nonsensical text

Tuesday, February 07, 2012

this space

has been untended for far too long....

somehow, I must learn to fill it again. Line by line, slowly if need be...

Saturday, March 19, 2011

blog time

There is something about the passage of time which is misleading. Some days are very long indeed, but suddenly, upon looking backward, months have passed, and it is difficult to pinpoint exactly when they did so. So it is with this blog. Weekly, I would begin to write a post in my head. Weekly, I would convince myself I was actually going to type it up (usually on Mondays – a remnant of Sleeping with Bread), and yet when Tuesday came, I would postpone my goal for yet another week instead of writing it anyway.

I looked back at some archives this week and couldn’t believe that my most prolific posting was in 2006 and 2007. I can’t even believe I have had a blog for that long, let alone that is has been mostly idle for the past several years.

In the same way, life around these parts is passing. My second born turned eighteen yesterday, and he is about to graduate from high school. It doesn’t seem that long ago that we first dropped him off at the doors. Granted, it was only four years since he was homeschooled through eighth grade, but still…..

One would think that this passage of time would have spawned the basis for many blog posts, but the truth is, I have had varying versions of the same post running through my head the entire time. It’s all about motivation – or lack thereof.

When I was younger, most specifically in my teens and twenties, I took great pride in certain things. As a teenager, I was fond of uttering the self-truth that I was extraordinarily proud of my inferiority complex, “I feel more inferior than you feel, and I’ll prove it!” But that was not the extent of my pride. Silent pride covered my intelligence, my thinness without exercise, my ability to look into someone’s eyes and know their pain on a personal level. It has taken me this many years to realize how misdirected my pride actually is. You see, I seem only to revel in those accomplishments I had nothing to say about. Through my pride in them, I am taking credit for God’s work – those natural abilities borne into my genes. I don’t like working for anything.

I don’t know whether laziness or fear has been the prime motivator, but the fact remains. I don’t like doing anything that doesn’t come easily to me. Speaking to people on a deep level when I am vulnerable myself – when I have hidden weakness and don’t want to admit it, making phone calls to just about anyone (but doctors and businesses are the most difficult), writing when the words don’t just flow from my fingertips: these are things I avoid like the plague. And now that my earlier prides don’t come so naturally, well, I avoid thinking about them too.

S, the second born, has a quality he leeched directly from his mother. Whenever trying something new, he watches. To the outside observer, he would appear not to be interested at all, but he is watching with intensity. Then, off in his own corner of the world, he practices. He is not willing to try anything in front of others if he is not absolutely sure he can do it. Only a small fraction of the things observed ever make it to the stage of public opinion. As an onlooker, I see the pity in this. So many talents don’t see the light of day because they are rough, raw, and imperfect.

And yet this fear of failure is pride as well. I do not judge others harshly. I am usually able to acknowledge the strength without tearing apart the weakness. And yet, somehow I feel that I cannot fail in front of others and choose instead not to even try. Logically, I know that the result of this action is failure every time while trying would result in the possibility of at least some success. Also, I would have a lot more right to pride for trying, and even possibly succeeding, in something that doesn’t come naturally to me. Instead of stealing God’s glory and staking claim to its privileges, I could acknowledge those glories as His, freeing me up to stop trying to do other things on my own power and steam- learning instead to lean on Him to help me through the rough patches and wash away the fear.

Time will tell, though I expect it might take me years to look back and see what it says.

Labels:

Sunday, March 13, 2011

for mel

I am hereby making a commitment to post SOMETHING this week. Now, I will try my hardest not to let that something just be a single sentence, but I am fully aware of my tendency toward procrastination and forgetfulness, so no guarantee!

Labels:

Friday, May 07, 2010

maybe one word will help

Looking at the date on my last post makes me intensely aware of just how good I am at ignoring the obvious. I still think about posting at least once every week, so I am able to think of myself as a blogger who hasn't written in a little while. Yeah, right. I don't really have anything to say right now (or, conversely, I have too much to say about nothing in particular, and I don't have confidence in my ability to spend the typing time with arthritic fingers and a very sleepy brain). I am hereby posting this paragraph in an attempt to jar myself into action. I don't want to be silent forever.

Labels:

Thursday, November 27, 2008

thankful

Living,
Breathing,
Cackles,
Groans,
Rivalry,
“m-o-o-o-o-ms”

The fact that I can’t even finish a list of thanks because the act of appearing to do anything for myself immediately draws all children under the age of 13 (which is only three of them, but still).

The fact that I listed that as something for which I am thankful even though it often pulls me straight to the brink of sanity.

In everything, give thanks.

Labels: ,

Friday, October 17, 2008

combined influences may be hazardous to your health

Last Sunday, the pink one came home from church with a Noah’s Ark associated craft and various flashcards with different animals on them. Earlier this week, she could be found curled up against her father watching the closing few minutes of Rocky Balboa. On the surface, these two things might not be related, but be warned. Your five year old, when exposed to these influences may begin asking multitudinous questions about death and cemeteries. She also might be inclined to make up interesting flashcard games. What begins as a simple flashcard memory game might turn into the following musical:

Setting: The pig card stands before the assembled animal council near the entrance to the ark.

Pig: I came back because you missed me, missed me.

Other animals (chanting): Missed me, missed me, missed me….

Pig: I was sad because my mommy died.

Other animals: She died, she died.

Pig: But now I have a new mom, and she’s cool, and she’s a robot…a robot.

Other animals: Robot pig, robot pig…


I am sorry to say I missed the closing scenes as it was at this point that I had to quickly excuse myself from the room.

Labels: , ,