Throw Open the Drapes!

Oh. My. Stars. I've just had an epiphany. A revelation. A break-through in understanding my oh-so-strange self.

Early this morning I posted a funny piece about being recognized this week by a reader solely because of the crazy hat I was wearing (see my writer's blog: www.gritfortheoyster-book.blogspot.com). I closed by asking my three readers if they thought my hats could possibly be my brand, since the buzz these days from my editor is that every writer needs a brand (something to set him/her apart from the herd).

I got some great responses but one in particular made my jaw drop, my heart pound and my wide-open eyes finally see something I haven't been able to see for 40 years. No kidding. I felt like somebody pulled up the shades of my brain and light finally beamed into a corner that's been dark most of my life.

Okay. Here's what happened.

A childhood school chum, Vicki, responded to my hat question with a question of her own: "Just curious - are you the daughter that didn't remember to brush her hair? I started carrying a brush in my purse after your mom (my teacher at the time) told our health class how important it was to keep your hair brushed. She said she had a daughter that she always had to remind of this ... was it you?"

I was suddenly transported back to middle school and relived in writhing agony a memory I had apparently blocked soon after it happened. I was a gorky sixth grader at the time and was quietly slipping into Mama's classroom to stick something - I don't remember what - in her purse. I was tip-toeing and holding my breath, trying so hard not to draw attention to myself while she was up front teaching.

Suddenly, she stopped her hygiene lecture cold and told everyone to turn around and look at my hair as an example of "poor grooming habits." They were 7th graders - a whole year older than me - and of course I didn't know any of them, so I was absolutely mortified. And horror of all horrors, there were at least ten boys in that room. I ducked my head and dashed out the door just as the first giggles began to titter around the room.

Forty years later, sitting in my computer chair reliving this long-oppressed memory, my face flushed and I wanted to crawl beneath my desk. Another niggling thought made me cringe: That wasn't Vicki's class, so Mama must have told more than one of her classes. Gulp. 

But then all of a sudden the angels began singing that full-bodied, eight-note "Ahhhh" chord that means something important just happened and the light bulb popped on in my head. THAT's why I have a hat fetish! Now I get it! I've never been able to explain to my family why I keep wearing those confounded " embarrassing" hats that my kids used to beg me to hide when their friends were around. Why I just have to buy every cute and perky hat I see. Why my closet looks like the Cat in the Hat exploded.

What an "Ah-ha" moment!

One of my deepest mysteries is now uncovered. Revealed. Divulged. And it makes me wonder how many more of my quirky behaviors result from some squirreled away childhood incident.

Righty then. Now that I've spilled my guts, I want to sift through some of your guts too! How about it? Are you brave enough to go there? What odd little behaviors can you trace back to your past? Maybe something you remember your grandmother doing or a comment your dad made that changed the way you look at things. C'mon, dig deep.

Don't fret - I'll keep thinking too. The next goofy behavior I want to understand is why I put salt on my watermelon.

Activating Change

We continuously hear the term "political activist" batted around the media, sometimes as an accolade, sometimes with a distinct sneer (depending upon who's reporting and what side they're on).

Recently, I've become aware of a different kind of activist; someone whose goal is not only to change their city and country, but to change the whole world one heart at a time.

A spiritual activist.

This kind of activist is not motivated by political gain or partisan power, but by a deep, visceral drive to help others in the single most important way a person can. By saving their eternal lives. By introducing them to peace and joy and hope that can't be found anywhere else on this earth.

I recently attended the funeral of one of these spiritual activists. His name to us was affectionately, "Rev." David Nicholas was the cool/hip/rad minister of a (at the time) small church in Boca Raton, when my husband Chuck attended high school in the early 70s. Rev led Chuck and then his entire family to the Lord, and went on to grow a mighty evangelistic church and make a huge spiritual difference in the lives of many generations.

Another spiritual activist is Cookie Gray, a gracious woman who has touched the hearts of thousands of women through her ministry at Brandon Florida's LifeCare Center. Cookie, a polio survivor, selflessly councils women in the throes of devastation due to unexpected pregnancy, STD's, financial ruin, and a host of other life-altering problems. She does it from her wheelchair. And always with a sweet spirit, open heart and kind smile.

I look at these awesome people - Rev and Cookie - and become at first humbled and then motivated to become a spiritual activist myself. Some might say, "Aw, they're just doing their jobs," but in truth, activism became their jobs because of the conviction of their hearts.

We can all be spiritual activists - ministers, really - regardless of our profession. There are no greater evangelists than garbage collectors, store clerks and bank tellers whose actions profess their faith louder than words on an everyday, every hour basis. In faith, like in writing, showing is always more effective than simply telling.

I look at my role as a hand therapist and author, and my mind is flooded with memories of times I wasn't much of a minister. In fact, I'd categorize my inner thoughts and outward responses as more like Rambo than Mother Teresa.

But I can do better. And I will.

(That's one of the best things I learned from years of tennis lessons: Instead of beating myself up over past mistakes, adopt the positive manta, "I can and will  do better." It's much more productive!)

How about you? Can you do better? Who's your spiritual activist role model?

Rip Off

Thou shalt not steal.


Those four simple words echoed through my brain recently when my brand new website was kidnapped and held for ransom.

No kidding.

Naively, I never knew such a thing existed until my longsuffering husband Chuck woke up at 7 a.m. (after working on the website until 2:30 the night before) and logged on to add a few finishing touches.

Instead of his wife's intricate website he'd spent more than sixty hours pouring his time and energies into, he found a blank screen. Letter by eerie letter, a profanity-laced message appeared stating that the site had been heisted by "Hacker Ali." If we ever wanted to see it again, we must arrange payment through the French e-dress listed.

Intellectual Property Theft. A shattered sense of security.

It happens more often than many of us realize. Just ask those who've had their identity stolen and have been forced, through no fault of their own, to forfeit scads of precious time and money attempting to regain what was rightfully theirs in the first place.

In many cases authorities have no recourse. Our policing technology of online theft has not kept pace with the ingenuity of the bad guys, such as Hacker Ali, who hide behind layers of protective screens and cleverly leave no discernible trail.

Stealing. Taking what is not ours. Why is the eight commandment so widely ignored in our society? Scripture forbidding stealing includes not only Exodus 20:15, but also Leviticus 10:11. And Exodus 22:3 goes even further to say that if thievery occurs, restitution must be made to the extreme of the thief being sold into slavery if redemption of property is not possible.

God takes stealing seriously. And so should we. Even seemingly innocuous, everyone-does-it transgressions like pocketing the extra dollar the clerk mistakenly gave in change, taking office supplies home from work, or fudging on income tax.

Why is it such a big deal? Because stealing dishonors the name of our God (Proverbs 30:9).

Not only is He watching, but often little eyes are soaking up our example of living out real Christianity regardless of social mores that diss integrity and idolize pirates, cool criminals and "gangstas."

If we don't live our faith, they won't.

And that would be the most tragic rip off of all.

BB Gun Stand-Off

"Oh, aren't they adorable?" I asked Spouse just yesterday as we stood in our front yard observing the new crop of baby squirrels that appear every spring about this time.

Carefree little furry rodents chased each other around our big oak tree, scurrying up to perch on low, spreading limbs to peer at us peering back.

At that moment, a shadow passed over us as a red-tailed hawk circled overhead, casing the joint for lunch. The clueless baby squirrels were easy prey and more than once I'd watched helplessly as a hawk swooped down to skewer one of "my" babies with its razor sharp talons.

The evil beasties won't even release the poor squealing squirrel when I throw whatever is handy, or even if I run screaming right at them.

"I'm really going to get a BB gun this year," I threatened for the 100th time. I say that every year but Spouse convinces me that I'd end up in the slammer for one reason or another if I start messing with guns. No doubt he's right.

So this morning on my neighborhood walk, I come upon one of my neighbors traipsing around his yard with a BB gun, looking up into the tree branches. Aha! Now this guy's got the right idea!

Before I can open my mouth to commend him and ask if I can borrow it for the horrible hawk infestation on my street, he points the gun upward and fires. AT A SQUIRREL!

"What are you doing?" I cry, when I really want to say, "That's not a hawk - is your eyesight really that bad or are you just an idiot?"

"Gotta get rid of these pesky squirrels," he says, like he deserves a medal or something. "They're wrecking my pool enclosure and stipping my blueberry bushes. We need to import more hawks to get rid of them."

All I could do was stand there with my mouth hanging open.

It reminded me of my tennis buddy who disagrees with me on every single social or moral issue right down the line. She's hardline liberal and I'm hardline conservative and never the twain shall meet. Yet we consider each other friends and enjoy playing tennis together often. How? We agree to disagree and leave politics off the court.

I guess sometimes neighbors have to agree to disagree. That or give everybody BB guns and let them shoot it out until there are no squirrels or hawks or even people left and although everybody wins, nobody wins.

As they say, there are always two sides to every issue, and if we're emotionally involved, it's tremendously hard to see the other side.

Kind of like the two sides of the aligator issue. We Floridians have learned to live with gators and respect their habits and habitats. After all, they were here first. They can't help who they are - we have to just accept that they devour fluffy little dogs that come near them and keep our dogs away. And during mating season, they get aggressive, so we give them extra space. LOTS of space.

But some northerners don't get it and think they should be wiped out completely - why tolerate a killer species that serves mankind no useful purpose? (That point is certainly debatable.)

During my conversation with such a person, I found it difficult to see his side until I realized he was speaking from fear. Fear of the unnknown and fear born of ignorance. He knew very little about gators except all the bad stuff he read in the newspaper on the rare occasion when someone is killed by one. So his opinion was formed by unbalanced data. Information weighted to one side of the issue, with nothing for counter-balance.

Which means, I suppose, that we must take it upon ourselves to become educated about both sides of an issue before we stake our position. Or break out the BB guns and be the last one standing.

Chillin' with Your Peeps

What a fun girls night out!

A group of us neighborhood girlfriends put on the ritz and strutted our bling at a stage play performance at our local Performing Arts Center. Boy were we stylin' - even though someone told me I looked a bit gangsta in my new $7 pinstiped suit (YAY for consignment shops!).

No matter. Nothing was going to spoil the night. I can do Bonnie and Clyde if it means chillin' with my peeps.

It's so important for women to make girlfriend time a priority, but it's not something most of us do on a regular basis. Pity. We miss so much when we don't spread our wings with the flock.

Girlfriends are our link to levity when reality becomes too intense, our safety nets when we're freefalling. They're the distributors of grace when we're fragile, tears when we're broken, and warm hugs to begin fitting the pieces back together. (Excerpted from my upcoming book, More Beauty, Less Beast).

Aristotle said, "The anecdote for fifty enemies is one friend."

Just think what six friends can do for you! These gals are actually part of our neighborhood Bible Study group that meets every Friday at rorating houses. We average ten and although we started meeting for an hour at our inception two years ago, we can barely stop after two hours now.

I think that's because everyone needs a soul sister, a kindred spirit who offers unconditional love and acceptance. A safe place where we can store our secrets and be sure they won't leak. What a blessed bonus if you're dedicated to studying and applying scripture together! Too cool. Someone to travel the life road with - speed humps, potholes, sharp turns and all.

Did you know that fun is actually contagious? A British medical journal concluded from social experiments that happiness transferred between people can last up to a year. A year! So it's true - when you smile, the whole world really does smile with you!

So who are your peeps? Do you have a soul sister or a possibly a group of kindred spirits? If not, how about starting one?

Trust me, you'll never regret it.

Irradicating Vultures (Part 2)

On my last posting, I mentioned that my unfortunate neighbors have an infestation of vultures lurking on their roof.

I rode my bike over to snap this picture and although there was a whole line-up of taloned criminals when I arrived, only four were willing to hang around for the mug shot. Note the happy bird roosting in the chimney. Looks like the gang plans to hole up for a while.

My previous point was - and is - why would carnivores hang around unless there was plenty to eat? I'm talking dead stuff. Carrion. Rotting meat.

In a human sense, not unlike some of the dearly departed plans I've never followed through on, or discarded projects, or spiritual good intentions gasping their last breaths. Deceased, all, and ready to be devoured by those nasty vultures hanging out on my roof. Well fed critters, my vultures.

So how do I rid myself of these death mauraders whose shadow lurking over my head makes me feel that just another failure is inevitable?

I got a clue in trying to get close enough to snap these photos. When I first rode up on the street, they generally ignored me. With my first step into the yard, the first vulture took off. With each subsequent step bringing me closer - although they were twenty feet over my head on the roof and I was no actual threat - more and more of them flew away. The closer a living, breathing, powerful force got to them, the faster they took flight. By the time I was beneath the eaves, not one bird remained.

Vultures aren't intimidated one bit by defunct, lifeless, decaying debris, but pit them against a vibrant life force and they're overwhelmed. They're intimidated. They're out of there. Gone like an Egyptian dictator. (But that's another story.)

So it occurred to me - maybe that's how I can get rid of the debilitating vultures looming in my own life: ask for help from the biggest, most powerful life force there is. Those unseen spiritual vultures bringing me down - defeat, depression, disillusionment - can't remain in His presence.

And that's spiritual warfare in a nutshell.

Bye bye birdie.

Vultures on the Roof

During my daily walks around my subdivision, I can't help but notice that one of my neighbors has a vulture infestation.

That's right - a whole covey or flock (or whatever) of vultures, of all beasties, have taken to lining up in a row across the very peak of his roof.

Now vultures aren't cute like sparrows or doves; they're huge, black, hulking preditors with scary, hungry eyes, dagger-like talons and an ominous, sharp beak that could rip a body to shreds. And often does.

But the thing is, vultures eat dead things. They're raptorial birds that exist almost entire on carrion. If a creature is running, hopping, limping, or even still squirming, they won't touch it. They'll wait patiently, stalking the poor critter until it finally kicks the bucket.

So I wonder what the heck those vultures on that roof are waiting for? They wouldn't be hanging around if there wasn't plenty to eat. They'd take off for deader pastures.

Now this puzzles me.

The more I think about it, I begin to wonder if maybe I don't have vultures on my own roof. Maybe not the beak and feathers kind, but some sort of nasty, formless, spiritual predators who continue to lurk around because I keep them well fed with dead stuff.

Yep, I discard tons of dead stuff ... failed relationships, half-cocked ideas that I never got around to thinking through to fruition, projects that I started but never completed. A vulture's smorgasboard of demise, dissolution and decay.

They're up there, circling, hovering, waiting. I just know it.

I don't want them peering at me with their black, beady eyes any more, stalking me ... waiting on me to falter at something else so they can sink their bloody talons in.

So what do you think? How do I shake the vulture paranoia and shoo the horrible creatures away?

(Stay tuned for the next installment of vulture fumigation 101!)




 

The Power of Descriptions

I was in a bread store today, headed down the aisle to pick up my regular two loaves of honeywheat, when I overheard a conversation that grabbed my attention.

Tall, freckled, mousy-haired woman: "Hey, Edna, I haven't seen your Ruthie since she was in kindygarden. What does she look like now that she's all growed up?"

Short, fat, frizzy-haired woman: "Well, I reckon she looks a lot like me - petite but maybe a little chubby, with wavy hair and glasses."

I did a double take. Was she serious? I would NOT have described the 200-lb woman speaking as "petite" or even "a little chubby" in a million years. Maybe "obese," "rotund," or "dumpy."

Nor would I have thought of her thin, wispy hair as "wavy" - I think "curly" might have been too generous. Think Brillo Pad or Chia Pet here.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that few of us probably describe ourselves as others do - because we perceive ourselves in a way that preserves as much self-esteem as possible. And that's a good thing. If we don't think of ourselves in a positive light, who else will?

I think it's time to tweak the way I think of people - even in the privacy of my own head. I would much rather give someone the dignity that comes along with being "svelte" as opposed to "skinny;" "big boned" rather than "behemouth;" "mature" instead of "old;" "assertive" instead of "pushy."

And I hope they do me the same service.

Signing off,
Your frosted (not graying),
flowing-haired (not split-ended),
healthy (not plump),
energetic (not ADD),
au natural (no make-up on at the present),
friend (even if you don't know me, you'd like me better if you thought of me as a friend),
Deb

In the Beginning ...

I was reviewing some interesting (and a bit offbeat) notes I'd jotted down during my recent study of Genesis and thought I'd share a few of them with you. I'd love to hear your comments!

1. Gen 4:1 - Right after Eve had a big falling-out with God, she named her new baby Cain, which means, "With the help of the Lord." Cool. After all she'd been through with the forbidden fruit and getting kicked out of the Garden of Eden (blowing it for all humanity and all), she still was able to get past the anger and guilt and recognize where her blessings came from.

2. Gen 4:13-14 - Cain's response to punishment for his sin (murder of his brother) was not remorse and repentance, but self-pity. So how do I respond when caught in sin ... defensiveness? Anger? Self-pity?

3. Gen 4:16 - You can actually choose to leave the Lord's presence; Cain did. Do I?

4. Gen 4:26 - the beginning of "church" upon the arrival of Seth to Adam and Eve (after Seth had a son). Now we can do "church" anytime, anywhere.

It's a Rocky Road!

Call me a marshmallow. I guess I am when it comes to my little furry friends.

Take Rocky, for instance. He's not even my dog (he belongs to my daughter, pictured left), but the poor little guy is so needy, I can't help but sympathize. He was recently whining in pain from a slipped disc, so to help immobilize the lesion site, I used my occupational therapy splinting skills to make him a little body brace.

What an ordeal! You just haven't lived until you've made a squirmy 5-lb dog a body brace. And then it never occurred to me to check the placement of the belly straps until he stood pathetically looking up at us in the yard when we told him to go potty. Turns out one of the straps was directly over his little wiener. When we removed it, he went for 30 solid seconds.

Live and learn. That particular problem never came up in my 30+ years of fabricating splints for humans.

I don't know if it's a "tiny dog" problem or just Rocky, but the little fellow shivers practically nonstop from October until March. If the temp dips below 65, he quivers like a tower of Jello. We've taken to heating up a beanbag and slipping it under the blanket in his doggie bed. If we forget, he stands beside the bed shaking from head to tail like his paw is stuck in the electrical outlet, giving us the puppy-dog eyes until we get up and pop the thing in the microwave.

The other day I got home around noon and walked into the bedroom. I noticed the electric blanket light beaming from my bedside stand, so I went over to turn it off., My husband Chuck, who isn't exactly known for his canine affinities, popped up behind me, saying, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I must have left the electric blanket on this morning," I replied. "I'm just turning it off."

"No, don't do that," he said, looking sheepish.

It was then I noticed a small lump beneath the bed covers. The lump moved. For heaven's sake - the man who outwardly had little sympathy for four-legged creatures had put the dog in our bed and turned on the electric blanket.

Go figure.

Made me think about the way God treats me - I'm so needy and dependant on his sympathy to get by day to day. He splints my boo-boos, cleans up after my mistakes, and when I turn my poor pathetic puppy-dog eyes upward and beg for his mercy, He's more than happy to take me into His bed and turn up the heat.

I couldn't be more thankful for His traveling mercies on my own Rocky Road!