Contents May Have Shifted During Flight

“…Welcome with meekness the implanted word of God that has the power to save our souls.”

James 1:21(b) (NRSV)

“But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power comes from God and does not come from us.” 

2 Corinthians 4:7 (NRSV)

The plane was filled to capacity and all of the overhead bins were stuffed to overflowing; not one iota of space was left.  Throughout the flight, there was quite a bit of turbulence; so, when the plane landed at our destination and passengers were preparing to jump up to collect their belongings, the flight attendant was even more adamant with the familiar caution of being careful when opening the overhead bins because contents may have shifted during flight.  No one wanted a load of wheelie bags and carry on packages to come crashing down on their head!

Both James 1:21(b) and 2 Corinthians 4:7 reminds us that we have the treasure of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the word of God implanted within our fragile and fickle bodies.  This treasure, unlike earthly ones, is not to be hoarded but is meant to be shared with others.  When we are right with God; when we are connected with Him and guided by His Holy Spirit, the contents within the clay jars of our human bodies are safe and serene, ready to be lived out and gifted to others.  Yet, like the items in overhead bins on choppy airplane flights, the trials, tribulations and turbulence of our lives can sometimes shift and shake up this precious cargo, causing us to feel lost and disoriented.

Thankfully, just as we are deliberately careful when opening up those overhead bins, we can also be intentional about bringing the treasure inside us back to a position of calmness and stability.  By relying on the grace and power of our loving God, we can return, even after long periods of the churning flight of life, to the source of that treasure; our Lord Jesus Christ. 

Mrs. B 

Nightmare 8.28.14

Note:  I was going to title this post "What's in a Dream" but realized as I  started to type that this was really more of a nightmare and one full of symbolism and snatches of my reality and what's going on in the world at present.  I'll have to  ponder this one for a while.  

Mrs. B

I approach the door of my family home.  As it opens, I see that another family is living there, and a family that is not supposed to be there at that.  For lack of better term, I’ll refer to them as a terrorist family.  There is definitely something ominous about their presence.  Snaky.  Oily.  Over perfumed.  Threatening.  As I stand in the doorway, the male of the house, I presume the father figure, gestures me in.  There is a dog standing nearby, not my dog but some sort of standard poodle thing; not my favorite dog at all.  I look around and spot my dog, my Lucy; off in a corner.  She looks decidedly miserable; downtrodden, beaten; probably literally.  She is mangy looking and, pathetically, chews on an old stick.  I wonder where all of her toys are; her bunny, her squirrel, her hedgehog, her flea?  She sees me and her tail starts to thump on the floor.  With some show of her usual enthusiasm, she jumps up and races over to me.  As she approaches, the slimy man yells harshly at her and she cowers.  My heart breaks.  She tries to slink towards me but he keeps her from getting close to me.  He starts to take his belt off and holds it menacingly in his hands saying, “I guess it is time to really show this dog who the master is.” I begin to protest, fear rising inside of me as I anticipate what this man is going to do to my dog.  He moves towards her and I splay my hands out in a pleading manner, asking him to please leave my dog alone; to just let me take her away and she’ll be no more trouble to him.  I have no thought, really, for the house, or its contents; only to save my dog.  After some time of this, an achingly long moment when I wonder if he’ll insist on dragging her outside where I’m sure he’ll beat her to death, he, amazingly, relents.  But, there is a condition; I am to take her away, yes; but I must come back within a few days with some amount of money, a staggering amount which I know I can never raise, and, worse, I know that this money will go towards something that is not good at all.  Yet, I agree, my only thoughts to get my dog out of that house and away from this horrible person.  As we walk together out of the house; me, my dog and this awful human being, I wonder how it is that we are in the cul de sac where I grew up; even as I recognized the house as my parent’s house in San Diego, I am startled that we are IN San Diego.  We walk towards the part of the cul de sac the leads to the primary artery street where my car is parked.  As we progress, the man reminds me of my duty.  We reach the car and I get Lucy settled in the passenger seat next to me; something I’d normally never do but I want her nearby.  She is so cowed and timid at this point, she hardly moves; just places her head onto her paws and regards me with eyes that express a combination of wariness and joy.  We drive away and I immediately begin to wonder how I can possibly raise money for whatever the man has in mind.

The scene switches, and I am in an apartment, I guess it’s mine, going through all of my things with an eye to keep only exactly what I need and to sell the rest; presumably to raise money to give to this man.  There is another woman there with me; I am unclear of her relationship to me but she looks an awful lot like the actress Scarlett Johansson.  As I go through my things, I notice several suitcases packed and standing off to the side.  She says, “I went ahead and selected a few things for me, as you told me I could.”  I nod, but stop and walk over to the bags.  I held up my brown leather satchel.  “You can’t have this one.  I need this one, and also the other valise you packed plus my red wheelie.  Any other suitcase you can have,” I tell her.   She says, “I didn’t know.”  I open up the bags to remove what she has packed in them so that I can take the empty bags for my own use.  I notice that she’s packed a lot of my slacks, a few sweaters, and, for some reason, the sock monkey slippers that my stepmother bought for me a few months before she died.  “You can’t have these,” I say, holding them up.  “They are the last things Margot bought for me before she died.” I tuck them away. I feel a sense of sadness of losing so many of my things but also realize that I don’t care all that much.

The scene switches again and I am back at the house.  This time, there is no family there; in fact, the place is deserted and nearly destroyed inside.  It is a wreck; furniture tossed to and fro, all of the food pulled out of the refrigerator and freezer and tossed in the backyard; some of it is floating in the swimming pool.  Although the people are gone, I still feel a sense of unease, a bit of desperation that they may return before I can get the place secured.  Mark is with me now; we begin together to sort the place out.  Although when I was there the first time; when I met the horrible man and saw Lucy I didn’t wonder about the cats, now I am concerned what happened to them as I see them nowhere.  I worry that that awful man did something to them but also believe that they were too wily for him.  As Mark cleans up inside, I go outside, thinking that perhaps they are out there.  After a few moments, I see one or two of them on the outskirts of the property, in the canyon.  After some time, I managed to coax them all inside the gate and into the backyard and get them into the house.  This is when I discover all of the meat we’d had stored in the freezer tossed around the backyard; expensive roasts, pounds of hamburger, steaks.  I wonder at this blatant disregard for food, for money; especially in light of the fact the man seemed to need and want money.

The scene switches yet again and I am in my familiar dream of being at an airport, being dropped off at the terminal, and being late for my flight.  I have to walk the long path to the check in counter, then the never ending walkway to the gate.  I’ve been in this place in my dreams so many times, it’s very familiar to me.  As with all the other times, I have a desperate sense of needing to get onto that plane so I can get away.  This time, there are two women with me, and they are exclaiming that there may be a problem with our three seats; that perhaps they’ve overbooked and we won’t be able to get on the plane after all.  I look at my ticket and see it’s a seat in first class.  I tell them there won’t be a problem, they never bump the folks in first class.

My Heart Sings: A Concert of God's Word

“Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the Earth.”

Psalm 100:1

When I was a little girl of eight, my parents had me take piano lessons.  Playing piano was not something that came naturally to me and I plodded throughout my daily practice time.  My teacher despaired of me; assigning me only the simplest of tunes to play.  Within a year or two, we all gave up on my piano lessons.  

Several years later when I was a young teen, I wandered over to the family piano one afternoon and sat down.  I picked up my old piano lesson books and began to pick out the familiar melodies.  For whatever reason, this time I was interested in learning to play.  Daily, I practiced and re-learned every song.  Eventually, I progressed to playing more advanced pieces and eventually had twenty or so tunes, melodies, hymns and etudes memorized.  I loved to sit down at the piano after school and either play certain pieces that fit my mood, or sometimes to go through my entire repertoire.  My mother, working in the kitchen, told me years later that, although in the beginning I stumbled and hesitated; over the months, the music found its way into my heart and the joy, enthusiasm and love for what I was playing rang throughout the house.  Because I’d memorized the songs, I carried them with me wherever I went; no lesson books or sheet music required.  One special afternoon while on vacation in the country-side of England, I performed an impromptu concert for the other residents of the B&B as we were all stuck indoors due to inclement weather.  

Decades later, I find myself going through the same procedure as I memorize selected scripture verses.  I initially stumble and bumble my way through the memorization process; making mistakes and forgetting the words.  Even after I’ve correctly memorized it, it sounds mechanical and robotic when I speak it out loud.  Yet I persist, and at some magical point, the scripture moves from its place in my head and takes up residence in my heart.  As I pray or recite the verses, either the ones that fit my mood or circumstances or every single one I’ve committed to memory thus far; the words come pouring out of my mouth with even more joy, enthusiasm and love than those songs I played long ago on the piano.  

Alas, I’ve long since given up playing the piano, but God’s Word is something I’ll never give up.  Who knows when I might be called upon to perform a much-needed impromptu concert?

“I treasure your word in my heart, so that I will not sin against you.” Psalm 119:11

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalm 119:105

Mrs. B

A Journey I'll Never Forget

Front of the apartment building 

 Side view

 Tiny little austere bedroom

2nd bedroom.  Note the clothes "drying".  The infamous outfit  I wore three days!

On this day eleven years ago, I was newly arrived in Verona, Italy for a month long total immersion class. All my visions of experiencing an  exciting, dreamy and perhaps romantic time in Italy, a la "Under the Tuscan Sun" (or the later "Eat, Pray, Love") went quickly by the wayside when, upon arrival in Verona (after an extremely frustrating and definitely non-romantic layover in Paris), I discovered my suitcase did not make it to Italy with me.   I waited in vain all weekend for luggage to appear; all the while wearing the same pair of blue jean shorts,  a sweaty icky travel stained tee shirt and big old clunking sneakers (because, of course, everyone knows you wear your clunky shoes on the plane, you don't waste precious suitcase space on them!)  By the time I wrote this particular entry, I was in a near panic state; on my way to begin "school" looking like a slob with no clear idea how I'd ever be reunited with my luggage.  I'd arrived at my destination but wasn't so thrilled with the journey so far. Thus follows a classic example of God's sense of humor and a reminder of who, really, is in charge!

Mrs. B

18 August 2003, 7:30a -- My Apartment

My suitcase did not arrive.  I spent a fairly miserable, self-pity filled evening alone.  I was afraid to go out lest my suitcase chose to arrive at the moment I left.  Because I didn’t go out, it didn’t show up.  That’s the way things work.

No matter what today, I have to figure out what’s going on with this.  Because of the language barrier, I’m not 100% sure my landlady was telling me they’d deliver it or if she was telling me, “Sorry, too bad, figure it out yourself!”

I hope the people at the school will help me get this taken care of.  I don’t think I can manage one more day like this.

I’ll try to think positive but right now I’m starting to wonder if all of this was such a hot idea.  Time to leave and head over to school.

Random Thoughts Written on the Back of the “Lost Luggage” Instructions the Airline (Air Dolomiti) Gave Me

18 August 2003, 8:30a  -- Caffe al Teatro on Via Roma

·      I am sitting here an hour before I am due at school.   This is where I met Eva yesterday (the young lady who was kind enough to let me borrow her cell  phone to call the airline about my luggage).  I’m wearing the same stinky clothes.  This R&R Hall of Fame tee-shirt is getting a lot of mileage.  I am wearing my Tommy Hilfiger blue jean shorts, too. They are probably not appropriate for school, l but I have nothing else.  I refuse to wear my sweatpants and swelter to death.

·         Italians are a bit aloof.  I stand out like a sore thumb and they notice and look down at me.  Of course, they can’t know this isn’t how I intended to appear!

·         No one looks into windows as they walk past.  I’ve sat at my window for hours last night, watching.  Eyes straight ahead, no glancing up, down, left, right.

·         I can’t believe how noisy it is at my apartment at all hours.  Street noise.  Cars passing, people walking by talking, etc.  Except this morning it was quiet.  Funny.

·         It’s real humid here.  In addition to making me a sweaty, icky mess, it’s rendered my appetite to next to nothing.  If anything, with this situation and all the walking (Eva said I should rent a bike), I should manage to stay in good shape.

·         I used the carta telefonica this morning to call regarding my bag.  It worked, amazingly enough.  Too bad it hasn’t been so easy to get my bag returned to me.

·         It only took me 15 minutes (or less) to walk here.  Good to know.  Why take the bus (except to learn how, I guess)?

Later, 8:45p -- Caffe Colonial (near Ponte Nuovo)

Woo-hoo, my suitcase showed up this morning!  During the afternoon break, I ran back to my apartment and was able to change clothes!  Glorious!  Now I feel a bit more “at home” and able to relax.

And school was fine; but when they say “Total Immersion”, that is exactly what they mean!  The staff and teachers try not to speak any English.  Yikes!  I ended up (I think) in a very basic class.  I’ll know for sure domaini (tomorrow).

The good news is, everyone is very nice, including most of the other students.  The bad news is, I comprehend about ½ of what is being said.  Ok, more like ¼!

There was a 2 hour lecture this afternoon on the city of Verona, ancient cities in general, arenas, gladiators, etc.  The instructor, Andrea, (a man),  speaks very fast Italian, says “va bene” a lot and reminds me of Cesar (a friend from my TRW days). Luckily, he also throws in some English so you can somewhat follow what he’s saying.  He also gave a 2 hour walking tour of Verona which was good to get oriented.  I think I understand, basically, how to get a bus ticket and where they go; also, where to buy groceries (there may be a store closer to my apartment but I haven’t found it yet) and what the best wines in Verona are.  He also told us a lot about the Arena di Verona.  Maybe I will see if some of the other students would like to see an opera.

I left the tour when we got close to my place.  I said, “Parto, abito (I'm leaving , I live ) plus  (the word for “over there”, which I know can’t spell, sounds like “la jew”)

I went home and unpacked/got organized.  Now I’m out having dinner (pizza and a beer, I figure I deserve the beer).  I’m not too worried about drinking too much over here, it’s too hot to get drunk.

Yes, it’s steamy, steamy, steamy qua (here).  I’ve never sweated so much in my life.  I need to buy a fan for my room.

Tomorrow I have to buy a notebook.  They haven’t provided me one.  My notes are all over the place.

I hope now that school has begun, I will start doing things in the evening with other people.  I didn’t come here to hang out by myself.

I’ve made myself go to restaurants, etc., by myself and it’s ok, but, other than Eva, I’ve yet to see any other “single” women.

I would also like to find the gym, but we’ll see.  I need to get the Internet thing figured out soon, too.

And, I need to remember that I am here to learn and grow.  Who knows what direction this will take?

Miscellany

I've got writer's block.  For the past several weeks, I've tried and tried and tried and tried to write "something"; it's so frustrating when I have these ideas swirling around in my head that sound really great to me, until I attempt to capture them in words.

So, because I want to try and get the creative juices flowing (and I'd rather do this than, say, any of the number of things on my "To Do" list), here is a bit of miscellany which I've jotted down about myself (prompted by randomly opening the book, "101 More Conversation Starters for Couples" by Gary Chapman to various pages).

Here goes!

Random Prompt #1:  Name the person you know who most personifies perseverance:

My (step) dad Daryl.  From modest beginnings, he eventually ended up graduating with honors from Purdue University; obtaining a bachelors, masters and PhD in Electrical Engineering before he was 30.  He co-raised a blended family of five children and  had a successful career in the defense sector and was at least partially (if not totally) responsible for inventing GPS. Although this may sound more like the answer to, "Who is one of the most successful people you know?", I attribute all his success to the fact he was persistent in reaching his goals, especially in light of the fact that circumstances were not always optimal in his early years, his first marriage, and later with various crises within our family.  

Random Prompt #2:  What is the hardest phone call you ever had to make:

I will change this to the  plural; "calls".  Calling people to tell them that my stepmother Margot had passed away.  Still reeling myself from her death, having to tell people (even though my calls were not unexpected) and waiting on the other end to experience and share their grief was almost more than I could bear.

Random Prompt #3:  One of life's great delights is surprising someone. Recall  participating in a wonderful surprise:

My dear friend Kathleen recently celebrated a major milestone birthday while on a cruise.  Prior to their departure, I enlisted her husband's help in obtaining their RSVP and stateroom number so that I could arrange for their stateroom to be decorated and a bottle of Champagne to be delivered.  I was so excited, I couldn't wait to hear how she reacted!

Random Prompt #4:  David was tormented by an ungodly King Saul.  Recall someone who had authority over you whom you found very difficult to respect:

My first boss at TRW.  Her name was Faye and she was by far the worst boss I ever had, hands down.  Many of us who had the misfortune to work for her referred to her as "The Crazed Psycho Bi$$h from Hell".  Believe, me, that's not much of an exaggeration! She was lazy, took credit for other people's work, insensitive, rude, and at times out and out cruel.  In hindsight, I believe she had some significant emotional problems and I suppose I can feel pity for her now but at the time, I could barely tolerate working for her.  In fact, I actually decided to go into a secretarial program for six months just so I could get away from her until I figured out what to do next.  

Random Prompt #5:  Name someone with whom you have lost contact over the years and wonder how that person is doing:

When I was in 6th grade, our family moved to Lexington Kentucky so that my (step)dad could realize a dream he'd had of teaching college (see the first prompt ;-) )  In short, all of us hated living there, including my dad, so we eventually moved back to California.  However, I made one really, really good friend that year, also named Amy.  She was tall and thin to my (then) short and squat (we were like Mutt and Jeff!) And, like Mutt and Jeff, once we met and became friends, we were always together.  We crammed a lot of relationship in that brief period of time. After I left, we continued to keep in touch via letters and phone calls.  She visited me in San Diego one summer and we picked right up where we'd left off.  Alas, we did eventually lose touch and I have absolutely no idea what ever became of her.  I'd love to find out!

Ok, can't put off the chores any longer, especially as I have pets clamoring to be fed their dinner!

Mrs. B

I Never Fly Solo

For the past several weeks, I have been participating in a small group study at church focusing on prayer as a way to intentionally listening for God in the midst of all the hub-bub in our lives and discerning what He may be telling us.  This six-week study is entitled,  “Listen:  Praying in a Noisy World” by Rueben P. Job; and each session has highlighted a different, and in some cases new to all of us, method of prayer (referred to as a "prayer practice").

This past week’s  prayer practice was to read through the assigned chapter, which includes scripture, quotes from the author and other spiritual writers and a story that ties everything together; and to each day, underline words and phrases from that day’s reading that reminded us of the assurance of God’s love.  Finally, we were encouraged to transcribe those words and phrases onto an index card or stickee note and carry it with us throughout the day.

At the end of the week, I had a collection of seven stickee notes.  Today, while preparing for tonight’s class, I looked at all of the notes and realized they told a story, my story. So, I wrote them down, did a bit of re-arranging and word-smithing, and arrived at the following amazing and personalized affirmation.*  

I Never Fly Solo

I am God’s beloved child and I will live as a child of God.

I never fly solo.

Beloved is the name by which God knows me and the way He relates to me.

Faithful love surrounds me because I trust the Lord.

I am God’s.  God transforms me.

I never fly solo.

I will trust the teaching I have treasured in my heart.

The Lord will guide me continually and He will rescue me.

I never fly solo.

I will transform the world where I am as I focus my mind on God’s knowledge.

Wisdom will be given to me if I ask, but I must chose to listen to God’s voice.

I never fly solo.

I must learn to live each day as an opportunity to make everything new.

I will remember and reflect on God’s love and that I am saved by God’s grace because of my faith.

I never fly solo.

I will move forward in my life as a follower of Christ, listening to His voice saying to me, “I have a gift for you and I can’t wait for you to see it!”

The world of my past is gone.

I never fly solo.

Mrs. B

*Although this was arranged by Mrs. B, all words, phrases and scripture versus (Common English Bible) were derived from “Listen:  Praying in a Noisy World” by Rueben P. Job Copyright 2011.

Love God = Respect

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.”  Deuteronomy 6:5

Love God.  Sounds easy enough, especially given the careless way these days the word is tossed out. You know what I’m talking about:  “I just love those shoes!” “I’m loving this weather!” “She’s so easy to love, she’s so adorable!” or, “Love ya, girlfriend!”

Of course, anyone in any sort of meaningful relationship; marriage or partnership; parents (or step-parents) or grandparents; siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins; friends, neighbors and church family; knows that love is not simple.  It requires the opposite of careless.  It can require more, sometimes, than we think we are capable of giving, perhaps even more than we really are capable of giving.

For me, loving God is what I must do in order to be able to truly love others.  Loving God has to come first, because it’s the power I receive from that loving relationship that gives me the strength I need to love others in my daily life.

So what does loving God entail? 

I tend to think of my relationship with God in terms of a parental relationship; for example, what, as a child, was required of me in my relationship with my mother and father (or other parental figures or people in authority such as teachers).  And, like my interactions with these individuals has, my relationship with God evolves over time; deepens and matures with knowledge and understanding.

When I was nine or ten, a friend and I tampered with the US mail.  A neighbor was out of town for several weeks and my friend’s mom was responsible for picking their mail up and putting it into their house.  One day, she sent my friend to do it, and I tagged along.  Full of the logic of a young girl, my friend said, “Let’s open it up, maybe there is a love letter in here somewhere!”  So, right then and there, standing at their mailbox, she tore into the three or four envelopes she was holding, only to discover there was nothing juicy whatsoever; only a bunch of bills.   Sighing, she said, “Oh well!” and thrust the opened mail at me and darted off, leaving me standing there with my mouth open and the evidence of our wrong doing lying limply in my hands. Feeling helpless and certain that this was not a good situation to be in, I decided to throw the mail into the storm drain.  Afterwards, I rushed off after my friend, hoping we’d not be found out.  For the next three weeks, this deed hung over my life and I worried and fretted that I was going to get into big trouble.  Of course, this is what eventually happened.  The neighbor received late notices for bills they had never received.  They asked my friend’s mom if she’d perhaps mislaid some of their mail.  She became suspicious and asked my friend who immediately sang like a canary.  My parents were informed of my role in the mess and, yes, I got into big trouble.  In addition to a (rare) spanking, I was required to go over to the neighbor and apologize.  My parents also decided that I would be grounded for three weeks; and by grounded, this meant that, other than for meals, going to school, and the necessary bathroom runs, I was to stay in my bedroom.  For.  Three.  Weeks.  And my friend?  She was not allowed to go outside to play for one day.

As unfair as that may seem, I wasn’t really that upset about my punishment.  Although I had not actually been the one to open the mail, I had not done the right thing with the evidence.  What I should have done was go directly to my mom and tell her what happened.  Peer pressure, of course, kept me from doing the right thing; I didn’t want my friend to think I was a baby.  Actually, I was relieved that the other shoe had finally dropped and I could sleep without waking up in the middle of the night worrying or look at my mother again without feeling terribly guilty.  Although my three weeks in confinement may have seemed harsh to others, I vaguely recognized then (and certainly know now some 40 years later) that my mom and dad didn’t sentence me without long and deliberating thought and conversation.  They wanted me to learn from this experience so that I would think twice before doing something so foolish again to be sure, but also to remember that I must always go to them in times of trouble and uncertainty.  Truthfully, I believe they were more concerned that I carried that heavy load of guilt for three weeks than they were by what I’d done (or been an accomplice to, at any rate).  This experience taught me a lot about respect; respect for others, respect for authority, and respect for myself.

  

When I think about my relationship with God, I am reminded of that episode in my life, and the connection of  “love” and “respect”; especially to those in authority.  And who else has the ultimate authority over my life but God?  Loving God means respecting God, and respecting God means offering my presence, trusting Him as I release my burdens and wrongdoings, seeking forgiveness and guidance, and following His instructions; trusting that He has the best intentions for me; that He has my back.

“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.  Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you.  When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all of your heart.”  Jeremiah 29:11-13

Mrs. B