Miss Manners II

If you read my entry from New Year’s Day, you know I promised more on etiquette. If you have not read that entry, please do or you will miss the whole attitude thing--an important part.

Yet before moving on to the quiz, I will tell you how I am, because some people are sending me emails saying they have shown up here expecting to find a health update (newcomers: I tried to fly down my stairs and ended up with a broken clavicle, followed by shoulder/hip graft surgery) and I have disappointed them by remaining silent on that topic. If you don’t care, scroll on down and begin. Otherwise here goes.

I’m still doing daily ultrasound treatments to stimulate bone growth. Before Christmas, my doc gave me the okay to drive—news that left me elated. At first it was really uncomfy even to turn the wheel, but I’m regaining strength. I tossed aside my cane and spent all day at Six Flags over the break, which should give you an idea of my ability to walk and my stamina, though I steered clear of any rides. I still can’t reach out to my side—only straight ahead—making bank drive-ins and fast-food windows a challenge. Still, about every 48 hours, I see some specific area of improvement. When I get out of bed in the morning, my hip feels a few decades older than the rest of me, but once I shake out the stiffness, it hurts only when I sneeze. As for my arm, the doc has put a five-pound max on lifting, and the rotator cuff will probably require rigorous physical therapy beginning in early February. Now, if I can keep from falling out of the car when I reach over to close the driver's door with my right hand, hopefully I can avoid another sugery.

Okay, on to the Miss Manners stuff....

Remember the day when the space shuttle blew up over Texas and how awful that was? Well, there's this lovely grove of trees forming a sacred space on the NASA grounds set aside for honoring those fallen astronauts. Gary and I took our daughter to NASA in Houston this summer, and our tour included a stop there. As our tram approached, everyone aboard grew quiet...that is, except for the man sitting behind us. He sat and jabbered on his cell phone the entire time we were stopped. While everyone else observed an appropriately solemn silence, this Bozo subjected all those defenseless people to the banality of his conversation.

And so, I give you Glahn's Law: People around a phone-talker should have the option of not listening. If not, the talker should quit babbling. Even if he or she is bored silly at a doctor's office or sitting on airport tarmac, silence is golden.

Are you glad the holidays are behind us? I am. I love all the food and parties associated with Christmas and my birthday and my daughter's birthday and New Year's and Epiphany (today--Merry Christmas to my Russian Orthodox friends). But I'm still glad to move along into January and put the entertaining behind me for a while. Yet before I do, I want to review some simple rules of etiquette worth remembering next time around.

Here’s a multiple-choice quiz:

1. When dining, do you pass food a) to the left; b) right; C) or both at the same time depending on whether it’s stacked up in one direction?

2. Do you use utensils a) from the outside in; 2) from the inside out; 3) in and out the window?

3. Dessert utensils are often set at the top of the plate. Once the plate has been removed do you a) leave these utensils where they are; b) move them down—fork on the left, knife and spoon on the right; c) either a or b.

4. Beverages always sit to the right of your plate; salads and breads, to the left. This will help you know which cup to drink from at a large gathering. Beyond that, a) the coffee cup may sit with your napkin in it next to your spoon, even though you’re used to taking your napkin from the left; b) the coffee cup is on your right, unless it has a napkin in it—then take from the left; c) neither.

5. Never turn on a television at someone else’s home, even the home of a relative, without discreetly asking first: a) except when you can sneak into a room where no one will see you; b) unless the Superbowl is on and you know everyone will want to watch; c) ever.

6. When washing hands for a meal, a) feel free to use any available sink; b) use the closest available sink; c) avoid using the kitchen sink. It’s more polite to use the bathroom.

7. If you’re hosting an event, turn off the TV, a) unless it’s part of the main event (such as having people over to watch pro football); b) unless you need it for background noise; c) both a and b.

8. If you’re dining in someone’s home and the hostess has left off the table the kind of jam you like, a) ask politely for what you prefer; b) eat what is put before you and see it as a chance to break out of your comfort zone and try something new; c) get up and get it yourself.

9. True or false? Introduce a younger person to an older person (Aunt Sue, may I present my daughter, Alexandra); a non-official person to an official person (President Bush, allow me to present my husband, Gary); and in business introduce the junior to the senior (Mr. Judge, Mr. Attorney).

10. True or false? “How do you do” is preferable to “pleased to meet you.”

11. Wear your nametag a) on the right side of your shoulder; b) clipped to the bottom of your jacket; c) wherever you like, as long as it’s visible.

12. Is this entire statement true or false? In a social situation in which you are eating/drinking but there are no tables, hold a drink or food, but not both at the same time. Hold the plate with your right hand and eat with your left (you’ll need to shift to shake hands with someone). If seats are available, be prepared to rise when meeting or greeting people.

13. Place your napkin in your lap a) as soon as you sit down; b) after everyone has been seated; c) any time before the meal starts.

14. Open your napkin a) below table level; b) by shaking it in the air; c) by shaking it out to the side below or above the table—doesn’t matter.

15. True or false? At a banquet, wait until everyone at a table has been served before beginning to eat. If one person remains unserved, he or she may insist that you go ahead. (If you are that lone person, don’t keep people waiting on you.) Feel free to proceed when told to do so, but eat slowly while waiting. If in a home, wait for the hostess to take the first bite.

16. True or false? Consider the salt and pepper married—always pass them together.

17. True or false? When passing something with a handle such as a gravy boat, turn the handle toward the person receiving it from you, unless it’s hot.

18. At office parties a) talk about whatever you like within good taste; b) avoid discussing business. Instead, take the opportunity to learn about your co-workers; c) avoid talking about your social life—these are work friends.

19. When using butter or margarine, a) feel free to take it directly from the dish and slather it onto a piece of bread, or put it on the plate if you prefer; b) put it directly on your bread so you’ll know how much you need and people won't have to pass it back to you for more; c) place butter on the side of your plate first.

20. Be gracious and avoid being condescending with others who break any or all of these rules.

ANSWERS: 1. b, Pass to the right; 2. a, Use utensils from the outside in. If you’re unsure, follow the hostess’s lead; 3. b; 4. a. The napkin, while often to the left of the fork, may indeed be in your coffee cup--on the right; 5. c; 6. c; 7. a; 8. b; 9. True; 10. True; 11. a; 12. True; 13. b; 14. a; 15. True; 16. True; 17. False. If it’s hot, set it down if you need to, but still turn the handle toward the person receiving it; 18. b; 19. c; 20. True.

Mothers of Mystery

I don't often mention it over here in the blogosphere, but in my other life I have the distinct pleasure of serving as editor in chief of Dallas Seminary's quarterly magazine, Kindred Spirit. It is available in print format and in an (expanded) online version. Some relatives came from Washington, D.C., to our house for the holidays, oops, I mean for Christmas, and at one point my nephew asked some good questions about male pronouns for God in the Bible. We never got to finish our discussion. But on the topic of the Bible and gender, I think it's significant that sprinkled among all the long lists of Zerubbabels and Obeds in Jesus' genealogy, we do find five women. And not just any women. Fascinating women. In the online issue of KS we've featured a video clip of one of our grads, an actress, performing a monologue about the five women in Jesus' genealogy. We also have an article by Elizabeth Inrig titled "Mothers of Mystery: Five Women of Christmas." Though we timed the article for Christmas, the lives of Eve, Tamar, Rahab, Bathsheba, and Mary make for good reading and pondering any time of year. Tamar, as you may recall, seduced her father-in-law so she could show loyal love to her wicked (and very late) husband. For a fascinating look at how levirate law--that is, how righteousness--probably played into her thinking, check out Carolyn Custis James's new book, Lost Women of the Bible. I highly recommend it. In the past we have been quick to accuse the few women in the Bible of immorality, but maybe we need to relook at that. Mary Magdalene had seven demons cast out of her, but she wasn't a hooker. The Samaritan "woman at the well" probably had not deserted five husbands. From what we know of first-century pratices, she had been deserted by five husbands. And Bathsheba...she was taking a ritual bath at the time David spotted her. So she was apparently concerned with ritual purity. In fact pointing out the ceremonial nature of her practice is how the author signals to the reader that she's fertile: she's taking the bath a godfearing Old Testament woman takes when she's finished with her period and then waited the prescribed number of days. That's not to say these women were perfect. It's just to say maybe there was more going on inside of them than we've explored, pondered, and admired in the past.

Christmases the Grinch Should Have Stolen (And Other Thoughts)

We have this image—the Currier and Ives Christmas. The gently falling snow. Children making snow angels. The aroma of Grandmother’s pudding with rum sauce.

Yet Christmastime is actually the season when many struggle with loneliness, and sales of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety agents go up. There’s the ideal... and then what often actually happens. This year our family plans to have a large gathering, and with an eleven-year-old in the house full of cousins, it promises to be a great time. Yet eleven and twelve years ago, we had adoptions fall through—both times on December 22.

Just about everybody we know has had at least one Christmas fiasco. Consider some of our friends’ stories:

* A little girl is so excited on Christmas morning that she gets sick. She watches from the couch, holding her stomach, while her parents open her presents for her.

* Two brothers shoot their new guns inside the house and knock over the Christmas tree. Big trouble.

* A little boy sneaks and finds the gift his parents have bought for him. He is thrilled out of his mind—until he watches his brother open it on Christmas morning.

* A brother and sister get into a pecan-throwing fight inside the house, break a bunch of glass ornaments, and get spankings.

* A new husband gives his bride a personal heater for Christmas. She cries because she thought he was giving her the leather coat she’d been hinting that she wanted.

What Christmas fiascos or disappointments have you had?

Thank God our own Christmases for the past ten years have been much different from some previous ones. Ten years ago when we finalized our daughter’s adoption, the attorney and judge involved actually moved up the date from mid-January to December 20 to add to our Christmas celebration.

What Christmas joys have you experienced?

No Decking

Last Thursday I went to see my surgeon. The week he operated, he had told me I could drive again in six to eight weeks. Thursday was a little over the five-week mark.

I went to his office with a speech prepared. I was ready to beg him to let me drive four blocks to the grocery store. I had it all figured out. I could do all right turns using only my right hand, and I could get home by making four more right turns—making one giant square full of right angles.

But I didn’t have to beg. He told me I could take off that awful sling with the plank that I’ve had to sleep with. And I can finally drive! I grinned from eyebrow to eyebrow.

The first place I drove was to my daughter’s school. They were holding the annual Fun Run—a one-mile course that parents can do with their kids. I opted for a half-mile walk. But considering I’d walked with a cane the previous week, I felt pretty excited, almost cocky, about doing that much.

That is, until one of the grown-ups gave me a hard time for doing so little. And this someone knew what I’d been through! Yup, right then and there she gave me some advice for participating with my daughter.

But I knew she meant well, and I interpreted her words as kindness.

NOT.

I wanted to deck her…uh, in a spirit of true Christian love, of course.

Have you ever noticed how insensitive people can be? You get a cold and people tell you what kind of soup to buy. You go through infertility, and people tell you to just relax. You have a discipline problem with one of your kids at the store, and you suddenly endure strangers telling you how to parent your child. You take your baby in a stroller to the mall, and a grandma stops you to tell you your kid will catch pneumonia unless you start doing a better job of swaddling.

Since I fell, people have told me to hold on to the rail now (I was holding on when I fell). They’ve told me to slow down when I go down stairs (I was going slowly when it happened). They’ve told me God must want me to slow down at work (so why did He allow me to fall, which increased the stack-up of my work load?). They’ve asked if I was sober when it happened. (Okay, that last one was funny…)

As a culture, we do a crummy job of zipping our lips and showing empathy. I do it, too, without even realizing it. Anybody who says the first thing that comes to the top of his or her head is guilty.

That’s why I especially appreciated the wisdom sent by one of my colleagues this week:

On the topic of what people say: I’m convinced that part of the trial and responsibility of whoever has a public malady is to kindly bear what the rest of us say. It should be clearly stated in The List of Directions for Sufferers because not everyone knows this and might tend to assume that the malady itself was enough already.

On Saturday night my family went to hear the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. We ordered our tickets too late to get great seats, so we had to sit in the nosebleed section. We still saw a fab concert, but it meant hiking into the stratosphere to get to our places. And to tell you the God’s honest truth, when I got to my seat, I sat down and cried. Those stairs were steep and scary. I clung to the rail as I climbed, taking ant-sized steps, fearing that at any moment I might topple over across the concrete to my death. Terrifying.

So you see, I don’t need anyone to warn me; the warnings scream loudly enough on their own.

In this context I am struck afresh by Peter’s admonishment to grow in grace. Growing in grace means growing in my ability to give grace away to the undeserving. I didn’t deserve grace, and I got it—plenty of it in abundant supply. So no decking allowed! My colleague is right. Part of my responsibility here is to kindly bear it when others seem insensitive. The malady itself is not the sum total of the trial.

What insensitive things have people said to you? How have people shown you grace you didn’t deserve?

Fab News!

Did you catch the announcement out of the University of Louisville?
Researchers find adult cells that mimic embryonic stem cells

Here's what the news reported:

Researcher Mariusz Ratajczak and his team have found adult stem cells that behave like embryonic stem cells. In a discovery that has the potential to change the face of stem cell research, a University of Louisville scientist has identified cells in the adult body that seem to behave like embryonic stem cells.

The cells, drawn from adult bone marrow, look like embryonic stem cells and appear to mimic their ability to multiply and develop into other kinds of cells, said Mariusz Ratajczak, director of the stem cell biology program at U of L’s James Graham Brown Cancer Center, who led the
research project.

The finding, presented at the 47th Annual Meeting of the American Society of Hematology in Atlanta, was announced Dec. 12 at the society’s news conference.

Follow this link for more. http://php.louisville.edu/news/news.php?news=486
While there, check out the part about VSEL research.

Encouraging developments:
On December 17 Congress passed a bill to establish a national databank of umbilical cord blood and bone marrow that would allow doctors to quickly find a match for patients who need transplants. On December 22, Governor Doyle of Wisconsin signed into law a bill which requires prenatal health care providers to offer pregnant women the option to donate the umbilical cord blood of their newborn child to a blood bank. (Source: The Center for Bioethics and Human Dignity)

Finally on the Record

"I never have felt that any abortion should be committed -- I think each abortion is the result of a series of errors... These things impact other issues on which [Mr. Bush] and I basically agree... I've never been convinced, if you let me inject my Christianity into it, that Jesus Christ would approve abortion." --Jimmy Carter, November 4, 2005, as reported in The Washington Times

Twelve Ways of Christmas

Tired of watching the world profit from the commercialism of Christmas but throw away the reason for the celebration? Weary of stuff like being told to say "holiday tree" instead of "Christmas tree"? While the culture at large wants to keep the party but dump the meaning, we can adjust our focus so we keep in sight the real reason for the season. Here are twelve suggestions:

1. Find a devotional guide or plan out a Bible reading schedule to carry you through Christmastime with daily meditations on Christ’s advent, incarnation, virgin birth, and Davidic lineage. If you haven’t done so already, memorize the Christmas story in Luke 2: There were shepherds abiding in the field....

2. Pray. Make a list of the people in your life who need to encounter the love of Christ. Pray for them and ask God to give you opportunities to share. Remember the persecuted church--especially our brothers and sisters in Darfur.

3. Correspond. Include the Good News in annual Christmas letters. Choose cards with a message, or consider producing your own. Give away “Jesus” videos when you go Christmas caroling. If you support a child through an organization such as World Vision or Compassion International, tuck in some Christmas-themed stickers with your greeting card.

4. Decorate. Let your Christmas tree serve as a reminder that Jesus hung on a tree so that one day we might be invited to eat freely from the tree of life. Place your crèche in a central location, but leave the cradle empty until Christmas morning—when you make a grand celebration of the baby’s arrival. And place the wise men across the room from the nativity scene, inching them closer each day until they arrive on Epiphany--January 6.

5. Invite. Ask unchurched friends to join you in attending a Christmas production. Invite neighbors over for dinner and share about what Christmas means to you. Take a child shopping with you to buy toys for underprivileged kids.

6. Give wisely. For the people on your Christmas list, select gifts with eternity in view. Consider giving books, music, videos, subscriptions, tickets to special events, and art that will encourage each recipient in his or her spiritual walk.

7. Give of yourself. USA Today reports that 30 percent of Americans spend $750 or more on Christmas presents; 19 percent say they’ll shell out over $500 for gifts; and 22 percent will buy $250 worth of stuff. A mere 8 percent expect Christmas spending to be less than $100. Instead of laying out so much cash consider meaningful gifts you can create. Make a gift certificate for three hours of free childcare for a neighbor. Write your life story—including your spiritual testimony—and give copies to your kids. Get your parents’ home movies transferred to video or disk, and give copies to the whole family. Give an old family recipe in a basket full of all the ingredients. Record yourself reading a favorite Bible story and send it to your grandkids. Make a homemade book about Josiah, the eight-year-old king, for your favorite eight-year-old.

8. Give food. Take a basket of Christmas dinner food to someone in need. If you have children, take them with you and talk about the One who said, “It’s better to give than to receive.”

9. Clear your shelf. If you have ten different versions of the Bible, send a few to the Bible League. They can send five Bibles overseas for the cost of printing one.

10. Clean your attic. If you have extra bedding, pillowcases, or coats, send them to the Gospel Mission nearest you. Rather than saving it all for later, put it to good use now. If you have children's or maternity clothing, donate it to a pregnancy resource center.

11. Invest. If people ask what you want for Christmas, provide the name of your favorite charity and ask them to make a donation instead of buying you another pink lampshade.

12. Go. Spend time visiting shut-ins or teaching literacy. Build bridges so you can cross them to share Christ’s love. Don’t limit yourself to Christian charities—your work in a secular setting could provide you with opportunities to be "salt and light" among other volunteers who would never go to church. And before you hang your calendar for the new year, consider blocking out some days for a short-term missionary trip. Plan to spend time in a different culture—whether at home or abroad—leading VBS, teaching English, coaching sports, practicing medicine, or distributing food and clothing in the name of Christ. Lend your expertise for the furtherance of the gospel and 2006 will be a year filled with joy.

Great Stuff

I was raised in a church-going home, but somewhere in there I missed something. I thought I had to work my way to heaven by being good. And believe me, I had a long, long way to go. I tried to cover my inadequacy by erecting an altar in my room complete with candles and a banner that said, "The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want."

Sometimes I would stare at that banner and wonder, "Why would the Bible say I shall not want Him?" Like I said, I was missing something. (Among other things, a semi-colon.)

In my eighth grade year when Cindy A. invited me to a Charismatic prayer meeting, I agreed to go. I wanted to go with her because I hoped I might find what she had. What you have to know about Cindy is that she had been the seventh-grade sleaze, but when September of our eighth grade year rolled around, everybody noticed Cindy was different. Way different. Cindy had gone to summer camp and there she met Christ.

And at the meeting she took me to she introduced me to Him.

For the next three years, I was Charismatic. Frankly, I didn't know there was any other brand of serious Christian. Boy, could we pray, and we believed God could and would do anything. We were bold, but not presumptuous. Nobody was ever ashamed of his or her tears in response to Him. And we worshipped with our arms flung in the air, lost in love and adoration of a fantastically great God.

But I had some questions. When I didn't speak in tongues, someone tried to teach me some syllables to say quickly. It went something like "Bought-a my Chevy, sell-a my Honda." Repeat it fast and it sounds like ecstatic speech. Hm-m-m. I was told using such a phrase would "prime the pump." Yet if the gift of tongues was supposed to be a Spirit gift, I wondered why He would need my help. And didn't Paul say "not all speak in tongues"?

When Cindy was doing sit-ups in P.E. and she winced, I asked if she was uncomfortable. She told me, "I was healed of a back injury, so I'm not going to receive the pain." That struck me as a mind game. If Jesus is Truth, why not tell the truth--that it hurt?

During my junior year I started going out with a guy named Gary Glahn. He had a brother who was going to Bible college, and for the first time I heard the word "cessationist." One night the three of us stayed up late discussing theology, and he explained the Book of Acts from a perspective I'd never heard. He convinced me.

While there were excesses on the Charismatic side, I have concerns with some teachings on the cessationist side, too. For instance, I've often wondered why some of the same people who warn against the feeling-oriented life when it comes to Spirit-worship can scream their heads off whenever the Cowboys score. We can get excited about dem 'boys, but not the stuff that makes the angels rejoice?

And why do people get labeled as Charismatics when they raise their hands in prayer? Cessationists often raise their hands--okay, maybe not in front of each other.

Recently I've started reading Who's Afraid of the Holy Spirit? by a group of cessationist scholars. Editors Dan Wallace and James Sawyer contribute, as well as about ten others such as J.I. Packer, and my friends Reg Grant and Tim Ralston. The main question they address is this: If the Holy Spirit did not die in the first century, then what in the world is He doing today? Willie Peterson's chapter on "The Spirit in the Black Church" is worth the price of the book.

Yes, we've been missing more than a semi-colon. It's as if we've had the attitude that one of the persons of the Trinity we "shall not want." It's high time we got it right.

(By the way, one of the authors tells me I can raise my hands in public again--as soon as my surgeon gives permission.)

The Backdrop

Last year my husband and I celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary with an Aegean cruise. Our land time allowed us two days to explore Athens. The highlight of those days for me was standing on the hill of Ares, or Mars Hill. The apostle Paul reportedly stood on that same spot when he delivered his message to the Athenians.

What I hadn't realized until that trip was that the Parthenon on the Acropolis was the backdrop for Paul's speech. Looming large in the background, the Parthenon was a marvel of human engineering--one of the most amazing feats built by human hands.

Read Paul's words (below) and imagine yourself in that audience looking at this sight as you sit on Mars Hill listening.

So Paul stood before the Areopagus and said, “Men of Athens, I see that you are very religious in all respects. For as I went around and observed closely your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: ‘To an unknown god.’ Therefore what you worship without knowing it, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives life and breath and everything to everyone. From one man he made every nation of the human race to inhabit the entire earth, determining their set times and the fixed limits of the places where they would live, so that they would search for God and perhaps grope around for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move about and exist, as even some of your own poets have said, ‘For we too are his offspring.’ So since we are God’s offspring, we should not think the deity is like gold or silver or stone, an image made by human skill and imagination. Therefore, although God has overlooked such times of ignorance, he now commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has set a day on which he is going to judge the world in righteousness, by a man whom he designated, having provided proof to everyone by raising him from the dead” (Acts 17:22-31, NET).

Two thousand years later, these are the kinds of man-made structures they build in Greece:

Expanding Horizons

A good scholar once challenged me to expose myself to books and movies that would stretch me--not just stuff with which I already agreed, but stuff that falls outside of my usual paradigms. It was good advice. For one thing, I find it more difficult to villify those with whom I disagree once I've actually listened. For another, I can see myself growing less myopic about America and our place in the world. (Note that I'm still myopic--just less so.)

Because of what I've been reading and watching lately, I want to tell you about some resources. This is not to say I recommend them without qualification--only that I found in each something to commend it, something that stretched me, something worthy of my time, even if I didn't fundamentally agree.

Yesterday. This South African film airs tonight on HBO in many locations. The main character, "Yesterday," a Zulu woman, faces the ravages of AIDS. The movie is a wonderful work, marvelously acted and beautifully filmed, which demonstrates how AIDS is destroying South Africa more than apartheid is. The first South African film to be nominated for an Oscar, it contains some implied violence. The subject matter also makes it a no-go for the young. But for grown-ups, it's definitely worth watching. (Thanks to my S.A. student, Leani, for providing a pre-release copy.)

Discovering Biblical Equality. This is one of the eight or nine books I require of my students in the class on the role of women in ministry that I teach at Dallas Seminary. It's a defense of the egalitarian position, and a work to which one of our own graduates contributed.

Years ago I was taught that the battle within evangelicalism about limitations on women in ministry is, at its core, about inerrancy. This book demonstrates that was wrong. It's not about inerrancy; it's about interpretation and hermeneutics. Each contributor to this work is completely committed to the verbal plenary view of scriptural inerrancy. Some, such as contributing editor, Gordon Fee, serve on the front lines of evangelical biblical scholarship.

"Back then" I was also taught that the complementarian view has church history to commend it. Yet a survey of the writings of Augustine, Aquinas, Tertullian makes it plain that the church has not always affirmed what Genesis teaches--that woman is created in God's image and was given dominion along with her husband.

If we claim to follow the One who is the Truth, how we arrive at our conclusions on this issue is as important as where we land.

It Takes a Village by Hillary Clinton. I have to say up front that I am not a fan of Hillary Rodham-Clinton. In fact I have considered myself somewhat of an un-fan. So I never would have had the nerve to a) listen to Ms. Clinton read this book and b) admit to anyone that I'd done so had it not been for the courage of Dr. Howard Hendricks, distinguished professor at Dallas Seminary. He walked into chapel one day holding a copy. He didn't even hide it behind an issue of CT or Moody Magazine.

I saw an unabridged audio copy at a half-price book store recently, so I bought it and listened. To my great surprise, never once was I tempted to throw anything. My favorite story she shared: When asked during a children's sermon what she would give her mother if she could give her anything, Chelsea answered, "Life insurance." Later, when Hillary asked her daughter why she had answered as she had, Chelsea explained that she thought giving life insurance to her mom would mean she'd never die.

I used to think Ms. Clinton wanted the government to raise our kids. Having listened to her, I now know she thinks parents should raise their kids. But when parents fail, she believes we need a safety net of health, education, and safety policies and benefits so the kids don't fall through the cracks.

Three-bean salad. Books, movies...food? I know, three-bean salad falls outside of the realm of good reads and films, but I include it here because it falls within the group of stuff included in my expanding horizons.

Our church has provided regular meals for us since my nasty fall in mid-October (bless them!). Cooking one-handed poses quite a challenge, and my mother-in-law has had shoulder surgery, so my husband has a full-time job caring for two invalids. Thus, the need for the much-appreciated food ministry. Which brings me to the salad.

Last Sunday our friend Terri brought us her homemade soup and three-bean salad. Prior to last week, I had never actually eaten three-bean salad. Perhaps that's because each of the three beans in the recipe, if taken by itself, strikes me as rather unappetizing. Yet all together, the combination made for a downright yummy, healthful dish. Who knew?

What have you tried lately? What have you read or watched or eaten or done that has stretched you?

Dreaming of a White...Thanksgiving

If you had asked me a week ago if I thought we'd go ahead and use the tickets we had to Washington, D.C., for the Thankgiving holiday, I would have said "no way." Yet with each twenty-four hour period that passed, I found myself growing stronger.

By late last week we had decided to go for it. But then our hostess got called to Boston, where her mom had been taken to the ICU. The trip was off.

Then we got word that her mom had recovered. On.

So we started thinking about logistics. My doctor had told me I might want to try using a cane, and I had laughed it off. Walking was no problem. But then I actually tried to walk from my doctor's office to see my mother-in-law in the rehab center across the street on Monday. Suddenly I realized the man had known of what he'd spoken. Getting around the house was one thing; walking any sort of distance was quite another. So on Tuesday morning, I called American Airlines and lined up a wheelchair for myself.

When we got to the D/FW airport that evening, we asked for the chair I'd booked. But we were apparently at the wrong gate. The ticketing agent said we could get the wheelchair ten gates down. My husband tried to flag a van to carry us that distance, but the driver laughed us off saying, "It's too close. Not worth driving." Easy for him to say.

So I hobbled my way until I was within three gates of my destination. When I didn't think I could walk any farther, I found an AA agent and said, "I ordered a wheel chair, and I need to get a ride from here [gate 10] to gate 13." She laughed and said, "But you're there." She pointed to it. "It's not worth getting a wheel chair--you're there!" Easy for her to say.

So I started out again. I had taken about ten steps when my husband, Gary, spotted a guy pushing an empty wheelchair. Gary stopped and asked if we could commondeer it for our use.

The young man told him, "It's been requested for someone else, but I'll run you quickly to where you need to go."

We thanked him profusely.

"My grandmother hurt herself and has trouble walking," he said. "I know how it is."

In the past when I've gone to airports and seen people being carted around, I've thought, "Wouldn't it be great to have a ride like that?" But having had my first experience as a disabled person, I know differently. I realize how sweet independence is. No justifying your need to anyone. No waiting until someone has made time in his or her schedule for you. No feeling you're an inconvenience. Just striking out on your own good legs on your own schedule and getting there at the pace you choose.

Of course all the effort to travel has been more than worth it. Last night my daughter stood around with the kids in our relatives' neighborhood warming her hands by a bonfire as snow swirled around her. The white stuff left a fine coating on the bushes, dressing garbage can lids in ermine hats. Back in Texas friends opened windows to cool over-heated rooms, but as the scent of pumpkin and pecan pie promised us a grand tomorrow, on Thanksgiving eve in the 'burbs of Washington, D.C., we had snow.

Today is a day set aside to offer gratitude for our blessings. And on my list this year are a few new items: Surgeons. Pharmaceuticals. Legs that give every promise of working perfectly again soon. That my niece and her husband, rear-ended in Philadelphia last night, have arrived in one piece. That my sister-in-law is not urgently needed today in Boston. For a young man whose love for his grandmother spilled over to others. For a fire on a cold night. And snow.

His Story

Sleeping off pain meds has left my nights and days confused. Last night I took a nap at 7 PM. Yet now I say that, maybe the nap was less about my recovery from surgery and more about sheer boredom.

Though I love E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web and I require students to read his book, The Elements of Style, I just can’t suspend my disbelief enough to “go with” him on Stuart Little. It’s a story of a human family adopting a mouse—not as their pet, mind you, but as their family member. Uh-huh. Right.

And wouldn’t you know it—last night my daughter chose “Stuart Little” as the movie of choice for family time. So we got some popcorn and made ourselves comfy on the bed. And I made it about halfway through the movie.

Z-Z-Z-z-z-z-z.

Two hours later, I found myself tucked inside the quilt I made my daughter long before she was mine. Next to me was a note scrawled in her ten-year-old penmanship: “Good night, Mommy! It is 9 PM. I just wanted to let you know that I let you keep that quilt on. I found another blanket! I love you. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite! Love always, Alexandra”

Aw. Sweet baby. Her mother checks out on her during family time, and in return she offers up a fave warm blanky.

About an hour after my delicious nap, my husband wanted to go to sleep for the night. But I’d just gotten going again. So I crawled back into bed and donned earphones. For the next two hours until I dozed off, I listened to the Pulitzer-winning writer, John McCullough, read his latest book, 1776.

Wow.

Whereas the fiction had put me to sleep, the non-fiction captivated me. It’s usually the other way around. But that McCullough guy—he can send my heart rate right up to 150 bpm writing history.

Listening to him got me thinking today about the craft of storytelling. So this afternoon, I went back and read some words by writers who have influenced me. Here are a few that stood out:

On persuasion. The way to make your case journalistically is not to shout louder but to use narrative, description, and quotation to impress upon the readers the rightness of your case. The readers are like jurors but with one major difference: They are free to walk out of the jury box at any time. Your task is to make your case in a way that keeps them interested. –Marvin Olasky, Telling the Truth

On the influence of narrative. I think it is fair to say that I have been guided in my moral decisions as much by the lessons I acquired from opera as by the preachings of either the Old or the New Testament. –James Michener, The World is My Home

On the point of conflict. The original choice of Adam and the remedy of God ... mean that we can now “know evil as an occasion of heavenly love”—provided, and only if, repentance is part of that knowledge. –Charles Williams, He Came Down from Heaven

On discretion. You know my dear sister that poets and painters wisely draw a veil over those scenes which surpass the pen of one or the pencil of the other. –Abigail Adams in a letter to Mary Cranch

On the power of story. Postmodern people are as open to the gospel as any have ever been. You don’t even have to prove God. All you have to do is tell His story. –Jim Wilson, “In Synch”

On the goal. The journey homewards. Coming home. That’s what it’s all about. The journey to the coming of the kingdom. That’s probably the chief difference between the Christian and the secular artist – the purpose of the work, be it story or music or painting, is to further the coming of the kingdom, to make us aware of our status as children of God, and to turn our feet toward home. --Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

We Must Be Precious to Him

Back when I was an infertility patient undergoing my first laser laparoscopy, I felt so sure I would die during surgery that I penned good-bye notes to loved ones for them to find in my journal. I also changed the sheets so family members who flew in for my funeral could doze comfortably.

But it turned out that I didn’t need the sleeping pill I had asked for. Peace showed up the evening before I went under, and I slept without the meds.

Three laparoscopies and two tonsillectomies later, I had enough peace from the start last Thursday night that I slept great. The surgeon had scheduled me for an operation Friday morning to put a plate in my broken clavicle and connect it all up again. And I woke up right at the appointed time of 4:30 AM.

We had to be at the hospital by 6. And standing on the driveway at 5:15, I gazed up at the sky. The stars looked like so many sequins thrown across the darkness. They cast just enough light for me to see the silhouettes of the houses on my street. I breathed in the cool air, and the scene of utter stillness comforted me.

At that moment I realized that my blind friend/associate pastor, Mike Justice, would have given just about anything to gaze at what I was seeing just then. It would have made his day, year, life. To see again, even if only for an instant, so many stars across a Texas sky—now, wouldn’t that be something?

And here I considered it a day of dread.

I realized then that I see in every day enough beauty to mark it as all-your-life memorable. Yet I miss it.

It’s all in the point of view.

Once we arrived at the hospital, a nurse checked me into the pre-op area. I asked her how long my surgery would take. After glancing at the orders, she told me the doctor had reserved the suite for about 2-1/2 hours. Some of that, she said, was for an optional bone graft from the hip.

“Bone graft? Hip? But that hurts!”

“Yes, it does. You didn't know?”

Heck, no. The doctor had said nothing about messing with my hip! But then he had said I have a tiny clavicle, and he was unsure about how he’d repair it. I had determined that was his problem, not mine, but now it was mine again. I disliked his option of choice. My co-author, an ob-gyn, had recommended duct tape, which sounded brilliant to me. Something about no second incision, bone loss, pain… Very sensible plan. But no-o-o-o. This hot shot surgeon wanted to cut my hip open!

I walked back to the waiting area and fussed to my husband, Pastor Lance, Mike Justice, and my friend Virginia, three of whom exceeded the number of allowed visitors. (Some of the least-appreciated people are those who wait through someone else’s surgery. The patient lies unconscious, oblivious to the long minutes crawling by and the endurance of those who wait through them.) They offered the appropriate level of shock and lots of empathy.

I had to plant my behind on a chair and wait several hours from the time I got my “possible bone graft” news until I could actually talk to my doctor. I would have preferred to surf the net, call somebody, gather info—to do something that felt remotely like control. But control is an illusion.

As it turned out, the doc did have to do the hip thingy.

Ow.

And a couple of days later, I developed an allergic reaction to pain killers that made me itch all over. I opted for pain over itching, but eventually they stabilized it all again.

After three full days in the hospital, I came home. Today, five days from anesthesia, I walk like Neanderthal Woman, but hear me roar (or at least whine).

Mike Justice called two nights ago. We talked about what it’s like to be blind, and I told him about my driveway meditations. After we both wept, he reminded me of Psalm 8. The psalmist considers the star-strewn heavens and asks, “What is man that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man that thou visitest him?”

Staring out at space can make you realize how tiny you are in the universe. And lying in a hospital bed, pushing the morphine pump, wondering how you will empty your bladder in the middle of the night can have the same effect.

You feel small. Helpless. Vulnerable. A little embarrassed. Insignificant.

It is in precisely such moments that the psalmist calls us to ponder why the Sovereign Son of the Ancient of Days would shrink to the size of an embryo and visit humankind. Why would he visit us?

"Why?" indeed.

Holiday Gift Ideas for Writers

My surgeon has scheduled for me to go under the knife in the morning to put my clavicle back together. In case you didn't know, the clavicle is the collar bone. Now, you probably actually did know that. I, on the other hand, didn't until about three weeks ago. Up to that point I thought a clavicle was a musical instrument in the horn family.

If you frequent here often, you may have arrived looking for a clavicle status report and you're wondering why in the world what you've found instead is a list of holiday gift recommendations for writers.

Fact is, I have no idea how lucid I'll be on Tuesday, if I'm still inhabiting the planet. (One never knows.) And I want to participate in this month's Celebration of Christian Fiction, a monthly blogging round-robin slated for November's topic to hit cyberworld this Tuesday. The topic of choice is recommended books for writers wanting to develop their talent.

So here goes...

I’m assuming the home library already has Strunk and White’s thinner-than-a-pocket-Bible book, The Elements of Style, as well as William Zinsser’s On Writing Well. I’m also assuming the aspiring fiction writer already owns Self-Editing for Fiction Writers (Browne and King) and Techniques of the Selling Writer (Swain). In addition to these I recommend some lesser-known possibilities:

Writing the Natural Way – Gabriele Rico
I’ve used this book with grad-school creative writing students for something like seven years now. (I’ve lost track.) The results have, at times, been phenomenal. Each chapter includes some instruction followed by related writing exercises. Get the 1983 edition, if you can. (You can find used copies online for about a buck.) The newer one has some Zen flavoring that’s refreshingly absent in the earlier one.

To give you a sampling: One of the exercises involves writing about the painting, American Gothic. You know the picture: the daughter stands with her Stoic-looking farmer father, who holds a pitchfork—the picture Grant Wood signed on the Dad's denim. One student turned in an assignment that started something like this:

10:15 AM
Husband and wife present with problems down on the farm.
Husband wearing Grant Wood designer overalls.
But wife’s dress made from recycled curtains.

Get this one to help you develop your creativity as a writer.

The Poet’s Handbook – Judson Jerome
Centuries ago, people didn’t write prose as an art form. All good writing was metrical: “To be or not to be—that is the question.” Not so today. As a culture, we’re pitiful when it comes to poetry. Case in point: We all know people who shamelessly share their rhymes that include matches of words such as “apples” with “Snapple.” What’s worse is when such people link the almost-but-not-quite rhyme with meter that falls forty yards short of a touchdown:

Roses are red
Violets are like apples.
Angels in heaven
Know I really, really love Snapple.

(Please do not quote me on that. Or, if you feel you must quote me on that, please, please feel no obligation to credit your source.)

For the person wishing to nail metrical writing, Judson Jerome’s the best teacher out there. This book helps aspiring poets know the tools to use and when. But it also provides the fiction writer with tools for crafting more aesthetically pleasing prose.

Of Fiction and Faith: Twelve American Writers Talk about Their Vision and Work – W. Dale Brown
Next on my list of recommended resources we find a book of interviews with twelve pretty much fantastic general-market writers who at least loosely associate themselves with Christianity and who seek to write redemptive prose. They include Frederick Buechner and Garrison Keillor, as well as some lesser-knowns, such as Elizabeth Dewberry.

These writers talk about the myriad ways of manifesting their faith in their work. We learn what Christian writers have influenced them, how they’ve handled crushing reviews, and especially how they’ve communicated their faith without sounding trite.

The Eleventh Draft: Craft and the Writing Life from the Iowa Writers' Workshop – Frank Conroy
This hard-to-find collection of writings about writing is by those who’ve taught at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. (Duh. You read the title.) The “Ralston” essay may be the funniest I’ve ever read. Also, as a teacher, I identify with the observation of essayist Scott Spencer, who notes that his students write too carefully for fear of embarrassing themselves. He warns that a writer who’s afraid to get edgy-honest “is finally no more effective than a firefighter who will not smash in windows.”

Dramatica Pro
Last on the list is the most expensive, but the most fun. It’s for the computer-geek fiction writer, and it costs about two hundred bucks.

Dramatica Pro is like a creative partner who asks you either fifty (short version) or two hundred (long version) questions about your plot, characters, voice, and setting. It’s not that it writes the story for you; it just makes you think and answer so you close gaping holes in the plot, tighten characters, nail themes. And all the while you feel like you’re playing a game.

On this one, be sure to get the latest version.

As twentieth-century writer, William Saroyan, wrote, "Writing is the hardest way of earning a living--with the possible exception of wrestling alligators." Hopefully with the help of a few well-chosen tools, you or the beloved writer in your life can exchange some of the "blood, toil, tears, and sweat" for pure, unadulterated joy.

Happy Holidays!

"Running Into" the Arms of Love

Those closest to me know I complain that I virtually never just casually “run into” people I know.

Now Kelly, our firefighter friend—he cannot show his mug in public for ten minutes without someone recognizing it. It happens when we eat with him at restaurants, attend sporting events, spend a day at Six Flags, or even go on vacation with him and his kids. People yell, “Hey, Kelly!” And I shake my head. Again.

Same with my sister’s family. They had lived in Dallas for one week when, during a Starbucks run with me, my sis ran into someone she’d already met. One week!

Amazing.

This never happens to me. And I have told them so. Repeatedly.

That’s the back story you have to have to appreciate what happened to me today.

And there’s something else you have to know. Three weeks ago today I dove head-first down the stairs in my house and broke my clavicle (med-speak for collar bone). No, not on purpose. (You can read the gory details at an earlier entry titled “Falling into the Arms of Love.”)

Two days after the ER run, the surgeon took a look at the x-ray and said the break looked bad. More than two-and-a-half centimeters separated the two halves of the bone I broke down the middle. He hoped it would heal, but he confessed to having some doubts. In the end we opted to wait until today to re-look with a new x-ray.

My husband, Gary, drove me to the follow-up visit. (He has been the lead chauffeur of late.) And I have to say today marked the first time I have ever considered calling the fire marshal while waiting to see a doctor. At last count, thirty-six people, three of them in wheelchairs and one in a walker, crammed themselves into a waiting area like too many high schoolers in a phone booth.

And here’s the thing: One look around told me that if I needed surgery, I could expect the doc to have an opening sometime around, say, December of 2007.

The tech took my set of x-rays and then sent me back to the waiting room.

When Gary grew weary of standing, having yielded his seat like the gentleman he is, he told me to ring him on his cell when they called my name. Then he headed off to a nearby café in search of a less claustrophobic atmosphere.

Eventually he returned, surprised no one had called for me yet. But shortly after that my summons came.

Once we got in a room, we had only a short wait. First, the nurse came in. He asked me all about my pain. I told him I had little discomfort in the area of the clavicle itself. But my left shoulder blade aches any time I stand or walk or lean forward or sit straight. Pretty much any time I try to have a life.

Yesterday while a class I was teaching watched a movie for the first hour, I found a spot on the floor in the back of the room where the students couldn’t see me, and I stretched out to get some relief. It feels great when I lean back in a comfy chair or rest flat on my back. But the whole vertical thing doesn’t work; and it’s tough to go through life horizontal.

The doc came in and immediately noticed no one had brought in my x-ray. He asked someone to find it and then turned his attention back to me. He cut to the chase: zero evidence of any healing. Apparently the two broken pieces are too far part to figure out that they belong to each other. He said that with nothing to hold up that displaced shoulder blade, it’ll keep sitting off kilter until I get a plate put in the clavicle and get some support to it.

The x-ray arrived. The doctor popped it up on the screen and flicked on the backlight. He didn’t even have to point out the break for us to see it. (I’ll say this for myself—I do few things halfway.) He said I needed a plate in there to join the two bone parts. Only one problem: I have a tiny little clavicle that’s much smaller than most. (Who measures this stuff?) He even sounded kind of unsure about his ability to get a small enough plate. We never did resolve the plate-size thing. But I figure that’s his problem. I mean, what can I do? Can I decrease a cubit from the plate by worrying about it?

Okay, now for the especially icky, distasteful stuff: He also said that means I will have to keep my arm extra still during the six-week healing process. No moving it other than to wash and use deodorant, which is way more immobile than I am now.

We got right down to the "when" of surgery. Apparently "never" isn’t really a workable option; nor can I wait around if I want to live pain-free. I’ve spent three weeks favoring my arm and all for naught. So let’s get this plate on the table, I say.

I told him I need to teach Thursday afternoon, but Friday morning would be nice. I was serious in that I named my ideal time. But I was joking in that I had seen those thirty-six people out there ….

I really wanted Friday morning because Dallas Seminary, where I teach, has Reading Week all next week, and the following week is Thanksgiving break. That means Friday-morning surgery would give me the longest possible recovery time before I need to be back in the classroom the week after Thanksgiving.

The doc whipped out his blackberry, consulted it, and asked his assistant if it was up-to-date.

She nodded and told him she had just synched it.

Then he said, "That's interesting, because a trip I was going to take just got canceled. Can you be here at 6 a.m. Friday morning?"

I will never leave you, nor will I ever forsake you.

So they sent me down to pre-op to feed the vampires and get the phone-book-sized stack of forms signed, none of which say happy words. And whom should we meet in the hall on the way to the lab but Dr. Reg Grant.

Reg Grant is a friend. But he’s not just some casual acquaintance. Reg is pretty much my mentor at Dallas Seminary, and it is largely due to his influence that I’ve had many opportunities available to me there. He knows us well and has loved and prayed us through some heartbreak (that whole infertility thing) in a past decade.

Well, Reg is on sabbatical this year, and I thought he was in China!

Reg took one look at my face and the crockie tears waiting to spill out, and he gave me that look kind people give when someone has cloudy eyes.

I hugged him, and then the three of us put our arms around each other and he started boldly praying over us right there in the Baylor hall in front of God and everybody.

Lo, I am with you always.

After that we asked if he knew where Suite 502 was, because that’s where I needed to give up some blood. He pointed to the door and said that’s where he was going, too. What are the chances?

Only later (after I remembered, to my complete astonishment, that there are actually other people on the planet) did we learn Reg is scheduled to have hip replacement on Monday.

We joked that he and I should have coordinated our schedules better so the seminary chaplain only has to visit Mother Baylor once to cover the Pastoral Ministries department.

Those closest to me know I used to complain that I never just “run into” people I know. And now I think I know why that’s true: so today when a beloved face showed up at the precise moment and precise place of need, I would see it for what it was…

Hesed. Sovereignty. Grace.

Stuff I'm Wondering about

I'm wondering...

……how Ms. Rowling can possibly salvage her Hogwarts series after the one-two punch she just delivered.

And why is it…

…that I’d never noticed until this week that Paul thinks it’s better for the widows in Corinth to remain single (1 Cor. 7:8), yet he wants young widows in Ephesus to remarry (1 Tim. 5:14)?

…that when Paul uses a head-body analogy for marriage, we immediately start drawing an org chart instead of seeing a head with a body and marveling at the interconnectedness of two as one?

… that Peaches, our fat tabby, lies flat on her back like a dog?

… that a lot of the same people who say it’s wrong to use barrier contraception on the grounds of it being “unnatural” also insist feeding tubes are God’s will?

…that we sometimes take Christian couples who are doing a good job of making decisions mutually and teach them the husband is to make the final decision when Paul assumes Spirit-filled couples can decide mutually about abstinence for prayer and fasting (1 Cor. 7:5)?

…that if you know three languages you’re trilingual, and if you know two languages you’re bilingual, but if you know one language you’re an American?

Stuff people have told me recently:

Heather: If you wait until as late at 9:30 PM to go trick-or-treating, people will give you the rest of their candy.

Steve: During Hurricane Wilma headlines in Frankfurt, Germany, said, "Wilma devastates Cancún: 6000 Germans stay put." The subhead said, "More than a million homeless: how travel agents are reacting." Boy, yeah, isn't that what we were all dying to know? "Whoa. How are the travel agents taking it?"

What do you wonder? What have people told you?

Bon Appetit!

Today's offering is a smorgasbord. Below you'll find (in no particular order) links to the works of some writers I've mentored and who have, in the process, helped me grow as a writer. Each person represented here writes to proclaim God's renown. Some write prose; others write poetry. Each has a unique style and a powerful message. Enjoy!

Current students' blogs:

Benji: http://voicesfromtheoutfield.blogspot.com (He'll introduce you to some of the writers to follow. His piece titled "Random Seminary Thoughts" may, as some of my writer friends are now fond of saying, make you spew your Starbucks through your nose. It's that funny.)

Toph: http://eipen.blogspot.com/

Leani: http://zebrasbark.blogspot.com/

Keith: http://keithferguson.blogspot.com/
Keith's student ministry devotional blog: http://fbostudents.blogspot.com/

Jacob: http://stolethisone.blogspot.com/

Jacob and Ben http://elvesandbears.blogspot.com/

Ben: http://gospelandblues.blogspot.com/

Heather M: www.yahyah14.blogspot.com

Chris: http://chrisblogparty.blogspot.com/

Decision magazine interview with a past student:
David: A New York Times best selling author talks about evangelism
http://www.billygraham.org/DMag_article.asp?ArticleID=588

From Julie: An article
Extreme Makeover: The Exterior
http://www.dts.edu/media/kindredspirit/article.aspx?id=224

From Vicki: A new devotional for infertile women
http://www.pleasantwordbooks.com/product.asp?pid=657&search=vicki+caswell&select=Keywords&ss=1

From Mary: A terrific book for moms
http://www.harvesthousepublishers.com/book.cfm?ProductID=6915001

From Heather J.: A wonderful resource for couples reclaiming intimacy
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0825429404/qid=1130856949/sr=8-1/ref=pd_bbs_1/002-4989637-1708800?v=glance&s=books&n=507846 (also in Spanish)

I hope you've enjoyed this sampling of these friends and their works and that their words have encouraged you. I also hope that through them you've seen the value of mentoring others, using whatever gifts God has entrusted to you. Clearly the learner can excel far beyond the mentor. All he or she may need is a little encouragement.

The Mild Yoke

After I fell and broke my clavicle last week (and possibly a rib or two), our associate pastor, Mike Justice, called to ask if we needed meals. I told him three nights’ worth would help a lot.

Apparently Mike doubled that number because our church family covered us for six. And here we are nine days later closing the door behind a friend who just delivered chicken marinara. And she just had a baby!

As wonderful as all the marinara, enchiladas, and turkey have been, even more wonderful is that “you have done well to share with me in my present difficulty…What I want is for you to receive a well-earned reward because of your kindness. At the moment I have all I need—more than I need! I am generously supplied with the gifts you sent me—they are a sweet-smelling sacrifice that is acceptable to God and pleases Him.” (See Philippians.)

Along with food have been the emails, visits, hugs, calls, gifts, cards, grocery runs, laundry service, art supplies (!), and other offers of help. Some of my friends have even gone out of their way to make me chuckle.

Rhonda in North Carolina made me a Humpty Dumpty get-well card. Mary in France sent me a two-inch-high handbag with a note saying it would have to be my purse size for now. Debbie in Dallas suggested I go for a simpler injury next time—like a hang nail. Dorian hinted that I might want to leave the flying to commercial pilots. My creative writing class, which knows me as the Be-Verb Czar, sent me a card with all the “be” verbs crossed out: “It sure would X nice to lay around in bed all day, watching TV, X-ing waited on, cared for and fussed over. It’s too bad you’X not well enough to enjoy it.”

I laughed out loud.

I can’t drive yet, and my husband came down with a bug Monday, so Mark and Kelly have taken me to school and Lynzee, Leani and Heather, my students, have brought me home. While I miss the freedom of my Malibu, I would’ve missed out on some great conversations had my body remained intact.

I haven’t even mentioned the prayer support. I’ve had a lot less discomfort than I expected, and I’ve slept through the night consistently. I’ve even needed less medication than I thought I would. I firmly believe that’s because so many have prayed. If you’re one of those people, thank you.

Much as I dislike being so helpless, two truths have helped me adjust to this “down time.”

First, our worth as humans comes from being, not doing. Even if I were laid up in a hospital bed in a coma somewhere and as “useless” as the embryos I seek to defend, my worth would remain unchanged. To my Heavenly Father, it has never been about what I do.

Second, God doesn’t need our work. Sabbath rest teaches us that. Back in the beginning people set aside one-seventh of their time for doing nothing. In the wilderness they didn’t even cook (or do dishes!). Gene Peterson, who observes such a day in the present, refers to his day of rest as “that good-for-nothing Sabbath.” Though we’re no longer under the law, if we devote a seventh of our days to rest, we benefit by regularly facing the reality that it’s not about us.

God doesn’t need our toil. And the light yoke of napping and relaxing when we could be accomplishing reminds me of that. I don't get a day of rest every week, but I try. And such days have served as a great training ground for my longer-than-a-day period of semi-confinement.

John Milton is my mentor in this. In his Sonnet XIX, sometimes titled “On Blindness,” he describes how difficult it is for him as one of history’s most gifted writers to take the permanent Sabbath accompanying his loss of sight:

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

As my friend Peggy once noted, the beauty of lace is in the holes; without the empty spaces, all we’d have is a piece of cloth. Our lives are like that. You have to have the "nothing" parts for the whole to look beautiful.

There is blessing in uselessness. Sometimes we serve Him best by doing nothing for a time.

Upcoming Series

The artists at AMG, publisher of my upcoming Bible study series, have nearly completed the four covers of the books I'm slated to launch in March. AMG is calling our new venture the "Coffee Cup Bible Series." The four books in the initial offering are Java with the Judges, Mocha on the Mount, Espresso with Esther and Solomon Latte (Song of Songs). What do you think of the cover?

And does AMG have me pegged, or what? What they didn't know when they came up with the series theme/title is that every morning before I rise, my husband brings to my bedside a steaming cup of java. My preference: Belgian Hazelnut Cafe served boiling hot.

I have grown to so depend on this little luxury (vice?), that Gary has promised "if anything should ever happen" to him, he'll leave me a trust fund to finance the continuation of sunrise coffee delivery. What a guy!

All it takes is that one cup. I don't go in for lots of caffeine--just a lone mugful in the morning. But oh, do I ever miss it when I travel and have to rise and get my own.

Pitiful, isn't it?

I had begun to question the soundness of my dependency when (to my great joy) I discovered that I was actually sound as an eardrum. Only last week a fellow prof at Dallas Seminary, Greek scholar Dr. Dan Wallace, pointed me to an important theological article titled Coffee as a Means of Grace. The footnotes offer even more insight than the prose itself, which is saying something.

If you have been, to this point, unfamiliar with the biblical reasons for imbibing in the bean-based brew, check out the article. One warning, though: If, like me, you may be nursing a cracked rib or two, you might want to hold off for a better time. Otherwise, you could hurt yourself.

Bonus: If you really want to hurt yourself, you can read another piece by the same author titled Toward an Evangelical Theology of Cussing. Our pastor sent us this link after what I can only imagine must have been a fascinating leaders' meeting at which it got discussed. Again, be sure to read the footnotes.

Hear, hear!

Orchard of Women

The second half of my short story, The Orchard of Women, has been added to the original posting. You may now read the complete story by clicking on the entry titled The Orchard of Women: An Allegory. If you already read the first installment, simply scroll down to where we left off and continue reading. Enjoy!