There's been a conflict. A relational breakdown. An offense given. And an offense taken.

So, who are we this time? Prodigal? Father? Or Elder Brother?

Ouch!!!

The Parable of the Prodigal Son (The Gospel of Luke 15:11-31) is a comforting tale for those of us who have fallen away from our faith at one time or another. The story demonstrates the heart of the heavenly Father for redemption, at any price. The only catch, the only requirement: the prodigal has to want it. The prodigal has to humble himself (or herself), openly confess the sin, and ask for reconciliation, prepared to accept whatever consequences are appropriate.

When I am a prodigal, I am so grateful for the Father’s response--he not only welcomes the prodigal home, but restores his place in the home (with a ring and a coat), then throws a party! And I find the older brother’s stance (cold, distant, unwilling to join the party) so…stinging…so judgmental and unforgiving. Sooooo wrong!

When I am NOT the prodigal, I find it is easier to be like the Father when I haven’t been hurt directly by the prodigal’s offense. I can smile and embrace and join in the celebration. And be grateful.

But when the prodigal steals some of “my” reward or some of what I “deserve,” well, ha-ha-ha, I feel quite justified in reminding the Father of what is right and what is, well, just not!

And oops—I am the elder brother.

The first time I was introduced to the notion that I have a choice as to which role to play in the story was when I read Henri Nouwen’s book, The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of a Homecoming, in which Nouwen contemplates Rembrandt’s Prodigal Son, one of his last works. http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0385473079/ref=sib_dp_pt#reader-link

It is a powerful response to a powerful representation of Christ's story of hope and redemption, juxtaposing the unbelievable compassion of the character symbolizing the Divine with the remarkable lack of compassion of the unforgiving brother, who represents human nature all too well.

As we move through the hurts and disappointments that we all experience along life’s way, as God opens our eyes to the other wounded and hurting around us, may we have the heart of the Father to reach out and embrace that one who may have failed, but wants to be clean.

Leaving the Nest

Sitting on my deck this mid-morning, I am greeted by the now familiar squawks of birds protecting and coaxing their offspring into life beyond the nest. The curtain of clouds that had cast a dismal shadow over our mountain an hour earlier has moved on, and sunshine has returned with its promise and joy.

At this moment the blue jays are particularly vocal. I spot a squirrel scrambling much too close to the two baby chicks. Blue jay young leave the nest before tail feathers have fully developed, leaving them vulnerable and rather helpless. Yet, leave the nest they must.

The other week, one such blue jay fledging perched stubbornly on the deck stair post, having attempted to scale the stair rail... only to slide rather piteously backward to the landing. He was the ugliest blue jay I had ever seen.

Past being a chick, he was gawky and adolescent. The only recognizable marking of his future glory was the black ring around his eye and the one around his neck. I am not sure how long he stayed there; but later that day, I believe I saw him flutter out of the azalea bush below.

Summer began with a bluebird family with five chicks that skipped and flew about our backyard like it was some sort of practice gym. A neighbor and I share the most heavily wooded lots on the block, plus trampoline poles, a wooden fence, and several bushes that all the birds seem to enjoy as perches. For a solid week, they frolicked and chased one another as if playing a game. I was especially grateful for the bugs and moths they swooped down and swallowed.

Recently, a female towhee, who has been groundfeeding in our yard for weeks, built a nest in our neighbor’s cedar tree by the fence that joins us. She has been quiet there for several days. I am hoping she is still there. I just spotted the male towhee, with his black sportcoat and robin-like redbreast preen his feathers on a section of the fence nearby. I have never seen baby towhees before.

Families of house wrens, on the other hand, are frequent. In the winter months, wrens nestle in the eaves of our deck, taking refuge from the cold. Last June, one couple built their nest in our garage , finding a small gap in the dilapidated garage door we no longer use to make their entrance and escape. I was gone to a conference when the chicks hatched. But evidence of their practice flights in our garage (where my car was "safely" parked) left no doubt as to their presence.

A male cardinal who is apparently molting--his head appears featherless-- is calling out pleasantly from the post of our swingset. No one replies, so he moves on.

Earlier this morning I observed a young cardinal family. We have spied on hatchlings through a bedroom window, but have found the offspring difficult to identify once they were out of the nest. This morning I realized why. Unlike the blue jays, young cardinals leave the nest with adequate tail feathers. They look like the parents, just smaller in size.

What gave them away was their constant chirping and flapping. I could recognize their behavior as offspring before I actually got a good look at them. They hopped quite nervously from branch to branch, but never more than a few inches at a time. Mother was close by. They have since left the back corner of the yard where the tree branches clustered protectively.

The morning is warming into mid-day and the commotion has quieted, except for the persistent song of a bird I have not yet identified. Perhaps it is a mockingbird taking up another bird’s song and fooling me once again.

I have come to know the chuckle and gurgle of woodpeckers, the scratching of towhees, and the angry screeches of wrens, especially when squirrels venture to close. I have thrilled to get glimpses of rare Pileated Woodpeckers and listen to Flickers drill holes in branches high overhead.

But this summer, I have watched with vested curiosity that ever so difficult parenting task of the young leaving the nest. For I, too, have one that must begin to fly on her own. Who, still living at home, must still begin to leave the nest.

"Look at the birds...your Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are." Matthew 6:26 (NLT).

Summer Plans – Busted Once More!

I always start summer with ambitious plans of what I am going to get done or caught up on. You know—like the photos that haven’t been organized in two or three years, much less carefully crafted into a memory book! The neglected gardening—all my outdoor potted plants have died. The deep cleaning of the how-did-it-get-so-nasty corners of the house, that I am sure I just cleaned weeks (or was it months?) ago.

For the past few summers, those plans have been thwarted, oh so easily. Summer 2006, I twisted my wrist while in Italy and had to have the loose screws and steel plate (from a year 2000 horse accident) removed from my right arm. All I did that summer was some light study and type on my blog.

Summer 2007 was a massive travel summer. I spent half of June studying at Ohio State University (Digital Media and Composition Institute) in Columbus, Ohio. In July, our family spent a week in North Carolina, including a memorable visit to the Outer Banks. Then later that month, we traveled to Canada, visiting Wasaga Beach (Lake Heron), Toronto’s CN Tower, and Niagara Falls. {See 2007 blog entries}

This summer would be different! My older children had summer jobs, and the youngest had plans to break up the monotony of summer with various friends and family members. No travel. No study. Just rest, recovery, and catch up.

Yeah, right! The second Tuesday of June, I slipped on the stairs in my house and landed squarely on my back. Sprained it. And for the rest of June, I could barely vacuum, much less tackle any “projects.”

Didn’t really get to resume my blog either—as planned. But I did get to read. I read more books in June than I can remember ever.

• I read CSI type-detective thrillers by James Patterson (about five of them I think), which deep, intriguing titles, like The Lifeguard and The Beachhouse.
  
• I read two historical novels by Thomas Quinn set in 15^th century Venice (The Lion of St. Mark and The Sword of Venice).
  
• A book on personal finance by Dave Ramsey.
  
• Finished Field Notes on a Catastrophe (UAB’s freshman discussion book for the fall) about global climate change.
• I am still reading Matthew Pearl’s novel The Dante Club, set in 1865 Boston with the poets Longfellow, Lowell, and Holmes as the main characters.
  

But my favorite—the one I digested slowly one chapter at a time—was Philip Yancey’s The Jesus I Never Knew.

Yancey writes in thoughtful, yet transparent, prose, his undisguised quest always caught in a tension between his probing intellect and his often tested faith. I admire these qualities in his writing—for he always situates his journey amid the rich spiritual and literary context of great writers and thinkers, such as Leo Tolstoy, C.S. Lewis, Dorothy Sayers, and Henri Nouwen.

And yet, these are presented as fellow sojourners. Their remarks glimmer like stars, adding sparkle and beauty to the chasm of the universe, but lacking the brilliance of the sun to light the way.

In the final analysis, the Jesus that Yancey wants to know is the one that is separated from its contemporary cultural construct—the thinly bearded Caucasian male that pats children on the head and gazes into the distance, detached from the horrors of the world we live in. He wants to know, like I do, the Christ of Christianity, separated from the iconic identity that centuries of European artists created to pacify power-hungry patrons and to justify medieval oppression.

Who is the real Jesus? The Jesus of the Gospels. The One who is called both the Lion and the Lamb. Who is this Jewish rabbi who preached a revolutionary message (love even your enemies), but shied away from staging a revolt against Roman oppressors? The man who claimed to be God and forgave those who nailed him to a cross. Who is that Jesus?

My back has recovered, and now I am on to those projects. I did get some rest. But Yancey’s book will stay with me, long after the summer is over. And I will be the better for it.

The Hawaii Chair! ["LOL" for today! ]

Trying to get in shape for the summer? Want to trim those abs, so they aren't falling out of your swimsuit? Not enough time or money for a workout at the gym? No problem. The Hawaii chair will do it all, and you never have to leave the office!
To find out more, click on the link below.

[One of my sister-in-laws sent me this. It is (literally!) fall out of your chair/LOL funny!
Enjoy.]

http://ellen.warnerbros.com/2008/01/hawaii_chair.php

Sunset Dinner in Tuscany

Midweek in our Tuscan villa stay in Certaldo, we took a day off from tower climbing for some local sightseeing….

…and ended the day with a visit to another local restaurant recommended by our travel agent: Le Grotte in Fiano, just a few miles from the villa.

The small restaurant featured beautiful views of the Tuscan hillsides, so we opted for the outdoor seating, joined only by a German couple on vacation with their dachshund.

It was a lovely evening…that lingered in true Italian fashion.

I wasn’t nearly as hungry from driving around as I had been climbing towers the previous two days, so I ordered a wood oven pizza donned with a white local cheese, olives, zucchini, and mushrooms. Geoff got adventurous, ordering gnocchi with pesce (fish) and the famous Florentine steak, Bistecca alla fiorentina.

In these small, family-run restaurants, the meal is made to order from the fresh ingredients available, so a wait is to be expected, even welcomed. We settled in to a slow sunset and reflected on our visit thus far: the spectacle of Rome, the vast treasure of Florence to be revisited tomorrow, and the unexpected jewels found in our off-the-beaten, just-follow-the-map discovery of surrounding Tuscany.

After an hour or so, my pizza arrived. Sometime later, Geoff’s gnocchi. And somewhere in our conversation, a man casually walked past us and began to light a fire in the outdoor grill. He also lit some outdoor lamps, and we barely gave a passing thought to any connection between the grill and our dinner. Meanwhile, daylight began to fade into early evening.

Between the gnocchi and my pizza and several glasses of water, we were happily satiated and sedated, drinking in the quiet beauty of dining in the sunset on a Tuscan hillside. Then the man walked right past our table with an enormous side of beef on a plate, proceeding directly to the grill of chestnut embers. We jokingly wondered aloud if that could be Geoff’s steak! Couldn’t be! But, indeed it was.

It could have easily been 45 minutes later, but by now we were lost in la dolce vita and time no longer had any relevance. It was, however, dusk when the man presented Geoff with a T-bone that could have easily fed our entire family of five. Our mouths dropped open before we remembered to say grazie to the man who stood proudly over his culinary achievement.

No longer hungry, we ate for the sheer relish of it. I can’t imagine a tastier, more perfectly seasoned cut of steak. The seasonings (drizzled with olive oil and topped with rosemary) were unlike American/western beef, but the flavor of the beef was not masked. Rather, it was intensified.

Dusk descended into a starlit sky, and more locals drifted in for the more typical Italian ritual of late evening dining. For us, the night was already full, as were our stomachs. We had spent four of the loveliest, most leisurely hours around a quiet outdoor table for two that we had ever known. The food was incredible. In one of the most perfect places on earth. At sunset. La dolce vita.

Secondi Piatto - "Second Course"

Chiribiri, gnocchi, and tiramisu!

The next Tuscan dining highlight came in nearby San Gimignano- a medieval town famous for its many towers. Only fourteen of the original sixty remain, but their imposing presence recalls a turbulent time of rivaling families. To get this photo, we climbed the largest of the fourteen towers - Torre Grossa. It was quite a climb and quite a view!

After climbing the 200 ft. tower, we were ready for dinner. But the tiny Trattoria (restaurant) Chiribiri we had read about was full; reservations were not available until eight.

We decided to wait (we were starting to get used to it by now). Once we were seated, with little more than elbow room between tables (so unlike our personalized open air dining at Il Castello!), we became reenergized with the buzz of happy diners. Here I enjoyed by first gnocchi-- potato dumplings in a tomato sauce—and I have been hooked ever since.

Geoff complimented the minestrone soup---it is Italian, after all---and ordered the grilled pork. I tried the beef in Chianti wine. A dish much like a pot roast with vegetables, but not being a red wine drinker, I felt like the wine overpowered the dish, rather than enhance it. Not bad, but not my favorite either. But wait, there’s more!

My appetite usually limits me to one or two dishes, but climbing those towers, waiting an extra hour for dinner, and perhaps the wonderful Tuscan scenery, all inspired me to order a famous Italian dessert: tiramisu. And it was fantastic! The best I have ever had…anywhere in Italy, anywhere ever! Yum!

Tasting Tuscany - Primo Piatto

Every recollection of our trip to Italy in 2006 is inevitably linked from scenery and place to the food experienced and savored there. Keeping breakfasts to simple espresso with pastry combos like the locals and patronizing the occasional deli for lunches ensured generous gelato sampling and remarkable dinner cuisine.

Our "first course" in Tuscan dining...

Primo Piatto – Certaldo Alto

By far, the best overall eating experiences were in the Tuscany region, particularly in the Certaldo/Fiano region. Having a kitchen in our villa apartment at Il Pozzo coupled with a visit to the modern supermarket in nearby Poggibonsi meant the food budget could be stretched for more dinners out—and each was deliciously long and memorable!

Our first night in Certaldo, we drove to the medieval part of town, called Certaldo Alto. As we waited for the hotel’s restaurant Il Castello to open for dinner, we wandered about the ancient stone bricked city that once housed the governor, but was now home to art and relics of the past.

When it finally appeared that the restaurant was open, our host greeted us warmly—all in Italian! He didn’t speak a word of English. His first customers for the evening, we practiced the spattering of Italian we had learned -- and mostly pointed to the items we identified in the menu.

As we sat outside in a covered terrace, we relished the purely Tuscan moment we had anticipated: an authentic Tuscan meal with a non-English speaker. Our host poured bottled water into our water glasses, and we began our first of many Tuscan dinner rituals: waiting!

I took the opportunity to order a famous Tuscan soup called Ribolitta (mostly made of leftover bread and vegetables, white beans, and olive oil; Geoff ordered a White bean soup. Our host, observing our inexperience, leaned over a drizzled olive oil over my ribolitta and motioned toward the bread loaf. We had already discovered that the saltless, sourdough Tuscan bread did not appeal as an appetizer; but it made a great partner to the hearty soups.

My ribolitta would definitely qualify as a comfort food, especially in the cooler months. It was a meal in itself. But dinner was not over.

Rosemary made its first grand appearance on my grilled meats: chicken leg, pork loin, steak, and sausage. These were accompanied by an order of deep fried vegetables: mostly artichokes. Geoff played it safe with a steak, but was pleasantly surprised by the Tuscan seasonings that enhanced the beef so well.

This would be the first of several dining moments in Tuscany that we still yearn to repeat.

Carolina meets UCLA?

When Geoff and I visited Los Angeles early in January, we were disappointed in one thing: the weather! LA has a reputation for nearly perfect weather: mild temperatures, lots of sunshine, very little rain. In one weekend, two major storms came through SoCal, dumping snow by the foot on the nearby Sierra Nevadas and providing Hollywood and Bel Air with record rainfall.

While much of the rain came through at night allowing us to get out during the day, the skies were gray and the air misty, cool, and damp. My jacket was simply not enough. During our visit to the famous Promenade shopping district, we found a Champs store selling college logo hoodies: buy one, get one free! Our son would be thrilled to get a North Carolina Tarheel hoodie, but what else? Then Geoff confessed. He had always been a secret UCLA basketball fan. That John Wooden was one of his basketball heroes. So, why not! It was buy one, get one free!

We hunted for a medium for our son, only to have the sales clerk swap it for a large when he needed a SKU number! By the time we discovered the error, we were back at our hotel ready to take a walk on the beach. And the perfect attire was this cool, blustery evening? A hoodie!

Out we strolled, UCLA and Carolina. All the way down to Hermosa Beach, a good thirty minute walk. After buying a few postcards, we headed back...just as the rain picked up. We had no umbrella and thirty minutes of walking to go. Somewhere on the way the postcards completely blew away as we bent into the wind and rain. I was glad I had layered a rainjacket over the hoodie. Although my jeans were soaked, the/my (it was mine now, I figured) hoodie had kept the rest of me warm and dry.

It rained like cats and dogs that night, but the next morning--our last morning in LA--broke somewhat clear and dry. We decided to take one last walk down to the Redondo Beach pier, wearing our hoodies!

After a lovely, invigorating walk (everyone walks or jogs here!) with several other walker/joggers, we decided to head back to the hotel for my return to Alabama. Two ladies came up on us, on their way for their walk, and one remarked aloud as we passed: "UCLA and Carolina!?! How did you guys meet?"

We turned and looked at each other.... and just laughed out loud.

At the Getty in LA

What a welcome to 2008! Geoff and I traveled to Los Angeles the first weekend of the New Year and had an incredible time, in spite of unusually wet and dreary weather conditions. So much for sunny SoCal!
This is a picture of me at the Getty Center (www.getty.edu) which houses quite a large collection of art up from ancient and medieval through the 1600's and 1700's. The Center itself is an architectural wonder, constructed of travertine and surrounded by gardens, fountains, and rock sculptures.
While the storm dumped snow by the foot on the nearby Sierra Nevadas, Geoff and I ambled the damped coastline, in search of icons like the Hollywood sign and Graman's Theatre and open to the new and amazing. We found both in LA.
Besides the Getty Center, another unexpected delight was the Griffith Observatory overlooking Beverly Hills and greater Los Angeles. The sky broke that afternoon just enough for a memorable view. The observatory, which houses a large telescope open on clear skies to the public, has found its way into movies as recent as Transformers and as far back as James Dean's Rebel without a Cause.
Definitely a place for a return visit, Los Angeles is as dreamy as you can imagine--even without the spectacular weather it is known for.

Drought

August in Alabama has been particularly hot and dry; three-digit, record-setting-temperatures have sapped our already depleted water supply and sucked the life out of many a blade of grass, azalea bush, and mosquito!

The drought officially began months ago, but mild temperatures and a damp July created perceptions inconsistent with the water conservation warnings. I can't wash my car or water my grass; but hey, didn't it just rain four inches in Gardendale yesterday?

[It seems like I have had a writing drought as well.]

One thought I had about the drought and "living spiritually in the everyday" is that spiritual drought can be similar to the summer drought we are having here in Birmingham and the surrounding areas.

First of all, a personal spiritual drought can be masked by occasional religious fervor, activity, or even spiritual feasting. However, just like our bodies need water on a daily basis, our spiritual health must be maintained on a regular basis. If we were to binge eat and then fast for several days, our health would be compromised. Eventually, it would fail.

Living spiritually can also be feast or famine. It is tempting to rely on heavy Sunday doses of Bible, prayer, and fellowship to get through the week. However, this also compromises our spiritual health.

This deficit, or drought, may go undetected until extreme conditions/circumstances beat unrelenting upon us, and we find our spiritual reserves quickly sapped and gone. Only then do we realize how weak our condition.

Unlike the summer drought which leaves us helplessly dependent on unmanageable weather patterns, our spiritual drought can be relieved when we cry out as the psalmist for our thirst to be satisfied by the Water of Life.

Drought recovery takes time and diligence. Distance runners must constantly restore fluids and nutrients lost in a race and in training. You, too, must constantly seek renewal, restoration, and recovery as you make this journey through life. Seek the pure Water of Life, Jesus Christ, for full and deep soul-satisfaction and spiritual health.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled." - Sermon on the Mount

In the Mist at Niagara Falls

The highlight of our family summer vacation trip to Canada was our visit to Niagara Falls, which actually consists of two falls: American Falls and Horseshoe Falls.

From Falls Avenue, the view of the falls is spectacular, impressive, worthy of its fame in every way.

One could stop at the ledge and be satisfied with the experience. Like the observation deck of the CN Tower in Toronto, there is something breath-taking just to behold one of the wonders of the world, even from a safe distance.

But when we saw a boat below the falls that actually took you closer to the falls (Maid of the Mist), Geoff and I decided to make a ride on Maid of the Mist our vacation splurge.

And it was truly amazing!

Getting that close to the falls requires some preparation (you have to wear a rain poncho),
respect for the boundaries (close up, but not under the falls), a willingness to pay the cost (waiting in line and the admission fee), and takethe risk.

Very few people have survived encounters with Niagara Falls or its rapids. One was a 63 year old woman who went over the falls in a barrel to gain fame and fortune. She got neither. The other was a seven year old who fell accidentally into the river upstream from the falls and was actually rescued by crew and passengers of the Maid of the Mist back in 1960.

The whole experience reminded me of how often I am tempted to approach God. I can be very satisfied with encountering God from a respectful distance. He is breath-taking and glorious—the Wonder of the Universe. His awesome power and flawless perfection is worthy of honor. But it is also intimidating. Worship that recognizes all that He is can seem like all that is safe or expected. But it is distant, and not only does my heart long for me—so does His.

So He provided a way, the Cross of Calvary, not the Maid of the Mist. Instead of a rain poncho, the blood of Christ provides the grace for access into the very presence of God, the “mist” of His Spirit. And it is amazing!

Getting that close to God is an invitation extended to all who come under the blood. Christ took all the risk and paid all the cost on the cross, but you have to take the trip.

After salvation, I can get “on the boat” any time and access His throne, but sometimes in worship, I content myself with a view from the ledge: acknowledging His power and station, but not really entering into “the mist.”

The trip to Niagara Falls reminded me that to truly experience God, I need enter the mist of God’s Spirit. There is no waiting. You can go there in personal worship or in corporate worship, but only you can make the trip! And in the mist, it is truly amazing!

Lost keys/rest in the OBX

Last week, our family traveled to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a memorable beach vacation. Home to several historic lighthouses, the Outer Banks is also the location of the Wright Brothers legendary flight on the dunes of Kitty Hawk. Although my parents live just a few hours away near Wilmington, this was the first time our family had visited the OBX - as it is referred to there.

We arrived Friday evening, hopeful and excited, but uncertain about the weather. Like Birmingham, they had been experiencing some drought, but were expecting a bit of rain. Since Sunday was supposed to be clear, we decided to get breakfast out Saturday morning and do some light sight-seeing till the skies cleared.

Geoff and I always rise an hour or more before the kids, so we grabbed our essential cup of coffee for a morning walk on the beach. It was actually sunny out, so we retrieved our sunglasses from the car and headed out. The beach was lovely; the temperature mild. Not the humid muggy conditions we were dreading for the middle of summer.

Unlike our walks on the Gulf Coast beaches, shells were few; instead, the tawny shoreline was lightly littered with a few crab remains and skate egg cases - black plasticky-looking pockets with horned corners, often referred to as a "mermaid's purse." A few folks were already out, stationing their beach chairs in their ideal spot. Perhaps this will be a day for the beach after all, I thought.

Back at the motel, we roused the children for a trip to a local pancake house only to discover that the car keys were missing. They were not in Geoff's pockets. They were not in the motel room. They were no where to be found.

Oh, no! They must have fallen out on the beach! Three of us retraced the morning walk, scouring the sand for the keys and asking around to see if anyone had spotted them.

Nothing.

By now it was late morning. The kids ate the breakfast items I had brought while Geoff called roadside assistance. Bottom line: a local locksmith would not be able to duplicate the key; the closest dealership was in Virginia and wouldn't be able to look at it until Monday (after it was towed today).

Long story short: Geoff's parents mailed us my set of keys (which arrived Monday morning within an hour of our check-out time). Meanwhile, we rented the last available car on the entire island within minutes of the dealership closing! And the rental place was less than a mile away, which was good since Geoff had to WALK to it!

All in all, we still had a wonderful vacation. God provided all that we needed, including spectacular weather (high 70's and low humidity; sunny skies; gorgeous sunsets). We saw all the lighthouses we had hoped to see: Currituck, Bodie Island, and Hatteras. We made it to the ferries to get off the island on schedule and ate some amazing seafood along the way.

Living spiritually in the midst of this drama was not getting angry over the lost keys, placing blame on Geoff for losing them or on me for not bringing my set of keys on the trip. It was tempting to take the frustration of the loss and focus that on each other. But we chose to give each other the grace that recognizes that we are all human and that sometimes things don't happen like we planned.

So, instead of anxiety and tension over lost keys (they're still in the OBX!), we enjoyed rest
and made great memories together in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Summertime and the living is easy....easy?

Yes, summertime living is easy in so many ways. Not teaching this summer places me in the enviable possession of unscheduled time.

With June coming to an end, though, you would think I would have accomplished more with my time. Or something. I wish my question of myself was, have I rested enough? Or, have I laughed enough? Are we having fun yet!?! Instead of, have I cleaned everything yet? Has the clutter been organized? Am I caught up yet?

Sure, picture albums are at least 2 years behind and some corners of the house haven't been dusted in, well...a while. And there will be time for all of that.

I have a few summer weddings to direct and fall classes to prepare for. But I can I really just lie around and relax? I hope so. Tomorrow our family leaves to go on vacation. It seems to really help me to get away and out of my routines and especially away from the "to do" list.

Today is also our 21st wedding anniversary. Last year, we went to Italy. So this year will be rather anti-climactic by comparison. Still, we savor the memories of la dolce vita in Italy and the life we have shared for all these years.

Blessed with the best of both worlds!

I am back from Ohio State University and am still in wind down, reflect, and re-entry back into full-time motherhood after 2 weeks of no dishes, no cooking, grocery shopping, or cleaning. Just majorly intensive study and lab time, reading relevant scholarship, listening to stimulating discussion, taking crash courses in technology, and producing multimodal projects in record time!
Yes, there was the fun parties at Scott's and at Cindy and Dickie's, the socializing at Mad Mex's, art gallery hop with the girls, arts festival with Jami, and some soaks in the hotel hot tub.
But guess what? By the second weekend, I was so ready to come home!!! I was having the time of my life (professionally) and missing my family, church, and friends like crazy!
I am really grateful to have both a stimulating professional career AND a loving, supportive husband, children, family, and friends.

School is Out--No, wait...school is In!

The school year is finished for my three children, and they couldn't be happier! Pool time at Granny's and summer vacations are just the highlighted summer treats that await my summertime "bums."

I finished classes early in May and am trying to line up my class schedule for the fall. But wait! School is back in session for me--at least for two weeks.

I'm leaving this afternoon to do some graduate study at Ohio State University by attending the Digital Media and Composition Institute.

During this time, most of my blogs will be posted to my Wordpress.com blog (beckdunk's wordhouse) and will relate to my study. You are more than welcome to join me there! The link is down on the right of this page.

Enjoy your summer!

I Love being a Mom!

Sunday was Mother's Day. It was nice to be remembered, honored, celebrated for what I do as a Mom everyday, all year.

Mostly, however, I was happy and proud to BE a Mom! Our church also had baby dedication, and my thoughts fondly went back to each of my three children's dedications: Leia wearing a little headband to match her soft cotton dress, Dakota in his little "tux" suit, and Karli in a long baptismal gown. There was no way to know what the days ahead would hold for them or for us. But eager and hopeful, we dedicated each child to God and ourselves, as parents, to God and to that child.

My two oldest children, both teens, honored me by sitting with me and Geoff for the Sunday service. And I did feel honored, humbled, and proud - all at the same time.

This is a picture from last May when I graduated with my master's degree. They were so understanding and supportive as I studied and prepared.

I love my kids and am keenly aware that I have just a few years left with them under my wing, in my home, under my daily care.

Sure, it isn't fun cleaning up messes, washing endless dishes, and chasing schedules. But my kids are really cool! I like being with them. I think their jokes are funny. I think they are the best-looking, smartest kids in the whole wide world!

I love them and I love being their mom. Everything else around me changes. Very little will transfer from this life to the next. But my children will.

They will always be my kids. I will always be their mom. And my prayer is that I will enjoy the present, the future, and all of eternity with them

taking a class about blogs!

Today I am in a computer class about blogs! And I'm learning all kinds of uses for blogs beyond a journal use. Some are for educational uses. Blogs are great collaborative tools. Brides are communicating with bridesmaids. Families are staying in touch.
Earlier this week, I set up my Facebook account, complete with photo albums. This is fun! But it takes some time. Blogging, however, is fast, fun, and easy!
Our class will also discuss podcasting, RSS feeds, and widgets.

What is truth?

The question that Pontius Pilate asked Jesus of Nazareth is still asked today (John 18:38). What is truth? Is it mere facts, supported by empirical data and accumulated observation? Is it based in law or reason? Can feelings also be a kind of truth? Is one’s personal experience simply a personal truth or is it the whole truth about a matter?

Truth cannot simply be a fabrication--a man-made construction based on convenience, preference, or delusion.

Is truth reality? Or is reality just a perception?

Jesus said you can know the truth, and the truth will make you free (John 8:32).

But how? Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus proclaims Himself as the one bringing the truth, being the truth, and speaking the truth. In fact, he told Pilate that he (Jesus) was born with the purpose of bringing truth to the world (John 18:37).

In His final words to His disciples, Jesus told them that He was the Truth (John 14:6), and that He would send the Spirit of Truth to guide them into all truth (John 16:13) when he left them bodily.

Believing such a claim requires some faith, but also some discretion. Not everyone crying “Lord, Lord” is truthful. The Scriptures themselves warn of false Christs.

Note this: Christ’s integrity was never in question as he underwent trial by his accusers. Before the high priests who initiated the arrest of Jesus, he reminded them that all of his teachings and actions were done publicly (John 18:20-22). No covert operations. No clandestine conspiracies. When he was struck in the face for his remark, he challenged them to reveal any evidence that what he had ever said had been wrong, had ever not been the truth (John 18:23). They could not. Not then. Not later. Not ever.

At first, followers failed. Peter denied Jesus that night. Judas betrayed him. All but John abandoned him at the cross. But never once was Jesus Christ found to be anything other than what He professed: the Way, the Truth, and the Life. His resurrection removed any doubt from the disciples' minds: they all died a martyr's death for their belief in His truth.

So when I discuss “truth” with my students, what I am really often discussing is man’s various perceptions of truth or his levels of understanding and coping with his realities. These are debatable. Temporal. Earth-bound and situational. Cultural and frequently circumstantial.

Borrowing from the wisdom of Solomon, “Fire tests the purity of silver and gold, but the Lord tests the heart” (Proverbs 17:3), I believe much truth is discoverable by man over the process of time and testing, but that the ultimate revelation of truth cannot be attained apart from God who knows all and sees all.

Therefore, the pursuit of truth cannot be fully realized without spiritual knowledge. It is the secularized mind that is not fully enlightened.

Can I, flawed and limited, know truth? According to Christ’s own words, yes. But as the Apostle Paul wrote, right now we know only in part, although one day we will know everything completely, just as God knows now (I Cor. 13:12).

What’s in your dirt?

I used to fancy myself a gardener—back when I actually had a garden. Since moving to a house with more trees and shade than topsoil, my gardening has consisted of rearranging the monkey grass as to keep the yard from washing away. I’ve been rather successful with hostas (which isn’t saying very much). But lately, my cast-iron plants, which are reputed as indestructible, are looking, well, rather shabby.

My old yard had two vital natural elements: full sunshine and fertile soil. Many years ago, the yard had been a cow pasture up on Shades Mountain. Geoff and I spent our first year there putting all the St. Augustine grass clippings into the small garden plot at the back of our long grassy backyard.

Back then, I personally had two vital natural elements: time and energy. Geoff hand-tilled the plot; I took over the planting, hoeing, weeding, watering, and harvesting. For several summers, we enjoyed fresh green beans, cantaloupes, corn on the cob, lettuce, purple hull peas, and watermelon.

Earlier today, I was out in my back yard after a long rain-soaked morning planning to tool about in the flower bed that looked the most despairing. The damp soil should yield to the shovel better than usual, so I attempted to thin out and perhaps transplant my cast iron plants to a happier location.

During our six years here, Geoff and I have done much to amend the soil. We have leaf-mulched, pine straw mulched, and tried re-routing the sloping run-off. Our small patch of grass has actually doubled in the last year or two, but where we have managed to enrich the soil, the weeds have rapidly invaded.

A couple of months ago, I pulled hundreds of cherry laurel seedlings. About that many have returned since. These seedlings rapidly grow into bushes and, left uncut, will create a jungle of trees under the present canopy of oaks, sweet gums, and poplars.

The first analogy for my soul-soil is that its depth must be cultivated over time. Richness of spirit and soul does not come in one heavy dump truck load of spiritual activity, but over the steady and gradual composting of rich spiritual matter.

Another application comes from the observation that weeds flourish in good soil as much as flowers do. The healthier the soil, the more inviting for all seeds. A similar caution must be present in my soul. Enriching my soul will call for an expanding of my horizons and extensions of my boundaries past my comfort zones. In doing so, I must combine enrichment for the health of my soul with filtering mechanisms, such as accountability and consistent Bible study, for its protection and purification.

I do not believe God wants Christians to “play it safe” by circling the wagons and existing within a Christian “ghetto.” In the parable of the talents, the master chided the servant who played it safe by sitting on his talent and hiding it from the world. No risk meant no gain.

So, what’s in your dirt? Chances are, if the soil is rich enough to grow flowers, there will be some weeds that need hoeing as well. And that’s a good sign of a healthy soul-garden.

Greetings - la dolce vita remembered!

Greetings, friends! I have a request for your continued patience as I explore some new computer technologies: a website, a photoshop, and maybe a multimedia project.

I am also currently reading several books, which include John Ortberg's If You Want to Walk on Water, You've Got to Get out of the Boat, Frances Mayes' A Year in the World, and a Nicholas Sparks' book that I started at the beach a few weeks ago and haven't finished yet.

This is a photo of me relaxing in Italy last May, enjoying la dolce vita at a Tuscan villa. Memories of my visit there continue to enrich my heart and mind almost a year later.

Part of Mayes' book and Ortberg's is an encouragement to LIVE NOW and not get reduced to merely existing and surviving.

I want this to be true in every area of my life: my marriage, my family, my spiritual life, my scholarship/teaching, everything. It does mean choosing some things over others, so I am seeking to make the best choices--the ones that will be sweet today and even sweeter tomorrow.