Bedside Manners

I got to thinking late last night as I settled into bed with a Knitpicks catalog and a book that our bedside tables can tell the world our story. The loose, icky Kleenexes because you have a cold, the small stack of books that keeps growing because everything looks so good, the half-finished knitted sock complete with threatening looking double pointed needles, the child's latest handmade whateveritis, and so forth. All of these things comprise the detrius of modern living.

This is the stuff people REALLY want to snoop on, not what's under the bathroom sink in your guest bath!

My bedside table currently holds the following:

1 very dead cell phone, complete with leather case(this tells you I don't really like to always be available, and that I tend to be a private person); 1 half-finished Star Trek novel(not really very good, or I'd be done by now)--I am thinking about not finishing it, but the thought of leaving a book undone makes me nuts; The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris, because I love thought-provoking essays that are contemplative in nature, 1 dusty bobby pin from when my hair wouldn't do what it was supposed to and I was thoroughly disgusted with it; the balled up remains of a ball of Knit Picks Imagination sock yarn--and I have absolutely no idea what its doing there and I don't really care;1 almost empty bottle of hand lotion from Bath and Body(colds make your skin really dry); 1 mostly-empty can of La Croix(the cold made me thirsty); 1 tube of Burt's Bees(colds make your lips crack, especially in winter); two screwdrivers(because I had to put the inards in a lamp and one just wasn't enough!); and a seashell from a trip to the beach with my family filled with all sorts of little treasures--a sterling silver Liberty head dime, a real wheat penny, a bicentennial dollar coin I won in a writing contest in fourth grade, a shark's tooth I found on a girls' weekend at Folly Beach, and a bunch of really pretty, really tiny shells.

So. What does all this junk say about me to a snooper? Hmmm. I'm a little bit of a clutter-bug, a bit of a Luddite, I love to read, both silly trash and deeper things, I have more bad hair days than not, I'm such a voracious knitter I apparently do it in my sleep even when I'm sick and don't remember, I love sweet smelling things, I'm trying hard to be more handy than I am by nature, and I am very sentimental, and a little childish. And one more thing: I hate to dust!

The table itself? It's an antique leather-topped table with a crystal lamp. Covered with dust.

After Christmas Mess

This has been an unusual Christmas for me. Usually I am all Pollyanna...you know, yay, isn't Christmas wonderful, let's go take Christmas Eve communion, boo hoo hoo...you get the idea. Not so much this year. Organizing this holiday has begun to get to me. I am tired of being Santa to everybody. Brad and I don't get invited to a Christmas party unless we create one(say, the Sunday School class party), we don't get to sleep in(cause we're the parents!)on the day in question, and we don't even get to eat at someone else's house because of family difficulties(and that's another totally different issue). I'm just pooped. I often wonder if it's just me, or if this happens to all parents...particularly mothers. I also wonder if things were the same for my Mom. It's a shame I can't ask her.

My Mom has late-stage Alzheimer's disease, just like her mother before her, just like her mother's mother, and both of her mother's sisters. It goes without saying that I am terrified, and selfishly so. Am I next? Will I be 60 like she was? That means I have roughly 15 years of productivity left before my brains turn to scrambled eggs.

Therefore, when I drew my Mom's name for a Christmas present this year, I was clueless as to what to give her. The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova and Rhett Butler's People by Donald Mc Caig both came immediately to mind, but, oh yeah, my Mom can't read anymore. I miss talking to my Mom about what we were reading. And politics. And marriage. And babies. And recipes. And God. Mom would have known exactly what to do about Saving Jesus from the Church. She would have faced God squarely and fearlessly and told Him precisely why she didn't believe in Christ(and she didn't). Maybe I'm just a slow learner. For roughly 35 years, I had Mom as my living example of fearlessness and thought. My Mom could wield a Bible or a Ouija board with equal aplomb. She was equally conversant in Tarot and Matthew. She faced down real ghosts in her parents' house when she was a kid. She was an original. She was somethin', as good old boys would say. Without her, I feel like I am trying to ride a bike with no feet. Mom would know what to do about Christmas.

Our relationship was difficult, just as she was. She was damn cranky and opinionated. Most of my friends either hated her or feared her. There was no middle ground. And strangely, I miss her more than you can imagine.

Her favorite movie was The Wizard of Oz, so I gave Mom a Wicked Witch of the West coffee mug for Christmas. I wasn't entirely satisfied, but she at least smiled when Dad opened it for her.

Zeus

I am still afraid. You would think that my Yahweh is just Zeus, tossing lightning bolts at anybody who disagrees with him. I need more faith. Yahweh is not Zeus. We are not the ancient Greeks. Are we? Why am I afraid? God has told me repeatedly over the years just how much He loves me. Somehow I have always had enough food, even when there was no money. Somehow I had just enough money--a miraculous insurance check would arrive unexpectedly, when I had no money to pay the light bill. Why am I afraid of a God who would treat me with such tenderness? Yahweh is not Zeus. He loves us all, and we are not His toys. We are His people.

I came out of the closet today, if you will pardon the phrasing, to my Sunday School class. I told them of Meyers' book and of the profound and troubling effect it has had on my relationship with Jesus. (Notice I do not say Christ.)To say the least, their response surprised me greatly. They were supportive and kind, and reminded me how I have always told them that we are all God's children and He will have us all in heaven, whether Jew or Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan, or whatever our personal leanings may be. They reminded me that what I have always said to be important about Jesus is what he did for this world while he was here, not how he died, except perhaps as an example of ultimate dedication to one's cause. He believed that helping people and loving people was the most important service that one could render to God. At the end of the day, we all fail if anyone is going hungry.

Talk about proud. I felt like a mother that had raised her kids to be exactly the people she knew they were capable of becoming. It was an amazing feeling. One woman even suggested that perhaps my faith had become too comfortable, too complacent, and that God had decided it was time to shake things up in order to make me think. Maybe I am exercising my faith by examining it. After all, I still believe in Jesus as a leader, I still have tremendous respect for him, and he still guides me into all truth, just as he always did.

Wrestling With God

Being the long-time Sunday school teacher of adults that I am, I often find myself reading a variety of fairly liberal religious essays, hoping to mine some gold for my class. My students are a wide variety of ages, and cross a broad spectrum of education and interest, so sometimes I walk quite a tightrope when trying to find material that will interest everyone. In the process, I have found some real gems, such as the books of Brennan Manning, which paint a picture of God as a very loving and forgiving Abba, or Father. I absolutely agree with Manning's portrait of God, because why would an intelligent creature like God waste so much time on a bunch of losers like humans if He didn't love us? I totally get it. Manning's words helped facilitate an entirely new and close relationship for me with my God. I was suddenly aware of how close He always is, how He is interested in our lives, and how He is always there in times of difficulty to help us through. He hears our prayers when we are so lost we don't even know we are praying, and He even sometimes answers these accidental prayers in the affirmative, which I have found mind-blowing. I have a very personal and intimate relationship with God, although no one I know would dare to call me a Bible-thumper. I think everyone has a right to choose their own path, just as I have chosen mine. God has many voices.

Now for my problem. I am currently reading a compelling work by Robin Meyers, a pastor from Oklahoma, entitled Saving Jesus from the Church, How to Stop Worshiping Christ and Start Following Jesus. It was published by Harper One in 2009 and retails for 24.99. I imagine it might also be found in most major public library collections. Meyers is no ordinary pastor, nor is his congregation the ordinary congregation one normally associates with those who call themselves Christian. An examination of their website is pretty enlightening. Their statement of belief I find quite refreshing. It says, in part, that "Christianity is a way of life, not a set of creeds demanding total agreement, and that what Jesus teaches us about God is more important than what the church has taught us about Jesus." Nothing about salvation, the cross, the Trinity, Jesus as God, nothing. No Apostles Creed here. Nothing expected, but rather, mind blowing, challenging, and, dare I say it?, frightening. In his book,

Meyers argues that what is important about Easter is not Jesus being raised to life(which he argues probably did not happen, and his arguments are very compelling), but rather that in the face of his death, Jesus' followers continued in his work, thus achieving the rebirth for which we all search so tirelessly. Bible stories of resurrection are "acts of devotion, because those who believed in Jesus before his execution continued to do so afterward." Wow. The book becomes meatier and more breathtaking the further one reads.

But I am afraid. Afraid to dare to believe that Jesus was not the Christ, but rather, an individual chosen by God to show us what He would have us do as His followers. Perhaps Jesus came to show us the face that made Moses' own glow so brightly when he came down from Mount Sinai with the two tablets of the Testimony. I am so afraid God is mad at me for daring to question all that I have been taught since I was a tiny little girl at Belmont Park United Methodist Church. I really don't want God to be mad at me. I would lose a wrestling match with God. Badly.

I can't help but wonder what God thinks of all those conservative folks who think that all one must do to be saved is believe in the Death and Resurrection of Christ, and that Christ went through it all just to save us from our sins. What kind of a person joins a religious group just to get something? Is this salvation what we "get"? How would Jesus feel about someone who only wants to "get"? What about following his example and DOING SOMETHING? What about helping others? What about challenging the status quo? The reason Jesus was executed for the most part is because he was a political liberal. He was a potentially dangerous problem for the Romans. He was an outspoken, intelligent troublemaker who cared about the less fortunate and dared to do something about it in a time when the lives of peasants were worth less than nothing. He argued doctrine with politically strong men, spoke in public to mere women, and didn't suffer fools lightly. He was, in short, brilliant, and I have never doubted his divinity.

Until now.

Knitting and Television

People always say that knitting is great because you can do it while you watch tv. Obviously, these people aren't knitters. Last night, I tried to knit a mitten for my little son(whose eensy hands looked SO cold at the bus stop this morning! I AM trying to hurry)and watch Storm Chasers at the same time. It just doesn't work. I can either watch my stitches and keep up with where I am or I can watch crazy Reed Timmer running around Kansas or something with an IMAX camera in his FLIP FLOPS!!!!!(Reed, we must talk. I know you're just a crazy storm chaser, but FLIP FLOPS in the land of baseball sized hail???) I digress. When I try to do both things at one time, I don't do either of them well. Either I have a great mitten or I can become fully engrossed in Sean Casey and why Josh Wurman is no longer a member of the Storm Chasers team. Last night, I ended up with a Frankenfinger shaped mitten and having absolutely no idea who the new serious looking guy with glasses was. The only thing I knew for certain is that Sean Casey hasn't got a chance in hell of catching a tornado on film with his new meteorology yes men(his word, not mine!).

Thank God I have a DVR and a second chance. It would seem I am not destined to be among the great multitaskers.

Here's to A Beginning

My dear husband recently suggested to me it was high time I tried blogging, as I have always been a writer at heart (and not a bad one at that) as well as a knitter, traveller, and movie fan. Therefore, that being the case, expect all the above from me, as well as anything that happens to strike my fancy as time passes. Please be patient, as I have absolutely no idea what on earth I am doing. Let's plan on learning together, okay???