Gypsy Traveler

this blog be movin'

2004-05-10T21:47:00.000-05:00

thou shall now change thy linkage of this site to...

here.

CNN-you gotta love it

2004-05-07T17:29:00.000-05:00

so, i think i am the only person who actually enjoys watching senate committee hearings. doesn't matter what they are about - i am intrigued and humored at the non-partisan partisan comments and questions tossed about on CNN and any other national channel who chooses to televise against soap operas and jerry springer.

i watched the armed services committee hearing in which rumsfield testified concerning the iraqi prisoner abuse. i've never been a big fan of rumsfield but my respect for him increased somewhat today. it is too bad that people who regurgitate diatribes about prisoner abuse and offer comments, opinions and accusations don't watch the hearings. yes, it takes discernment to understand what is being said and if it is politically motivated.

what did i hear? i heard that there are 18,000 investigations going on currently regarding prisoner abuse across the country. many of the iraqi problems have been and are being addressed. everyone who testified on the panel knew about the problems; NO ONE knew the extent of the current prisoner abuse. (i also heard from one senator that in world war II there was NO abuse by american soldiers. yea, right.)

i was most impressed by a senator who was a former navy officer who obviously had the respect of every single person in the auditorium. space won't allow me to recall all that he said (and i believe he was a democrat - not a bush supporter). it was very simple, he said. he was told by his superiors that if he got a dui, did drugs, mis-represented america in a negative way, he was fired. he turned around and told his subordiates the same. they turned and told their subordinates the same. he said he NEVER had one problem with "his kids".

i want the abuse to be exposed. i want those responsible to be held accountable. but when one senator asked rumsfield what will we now tell other countries about OUR OWN country when talking about human rights, rumsfield spoke exactly what i was thinking. the abuse at the hand of the soldiers who did it is not government-sanctioned. it is a big difference from a government-run "extermination program".

sometimes i don't like watching the hearings that i love watching. because it is obvious as the republicans and democrats take turns, that the questions and the comments ARE in fact partisan. i saw some of that today. but by the end of the day, rumsfield was crusty, impassioned, apparently honest but gracious and cordial.

and when the senators said, "you know you can come to us. we want to work on this WITH you. we can help you." etc. etc. i had to laugh...politics. it will never happen.

i also learned that there are more atrocities that will be revealed; more sordid and dispicable. specifics that on one on this side of the ocean knew about or could imagine; specifics that are learned of by congress, the president and the pentagon on Dan Rather's 60 minutes. meanwhile, these soldiers who conducted the abuse, who have no moral characater and who do not have the decency or value system that most of us uphold reflect on my friend's nephew, my sunday school student's brother and a host of other soldiers who deserve our respect and adulation.

usually the fish DOES stink from the head down; but this time, it appears that what the head didn't know was just how dirty the water was. and hey, it's an election year. the water is sure to get dirtier. on both sides.

and incidentally, i'm still waiting for bin laden and hussein to offer apologies for 911.

Fixed On You - A True Story

2004-04-24T23:19:00.000-05:00

i've begged you to leave again and again. and yet, you insist on staying. you smother me with your need to be close. when i rise, you are there. when i walk away, you are there. when i try to forget you, you won't let me. you make my skin crawl and yet you force me to take you everywhere i go. you won't let go. why do you torment me this way?

it matters not that i am warmed by the sun or cooled by a spring rain - you cling to me desperately against my will. my experiences with you i would rather forget. most i will. but one i will not.

when i was shopping at dillards and reached to select the perfect purse on the sale table you brought me to my knees in humiliation. for as i reached, a bra dangled out of my sleeve - seemingly attached to my shirt, but on closer inspection the truth was apparent. for as you held fast, i knew from whence commeth the undergarment. ... ....static cling.

why can't you leave me alone?

but first there was sam.....richardson daily news July 15 1989

2004-04-18T12:56:00.000-05:00

i didn't know if the timing was right for a new dog. we had put it off for a couple of months. we already had a poodle-like house dog. a real cutey. but he wanted a boy dog. not necessarily a male but the kind of dog a boy can romp with and tussle with. a BIG dog. and he had just seen this commercial about the humane society and how you could adopt a dog...we told him we would think about it but first we had soccer tryouts to worry about. he had been approached by his coach about trying out for club soccer. he was flattered and eager. we didn't discourage him but we knew about contracts and cuts and phone calls in the night. we knew about out-of-town tournaments and extra practices. we talked about the high level of competition and the intensity of the parents and kids. we talked about rejection and self-worth. we talked about life-after-soccer-tryouts. the first cut was brutal. after a 45 minute workout the first day of tryouts one club handed out 10 contracts. there was no need to come back. not willing to drive all over the dallas area in pursuit of the perfect club, we didn't go to any other tryouts until the one in richardson.

but the dog again. okay. okay. after the morning tryouts we would see about going to the humane society to look at the dogs. the tryouts were organized and systematic. the coach was positive and encouraging to all the boys telling them to wait for a phone call during the weekend. again we talked about rejection and self-worth.

that afternoon we went to the humane society. we looked over all the dogs. there was one little brown dog with quite large paws. a dog to grow up with. a playful, loving mutt who took a liking to all members in our family. we had to sign papers and promise to care for this dog properly. the kids had to read the fine print and sign their names too. they would call tos et up an appointment to come out and check our hard and fence.

that night we received no phone calls. i asked my son if he would be upset if he didn't make the club. he reminded me that the coach had said to wait ALL weekend for the call and besides, he would have a new dog anyway.

the next morning the phone rang. my son answered it and handed it over to his father. but not before listening in just long enough to find out who was on the other end. as he tossed the cordless handset across the room he let out a "YES!" while pulling his elbow into his ribs.

he'd made the cut i was sure! ready to offer a congratulatory high-five i reached for my son. he threw his arms around my waist and squeezed. i tried to be casual as i asked him who was on the phone. mother's pride, you know. "the humane society! they're coming today to check the yard!" with that he raced outside.

he never got the other call. it was just as well. we really weren't intense enough and as driven as some of the other families. contracts. cuts. travel. were these things a 10-year old should really be worrying about?

that night he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. he had already designed the best doghouse in the whole world.

(epilogue: sam was a german shepherd/chow/mutt who was with us for a few months before he came down with distemper and had to be destroyed.)

No small miracle....

2003-12-19T12:16:00.000-06:00

Good grief. It's already that time of year again. It always comes too soon. I'm not ready for all this, she thought. She had shopping to do, baked goods to prepare and 15 people coming for Christmas dinner. Of course, that meant thorough housecleaning. It would be a miracle if she pulled it off.

She had to get ready. She and Joseph were going to Bethlehem to be counted in the census and taxed. She had to hurry and prepare food for the long trip and gather cooking utensils and clothing.

This shopping is for the birds! Too much ground to cover in too little time. Her feet were killing her and she wasn't even close to being finished. She wasn't even impressed by the caroling children in the malls. And if she heard one more baby crying, she would scream! She HATED malls!
They traveled for several days. The nights were unbearably cold and the desert by day was hot. Joseph's feet were sore from climbing across streacherous terrain. Mary ached and she was beginning to feel the first pains of childbirth.

I swear, she told herself....if I never get behind the wheel of a car at Christmas it will be too soon. People were so rude and in such a hurry. What Christmas spirit? Even their faces were sour and expressed as much impatience as she was feeling. Every signal light just meant another traffic jam.
When they arrived in Bethlehem the streets were crowded with people. People on donkeys or camels and some on foot. Joseph could hardly make it through the crowds. After glancing at Mary's face, he knew he must hurry. He gave the donkey a whack and continued.

It was a ripoff! How could they charge so much for one sweater. And it was the one her daughter just had to have. Of course, it was only one of several thing on the list that would quickly use up her Christmas bonus. She shrugged and sighed. Oh well, there was always plastic.

Their possessions were counted and weighted. The tax collector took most of their money. They had very little left. Hopefully it would be enough for a room at the inn.

She punched the garage door opener and pulled into the garage, the door dropping behind her. She stared out the car window at the oil spots on the garage floor and the flaking plaster on the walls. As she walked into the house a blast of warm air hit her in the face and she threw her keys on the table. Better get to it she told herself. This was the part she really HATED. Every Christmas she wished she could turn her house into one of those showcases on the other side of town. Lots of tinsel and angels and handmade ornaments and garland of pine draped on a curved staircase. Too bad. Right now her main concern was getting it cleaned up. Wrapping paper and ribbon and empty tape rolls were strewn across the den floor, to say nothing about the mountains of laundry waiting to be done.
There was no room in the inn. They were directed to the back of the inn where the stables were located. They had to climb over people who were already crowded among the smelly oxen and donkeys. They found a vacant stall and Mary collapsed against the cold rock wall.

She looked around the room. Everything was finally ready. She hoped. Presents were wrapped and the stockings were waiting to be filled. She had found everything her children had asked for and a little more. The house was clean and decorated. The ham, although costing more than budgeted, smelled wonderful and the Christmas fudge was waiting to be devoured. She had done it. No small miracle. She smiled smuggly.
Mary and Joseph looked about the stable. The hay snapped beneath the restless feet of the animals. Joseph built a fire to keep them warm. He peeked through a crack in the wall and noticed a bright star in the sky. He looked back at the small figure wrapped in swaddling clothes nestled in Mary's arms. This was the miracle they had been promised. Such love he had never known.

What's this baby doing in a feed box?

2003-12-18T01:06:00.000-06:00

Santa had come for a visit. The children gathered around eagerly; well, most of the children did. A few hid tearfully behind concrete pillars and underneath chairs, bravely peeking between trembling fingers held tightly in front of wide eyes. Oh, they wanted what he had to give them - a present wrapped in holly-covered paper and a red and white striped candy cane. But some reluctantly decided that a view from afar was worth the sacrifice of having to sit on this huge, bearded man's lap. And maybe they could get the present without getting too close. One little girl cheerfully climbed up and plopped down, straightening her ruffles and bows before gazing into Santa's face. Have you been a good little girl? What do you want for Christmas? She had to repeat it several times before Santa could understand her and he still wasn't sure what she had said. Monopoly? Nail polish? She looked straight into his eyes, furrowed her brow and said, "NO!" Santa said something aboaut his hearing being bad and shifted his weight in the red velvet chair as he handed her the present she had come for. The little girl smiled and jumped down, running to the back of the room to open her present. Soon it was time for the party and carols and the Christmas story. The little girl sat quietly at the table, staring at the festive paper plate before her. She ate just a few bites of the cookies and then stood up and stomped over to the teacher and held up a box that contained a floor-sized puzzle. "This was NOT what I asked for!" The teacher tried to explain that probably, on Christmas Day, she would get what she wanted but that sometimes it was nice to be surprised and that we don't always get what we want. A hard concept to understand when you are just four years old. It was probably a difficult concept to accept 2,000 years ago as well. A barn? Swaddling clothes with prickly pieces of hay sticking the baby? Ox and ass pacing restlessly in the cold of night? Barefoot shepherds peering into a smelly stable? Well, it certainly wasn't what the people were expecting. They didn't ask for a baby peacefully sleeping while cattle lowed and probably said to each other, "What's this baby doing in a feed box?" They wanted a castle and royal parentage. The packaging was too simple and the gift a disappointment. But, gratefully, for many the disappointment of this humble birth soon turned into the most glorious surprise ever. It wasn't what they wanted. It was so much more!

"This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste to bring him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary."

The Gift They Didn't Ask For

2003-12-18T01:05:00.000-06:00

Santa had come for a visit. The children gathered round eagerly; well, most of the children did. A few hid tearfully behind concrete pillars and underneath chairs, bravely peeking between trembling fingers held tightly in front of wide eyes. Oh, they wanted what he had to give them - a present wrapped in holly-covered paper and a red and white striped candy cane. One little girl cheerfully climbed up and plopped down, straightening her ruffles and bows before gazing into Santa's face. Have you been a good little girl? What do you want for Christmas? She had to repeat it several times before Santa could understand her and he still wasn't sure what she had said. Monopoly? Nail Polish? She looked straight into his eyes, furrowed her brow and said, "NO!" Santa shifted his weight in the red velvet chair as he handed her the present and candy cane she had come for. The little girl smiled, jumped down and ran to the back of the room to open her present. When it was time for the party and carols and Christmas story the little girl sat quietly at the table staring at the festive paper plate in front of her. She ate just a few bites of her food and then stood up and walked over to the teacher holding up a box containing a floor-sized Christmas puzzle. "This is NOT what I asked for!" The teacher tried to explain that probably on Christmas Day she would get what she wanted but that sometimes it was nice to be surprised and that we don't always get what we want. A hard concept to understand when you are just four years old.

It was probably a difficult concept to accept 2,000 years ago as well. A barn? Swaddling clothes with prickly pieces of hay sticking the baby? Ox and ass pacing restless in the cold of night? Barefoot shepherds peering into a smelly stable whose only light came from millions of stars in a winter sky? Well, it certainly wasn't what the people were expecting. They wanted so much more. They didn't ask for a baby peacefully sleeping while cattle lowed. They probably said to each other "What's this baby doing in a feedbox?" They wanted a castle and royal parentage. The packaging was too simple and the gift a disappointment. But, gratefully, for many the disappointment of this humble birth soon turned into the most glorious surprise ever. It wasn't what they wanted. It was so much more!

"This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste to bring him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary."

God's whisper.....

2003-11-19T10:28:00.000-06:00

Our "resident researcher" who provides pages (last week: 214 pages) of notes for the purpose of sermon preparation has been generous enough to email me his notes each week. I enjoy reading, highlighting and learning, absorbing the historical data and snippets of wisdom I find on the pages. This week about half-way through the notes, I came upon a sermon by John Piper. It was a serendipitous discovery! For it settled the restless wonderings I had expressed in my first blog. "How is it possible that I grieve like the hopeless, yet I have hope?" Read on:

"Glen and Patty's almost two-year-old died in his crib at Children's Hospital. We sat stunned as the grandparents held him and mom and dad held him. One of the things Patty said through tears was, 'How do people bear it who have no hope'. As I was leaving I passed through the lobby, and down the hall I heard another person sobbing great heaving sobs and saw two people in each other's arms. And I wondered, 'Do they have hope?' You can't tell from the sobs."

The next sentence jumped off the page: "The hopeful and the hopeless both sob when someone precious is amputated from your life. The difference is mainly on the inside, and then how you live."

I consider this a whisper in my ear from God.

2003-11-18T18:17:00.000-06:00

I asked to have the rocks removed. And large chunks of concrete. Rocks and concrete that had been piled in our side yard for months. Finally, a friend brought his jeep and carted off several loads which left the side yard empty. Except for the large, black poles. I wasn't sure what they were but was certain we didn't need them. Our friend encouraged my husband to discard them. Oh, but not so easy. For those were the support poles for our son's basketball goal. A basketball goal long since taken down and thrown away. Yep, my husband resisted. Why? Sheepishly he admitted that throwing them away represented the end of an era. And he wasn't quite ready to give that up.

Well, today it turned cold. It was cloudy and crisp and I opened the windows in the kitchen and put a pot of soup on the stove. And my thoughts turned to the basketball poles. For it was at this time of night that the congregation of pre-teen boys in shorts and jersey's (no coats, of course)would show up in our driveway. Occasionally, one would dart in the back door, grab a drink or something to eat out of the pantry and dash back outside. The neighbors got used to the noise and the errant ball that often ended up on the other side of the fence. When dinner was ready, our son would say goodbye to his friends and come in, sweaty despite the cool air with flushed cheeks - very hungry!

So the poles are gone. And the boys in the driveway...... my pantry is full and the neighbors no longer find basketballs under piles of musty leaves.

I guess my husband was right. The end of an era.....and THAT is pretty hard for any of us to give up!

2003-11-18T18:16:00.000-06:00

Don't fence me in.......

2003-11-17T14:50:00.000-06:00

An outing with our tenth graders to the Brown's farm Saturday just a little over an hour outside of the metropolis of Dallas and a little north of Decatur placed us smack dab in the middle of the country. We rode four-wheelers - we rode horses - we fed the cows and the stray cat that has become part of the family....we made a campfire, we roasted hotdogs and made s'mores...we rode 4-wheelers at night.....we saw armadillos, deer, wild turkeys and a couple of dead possum. I absolutely LOVED the outing!

"Home, home on the range....." "Don't fence me in....." "And the skies are not cloudy all day..." I guess it is in my fourth-generation Texas roots....I LOVE big skies! A day doesn't go by at this time of year that I don't admire and comment aloud about the incredible cloud formations and the spectatular sunsets along a HUGE horizon. I love forests and trees and mountains majesty but...."give me land, lots of land under starry skies above..."

Well, the 10th graders left and Bev and I stayed for the night. Around 10pm we decided to take a walk - we took a flashlight for emergency use but did not intend to use it and didn't. It was so dark we couldn't see the feature's on each other's face. An hour later we were standing in the middle of a cow-turded pasture, talking in whispers, in awe, with starry skies above. Looking up, up, up, well aware of the expanse of open land around us, noticing falling stars and hazy clusters of stars that followed us as we walked to the highest point of the pasture. A glow in the distance reminded us of the closeness of civilization and the busyness of nearby cities....but was it the lights of a city casting the glow? We weren't sure. For we weren't anywhere close to a "city". A town, maybe. Or a stop-in-the-road. Indian-summer heat lightning danced on the horizon but we still had a hard time figuring out the distant glow. We got back to the cabin an hour later, went in and got ready for bed. One of us glanced out the window and discovered the source of the glow - the moon was rising! It had been trying to all night! We had waited for it. We had reluctantly headed back to the cabin still wondering about the mysterious light that was muted behind the clouds. Marfa lights? No. Decatur lights? Maybe. Northern lights? Not in Texas!

Just the big ole moon rising over the silent countryside that smelled of clover and wild honeysuckle.
We both went outside to get a good look. One more deep breath of fresh country air. The campfire was smoldering, the 4-wheelers in their place in the barn and the horses and cows bedded down for the night.

"Good night, Bev."

"Good night, Jan."

"Good night, Moon."

2003-11-06T14:39:00.000-06:00

The Best Things in Life Are $2.99....

Who said the best things in life are free? According to our twenty-six year old daughter, one of the best things in life actually cost $2.99. She was brousing through the Borders on-line bookstore and began to search for a book she remembered from her childhood. Oh, it was much more than a book - more of a delicious memory embedded deep within her sensitive heart. When she was very small, her dad used to read to her every night. We used to tease about our trips to the library where he would select those books with no words - the books where you can make up your story according to how you perceive the pictures. But there was one wordbook that was special - a favorite of my daughter's and she and her dad soon began to act it out at bedtime. The story was about a little bear who didn't want to go to bed. The big daddy bear would put little bear on his shoulders and wander around the house "looking" for little bear. Together, with little bear holding on tight and giggling all the way, they would look in closets, under beds, behind drapes until finally the daddy bear would stop in front of a mirror and exclaim, with feigned surprise, "THERE is Little Bear!" Well, this story became a nighttime ritual to the delight of our daughter! Her bedtime wasn't complete without a run around the house, sitting atop her Dad's shoulders, giggling just like Little Bear. Having wished for years that she could find that book which was probably long-since lost or accidentally sold in a garage sale, she was delighted to find it for sale on-line. But wait! She noticed that there was one "in-store" in the town in which she lives. Without a moment's hesitation she ran to her car and dashed to her neighborhood Borders Bookstore and found a stack containing numbers of Little Golden Books on sale for $2.99 each. She began to dig, tossing books aside in search of Goodnight Little Bear. And, finally, she found it. The last one in the store! Oblivious to anyone who might feel a little disconcerted at a grown, twenty-something sitting on the floor in the middle of discarded books clutching a Little Golden Book against her heart, she smiled. And she smiled all the way to the register and all the way home to the apartment she shares with her husband of one and a half years. She told me she was still smiling when she called me to share her find with me! And the shared memory made me smile.

2003-11-04T00:08:00.000-06:00

i wandered into the children's wing of the church today and noticed artwork being displayed prominently on the walls of the hallway. open house! come see my work and be proud of me. moms and dads would soon be admiring works of art as well as the home center, the block center and the math center. now how hard can it be to follow your 5 year old into his classroom and recognize him as the brightest, smartest, most wonderful gift God has given you. well, i once gave my class of 4 year olds the task of creating a self portrait. in some instances, the accomplishment of this task measures self-awareness and an understanding of body parts. i found that is also measured the ability of one parent to hand a subtle message to his child that being different was not a good thing. for this little boy had created a self-portrait not at all like the other 10 children in the class. most self-portraits contained a large, uneven circle for the head and longer-still legs and arms. facial features were blurred but recognizeable. this little boy's paper contained one straight line smack-dab in the middle of the page. his parents stood and gazed at the gallery of artwork. i could see his father's eyes wandering from manilla paper to manilla paper. i could see his father's eyes begin to narrow, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his son's self-portrait. i told the little boy to tell his parents about his self-portrait. with a beautiful smile on his face the little boy proudly told us that in HIS picture, he was a straw. oh, and the uneven round circle beside the straw was a spaceship. the mother laughed and the father glared. it was then that i was glad i was his teacher. for it was my own son who, bored with first grade math, had worked his math problems in the shape of an x. he never worked them sequentially; he made sure that each problem solved was a part of a creation. now that took some thought AND left out some answers. one time he worked problems on the first row, the 3rd row and a few on the last row so that the pattern of answers created an airplane. how sad i was for this little boy in my class whose father couldn't celebrate his child's unique personality. that little boy was a special child. i just hope his father realizes it before it is too late.

2003-11-02T08:11:00.000-06:00

Some people think we are crazy; others KNOW we are. But as I explained to many, if I can drive 10 hours to Arkansas and back in a day for a pre-Road Rules trip, I can certainly drive 5 hours to San Antonio and back for a funeral....a funeral that celebrated the life of a 21-year old who died of a heart attack in the middle of the night. But as usual (and some attribute the constant wondering to birth order - analytical middle child syndrome) I wondered a lot. (Isn't there a Christmas melody about wondering as I wander?)

I wandered through Texas hill country and wondered aloud to my friends about the familiar scripture intended to comfort and sustain. Yes, I know there is a room prepared for me and I know death can't separate me from the love of Christ....and.....and....I know and I believe. But the scripture that settled in depth of my gut talked about grieving. "Grieve, but not like the hopeless." And on the way back to Dallas, I shared that I believe and I hope but I DO grieve LIKE the hopeless. I remembered the pastor sharing that the source of the strength this young man's parents showed throughout this sad unexpected tragedy was not from their personality but from their Savior. So, I decided, I have the hope and the belief but not the strength. Is that just my personality? Am I less a faithful Christian than these parents who joyfully celebrated that God is good and that they were blessed to have this child for 21 years instead of 60? Am I more sensitve or do I understand less? Do I feel more deeply or is my hope weak?

My hope is built on nothing less...

2003-10-28T09:58:00.000-06:00

Richard is coming back from England tonight and I will no longer be spending the nights with Cara and getting Collen to "church school". Today Collen slept in; I had to wake him and we were late to school. I didn't care. Collen didn't care. We still went through our usual morning routine. He carried the car keys and strolled down the sidewalk, stopping now and then to examine an ant or a wet piece of grass. As I secured him in his carseat he settled back for the short ride to the church. Once there, he grabbed the keys again and wandered up the steps and across the grass, throwing his hands in the air occasionally and spewing forth babbling and undecipherable babytalk. After several days of practice, he finally remembered to knock on the church door and we walked through to his world of playground toys and fishtanks and midmorning snacks. The church workers, as usual, greeted him and he shyly waved goodbye to each of them as he strutted down the hall toward his classroom, stopping now and then to admire the lifesize baby pictures on the walls of the children's wing.

Hurry to school because we were late? Not on your life! Our world is too full of hurry and time schedules and places to be. Eighteen months is young enough to explore the world around us and take it slow. But then, I think 54 years is young enough to do the same!