIvu3TwHWfoJRwMYv5dS-rJVtwEu3qKRbtQDhmYIosUIykS1PjQ38joYpaMjAkgvIAM0ukwwl5gpuooariywC/s1600/Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwohx_E-g_H8a0xmbItr31Gj2C_YqgcrtQDa0_ZOjBeo7jGDVbq8OCBduSIvu3TwHWfoJRwMYv5dS-rJVtwEu3qKRbtQDhmYIosUIykS1PjQ38joYpaMjAkgvIAM0ukwwl5gpuooariywC/s320/Image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Only I know the secret spot in the cornfield alongside Lockwood Road where I had to make a pit stop on a training run to relieve myself, and I fully intend to salute it as I pass it on race day. Don't worry, on Saturday I will refrain from any elimination activities outside of the designated porta-potties.
Under the McClellan, watch for birds popping in and out of their mud-nests under the overpass. Run faster to avoid being a target for droppings. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">As we run west across Ave D, visiting runners will get their first glimpse of the sunrise on Scottsbluff National Monument. Despite its ominous size and position at the top of the worst hill of the course, I view the Bluff not as my foe, but as my partner in many fitness endeavors. I will think of Lisa since this is her 'hood. I will smile as I recall the funny 'wildlife' photos that Katie posted on her Monument Marathon blog. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Check it out: <a href="http://scbcitizen.wordpress.com/2012/05/01/monument-marathon-and-its-western-nebraska-scenery/" target="_blank">http://scbcitizen.wordpress.com/2012/05/01/monument-marathon-and-its-western-nebraska-scenery/</a> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">The turn west onto Highway 92 is about the halfway point, and I have mentally prepared for the long, steady uphill through Mitchell Pass. How many settlers' feet have trod countless miles more than mine, with greater suffering and yet with greater purpose? Here, I will conjure up the memory of my favorite run of the entire season, a tough hill-run up Saddle Trail whose reward was a marvelous morning dash down Saddle Road and through the tunnels with Imagine Dragons 'Radioactive' booming in my head. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Passing Scottsbluff National Monument will bring to mind the many hikes this summer with family, friends, and WestWay-ers in preparation for this year's 14ers Quandary Peak, Mt. Antero, Mt. Sherman, Ellingwood Point, and Blanca Peak. My mind will flood with visual imagery of those (and many other) hikes-- the tough climbs, the summits, the smiles, the tears, the pain, the triumph (the wind, the snow, the rain). I will see the faces of my fellow hikers and imagine them at my side, spurring me on: Jon and Brielle Arnold, Greg Elliott, Mike Andrews, Andrew Thomas, Drew Findley, Manda Troutman, Nate Parrish, Jennifer and Scott Reisig, Katherine Reisig, Faith Reisig, Debbie and Lauren Thomas, Nisha Dietrich, Andrew Roy, Lois Bridges, Kim Skinlo, Amy Holzworth, Anita and Randy Schanaman, John Thomas, Mark Scanlan, Rodd and Nancy Hall, and Ashley Hall. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8yHEzHgfwnEKjZL8Wnp1bBuxaTBLD1HTQuSVjCqJzs6AXnYkF5LLQlLVl9UKx8FQM8KjBzA3Im9T_r8i0lyZNKHpHAdu3bCg7cSexHVmilJwcrLl-rzH1EAv7tYDYfo9yuOUiQkviC4u/s1600/DSC00369_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8yHEzHgfwnEKjZL8Wnp1bBuxaTBLD1HTQuSVjCqJzs6AXnYkF5LLQlLVl9UKx8FQM8KjBzA3Im9T_r8i0lyZNKHpHAdu3bCg7cSexHVmilJwcrLl-rzH1EAv7tYDYfo9yuOUiQkviC4u/s320/DSC00369_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then, I'll run downhill (ah!) along the west slope of Mitchell Pass and past Barn Anew. If there is a train along Ridgeway, I intend wave to the engineer and let the breeze carry me along. I will laugh at the junction of Hunt Dairy Road and Ridgeway, recalling having to bushwhack to cross the tracks on a wrong turn during a training run. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then suffering will begin to seep into my run. The next part of the course will take its toll at a distance that is a common breaking point in a marathon. Experienced marathoners say the last 10K (the last 6 miles) of a marathon is where the real race begins, and my limited experience has proven that theorem true. Not that the first 20 miles are a piece of cake.
By this point, I will be fatigued physically and mentally, and my focus will be sketchy. I'm banking on the fact that I've experienced this part of the course many times: I've run it when the Gering canal was full and when it was bone-dry; I've run it in the hot sun, and in the sandblasting wind; I have seen hawks, wild turkeys, and many deer, and been chased by a dog, and I've fallen and turned an ankle more than once. I've also found a golf ball or two. It will likely be the toughest and loneliest section of this entire course. At this point my form will have deteriorated, and it will take mental effort and constant self-reminders to lift my rib cage, reposition my head and neck, relax my shoulders, shift my pelvis forward, and try to stay light on my feet. I have prayed that God will grant me strength to keep my ankles from turning as I stumble over the rocks, dirt, and gravel. Quicken my foot turnover, like local runner and coach Aaron Carrizales, who has been so gracious and encouraging to all of us runners this season. Defy the 'slow', like David Griffiths, who methodically plods on the treadmill in his basement and continues to get faster despite the inevitable passage of time. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I round the corner and see the familiar dead tree, my legs may feel like dead trees, but I will know I am nearing the last of the finger-like turns trough the badlands. I will mentally aim for the radio tower that marks the return to the pavement, and what I feel may be the most-underestimated 'hill' of the course: up Country Club road. I pray that I will still have the energy to maintain a run up this section. Here, I will think back on my longest run of the season, during which I listened to the audio book 'What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.' The author, Haruki Murakami, has a marvelous quote: "Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional." I'm sure I will question that truth at this point in the race. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EHef3t_th0iV4qdXzY_aVcdZ8TzYrurJLUNtUN0oz1h1TYiGXdPpwwH-yRNF16w_O-mTMgsy9l_1KBZN7033IyiBiEAYPDT9_luuy3JpZ0XPSk9ZWrmIUL88zVvWmgB6L6yC60pSPIkw/s1600/pain+suffer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="72" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EHef3t_th0iV4qdXzY_aVcdZ8TzYrurJLUNtUN0oz1h1TYiGXdPpwwH-yRNF16w_O-mTMgsy9l_1KBZN7033IyiBiEAYPDT9_luuy3JpZ0XPSk9ZWrmIUL88zVvWmgB6L6yC60pSPIkw/s320/pain+suffer.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">I may think back on the suffering I endured trying to keep up with my training runs during 5 days of delayed-onset muscle soreness after hiking Ellingwood and Blanca, and the 'mandatory' runs I did to 'keep the streak' after Quandary and Antero. I will remember the many long runs on the treadmill in my basement while watching a movie (or two), and on the many different hotel fitness-room treadmills staring at a blank wall. I may look back on the sacrifices: mornings I was pulling on shoes while others slept, evenings I spent pounding the pavement instead of gathering with loved ones and friends, hours of lost time with my family. Will all the work and sacrifice pay off? Did the 3-4 week head-cold cost me precious minutes? I could have done more speed work, longer mileage; I should have eaten better, slept more, traveled less, run more and hiked less. Have I have trained well enough to cross the finish line with my head up? To PR? These are the pre-race doubts of every runner. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">I will cherish the turn south onto the Monument pathway, as a flat section for catching my breath. After I pass my usual parking place on the U Street pathway, I will make my way across a short section of canal-ditch to Five Rocks Road, followed by a nice jaunt through an unfortunately not-very-shaded neighborhood, then back across to Highway 92. Here, the final stretch involves a short uphill to the cemetery entrance. I suspect I will be in full-dissociation mode by this point, wishing I could tune-out the constant negative commentary from my psyche, which in its defense is only trying to prevent further tissue damage. It will be mind over matter. If nothing else works, I will resort to 'counting'; I cover about a mile by counting, in rhythm with each footfall and breath-cycle, up to 200 and back down again. This is when I will summon my mantra to drown out the ever-louder droning inner voice of Doubt and Quit and Sit and Stop. For when I am weak then I am strong for when I am weak then I am strong for when I am weak... </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsikFyOnodAPzyVm2fu0iowViNJJwYDSsJMhyPb3VoYzFJ3kDyQDwJO4jRKeNqElOzZEOg3mm3VC_wgTP-SMgY5jR-kJGhZBUjSczioVJGKng9b1qbF_JYQ9JbA7tE2N_i66OFN9cHnz4v/s1600/weak+strong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsikFyOnodAPzyVm2fu0iowViNJJwYDSsJMhyPb3VoYzFJ3kDyQDwJO4jRKeNqElOzZEOg3mm3VC_wgTP-SMgY5jR-kJGhZBUjSczioVJGKng9b1qbF_JYQ9JbA7tE2N_i66OFN9cHnz4v/s400/weak+strong.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">I won't truly surface until I am in the shade of the lined trees of the cemetery. When I run by cemeteries, I ponder life and mortality, and I pray that running will not lengthen my life, but rather enrich it. I will think of how Haruki Murakami wants his headstone to say, "At least he never walked." I will likely not live up to that epitaph, and I will remember that sometimes walking helps me get to the finish, unlike the Japanese party that froze and called 911 on Ellingwood Point this summer when I summited with with John, Mark, and Andrew. I will likely walk the steep but short ravine that precedes the downhill stretch to the finish line. I pray that I have the strength to summon a shuffling trot that will carry me down to Five Rock Amphitheater and across the line with my head up, and familiar faces will greet me and hang a finisher's medal around my tired, sweaty neck (which will be well-sunscreened, thanks to learning the hard way after burning and peeling twice in the November marathon in San Antonio.) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">If I had my way, they'd play The Script and will.i.am's version 'Hall of Fame' as I cross the line. The world of running will never 'know my name' (as the song says), but I will 'go the distance; I will run the miles, and walk straight through hell with a smile'. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">This may be the hardest-earned medal yet. And the most precious, PR or not. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-43757993561409375032011-12-13T23:20:00.002-07:002011-12-13T23:25:17.056-07:00SecularEarlier this week, I wrote a post about being a former atheist, and how the Christian walk and the 'moral atheist' lifestyle look way too similar. Am I actually set apart? A wise man I know suggests that we don our faith every moment, every day. This could create a pressure to put on 'the ornaments' of a Christian life: a bookshelf full of publicly-recognized Christian authors, a Jesus fish on my car, all the right Air1 artists on my iPad, Focus on the Family videos on my Facebook page, footprints on the bookmark in my Beth Moore book?<br />
<br />
Please know that, even outside of the Church, there are pieces of God everywhere. There are morsels on the floor for those of us who weren't raised at the Masters table. Growing up 'secular', my first encounters with God were not in a church building, at a retreat or camp. I have been bestowed with the gift of seeing the Divine in the secular (whether that is a spiritual gift is open for debate). Those who know me recognize this. Where one person may gaze critically at the stars and shudder at the falsehoods of astrology, I see the unchanging God in the Heavens. Another may recoil at the sin laid bare in the lyrics of Numb, What I've Done, Leave Out all the Rest, or Waiting for the End, but I hear a cry for redemption and deliverance from Linkin Park. (Bet we won't be singing those choruses in the building Sunday morning!) I see through the alleged-witchcraft and savor an allegory of Christ in the story of Harry Potter. I seek the Holy Spirit in the earthly dirt of a run or a hike. Hence, I cherish the mountains and visit them as often as I can. They remind me that faith has already moved mountains, by moving me.<br />
<br />
So I question:<br />
Why is the Divine-amid-the-secular seen as unacceptable in the church? Is truth no longer truth when it is tainted with the stuff of earth? Or do we consume it only when it comes packaged within a Zondervan label?<br />
<br />
Do not let what you know is good be spoken of as evil. <br />
-Romans 14:16Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-4821478095573642412011-12-11T22:47:00.002-07:002011-12-11T22:52:00.165-07:00AtheistI am from the secular world. Granted, it was the moral side of town, but still the secular side of the tracks. I was unchurched. Let's take a peek back: maybe it is not as different as you think. <br />
<br />
The world was all I knew; I figured I should make the most of it. If I got only one shot at life on earth, then by golly, I was gonna really live. Aim high. Live joyously. Not by means of debauchery, mind you. I could easily avoid the mistakes of others in my generation by guarding my actions and behaviors. I knew the love of family, friends, and nature. Altruism was surprising not as rare as you'd expect for an atheist, but it served no higher purpose than a means to mutual respect. I discovered deep meaning in literature, science, and mathematics. I enjoyed the rich resonant beauty in music. I had a good work ethic, and was overall a good citizen (save a few speeding tickets). I lived comfortably, not extravagantly. There were no glaring blemishes on my reputation. I made good choices about my health so that I would see many years to come. I donated to worthy causes. I'd like to say I was patriotic, but well, nobody's perfect. I would plan my life and retire early, then relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor. <br />
<br />
But at the end of the day, in the quiet dark of the night while awaiting sleep, I would reflect on my own mortality. When my time came, I would be snuffed out like a candle. A switch flipped. Lights out. Cold, black nothing. The end. Forever. <br />
<br />
You see, as a nonbeliever, as an atheist, my life's purpose revolved around me: my comforts, my dreams, my joys, and my loves. It was unmistakably hopeless. I was an unsuspecting passenger on a runaway train barreling toward certain doom, yet all the while I was more concerned about a pleasant journey, rather than how to get off that ride I knew had an end. If that life plan sounds familiar, then maybe you are living my former dream: the dream of the common atheist (a.k.a.'the American dream').<br />
<br />
Shouldn't salvation impact our lives? Should the blood of Christ bring more than just the hope of eternity in Heaven with our Creator? When you think of Peter, do you recall images of a successful peaceful fisherman? Was Paul's Christian claim-to-fame that he was a model citizen? Does the wife of noble character in Proverbs 31 spend her days delving into Beth Moore studies? Similarly, I lived a well-intended, moral, ethical life before I became a follower of Christ. But it was perfectly self-centered, hell-bound, hopeless, and wholly lost. <br />
<br />
Please don't confuse the truth of God with living morally. <br />
And don't forget that you are a sojourner. Time to get off the train.Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-33146822016159630572011-02-07T19:32:00.003-07:002011-02-07T19:45:43.067-07:00Lie #7Let's revisit another lie-- something the world tells us that we sometimes unquestioningly believe.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Lie #7:</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Vengeance is sweet.</b></div><br />
This weekend, I enjoyed my first Western and saw the remake of <u>True Grit.</u> **spoiler alert**<br />
<blockquote>Persistent 14 year-old Mattie Ross journeys to Fort Smith, Arkansas in the 1870s, determined to extract justice for her father's death. Mattie bargains for the assistance of the U.S. Marshall Cogburn: "they tell me you are a man of <i>true grit</i>." With the help of the drunkard U.S. Marshall and a stubborn Texas Ranger, they journey across the Indian Territory to capture Tom Chaney, her father's remorseless murderer, and have him hanged for the crime. The trio persevere the harsh elements of the land, the constant threat of harm, and encounter both the dead and soon-to-be-dead. 'True grit' aptly describes not only the whiskey-prone quarrelsome Rooster Cogburn, but also the egocentric talkative tongue-tied Ranger LeBoeuf, and surprisingly the the tenacious, feisty, smart-tongued Mattie. Mattie is coming-of-age in a ruthless world, and Mattie relates with Cogburn and LeBoeuf as twisted father and brother figures. But I digress....<br />
<br />
Mattie unexpectedly stumbles on the trail of the murderous Chaney when she goes alone to draw water from the nearby river. She hesitates to shoot, and is instead abducted. Mattie has a second opportunity. The moviegoer watches as Cogburn gets sidetracked, LeBoeuf takes a blow to the head, and young Mattie confronts Chaney face-to-face. Shotgun in hand, she points the barrel at Chaney. The entire theater fell silent, wondering: would she do it? Could she kill him? After all, he murdered her father in cold blood. Would she pardon him, as her father had? That mercy cost her father his life. As I watched the film, I silently wished she would show him mercy. But there was a part of me that wanted her to avenge her father's death. I'm not sure even Mattie gave this choice much thought. She pulled the trigger and Chaney fell. I didn't know whether to cheer or cry. All three returned home from their adventure, minus the arm Mattie lost due to snakebite.<br />
<br />
In the final scene of the movie, a gray-haired Mattie Ross returns to Arkansas to seek out her childhood companions, unsuccessfully. She is depicted as a cold, hardened, old maid. Her lips are tight, and her eyes are steeled. Retribution had become a thief. Mattie's quest for justice stole not only her arm. She lost her compassion and mercy.</blockquote>We often rejoice at justice served. Did some of us applaud as Stephen King's <u>Carrie</u> set the prom ablaze after being the victim of cruel schoolgirl jokes? <u>Kill Bill</u> (which I have never seen) grossed $70M in the name of revenge. <u>Braveheart</u>, <u>V for Vendetta</u>, <u>Gladiator</u>, <u>Star Trek II the Wrath of Khan</u>, and even the almost-chick-flick <u>Sleeping with the Enemy</u> depict revenge as a major plot. I was even pulling for the brainiacs in <u>Revenge of the Nerds</u>. My kids cheered on <u>The Karate Kid</u>. On the flip side, we are uneasy with a due-punishment thwarted (<u>The Lovely Bones</u>).<br />
<br />
The need to enforce punishment and inflict suffering on those who've wronged us seems to be a primal urge, fueled by wrath and fury. Revenge, simply, is getting even. It is the dark side of reciprocity. This is a far cry from the lessons we believe in scripture:<br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Rom_12_17"><b></b>Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone.</span><span class="verse Rom_12_18"><b></b> If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.</span><span class="verse Rom_12_19"><b></b> Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,"<span class="trans" title="19 Deut.32:35"></span> says the Lord.</span><span class="verse Rom_12_20"><b></b> On the contrary:</span><br />
<span class="verse Rom_12_20"> "If your enemy is hungry, feed him;</span><br />
<span class="verse Rom_12_20"> if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.</span><br />
<span class="verse Rom_12_20"> In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head." </span> <span class="verse Rom_12_21">Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. --Romans 12:17-21, Proverbs 25: 21-22</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="verse Lev_19_18">You shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the sons of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself; I am the L<span class="vsmallcaps">ord</span>. --Leviticus 19:17</span></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVhGHutlCk_CK9YoKT-GYVHmP_kHSY4qmQd-lH5g13xl-Vg0Go_E5pmmYQGegGIwpCXWPivzUrgzwze5ksiJm272Mcbi3bB1GBEk4ngh6v4Rt7Mm_wD1LALLrccYlHWcMMGWNygWwWT_w/s1600/gavel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVhGHutlCk_CK9YoKT-GYVHmP_kHSY4qmQd-lH5g13xl-Vg0Go_E5pmmYQGegGIwpCXWPivzUrgzwze5ksiJm272Mcbi3bB1GBEk4ngh6v4Rt7Mm_wD1LALLrccYlHWcMMGWNygWwWT_w/s320/gavel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="verse Amos_5_7">What good comes of exacting revenge on another? Do we find peace through revenge? I don't think so. I suspect Mattie Ross lived a life devoid of love after vindicating her father's death. She chose to exhume the body of Cogburn and relocate it to her family plot. It was the closest she ever got to giving him thanks. I suspect that if you were to peel away the scab of bitterness, vengeance may be the underlying wound that never healed.</span><br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Amos_5_7">There are those who turn justice into bitterness<br />
and cast righteousness to the ground. --</span><span class="verse Lev_19_18">Amos 5:6</span></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UmBwNxILJxTNEgcm3alQr5QWrkyMrPBYZlj9z3RfSFpxjcQu52Km42Hzj4D4VQMcd5zTADh9jZmSW3Llv-U87Fhgnh6duaUJmQK45lhLAG3PMqDIQUG4WvJ2hdeLK_Z0lr21TZL8462m/s1600/revenge.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Do you think the world lies to us by suggesting <b>we should seek our own justice and vengeance?</b> Can you think of a time when you 'enjoyed sweet revenge'? How did it affect you?<b> </b>How did it affect others?<b><br />
</b></div>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-31487800290333539402011-02-05T17:23:00.000-07:002011-02-05T17:23:43.528-07:00Lie #6We often buy in to our worldly culture, which may hold very little truth. The next lie I will discuss is this: <br />
<br />
<b>Lie #6:</b><br />
<b>I deserve ____________.</b><br />
<br />
Really you could put just about <i>anything</i> in that blank space.<br />
The issue here is <b>entitlement</b>.<br />
<br />
What is entitlement?<br />
-The notion or belief that one is deserving of a reward or benefit <br />
-the <i>expectation</i> of a reward <br />
-the right to demand some sort of reimbursement from fate<br />
<br />
This is a common attitude I see in my children, reflected in such statements as, "that's not fair" or "you owe me" (typically followed by whining).<br />
<br />
The sad truth is this: the lie of entitlement has been perpetuated by many adults.<br />
<br />
JG Wentworth depicts this quite well in their TV commercial regarding structured settlements and annuities: <br />
"Its MY MONEY, and I need it NOW!" <br />
<br />
We want it NOW.<br />
I have <i>rights,</i> you know.<br />
"They" owe me.<br />
<br />
Who, exactly is "they"? Our employer? The government? 'Fate' and 'fortune'? Perhaps even God? Obviously this is whomever we blame for the circumstances in which we find ourselves. <br />
<br />
We've already looked at a few of these: I deserve to see my kids grow up. I deserve to grow old with my spouse.<br />
(See prior posts, yada, yada, yada.)<br />
<br />
We feel entitled to live the good life, the American dream: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I'm entitled to receive preferential treatment, entitled to forgiveness, entitled to have my shortcomings overlooked. Am I entitled to material blessings, physical comfort, maybe even beauty. I deserve a large settlement for my work-related injury. I deserve a handout. Maybe it is more subtle: would I feel robbed if my employer delays or eliminates the expected annual cost of living raise. <br />
<br />
Entitlement is the archenemy of thankfulness. It is a very cancer that is eating away at the financial stability of our country. It eats away at the contentment in our communities. Interestingly, I did not witness much entitlement when I spent a summer in Bangkok. It seems to be the epidemic of the industrialized nation, the so-called enlightened.<br />
<br />
I don't think 'entitlement' is a 21st century burden, and, despite my experience in Thailand, it is not <i>just</i> American. <br />
<blockquote><span></span>"For the Kingdom of Heaven is like a man who was the master of a household, who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. When he had agreed with the laborers for a denarius a day, he sent them into his vineyard. He went out about the third hour, and saw others standing idle in the marketplace. To them he said, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and whatever is right I will give you.’ So they went their way. Again he went out about the sixth and the ninth hour, and did likewise. About the eleventh hour he went out, and found others standing idle. He said to them, ‘Why do you stand here all day idle?’ "They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ "He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and you will receive whatever is right.’ When evening had come, the lord of the vineyard said to his steward, ‘Call the laborers and pay them their wages, beginning from the last to the first.’ "When those who were hired at about the eleventh hour came, they each received a denarius. <b>When the first came, they supposed that they would receive more; and they likewise each received a denarius. When they received it, they murmured against the master of the household,</b> saying, ‘These last have spent one hour, and you have made them equal to us, who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat!’ "But he answered one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong. Didn’t you agree with me for a denarius? Take that which is yours, and go your way. It is my desire to give to this last just as much as to you. Isn’t it lawful for me to do what I want to with what I own? Or is your eye evil, because I am good?’ So the last will be first, and the first last. For many are called, but few are chosen." --Matt 20:1-16<span> </span></blockquote>Even rewards in Heaven are not proportional to your worldly 'time served.' It doesn't seem very <i>fair</i> by our standards.<br />
<br />
My favorite Relient K lyric says this:<br />
<blockquote>And this life sentence that I’m serving<br />
I admit that I’m every bit deserving <br />
<b>But the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair.</b></blockquote>How does grace make life <i>not</i> fair? What would have been 'fair'? The Biblical 'expectation' is clear: <br />
<blockquote>For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. --Romans 3:23-24</blockquote><blockquote>For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. --Romans 6:23</blockquote>So let's take another look at the Biblical expectation: <br />
I deserve _________.<br />
I have sinned. <b>I deserve death. </b><br />
Worse, I deserve separation from God.<br />
<br />
What, then, is "the beauty of grace which makes life not fair"? 'Fair' as defined by Biblical standards, is that I deserve to die. Grace is unearned favor from God.<br />
<br />
What do I deserve?<br />
I don't <i>deserve</i> anything short of death. I am more than grateful for the grace of God through Jesus Christ in my life. I am indebted to this Messiah who makes my life 'unfair' by offering me grace. It is by the grace of God that I am allowed to breathe, run, blog, climb, resonate, etc. I pray that I may to do those things for His glory (all the while attempting to get myself out of the way).<br />
<br />
What do you deserve?Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-41980812894496732342011-01-25T22:43:00.000-07:002011-01-25T22:43:33.314-07:00Lie #5Don't get too engrossed in this little poem here.<br />
I fully intend to rip it apart on behalf of <b>Lie of the World #5: Self-esteem is a virtue.</b> (Fitting title for the poem, huh?)<br />
<blockquote><u>Hello World</u><br />
<br />
I am amazing<br />
Incredible me<br />
Celebrating the being<br />
I choose to be<br />
<br />
I am uniquely spectacular<br />
I am one of a kind<br />
Creativity oozes<br />
From my heart and mind<br />
<br />
I'm stupendous, tremendous<br />
I stand out from the crowd<br />
I do things<br />
That aren't allowed<br />
<br />
I'm inspired, desired<br />
I'm wonderfully weird<br />
I am unbridled passion<br />
I am highly revered<br />
<br />
I'm outrageous, contagious<br />
I am daring and bold<br />
I am honored and cherished<br />
I'm a treasure to hold<br />
<br />
I am gifted, uplifted<br />
I am endlessly blessed<br />
I am sought out<br />
For the skills I possess<br />
<br />
I'm delightful, insightful<br />
I am loved and adored<br />
I live a charmed life<br />
I'm renewed and restored<br />
<br />
I am greateful, elateful<br />
I am centered and wise<br />
I am wealthy and worthy<br />
I am God in disguise<br />
<br />
I declare my brilliance<br />
It won't be denied<br />
The world cries out<br />
For what I provide<br />
<br />
I am powerful, masterful<br />
I am focused and clear<br />
Life beams brighter<br />
Because I am here<br />
<br />
I am blazing, amazing<br />
I can't be contained<br />
I'm a glorious fabulous<br />
Radiant flame<br />
<br />
I choose to exude<br />
All this and much more<br />
My wings are spread<br />
Watch me soar!</blockquote><blockquote>--Dan Coppersmith </blockquote><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilibbsC0eHidFpyvi_t4-A5_C9Vozs3NGVFwk3OkPmAJQ65XXSAdMy-dPlWDt_mpkwf-rUMeIHl6uysr53aQ8-_CYTLlohj1AM5vlEUzSedKIkdp7kK9VAbBQh_4M7RvLQmJPWS8FXx9vm/s1600/stuart-smalley-on-snl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilibbsC0eHidFpyvi_t4-A5_C9Vozs3NGVFwk3OkPmAJQ65XXSAdMy-dPlWDt_mpkwf-rUMeIHl6uysr53aQ8-_CYTLlohj1AM5vlEUzSedKIkdp7kK9VAbBQh_4M7RvLQmJPWS8FXx9vm/s320/stuart-smalley-on-snl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I have a sensitive tooth that groans at me when I provoke it with cold or sweet food items. I think I may have felt a twinge just typing the poem. So, once you've finished choking on the saccharin, take a breath and long look at what you believe about self-esteem. You may equate Dan Coppersmith with the Daily Affirmations of Stuart Smalley, but chances are, you associate self-esteem with happiness and success.<br />
<br />
On one hand, self-esteem refers to<span class="pg"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;"></span> </span></span><span class="dnindex"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;"></span></span></span><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">realistic</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">respect</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">for</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">favorable</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">impression</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">oneself; self-respect. It can also refer to </span></span><span id="hotword"></span><span class="dnindex"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"></span></span></span><span id="hotword" name="hotword">an</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">inordinately</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">exaggeratedly</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">favorable</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">impression</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> oneself.<br />
<br />
The online thesaurus says this about self-esteem:<br />
<table cellspacing="5" class="the_content"><tbody>
<tr></tr>
</tbody></table><blockquote><blockquote><table cellspacing="5" class="the_content"><tbody>
<tr><td nowrap="nowrap" valign="top"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">Main</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">Entry:</span> </span></td> <td><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">self-respect/self-esteem</span> </span></td></tr>
<tr> <td nowrap="nowrap" valign="top"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">Part</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">Speech:</span> </span></td> <td><i><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">noun</span> </span></i></td></tr>
<tr> <td valign="top"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">Definition:</span> </span></td> <td><i><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">pride</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">in</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">oneself</span> </span></i></td></tr>
<tr> <td valign="top"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">Synonyms:</span> </span></td> <td><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">amour-propre,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">conceit,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">confidence,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">dignity,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">egotism,</span> <i><span id="hotword" name="hotword">faith</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">in</span></i> <span id="hotword" name="hotword"><i>oneself</i>,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">morale,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword"><i>narcissism</i>,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">self-assurance,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">self-content,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">self-regard,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">self-satisfaction,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;"><i>vanity</i>,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">worth</span> </span></td> </tr>
<tr> <td valign="top"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">Antonyms:</span> </span></td> <td><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">self-doubt,</span> </span>uncertainty </td></tr>
</tbody></table></blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"> __________</div><br />
What does the Bible say about self-esteem? <span class="verse Gal_5_22"> </span><br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Gal_5_22">But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,</span><span class="verse Gal_5_23"><b> </b>gentleness and </span>self-esteem, right? <i>Um, no. </i></blockquote>They these on for size:<br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Rom_12_3"><b></b>For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you. --</span>Romans 12:3</blockquote><blockquote><span class="verse 1Cor_1_31"><b></b>Therefore, as it is written: “Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.” </span>--1 Corinthians 1:31</blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"> __________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Although self-deprecation is probably a bad idea, a realistic self-concept is probably not a bad idea. We as Christians should maintain some measure of self-respect.<span class="verse Matt_22_37"> We have to regard ourselves as <i>something</i> in order to respect others.</span><br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Matt_22_37">Jesus replied: <span class="wordsofchrist">'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.'<span class="trans" title="37 Deut.6:5"></span></span></span><span class="verse Matt_22_38"><b></b> <span class="wordsofchrist">This is the first and greatest commandment.</span></span><span class="verse Matt_22_39"><b> </b><span class="wordsofchrist">And the second is like it: '<i>Love your neighbor as yourself</i>.'<span class="trans" title="39 Lev.19:18"><b> </b></span></span></span><span class="verse Matt_22_40"><b></b> <span class="wordsofchrist">All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments. --Matthew 22:37-40</span></span></blockquote><span class="verse Phil_2_3"></span><br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Phil_2_3">Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility <i>consider others better than yourselves.</i> --Philippians 2:3</span></blockquote><blockquote>After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church. --Ephesians 5:29</blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"> __________</div><br />
Although I cannot find any passages in the Bible to support the notion that I should lift <i>myself</i> up, there are ample passages about lifting up others.<br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Prov_27_2"><b></b>Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; someone else, and not your own lips</span><span class="verse Prov_27_2"></span>. <span class="verse Prov_27_2">--Proverbs 27:2</span> </blockquote><blockquote><span class="verse 1Thess_5_11">Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing. --1 Thessalonians 5:10</span><span class="verse Heb_10_24"></span> </blockquote><blockquote><span class="verse Heb_10_24">And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.</span><span class="verse Prov_27_2"> --Hebrews 10:24</span></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"> __________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>We get encouragement from our Christian brothers and sisters, but where do we truly find our value?<span class="verse Prov_27_2"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote><span class="verse Jas_4_10">Humble yourselves before the Lord, and <i>He</i> will lift you up. --</span><span class="verse Prov_27_2">James 4:10</span></blockquote></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="verse Prov_27_2"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="verse Prov_27_2">What do you think? </span><br />
<span class="verse Prov_27_2"><b>Is self-esteem a lie </b>we've just grown accustomed to?</span><br />
<table cellspacing="5" class="the_content"><tbody>
<tr><td><br />
</td> </tr>
</tbody></table>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-66421510703341607642011-01-24T23:53:00.000-07:002011-01-24T23:53:28.204-07:00Lie #4I'm afraid I may not do this topic justice. I could probably write on this for days, but I will attempt to get my thoughts out and move on. Fabulous post planned for later this week...<br />
<br />
On to lie #4:<b> Death is bad and to be feared.</b><br />
<br />
Those of us who are believers would readily recognize this statement as a lie. But sometimes even our prayers deceive us. We pray routinely for the healing of our sick. Not a bad thing; God indeed hears prayers and has the power to heal. Jesus wept and showed mercy when visiting the home of a deceased loved one. If our loved one succumbs to illness, however, does that make us question God's power? His love? <br />
<br />
The subject of death is fittingly encircled with a sense of loss and dread. We fear our own death in many ways, and we often take steps to ensure our personal safety. That need for security may actually separate us from the needy, however. The parable of the Good Samaritan depicts this quite nicely: the religious men crossed the street to avoid a victim on the roadside. Do we avoid interacting with the homeless if they represent a threat? Even simpler, do we hesitate to speak truth in settings in which we feel insecure? <i>Fear breeds inaction. </i> (James 4:17<span class="verse Jas_4_17"><strong> </strong>says that "if anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn't do it, it is sin for them." But that could be a blog all to itself, couldn't it?)</span> Has our desperate need for security, safety, and possibly approval made us mute and blind? <br />
<blockquote>1 Thessalonias 4 (one of my favorite passages, and previously quoted in my 'Nostalgia' blog) speaks of the coming of the Lord like this:<br />
<br />
<span class="verse 1Thess_4_13"><strong>13</strong> Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.</span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_14"><strong>14</strong> We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.</span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_15"><strong>15</strong> According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep.</span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_16"><strong>16</strong> For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first.</span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_17"><strong>17</strong> After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.</span><br />
<span class="verse 1Thess_4_18"><strong>18</strong> Therefore encourage each other with these words. </span></blockquote><br />
<span class="verse 1Thess_4_18">W</span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_18">ith eager anticipation, w</span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_18">e should be </span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_18"></span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_18">discussing our home in Heaven </span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_18">with one another</span><span class="verse 1Thess_4_18">. We should remind one another not to hold too tightly to this earth and this fallen world; it is not our home. </span><br />
<br />
Is this really a synopsis of my first two 'Lie' posts?<br />
1. I will get to see my children grow old. <br />
2. I will get to grow old with my spouse.<br />
<br />
<b>Death is bad and to be feared.</b><br />
<br />
I don't think so. I think that once we loosen our grip on the things of this earth, we are more fully enabled to reach for and seek the Divine. <span class="verse 1Thess_4_18">Once I recognize that this world is not my home, then honestly, w</span>hat do I have to lose? <br />
Not only is my security, but my very life is worth abandoning. Worry and fear no longer control my words and actions. If I am willing to speak truth to the point that my very life is endangered, then should I fear chastisement, or being an outcast? <br />
<br />
Look up. The vultures are already circling-- this life is short enough. Why NOT take a Godly risk that you've been considering? What do you have to lose? Are you willing to give up that which is temporary or frivolous in order to claim that which is eternal?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCACP0Ws1pAAO2RDrPTPqYsqWQiKpdN1t0RL2Nz4iNQjPqMHAO_Pq10FiRY1-asdmX8gphd3HNoaFlRR5kB613UXw38Lcx2AFwHzrUDcAb_p9wCmZnxCj8dpQUrmWXBpo1dszfxKWTi8UB/s1600/Circling-Vultures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCACP0Ws1pAAO2RDrPTPqYsqWQiKpdN1t0RL2Nz4iNQjPqMHAO_Pq10FiRY1-asdmX8gphd3HNoaFlRR5kB613UXw38Lcx2AFwHzrUDcAb_p9wCmZnxCj8dpQUrmWXBpo1dszfxKWTi8UB/s320/Circling-Vultures.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-84622146119254421082011-01-22T10:46:00.000-07:002011-01-22T10:46:11.667-07:00Lie #3Do you ever get the feeling like your life falls short of the expectations you have of it? Do you feel like you are missing out on "the good life" as everyone refers to it? Let's explore Lie #3:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Life should be without pain or trial.</b></div><br />
I think most of us, when we sit and ponder this, agree that this is indeed, a lie. Seems like a no-brainer. But that is not how most of us live.<br />
<br />
When we inherit a medical condition, we feel unjustly punished. If we are injured on the job, we feel robbed not only of our former (uninjured) selves, but also our future earnings. Shouldn't we be entitled to something?<br />
<br />
Whether or not we are ambitious, most of us have a vision or foresight of what this life will bring to us: I will be raised by loving parents. I will go to school. I will get my degree. I will marry the right spouse. I will have children. I will fulfill my role in the world, and it will fulfill me. I will watch my children grow up, and my spouse and I will grow old together. (You may recall that I've already debunked those last two in my prior blogs this week.) I will be healthy. I will die a quick and painless death. <i>Burden</i> is the <i>last</i> thing I wish to take upon my journey here.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyLAaFn8n_EG0VCHpoxBlaSCXwosl3wMV6mbHyzyPJa5kFE5yjbNFq80tWvCfjIbd6ByxhLzEE2xjcwoPuRfEvLMb5Azws6np6pjXb42VGBbaI8LZRV-hP3ke-0vy8S-rCo7rPX6WRLuu/s1600/face+in+hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyLAaFn8n_EG0VCHpoxBlaSCXwosl3wMV6mbHyzyPJa5kFE5yjbNFq80tWvCfjIbd6ByxhLzEE2xjcwoPuRfEvLMb5Azws6np6pjXb42VGBbaI8LZRV-hP3ke-0vy8S-rCo7rPX6WRLuu/s320/face+in+hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Cancer does not fit into this plan. Infertility is not a burden that we planned on. Or, closer to home: we did not anticipate the hail storm which prompted a new roof and car repairs, which, mind you, were not in the budget. I never thought that I would be disabled. I won't ever need a nursing home-- I'll make sure my kids promise never....<br />
<br />
Good, healthy people can be ravaged by Alzheimer's dementia. Car accidents can forever change the course of a person's life, causing chronic pain, depression, sleep dysfunction, weight gain, disability, loss of a job, loss of a home, bankruptcy, and this list goes on.<br />
<br />
Many of us attempt to exert control over certain aspects of our lives to prevent the unthinkable. I spend responsibly, eat healthy, I am compliant with my doctor's advice, pay my taxes, wear my seatbelt. But no matter how "good" we are, bad things can descend upon us, uninvited.<br />
<br />
I could go on and on about Job, the righteous man who was subjected to the outstretched striking hand of God. I'd rather use this verse, which sits on my computer monitor at work, as an hourly reminder:<br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Jas_1_2"><b></b>Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,<span class="trans" title="2 The Greek word for brothers and sisters (adelphoi) refers here to believers, both men and women, as part of God's family; also in verses 16 and 19; and in 2:1, 5, 14; 3:10, 12; 4:11; 5:7, 9, 10, 12, 19."></span> whenever you face trials of many kinds,</span><span class="verse Jas_1_3"><b> </b>because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. (James 1:2-3)</span></blockquote><span class="verse Jas_1_3">Key words: joy, trials, testing, perseverance? No; the <i>key</i> word is <i>WHENEVER</i> (notice it does <i>not</i> say "IF EVER"). We are <i>guaranteed</i> to have trials of many kinds. Thankfully, trials, burdens, and pain are not a total loss (even though it seems like it at the time). Numerous virtues spring forth at the expense of suffering:</span><br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Rom_5_2">And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.</span><span class="verse Rom_5_3"><b> </b> Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance;</span><span class="verse Rom_5_4"><b></b> perseverance, character; and character, hope. (Romans 5: 2b-4)</span> </blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Life should be without pain or trial.</b></div><br />
You know this is a distortion of the truth, but have you ever reeled in shock when burden was placed upon you? Who would we actually be without the trials and tribulations in our lives?<br />
<br />
<blockquote><span class="verse Jas_1_12">Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. </span><span class="verse Jas_1_12"> (James 1:12)</span></blockquote><blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggepETs6yJHup1UeiG4nDHbeOXrE20VER1i47eooEidxb35LpzBfzozGJ38sq_NJFyCLf23url6JA2MYgr51s_EuWU5AGAaQD8cNfjtS3A6VZnwjWV4Pe1g9X8Pjr8jz1DffeqTCJsNZh/s1600/storm-at-sea.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggepETs6yJHup1UeiG4nDHbeOXrE20VER1i47eooEidxb35LpzBfzozGJ38sq_NJFyCLf23url6JA2MYgr51s_EuWU5AGAaQD8cNfjtS3A6VZnwjWV4Pe1g9X8Pjr8jz1DffeqTCJsNZh/s320/storm-at-sea.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="il_r">Sailing Into a Storm (lawrence.ecorp.net)</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table></blockquote><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-28432120833067712592011-01-21T20:26:00.000-07:002011-01-21T20:26:13.493-07:00Lie #2The problem with expectations is that, when they fall apart, we are left questioning, maybe even blaming. Americans tend to believe that God wants us to be happy. When we are not happy, we may blame someone, even God Himself. <br />
<br />
Here, I present Lie #2:<br />
<br />
<b>I will get to grow old with my spouse.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDSTO0A8EUhbbBqIzHWB3TTZkCEZsPT8oAfav76Xzj7jKZn3g_mZmeMySKL6DUCMoU8Qdjel2RSEeETx5AvYnNGscGG-TdEs2k1HqJZo5MhiQXhAlMDBpwPE3B_K3YWCndhmhomg_VSzj/s1600/hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDSTO0A8EUhbbBqIzHWB3TTZkCEZsPT8oAfav76Xzj7jKZn3g_mZmeMySKL6DUCMoU8Qdjel2RSEeETx5AvYnNGscGG-TdEs2k1HqJZo5MhiQXhAlMDBpwPE3B_K3YWCndhmhomg_VSzj/s320/hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
There is no doubt that I HOPE to grow old with my spouse. It is a different thing entirely to EXPECT it. Would you question God and His Divine purpose if your spouse were to die suddenly tomorrow? Would you curse or hate Him?<br />
<br />
(Incidentally I do not believe that God's purpose is to ensure my happiness.)<br />
<br />
In Luke 20, the Sadducees try to stump Jesus with a pickle of a question. I guess when you are a Sadducee, you hang out with your Sadducee buddies and debate various legalities. I'll defer to Luke's storytelling:<br />
<br />
<span class="verse Luke_20_28"><b>28</b> "Teacher," they said, "Moses wrote for us that if a man's brother dies and leaves a wife but no children, the man must marry the widow and raise up offspring for his brother.</span><span class="verse Luke_20_29"><b> 29</b> Now there were seven brothers. The first one married a woman and died childless. </span><span class="verse Luke_20_30"><b>30</b> The second</span><span class="verse Luke_20_31"><b></b> and then the third married her, and in the same way the seven died, leaving no children.</span><span class="verse Luke_20_32"><b> 32</b> Finally, the woman died too.</span><span class="verse Luke_20_33"><b> 33</b> Now then, at the resurrection whose wife will she be, since the seven were married to her?"</span><span class="verse Luke_20_34"><b> </b></span><span class="verse Luke_20_36"><span class="wordsofchrist">(Wow. Kind of makes you wonder if they had a real-life application for this. Doubtful.) </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="verse Luke_20_34"><b>34</b> Jesus replied, <span class="wordsofchrist">"The people of this age marry and are given in marriage.</span></span><span class="verse Luke_20_35"><b> 35</b> <span class="wordsofchrist">But those who are considered worthy of taking part in the age to come and in the resurrection from the dead will neither marry nor be given in marriage, </span></span><span class="verse Luke_20_36"><b>36</b> <span class="wordsofchrist">and they can no longer die; for they are like the angels. They are God's children, since they are children of the resurrection.</span></span><br />
<span class="verse Luke_20_36"><span class="wordsofchrist"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="verse Luke_20_36"><span class="wordsofchrist">Does this mean that there will be no marriage in Heaven? When I first read that, I was troubled. It seemed incongruent with the character of God.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="verse Luke_20_36"><span class="wordsofchrist">The crux of the Old Testament is that God seeks out His people, creates a covenant bond with Israel, and remains faithful to that covenant despite Israel's unfaithfulness. God also created the covenant of marriage, and expects us to keep that covenant as well. Mark 10 says that "</span></span><span class="verse Mark_10_7"><span class="wordsofchrist">a man shall leave his father and mother </span></span><span class="verse Mark_10_8"><b>8</b> <span class="wordsofchrist">and the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one flesh.</span></span><span class="verse Mark_10_9"><b> 9</b> <span class="wordsofchrist"><i>What therefore God has joined together, let no man separate</i>" (emphasis mine). </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="verse Mark_10_9"><span class="wordsofchrist">Does this mean that God can separate us? <i> </i></span></span><br />
<span class="verse Mark_10_9"><span class="wordsofchrist"><i>Would</i> God separate us?</span></span><br />
<br />
I love my husband Jon, and he is a <i>monumental</i> blessing in my life. I do not believe that our lives are done when Jon and I depart this earth, thanks to the grace bestowed upon us by God through the death and resurrection of His son. But I am not certain whether we will be husband and wife in Heaven; scripture may suggest otherwise. But this I know: God is everything good. The things I love about Jon are, in a way, a reflection of part of the character of God. Jon is the embodiment of blessing to me from God. When my turn comes to meet my Maker, I will be in the presence of <i>everything</i> good, and will be at peace, and that is all that matters.<br />
<br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
Does the world tell me that <b>I will get to grow old with my spouse?</b><br />
Do we expect it in such a way that we question our Maker when our spouse is taken from us 'before their time?'<br />
What do you think?<b></b>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-35632092969953088702011-01-20T21:38:00.000-07:002011-01-20T21:38:50.994-07:00Lie #1And so begins the list of lies.<br />
<br />
I honestly feel that these are lies we believe unknowingly and sometimes, unquestioningly.<br />
<br />
We know some of the obvious ones:<br />
For example, "Money makes people happy." Most of us recognize this as a lie, even if we don't all live in that reality.<br />
<br />
I want to expose more subtle lies; the ones that creep into us and control our thoughts and actions. I imagine many of these lies come from the world, and the father of lies himself. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies (John 8:44).<br />
<br />
So here is lie #1:<br />
<br />
<b>I will get to see my children grow up.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZMmNvB90HOWzPdhGgrbOVUpkY5nHd4k1Q1fVngVxhBUVQXaavI6qDdvrBc5JEvaAoJ6PzTiHSDd7Q6Aod0TX3dLGJMxLJAvc3VozxfwMYTtmHnK1jurb5xAzxMJ8D5lr4iL2leZwff5i/s1600/eye.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZMmNvB90HOWzPdhGgrbOVUpkY5nHd4k1Q1fVngVxhBUVQXaavI6qDdvrBc5JEvaAoJ6PzTiHSDd7Q6Aod0TX3dLGJMxLJAvc3VozxfwMYTtmHnK1jurb5xAzxMJ8D5lr4iL2leZwff5i/s1600/eye.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Doubt was cast on this lie after the death of our second daughter, Camille, through stillbirth. It was a blow, but also a lesson. The pain has diminished, but the gained perspective remains: my eyes were opened and I started to pay attention to some of my preconceived notions. And I began writing the List of Lies.<br />
<br />
I may be mowed over by a snow plow during tomorrow's run (and sadly you'd all be deprived of the 'lies' I have reserved for future blog posts). My daughter may be diagnosed with cancer next week, and die before she sees the other side of 16. <br />
<br />
Multiple different faiths document in their scriptures a righteous Hebrew man named Job, who suffered the death of nearly his entire family. The Bible gives no guarantee that we will see our children grow up. (Granted, Job was exonerated and blessed with a new family and "after this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation." -Job 42:16) <br />
<br />
David sings about this in Psalm 128 (NIV):<br />
4 Yes, this will be the blessing <br />
for the man who fears the LORD. <br />
5 May the LORD bless you from Zion; <br />
may you see the prosperity of Jerusalem <br />
all the days of your life. <br />
6 <i>May you live to see your children’s children</i>— <br />
peace be on Israel. <br />
<br />
Was it a promise? A guarantee? Honestly, I don't think so. Fast forward several centuries: The New Testament depicts a lead character who dies before His time (think J-e-s-u-s). God did not spare even His own Son. <br />
<br />
<b>I will get to see my children grow up.</b><br />
Is this is a lie of the world? <br />
<br />
How could it change our thoughts, actions, and behaviors if we live in the daily awareness that our kids may depart this earth prematurely, or that we may die unexpectedly?Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-82801252472001137502011-01-19T21:47:00.000-07:002011-01-19T21:47:53.268-07:00Lies (Intro)So I've been keeping yet another list in my phone. <br />
(Who would've guessed?)<br />
<br />
This list is one that I started about 5 years ago, and have been adding to periodically when the thoughts hit me.<br />
<br />
It is a list of LIES.<br />
<br />
A list of lies I've been told. Lies told to me by the world, the media, and maybe even my families, friends, coworkers, leaders, and mentors. <br />
<br />
They are all lies that I believed at one time. Maybe some of them were simply unspoken expectations I've come to realize are wrong. But they are all UNTRUTHS nonetheless. Maybe you'll recognize a few.<br />
<br />
I have compiled a list of 16 (sixteen) lies that we will explore in the coming days. Chances are, I'll think of more and the list will grow.<br />
<br />
Tune in tomorrow for Lie #1.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDt3gvF2AlmVGSkdcS4QYRLZW9g5GNVLJzTu6vvJ0wQeB8QkhO5qgjO5f3enr65FfPOuB7PJMM4nGZAXl0xl10Y7Y_-8tOFWA-LgrEO0_EbDGMM7bjyrECtIU8bDQZ4Erxw2dtXaXpJXi/s1600/lies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDt3gvF2AlmVGSkdcS4QYRLZW9g5GNVLJzTu6vvJ0wQeB8QkhO5qgjO5f3enr65FfPOuB7PJMM4nGZAXl0xl10Y7Y_-8tOFWA-LgrEO0_EbDGMM7bjyrECtIU8bDQZ4Erxw2dtXaXpJXi/s320/lies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>(Image: www.Freelancefolder.com)Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-84067224155672108602011-01-17T17:47:00.000-07:002011-01-17T17:47:28.494-07:00UnityUpon returning to Western Nebraska from Christmas vacation in Texas, I was surprised at my reaction to returning home. I felt not only relief, but joy and contentment at returning to the middle-of-nowhere-Nebraska. In fact, I'm feeling more at home here than I have in quite some time. <br />
<br />
Within me, there is a spring of restlessness that wells up from time to time, urging me to float onward to other things, other places. I crave the city, the mountains, adventure; the rhythm of life that I have found in Colorado. But strangely, this year, I'm <i>almost</i> to the point of calling myself a Nebraskan. Almost. (My response to the "Scottsbluff, where is that?" question remains "A small town in Nebraska about 3 hours north of Denver.")<br />
<br />
Given its size and proximity, there should be an overwhelming sense of community in our little bluffed boroughs. Although we are a community, Scottsbluff, Gering, and Terrytown lack a certain unity. Despite being located in the same 10 mile square area, these little settlements stand opposed. <br />
<br />
A mutual resentment has grown up in Western Nebraska, fueled by a long history of competition. What separates us, other than the North Platte River? Ingrained attitudes. Pride. Entitlement. Maybe even envy. Whan I ask locals about their reason for opposing consolidation of our little communities, I hear things like this:<br />
"There will always be the Scottsbluff Bearcats and the Gering Bulldogs."<br />
"I don't want change."<br />
"We don't need to grow."<br />
"I don't want new businesses."<br />
<br />
After each snow, it seems that Gering residents seek to outdo Scottsbluff residents, and vice versa, as if there is some award for having endured two additional inches of snow compared to the other burg. <br />
<br />
There are disparate police departments, park systems, newspapers, city governments. The recently-elected Gering City Mayor takes a strong stance against consolidation of the city government and public services. <br />
On the flip side, we have a united chamber of commerce. We also take great pride in our most recent local celebrity, Teresa Scanlan, who at age 17, is the youngest Miss America in modern pageant history, and is equipped to well-represent our state. Yet, on Sunday when we celebrated her recent crowning, a lone voice stood above the crowd at church to clarify that she is, indeed, from <i>Gering</i>, and not Scottsbluff.<br />
<br />
Why must we divide ourselves so sharply along lines that hold no true meaning?<br />
<br />
Even among members of our family, with whom we hold so many similarities, we seem to magnify the differences. Our closest friends may share our political beliefs, our menu preferences, our wardrobes, our parenting philosophies, our musical tastes, and similar interpretations of the Bible, but if we differ in our leisure pursuits (or even the sports teams they support), we find some wedge of unrest. Within the church, we've divided ourselves into little factions based on doctrines we are comfortable with, creating denominations. Even in our local congregations, we can always find differences that irritate us. What great distances are created with such small wedges.<br />
<br />
Since the Tower of Babel, I am not sure that people have been of one mind. We've discovered opinion, and passion. And here in America, we've also found entitlement and free speech. Perhaps we should be pursuing unity beyond the walls of our local congregation. If we ignore the doctrinal barriers, we could seek community with our neighbors, even if they are the Calvinist congregation down the street.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I will continue to support the notion that consolidation of Scottsbluff, Gering, and Terrytown has merit. We should pick a commonality that unites us all: <br />
Monument, Nebraska anyone?<br />
I promise we could still have the Scottsbluff Bearcats and Gering Bulldogs. And perhaps so much more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="verse 1Cor_1_10"><strong>1 Corinthians 1:10 (NIV) </strong>I appeal to you, brothers and sisters,<span class="trans" title="10 The Greek word for brothers and sisters (adelphoi) refers here to believers, both men and women, as part of God's family; also in verses 11 and 26; and in 2:1; 3:1; 4:6; 6:8; 7:24, 29; 10:1; 11:33; 12:1; 14:6, 20, 26, 39; 15:1, 6, 50, 58; 16:15, 20."></span> in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly united in mind and thought.</span>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-29030573508279146322010-10-25T23:33:00.000-06:002010-10-25T23:33:30.532-06:00RunWow. It feels good to be back at the blog. I've been keeping a list of blog ideas for the last four months. <i>Wherever did you go? </i> Well, May through October was immersed in marathon training. <i>Why in the world would you feel compelled to train for and run a marathon?</i> Funny you should ask...<br />
<br />
I admit to a love-hate relationship with running. This is the first year that I have consistently trained and run all year. Not daily, but consistently. It has been relentless and painful and rewarding and agonizing and thrilling all at once. I had a number of expectations: improved fitness, faster pace, smaller waist, and enormous appetite. These things did happen. But I learned other, unexpected lessons through running this year.<br />
<br />
I experienced brokenness. <br />
I am not a honed athlete, and my chosen training programs, admittedly, wore me out. 2010 was the year of perpetual soreness. (I'm sure the concurrent P90X training contributed.) Running is not the most forgiving sport, mind you, since little imbalances and biomechanical weaknesses get magnified over the miles. My running form still has its many weaknesses, and hence, my left glute has had a rough year. <br />
<br />
As I added mileage, I would often find myself at the halfway point of an out-and-back route, far from home, tired and alone. In a word, I 'suffered'. My pace suffered, as did my hamstrings, my low back, my drive, my ambition, my spirit. Even my iPod occasionally ran out of battery life, or my Garmin mysteriously went blank. One by one, they all betrayed me and left me with nothing. As I pounded away, I pondered the notion of torture. I wondered what it was like for our Savior to carry His cross, and endure pain and death. I was never alone. It was just me and God, on a long lonely road, miles from anywhere, with miles left to go. God honed my ears more finely to His voice in those moments. I discovered that my body oddly does not need to 'be still' to connect with Him; just my spirit, with its tough layers stripped away, and soft vulnerability displayed: an intimate brokenness.<br />
<br />
I took a serous look at self-sacrifice and self-denial.<br />
This relationship I have with running is both love and hate. I admittedly love greeting my hidden introvert when my feet hit the pavement. However, I also love the soft warmth of my bed on a Saturday morning, as the sun rises and my family lazily awakens. Countless Saturday mornings, however, my weekly Bluffs Bakery indulgence was instead overtaken by 6-20 miles of hard-earned progress. I recall cold, snowy January mornings in the dark, my breath the only warmth keeping my nose defrosted. (It was refreshing when the days finally lengthened enough that I could easily retrace my steps in the snow along my early-morning route.) The Monday morning alarm clock might have summoned me at 5:00 am, but often I somehow rose just minutes before and was out the door, around the track at speeds that make slumber laugh, and back in the shower before the family was even aware I was gone. I sacrificed sleep. Don't we all? The side effect of this is the 'evening fade'. I had enough time to eat supper, clean the kitchen, get the kids in bed, and I soon followed. Time didn't permit much TV watching, blogging, etc. Winding down was replaced by crashing. <br />
<br />
I kissed bodily comfort goodbye. Pain was a near-constant companion, but one I've grown to accept and even appreciate. Funny how one has to handle pain with strategy. The body wants to stop. It begs to stop, and it is only mental tenacity that wills it to continue, despite pain, discomfort, fatigue.<br />
<br />
I enjoyed triumph.<br />
Finnish runner Juha Vaatainen once said, "You'll find that, the more difficulties you have along the way, the more you'll enjoy your success." In my training program, each run had a purpose: track runs were for speed and interval training, tempo runs were mid-distance at an intentionally-uncomfortable pace, and long runs were just plain long. Sometimes just accomplishing the individual goal of that one run was enough to carry me, hard session after hard session.<br />
<br />
The track produced dry heaves, and long runs, sheer exhaustion, and sometimes abdominal pain and nausea. Tempo runs routinely produced bloody ankles due to a running-form anomaly causing my opposing heel to whip into my inner ankle bone. They all brought discomfort and blisters. Chase the run with an agonizing cold water bath to control inflammation, then repeat the cycle next week: eighteen weeks for the half-marathon training program, and another sixteen weeks for the marathon program.<br />
<br />
But there was nothing like the triumph of crossing the finish lines, having accomplished what I once thought was unattainable. A personal record (PR). A medal. I may not be thrilled with all my finish times, but I've run five races in the last 12 months, and achieved a PR in the 5K, 10K, Half, and Marathon, then bettered my prior 10K PR! <br />
<br />
I have been sharpened, and painfully so. But I've also been carried. <br />
On one particular long run, a strange but friendly dog followed me for more than 8 miles, despite my persistent attempts to make him "go home" (which I yelled repeatedly). Once I realized he was at my side to stay, I accepted him as my gentle sidekick, and actually enjoyed the company. I must've needed a furry companion that day, and God sent him to saunter at my side and help carry the burden of that day.<br />
<br />
I still haven't answered the question. Why do I run?<br />
I think Dagny Scott says it well in the Runner's World Complete Book of Women's Running: "I ran to be free; I ran to avoid pain; I ran to feel pain; I ran out of love and hate and anger and joy." Maybe part of the lure is the challenge: a seemingly out-of-my-league accomplishment. Running has given me an escape, a connection with God and others, and ultimately, lessons that I could not learn any other way. (Well, unless a famine hits. Or a war or Armageddon forces me, like Pheidippides, to run across Nebraska to deliver some important tidbit of news to someone important.) Perhaps God is preparing me for something (reference Armageddon, above). Then again, maybe He is just meeting me, sharpening me, and carrying me.Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-52825239881155632622010-10-24T16:08:00.001-06:002010-10-24T22:20:45.451-06:00PotluckPotluck. Seemingly an innocent word. <br />
<br />
Today I abandoned my church family and friends after the service, having elected to skip the '20s and 30s potluck'. I really had to stop and question my gut. I am an extrovert, I love people, I like to eat. Why do I feel so uneasy about a dumb old church potluck? After much thinking, I was able to come up with three reasons why I tend to avoid the dreaded church potluck.<br />
<br />
Reason #1: Confinement<br />
I am a former atheist, previously a hater of God and the church, and I was graciously sought out and redeemed by our Savior. However, the old unchurched me withdraws and retreats at the name of potluck. Not because of the people or the fellowship. It simply makes me feel boxed into the old definition of church. It conjures up images of a school-aged me, having been strangled into a dress and pantyhose and tight click-clacky shoes, and strapped defeatedly into a pew twice a year to hear a preacher drone on about something not applicable to my world or my life. <br />
<br />
To me, potluck is synonymous with confinement. At a potluck, I am trapped, just like in those pantyhose; trapped into someone else's food choices. It is somehow like the comment from my mother that one day I would grow up and drink coffee. I'm 37 and still don't. (OK, Maybe I'm admittedly just hard-headed and stubborn; I do not deny that.) It is not just about the food choices, though. My husband, as a preacher's kid, endured decades of potluck food, and really has little interest in such fare. He is also a man who was more than willing to sacrifice comfort and taste at the table of a host family in Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Seoul, Phuket, Manila, Baguio City, Cebu City, Hong Kong, or Kuala Lumpur. <br />
<br />
A safe, comfy potluck, is seemingly a far cry from my Christian walk. "Play it safe" is not a quote on my wall at work. "Fitting in" is not one of my life goals. I have a tendency to get out of my own little world, push boundaries, and challenge the status quo. If potlucks were a speed limit, they would be 25. I'm going 85. <br />
<br />
Reason #2: Obligation. <br />
Somehow, I am viewed as 'less of a Christian' if I choose to bow out of a potluck. Let me turn the tables a bit: I'd like to arrange a fellowship run. We can all get together and go for a nice, refreshing run in the sun. We could even organize an event, and donate the proceeds to a needy cause. Some might jump at the opportunity for not just fellowship, but service and worship, as we bask in the glory of God's creation during our jaunt. Seriously? Seriously. Most would consider the idea pure torture. Yet, somehow that does not fit the 'church definition' of fellowship, service, or worship. The potluck idea is endorsed by the churched as an acceptable fellowship activity, along with mother-daughter teas, and soup kitchens. A fitness activity, or even a charity construction event can be viewed as (at least partly) secular. Come to think of it, the church could serve not only the needy, but also the 'ethical lost' by partnering in many of these secular service initiatives. The Christian working alongside the philanthropic agnostic creates a common ground for service, and has won more than just a few unbelieving volunteers (myself included).<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong: I do thoroughly enjoy a meal with close friends, regardless of the food choice. I love deep soulful conversation about life, love, marriage, parenting, faith, dreams, confession, and fears. Some of the very defining moments in my life have been in such company. I've never had an epiphany at a church potluck. It was not a church potluck that brought me to the family of God. The church met me where I was, which, when I was unchurched, was <i>anywhere</i> but the church building.<br />
<br />
Reason #3: Kids, kids, kids. <br />
Children honestly just make me crazy, my own included. At a potluck (or any church event, for that matter) there are a lot of kids, especially a '20s and 30s' potluck. Typically, said children are doing things that we would not allow, but it is overlooked, nay, even permitted in the name of fellowship and potluck. My choice as a parent at a potluck is this: either I look like the bad parent by disallowing my children to engage in such behavior, or I allow my kids to join in, thereby undermining my parenting.<br />
<br />
So I left, feeling a bit antisocial, but somehow feeling rather free. I rolled the windows down, and soaked in the crisp, fall air, never the thought of leaves falling precariously into the vehicle. Don't get me wrong: I love my Christian brothers and sisters. I will make time and space for fellowship in another venue, even if that includes sweat, tears, grunts, or a little Tony Horton. We will create our own indigestion, minus the potluck fare. <br />
<br />
As I've said before, church has left the building.Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-38723295148777454132010-05-18T20:40:00.001-06:002010-05-18T20:41:22.889-06:00God's Grandeur<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/Jon/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p
{margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Times;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
@page Section1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.Section1
{page:Section1;}
-->
</style> <br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0.1pt 0in;">Sadly, for this entry, I completely cop out and instead of blogging, will share with you one of my favorite poems. I love to read this one aloud.</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> </div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><b><span style="color: #9c9c63;"> God’s Grandeur</span></b></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89) </div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">And for all this, nature is never spent;</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">And though the last lights off the black West went</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">Because the Holy Ghost over the bent</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0.1pt 0in;">My favorite line is the depiction of the working man as relentless toil: have trod, have trod, have trod. Even the words roll awkwardly off the tongue. The first stanza depicts life on this ecclesiastical earth, and hope answers in the second stanza. The last line of the poems merits reading aloud the crucial "ah!" SAVOR!</div>Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-51098363553126311622010-04-25T22:38:00.002-06:002010-04-25T22:46:40.506-06:00PraiseMy relationship with God runs deep. He is truly the source of everything I love: His attributes frame the character of my beloved husband. His innocence and gentleness are reflected in my children. His love is manifest through the fellowship of genuine friends. His Word contains timeless wisdom, the intellectual challenge I crave. I resonate with the summits and peaks that He fashioned into existence. There is rich euphony in the songs of God. (When I keep this in mind, then an eternity with Him is nothing but precious, even if it means parting with all of the aforementioned.)<br />
<br />
God has equipped me (and you) with means for connecting with Him, a bond that moves something deep inside of us. This kinship is nothing less than rich, yearning, desperate, gasping, and savory. You've all heard me refer to it as "resonance," as if all light and sound and time come together into a reverberant harmony for just a moment. The world can even seem to slow and blur, and we take a step back in awe and reverence of God. It can unexpectedly move me to tears. Of the many ways this sense can be evoked in me, <i>corporate worship is </i><i>not one of them. </i><br />
<br />
I was recently planted into a corporate worship experience while at Catalyst, a leadership conference in California. I guess we've all had these 'corporate' worship experiences: a large body of people, all singing or directing their attention to our Creator, in praise. The music is stirring, the words are written to prick the heart for God. Every eye is closed and head is raised Heavenward. Hands are open, and raised in ready offering to God. Then why exactly am I irritated?<br />
<br />
Honestly, I feel manipulated; as if I am a hungry dog and the worship leader is bribing me with the kibble of sentimentality. It feels cheap, hollow, and unsatisfying. The more repetitive and 'sappy' the lyrics, the more disconnected I become. (I recently reasoned with myself that God Himself is holy holy holy, and any more than three repeats is just showboating.) Jesus spoke and taught truth in new ways without resorting to mindless repetition. <br />
<br />
I do recognize and value the commonality of our praise in corporate worship. Thousands of raised voices in unity mirror the Biblical descriptions of Heaven: the 144,000, nay, the countless believers in eternal praise to God. In that day there will be resonance beyond description! <br />
<br />
Part of my bias may be cultural. I was blessed to serve three months in Bangkok, Thailand, where there is a hierarchy to the body parts. The feet are considered unclean, and are therefore not to be pointed toward anyone; stepping over another person is an insult since it places the foot above them. The head, on the other hand, is more sacred, and is not to be touched. The head of a respected elder should be above the heads of the lowly. (It was somewhat difficult as a tall woman in a country of short Asians-- I constantly had to stoop when passing others!)<br />
<br />
Praise is so much more than a song or an action. It is not a constraint placed upon us when we enter into gatherings. Psalms depicts the raising of hands to God as a sort of offering; the sacrifice of praise replaces the sacrifices of the law. Praise can be offered through the conduit of the hands, the voice, instruments, the words of our mouths, shouting, dancing, and even our feet. As my favorite artist Rich Mullins once put it, we are "a people who've learned to walk in faith, with mercy in our hearts, and glory on our faces." That is as good a depiction of praise as I can think of. I offer the daily works of my hands as praise to Him, but I continue to feel awkward, out of place, and disconnected when raising my hands in song in the assembly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwZjmf8FPfl9vXS7BAwLScaSu-hHT24awxZ2KDgfFBn3i_li01ezIrjwrIqDsjlKIKta8fyCjIwUDRo-cW_eSwlygvsYDSHPyifJ4p828j_vI9-a15YCOg_iQS0DJ1Gz8BKILt_2NGBKV/s1600/DSC01892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwZjmf8FPfl9vXS7BAwLScaSu-hHT24awxZ2KDgfFBn3i_li01ezIrjwrIqDsjlKIKta8fyCjIwUDRo-cW_eSwlygvsYDSHPyifJ4p828j_vI9-a15YCOg_iQS0DJ1Gz8BKILt_2NGBKV/s320/DSC01892.JPG" /></a></div>So as I stood in the congregation at Catalyst, the music swelled, and I was surrounded by countless hands raised in praise toward God. My heart responded and I chose instead to remove my shoes. In that moment, I was truly standing on holy ground. I can only pray that my offering will be acceptable to my God, even with my hands at my sides.Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-35873866984917637172010-02-07T00:32:00.001-07:002010-02-07T00:36:53.014-07:00HopeMy last post, 'Introspection,' spawned a chain-reaction array of concerned responses. People began to wonder, unspoken concerns, mind you, about whether I could be depressed. Down in the dumps. In a funk. Blue. An acquaintance even sent an unsolicited Facebook link about hope. I really didn't pay it much thought until this weekend.<br />
<br />
Our small-group meeting ran a little long this week, and I withheld an earnest prayer request, later sharing it with only a select few: "I've been rather fatalistic recently. I think it scares people. I'm not sure what exactly to ask for in the way of prayers about this."<br />
<br />
My friend reminded me of Paul's perspective on this very topic in Philippians 1:23-24: I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.<br />
<br />
While I tucked that thought away, I wondered if I was truly fulfilling my earthly purpose in the meantime. Was I really taking advantage of opportunity? Sure, I'd become bold about my faith in the workplace, and I'd seen more than one close friend/coworker come to Christ. But honestly, I must have work yet to do, or I'd have already departed.<br />
<br />
It became clearer to me this morning, as I eagerly arose to join a corral of unknown fellow runners for a group run in the cold dawn hours. I had reluctantly RSVP-ed 'yes', dreading the thought of running with others (trying to talk and run simultaneously), and giving up my personal solace. I made small talk with several members of the group, but after the 3-mile mark, somehow synced into a rhythm with another young mom. We quickly dissected down through superficial layers of conversation and landed on a meaty discussion about the children we'd lost. She was a mother of three, but her middle child lived only a few hours due to a fatal heart condition. Having suffered a stillbirth four years ago, I could relate. We connected instantly in a way I still cannot with many of my closest friends. It is reminiscent of a scene in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix: the quirky Luna Lovegood to Harry, speaking of the Thestrals (mythical creatures who can only be seen by those who've seen death), <span title="Source: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix">"<i>You're not going mad. I can see them, too. You are just as sane as I am.</i>" (Luna remains one of the more complex, and one of my favorite, characters in the HP series. Harry and Luna share a certain pain, and it ties them together in a strange and sorrowful, yet wonderful way.)</span><br />
<span title="Source: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix"><br />
</span><br />
<span title="Source: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix">My runner-friend and I each shared some momentary sorrow, recounting memories that we likely palpate in our minds on a daily basis. Interestingly, the conversation turned to Heaven, and the longing to be there. I don't know many people who honestly long to depart this world. In fact, the template for most prayer requests is steeped in preservation of this life as we know it: "help me be comfortable, heal me, keep me here, grant me..." Even intercessory prayer follows this blueprint: "help so-and-so be comfortable, prosperous, healthy, etc, etc." One such request was lifted at our small group last week, asking for healing and thanking God for His divine superintendence: saving a life from a seemingly inescapable accident. Perhaps I sound callous, but this victim is a known Christian who has served well. I should think that maybe it would have been better to go. I guess I should not speak for the saved one. </span><br />
<br />
<span title="Source: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix">To make a long story short, this young mother-runner I providentially met this morning shares my perspective of Heaven and Earth. We've loosened our grip on this world. To depart tomorrow would be acceptable to either of us. But for now, we will run and give what we have to offer.</span><br />
<br />
A sweet song has spoken to me over the past many months. It says: <br />
<i>Heaven is the face of a little girl with dark brown eyes that disappear when she smiles. </i><br />
<i>Heaven is the place where she calls my name. </i><br />
<i>God, I know, it’s all of this and so much more, </i><br />
<i>But God, You know, that this is what I’m aching for. </i><br />
<i>God, you know, I just can’t see beyond the door.</i><br />
<br />
Herein lies my fatalism. <br />
I hope for something better; something perfect, something eternal.<br />
This hope is so very well-described in lyrics to yet another song, quickly becoming a favorite:<br />
<br />
<i>What a beautiful sight for the worn and weary eye</i><br />
<i>The glimmering light in the corner of a broken sky</i><br />
<i>Hope, sweet hope, like a star burning bright</i><br />
<i>When the sun goes down and the fears begin to fly<br />
</i><br />
<i>Hold on tight this city’s about to break; </i><br />
<i>In the middle of the night lying there wide awake.</i><br />
<i>Hope sweet hope how much more can she take?</i><br />
<i>Being our strength when our hearts are out of faith--</i><br />
<i>Hope's not giving up.</i><br />
<br />
What is my hope? Six little words. My soul longs for, nay, craves the words of my Savior: "Well done good and faithful servant." More than just a divine pat on the behind following a great play, it is the ultimate endorsement and sign of approval from the source of everything that is good and right and just and beautiful. Even better than the thumbs up your Dad shoots at you from the stands as you cross the stage and receive your diploma. Even more than a best friend acknowledging that you were right and your adversary was wrong. Pearly gates? Pain relief? Reunion with lost loved ones? They all pale in comparison with the hope of those six simple words from the Master to his servant. Now that's something to hope for.<br />
<br />
But I am realizing that, while I await my departure, I shall take opportunity to share that hope. Meanwhile, I will continue to pray that Thy kingdom come.Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351916526558462570.post-14150580217452656432010-01-21T22:48:00.000-07:002010-01-21T22:48:02.116-07:00IntrospectionWith everything that has happened in Haiti lately, I've been rather introspective. <br />
<br />
I am realizing that my profession as a Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation physician is pretty much useful only in an industrialized nation. I recall pursuing Rehabilitation Medicine because I have a heart for the disabled. My role, however, involves diagnosing incurable conditions, prescribing therapy (which I do not do), medications (which few can afford), doing nerve testing (with equipment available/useful only in buildings with electricity), and prescribing adaptive equipment, devices, orthotics and prosthetics (that are also not available in third world countries). So I'm little use outside an industrialized nation.<br />
<br />
I may soon be of little use in a government health care system. The Medicare policies each year bring more and more cuts, which are becoming steep enough to jeopardize hospital margins nationwide, and the red tape, paperwork, middle men, and policies are burdensome, and ultimately ration care while failing to contain costs. I'm wondering what job I will do once Medicine tanks (which is probably in my near-future). <br />
<br />
I'm wondering if I should stay in Scottsbluff or head to Colorado, where my heart lies. This, thankfully, is not a question that keeps me awake at night. I could be happy just about anywhere.<br />
<br />
Probably the crux of the matter is that I'm wondering if the Second Coming will come, already. The more I think about it, I am turning into one of those crazy Jesus-freaks that talks too much about Heaven and sounds like I have a death wish. I am not suicidal or fatalistic--I'm just listening to the earth groaning (and me along with it), thinking it would be good to just get this earthly labor over with. Gracefully depart. Fly away, oh glory. Something tells me I have a long way to go... Bummer.Michele Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03275004793023750726noreply@blogger.com0