Wildflower Writes

In church today I found out that two families were related by marriage, and I had never made the connection before.  The person introducing them reminded the congregation, tongue-in-cheek, that you can’t talk about anyone in the church, because they are probably related to someone else.  The truth is that whether it’s gossip or something more nefarious, you will probably be discovered.  Especially if you’re the bad guy on Monk or NCIS.  My mom used to say, “be sure your sins will find you out” (based on Numbers 32:23).  I don’t know why she knew such an obscure verse, unless it was something her mom said to her.  I don’t know how true it is that people’s secret sins always come to light, although I know that God knows, and since He will judge all people, that’s probably enough.  I think my mom’s words were part of the reason I have a conscience that’s a little overdeveloped, if that’s possible.  If I think I have done or said something that might be perceived as offensive or unkind

I am literally blogging on the road.  Okay, technically I am sitting in a minivan that is being driven down the road.  No, I am not driving.  That would be crazy! The stretch of US 31 that we take when driving back home from down south is pretty barren.  I’m so bored I offered to drive a little ways. Our van is packed to the brim and it’s not even Christmas.  I am not sure how we ended up with so much more stuff than what we began with, but it seems to happen every time we visit my husband’s family in Kentucky.  Part of it is that his grandfather recently passed away, and the house is full of things collected between him and his wife over the past half century.  We picked up a crate of old board games and puzzles that my husband used to play with when he visited his grandmother.  We also managed to make off with a box of Christmas themed stuffed animals and enough school supplies to last us through the entire year and then some.  We also have my husband’s old cub scout uniforms,

Of course I’m thankful for my family, friends, church, health, job, home, and the million other blessings I have been given over the past year. Something I think we tend to forget is the ways we’ve been blessed by being spared of potential pain and suffering.  My husband recently found possible evidence that someone had tried to break into our house earlier in the year.  I believe that something must have scared the potential intruders away, that God was watching over our house when we were unable to. How many close calls have you had while driving?  My family and friends might joke that I’ve had more than the average person, but I maintain that sometimes God catches my attention at just the right moment to avoid a potential problem.  We saw nine deer cross the highway this morning on the way to my in-laws’ house for Thanksgiving.  Even though it was on a curvy, hilly road, we had plenty of warning and no one tailgating us.  I just wish I had the camera ready! It seems today more

It’s nearly Thanksgiving and I’m sure you’ve heard everywhere how thankful and filled with gratitude you should be- or at least how important it is to put together the perfect holiday meal. I read an interesting tidbit about “Making Peace with Your Family” at www.beliefnet.com , adapted from the book, “Fitting in is Overrated” by Dr. Leonard Felder.  It was about dealing with well-meaning relatives who ask all kinds of intimidating questions like, “What do you do for a living again?” or “When are you going to get married?”  What caught my attention was the attitude that family gatherings can be a character-building experience.  I had never thought of it that way.  It was compared to a physical workout.  When you exercise, you have to experience some pain, whether it’s a searing in the lungs, or fatigued muscles, to know that your body is growing stronger and more efficient.  When you have to exercise grace, diplomacy, and patience, even when faced with people who don’t seem to kn

Today I am wishing for Frankenstein-like ability to mess with my mind.  I am so tired!  It doesn’t seem to matter how much sleep I get, I still feel fatigued.  For me, tiredness usually leads to laziness.  I am completely uninspired to do anything about the laundry, or my personal projects, or even brush my teeth.  A social worker told me last week that inspire is the opposite of despair.  If you’re into etymology, you would beg to differ, since, “spire” comes from a word that means “to breathe,” and “spair” comes from a word meaning “to hope.”  I would venture to say that it is difficult to be inspired if you are without hope. So do I need a “breath of fresh air” or do I need a spirit of hope?  Or do I just need a nice long nap?  I wish I could find a way to electrically stimulate the part of my brain that is creative, confident, motivated, energetic, and joyful, and keep it that way all the time.  I would be so accomplished, and happy to get out of bed in the morning!  I’d pr

I’m not sure why my dad uses his GPS.  He diligently sets the address of his destination.  Then he diligently ignores almost every direction the automated female voice suggests he takes. I think that maybe, underneath the accountant, family man exterior, my dad is a rebel.  You won’t see it in his dress, or his speech, or his language, but deep down, the reason he defies the mechanical voice of authority is that he wants to go his own way. Everyone has a bit of rebel inside them.  That’s why even the sweetest, most down to earth person has a secret attraction for the “bad boy” or “bad girl.”  That’s why many a tattoo has been created in a discreet place, so that the owner can be a secret rebel.  That’s why even the most disciplined fitness guru has a soft spot for something… whether it’s potato chips or brownies.  We all want to go our own way.  We want to be seen as unique, different, and special, not just one of the crowd, or what other people want us to be.  Rebelling for the

Isn’t it odd how some things that bother us growing up don’t go away when we’re supposed to be grown up? Even as adults we still have to deal with bullies, tattletales, gossips, and whiners.  As adults we still feel insecure at times, like we’re not good enough or we don’t belong or we might fail.  Perhaps maturity is being secure enough to be assertive with the people who would dampen our outlook on life, and not worrying about what other people think or what the future holds. I spend a lot of time with chronologically mature people.  Among them there are still people who are bullies, tattletales, gossips, and whiners.  There are also people who take the time to help someone down the hall, even when they’re struggling themselves.  There are people who wear knit hats and slippers because they’re comfortable, not because they make a fashion statement.  There are people who take the time to say “thank you” and “bless you” to the hard-working people who provide care. I guess the p

Patience is a virtue, and it’s definitely not my strongest.  I’ve learned some tricks along the way though, that help me survive in a world where nothing happens fast enough. With my children I’ve learned to take a deep breath when I’m getting frustrated.  I’m not the best person at keeping my temper, but I’ve discovered that when I get revved up, they get even more revved up.  So I take a deep breath, and talk low and slow (kind of like John Wayne).  Then they have to be quiet to hear me, and any threats are taken a little more seriously.   When I’m waiting in line for something and the person in front of me is taking for-ev-er to finish their business, and there’s absolutely no way to get in a different line or come back later, I’ve reminded myself that it can’t literally be forever.  Eventually, at some point in time, the elderly lady in front of me will finish counting her change to pay the cashier.  It won’t even be an hour, but probably no more than five minutes.  What’s five

Sometimes I get frustrated because I don't know it all. I realize this may be a surprise to some. I want to know why things happen and why people do what they do and what the future holds. I want to know what happened to dinosaurs, where ghosts come from, and if aliens exist. I wonder what it would be like to know everything... how the past relates to the future, how mosquitoes fit into the ecosystem, how we get colder winters from global warming, ad infinitum. What if there was nothing to wonder about? It seems like it would be an incredibly boring, fatalistic way to live. Perhaps God gave us just enough knowledge and awareness for a finite being to handle. I think he also created such incredible diversity in our interests and thinking abilities because he wanted us to work together to discover and create. I know if anyone starts talking about the theory of relativity and quantum physics, my mind is ill-equipped to process it all. But God created that science-oriented person with

I hope I don’t get kicked out of the Optimist Club for saying this, but I’m actually more of a realist than an optimist.  No, I’d say I have both optimist and realist layers- and I have a bad habit of revealing the layer that is the opposite of the person I’m talking with.  I guess I like balance.  So when someone has a wonderful idea, I’ll ask them if they’ve thought about… x.  Or y.  I can’t help it, my brain wants to take that idea and analyze it to death.  On the other hand, if I have an idea, and you question it, be very gentle.  Losing my ideas is like losing my hair.  It’s harmless, but it hurts if you pull too hard.  And no one wants to be bald.  All this to say that I generally believe that every smile and every kind word you give to others has the potential to make their day, maybe even change the course of their lives (that’s the optimist). I do not live as though this is true.  I use my smiles sparingly, for personal and professional use only.  Strangers scare me. 

I have decided it’s time to quit blowing smoke and complaining to my scale at get my body moving.  I managed to exercise at least 20 minutes every day for the last week.  Besides pure laziness, my biggest obstacle to a regular exercise program is boredom. So, today I decided to do something different.  I found an indoor rock climbing wall.  I can count on one hand the number of times I’d done anything like it before, but I was confident.  I had hoped for a little instruction, though.  Instead, I was given a release to sign and asked for my shoe size (and a ten dollar bill).  After changing into climbing shoes, I surveyed the giant room, covered from floor to ceiling with plywood walls, leaning at various angles and dotted with odd-shaped grips. Although I’m not completely out of shape, it was hard work trying to mentally and physically figure out how to get myself from bottom to top, especially when in many spots the larger grips were at my knees and I couldn’t get started.  I al

There are different levels of loss.  They range from the loss my son feels when he loses half his cookie  on the floor to the heart-wrenching loss of a child, or a spouse of many years. On the other hand, the feeling of loss is not necessarily connected to the monetary value of the missing item or the relationship of the person who is no longer a part of daily life.  It is completely bound up in the value we attach to the thing or person, and our ability to go forward when it is no longer a part of life. So, people have committed suicide over money problems, not wanting to face the difficulties involved with a loss of prestige or lifestyle.  People have also emerged from debilitating injury or disease with a smile and sense of hope.  Although nothing can change the sense of grief and pain at losing something important or someone close to us, it is up to us to redeem those feelings into something of value. After attending the funeral of a family member, I was struck with the fact

I’ve rediscovered cooking.  For awhile, between classes and sports practices, I felt accomplished to get a frozen pizza in the oven for my kids.  I went to the grocery store this weekend and bought meat, and vegetables, and pasta- no frozen pizzas, hot pockets, or TV dinners. It doesn’t take a lot more effort to brown some ground beef or chop some veggies or put some pork chops in the oven.  It takes a little more care and patience and planning (all things I tend to run short on) but the results are worth it.  My 6-year-old like my pork chops so much this week, he said he wanted me to serve it at his birthday party.  We decided kids his age would probably enjoy a “make your own pizza” activity better. I’ve missed the creativity aspect of cooking, as well as the melding together of flavors, and the incredible smells and tastes that rival the frozen pizza or the peanut butter sandwich any day.  It also feels better to put something healthy in front of my kids, knowing exactly what is

I am generally an honest person.  I believe in truth and integrity.  I am also a very private person.  I believe there’s such a thing as too much honesty or transparency.  I remember being a young associate pastor, visiting church members in the hospital.  One thing you don’t ask a hospital patient is “how are you doing?” unless you really want to know.  I was told all about people’s surgeries in graphic detail, about infections and gasterointestinal issues and other things no one except your closest family members really want to know.  I would have settled for the answer, “I’m fine,” or “still sore” or “not so good.”  I know we are supposed to be specific in our prayers, but I could never bring myself to be that specific in the hospital room. Another area where honesty is not the best policy, as any woman can attest to, is related to appearance.  Never tell a woman that she is ugly, fat, old, or that her new hairdo is anything but stunning.  It doesn’t matter if she’s 90 years old

"Why didn't I bring that puzzle book?" I asked myself, as I sat at the receptionist desk putting in my time as weekend manager. Thankfully it had been quiet- I wasn't scrambling to find replacements for people who called off. I thought I should figure out how to work every non-payday weekend. The too-loud rhythm and blues music playing from the nearest dining room was giving me a headache, but I was too lazy to get up and find out if anyone was actually listening to it. I missed my contemporary Christian radio station. Since I was using a loaner from my faithful car repairman, I wasn't able to figure out how to use the sound system. My head itched- and I tried to convince myself it wasn't from the botched up highlight job I did that morning. I just wanted a little auburn in my hair, and it was more like a striped purple. I thought I could save myself a little time and money. I was thinking that I might as well dye it all to my natural color and stop try

When I was in preschool, I couldn’t wait to be old enough to ride the school bus. In first grade, I looked forward to being in fourth grade, because they performed plays for the first graders. Then I couldn’t wait to be ten, because that meant double digits, and playing school sports. But twelve was the age to go for, because then I could shave my legs and wear make up. Of course, I couldn’t wait to be 13, and be an official teenager. As a sophomore in high school, I was already counting down the days until graduation. It seemed like a lifetime to wait until I was 16, and could date, and drive (after a couple driving tests). Then I wanted to be 18, so I could be an official adult, vote, and make my own decisions. I hurried through college, biding my time until I could be part of the “real world.” By the time I was 21, I had married and would graduate college within weeks. I couldn’t wait to have children, though, and be a mom. When I had children, I treasured each mome

I'm rereading "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis. Since my first reading was half a lifetime ago, I marvel afresh at Lewis' insight into the condition of people and how easily they are swayed away from God one way or the other. For the uninitiated, "The Screwtape Letters" is a series of letters supposedly written from a senior demon to a "rookie" demon, instructing him how to win his assigned human being to the "dark side," kind of the opposite of a guardian angel. One topic that rang true for me was this example: "The more claims on life, therefore, that your patient can be induced to make, the more he will feel injured and, as a result, ill-tempered." I see people like this all the time. The more "rights" they believe they have, the more disgusted they are with life, because they never get what they "deserve." Lewis goes on to elaborate how we think we own our time, and therefore get irritated or up