A Retraction

Anyone who follows this blog and really knows me well, knows how much I hate shopping. To be completely honest, I passionately dislike shopping in the USA but something strange happens to me when I go overseas...I actually enjoy bartering and buying--go figure!

Now maybe it's the sights, smells and the novelty of it: the calls to prayer from the minaret, the fragrant spices of the market place, and the splashes of brightly colored fabrics that set my senses reeling. Anyway, I must be out of my senses to enjoy the barbaric practice. Can I get a rousing "Amen!" from the men out there?

It was countdown time: we only had two days left in Israel. Our schedule was filled with ancient wonders but we had little time to shop. Finally we got a free evening and I was elected to scout out the land...seasoned campaigner that I was having been to Israel once before. I screened my eyes from the sun as I looked for a familiar landmark. Ah, there it was--the Jaffa Gate! King David Street loomed in front of us. A handful of tourist grouped around me as if I were the shepherd and they were the sheep.

"Remember, don't snatch up the item with the first price they give you...walk away...act like you don't care," I said as each person mentally took notes. "Let's synchronize our watches and meet in front of King David's Tower in two hours," I said feeling very much like a commander on D-day. With that piece of advice and a quick blessing they were off to the races.

Come closer and I'll whisper a little secret--I actually had pleasure in watching them return with their purchases. They had survived the day out without any serious injury and so had I. What more can one expect? We were surely in the Promised Land.

There and Back Again

I loved Israel but I'm glad to be home again. Thank you for your prayers because I did not fall off a camel nor was I close enough to one to get spit upon. Actually it was a very tame trip for me but not, alas, to a few friends who were also there: Maddy not only got baptized in the Jordon River but fell into it a second time the next day for good measure.

I enjoyed the food as only a Hobbit can with second breakfast, but did not gain any weight because I walked at least 2 or 3 miles a day during the tour in 100 degree weather. I felt more like Indiana Jones than a saint on pilgrimage. There is just something about looking at 5,000 year old ruins that makes me want to go into archeology.

I actually used my old fashioned Minolta X700 more than the digital so I have to get rolling on the development. I'm writing this at 4am because I'm still on Jerusalem time so I'll end this blog now before I become incoherent.

a hop, skip and a jump

For those of you who enjoy reading about my adventures...or rather misadventures, know that I am only going to add to the storehouse by hopping to New Jersey, skipping to Germany and jumping into Israel. Why that route? Because I must go where the plane leadeth. Why Israel? Because like Mt. Everest...It is there and I love the land and people--Muslim and Jews alike. I shall be gone for ten days but I hope to be back with roaring tales to tell.

If you read my article "Old Yeller" than you know that horses and I don't mix, but don't rule out camels. If I see one I just may take it up. Now that is where I could use your prayers, if you are so inclined for the height of a camel is greater than a horse and my backside could be in some danger if I fell. Why a camel? Because I haven't been on one yet.

If you read my article "Candid Camera" than you know how simpatico I am with photography. I promise to bring back lots of pictures of my trip and like Bilbo, God willing, I shall be "There and Back Again."

Painting the Barn

I woke up this morning and assessed my situation. There was no denying the facts: it was as plain as the nose on my face. Down the corridors of my memory came advice so clairvoyant and clear like a clarion call. It was the only counsel my mentor and spiritual father, Rev. Paul Hackett, ventured to give the female segment of the student body.

There I was a young, eager, bright-eyed freshman looking up with veneration at a veteran minister with many campaigns; battle tested twenty years in the fierce jungle that made up Compton California.

"Ladies, please remember this..." he paused for effect. I, of course, was leaning forward in my seat with bated breath. What pearl of wisdom would he utter next, I wondered? In stentorian tones he somberly pronounced, "Do not paint the barn unless the barn needs painting!"

"Huh?" I said stupidly as I looked at him blankly. My neighbor, a sympathetic soul of sisterhood took pity on this tomboy and translated in a whisper, "He means don't wear make-up unless you need to!"

I nodded my head in acquiescences; I was only a a budding twenty-one year old. I had no intention of wearing make-up.

Adamantly through all the ensuing years I have been faithful to the vision. I only dabbed the war paint on if I had to attend a wedding or other special occasion. But alas, time moves forward and I am now over the hill. I momentarily brighten when I realized that when things go over a hill they pick up speed but the elation did not last long.

I looked in the mirror for a closer inspection. "Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the towers of Ilium" I pondered? Definitely not! How about sunk a thousand ships, I thought ruefully. Christopher Marlowe did not have my face in mind when he wrote the epic poem of Homer's Helen.

I sighed heavily and began to apply the paint, I mean, make-up. The barn definitely needed painting. "It's not the years; it's the mileage!" a sage-like Harrison Ford said long ago...I quite agreed with him.

Then like a bell another truth came ringing. This is for all of you out there who like me keep pushing middle-age further and further back the more you age. As far as I'm concerned, middle-age is about 65 now. I remember the days when they said you couldn't trust anyone over 30!

"God does not see as man sees: for man looks upon the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart." (1 Sam. 16:7)

I am so grateful that He does because in my heart I'm still 21 years old.

Old Yeller

I should have known better and gone by my instincts but here I was prompted by my friends to ride a horse.

The cable guy...I mean stable guy, or whatever you call him, sized me up and said, "Have you ever been on a horse before?"
I shook my head nervously and wiped the sweat off my upper lip, "Umm, no sir!"
He paused and then drawled, "I'll give you Old Yeller."
That should have tipped me off right then that the man wanted to humiliate me. He nodded to a teenager who disappeared around the side of the horse pen.
My friends were already mounted on their beasts looking smug and confident.
I only had a few moments to collect myself and present some form of dignity I didn't possess.
"That's him," the old man pronounced tiredly.
Out came the most dilapidated creature I ever saw on four legs. It looked like it would collapse right then and there...a pale yellow but definitely not one of the horses of the apocalypse.
I was stirred by pity. "Are you sure he can take my weight?" I asked the stable man.
"No problem," he patted the horse's rump. "Old Yeller is the best horse to give beginners...he's real gentle."

After the man showed me how to mount and give commands, I was just happy to sit on it.
"Come on horse!" I ordered as my friends snickered.
Nothing happened.
"You have to kick the sides a little to get him going," one of them helpfully suggested.
I made a timid attempt and sure enough the horse started to move. That was the signal that my friends could take off and they left me in the dust.

My poor horse walked at the slowest pace imaginable and followed a trail under the shade of oak trees. What did I care that I was left behind? I had my imagination. I was Gandalf riding on Shadowfax swift as the wind. A refreshing breeze was blowing, the horse was behaving and I was feeling proud of myself.

All of a sudden I heard a loud sound coming from behind me: I'm ashamed to admit that I was too frightened to look, I just kicked the horse's side and yelled "giddy up!"

Old Yeller knew only two modes...start and stop. If he ever knew how to gallop it was long ago. The sound happened again and this time I looked behind me and saw nothing.

That's strange, I thought to myself. I know I did not imagine the sound. I decided that the next time the sound happened I would look back as soon as I heard it.

Ten minutes went by and I heard it again. I glanced quickly behind me and nothing was there. This is impossible...something has to be making that sound, I said to myself getting angrier!

Then I noticed the horse's tail was arched and to put it delicately....he was flatulenting, wait that's not a word, flatulating, oops wrong spelling. Okay, to put it bluntly--he was breaking wind or crudely stated--he was farting.

Now those of you who are equestrians can laugh all you want at a novice like me but I had no idea that horses did that. That hour long ride was a nightmare--the beast was filled with hot air.

If there is anyone out there who has never ridden a horse and you are considering it, please learn from me and never get on a horse named Old Yeller!

The Power of Forgiveness

You don't have to live many years in life before you are hurt by someone. The more pain we endure should make us impenetrable but we seem quite the opposite and the thin layer of social veneer is easily peeled away by the first offense we encounter. Every new offense is like salt being rubbed into a wound that never fully heals.

We can move or make new friends but we also take our offenses with us. No one can live up to our expectations and sooner or later someone offends us again. You get the picture of the vicious cycle, but I don't want to paint the canvas black because there is hope.

I've learned how to guard myself from being offended. The first step was that I had to get a different perspective: a humble minister taught me my first lesson. He had to deal with the usual squabbles in a church and instead of getting impatient, angry or tired when the barbs were aimed his way, I heard him say many times in counsel meetings..."I give them the benefit of the doubt." He was a cheerful, happy man and lived without taking offense.

The second thing I learned was that hurting people hurt each other. I doubt very much that someone is planning and plotting how to make me miserable. I give them the benefit of the doubt: maybe they are facing pressures and sorrows I know nothing about, maybe they are just having a hard day. If I were having a rotten day, I hope that other people would grant me that freedom also and not judge me too harshly.

The third thing I learned was that I can forgive others because of what Jesus said on the cross when He cried out "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do!" People don't know what they are doing when they hurt one another. They are caught in a trap and do not know how to stop hurting and hurting others.

Unforgiveness doesn't affect the people who hurt us...they may not know anything is wrong while the bitterness and bile collect in our system. I've leaned through hard lessons in life that when I finally release others--I am the one set free.

Be Still

I admire beautiful architect and feel a hushed awe when I am in a great cathedral. Two years ago when I was doing research on my book, I went to England and visited Winchester Cathedral where Jane Austen lies buried. The Norman arches, ancient baptismal fount, and the stain glass windows all spoke of antiquity but I am from the New World and felt very much out of place.

I did not worship the Temple, I admired it. I am in awe of the people who could build such a monument to faith but the sanctity of God's presence I reserve for one place...His creation. I feel God's presence more when I am surrounded by the beauty His hands have made than when I am in services.

When I lived in L.A. and couldn't take the asphalt jungle any longer, I would have to visit Griffith Park. When I lived in SF and the noise and pace of the city wore me out, I would have to get my fix from the ocean or Golden Gate Park.

We live in a noisy, busy, frantic world...we have to fight to get to a place of rest and stillness. I am not talking about a stillness of surroundings, though that helps, but the stillness of soul and spirit. Many people may find life with that hectic pace but I have to slow down or I live on automatic pilot.

A few months ago I was teaching a rambunctious Sunday school class this lesson; after all the games, contests and snacks were over we went outside. The children laid on a large blanket and I told them to close their eyes and just listen for a few moments.

Minutes went by with just silence and then each child began to tell me what they heard...birds singing, the pages of their Bibles rustling, sounds of traffic from the distant highway. They felt the soft breeze and most of all...the presence of God. Why? I think it was because they were still enough in body, soul and spirit to recognize that He was with us.

Find those moments alone and you will discover how close He really is. "Be still and know that I am God..." (Ps. 46:10)

A Tree of Life

It felt surreal...I was at a bookstore I had frequented most of my life but I wasn't there to buy anything this time--I was selling and signing my own book. I had buried the desire long ago; I had no hope that anything I ever wrote would see the light of day.

My dreams went on hold while I rolled up my sleeves and invested my life in children and youth. Looking back now, I have no regrets for many of their lives are built on a solid foundation.

Twenty years went by and then God began to stir me again and inflame my desire to write. I dusted off my long forgotten ambitions and poured myself into a story three years in the making.

This scripture has marked most of my life, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick..." I made the usual rounds to publishers and had many doors slammed in my face. Ah, but the scripture does not end there for the second part says this, "but when the desire is fulfilled it is a tree of life!" (Prov. 13:12)

Allow me to encourage you to never give up or let go of your dreams for they not an illusion. Twenty years can go by and it is still possible to see your dreams take shape into a tree of life.