Lifetime Reading list revisited

Whoa...I found my lifetime reading plan.

From college.

Actually, the date on it is May 5, 1988. Almost 20 years to the day...wow.

Dr. Guillory, (only the most awesome English professor ever!) had us put one together. There are seven categories:

World Classics
English Lit Classics
American Lit Classics
Current Best-Sellers
Science, Tech and Business
Bios and Autobios
Personal Category (dealer's choice)

40 books total.

I got an A- on the list.

What's that?

How many?

How many wha?

OH! How many books have I actually read from my list these twenty years?

Um...just a sec.

Three.

Er...really two and a half...if I'm honest...

Sigh. That's pathetic.

There are some incredible books listed! I've read books over these twenty years...so why haven't I read the ones on my list?

Well, I'll be honest. Part of my list was purely for the grade. I mean, Dr. Guillory had specific favorites of his own...which he shared in class...so I may have *cough cough* appealed to his book love interests strictly for a good grade.

I am not proud of that.

However, tell you what. I plan on reading at least half of these books this summer. I'm going to make it my goal. 20 books in 20 weeks. I think it's possible!

Do you have goals? Are you maybe beating yourself up about a goal you set but haven't achieved for some reason? I suggest you jump in where you're at and start again! Don't let 20 years go by...but if they have...there's still time!! :)

Now...which one should I read first? Walden or The Old Man and the Sea? Hm...maybe Silent Spring or The Screwtape Letters...there's also the bio on Alfred Hitchcock...that looks interesting...

Amazon.com HERE I COME!!!!

From dusty files come dewy roses...

Okay...so I have been busier as the weather gets warmer...and I think my writing is suffering. I'm not feeling particularly creative...and for some reason really feel a 'performance pressure' right now. Not sure what's going on there exactly...but I'm positive it'll work itself out...in the meantime, as I've mentioned (time and again it seems!), I've been clearing out stuff from my house. Getting rid of things. Paper is my biggest problem.

Today however, I found something I'd written maybe three years ago(??)...and it had an impact on me this morning...so...I'm going to go ahead and copy it here for you to read. Enjoy it...

My Walk With Jesus....

"My walk with Jesus begins with my strolling down the road by the bike path over past Lake of the Woods towards the trailer park. I walked that road a lot when we lived there; either with the kiddos or by myself. It's a good place to be quiet...pretty remote. Most of the people stay on the bike path...I like this road. It is older, and leads to a little patch of woods.

I picked this place (three different places flew through my mind before I landed on this one) because one day I was walking there and I started singing "In the Garden". I used to sing a lot when I was younger while walking home from school. I'd sing all kinds of songs, not just hymns...but on this day in particular I was singing that song. I guess because there were billions of birds singing, and the sun was shining, and it was pleasantly cool. I was by myself at the time and the song just came out naturally. It's one of my favorite hymns.

My Jesus wears blue jeans. Faded, comfortable, broken-in blue jeans. He wears tennis shoes. And his hair is on the longish side. (I've tried to imagine Him with short hair; but too many years of Bible pictures and His "hippie" look have tainted me...and short hair on Him just doesn't 'feel right'.)

Today He's wearing a blue denim shirt. He's taller than me; though I wouldn't call Him a tall guy. He's got the popular goatee thing going on too. Really, you wouldn't look twice at Him if you saw Him in a crowd. I mean, He's not incredibly gorgeous. A little on the lanky side, actually. And His face isn't anything great...but He's got some wonderful eyes. Big, brown and warm. Smiling eyes, sad eyes, angry....even hurt eyes. He doesn't have to say anything verbally, really...because it's all there on His face.

At first I see Him from a distance of maybe, um...100 ft. or so. I know it's Him. In fact, I sense Him before I actually see Him. His hands are in his pockets. His stance is relaxed...yet expectant...like He's been waiting for me to get there, and is anxious to see me...but He doesn't have anything pressing to get to...so He's in no hurry.

I smile hesitantly. He grins. And then I grin. (When He smiles at me, He always makes me smile....even when I don't want to; when I don't feel like smiling...it's annoying sometimes!)

We walk. He falls in step with me. I tell Him why I like this place. Why I didn't picture us on a beach because I hate being hot. He laughs at that and picks up a stick. It's a stick that has bark remnants on it and He begins peeling off the bark as we talk and walk. His hands are always doing something...

I say something cliche' like, "It's nice to be here walking with You..." and He looks at me sideways for a second. He doesn't say anything, but gives the stick a toss. It doesn't go very far...

He puts His arm around me then and we keep walking in silence together. It's relaxing not having to say something. To just be with Him...moving along together...with a familiar rhythm."

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear
falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses...

And He walks with me,
and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share
as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody
that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go;
through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling...

My friends, I encourage you to take a walk with Him today. It'll be worth it...I promise.

WILLingness to Forgive...

The message yesterday at church was on forgiveness.

It was good. Altho the comment was made that it's easier for some to understand that they are forgiven than it is to forgive other people.

I dunno. Sometimes I think it would be easier to forgive other people than forgive myself.

I can be really hard on myself and carry stuff around that I don't need to mess with.

"I shouldn't have mentioned that! Why did I say something so dumb? Now she'll think I don't know what I'm doing and I'll be in big trouble! Why am I so stupid?! What's wrong with me?!"

And so on...and so on.

It's perfectionism, I think. The pressure I put upon myself to perform to some standard of whatever. It causes me to question myself and my actions TOO often...if that makes sense.

I'll dwell on my mistakes for days on end...

ugh.

How do you fix that? Well, Aaron talked about what true forgiveness looks like..."choosing to accept the blood of Jesus as full payment for what the offender did...it's not feelings based...and it's an act of will." I'm considering how that applies to forgiving myself...and it falls into the act of will area. I have to replace my negative comments about myself with something else.

That's not easy. It actually WILL take an act of will.

Like It or Lump It....and then...Love It!

This is an entry that allows you to see how my crazy mind can work. Look at it as a learning opportunity...ready? Let's go!!!

Every so often, a phrase will come into my head...and I wonder 'where did that come from anyways?'

And thanks to the Internet...I can get some very interesting background info on phrases.

Which I dig. Dig like nobody's business.

That's not the phrase, by the way.

I don't care for beets.

That's not the phrase either...because I know exactly what that means.

I. don't. like. beets.

Yuck.

According to my Mom, I've NEVER cared for beets. EVER. Didn't eat 'em as a baby even. Why, you may ask?

They smell funny.

Really...really...funny. Like...'funky shoe smell' funny.

To me, anyways.

Now, I know that over the years, your tastes can change. And so, every so often, I'll try a beet. Just to see if maybe this is the year that they rise above the turnip or radish and become the "Root of My Choice" or something.

Nope. Still don't care for 'em.

Ugh.

Let's change the subject for a second, okay? I gotta get this smell of beets outta my head.

I've had a hard week. This past week has not been a very pleasant one in terms of 'fun for Carrie'. I'm sure that if we took a poll, many of you probably had parts of your week that weren't much fun either. What with tax day and all, it's a given that you encountered some difficult stuff. Maybe some difficult people.

How'd you handle it?

Did you like it?

OR

Did you lump it?

Like it or lump it...is the phrase I've been thinking about...and the phrase basically means this:

(informal) if you tell someone to like it or lump it, you mean they must accept a situation they do not like, because they cannot change it.

Hm....interesting. So, where'd it start?

The two recorded forms date from at least as early as c. 1860. . . . Dickens, 1864, 'If you don't like it, it's open to you to lump it.'

Still...I think that people have probably been saying something similar for a REALLY, REALLY LONG TIME....don't you agree?

So...what's a 'lump' anyways?

Turning now to the Oxford English Dictionary:
: LUMP, v. 1. intr. To look sulky or disagreeable . . .: [Quotation:] 1577 "They stand lumping and lowring . . . for that they imagine that their evill lucke proceedeth of him." : 2. trans. In antithesis with "like": To be displeased at (something that must be endured), colloq.: [Quotations:] 1833 "Let 'em lump it if they don't like it." . . . 1878 "I'll buy clothes as I see fit, and if anybody don't like it, why they may lump it, that's all."

Well, there you go.

You don't have a choice. I mean, it claims that you have a choice...you can choose to like it or not....but the situation itself is not changing...so...you're stuck with the lump.

'Stuck with the lump' is fun to type. Even more fun to say aloud. Say it with me...'stuck with the lump'.

You know what?

My husband likes beets. There are several people close to me that like beets. And you know what I do?

Each Christmas I will make Harvard Beets for the beet eaters in my family. I don't enjoy it...but I lump it. Because I love them and respect their beet-likin'...no matter how inconceivable it is to me that anyone could like beets.

Another thought: (please bear with me...like I said, it's been a rough week!)

Not everyone likes me.

As hard as that is for me to believe...I mean, c'mon...it's ME for crying out loud! If I am anything, it's likable.

So what's wrong with people that don't like me? (all three and a half of them)

Nothing.

I'm just a beet to them. That's all.

I'm someone's beet.

(snort! That's fun to type as well. Even more fun to say aloud. Say it with me: I'm someone's beet.)

heeheeheeheeheeheeheehee

Okay...so...where are we?

Like it or lump it....we're stuck with the lumps...and I'm someone's beet. Right. Got it.

Now...hopefully, those whose beet I am...while they may not like me...will still treat me with respect because they recognize the fact that someone else likes me...maybe to someone...I'm their 'root of choice'.

Do you do that with your beets? Do you respect them...recognize that Someone likes them...and therefore acknowledge them...at least once a year?

Yet another thought: (I really apologize about this lengthiness...but I have been seriously thinking about this for the past week now...and I think it's starting to make more sense to me.)

I got an email from someone today. A forwarded email that said, "Love the people who treat you right. Forget about the ones who don't...because life is short."

Hm. What if I altered it a little? So that it read: "Love the roots who treat you right. Forget about the beets...because life is short."

That doesn't sound like what I trying to do. As much as I'd LOVE to 'forget about the beets'...my beet-eatin' family members remind me about them every so often.

You know what else it says? "Love".

Now, I don't "love" turnips or radishes. I like them. But I don't know that I love them.

Hm...love. I've been seriously thinking about love lately. Unconditional love.

Why?

Because some of the things that have happened this week have made me consider it. And so I ask questions. Do I conditionally love? Or is my love unconditional? Do I like everything that happens to me? Do I like all the people I have to interact with? How do I love them when I don't even know that I like them? What am I supposed to do?

Hm....hard stuff to consider. Especially difficult when I get what seems to be conflicting answers.

Like it...or lump it.

BUT....is that it?

I think...as I mentioned...that we don't have control over the situations that come our way sometimes. THAT'S what we have to "lump".

But that's not all. That's not the end...there's more.

We don't have to like something...but we do have to love it.

Like my beets.

I don't like the beets. But I can see their value to others. I can see that they have a purpose for being here on Earth. That because there are people I love that like them....then I can love them based on that love.

Does that make any sense? Therefore, I don't like beets. BUT I love them.

The beet is not important to me...but it has importance. So I need to treat it that way.

Thankfully, there's Someone I know who loves each and every beet.

Like it or lump it...

Enough

As I sat down this morning to consider what to write about...I glanced at my water glass.

It's one of those $26,238 ones that you know, you get from the hospital when you've been a patient there. My Mom got it last year and I like it because it's numbered (like a measuring cup) with ounces and metric something or other than means pretty much nothing to me...but lots to those hospital folks.

I like seeing how much I've got in my glass. It's a 32 ounce cup and right at the moment that I glanced at it...the water line was at 16 ounces.

Yep. Exactly halfway.

EXACTLY!

Like Goldilocks...it's 'just right'. Not too much. Not too little. Balanced. Even.

How often does that happen??

Like never!

At least, it seems that way to me sometimes. I don't know about you, but I get tired of fighting the constant battle of ENOUGH.

"I haven't got enough time to clean my room!"

"I've had just about enough of that backtalk from you, young man!"

"There isn't enough flour to make the banana bread. I'll have to get more."

"There's more than enough banana bread! Please! Take some with you!"

"Is there enough gas in the Jeep to get to town?"

"I've spent enough money on gas for the Jeep this past week!"

"My swimsuit from last year isn't big enough for me now."

"Have I got enough days to diet before summer starts so I can fit into that swimsuit?"


I think you get the picture.

Too much. Too little.

We are so interesting. We want more than we need. On the other hand, we'll fall short and not have an adequate amount of something...whether it's money...or time...or flour for banana bread.

We are not easily satisfied. Sigh...

It's hard to deal with enough sometimes. We want so desperately to have more than we already have...and then again...perhaps we've dealt with something for so long that we are more than ready to get rid of it. It's too much. Like five loaves of banana bread. If I eat another bite...I'll explode! I can't take anymore.

I've. had. enough.

Hey, wouldn't it be cool if we were all marked like my water glass? It would be easier to deal with each other, wouldn't it?

"Oh...look. She's at 24 ounces right now. She can handle a little more."

"Um....is she running way over 32 ounces?? Maybe I shouldn't bother her right now. Looks like she's got enough to deal with."

Enough.

Hm...

There's Someone who knows all about enough. And guess what? His grace is exactly that...

Would you like fries with that?

Father Tim said, "We both know we can't second-guess what tomorrow will bring...but it seems to me that you have nothing to worry about."

Uncle Billy lowered his head for a moment. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. "Thank you, Preacher."

"No, Uncle Billy, thank you. I believe the Holy Spirit has shown me a sermon in your predictament."

The disciples had been repeatedly instructed with one simple word: Ask. Uncle Billy, like much of the rest of humanity, had spent precious years worrying instead of asking.

-Jan Karon's At Home in Mitford


In the early days of my relationship with my husband, I recall a time where he witnessed me asking someone who was going out for lunch to please 'buy me some french fries'.

"Did you just ask Joe to buy you french fries?" Steve asked.

"Yep." I responded cheerfully.

"You don't think he's really going to buy you fries, do you?" Steve said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Well," I remember saying, "It doesn't hurt to ask, does it?!"

Later, while I munched on my free french fries, I had to admit that it did not hurt to ask. In fact, it was very pleasant, thank you very much!!

However, (all too often it seems sometimes!) we do not ask. Instead, we assume.

And that can be a very bad thing to do, can't it? Assuming can cause us to worry, like Uncle Billy, or keeps us angry for three months straight...avoiding people...all because we didn't do one simple thing: Ask.

Leads me to the question: What are we afraid of? Why don't we ask more often?

We spend a lot of unnecessary energy worrying and being angry...over things that...if we just asked...might not require that anger or energy from us.

Assuming...and not asking....keeps us in the dark. Without french fries. If I had assumed that Joe wouldn't buy me fries...I'd be without them. Asking gave me better odds. There was still a chance that he wouldn't buy me the fries...but...I left that control to him, didn't I?

You know what I think? I think it's our pride that causes us to assume. We can tend to think that we're so important....(or so unimportant) that we can't ever have this or that or we deserve this or that because of our 'importance'...and we're disappointed when we don't get what we assume for. (yeah....I said "assume for"....instead of "ask for").

You will always be disappointed, my friends, when you assume for....instead of ask.

I don't know about you, but I don't like pain. So why cause myself additional pain by assuming something...instead of asking?

Think about your assumptions today. And don't forget to ask Someone for help.

Oh, and if anyone's going past a Mickey D's today....could you get me some fries? Thanks!!

I'll Fly Away

Birds are noisy.

Well...the birds are noisy at my house. The windows aren't even open and I can hear those grackles (or blackbirds...or whatever they are!) just singing (calling? cawing?) out some birdsong this morning.

Here....sit quietly with me. We'll listen together. Do you hear that?

It's kinda pleasant really.

Out of all of the animals, fish, and creatures out there...birds fascinate me the most. I don't know if it's my fear of heights...but I like watching birds. I'll watch birds fly. I saw three Heron(s?) fly over my head yesterday morning as I was driving. I almost stopped the Jeep and got out to watch them. They were huge and so....ah....it's hard to explain.

I like birds.

On SNL the other night the question posed to Christopher Walken was "Would you rather have the power of invisibility or the ability to fly?"

I wondered about that. What would you choose? (He said both...btw.)

I've felt invisible before. I've felt as if no one sees me...or hears what I'm saying...and I don't think I'd choose that. It wasn't really that pleasant.

But flying?

Hm....flying could be cool. But flying kinda frightens me. Being so high off of the ground? Not sure about that...and yet...

and yet how freeing it must feel to be able to fly. You know, like a Heron...or a Grackle.

Sometimes I feel like just flying away from everything. When I want to get away from all the pressures of life. When I get weighted down with worry...and anxiety attaches itself to me...when my heart feels heavy.

It's then that I think...well, if I WERE a bird...there's no way I could get off the ground with all this gear! All this baggage I'm carrying with me! Think of the wingspan I'd need! Rocket fuel is probably a better option!!

And it's at those times that I'm reminded then that Someone cares for me even more than He cares for the birds...(and He does care about birds!)...so why worry? Why be anxious? Why keep all that stuff stuck inside?

Instead, my friends...do as I am doing. Give it to Him.

And you know what? When I do that...I feel as light as a feather...

Words are made of letters....letters are made of words

The other night I asked my son if he knew where the remote control had disappeared.

"I D K. My BFF Jill?" was his response.

I looked at him and blinked. Repeatedly.

The fact that I even knew what he was saying kinda disturbed me...almost as much as his believing that the answer was helpful in any way.

The kids are speaking a different language today...it happens.

In fact, I was talking to a teen yesterday and they said to me (as they were leaving)..."I'll send you a text message!"

"Okay! Thank you!" I called back...thinking, Why in heaven's name would I want one? Hm...I mean...I D K about text messages....

Another teen (I saw A BUNCH OF THEM yesterday, okay?) mentioned that they were up at 4 a.m. text messaging their girlfriend.

Information I did not need to know!!

I got out my soapbox.

The teen asked me what on earth that thing was.

I ignored the teen and began to preach about the damaging effects of text messaging vs. writing.

"How personal can that be?" I asked. "You know what you need? You need to write her a good love note!"

The teenager blinked.

Repeatedly.

"A wha?"

Suddenly I felt like I was 189 years old! "Back in the 'good ol days'....see....we had this incredible stuff called "paper". You could do all sorts of things with it...it was cheap...why...everybody had some! Some drew on it...others made incredible paper flyin' machines....but what I liked to do with paper was write on it. Of course, you need a pen or a pencil to do that. And you gotta be careful! If you don't use them properly, you could put an eye out! You ever wrote anything?"

Honestly (sighing heavily now), because I'm blogging...you can see for yourself that I'm part of the technological age. But still...I'm telling you...just like low fat ice cream....some things just should not have substitutes.

And a love letter is a wonderful thing.

I was a senior in high school. And so was he. And I got grounded. Now that particular story is for another time....but suffice it to say that I wasn't allowed to leave the house (except for school) and I couldn't have friends over (which included boyfriends....sigh). For a week.

So...at school, my boyfriend and I came up with a plan. There was this big ol' tree in my backyard. He would leave notes there for me in the morning...and I would leave notes for him there in the afternoon and he'd pick them up after work.

It was the longest week of my life.

It was also one of the best.

I still have one of those letters. It says so much good stuff that I re-read it occasionally. I just can't throw it away.

Text messaging is very convenient...but nothing says "I Love You" like writing "I Love You" on a good ol' piece of looseleaf. You can look at it again...and again...and again.

Letters are powerful stuff.

Recently I wrote a letter to someone. And they wrote their own letter to someone. Imagine what might happen to folks if we all took the time to write a letter to someone and tell them how much they mean to us?

I think some very cool things might happen. I'm willing to try it....are you?

And if you say, "I D K",....um....I'm sorry...but I might have to smack you with my Trapper Keeper notebook! BFF or not...!

A League of My Own

It's the first day of April. And you know what that means...

it's about time for baseball.

My most favorite time of year! Woo Hoo!

(ahem....um....April Fool's...!)

If you know me at all...you know that baseball season is not a huge priority for me. I have tried to pay enough attention to the sport to show my friends that I care...but I still struggle when it comes to actually playing the game.

Here....I'll give ya a 'fer instance'.

I believe it was in the springtime of my sophomore year of high school...I had just dressed for gym class...and we were headed outside. To play some baseball. Only for us girls...it's called softball. Oh, they want you to think that there's a difference...and there is! The BALL IS BIGGER! Still hurts just as much when it bounces up into your face, folks...there's no difference there....!

But I digress...that's not the point of this story.

So, my team is batting. I'm standing there in a line with the other gals next to the fence and I'm trying to pay attention, but it's tough. I had an English paper to think about...and band...and Robby Reber...and driving. Softball was probably the furthest thing from my mind.

But then it's my turn to bat.

In my five years of 'serious' gym class...I'd batted maybe...five times. Total.

Not my favorite thing to do at all.

I don't know if my being left handed had anything to do with it or what...but I usually struck out. I figured that today would be no different.

However, I surprised myself by actually hitting the ball! On the first try!

I stood there...in amazement.

The girls on my team started yelling at me. "Run! Go to first base! Go!"

Words I'd never heard before.

Suddenly I found myself trying to recall the rules of baseball...run to first base...just get to first, C.

I start running towards a girl that I think is the first baseman. And my teammates begin screaming at me.

"That's not it! Go back!"

In the meantime...amidst all this excitement...the girls on the other team are getting the ball and are throwing it to each other bringing it closer to me with each toss. I am frantic now...searching for the base. WHERE IS IT?

As I'm trotting back and forth between these two gals, searching for the base...one tags me with the softball and Mrs. M., the p.e. teacher, hollers that I'm out.

I walk off the diamond. I want to cry.

(I didn't know then that there's no crying in baseball!)

As I walk past Mrs. M. she's chuckling. "Oh Carrie! You're so funny! Where were you going?"

"I was trying to get to first." I say.

"You were clear over by second! Where did you think it was?"

"Well the grass is way too tall! They need to mow." I said. I go sit down in that tall grass and consider how much I really hate p.e. And baseball. And being out.

Being out is the worst.

The game continues on and I find myself eventually holding the bat in my hand again. Sigh. Maybe this time I'll strike out. C'mon...throw the ball and let's get this pain over with quickly, I think.

This girl Bonnie pitches the ball and I do something I have never done in my life.

I hit the ball with the bat for the SECOND TIME!

I hesitate for a moment. Watching where the ball goes. If they catch it, I'm out. But this time will be different! This time I know where first base is! I run at my top speed (which isn't really very fast) towards the base.

As I'm about to touch it, the girl on first gets the ball. My foot comes down a split second before she touches my arm with it.

"SAFE!" I hear Mrs. M. call out.

I realize that I haven't taken a breath in like...what seems....15 minutes.

I exhale. The relief I feel coursing through my body is incredible. I'm on first base! It's amazing here! The grass is greener! The air smells sweeter!

I grin at the gal near me. "Good job," she says.

"Thanks." I say. "Um...Sandy?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's second base?"

She rolls her eyes at me and points in the general direction.

I nod. I was SAFE! Do you understand how incredible that is!?

Safe.

I experienced that same feeling yesterday. I had spent most of my day dejectedly feeling 'out'...feeling uncoordinated, untalented...misunderstanding the whole game of life. I felt like I was letting my teammates down because I wasn't 'playing the game well'...I felt miserable.

But I got a call late in the day from someone that helped turn that around. A close friend, who...with a few words...reminded me that I'm safe.

Reminded me that even when I'm not playing my "A game"...that I am still a valuable teammate.

Reminded me that it is so important to make myself vulnerable enough to someone that they know me...really know me well...and still like having me around.

Those relationships are not simple...or easy to come by. They can take a lot of time to develop and grow.

But they are sooooooo worth it.

I am very grateful for my friends. I appreciate them more than they could ever imagine. In my game of softball with them....I am safe. Never out.

(Which is totally different than the game of softball I played in 1984. Sigh. I never did make it to second base...Lisa Anderson caught the next hit and then it was time to go inside.)

Ah well....like those Cubs fans say, "There's always next year!"

Remember to tell a friend how much you care about them today....