From Our House. . .
. . . to yours.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Getting Ready
Craving
Yesterday
Yesterday, I put on my underwear sideways. Yeah, that’s not the worst part. The worst part is it took me until 8 pm to figure it out.
That would have never happened with a thong. And that’s still not a reason to wear one.
Sunday Sermon
On this Sunday before Thanksgiving, what I would say if I had a congregation:
In a world where the divide between the “haves” and “have nots” widens with alarming speed. In a world where the poor only grow poorer and the rich, only more blind. In a world where the need seems insurmountable we are a people called. Called to see the abundance of our worlds. Called to see what we have, as opposed to what we do not have. Called to recognize that we are extremely blessed; to whom much is given, much is required. So much is required, we rightfully quake at the enormity of our task. But we are not alone in it. We have never been alone in it.
As we gather together with our families and our friends and celebrate the remarkable blessing of both food and relationships, I hope that we will find time to notice the abundance in our lives. Find time to quietly reflect on how truly blessed we are. Because we are. WE ARE! We are people who have families and food, houses and cars, clothing and jobs, security without thought. . . and most importantly, we are people who are loved.
We live in a world that wants us to believe otherwise. And it’s easy to get focused on what we do not have. The great race toward Christmas is often fueled by such a perspective. So, I am asking that this week we don’t buy into the hard sell and instead deliberately see ourselves as we truly are: People who HAVE.
I am hoping that as we reflect on our blessings we will also notice that we are a people who HAVE the ability to change our worlds. We can! We HAVE an imperative to do so. We HAVE every right to demand a difference for those who have not, and we HAVE the responsibility to lurch into the unknown and be that difference. And all this change begins with our willingness to see ourselves as we truly are. I believe we are up to the challenge. And I know that we do not face it alone.
Happy Thanksgiving to you. May you be people who HAVE and people who know it.
Amen.
On this Sunday before Thanksgiving, this is what I’m saying to you.
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An opportunity to act.
So often the charges we hear do not give us a ready opportunity to act. They expect us to listen and then respond in our own fashion. The temptation, even if we are greatly moved, is to not act. We forget or we get busy or we don’t know how. Yet, for the words to truly mean something, we must act upon them. We cannot let them lie dormant. Words on a page do not change the world. People do.
You can:
Love your community: Oregon Food Bank
Love your world: Bread for the World
Little Houses
These ceramic houses make me happy… I think, in part, because they remind me so much of the wee houses Boy Wonder made me last year, only sturdier. They are made by the ever fabulous Emily of Industrious Lily. I can see a whole village of these houses sitting on our tansu chest in the living room. Ok, maybe just one. But only because I’m being good.
Speaking of little houses, ours is clean and my sweetie is on his way home from Portland. All is well in our world. . . how about in yours?
Hat Weather
This photo is a bit blurry—but I adore his expression, so this is what I’m posting. His smile has been fleeting this afternoon, so I’m hanging on to what I’ve got, blurry or not.
Boy Wonder has had the most unfortunate of accidents: he sat down in the chair of a scissor happy stylist. His long hair is no longer and he’s none-too-pleased. It took about an hour after the cut for it to sink in: he no longer looks like himself. He didn’t ask for a short cut, and he had no expectations that his hair would look much different than before. He certainly didn’t expect to see a different boy in the mirror and he’s having a hard time absorbing the sense of violation.
It took me six seconds to recognize there was problem when he walked in the door. I looked at my child and back at my husband and then I hit the roof! I FOOLISHLY let IZ take him to get his hair cut. Boy Wonder is not the most concrete about expressing what he wants when it comes to his hair. His father was no better. Apparently, they told the stylist, “choppy, rocky, not girlie” when what they should have said was, “this cut, only about a half inch shorter.”
There were words. Many words. I can’t look at my kid without my heart breaking. He really loved his long hair and it was such a part of him. It wouldn’t be so bad if this is what he wanted. But, it isn’t. He’s crushed and I’m torn between being crushed with him and wanting to crush his father. Clearly, we have established that from now on, the boy’s haircuts will be handled solely by the boy’s mother. And the boy’s mother reserves the right to glare in all directions for a few days. Lucky IZ, he leaves on business tonight.
And it might seem silly, to be upset about a haircut. I’m sure somebody will want to point out how unimportant it is in the long run. Please don’t. Because while you and I know that hair grows back, and it does not “make the pre-teen”, this is a real loss for my child. And if you could have seen him falling apart, you’d wouldn’t judge him for his distress. I’ve always been a sympathetic crier: but my own kid lamenting just wrenches my heart out.
The thing is, I get it! We sat and lamented together. I told him about how once someone did the same thing to my hair, only my hair had been down to the middle of my back. How, I had to walk home after, right past the school. And the woman had used a funky curling iron on it making it all fluffy—so I ended up walking to the school to dunk my head under the water faucet before heading home. It was THAT bad.
“Do you have a picture of your hair?” he asked.
“Yes! I had my school photo taken that year with that hideous cut. And then your grand-dad had to go hang it in his office, where the whole town could see it!” I told him.
“Was it worse than my hair?”
“Way worse. I was mortified. And humiliated.” I answered.
“Could I see this photo?” the twinkle in his voice gave him away. We laughed a little about our misery.
When the reality set in, he was furious and then distraught and then in need of a new hat. An emergency trip to Fred Meyer remedied the hat situation. His hair is going to take a bit longer. The new “do” is so dang girlie and so short, it will be months before he needs another cut—months before we get another picture without a hat. I’ve already warned him that he can’t wear a hat at church, but otherwise, I’m ignoring that “no hats indoors” rule for a few days. He needs time to adjust to the person he sees. And frankly so do I.
In Need of Bactine
I know I’ve been trying to find the words to write on a subject matter close to my heart. I’m not succeeding. In part, I suffer from TMS syndrome: too much sermon. Every preacher makes this mistake on occasion—they preach a great sermon that should have been a sermon series. It’s as if we’re on speed and feel the need to cram a lifetime’s worth, or at least a month’s worth, of information into one 12 minute sermon afraid we might not get another chance at making our point. If preachers did speed, that is.
But, I’ve also been derailed in the past day. I’m finding it difficult to focus on writing about abundance when I’m reeling. The ugly side of the blogosphere reared its Cerberus head last night, and bit me in the ass. OUCH! I’m going to spare you the particulars—in part because it involves the crafting world and that crowd looks all lovely dovey on the surface but when one of their own is “threatened” (Or in this case called out for stealing!) they can slip into “group think” without a thought… and then the hate starts flying. I’m not so interested in being the subject of such vile, considering my backside is still smarting from the first bite!
The bottom line (oh, bad, bad pun Wende!) is that a blogger, uh, reproduced a design of mine and passed it off as her own on her blog. No, “Hey, saw this at evidently, thought I’d try it myself…” Nope! Instead, she presented the idea as her own and now has hundreds of comments from rabid fans telling her how smart and funny and wonderful and amazing… and now I’m hurling…and crafty she is. Hundreds of comments.
Obviously, this is no ordinary small time blogger. No, this is a member of the crafting pantheon. She has a book deal. An agent. A press person. I’m sure Julia Roberts will play her in the made for TV movie if Lifetime ever gets around to filming her halcyon days somewhere in pastoral America. I just wonder where her lawyer is? It is only a matter of time before she is selling my design. And laughably, she will sell out in a few hours charging 3 times what I do. The injustice of it doesn’t escape me. But I suspect it hasn’t occurred to her.
This is not the first time I’ve seen myself on her blog. In fact, I’ve had friends comment how much of what I do seems to show up, “elsewhere”. But this is the first time where it’s obvious. I even know where she got the info… I was stupid enough to comment about the project on a mutual friend’s blog. Oh. My. I don’t think it’s blatant plagiarism. I suspect she and I are on similar wavelengths. We possess a similar world view—so, it’s not all that unusual that we’d be talking about, creating, crafting, and blogging on similar plane once in awhile. There is just one difference, besides our geographical locations—I would never take her work and pass it off as my own.
It’s that simple.
To say that I’m stunned is to only begin to express my frustration. I’m wondering exactly how thin the ethical line is that most of these crafty bloggers tout. Trust me, I couldn’t get away with pulling the same stunt in my world. And the only conclusion I come to is this: “thou shalt not plagiarize” doesn’t apply if you’ve got an agent. Trees that are cut down in the forest do not make a sound if the lumberjack who fells them has a 3 volume book deal with Random House.
Anyhow, as you can imagine, I’ll need to simmer down a bit—gain a bit of composure before I start writing about those lovely November themes. A big thank you to IZ and Kathleen, who have patiently listened to me rant and cry and lament and make more of this than I probably should. Coffee, raspberry crumble bars, and good conversation have been balm for my soul. Thank you… and somebody pass the Bactine.
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Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared. ~Buddha
Windy!
Hi: 56° Strong damaging winds into early this afternoon. South wind 40 to 50 mph with gusts of 75 to 90 mph on coastal Headlands and beaches and to 65 mph coastal communities. Winds becoming southwest 15 to 30 mph by mid afternoon. Rain. Highs 50 to 55.
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Power just came up here, on our section of the hill. It went down sometime early this morning. However the winds are unpredictable, so it’s hard to say how long we’ll have access. We still have several more hours of dangerously strong winds and after that, 40 mph gusts through the evening.
I’m attempting to get to comments, but this is the extent of my blogging until tomorrow. I’ll be back then with some thoughts on gratitude and abundance. For now, we are stoking the fire and heating tea and munching on gingerbread cookies—thankful to be warm and dry.
Stay safe, all of you.
Hello ~ Welcome to Evidently
- Introvert and word lover and Christ seeker
- Currently learning Swedish just in case
- ISFP... what are you?
No one really leaves comments any more. But if you did, you'd be my favorite. At least until someone else came along. I'm fickle like that.
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