Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

I am obsessive about thank-you notes.
At least I used to be.

A few birthdays back I vividly recall receiving a particular gift of great personal significance.

As a lover of books, this gift was the book I longed for. Read by my closest friends, I had been forced to sit as a mere observer, a non-participant, as they gushed on and on about the wisdom, beauty and symbolism in this story wholly unfamiliar to me. It is a terrible thing to find yourself sequestered at a table with dear friends who are all feasting on a shared book experience while you sit alone in a group, eating your salad. While discussing key points in the book, my friends would occasionally cast furtive glances in my direction, much like visitors from America do when they are struck by extreme poverty in third world countries.

While opening my gifts at home I came across a gift bag. I removed the contents and discovered the coveted tome. I looked forward to breaking open the cover and inhaling the fragrance of fresh print while turning the crisp, unread pages. I was prepared to be changed.

However, I was unable to begin my book immediately, so I placed it down until I could set aside some time to sit in my favorite chair and ingest my new read.

When I finally was able to have an hour or so to myself I went to retrieve my book. I searched all of my "book" spots but was unable to locate it in any of the places normally alloted for a favorite book. Worse yet, I couldn't remember who blessed me with such a gift.

I began to worry that something evil was at work here.

I am responsible, so I sat down to write my thank you note to the person I believed gave me the gift and secretly hoped they would not ask how I was enjoying it.

Several weeks passed and I was still unable to locate my book. The funny thing was, I couldn't find the bag or the wrapping that my gift came in either and upon questioning my family I discovered that they had no memory of the book.

After receiving my thank you note, my friend apologetically said she was not the giver of the wondrous gift. She even called several of our mutual friends to see if it came from one of them. No one claimed it.

There was only one explanation.

My excitement about potentially receiving this book and the time spent hearing about the story had occupied so much of my existence it had become embedded in my subconscious.

I had dreamed the whole thing.

Worse than that, I actually wrote a thank you note to someone who didn't get me the gift that I never received.

Not a Domesticated God

"Our central lie is in the discrepancy between the language of worship and the actions of worship. We confess "Jesus is Lord" (Romans 10:9) but only submit to the part of Christ's authority that fits our grand personal designs, doesn't cause pain, doesn't disrupt the American dream, doesn't draw us across ethnic or racial divisions, doesn't add the pressure of too much guilt, doesn't mean forgiving as we have been forgiven, doesn't ask for more than a check to show compassion. We "sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs" (Ephesians 5:19) expressing our desire to know Jesus, but the Jesus we want to know is the sanitized Jesus that looks a lot like us when we think we are at our best. "

Words that sting; not because they are untrue - but precisely because they are too true. This is the essence of Mark Labberton's book, The Dangerous Act of Worship. I came across this book and was struck by the title. What does dangerous worship look like? After carefully reading a few pages to make sure I wasn't purchasing a book that would have me handling snakes or some other theologically questionable activity, I discovered a gem that was certain to challenge me to reconsider the purpose, practice and influence (or lack) of worship.

We worship because we were created to worship. God alone is worthy of our worship and when we worship we reflect the glory of God. Worship is not narrowly defined by our choice of music on Sunday or our liturgical service, but is our life blood, the embodiment of what we believe about the God we serve. Through worship we unequivocally declare what God's power has accomplished. My heart echoed the words of the author, "worship is the one activity that sums up the scope of our lives and fundamentally alters the context in which we live." Amen!

The real question for me is not "what is worship?" but rather, why is the church (God's people) not reflective of worship that truly alters the context of our lives?

Mark Labberton challenges readers to reconsider our dwelling place- are we dwelling in Exodus or in exile? An interesting question that I never quite considered in that way before reading his book. Where we dwell - or at least our perception- carries with it all sorts of markers. Are we just biding our time, passin' through, or are we actively seeking the welfare of the city? I am fortunate to be able to hear my pastor's voice here - he is a faithful minister of the gospel to his sheep and so much of this book echoes his sermons.

Safe worship keeps us from becoming a peculiar people. It keeps us from ministering to those in need. The truly marvelous and mysterious is the realization that our greatest danger is our greatest need - "encountering the living God and responding with our lives." For no one who ever encountered the Living God was left unchanged.

One of my favorite quotes in the book comes from Annie Dillard:

"On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, making up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' hats and straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return."

I appreciated this book so much and would heartily recommend it to my fellow travelers.

Father's Day

Is it possible that it's been almost 6 months since you left? In a strange way it seems like I was just talking to you and yet it also feels like it's been a lifetime. How is that possible? I never got to tell you, because of course we couldn't have known at the time, that the last conversation I had with you was your greatest gift to me.

It was December 27, I was getting ready to run out the door when you called. I was busy with life and the kids and at the time was wanting the conversation to be quickly over because I thought I had more important things to do.

But you didn't notice. You never noticed how distracted I could be. That used to always make me crazy but I am so glad you didn't notice this time.

I can still hear your voice. I am so glad for that.

You got right to the point because you had something you needed to tell me. True to your style, you didn't segway into what was on your heart. That used to bother me, but I learned that was just your way; the uniqueness of you.

Your last words to me are written on my heart -the greatest kindness. I want you to know that.

Here is what you said, I know you remember, but time here has a funny way of slipping away - you know that too. I must write your words down because I don't want to forget. I must never forget.

"I just want to tell you how much I love you and how proud I am of you, honey. I want you to know I couldn't be more proud of you. The way that you and Jim are raising your children to love God makes me so happy. There is nothing that could make me happier than to know that you are raising up your children, my grandchildren, to know and love the Lord. I want you to know that those years after your mom died were tough years, but they were also wonderful years with you girls. Those high school years with you and Cheri are some of my most precious memories. I think back to the trips we took together and they just have meant so much to me. I just wanted you to know that. Lori, I love you. "

I told you I loved you. I told you how thankful I was for your words, how much we were looking forward to our visit - only one week away now. We would all be together, with Cheri, to celebrate a belated Christmas. We would celebrate your birthday and Brooke's too. I had to go but would call before we left for our visit. "Thanks dad, love you."

"Love you too."

I thought about the strange wonderfulness of the conversation all the next day. It was so out of the blue - but that was how you tended to be. We were gone all day, didn't get home until late - no chance to get a phone call from you or to you that day.

The next day Sandy left early for work. You were sleeping when she left; December 29th.

I was entertaining company when the call came.

I always thought I would somehow know the minute you left - that I would feel the absence of you; but I didn't. What was I doing when you crossed from this side of the veil into the next? What was that glorious moment like for you? How could I not feel your journey from this home to that one; your long awaited home. How could my soul not sense you seeing mom after 28 years, or seeing grandma again?

You were gone. It happened sometime in the morning. You were fine and then you were gone. I wasn't ready for that. You were only 67. We were all supposed to be together the next week - we were together, all of us, just not how I planned.

You would have been proud of Cheri and me. And of Sandy, oh dear Sandy. She loved you so well and felt your loss so hard. I know you would have wished it different for her sake. You would have been proud of Shawn and Lisa - how they loved her through it all.

I attended to the details - the myriad of details. I was so thankful for the job. It was a beautiful service - I thought I felt you there when I spoke. Were you allowed to glimpse it? I believe you were, but absent of sorrow somehow.

I loved you in those details. I know you know that. It was my last act of love to you. It was all I had left. When there were no details left and you were gone, I mourned.

I really only wanted to tell you how much that last conversation meant to me. How often I have said to myself, I will never doubt God's love for me again, because He allowed me that final conversation, the blessing I could have never asked for, that you freely gave. Everything a daughter would want to hear said - I heard from your lips.

Thank you daddy.

I feel your absence and miss you dearly,

Your Lori

Detours

Sometimes things just don't turn out the way you plan. In fact, most of the time our lives seem to take a detour from the road we thought we were traveling on. Thankfully the majority of the detours are not big ones, just small enough to be annoying and consistent enough to remind us that we are not in control of our circumstances just in control of our responses to our circumstances.
This is one of those small detours:


We were set to head home from our wonderful vacation at beautiful Lake Chelan, Washington. We had just finished our good-byes to our guests, piled into our car, and I began backing up.

The worst part about mistakes is looking back over them after an "event" has occurred and recognizing the turning point which, if done differently, would have resulted in an "uneventful" occurrence, and when one is referring to a car trip uneventful is generally preferable to an eventful one.

My turning point was when I actually said to my kids, "there is so much stuff in this car I can't even see out the back window." Actually, I suppose the turning point was when I didn't stop and immediately rearrange the junk in the car, but continued to back up.

Now, my car has a fool-proof (not quite, as we shall see) system for backing up. It beeps at the people in the car to alert everyone that the car is positioned precariously close to disaster. As the car moves closer to the object, the car "beeper" grows louder and the beeps closer together. Apparently, it also provides the driver (that would be me) with a false sense of security. I realize that I have been trusting in my fail safe beeper to keep me out of trouble. The problem with my built in signal is that if an object is, say attached and extending from a car, like a bike rack, for instance (hypothetically speaking, of course) and if it is located high enough on the vehicle it simply won't register.

What a great reminder that accidents do happen. We can choose to get all bent out of shape and be upset about it or we can just accept what happened, learn from our mistakes, and move on.

I had my kids with me in the car when we all heard the splintering glass. Jim was nearby in his truck. We both got out of our vehicles, looked things over, repacked my over packed backseat, said how thankful we were that we didn't do any damage to the other vehicle (not even a little scratch or anything) and went out to pizza with our kids.

Later that evening I had some time to reflect on the events of that day. I hope my kids learned that everyone makes mistakes. Thankfully this was a relatively small, albeit inconvenient lapse in judgment. I hope my children realized that we may not get to choose our detours, but we certainly can choose how we react to them. Beating ourselves up, or having a sullen attitude is unprofitable at best and at worst teaches everyone around us that at our core we don't believe God's plan in everything that occurs is truly the best.

I hope that when the bigger mistakes come, as they no doubt will, that my children will be quick to remember that this too is God's best for them. Learn from it, move on, but most of all accept it from the hand of a wise and loving Father who knows exactly what we need, and loves us enough to give us what we need, not what we want.

Mercy and Love

Thank you Lord, for being rich in mercy and great in your love. Thank you that your love is no idle thing - it is constant in its motion, certain in its expectation, and passionate in its desire.

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ, and raised us up with Him, seated us with Him in the heavenly places, in Christ Jesus, in order that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus." Ephesians 2:4-7

I love that this passage demonstrates, through all three verb tenses, the active work of God's love - unfettered by time.

God of my fathers, God of my children, help me to always remember - The God of my salvation is also the God of my sanctification. Stifle the competing voices - the ones who tempt me to believe that my worth is based on my performance - as if I could offer you anything.

Thank you for your patient love, reminding me that you are God of all. You are not angered by my questions, or frightened by my insolence, and do not reject me when I am found wanting. This alone is more than enough and yet there is more. You are a prodigious God- loving more lavishly, with more liberality than I can fathom; unashamed to be my God. Your mercy is ever present and always at work - And you are good.

20th Anniversary Trip

Having just returned from a fabulous anniversary trip, I thought I would share a few highlights of Jim and Lori's excellent adventure to Victoria. Jim surprised me for our 20th anniversary by making all the travel arrangements to an undisclosed location.

Jim did a wonderful job, in spite of his reputation for travel planning, and as you can see, I am one happy camper when I learn where we are staying. Included below are some journal entries that highlight our amazing trip. Since I originally started this blog as a travel blog, I will focus on pertinent info. for all you hopeful travelers out there. I have listed our amazing food travels, including costs and addresses of some of our favorite haunts. Enjoy the trip, we sure did!

On our first day in Victoria, we spend a good deal of time familiarizing ourselves with our surroundings, and of course, making plans for our next meal. We make our way along the harbor and side streets until we arrive at "The Gates of Harmonious Interest" signaling our arrival into China Town.

Turning onto Fan Tan Alley, we squeeze through a narrow passageway littered with brightly colored shops and low hanging signs.


We stumble across a funky coffee house called "Bean around the World" and duck inside.
The eclectic mix of Moroccan bazaar, combined with the sweet smell of home baked goods peaks my curiosity. As I step inside I know instantly that I love this place!

Maybe it's the full size street light with all three colors aglow in the corner of the dining room that wins my affection, or the organic sacks of grain piled in the corner, or maybe it's the simple plank flooring, reminding me that the connection between ages past and present sometimes meet in the most unexpected places.
I order a delicious carmelo and Jim sips an americano while we both devour the most amazing piece of carrot cake I have ever laid eyes on. The music, a strange mix (think jazz meets zither) softly plays in the background. This is definitely a locals' place - no Starbucks atmosphere here.
This is the spot for the best coffee I've had, hands down. If you visit Victoria and are not easily frightened by the pierced and tatooed crowd, you are in for a treat at "Bean Around the World coffee".

We also found our way to Munro's books. A lovely bookstore in the heart of Victoria's downtown, Munro's is a treasure trove of literature in a beautiful historic building.
Irish Times Pub, our choice for dinner, located on Government and View at Bastion Square, boasts hearty pub fare and a jovial crowd. We are seated near the band which begins playing shortly after our arrival. The performer reminds us of an Irish Paul Simon. He is fantastic. He actually sings a song he wrote as a tribute to Elvis impersonators everywhere. How can you not love someone like that?

Jim orders the fish and chips, which we hear are pretty amazing. I decide to branch out of my comfort zone and order the Vancouver Island Fish Cake and I am not disappointed. In case the picture does not produce the desired effect, let me just spell it out for you. My selection, a symphony of dungeness crab, halibut, and brioche, with a poached egg served on a bed of greens, is unbelievable - and I don't even know what brioche is!
We settle in and enjoy our delicious feast with a couple of drinks and I even buy a c.d. from Paul, our performer (his name really is Paul).
Our second day we purchase a ticket for the hop on, hop off Grayline bus. This allows us to explore areas a bit too far to walk to. I snap a few photos of some beautiful churches.




While we stretch our legs, we stumble upon an interesting restaurant that I'm pretty sure will not disappoint. Floyds, on the corner of Quadra and Yates, is just the ticket if you like exceptional food with considerable atmosphere.
Don't let the flamingo pink color discourage you - this is the place to be for breakfast!

Jim enjoys a little wait in the unusually decorated restaurant - I think the employees may have just brought whatever they had in their apartments to work one day; either that or Goodwill had a sale.Wearing my one hippie sweater, I congratulate myself on "fitting in" with the mostly bohemian wait staff. However, as we await our table, my eye quickly catches a poster advertising an exotic dancers for cancer fundraising event and I realize, sadly, I am only a visitor here.

Floyds attracts a diverse crowd, all brought together for the shared experience of all day breakfast, casual dress, and what the nice man next to me refers to as "energy."

Jim, not as comfortable in his newly acquired surroundings, nevertheless a good sport, approaches our discovery with caution. I however, briefly consider getting a tatoo.

I hearken back fondly to my time with Greenpeace. It will probably come as a shock to most of you, but many years ago I organized and led a coalition to stop whaling. I relentlessly petitioned the Ambassador of Japan, writing several harshly phrased letters on behalf of whales everywhere. I even had a following of cohorts who, at my urging, agreed to take up the cause.
Okay, it may have only been about five of my friends, and I may have been in the fifth grade, but with pen in hand I considered myself a formidable ally with my Greenpeace associates.

I do remember worrying that I might be viewed as a threat to U.S. security should my letters to the ambassador be intercepted.

During this time we lived in the Pacific Northwest. Imagine my surprise when Mt. St. Helen's erupted in 1980 and the blast shook our house. Since I was generally an obedient and law abiding child, I lived with the occasional fear commonly acquainted with a life lived on the edge of civil disobedience. It should come as no surprise then that with the eruption of Mt. St. Helens I would naturally be concerned that perhaps my letters had angered the Japanese government. In my eleven year old mind I weighed the probability that the Japanese government finally decided to launch a full scale attack in retaliation against my people. Imagine my relief when I realized it was just the volcano erupting!

I decide against the tatoo after I recall a story about a friend of mine who, in her college years, suffered the natural consequences of poorly selected tatoo placement. Succumbing to peer pressure, she had Winnie-the-Pooh permanently engraved on her abdomen. Many years and three C-sections later, Winnie, no longer a "cuddly little cubby", sadly now morphed into a garish, misshapen caricature of a once beloved childhood icon. In Solomonic irony, her tatoo serves as a reminder of her unfortunate choice.

Whatever your political affiliation, left leaning, conservative, anarchist, green party, Floyds offers delicious, large portioned meals with a sense of humor - which I love! Some of their selections include: The Donald Trump Benny - chicken with apple chutney, and a curry hollandaise sauce; Eggs Ben-Hur - sundried tomatoes with spinach, mushrooms and feta. The Seinfeld - an eggs white omelet - because it's about nothing. I settle on the American Idol Benny -tomato, bacon, avocado, brie cheese topped with an herb pesto hollandaise sauce. If heaven has a taste, I believe it will be the American Idol Benny. Jim orders the Lumberjack - which boasts, "after eating this, you'll either want to take a nap or build something." Breakfast runs around $10.00 a plate.

If heaven has a taste, I believe it will be the American Idol Benny!

We must walk off all this food so we decide to visit the Royal B.C. Museum. A traveling exhibit is in Victoria and it proves well worth the $29.00 ticket. Make sure to throw your walking shoes in though!

Taking a break from the museum, we rest a spell on the veranda of the Empress, where we enjoy a little iced tea, watching the ships troll the harbor while we linger a while longer over our drinks.
Here is a picture of the inside of the Empress

Here is our room Our view from our room- overlooking the harbor
We also tour a castle
We make a new friend One of my highlights was tea at the Empress
The next morning we follow a lead from a local at Floyd's who told us about a great place to eat. Pagliocci's at 1011 Broad St. Another homerun!



Pagliocci's only serves breakfast on Sundays and we happen to hit it just right. Surrounded by bikers, we cram into the restaurant where we dive into the hot bagels brought to our table while we peruse our menu. After some deliberation, Jim selects the eggs benedict while I have the "Cool Hand Luke" special of the day -I'm reminded of Shakespeare - A rose by any other name... I am a sucker for a breakfast with a catchy title and I love Paul Newman. Similarly, I choose not to order the "Hot Transvestite" on principle.

The food is superb! We decide to push our luck and try one more place that our Floyd's friend mentioned for dinner.
Il Terrazzo on Waddington and Johnson, way off the beaten path in the back of an alley was our destination for dinner. After tonight's gastronomic delights I must say that if I happen to run into our friend from Floyd's I might have to kiss that man full on the mouth. It was that good!

I challenge my sweet hubby of 20 years to order something unusual, anything but lasagne! We're in luck because Il Terrazzo does not serve lasagne- hooray! Jim accepts my challenge and selects the buffalo ribs with mashed potatoes and fennel. I'm so proud of him!
I can't wait to dig into my chicken with scallops and prawns over a fuscili pasta with a three cheese sauce. Dinner here runs between $16 - $30. The service is fantastic and the food devine!
We happily settle into our little corner table with a private fireplace. I have the greatest husband ever!

A wonderful trip and great anniversary! We can't wait for our next adventure!

Fashionista

From time to time I get a call to help with some design or decorating dilemma. I make a little money and really enjoy the challenge of creating a visually appealing space that is a reflection of the people who live there. The calls range from, "I'll pay you to help me pick out colors" to "I need new furniture for my house - here's my credit card." (Okay, that last one only happened once, but man was it fun!)

My heart sings when I walk into a well apportioned room, or when I manage to find that classic pencil skirt that fits perfectly. I think this interest began in high school, although visual diversity has developed through at least one uncomfortable situation (see following story). It is just a reminder that youthful exuberance should never be confused with actual skill.

One day I had to run into the local Fred Meyer to pick something up. I had just come from my high school. I was wearing a blue and white striped shirt with a blue vest, blue skirt, white tights, blue earrings, and blue flats. Oh - I also had my blue purse with me. I was styling!
I remember spending a lot of time picking out each piece of my wardrobe and feeling really good about the "matchiness" of it all.

I parked my car and walked up to the door when a man stopped me and asked how late the deli was open. I thought to myself, why would he think I would know that?

At the speed of thought - I realized, to my absolute horror, that he thought I worked at Fred Meyer. Oh my gosh! I was dressed like a deli girl! The poor man's face turned multiple shades of red as he realized I was not coerced into my attire but actually chose my ensemble of my own free will. His face must have matched mine as our mutual mortification sunk in. I still remember the look on his face as he said, "Oh, I thought you..." he stopped in mid sentence. Awkward silence followed. I didn't even go into the store. I went home and threw away my purse.