(Although I did not procrastinate long enough actually to KNIT this sweater. That would be quite an accomplishment.) I just remembered that I had taken a picture of it and wanted to show off a bit, since I'm still a newbie knitter and this is my favorite project so far. I made it for my cousin's baby, due any day now.
It might be hard to tell, but the buttons are little baseballs. Extra cute.
Now, back to the sermon. Again.
First things first: yes, the flurry of posting today does accurately indicate to you that I am SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING ON THE SERMON.
As part of the "information gathering process necessary to all sermon writing" (i.e. trolling the internet looking alternately for inspiration or excuses to procrastinate further), I checked the website of my previous synod. They've changed it over the past few months, to include a very lovely section describing, briefly, each of the congregations currently in the call process for a new pastor.
My previous congregation, for example, has a description something like this: "this programmatic-sized church in a growing community is currently interviewing candidates."
It occurred to me, as I was reading all the descriptions, knowing those congregations, that those sweet descriptions have some pretty hard-core stories behind them.
I wonder what would happen if the synod accurately described a few of those situations?
This older, inner-city congregation will tell you that they are looking for someone to lead them in change and outreach, but what they actually want is a chaplain who will let them sing "Beautiful Savior" every other Sunday and never mention human sexuality. Ever.
This small, rural congregation will try to pay you as little as possible and also will never honor your day off, though they will try to set you up if you are single, so that could be good.
This growing congregation's last pastor was a whack job. Seriously. You should stop reading this description and RUN FOR THE HILLS if they try to interview you.
Yeah. Probably not.
Over at Rev Gals today, there's an interesting discussion on the public - vs - private celebration of a baptism. I weighed in briefly, but after I did, I starting thinking more about the passion of those who were responding in a different direction than I did. Which, in turn, got me thinking about the whole issue of conviction, and how to walk the balance beam between intolerant and anything-goes. This is a beam on which I regularly fail to stick my landings, I fear. But worth thinking about some more.
The discussion started with a pastor who wants to know whether or not to celebrate a private baptism for a family somewhat estranged from the church. (As I write this, there are 6 comments on the post, and I think all of them are from Lutherans - no accident, I suspect!) I've been in that situation. I've said 'yes' to a private baptism, and I've said 'no' to more than one. When I said 'yes,' I felt guilty about violating what I deeply believe to be the essentially public nature of that act. And when I said 'no,' I felt sad about hurting a family who could not understand why any pastor would refuse to baptize somebody. You can argue that I shouldn't have felt guilty in either direction. I really wouldn't care, because I am the sort of person who generally looks for excuses to feel guilty anyway, so your very valid point probably wouldn't do much for me.
There are plenty of examples in the church and the world where way too much conviction, or absolutely none at all, create big problems. It's easy to set up either extreme and point and laugh, and claim not to be either one. Find a completely intolerant preacher who refuses to open his doors to a gay couple - thank God I'm not like that. Find another wishy-washy one who works so hard not to offend people that she ends up saying absolutely nothing at all - thank God I'm not like that.
I believe Jesus had something to say about that sort of response.
But it's a lot harder to live in the middle, where you know what you think theologically, but you also have to deal with the real, human, messy emotions that get in the way of nice clear theology. Somebody ought to tell you in seminary that you are going to sell your soul a million stupid times, and that it's going to bother the hell out of you, but that you're not always going to figure a way out of it.
Good theology is crucial. I believe that now more than ever, when good theology is getting shouted out of the public sphere by flashy idiots who believe stupid but ratings-getting things. There are times to stand up for good theology. There are times to say 'no' to things which violate your honestly-held, deeply-thought-out, humbly-convicted beliefs.
But I suspect the bigger temptation for some pastors - for this one, anyway - is to use theology as a weapon of sorts, claiming that the real work of the gospel is to do what God wants in spite of the human cost. I wonder sometimes if we mainline pastors are so desperate to be sure of something that we will hold onto our theology at rather silly points, when making a compromise might actually be the more faithful thing to do.
Baptism isn't silly, of course. There might well be a time when you will talk with a family seeking baptism and realize that their motivations are so completely at odds with the very nature of baptism, that you simply have to refuse to participate. That happens.
But what's more likely to happen is a much less clear-cut moment, where there are complicated family dynamics and church expectations and holiday schedules and "my Grandma can only be here on a Tuesday" kind of stuff. Where you will not know exactly which solution God is rooting for. Where either direction will be imperfect.
And I suppose the only conviction I've come to in those moments, is the hope of God's forgiveness, and the realization that life is a lot more questions than answers. I am suspicious of people who are too sure of everything. Almost as suspicious as I am of people who are not sure of anything. And I am somewhere in the middle, where I hope my endless uncertainty, if nothing else, at least keeps me on my toes.
Life is continuing to improve over at Chez Shalom. Beloved is in the midst of starting his new job, which caused some increased anxiety at first, but which also seems to be helping calm the anxiety as days go by. He's also started on a new drug to treat the anxiety, which won't kick in for a few weeks, but which does make both of us feel like help is on the way. He's back to himself for long periods of the day. Alleluia.
Yesterday, I went to a day-long workshop which I had completely forgotten about, having registered for it months earlier. Honestly, I didn't really want to go: I went because one of our staff members helped plan the thing, and I wanted to support her.
A lot of it was on family systems in congregations, which I've read plenty about and yet can always use a refresher on.
But here's the kicker - the title of yesterday's event?
"Leading in Times of Anxiety and Change."
Ha ha, God. Very funny.
(Before I get started on the Friday Five task, let me highly suggest to all preachers - or anybody who writes regularly - that you read this brilliant reflection on the process of writing a sermon. The next time anyone (anyone with a decent sense of humor) asks me, "how do you write a sermon?" I am going to send them to this post. It also explains to you why my participation in the Friday Five - indeed in any blogging task, no matter how minor - may actually be a thread in the beautiful pattern of sermon preparation.
Ah, denial.)
Anyway. To the calendar-related Friday Five, this week from Songbird:
Here are five things to ponder about dates. I hope you'll play!
1) Datebooks--how do you keep track of your appointments? Electronically? On paper? Month at a glance? Week at a glance?
I've recently switched back to a paper calendar after some sort of totally mysterious glitch completely effed-up my Palm Pilot. And honestly, I like the paper better. It's much more satisfactory to cross things off a paper list than it is to press the little stylo onto the little box on the little screen of "to do's" on the Palm Pilot. Plus I can see the whole week at a quicker glance. And no technical glitches. Except that I do routinely forget the thing on the kitchen counter at home.
2) When was the last time you forgot an important date?
I forgot my dad's birthday last October. First time ever. Woke up at 11:55pm, thought frantically, "it's still his birthday! Technically! I could call!" but decided that was a bit much. Called the next day and my mom said, "well, we were a little worried because you never forget birthdays" and then, of course, I felt HORRIBLE. My mom is not normally a big guilt-inducer, but that was a whopper. This year I Will. Not. Forget.
3) When was the last time you went OUT on a date?
Well, since Beloved and I were living in two different cities for about five months, we did actually do some "dating" when we were in the same place. We stayed at a fancy hotel in New City for a night when he was visiting me, and went out for dinner and walked around town. Very fun.
4) Name one accessory or item of clothing you love even though it is dated.
I suspect the black rayon-y gaucho pants I am currently wearing would cause great gasps of horror from some high fashion people. Mostly I just wear them around the house because they are so comfortable.
I also have a super cool silk bathrobe that belonged to my grandmother in the 1930's, but it is not dated. It is retro. (Right?)
5) Dates--the fruit--can't live with 'em? Or can't live without 'em?
In general, shriveled food = not good. (Exception: chocolate-covered dried cherries from Starbucks.)
So, he took the job. He resigned yesterday from the school he's been at for fifteen years - a really big step, emotionally and practically. He took the middle school job here. He alternates between excited and terrified, happy and sad - but a normal level of all, I'd say.
It's real now. We really live here, and he really works here. We cut the final ties to Old City (besides the ties to family, which definitely and happily remain).
Big day. Scary day. Exciting day. Thanks for the prayers.
Now, back to a sermon on Romans 12:1-8, which has somehow, mysteriously turned into a rumination on how hard it actually is to be transformed. How could THAT theme have come about?
Just about four years ago, when Beloved and I were dating, we went to the mall to look for a barbeque. We had started talking about getting married, so we stopped at Anonymous Mass Market Jewelry Store in the mall to look at rings. (Side note: I always thought it was unfair for women to expect guys to know, magically, exactly what kind of ring they want - but probably tell them nothing directly. I have some definite opinions about rings, so I figured it was only fair to show him the sorts of things I like, and then let him take it from there.) So we looked at basic designs and price ranges, and then we went to Sears.
We had been dating for about six months at this point.
On the way to Sears, Beloved started talking about how he'd been looking for the right barbeque for awhile. He'd read Consumer Reports and been saving for the right one, and trying to decide what features he wanted and how many burners it should have and whether or not to use propane or natural gas. He is an Information Collector. And if you know any of these people, you know that Information Collectors are generally also Slow Decision Makers. What I found out on the the way to Sears is that Beloved had been stewing over the Great Barbeque Decision for - let's count them - TWO YEARS. Mind you, he did eventually buy one, a very good one, and it wasn't cheap. But taking two years to buy a barbeque is not what a girl wants to hear when she's been dating the guy for six months.
"He is never going to ask me to marry him," I thought.
Fortunately, I was wrong. Slow Decision Maker went into hiatus because we got engaged only a month later, and married five months after that. This was, without doubt, the quickest decision Beloved has ever made. I thought that perhaps Slow Decision Maker would be on hiatus for a good, long time. Like maybe forever.
But Information Collector is back, and that means that Slow Decision Maker has also emerged from his winter slumber. And both are in high gear at the moment.
The Decision to be made, of course, is whether or not to accept the job he was offered yesterday. To be fair, it's not a complete slam dunk. On the plus side: it's a grade level he wants to teach; it's a subject he really likes to teach; it's only one subject all day long, which means only one lesson to prep; it's a good salary; it's not terribly far from our house (17 miles, with some traffic). On the minus side: it's a non-continuing contract (for now) which means that there is a real, if slight, possibility that he could be looking for another job come next summer.
If you've been reading my previous posts, you might remember that Beloved has been suffering from some pretty severe anxiety issues since our move became final a few weeks ago. While those are mostly under control, this kind of big decision is enough to make anybody anxious, not to mention someone who's already prone to it.
He's watched a few colleagues get, to be precise if not ladylike, screwed over by non-continuing contracts. School districts sometimes use those to balance their budgets, to make sure they can cut a position here or there without actually having to riff a teacher (RIF = Reduction in Forces = getting fired). This does not appear to be one of those cases; the principal told him yesterday that the only reason this job is non-continuing right now is because it's so late in the year, and that the job would be there next year. Technically, she can't promise him the job because it's possible that a continuing employee could request a transfer and bump him out. Is this likely? Probably not. Is it technically possible? Yes. Guess which one of these is Beloved's focus at the moment.
What it comes down to is risk. And here's where it's hard for me to know exactly what to do. Truthfully, I'm not the biggest risk-taker in the world, so it would be fairly hypocritical for me to lecture somebody about being conservative. But, on the other hand, life is full of risks. Not taking them every once in awhile means you might get stuck missing a lot of great things. Getting married is a risk. Taking any job is a risk.
But lecturing someone else about how they need to gird up their loins and take a risk, for Pete's sake, is not helpful. At all. And I have no interest in doing that. On the other hand, saying nothing is not the best option either. Letting him spin in his anxiety and give into the fear of new things would, I think, ultimately be worse.
Before I left for work this morning, he sighed and said, "why can't these decisions be clear and easy?" I guess because we're human. And almost no decision is perfectly clear and easy. The good news that God is always going to catch you is still tinged with the reality that the catch, as Barbara Brown Taylor has put it, sometimes comes on the other side of the grave. Or, as a friend once said, "I know God is going to take care of me, but I still have to figure out a way to pay the Visa bill."
This is, I think, where sermons always hit a snag. Real life is not as clear as I would like to make it in the pulpit. I don't think I often give in to cliches or facile descriptions of life in sermons, but the fact of the matter is that people in my congregation are making these sorts of hard decisions every day, and I'm continually struck by how inadequate I am to say something meaningful to them in the midst of it. I know, I know: it's not about me. Got it. But every once in awhile, the enormity of the preaching task really scares the shit out of me. Especially when the congregation is the person you're married to.
So I think we'll just have to pray about it, and see what happens. I'm nearly sure that he'll take this job: what I'm praying for is peace for him as he chooses this new thing, and the lessening of anxiety as a result. Good courage. That's what we need.
I cannot believe the complete turn around we've experienced in twenty-four hours. Yesterday, Beloved didn't get the job he had interviewed for; by the evening, he was back to being very anxious and emotional and we were preparing to be 300 miles apart from each other for another school year.
At 10:00 this morning, he called to tell me that he had received a phone call from a middle school principal who wanted to meet with him about a full-time history job. Keep in mind that he's been hoping to move from high school to middle school for the past few years. And that he loves to teach history.
At 2:30pm, he called to say that she'd offered him the job.
The only nervewracking bit is that it's a non-continuing contract, which means he's not guaranteed to have the job next year. But the job is a subject he loves to teach, a grade level he's been interested in for awhile, and the person who left the job already took another one, so chances are that he'll be renewed for next year without any problem.
I'm not sorry for yelling at God yesterday. I said what I needed to say.
But I'm awfully grateful that God doesn't hold grudges.
Amen.
And thanks.
There are only so many days you can stay up watching tiny gymnasts until 12:30am and then successfully try to get something done during the day. I believe I am nearing the limit.
Why, NBC, why so late? Give a girl a break.
(If this post stops in the middle of a sentence somewhere, I'm pretty sure it will be because I was struck by lightning as I wrote. Editing via biblical smiting. Very old school.)
I'm not sure how many pastors started their prayers today with these three words: "Fuck off, God." I did.
The thing is, I'm pretty sure this is not a trespass of the second commandment. (Pause while awaiting smiting. Nothing yet.) The way I read it, the second commandment is intended to protect God's name from abuse or misuse. So you're not supposed to use God's name to hurt other people, or use it like it doesn't matter ("like, oh my God, that is just the weirdest thing ever. Jesus."). For me, the second commandment is a reminder not to cheapen God's name or use it as a weapon. But it sure doesn't preclude total, base, even profane honesty to God in the midst of prayer. I sure hope it doesn't, anyway, because that kind of prayer is really, really necessary every once in awhile. As it was this morning.
Beloved did not get the job he interviewed for last week. This is, of course, not the end of the world. It wasn't a perfect dream job; he was definitely interested but not radically passionate about it. But you know, that doesn't really matter. All the stuff you tell yourself about how the job wasn't perfect, it had some problems, it wasn't exactly what you wanted...all you hear in your head is the fact that you've been rejected. In person. They met you, they listened to you, and they didn't choose you. Whether or not you really wanted the job does not matter, at least at first. Rejection sucks.
This on top of the anxiety issues he's been dealing with (which have been much better but had already flared up again this morning before the phone call about the job) is discouraging. He left his family. He left his friends. He left his job (technically, not yet, but that's the goal). He left his house. He left the place he's lived in for twenty years. He did all of this to follow me because I felt like this was the right place for me, this congregation, and for us - he left because I thought God had called us here. And you know what? I don't care if this is shitty theology or not: I think God owes him something for that. He pulled up stakes and came over here for me and frankly, I am a little pissed off at God for leaving him hanging like this. What more do you want, Ha Shem? Huh? TELL ME, you fickle, frustrating, silent being. I want to know exactly what more you want from him than you haven't taken already, because I have about had it with you. He deserves better than this. You are the one who brought us over here and you had DAMN WELL better do something about it because you CANNOT KEEP DOING THIS TO HIM.
That was my morning prayer. After the opening shot across the bow. I am taking Job as my inspiration today, and if God eventually tells me that I just have to look around and the world and suck it up and realize that I am not in charge, then fine. But I get to say these things out loud. I get to say them to God, who apparently is listening although there seems to be no indication of that at the moment, and the reason I believe I can do this (besides the fact that I have not yet been smited as I write) is because Job said so. Job said everything he could possibly say, and in the end, it was his complete honesty, not the pithy cliches of his friends, which God commends. So there.
I talked to Beloved after our staff meeting was done this morning, and he was already doing much better. The anxiety comes and goes, and at least for awhile, Xanax is a very good thing. He's figured out that exercise is a huge help in dealing with the anxiety when it starts rising, so he had gone on an hour-long walk after I left.
I am not quite as angry at the good Lord as I was this morning. I've never been terribly good at waiting for things, and I never seem to learn any better. I know there will be a day when we will look back and see how it all worked out as it should, but that doesn't really matter on days when it's not working out at all. I also realize that we made the decision to come here together, and it's not my fault for dragging us here - but again, that sort of logic doesn't mean much more than ashes when disappointment keeps finding you at every turn.
Still not smited. Or smote? So that's good. So we'll keep waiting, I suppose, and hope that the Job moments get further and further apart as time goes on. But every once in awhile, that's about all the kind of prayer you can summon up. And today is one of those days.
Given that we're nearing record-breaking heat here in New City, it's a bit hard to think about fall. But in spite of my denial, it is indeed on the way. So, Mary Beth at Rev Gals issues this invitation: For this Friday's Five, share with us five transformations that the coming fall will bring your way.
Hmm...
1. New House. Beloved and I have been in the new house for a week, which ends a long spring and summer of living either apart from each other, or together with my parents. It's a huge relief to have our own place, but it's also a big transition. On the plus side: a five-minute commute for me (WOO HOO!) and a great house. On the minus side: well, nothing really. Except the larger mortgage payment.
2. New Job? Beloved is interviewing as I write for a new job here, and I'm definitely praying for him. We should find out this weekend whether it's a real possibility. If it doesn't work out, he'll head back to Old City to start the school year there, and we'll hope for openings in districts here once the final enrollments numbers hit in October. Our prayer, obviously, is that our 'transition' in this category is a new job for him!
3. Fall Programming. New Congregation has a huge push for fall programming, and I'll be teaching an adult class and large portions of confirmation (about 85 junior high kids, so help me). I chose a class I've taught before to kick off the fall, so that I would feel a little less overwhelmed, but there's still a lot of work to be done. A lot. LOT. In a short period of time.
But it will be fine. Fine. FINE. I'm sure.
4. Baby Track. I'm gearing up to re-start the baby quest with a minor surgery in September, and then some artificial insemination attempts later in the winter. We've got a real diagnosis now, and hopefully we have a good plan to deal with it, so part of this fall will be following the plan and hoping for the best. Speaking of which, I need to call my acupuncturist.
5. Starting Over. It's been almost exactly a year since I got the surprising phone call from my now-colleague, asking whether I was interested in the pastoral position here. Labor Day weekend, to be exact. It's been a year full of transition - some moments much better than others - and we're ready to start making life normal again. Pretty soon, we'll be at the point we've been looking forward to: that day when we can look back at the last year and say with relief, "wow - we made it!" Hopefully that day is coming this fall.
This is how you know that you are really home: after months of transition, you bring your cable bill to the library and you get yourself a real, permanent, shiny library card. And you wander around and find good books and check them out and bring them home and then, and only then, is that house your home.
And also, you discover that the latter part of the title of this post is still true. And you are perfectly okay with that.
Wow. This is going to be a long post.
I've been on vacation since July 20 - a good, solid three weeks for both rest and moving. We spent the first week in Old City visiting Beloved's family, enjoying some time at the lake cabin, and celebrating his birthday. Week two was spent with final preparations for the move last Tuesday: buying appliances, scheduling appointments with the cable guy and the phone people, setting up garbage service...all the exciting stuff.
Then, last Tuesday, we moved in. The movers were great, the stuff was all in the house by 2:30pm, and we started to unpack. The goal was to have as much done as possible in a week, at which time I'd go back to work. With both of us there, and family to help, we figured we'd do well.
But then, last Tuesday night at midnight, our first night in the house, Beloved woke up in a panic. At first, I thought he might be sleepwalking (which he's never done before, but there's always a first time). He said he couldn't breathe, that there was no air flow in the house. He got up and started pacing and crying and said this had been a huge mistake, that he wanted to go home. He was, without exaggeration, hysterical. After three hours, I finally persuaded him to take a muscle relaxant which he uses periodically for jaw pain, and which tends to make him very sleepy. He finally fell asleep at about 3:30am.
Wednesday morning, he was about the same. And for the next three days, it continued. He paced all day. He hyperventilated almost all the time. He cried about everything. He was unbelievably anxious about the move, about whether he will find a job in New City, about leaving his family - and he kept repeating that this had been a mistake, that we had to leave, I had to quit my job and we had to go home. He began to panic about the panicking: "why am I like this," "what happened to me," etc. He panicked whenever we couldn't find something silly, like the Tupperware organizer and the pole for the sun umbrella (and when you're moving, as you probably know, you can't find a damn thing for the first week anyway).
I cannot really explain how terrified I was to see him like this. This is a guy who doesn't like change, and we both knew that; and he's someone who does show his emotions (which is great), but his reaction was completely foreign to both of us. By Saturday night, we knew there was something seriously wrong. We called his sister and asked if she and her husband, a family physician, could come for a visit, which they immediately agreed to. They drove until midnight to get here. Sunday morning, we went to urgent care and the doctor there prescribed a low dose of Xanax to start breaking the anxiety, and told us to follow up with a physician.
To make a long story slightly shorter, Beloved is doing much better. We went to the physician yesterday, and he thinks Beloved had a "night terror," which apparently is like a nightmare on steroids, with an adrenaline rush that can last for up to two weeks after the initial event. That adrenaline rush intensifies your emotions, causes extreme anxiety, and explains why the guy literally could not sit down for five days. It's more common in children, but can be brought on by situations of extreme stress or emotional turmoil.
As of today, Beloved can finally sit down. He actually had enough concentration and interest to go work on unpacking the garage (the fact that he didn't want to go anywhere near the garage during the worst of the panic was what really worried me, because this guy LOVES the garage). He started to laugh. He laughed about how panicked he was when we couldn't find the sun umbrella pole. He takes deep breaths.
It's better. It's not entirely over, because there are still anxieties about being homesick and about finding a job. But those are normal, and his reactions to them are calming down. The best thing is how willing he was to talk about this, and how quick he was to accept the fact that he needed help. For awhile, we thought he would probably have to go on anti-depressants, and he had very little problem with that.
There's a much longer story here, more details, but for now, this is enough. We're back. We made it through a very dark valley. It seems that the sun is coming out. You always forget how grateful you should be for normal life until you lose it. I can't tell you how grateful I am today. Thank God.
Three little letters: VBS. Vacation Bible School week is upon us.
It's only Wednesday morning, and I'm exhausted. It's that peculiar mix of exhilaration and exhaustion unique to VBS.
But after this week is over, and after a wedding on Saturday night, I'm on VACATION. Three whole lovely weeks (okay, okay, we have to move in to a new house and unpack but frankly, that sounds wonderful too).
So I won't be updating here for awhile. Happy summer - see you in late August.
Mother Laura wants to know about summer camp - which, I admit, is not one of my favorite topics. But I'm stuck in the middle of a funeral sermon at the moment and I need to do something else for awhile, so even though I'm not big on camp (or camping), I'll give it a shot.
1. Did you go to sleep away camp, or day camp, as a child? Wish you could? Or sometimes wish you hadn't?
Just went one year, to a vaguely-Christian-but-more-focus-on-horses camp. It was okay. I don't really like horses - more specifically, I don't like riding them. They scare me. I did have fun with friends, though.
2. How about camping out? Dream vacation, nightmare, or somewhere in between?
My idea of camping = Motel 6. Enough said.
3. Have you ever worked as a camp counselor, or been to a camp for your denomination for either work or pleasure?
I would have been a horrible camp counselor when I was the right age to do that, because I was much too shy. My first congregation was only 15 miles from our local denominational camp, however, and I grew to really love camp after nine years of working closely with the staff there. I did lots of teaching, spent a fair amount of time during all seasons at camp, and really enjoyed it. Definitely a turning point for me - now I understand why people are so enthusiastic about summer camp.
4. Most dramatic memory of camp, or camping out?
I had to pee in the woods. Again - enough said.
5. What is your favorite camp song or songs? Bonus points if you link to a recording or video.
My favorite is called "Blessed Be the Lord our God of Israel." I you-tubed this, but all I got was a few videos on the rapture and several options involving the 1967 6-day war. So, no video. But sing along if you know it!
Blessed be the Lord our God of Israel
from everlasting (where?) to everlasting (oh!)
Blessed the the Lord our God of Israel
from everlasting (where?) to everlasting (oh!)
And all God's people say Amen (AMEN!)
And all God's people say Amen (AMEN!)
And all God's peple say A-meh-eh-eh-en...Praise the Lord!
Woop woop (here we go here we go)
Woop woop (one more time)
Woop woop (yeah)
A summary of yesterday's emotional journey:
Excitement
Disbelief
Frustration
Anger
Worry
Uncertainty
More frustration
Hope
Anxiety
Impatience
And finally...
Joy!
The sellers took our offer last night, at the price we offered. This house is a steal of a deal and we are completely delighted. I'm not only excited by the house, but really, really excited that Beloved is so happy with it.
And please, God, may we not have to move for a very, very, very, very long time.
Amen. And hallelujah, my friends.
I've seen this around, most lately at Choral Reef's place. I've been nervous to try it in case I'm revealed to be a much less inveterate reader than I think I am (but look! I used the word inveterate! Only readers do that, right?)
Here goes... (I've read the ones in bold type)
1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (note: how is this not the same as #33? Oh well. I get twice the credit.)
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
So everyone knows that this is the slowest market in...what, twenty years? It's a buyers' market, they say.
Sure.
So why is it that, after we made one offer to the only builder in town who apparently has no intention of budging on his asking price, we now made an offer today to a couple who vastly underpriced their home, have decided they can get more, and now want to take their house off the market and price it at $17,000 higher?
In other words, HOW ARE WE IN A POSSIBLE BIDDING WAR IN THE WORST HOUSING MARKET EVER???? How is this possible???
The house is great. It's worth the higher price, actually. Beloved, however, is super pissed about the fact that we might have to offer more, and I'm not sure I can convince him to get over his annoyance and look at the bigger picture.
Once again, I'll ask for your prayers today - mostly for Beloved and I. God, give us the patience with each other to do this well.
By the way, the agent who is working with couple on house #2 is, coincidentally (?), the same agent as house #1.
So maybe a few prayers that the Lord would smite him. Just a little bit. Maybe one boil someplace.
Kidding.
Sort of.
This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar, and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is,
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
But other hearts in other lands are beating
With hopes and dreams as high and true as mine.
My country's skies are bluer than the oceans,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
O hear my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace, for their land and for mine.
O God of peace, O God of all the nations,
You are our strength, our hope, our life and grace;
When storms assail, when darkness builds among us,
When light grows dim, and anger takes its place;
Open our eyes to see your kingdom shining,
In all your children may we see your face.
Hymn tune Finlandia, by Jean Sibelius. Verses 1-2 by Lloyd Stone. I wrote verse 3 to be sung on the Sunday following September 11, 2001.
As I have mentioned before, I am a fan of Sex and the City. Yes, I saw the movie - yes, it's full of rampant materialism and grown women acting like teenagers, but here's my secret to the enjoyment of SATC: I don't care. It's fun. I'm entertained. I don't have to find my core values in the show, or the film. I can still enjoy it. And I do.
Also, I love shoes. Love, love, love them.
If you are a fan, you might remember the episode called "A Woman's Right to Shoes." In which Carrie, invited to a friend's baby shower, is forced to remove her shoes upon entering this home, because the mother doesn't want any outside dirt in the house. And then somebody else steals Carrie's shoes. And then the mother shames Carrie for her extravagant shoes, upon which Carrie realizes that she has spent quite a lot of money celebrating that woman's choices in life - engagement gift, wedding gift, trip to the wedding, three baby gifts - and all of this adds up to a lot more than the cost of her shoes. (Which is still a lot, but there you go.)
Essentially, it's an episode about the reality that American culture is almost totally focused on the traditional nuclear family structure - mom, dad, two kids and a dog - and that anyone who doesn't fit that mold gets left out of most of our common celebration times. I felt like that on a routine basis while I was single. And I still feel like that now, as someone without kids. So I loved this episode.
And I love, love, love those shoes. I've looked at them on ebay a few times - and that price point is just way beyond me. Seriously. $900 for one pair of shoes? Can't do it. I've looked for knock-off versions for years, and never found a good one.
Until last week.
I ordered them. And they showed up yesterday. Yesterday, I had my wrap-up appointment with my fertility doctor, at which he went through all my test results and we talked about how to proceed from here. I was hoping it would be a little more optimistic than it was: it turns out that I have severe endometriosis, so our best option would still be in-vitro fertilization. But, we do have a shot at success if I have a laproscopy to remove the endo, and then try insemination for a few months - and the very good news is that my egg supply is fine, so we don't have to be in a huge hurry.
But I was hoping for a little less dramatic diagnosis on the endo, so I was a bit down when I got home. And then, on my bed, was the box from the shoe company. I opened it. And inside, were these:
I LOVE THEM.
I am not ashamed to admit that I put them on last night and watched that episode of SATC. Sometimes a little stupid happiness is just what you need.
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