What if...?

I'm a different person than I was six months ago.

I don't know of any other half-year in my life that has changed my outlook, my passions, my spiritual center more than this one has. A chance comment in March turned into a lunch, a plan, study, and a weekly commitment. Along the way, there have been joys and challenges, frustrations and discoveries. And I'm not sure where this journey will lead.

I knew writing would re-open some history, which it has. I still agonize over words and ideas, and become obsessive. I stress myself out over things said and unsaid.

Writing for worship takes hours of study time, reflection and feedback from my mentor. It's like an intense Bible study, a creative writing exercise and a technical writing project blended together. The funny thing is, it seems to have this unusual way of changing me, far more than I've impacted it.

Every week, some new insight fills me with wonder. It would have made sense to be filled with revelations in the first weeks, but the inspiration seems to grow stronger, week to week. The past two epiphanies have left me awed.

Along the way, I've joined a handbell ensemble, started to practice the keyboard again, and remembered that I have a gift for taking photos. I've committed to learning the multimedia system for worship and have been nominated for church council.

And I've lost my alienation with celebrating the anniversary of the Christmas event, year in and year out. I've gained a new perspective on heaven and hell, the second coming and the desire to change my corner of this world in the meantime. I've gained a connection between my daily life and my spiritual life that never existed, a blurring of the lines that makes me wonder where one part of my life ends and another one begins.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened had God succeeded in that little tug at my heart at 16, when several people around me nudged me toward ministry: pastoral ministry or another call. And I turned my back, went to school and wrote professionally for 15 years. Had I gone another direction, would I have always longed for the writing opportunity I missed? Is this God's way of redirecting, refocusing, repurposing me, some 35 years later?

I will never know. God is patient and finds ways to use us for good, wherever we are, at the moment in life when we turn around and look. God's love has no limit.

No stones here

I read something I wish I could wish away. Someone I know is in trouble.

I wish my first thoughts were as gentle and Christ-like as I hoped they would be in this situation. But they weren't. Here they are, raw and uncensored:

"How could you? You've ruined everything. You had everything going for you, and you destroyed it."

It took me most of a day to get that out of my head. I have a long way to go on my Christian walk.

Finally, the part of me that I'm nurturing came out: "pray for him. pray for his family. pray for the other people affected by this. pray that good will come out of this. because when God's involved, everything works for good."

I'm working my way up to expressing that to him. Not sure what I'm going to say, or maybe I'm just going to express it in a note. Something encouraging. Something that wraps him in grace, because he is a man of God, human and frail, but first a child of our heavenly father.

"We all are broken-heartened at the recent news. But the good news is that we are all broken. Period. We've all made bad choices that we've regretted and hurt other people. There are no stones here. We're praying for you and your family. We love you. I hope the people in your life surround you with love and forgiveness."

Impatiently waiting for pretty much everything

I've said it before, and I'll say it again for emphasis: There's no such thing (to me) as patiently waiting.

I'm impatient by nature. I want things to happen now, if not yesterday. At a meeting today, people chuckled when I clapped at someone else's comment that we can't wait any longer. I imagine they were surprised I didn't say it first. Apparently I have a comrade in arms.

It's been a challenging week. I'm waiting for something to happen that I'd prefer not happen at all. But if it has to happen, get it over with. I don't want to wait until next week. Just do it.

I remember my mother saying, "Watched water never boils." Actually, if you have enough flame under a kettle, it has to boil. But her point was, why stand there and watch it? It will seem to take longer that way. Go do something else.

So I'm not watching the pot. The week is busy enough. I have more than enough to do without fretting over something that will come anyway. There's almost nothing I can do about it.

There are lots of frustrations in life like that. Meetings that are cancelled or delayed. Having to wait at an office. Getting stuck in traffic. Watching the little wheel spin when a computer process takes a minute. Submitting an application and waiting for an answer.

Most of the time, that's just the way it is. Sometimes it's someone's decision or inaction that causes it. While there's rarely a point to getting steamed, I often do. I recall hearing that getting angry shortens your life. So, how much time have I lost?

The more I have to wait, the less patience I seem to have. I'm not getting any better at being patient. In fact, I seem to be growing more impatient about my impatience. Frustrated about being frustrated.

I'm not watching the kettle, or thinking about the week-off event. I think I'm going to bed. I have no impatience about sleep at all.

Change and changing, our actions impact the lives of others

In His time. Such a hard lesson for me to learn. I think I've learned it and then I find myself out there doing it again, pushing for something to happen. Thinking that I have any control. And finding myself up against a wall of impossibility. Frustrating myself. Blaming others. Then realizing it wasn't mine to determine at all.

We live in this world. We have the ability to act and move, communicate and feel. But in all truth, if we are who we say we are -- Whose we say we are -- we are acting as His hands, feet, mouth and ears in this place. He is in control. Or She, if you like that picture better.

I catch myself observing life sometimes as if I was the third person, watching the interactions. Just glimpses of how our moments are so fleeting, yet so complex. We see many of our moments wasted, even as we know our time is so limited. Why can't this succeed? We needed this to happen yesterday. Come on! Don't you see how important this is?

Then, all of a sudden, a break through. Something changes. Another situation comes along to impact the first one, like the pool ball from a second shot dropping the stationery ball into the pocket. Except it's not so random. It occurred, not in my time, but His time, the right time.

Something happened today that I've waited three years to happen. Impatient me, thinking my frustrated thoughts about the people who had the ability to act and didn't. Yet something changed, and started the chain in motion. In September 2014, it was the right time.

How often am I on the other side, not acting when someone desperately wants something to happen? Frustrated that life is happening too slowly, an excruciatingly painful pace.  

Here I am, actor and acted upon, changed and changing. A piece of His hands and feet, interdependent on others to be the continuation of the action.

Welcome to the world. Be the change you want to see, because the piece that only He sees is that we are the change agent for someone else.

A gift of time to contemplate and do the inner work

What do you do when you expect a 90-minute blank space in the schedule? It would be so easy these days to fill it with music, phone conversations, information and other electronic noise.

But today marked a drive to the Valley. And I don't drive to the Valley much anymore. With my mind filled with personal, local and global concerns, I shut off the radio and phone and just allowed myself the space to "contemplate the universe." Connect with myself and God. Listen. Wait.

I went back to a place I experienced in my teen years. Solitude. Before the noise of life increased. No cell phones. No internet. Our youth pastor collected some appliance boxes and directed us to occupy said cardboard. She wasn't thinking homeless simulation. Just isolation. Time to think and pray and be alone with ourselves. At the time, I didn't want to admit it was actually useful. Today I could use that box more often. I'd add a cushion or pillow -- these 50-year-old bones don't do unpadded surfaces very well these days.

Rarely is there a time of solitude from my first waking moment to my last thought before sleep takes over. Spouse. Co-workers. Work. Music. Social media. Email. Maybe television or a movie. If there's any solitude, it's in my truck or the shower.

So, once I shared a few thoughts about current situations with God, I just let the time pass. And clearly, my mind wasn't vacant. "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Enemies? I don't really have them. But there are certainly people who rub me the wrong way and seem to do everything in their power to work against me. Just because there isn't outright warfare doesn't mean there's not conflict.

It's easy to pray for the people you like. It's fairly easy to pray for those you don't know very well. But how about those people who oppose you? Those who you don't think deserve a shot of your attention? The words catch in the back of your throat as you say, "God, I think ________ needs your help." Or better yet, "God, help me to see ____________ as a child of God with the gifts you have given him/her." A handful of names quickly came to mind, and will remain there until my prayers turn my heart.

Then add two more people to the list. My husband. Yesterday didn't go very well. And the last couple of days, and if I'm really truthful, the last couple of weeks. Lately, it doesn't take much to make one of us snap at the other. "Heal us, God. Work from within to knock down The Wall.*"

And then there's me. It's easy to pray for what I think I need, but harder to pray for what I actually need. Patience. Self-control. Harder still to look for those sharp edges that God still needs to wear down.

I love the way The Message explains this piece of the Sermon on the Mount that I've heard over and over. Matthew 5:43-48 ^43-47 “You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’ and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’ I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer, for then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves. This is what God does. He gives his best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.
⁴⁸ “In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”

*The Wall, an anonymous poem.

The Wall
Their wedding picture mocked them from the table,
These two whose minds no longer touched each other.
They lived with such a heavy barricade between them
That neither battering ram of words
Nor artilleries of touch could break it down.
Somewhere, between the oldest child's first tooth
And the youngest daughter's graduation,
They lost each other.
Throughout the years each slowly unraveled
That tangled ball of string called self,
And as they tugged at stubborn knots,
Each hid his searching from the other.
Sometimes she cried at night
And begged the whispering darkness to tell her who she was.
He lay beside her, snoring like a hibernating bear,
Unaware of her winter.
Once, after they had made love,
He wanted to tell her how afraid he was of dying,
But, fearing to show his naked soul,
He spoke instead about the beauty of her breasts.
She took a course in modern art,
Trying to find herself in colors splashed upon a canvas,
Complaining to other women about men who are insensitive.
He climbed into a tomb called "The Office,"
Wrapped his mind in a shroud of paper figures,
And buried himself in customers. Slowly, the wall between them rose,
Cemented by the mortar of indifference.
One day, reaching out to touch each other
They found a barrier they could not penetrate,
And recoiling from the coldness of the stone,
Each retreated from the stranger on the other side.
For when love dies, it is not in a moment of angry battle,
Nor when fiery bodies lose their heat.
It lies panting, exhausted,
Expiring at the bottom of a wall it could not scale.

When nothing is going your way, rejoice! Wait, what?

Disappointment. That feeling of wanting something that you didn't get. Whether it was the perfect marriage, the job offer or pay raise, the family relationships that others enjoy. Disappointment is a longing unsatisfied. It is often mixed with envy or frustration, grief or resentment.

Most of us could unload a litany of disappointments in our lives. I know it wouldn't be hard for me to create a pretty lengthy list, and go right back to the anger and sadness those occasions generated. So unfair. Why me?

The pragmatist in me tells me that digging up old hurts is unproductive. The jobs and job opportunities are gone. There are good and bad moments with family members. People move through your life like confetti -- only a few pieces stick. Projects that you work at sometimes fail, and sometimes are destroyed by other people. People aren't always fair and honest. You move on.

The inspirational part of me tries to find something positive to take from it. Looking back, the job probably wouldn't have been the best career move. Having to deal with tough family issues has made me a stronger person. I found something better after that opportunity crashed and burned.

I wish I were that perfect person who accepted and liked the way things turned out. But disappointments caused a lot of hurt in my life, hurt that continues to this day. I can't let go and the resentment eats at me. Hurt people hurt people. You can name it, talk about it, bury it, but no matter what you do, it still bubbles up or gushes a deadly, poisonous river of venom at some moment. Sometimes another person is the victim, but more often, the victim is me.

The Bible points to these moments as trials, and I know I'm failing miserably. Romans 5: 3-5 (NLT) says this: ³ We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. ⁴ And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. ⁵ And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.

Rejoice? I looked for some other translations, and the words only got harder. Celebrate, shout our praise, be glad? Sure, I'm throwing a party next time I experience a bad break. We can boast, we can take pride in...yep, surely that's the kind of event I want to brag about in my life. Paul, you're a better man than I am.

Paul ends up being my role model in the Bible more often than not. And in disappointments, I still have a long way to go before I can turn my mourning into dancing, my discouragement into celebration.

What happened?

When I was growing up, if there was a family that was struggling, grieving or somehow disrupted, the entire church, neighborhood or community would pitch in. Even up to 9/11, when the country experienced a tragedy, people pulled together, went to donate blood, went to Ground Zero, and gathered to pray.

What happened?

In the years since 2001, people's compassion has gone out the window. The left bashes the right, the red slams the blue, and people who are struggling somehow deserve it. The homeless and hungry don't deserve assistance -- they are weak and lazy. People who are earning minimum wage need to go out and find another job if they can't live on $7.25/hour ($290/week, gross pay).

Years ago, communities used to take pride in the accomplishments of their kids. How many seniors went to college, how many scholarships, how many military academy appointments were numbers about which a whole town would brag. Today, adults talk about how bad kids are, how today's kids are useless, and how they will never spend an extra dime on education.

From people losing their jobs when a factory closes to someone's health crisis, there's always a critic trying to blame those who are suffering. If people would have worked harder, they wouldn't have outsourced the jobs to China or Mexico. If people would just take better care of themselves we wouldn't be paying such exorbitant fees for health care.

Basically, the world has become a cold-hearted, mean-spirited, blame-the-victim place. Tough it out, take care of yourself, because no one is going to be there for you. I've got mine, and I don't need anything from anyone, so go away and leave me alone.

Read the comments after stories in the national and local news, and you wonder if you're still living in the same communities that existed before 2001. Could those same people be there? Are people suffering from hardening of the heart, mind and soul?

What happened?

Fueled by a divided political and media atmosphere, people have chosen sides. The undecided have jumped on the bandwagon of political conservatism. The right has become vocal: we need to protect what we have from the 47%. We're losing ground and only by keeping the other half in their place do we stay in ours.

Fear is paramount. We could become them in a heartbeat. We need to protect ourselves from losing anything.

Lost? We've already lost the important stuff. Justice, compassion and goodwill for our fellow man.

Gardens need tending, but the results are amazing

Not my cup runneth over. My baskets runneth over. I went to my garden plots today.

I reserved two garden plots at the Community Garden this year. My backyard garden has never grown particularly well. There's a couple of things about the Community Garden that beats backyard gardening. First, it's a community -- I've met some nice people. Second, there's an educational component. Third, the ground has been worked for a couple of years. And finally, it is fenced and locked. My dog can't dig around in it.

The downside is, it's not in my backyard. I have to go out of my way to go there. And the garden has acquired a creeping vine that comes up everywhere.

So, it's monsoon season. And it's been days since I've been there. And as soon as I arrived, two things became rather obvious. The weeds are way ahead. And I should have picked produce a couple of days ago. I had to toss a couple of tomatoes. Some of the beans are a little past their prime. But the one Walmart bag I brought for the harvesting was barely big enough. I walked out with it stuffed to the top with tomatoes, beans and peppers. When I went to fill my garden basket, it overflowed. Second basket was over halfway full of tomatoes. Wow.

There's something joyful and relaxing about working in the garden. I tilled that soil. I added alpaca manure. I planted some seeds, and look what happened. Plants came up and then the blossoms set. The little beans and tomatoes and peppers appeared. I waited until they were the right size and color, and voila! I'm sure I've already paid for my supplies in fresh produce. I know I've paid for it in satisfaction.

As I picked and pulled weeds, it occurred to me that we aren't that much different from what's growing in the plots. All of us need some sunlight and lots of water, some harvesting and a little weeding from time to time. We need the Gardener to keep us straight and well-tended. Gardens don't grow to perfection without oversight and tending.

I still have zucchini and butternut squash to come. Onions and carrots are growing under the surface. I saw a little lettuce that I wasn't sure was even going to sprout. I planted a coleus and some nasturtiums and they are gorgeous.

I have enough to share -- perhaps with co-workers, maybe down at Open Door. I will freeze some of the beans for this fall and winter. I've eaten a few beans and tomatoes straight out of the garden, the freshest harvest you can experience. Mmm -- nothing like the taste of totally fresh vegetables.

With love, to my son

I've lost the quote and cannot locate it. But it goes something like this: every parent has the right to believe their children are the world's smartest, most beautiful creations to ever walk this earth.

If not their parents, who else? Other parents should be wrapped in the same beliefs about their children. Childless people cannot relate to why this small being we created is so precious to us. Teachers, child care workers, medical professionals cannot choose between all of their precious charges. Nope, it's up to us as parents. Every child should feel unconditional love, and know that his or her parents madly love everything about him or her.

Today, as my son turns 24, I waited up until midnight to spring a dastardly deed on him -- posting younger pictures of him on Facebook and tagging him, so his friends would see them. I deserved everything he might say. Instead, he was the first person to say it: "I am adorable."

Are you kidding? Of course you're adorable: those blond curls before your first haircut when you were 2? The smile on your face when the lorikeets piled on you at the San Diego Zoo for the nectar you were holding? The same delight when the love of your life snuggled up against your shoulder. The kindness and gentleness, the playfulness and joy piled into that body since your first snuggles and hugs -- you ARE adorable. The best thing your dad and I ever did was decide to have you.

I'm not going into your moments. Everyone has them. As you grow up, they are becoming fewer and fewer, as you choose to put other people and priorities first. You are living on your own, so the moments we intersect are fewer, and mostly pleasant.

So, even if you have no blond curls, and your days of zoo visits have come and gone, you are adorable. Our faces light up every time we see you. The past 24 years have been the best ones of our lives, and we can't wait to watch your future keep unfolding.

And that's how we roll

My truck turned 10 this month. Well, maybe a little older than that, but that's when we brought Max home -- or really, he brought us home. Max is our 2004 Chevy Colorado.

Apparently, naming vehicles is a pretty common habit, judging from our online acquaintances. They're almost like family members. They go on family trips, accompany us every day. There's only one problem. Eventually, something happens. You decide to sell them. Or they die.

Then that anthropomorphism becomes an awkward moment. Do you mourn? Do you have a service? Do you just pretend you never named your vehicle and treated them like a family member, with a name, an age, and personality?

Max's brother Louie died this week. Louie is my husband's car. We think he's dead, anyway. The reality is that he could be resuscitated, but at a pretty high price. He's 21. Really old in car years. Not really worth it.

My son's car died a year ago. On the way to Flagstaff. Problem is, he was still making payments. So, he came to rest in our yard until my son can save the money to replace the engine. We thought that would have happened by now. Even though he moved out last year, he's been car-sharing with his dad until last week. Now neither of them has wheels.

That has caused a lot of stress at my house. My husband works and has other interests. My son has two jobs and a social life. I have one overwhelming job. Granted, the truck stays in the parking lot at my office 80% of the time. But when I need it, I need it. So now, it's crunch time.

Put the money into my son's vehicle? OK, but will he car-share with my husband? Buy another old car that will likely have issues? Buy a nicer car? Sorry, car payments aren't in our budget. Or try to limp by with one vehicle between three of us. Realistically, I don't think it's going to work for long.

I'm hoping that some miracle occurs to provide another vehicle, like someone that the guys know wants to get rid of a decently running vehicle for an affordable price. But the reality is, something is going to have to give, really soon. Preferably before something happens to my truck. I sure wish we had decent transit service.

Nature or nurture: What would have happened?

It takes me almost no time to fall asleep. At times, I wish I was an insomniac. I'd probably have solved the world's problems. Because it seems my best thoughts often come in the four minutes between laying my head on the pillow and falling asleep.

Four minutes. Sometimes even fewer. That's all it takes for me to meet the Sandman. If I want to do some reading or praying, I better not lie down. If I'm horizontal, the clock is ticking. Couch, bed or floor -- makes no difference. I can fall asleep at house parties and in the passenger seat of a car.

But in those four minutes, my mind goes so many places. Why are there so many religions? Why can't I find raspberry ripple ice cream? Where did the third generation of humans come from? Who came up with the idea of curling anyway? What would an outside observer of earth say about us?

That last question sends me into far more introspective areas. War. Capital punishment. The drug trade. Mental illness. Criminal justice. Capitalism. Homelessness. Hunger.

Was it design or happenstance that determined where I would be born, who my parents would be, who I would marry? Does the God who knows me control everything about my life, or some things, or nothing? Do my prayers change anything, or do I change when I put myself in a position to listen, focus and change?

But my most curious questions stay on that destiny topic. Was I destined to be a Christian, a Lutheran? Under other circumstances, would I have a large family and condemn homosexuality? Could I have ended up working in a factory, or playing music for a living? What if I had gone to a different college, or if I had finished my degree in 1986? What if I still worked in the media?

I keep coming back to a design -- I'm here because the One who put the universe into motion, who made the earth and all of its diverse living things, who died for a creation with flaws, wants me where I am. And without his direction, things wouldn't have happened this way.

Because I believe, I can contemplate a day when I am in the presence of the One who knows all the answers. And because eternity is eternity, He won't mind my curious questions. He will expect them, because He knows me.

Be nice to me...I gave blood today

Just a couple of facts to start this post (source: RedCrossBlood.org):

• Although an estimated 38% of the U.S. population is eligible to donate blood, less than 10% actually do each year.
• Blood cannot be manufactured – it can only come from generous donors.
• Type O-negative blood (red cells) can be transfused to patients of all blood types. It is always in great demand and often in short supply.

I donate blood for the cookies, and because I have an excuse to eat cookies without guilt every 8-16 weeks. I donate blood because it's a fast way to lose weight (a pint's a pound, right?) I donate blood for the cute "Be nice to me: I gave blood today" sticker. I donate blood because I like getting stuck with needles. I donate blood because I brag about how many gallons I've donated. I donate blood because the chaise lounges are a comfortable hangout and alternative to the coffee shop.

OK, I'm not giving up my day job to become a comedy writer. Donating blood isn't a natural subject for a comedy sketch.

Reality check: I'm not sure why I give blood. I have since I was 17 and in high school. It was the second time that I donated that sealed it. A Red Cross staff member took 30 seconds to tell me a fact that changed how I viewed the act. I don't know the exact words, but I paraphrase:

"Gail, we're collecting your blood today in what we call a quad-bag. You have O-negative blood, and we need that for preemie babies. Those little bags can be separated for blood transfusions for babies born too early, to save their lives."

Any discomfort, any frustration I had because I had to wait, anything else immediately left my mind. That staff member took the moment to put a tiny human face on what I just did, and made it personal. I was hooked. I donated in college. As a young adult through 15 years of reporting. And then I left the newspaper business and was looking for a meaningful full-time job.

One little ad in the newspaper. Community relations representative for United Blood Services. Oh, one more piece of information -- by that time, I had an 11-year-old son. A son who wouldn't be there except for a blood transfusion he had in the first days of his life. Preemie babies have a lot of blood tests, and he needed blood. Yes, that comment to me as a high school student came full circle in my adult years. And it had been a stranger who saved my son's life -- you don't get to give blood days after childbirth!

Blood drives were my life for more than three years. I established dozens of new drives, talked to groups and businesses, worked with community leaders and the media, and recruited new donors. I made cookies, cut up fruit, whatever it took to get people in the door. And I was able to donate every 56 days like clockwork.

From United Blood Services to Red Cross. I became a blood drive coordinator. And I'm still a regular -- although not that regular.

I discovered double red cell donations. Instead of giving a pint of whole blood, I could give two units of red cells, and get back my plasma and platelets. O-negative plasma and platelets, no big deal. But O-negative red cells? Critical stuff. Only 6 percent of the population has type O-negative. But it's the universal blood type that any person can use. So in an emergency, when there's no time to "type and cross-match," the medical staff grabs units of O-negative and transfuses. No questions asked.

Two units from one donor? All the better.

I donate blood because it saves lives. True statement. How many people can say they've saved lives? I have no doubt I have.

So you are burdened with worry -- don't add guilt too!

Worry. Then guilt.

Christians shouldn't worry, right? We have all those encouraging words in the Bible. If God is for us, who can be against us? God is faithful. He will uphold you with his strong right hand. Fear not, little flock.

So, if you're up at some disturbing hour of the night, upset about something in your life, you aren't very faithful. Whether that is a family member's problem, a job issue, finances, or something larger or smaller. Maybe it's a meeting you don't want to have. A test. An awkward visit from a family member. Or just a pile of smaller issues flooded out of proportion by too much coffee.

You've turned over the issue to God for days, or weeks, or years. But tonight, you can't sleep, you can't read, you can't push it aside. It's taken up all the space between your ears. Your remaining rational brain cells know there's absolutely nothing you can do, especially at 3 a.m. But there you are, pacing the floor, neck stiff from checking your email and Facebook again and again. You don't want to go back to bed and wake your sleepy spouse.

Then the guilt sets in. You've heard this before. Cast your concerns on Jesus. Turn it over in prayer and leave it with Him. Rest easy. He's a big enough God for all your cares. Stop worrying...I've got this one. If it was as easy as wiping a white board, or unloading your bucket. "All yours, Lord. I'm going back to sleep now." But the worry still is there, and joining it is guilt. Apparently, I wouldn't have gotten a couple steps on water. My mustard seed wouldn't have sprouted. Forget moving mountains, I couldn't move an ant hill.

So I tried to find that passage that tells me I'm unfaithful because I worry, and it doesn't show itself. I find lots of great advice: "Who can add a single hour to his life by worrying?" (Well, no one, I guess. Probably a few people have lost a few by worrying.) Trust in Him.

I think the guilt part was an added fear launched by a sermon long ago. Something to tie down the "take it to the Lord in prayer" scriptures. If you lay all those worries on Jesus, you're free. So if you're worried, you're really still laden with cares.

Sometimes the worries are heavy. Sometimes the coffee and cares won't let you sleep. Adding guilt doesn't help. Even if you share those worries with Jesus, you still are pained and upset. Know that the Lord hears your cares and is up all night with you. If you can cast them on Him and rest easy, great. If not, relax in a chair, picture Him holding you and all those troubles. Eventually, you may drift off in His arms. I often find myself comforted by that picture of a loving God and Father, the One who would love you, cares and all.

Love is patient and kind

Impatience. How frustrated I get when things happen on someone else's schedule. Something that I think should happen in an hour takes three. Something I want tomorrow takes a week to arrive. Even water takes too long to boil. I am, by nature, an impatient person.

At the same time, I've been on the receiving end of someone else's impatience. My husband or son, most often. Why was I 10 minutes late? Can we go already? Can't we do this errand some other time?

Unfortunately, I know why the frustration. I know other people don't share my priorities. What is important to me isn't important to them, and vice versa. And in many cases, I haven't allowed enough time for my task. The store doesn't have enough cashiers at the time I want to check out. The customer service department has a wait time of 20 minutes because I called at a high demand time. The highway isn't moving as fast as I want it to move, because many drivers are trying to get to the same place at the same time.

I get irritated. I grit my teeth. I try to go around the problem. And usually it gets me nowhere. Sometimes I am not very understanding. I am unpleasant to people who have no more control over the situation than I do.

Is it any wonder that the infamous words about love in 1 Corinthians 13 start out with "Love is patient and kind"? I'm thinking of these words today, my 29th anniversary. Paul must have understood so well that impatience and unkindness are relationship bridge-burners. I sit here, knowing that my impatience and unkindness to my best friend has been the cause of many arguments. And my lack of remorse and stubbornness has prolonged those uncomfortable moments.

Before our 30th anniversary, my goal is to work on my 1st Corinthians 13 faults. I stand convicted and human before these words of love's perfection. I am gifted with a husband who loves me so much, in spite of my faults.

Enough old, tired solutions

Yesterday I reached my limit. I'm so tired of hearing the same old tired complaints and non-solutions to our country's problems. It's time to move on.

Reality check #1 -- more jails and prisons doesn't stop crime. My county is pushing for a jail tax to build more jails, and threatening increased property taxes if we don't approve the sales tax. Putting criminals behind bars with other criminals only creates better criminals. When people come out of jail, they come out with no better skills, no further education. Instead, give inmates the option to train in skilled trades or take online courses -- the inmates would have labor assignments if they don't choose productive training. Once inmates have done their time, provide them with the means to have their records expunged or reduced to misdemeanor records for less severe crimes after a period of time, so felons can gain housing and work and actually move on with their lives.

Reality check #2 -- housing the homeless is less expensive than ignoring the problem -- by a factor of two to three times. Face it, very few people actually want to remain homeless. Given the option between living under a roof and living in a car or a tent, most people will choose a home. But many people have barriers to housing. Records. Substance abuse. Mental and physical disabilities. And they end up costing society in medical, criminal justice and other community challenges. Housing First is a model that allows people to become housed, gain case management to get back on their feet and receive the services they need. In many cases, people gain stability, jobs and reduced substance use.

Reality check #3 -- national hot button issues are resolvable. How long are our country's citizens going to believe that issues like health care, immigration, poverty, living-wage jobs, climate change and other issues are going to stay with us forever? I'm tired of watching the people in the spotlight spar and never bring the issues to a conclusion. When you sit down to talk with another citizen, even one on a different part of the political spectrum, we all have things in common. A family ought to be able to find a job that pays enough so they don't need benefits to get by, if they are truly working. People shouldn't have to sneak into our country -- we should have a process that is meaningful but reasonable to assure citizenship. Not having health care costs the American public more than everyone having a basic level of health care. We can do more environmentally to assure our future generations of a safe, livable world. There is so much more our country could be doing if we weren't wasting political energy on the fringes of these basic agreements.

Stalemate will continue until American public pulls together

Government of the people, by the people and for the people. I think that we have received what we've asked for. Our government is just like us.

Our President, Senate and Congress are so dysfunctional that government is at a standstill. No real legislation is being proposed. Republicans and Democrats won't reach across the aisle to create legislation that benefits the American public. Senate and Congress do not work together. The President won't work with Congress. The President is sued over executive orders, then reprimanded for not using executive orders. Congress tries to repeal the Affordable Care Act 50+ times.

CNN and Fox News choose sides and blame people and parties. Time passes. Issues arise. Politicians observe and do nothing. Government occasionally shuts down as the administrative and legislative branch play chicken with workers, agencies and the economy.

But are these top level politicians any different than all of us? We've chosen sides and we debate politics in the local coffeehouse, on social media and among family and friends. If we vote, our votes are as dysfunctional as our federal government. No real change takes place. The candidates mumble about the economy, immigration, jobs and corporations as people. But whether the faces in Washington change or not, the action doesn't.

Why should it? We're a divided country. They're a divided government. We asked for representative politics, and we got what we asked for.

The only way government will change is if we change. When we pull together and demand leaders that will work together and get government moving. When we force our elected leaders to lead or go away. It will take a combined effort from both parties' voters to force politicians to start taking action for America again.

Until that happens, elected officials will continue to grandstand to the media and keep government motionless. How long can we afford to have Washington make excuses about why nothing is being done? As long as we're willing to be divided by them.

Did a client really ask for that?

I thought that every so often I ought to make a list of what callers ask at my office. As a nonprofit, we get some interesting questions and requests, but lately, things have taken a weird slant.

It is perfectly normal for our callers to ask for things like help with rent, utilities, food, clothing, fuel, laundry or medical costs. Generally speaking, not with plane or bus tickets, but we do get requests.

They've asked for car repairs and help to get dentures. We've occasionally helped people with class fees and certification testing to get or keep a job. We've obtained walkers and wheelchairs and even connected a woman with a locksmith for a lockout. We've been asked for all sorts of appliances, help paying off loans, and catching up with payments for storage units. Pretty much, those go beyond our scope of services.

Today, a lady came in and told us her sister died, and could she have her mail? Hmm, somehow, unless we have some documentation, we can't give someone's mail to anyone besides that person. Tomorrow, the sister could come in and ask for her mail and deny being dead, even for 24 hours.

We've been asked to pay vet bills and even spay and neuter pets. Somehow, we feel that people who can't afford pets probably should not have them. But generally, we steer them to the humane society, for potential low-cost services.

We don't get involved in fines or court cases. We don't pay for funeral or burial expenses. We don't translate. We don't resolve arguments between feuding spouses or clients. We don't tell callers whether a family member has received services. We don't tell teenagers their parents want them to come home now.

We help with some state forms, but generally, people are on their own as far as paperwork. Today a woman asked for help filling out a substitute teaching form. Heaven help our kids if a candidate for a substitute teaching job can't manage a form. Could she grade papers or teach?

And we don't do babysitting: for an hour or by the week. We've been asked if we will watch a child for an hour while a parent has an appointment or interview -- we just can't do that. Today, however, we never expected to be asked to watch a child for a week. It's a teen mom in the care of her grandparents. Could we watch the baby for a week while the three of them take a vacation? Because she's never had that experience. It would really be helpful.

No. We referred them to another agency, which was the agency that referred them to us. Nobody was quite sure what to do with that request.

Scammers getting more intense, finding more victims

I've been caught shaking my head lately by some people's naiveté. It seems that every day or two in the paper or in the newspaper, I read another scam story. Some person, usually a senior, has wired thousands of dollars to a friend or family member in need. Or to claim a major lottery win.

The problem is, there was no friend or family member. There was no lottery win. There was a scammer in another state or country that preyed upon the gullible person. And he or she let them. Walked right into it. Withdrew money and went to the location and wired the money to a name he or she didn't recognize. Without questioning. Without checking. And that money is gone.

I have to admit, my emails' inboxes are full of garbage. Garbage that if I didn't get much mail, I might think twice about. A phishing scheme from an email that looks a lot like my bank. An occasional email from someone who has hacked a friend's email and says she's in Europe and needs help. A veteran in Iraq that needs my help for banking services.

The news stories, Better Business Bureau warnings and notes on Facebook warn people every day. Does it make sense? If you have any question at all, don't do it. Don't wire money to someone you don't know. Don't wire money to your friend in Europe without checking to see if she left the area. Don't ever send money to collect a lottery winning (first question, did you play the Canadian lottery? You can't win something you didn't play). An inheritance from someone you've never met? How did that veteran get your email? Yes, you were spammed.

Some of the schemes come by phone. And while much of my generation screens calls, much of the older generation does not. So when someone calls and tells them their grandson is in trouble with the law and needs bail money and doesn't want his parents notified, the grandparent jumps into protection mode. Even if he or she didn't talk to the grandson. Even if the caller never mentioned the grandson's name. And even if he or she didn't question the grandson's whereabouts with another relative. The grandparent wires $1,200 to the "friend" who is trying to get help for their grandson. And maybe another $500 when there is a secondary problem.

If you have senior parents, even if you think they are extremely cautious, tell them about these scams. Explain what phishing is. Tell them never to wire money without checking with a family member. Tell them about hacked emails. Don't laugh about their lack of technical knowledge about spam -- protect them.

Bless the beasts and the children

Bless the beasts and the children. The name of a movie that made me cry, and a Carpenters song. Children and animals. The vulnerable ones. The ones needing protection. Often caught in the middle of strife.

How children and all baby animals tear at our heartstrings. Who doesn't have the image of a naked child running through the streets during Vietnam seared into their mind's eye? Some picture of Iraq or Afghanistan service members holding a dog?

Perhaps you've seen the recent image of someone aiming a gun at a cat. Or heard about feuding, divorcing adults battling over children, or even their pets. Occasionally the stories turn tragic.

Today, I ran into a friend. She has had a rough go of things for years. Her adult children are troubled addicts. I rarely go where I ran into her today, especially at that time of day. I'm sure that He was in control of that meeting. The "what's new in your life" small talk quickly turned into the information that she is now caring for three grandchildren. The kids needed stable adults in their lives. She and her husband were it.

No matter how crazy you think your life is, when given the choice over caring for your family's children or letting them go into state care, you set the other issues aside and care for your family. They are family. Ohana, to choose the Hawaiian word that explains the concept better.

Tonight in several border states, children are receiving minimal care in makeshift facilities as adults war over their next moves. Political refugees? Political pawns? Depends on where you stand. But look at those faces, and unmistakably, these are children. Frightened children. Desperate, scared kids who don't know what's next. But they expected whatever they were running to was better than what they were running from.

Some of the politicos are holding out for a "send them back" strategy. In their minds, it's not America's fault that these children's countries are torn by strife, drug running, gangs and other power struggles that put children in the middle. They don't see the kids as refugees, wanting a safe life. They see them as property -- property that got shipped here illegally. Get rid of it. Get rid of a problem.

Problem is, it's not a cargo container. It's a vulnerable child, caught in the middle.

Before you sleep tonight, get the image in your head of a child. Your sibling, your cousin, your child, your grandchild. The child in your waiting room or your Sunday School. And thank God for his or her safety. Then add one more prayer -- that other children, one day, will be blessed with peace.

Life's plans don't always follow your path

How much of life didn't turn out the way you planned or imagined it? If you're anything like me, pretty much all of it.

Are you disappointed? Maybe a little, but I really don't have time to sit back and dwell on it.

Last question: At the end of your life, will you have regrets? Heck, why have regrets over what you can't change? You don't get do-overs in life.

I struggle with the idea of childhood memories. I remember very little before the age of 6. I wonder if my mind blocked out most of everything before the divorce. Anyway, I try to think of my earliest thoughts about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I didn't have very strong role models. My grandmother was a domestic for old people, until she got old herself. My mom worked a couple of jobs after the divorce -- one at a frozen food plant, the other at a canning factory. I think I wanted to be a teacher for a time, since I saw lots of women in that occupation.

So what did I plan? I remember thinking about being a geothermal engineer. I have no idea out of what cloud that idea came. Then I wanted to be a meteorologist. Eventually, I got into high school and figured out my interests and aptitudes, and narrowed it down to a journalist or pastor. When I found out I needed to go to school for four years for the former, and eight years for the latter, I made my decision. I didn't know how I was going to pay for four years of college, let alone eight.

I actually asked this question on my interview for my first professional job: tell me about your retirement plan. I seriously thought I would work at that job until I retired. And I worked for the same company for 15 years. Retiring from the company you start with is such a foreign concept today. People change jobs and even career fields throughout their lifetimes. I slid from writing to graphic arts to community relations. And then a transition I didn't think I would survive -- I was an office manager for a year.

Then a nonprofit manager for a couple of jobs until my current position as an executive director of a nonprofit. If you had asked me if I ever thought I'd head a social service agency, even as a young adult, I would have asked what kind of drug you were on. I didn't plan it, I didn't imagine it, and some days, I still can't believe I do this.

Where would I go tomorrow if I had the pick of any career? I think I'd try to return to writing full-time. But that isn't how life works -- you make the best of where you land. Bloom where you are planted, a pastor once told his congregation.

Tomorrow happens, and I get up and try to help people change their lives for the better. Being able to make a difference for one person is rewarding. It is where I've been planted, and I like to think that's part of a plan that goes far beyond me. When He wants me to be somewhere else, he will move me, uproot me, shake me off a little and let me land. Trust that this is the place I'm intended to be right now.

Next time I'm tempted to procrastinate...

If only we wanted to do the things that were good for us, rather than the things that are easy and fun.

There's a stack of things on my to-do list, and here I am, writing in my blog. I could be doing one of the work things that comprises the major part of my list. Or working out. Or cleaning my house. Or...

But I'm not. Procrastination seems to be what I'm good at.

Once I get started in a project, it's not so bad. And recently, a co-worker told me to handle the elephant on my list at the start of the day, and other things will come easier.

I handled the elephant on my list at 5:30 this morning. And here it is, 3:00 in the afternoon, and I'm not through the list.

I've always been somewhat of a procrastinator, but the internet, email and social media have made it so much worse. That many distractions could take up my whole day. And I could rationalize that checking my email and updating our social media IS my work. But that explains about 30 minutes.

While Paul didn't have social media or email to worry about, he was a writer. And a fairly proficient, prolific writer at that. I think he probably wrote a lot more letters than ever made it into the Bible. You know, not everything you write receives critical acclaim. So I imagine that Paul probably wrote other correspondence to churches that wasn't so uplifting. Perhaps he really reamed some of them out. Or he whined about how his ministry was going. Those letters probably didn't fit in with his first and second letters to the church at Corinth, his epistle to Ephesus, his memo to Philemon (c'mon, it's not even a full page in the Bible), and of course, his magnum opus, his letter to the Romans.

It's there in Romans that makes me think Paul would have understood this blog. Romans 7:15 -- "I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate."

Well, I don't hate writing. Or going and checking my Facebook, or getting a snack. But I do hate it later, when I account for what I haven't done. It's not what is right, as Paul explained it in another letter. Colossians 3:23 -- "Whatever you do, work at it with all of your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men." What a guilt trip. Whether or not anyone else realizes I'm procrastinating, the One who counts does. I'm really doing my work for Him. If I'm not accomplishing what I should, I'm shorting Him my time in the work He's placed before me.

Convicted.

So, in that light, I'm wrapping up this blog. And getting back to the to-do list. Not my list. Not just my work list or chore list. My list for Him. 

Life's lessons: the basics

Generational poverty. When you think about the term, what comes to mind? Three generations, packed into a house, people on government programs, unkempt home, dirty children.

I have to admit that this was my picture of that situation several years ago, and to some extent, I still have to force that stereotype out of my mind. But it's so much easier to replace it with another picture today. That's because generational poverty isn't a particular living situation. It is the attitudes and lessons passed down, shaping the next generation's repetition of lifestyle patterns.

Time and time again, I see these patterns emerge, not because people buy into them, but because they never learned any other pattern. You don't learn what causes people to live hand to mouth in school. You believe the family that raised you had life's lessons down to a tee. Or even if they did, perhaps they never talked about finances and other realities with their children. In fact, many families took great pains to avoid sharing their struggles and decisions with their children.

I was raised as one of those children, so I see those patterns in my own life. Worse yet, my husband was raised in the same type of household. The implied message was that you should know these things as adults, but we're never going to share them with you. You're going to have to figure them out or do just as we did.

Observation #1: If you are a normal human family, you have lots of credit cards, and you use them. That's what they're for. If they give you a decent credit line, use it all. If they raise it, use it too. They won't raise it beyond your ability to pay it.

Reality check #1: Credit cards companies are in the business of making money on people who don't use them wisely. The more you use them, the more money you pay them in interest. Many people don't pay them off and end up paying substantially more in interest than they ever imagined. They probably don't read the fine print, explaining how much they will pay if they only the minimal payment. Soon, the credit card debt is over their heads, their credit rating in the gutter.

Observation #2: Social Security is going to provide for me in my retirement. I don't have to worry about IRA's or 401K's or anything.

Reality check #2: Social Security was designed to pay for only basic support. If you intend to travel, to eat out occasionally, to visit your grandchildren, save for that opportunity. And, big surprise, Social Security may not even exist when adults today reach retirement.

Observation #3: Buy whatever you need. You only live once.

Reality check #3: What you need is food, shelter, basic clothing and very little else. Most things that people buy are wants. Many people today have no impulse control and buy pretty much everything they see, using credit cards to do so in many cases. They have little saved for the actual rainy day, when a job disappears or the car breaks down. Yet they have a house full of stuff.

Schools don't teach reality checks. They are very good at teaching English and math and science and social studies, but life's reality checks come at a high cost. These are lessons we have to teach our children. If not, this generational deficit continues.

If ending poverty was as simple as a job...

It's so easy to blame the poor for their poverty. What's really difficult is being a force for change.

There is no simple reason for a person to be poor. Every person who is there wishes they were some other place. Truthfully, many of them could be in a different place. But something holds them back.

Fear. It's the No. 1 reason people don't change their circumstance. "If things are bad now, they could be worse." "It took me forever to get this job -- if they found out I was looking, I could lose everything." "This job pays my rent and barely covers my bills. At least that's something."

Education. Many highly capable people don't have the education they need, or think they need, to get the job they want. Maybe they had to drop out of school to help support their family. Or they have a learning disability or another challenge. Maybe their education is in another field that is no longer an option. Perhaps in some cases, they have advanced degrees that prevent people from hiring them for a lower-level job. 

Support. Some people have no family support to help them get a job. Perhaps they have small children, and they don't have family who can watch the youngsters so they can submit resumes and go to job interviews. Without this support, they can't effectively job search and are stuck in their circumstance. Other times, it is a family member who clearly or vaguely is unsupportive: "You don't need to look for a better job -- my job supports us just fine." "If I was your boss, I wouldn't promote you." "Do you think that is wise?"

Discrimination. Obvious or hidden, challenges can stop a person from getting a job or even looking for one. A wheelchair user, for instance, can't always prove that his disability stopped him from getting a job, but after hundreds of unsuccessful job interviews, unproven discrimination can wear a job seeker down. The same with vision or hearing impairments, age, size, or many other issues. And the person's own challenges may stop them from even searching for satisfying jobs. Perhaps they have unseen medical conditions or are a caregiver for someone who needs their help -- and the caregiver knows of no other options. "I wouldn't be able to keep a job." "Who would want to hire me?" "I have to be home if they call."

Thousands of workers, thousands of reasons. These are not excuses, they are barriers. Some of them easily overcome, some of them impossible to scale. It's hard not to say, "well, why don't you get a job?" or "you could easily get a better job" when you don't know the circumstances.

Individual-oriented job placement is the answer, but on one hand, some people won't accept the help, and often it is not available. In addition, job success isn't just about landing the job, it's about dealing with the other life obstacles that can stop a person from succeeding long-term even after he or she lands a job that fits. Attitudes. Money issues. Family situations. Work is an effective way out of poverty, but it is hardly the entire answer.

Of sandwiches, services, and second chances

I made sandwiches this afternoon.

I don't work for a "that's not my job" agency. When there's a challenge, a deadline, people out sick or a big project, everybody pitches in. None of that "I'm the boss, so I don't carry boxes." Somebody needs a hand, I have two.

Today was the first day of CCJ's partnership with U.S.Vets. U.S.Vets exists to help homeless vets get back on their feet, employed and self-sufficient. CCJ exists to help all people get back on their feet and self-sufficient. U.S.Vets moved off the VA campus today. Its 56 vets need to eat. My agency cooks and feeds people. It's a great partnership. If all goes well, our agencies will partner on something bigger. A culinary training program to give our participants job skills.

But back to the sandwiches -- part of tomorrow's lunches for the vets who have found employment. Ham and cheese and lettuce on bagels. A side of applesauce and some juice. I imagined the veterans who open those bags tomorrow, somewhere at a workplace. I doubt they are thinking about who made their sandwiches, but I'm thinking about who will eat them as I assemble them.

One of my staff took over tonight's dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs, salad and fresh bread. A hot, tasty meal in a new location. Each veteran is already making huge adjustments. First, from whatever military service assignment (and possible trauma) to civilian life. From homeless to a program. From one location to another. From scraping out a living to case management and job search. From unemployed to a job. And hopefully, from this program to their own apartment and a long-term working situation.

A few vets have been at CCJ before. If they are homeless and ready for change, we try to hook them up with U.S.Vets. It is a very narrowly focused program where ours is a broad net. We accept people where they are and provide for many of their basic needs. And without pressure, we offer them the chance to move to self-sufficiency. Food. Hygiene. Resources and access to other programs. Clothing. Mentorship.

Some days I think our staff and volunteers may as well be case managers. While they feed people, they are so observant. Who is here, and who is not? Do people seem to be their normal selves? Emotional, physical, mental health checks. Our regulars and even some who are new find that the staff care enough to ask basic questions. What can we help you with? What would you like to eat today? Is everything OK?

I finish bagging the sandwiches, pack the other items and fold the tops. Twenty bags, ready for tomorrow's lunches. I know the vets have someone who is asking them these questions, and that makes a difference. They have a place to sleep, a roof over their heads, and a chance to regroup and start again.

And tomorrow, each one has a sandwich.

Tune out, turn off, unplug it all

I've heard that people who are able to draw boundaries between work and the rest of their lives are more effective and focused.

I would have a hard time testing that theory. I'm not sure I have any boundaries between my work and the rest of my life. As electronics invade more and more of our personal space, that dividing line becomes almost impossible to find.

I think back to the first professional job I had. As a reporter, I worked when I worked. There was no internet. No cell phone. No social media. (There were also no digital cameras or pagination software programs, but I digress). The only fuzzy line came when people in the community approached me at the grocery store, in a restaurant, at church, at my son's school, etc. and told me about a great story that our newspaper was missing. I was pleased that the community felt I was approachable. And it didn't happen every minute. When I took a vacation, I was really gone and unavailable.

Fast forward 28 years. I often wish I was back in those days, not only because I miss writing professionally, but also because I miss the boundaries. Today I am responsible for my agency's social media, electronic newsletter and webpage. I have a personal Facebook page, that makes it easy to stay in touch with family and friends, but also easy to send me a personal message. People can call, text or send me emails on my "smartphone." I get messages before, during and after work. And people expect me to respond. Sometimes I'm even proud that I respond early in the morning and late at night.

For most of the past three days, I've been at the Grand Canyon. Within the national park, I went back at least 10 years. My reception was severely limited. No 4G service, no emails, no Facebook updates. I forced myself to stay out of the business center. I shut off my phone and charged my camera battery instead. I unplugged and laced up my boots. I breathed Ponderosa pine instead of Facebook memes. And I admit, when I hit mid-afternoon today, I had to force myself into the truck to start the drive back. It would have been easy to stay a few more days.

The Bible's writers could have never fathomed smartphones and laptops, the internet and cell phones. However, they realized that there are times and seasons for all different types of activities (Ecc. 3) and that Jesus didn't totally uphold Martha's toil (Luke 10). Today, Jesus may have told me to tune it out, turn it off and unplug it, enjoy some life and take time to listen to Him.

Cure Thy children’s warring madness

I always looked at war as incomprehensible. Back in confirmation days, the concept of Holy War was something that I couldn't wrap my head around. When I considered God telling his people to go kill people and take their land, I couldn't paste it together with the Fifth Commandment. I couldn't see honoring David for killing Goliath. I thought it would be OK to toss out a bunch of the Old Testament scripture and stories.

I laughed when I was recruited in high school for the service. Not a chance. I've never owned a gun. Never shot at a living thing, much less a person. I've shot arrows and BBs into targets. I just didn't get the thrill. I lock my doors to keep thieves out rather than own guns to challenge them.

World War II at least had a point. Japan bombs your naval base in Hawaii, you defend your land. Germany starts killing people because of their backgrounds and tries to take over Europe, you help your allies. How come we didn't all get together and tell the communists to stay out of Korea or Vietnam? Either come together and tell people to stop being bullies, or don't get into the war. A war you don't want to finish isn't a war. It's a sacrifice of your young people.

So the idea of the Israel/Palestinian conflict is just something that tears me up. The Jewish people have possessed much of this area for centuries. They didn't just show up yesterday. They have fought to retain what they consider is their sacred land. They want nothing more than to live here in peace. Yet they haven't had peace in their land for much of their history, and they aren't having it now.

I haven't lived in a time when our world was at peace. Was there a time like that? I think about people and wonder, if individuals can't settle our differences without anger and killing, how do we expect our nations to do likewise? We allow capital punishment. We treasure and insist upon personal weapons. We consider fighting a sport.

My vocabulary is filled with language of peace. Tolerate. Accept. Understand. Consensus. Love. Compassion. Mercy. Agree. My head and gut hurt when I have to deal with any conflict. Not metaphoric, but actual pain. I was not made for dissension. Yet I'm human and I live with my own warring madness. My family and others have seen that side of me. Not often, but more than I'm proud to admit. I own it and I claim it.

Other people see war differently. Fighting for our country's values and the protection of liberty around the globe is a different value. And they fight so that others may know the qualities they value. They risk their own life and take others' lives so that sometime, that country may know peace. It's a choice. Not my choice, but one that I can understand. And a part of me hurts for these people who have seen war and death. Can they ever know real peace again?

Our inability to live together in peace is the imperfection that lives within each of us. We will not be perfected in this world. We cannot even understand it -- this peace that passes all understanding. One day we will.

One hand in the river, one hand upstream

Upstream. It may be the most over-used word in social services today. "We need to work upstream to resolve that issue, so we can stop dealing with the results."

I'm sure the phrase came from some issue that really did happen upstream, like pollution into a freshwater stream, or the lack of water flow to a downstream community caused by excessive water use upstream. But now the phrase comes with this picture -- the river is full of people being washed downstream. Do you keep pulling them out, or do you go upstream to figure out why people are in the river in the first place?

PTSD in veterans. We need to fix that upstream. Does that mean ending wars? I'm all for it. But we're fighting a really big war machine.

Hunger. We need to work upstream. Where? The system that doesn't assist enough families with enough money for food stamps, the system that doesn't help them to become self-sufficient and not need assistance, the system that doesn't encourage them to stay in school and get decent jobs, or the food distribution system in all communities that doesn't get extra food to the right places so that all are fed? Which upstream problem do we target?

Homelessness. We need to tackle this upstream. Should we advocate for more affordable housing, deal with the mental health issues of thousands of homeless people, provide additional Section 8 HUD vouchers in local communities, turn foreclosed housing into shelters, or some other answer?

Meanwhile, people are still suffering, hungry and homeless. Do we work upstream or do we help ease their suffering, feed them and shelter them? Each answer takes people, time and money. Families affected by one member with PTSD create issues for generations. The mother of two children can't tell her kids that she'll be able to feed them in two years when she finishes her degree. Study after study shows that housing people is more cost-effective than leaving them homeless.

Community problems require both solutions: people to reach in the river and keep people from drowning, and people to hike upstream and figure out why people are in the river in the first place. Without the hands-on community services, these are real people who will drown in the wake. Without advocacy upstream, we will never stop having to rescue people. Every problem requires both hands-on service and advocacy.

That 'issue' you're talking about? He's my neighbor

Do people respect each other anymore?

I think about that a lot lately, when I talk to people. When two people agree about one or more issues, everything is fine. When they don't, that's when I start watching. And what I see isn't very appealing. No wonder why our politicians don't work together. Even the simplest disagreements spark ugly conflicts.

I think I'm a fair observer of people. And I watch. From the national politicians down to neighbors, I encounter the same reactions when people agree:

• I don't agree with you, but I'm not going to get into a debate about it. We can agree to disagree. This is the simple form. And honestly, not the most common reaction.
• I don't agree with you, and I've tuned you out for the moment so I can start coming up with my own arguments to try to convince you you're wrong. I'm not listening anymore.
• I don't agree with you. You're completely full of lies and you probably watch CNN or Fox News (whichever I don't watch), and I'm going to resort to my name-calling, put you in a category response.
• I don't agree with you and I've now put you in my category of people to whom I will never talk to about anything of consequence again.

So there. We are running around in little silos, having unproductive arguments or not speaking at all. And while that continues, the problems that impact our neighborhoods, our communities, our nation, our world never get addressed in any way. How does this really look?

Councilman Jones gets on the council. Even though municipal government is supposed to be a non-partisan contest, we all know Councilman Jones comes from "that party," so part of the community won't even start a discussion with him, because he must agree with his part about things like growth, water supply, open space, jobs, transportation, etc. Why even bother opening our mouths, because if we disagree, it will be unproductive. Either a majority of the council agree with my perspective or they don't, why talk about it?

A lot of people in this community are unemployed or underemployed. Having better paying jobs would not only benefit them but the entire tax base. But bringing in more industry would also likely bring in more people, more traffic, and other issues that the leadership doesn't want. So rather than upset the apple cart, the leadership continues to welcome low-paying retail and hospitality businesses to the town. It won't deal with the issues that this choice perpetuates -- the need for affordable housing, community services, young people leaving the area to pursue better employment opportunities, and degradation of neighborhoods.

Thousands of young people begin flooding the borders, crossing into our nation through other than legal challenges, calling themselves refugees. The system is not prepared to handle these individuals. Some people think they should be sent back. Other people believe that our country needs to take steps to protect them, as they fear for their lives in their homeland. Still others believe we need to go fix whatever is happening in their country so they can stop leaving their homeland. The people aren't part of the discussion -- politics, money and external aggression are the cards we play.

At some level, people need to sit down and start talking about what is best for our communities, our citizens, our nation. Cast aside the normal politics and start talking about what is the right decision, long-term: locally, regionally, nationally. And at the same time, start dealing with the here and now. That person who can't get into a reasonably priced apartment or house -- he is my neighbor. That couple who can't find a place to live or work because of an arrest record for which they've already served time, they are my neighbors. That person who has to choose between food and medication -- she is my neighbor. That child who moves to the big city to find a decent job -- she's my neighbor. That young scared teenager who just risked his life to come here from Guatemala -- he's my neighbor.

Stoking the fire or sustaining the passion: anniversary reflections

Today is my second anniversary at CCJ. In another way of looking at it, I'm starting my third year here. For a time, I wondered whether this position was going to be the interim, while I figured out what God's next plan for my life was. Apparently, this was his plan. I am where He wants me to be. Time to unpack and settle in.

Hard to believe that someone could hang out in a place for 730 days and not settle in, but I've really done it here. My desk is piled high with papers needing organization. I have a photo frame with two family photos on my shelf. An inspirational photo from my last office. Two plants, one that a former co-worker sent when I arrived, and a philodendron growing in an Arizona tea bottle that Leslie gave me after Lloyd died of lung cancer at age 42. It was a piece of the one Lloyd grew all around the house. I brought it into my office in April, following Lucy's death. I see both of them need attention, as does my desk. As do I.

I'm not very good at tending to myself. Mike is demanding I take a few days off next week, and I submitted reluctantly to three days at the Canyon. Did I really say that? "Submitted...reluctantly...Canyon"? I have lost my boundaries here.

The thought that crosses my mind today is "burning." What IS it that I'm on fire for? I am moved by many things. My heart aches for the homeless, the hungry, traumatized veterans, and so many other groups of people who don't have what I consider basic necessities: food, clean and plentiful water, shelter, mental and physical health, resources, relationships, peace. Truly, a large percentage of the global population.

I used to think I could change the world. And at 50, I feel like I've lost that idealism. I can't change my country, my state, or even my sick red county. I've resorted to celebrating when I can -- at least temporarily -- change the circumstances of some people who cross my path here at CCJ. But that feeling is so fleeting. Have I really changed them long-term or just made them more comfortable in their poverty? Have they grasped the power of change or have I acted for them? It's so difficult to see the bigger picture.

I find it so easy to get stirred up about an issue, really stoked, and then the moment passes. Like throwing countless logs on the fire and building a huge inferno, soon to burn out. A few embers remain, but the heat is gone until rebuilt with new logs.

Slow burn. That's what I need to learn. I need to feed the fire one small log at a time with a sustaining passion. Make action a daily, hourly, continuing effort without the bursts of fuel. Working for that compassionate, just community as praxis, rather than consumption.

Supreme Court Judge schools state officials in finance

Throwing more money at schools doesn't make them better. Over 15 years of reporting education, I wish I had a dollar for every time a taxpayer fed me that line. Bond issues. Overrides. Initiatives. Legislation. Every time a potential tax increase came up for debate, readers would respond that more money doesn't make better schools.

Yet, the converse IS true. Less money DOES make worse schools. It's not that teachers cannot teach without the newest and best equipment, books, technology and classroom spaces. The best and brightest teachers don't enter the field, don't take jobs in our state, don't stay in the classroom when wages are chronically, abysmally low. And while an amazing teacher can give students the world with a piece of chalk, some paper and pencils, why wouldn't the community want to give the best teachers the best tools to create the best students?

An administrator taught me a perfect lesson one day with a dry erase marker and a white board. Charter schools were a brand-new innovation. He showed me his concept of abolishing tenure and paying first-year teachers twice what first-year, first-step teachers normally make. And the second year, even more. And the third year, teachers reached their maximum step, a lot of money. But teachers would have to earn that pay and their teaching spot every year with cutting-edge teaching methods and engaged students. Parents would be fighting to get their students in the door, even if it required substantial parental involvement. Every teaching spot would have hundreds of applicants. And administrative challenges? It would be hard to imagine many in that setting. To keep up, other schools would have to replicate the model. And it would raise the expectations of all schools, first locally, then regionally, and finally statewide. The only challenge to all of that? Funding.

Currently, Arizona sits at the far bottom of the chart, with state student funding dead last, or second-to-last, depending on whose chart you believe. Either way, not a superlative statistic -- not something you would brag about, or teach your students. Some of them might conclude their education isn't worth their communities' dollars.

But that situation finally received some attention Friday. Not from the governor. Not from the Legislature. Not even from the State Superintendent for Public Instruction. In this case, a Maricopa County Superior Court Judge, Katherine Cooper. Cooper ruled that the state owes its public schools more than $300 million in Proposition 301 funding this year, and will hold hearings on whether five years of unpaid Proposition 301 funding is due and payable.

Judge Cooper isn't concerned about the state's argument that it doesn't have $300 million to spare. Pay up, she ordered. The voters approved this funding some five years ago, and state officials haven't responded. It would have been easier to handle if Arizona had dealt with it when the voters first approved it. It sounds a lot like a basic concept from any of those teachers' lesson plans: do today's homework today. If you let it pile up, it becomes a lot harder to manage.

He who has the most friends wins, sort of

Isn't technology wonderful? Two decades ago, the Internet was just catching on. A decade ago, we started thinking about connections through social media. And today, there are dozens of possibilities. Who knows what the next, best thing will be? I have to remember if my staff text, Facebook, Tweet, or just email.

Two decades ago, that first paragraph would have been unintelligible. And maybe two decades hence, it will be archaic.

So, my Facebook (FB) is a web that connects me and my 200 or so closest friends. Sort of. I'm pretty sure that only about half of those pay any attention to me at all. And probably only a handful connect daily. Today I received a new friend request from a name that I couldn't place. Before deleting the request, I opened the profile and found a long-lost distant cousin. Interesting. Nary a Christmas card, a phone call in 20 years. But today, we are connected through FB.

Facebook, to me, is a place I can be myself. So I post comments, pictures, thoughts, quotes and news that represents me. Not the me I was 30 years ago. So I was not surprised to see a relative take umbrage to my progressive Christian comments. Without saying it, it became obvious that he didn't like my positions. So, all of a sudden, he announces he's starting a "debate."

If he's baiting me, I'm not playing.

Most of my friends agree with my position.

Most of his friends don't.

Debating him on his FB page pits me against all of his like-minded Christian conservative friends. His FB is loaded with them. And why should I toss myself into that fray? If I win, lose or draw, I'm not changing my opinion. So I punted. I'm drained and I'm busy. I don't want to play. He can debate the wind.

Besides, I'd rather spend my energy in action. "Go, therefore." Not "Debate, therefore."

Good dog, Rowdy. You will be missed

We knew it would happen, sooner or later. It happens to the best of them. Saturday morning, it happened.

Our precious Rowdy died. We heard him bark about 6 a.m., and as is typical, if we don't get up to let him out right away, he usually settles back in for a while. Around 9, not hearing another peep, Mike went in to let him out.

"He's gone," he said. "Rowdy's dead." I came in to check, and he was not breathing. His body was still warm, but his eyes were fixed. The moment had come.

Rowdy was our son Michael's first dog. We told him as soon as we had our own house, he could have a dog. That day came a couple of months after he turned 8. We saw this cute black pup at Petsmart on a Saturday. But, alas, the pup, named Michael, was the last of a litter of strays and another couple had already claimed him -- was filling out his paperwork. Our search would have to continue.

For whatever reason people do things, we stopped into Petsmart again the following day, after church. And he was back. The couple had returned him. They had a husky, and the established dog tried to attack the puppy. It takes patience and knowledge to introduce dogs. They didn't have it. I had just one stipulation: I already had two Michaels in the house. The dog would have to have a new name. And that's how he arrived.

Quiet, shy, frightened. The puppy spent a first night whining. His boy went out to check on him, and within a few nights, the crate was moved to his room. Hoping he would grow into the name, we decided on "Rowdy." Rowdy Rockwell Kenny, getting his middle name from my parents' amazing Norwegian Elkhound. Rowdy's big paws and mixed lineage belied a big dog, so a friend gave us a crate large enough for a brute. And Rowdy grew -- a little. He ended up about as big as a cocker spaniel. A cocker's ears, the long body and fur of a long-haired dachshund, and the tail of a German shepherd. But Michael couldn't have loved him more.

He learned sit, speak and down. Even roll over. But fetching a ball was something he never did. He would run after the ball, then look at it and come trotting back. "Just pet me and cuddle me," he seemed to tell us. And we did. Through the addition of cats to our home. Through Michael's school years, graduation, college and work. Then a nasty bout of vestibular disease.

We thought he had endured a stroke. His eyes flashed. He wouldn't eat. And he walked in circles. Fortunately, our vet, Dr. Franks at PV Pet Clinic, knew exactly what it was. She gave him fluids. And predicted he would be over it in 2 or 3 days. And he was fine within the week. But later, with reduced hearing and vision, it would come back. No flashing eyes. But always circling. Then we noticed that he wasn't walking well. Slowly, Rowdy started his downhill progression. Michael moved out, but Rowdy always perked up and couldn't wait for his boy to return.

In the final weeks, Rowdy had trouble standing for any length of time, as a degenerative condition affected his back and hind legs. He had accidents or couldn't go when he was outside. We started talking about his pain, his quality of life. Michael came to visit and told him it was OK, if it was time, he was ready. But no one is really ready.

We called him and told him that it had happened. He was at work and would come over as soon as he could. We promised not to do anything until he had time to see him. He sobbed. This was his brother, the closest thing this only child had to a brother. How could he say goodbye? He touched his fur, held his ear. We removed his collar and tried to let go.

Rowdy will be cremated. Michael will keep some ashes. He wants a paw print tattoo. I snipped him a lock of fur. We have pictures and lots of memories.

We bring our pets into our homes for companionship. We follow our instructions in Genesis to have dominion over them, but compassionate, gentle dominion. We are their caretakers. But in the process, we love them. We become their pack; they become our family.

Getting my hands into service

"Can you help me?"

It's a call we get at my office numerous times a day. Someone has found himself or herself short of dollars or resources. They start calling the social service agencies they find online, in a resource guide, or in the phone book. Each one has a story. If we can help, we do. Sometimes it's just pointing him or her in the right direction.

Sometimes it's a situation that is out of our league. We don't have a shelter. We have little access to transportation. A stranded traveler who needs to get somewhere, we probably can't help. We might be able to help with a room or a tank of gas, but we can't drive someone to the Valley. We can't put them up indefinitely.

"It's my three children and my husband. We don't have any food."
Fortunately, providing food is something that's fairly easy. We have hot meals, sandwiches to go, pantry items, commodity boxes. We're open four days a week and today is one of them.

"My keys are locked in my SUV."

OK, now this has taken a little different turn. The woman needs help for her family, including her husband with health issues, but getting here is a problem. Another agency has put them up in a motel, 10 miles away. There's no buses from there. Her family is hungry and she's out of resources.

"Can you help me?"

Usually I work on administrative tasks for our agency. But several people are on vacation. And I have the ability not only to solve the immediate problem, but both of her needs. I arrange to deliver some food that is appropriate for their situation, and try to get a community member to help with the locked vehicle. Within 30 minutes, I have solutions. I will take the food out on my way home, the locksmith will do the work, gratis, within 24 hours.

Her children play outside in a back parking lot at the motel. We unpack the food and put some in her refrigerator. Among the food is applesauce, bananas, and macaroni and cheese -- her kids will be ecstatic. I wonder if they will remember this, and if so, as an adventure or a traumatic time? I ask her how long they will stay here, and what the future holds. Do they have other supportive services or people? A sister lives 90 minutes away. They may be able to go there and stay a while. At the moment, it seems like a good option. Time to regroup and get back to stability.

"Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?" He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep." John 21:16 (NIV)

A gardener, in the image of God

Genesis tells us that we were made in the image of God. Some days, I have a lot of trouble with that concept. I struggle with forgiveness, and He doesn't. I can't remember people's names, and He knows every sparrow, every hair on our heads.

But today, anyway, I'm OK with the idea that we have some connected lineage. We both like gardens. God was the original gardener: He created the soil, the rain, the sun. He made the first garden -- and set up one simple rule. But we're not very good at following His rules. Thank goodness for His forgiveness.

There's no apple trees in my plot at the Prescott Valley Community Garden. Typical Arizona garden: tomatoes, peppers, onions. Salsa, anyone? Then a few carrots, yellow and green beans, zucchini squash, and some lettuce and Brussels sprouts that may or may not take hold. A coleus and some orange nasturtiums for color.

It wouldn't be my garden without a few garden props. A cardinal that represents my mom, who taught me the value of a garden. A snail, one of the things my sister collected. It's a family garden, after all.

I love to watch plants burst through the soil. The moist warm earth signals them that it's OK to sprout. And they push their way upward, sometimes with cute little seed cover hats. I can't help but hum Peter, Paul and Mary's "Garden Song" as I watch the tomatoes and peppers blossom, and the rows of beans grow bushy.

But where did those weeds come from? I scattered good seeds in the fertilized and worked soil. Then, among the new plants, crabgrass and some ubiquitous vine that comes up everywhere start filling in the spaces between the rows. Truth be told, there's almost no difference between my garden plants and the weeds; the plants are the ones I like, and the weeds are the ones I dislike.

Maybe the Lord felt the same way about weeds. He spoke to the fisherman about the things they knew, and the gardeners about that which they knew. He knew about thistles, and probably crabgrass and vines and alfalfa. Gardens need tending. The good stuff doesn't grow well if it is choked out by weeds.

On the other hand, in the right place, those weeds are cattle fodder. The ranchers encourage the alfalfa and even buy alfalfa hay. I have no use for alfalfa, but in the right hands, this clover grass raises grass-fed cattle. A peaceful verdant pasture with purple flowers. Something I have no use for ends up as a useful tool in another's garden. Another lesson about the diverse gifts of others.

Today I will gauge the moisture in the soil that is benefiting from the monsoon rain's early arrival. I will carefully remove the grass and vines and look for the ripening fruit. I will share some of my first fruits with those who hunger in our community. And enjoy the rest that gardens provide.