Spiritual Formation For Dummies 101 – The Spitting Image

I decide to proceed more cautiously, actually thinking about choosing my words before I blurt out the first thing that pops into my mind. I even put a little bit of my heart into it, because I realize now that I really want to know the answer rather than just grab an opportunity to vocalize my opinion about how stupid somebody or something is. I take a deep breath before I try asking again:

So, why is rest so important to your dad?

I think he can tell there was a slight shift in my foundation, for I am squinching my toes and he smiles.

My Dad has invested so much of himself into our landscaping business. He loves the people that work for him and he loves the people we help with their landscaping needs even though some of them are real butt-heads.

There is not even a trace of reproach in his voice as he says this, and that actually makes me feel worse.

But, you know what, he is so much more than EVERGREENGOTS. We work hard, but we are so much more than what we do. We love just hanging out with each other and with all our friends and family. We sure are a motley bunch. He is into everything. He is very artistic – you might have seen some of his amazing watercolors… He has his artwork on regular display all over the place. He is also crazy about animals... and sports, but not because he is competitive... but just for the fun of the game.

Of all things, music is his passion - any kind, rock, hip-hop, classical, even country. He can play more instruments than anyone else I know. Strings are his thing, so much so that sometimes he calls me The Pitch-Pipe – but that’s our little secret. He never misses church - whether there are two or two thousand people gathered together.

I can feel my jaw joints loosening but I pay no attention to it. I know nothing of the life he is describing and feel almost spellbound as he continues,

I like to take naps with my dog on the leather couch in our study on my day off, but he's never been much into naps.I think he just loves to sit and watch us. He gets this look in his eyes...

Father loves to feed people and everyone in our family LOVES to eat. Every time we are together, there is food – LOTS of it, from every imaginable cuisine of the world… plus the wine… Aaah... I can tell you story after story about our wine, but you really need to taste it - just one sip... But...

I can feel cascading waterfall of saliva flowing out of the corner of my sagging mouth.

I.. I...I would LOVE to meet your d-d-dad some time, I interrupt, suddenly stuttering while I wipe my face with the back of my hand.

You will one day. Everyone who knows my dad says I am his spitting image. You know me, you pretty much know my dad. That’s probably as much or more than you can handle for right now.

I can’t help but agree. Knowing him has at times felt much more than I could handle. But, I am still here. And loving it. And dreading it. All at the same time.

Spiritual Formation 101 – How Can Something So Good Turn Out To Be So Bad?

I stand there looking at him as if for the first time. I wonder how in the world did I find myself in this place. What started as seemingly innocuous decision to participate with millions of others in Lental fast by abstaining from whining, which I really believed was better suited for my children then me, snowballed into this colossal mess where my yard looks like a rabid squirrel habitat, our property is exuding manure smell in the 10 mile radius, and I am faced with a guy who doesn’t even apologize for calling me independent (as if there is something wrong with it), opinionated, controlling, disrespectful, perpetually whining workaholic. What is he thinking?!!! How’s this going to look on my performance review?!!! And as if that is not enough, he promises me an eternal future in Sleepy Meadows retirement home, watching the clock and looking forward to the highlight of my day, the next game of dominos. I am just thrilled to death.

And yet, somehow I am having more fun than I ever have had in my entire lifetime just hanging out with him. And I am learning so much, and despite being so blunt, there is no doubt in my mind that he accepts me as I am and really cares, and my yard is growing something really green for the first time since we moved into our house. And he is so stinkin’ joyful, and hopeful, and at home in his own skin, unencumbered with all the crap I am dealing with, as if he, or what he would say, his dad, has it all under control, and it's going to be alright without sugarcoating the hard stuff. As if the worst news are actually the best news.

I wonder if somehow, somewhere some intergalactic communication wires got crossed and I need to find a line-repairman or an interpreter, or both?

Spiritual Formation 101 – Who Knew that Resting Could Be This Difficult

Sir, I think this is going to be a lot harder than it looks… How is it possible that something I intend to be so good, turns out to be so bad?!! This is going to be really hard. It's like turning my whole world upside down

I think you are right about that. Except, maybe, about the upside down, part... it's more like, right-side up. I look at him petrified of the fact that he actually agrees with me. Seeing my ashen face, he adds,

No worries – I got you covered. Remember, all-inclusive, no termination contract?

I get that now. But, what kind of loser needs a life coach to learn to rest?!!

Is that a rhetorical question? I realize that he laughs a lot.

How did you learn to rest?

I told you, I learned it from my dad. And, to be honest with you, that’s all I care about – what my dad thinks. Some people get all tangled up in what others think, others are all in knots about what they think and how to ensure that everyone else around them thinks in exactly the same way. It's amazing the amount of energy that takes - you could power the entire international space program with it. Plus, it only muddles up the real issue. So, I don't care much for either. But, if dad says, Go!, I go. If dad tells me to sit, I sit. If dad says there is an emergency, I drop everything and I am on it. It’s not a rocket science.

How do you guys keep in touch?

Got an always open direct line. Unlimited calling plan – calls, texts and data. No dropped calls. We love our provider - better than Verizon. The best thing of all, I can always add another line for free, since it's a family package

I know I told you this already, but I never heard of anybody having that kind of relationship with their dad.

I know I told you this already, but maybe that’s your problem?

Hmmm… I’ll have to think about that… It’s just that I am so stinky independent… and opinionated.

As I said…

Alright, I got it.

So, why is your dad so stuck up on this rest business?

Do you mind rephrasing that question – I don’t really appreciate when people use that tone when they talk about my dad, especially since he is the only person I know who is not stuck up on anything.

Sorry… it’s just this habit that I’ve developed…I mean no harm…

I know. It’s O.K. It’s hard to show respect to somebody you don’t really know.

Spiritual Formation 101 – The Hard Work of Resting

Except that I might not live long enough to see this LIFE bursting all around, I mutter to myself, but say out loud,

So, what do we do now?

We rest. And wait. And watch. Rest some more. I roll my eyes as I visualize the rest of my for-e-ver spent in a Sleepy Medow retirement home, resting, waiting, watching the clock to see how much longer before the next domino game…

I am not a rester, sir. I am a DOER!

I know that… that’s why I am here… to teach you to rest, relax, chill out, loosen up...

Last time I rested was when I broke my leg in fifth grade…

If that’s what it takes… I detect mischief in his voice and take one step back. He laughs, picking up on my precautionary motion.

I am not going to do it unless absolutely necessary.

I look at him unsure whether he is serious or just messing with me.

I've never met anybody so serious about this resting business.

Yep, I learned that from my dad. It’s a very high value to him.

So, what’s so important about being a couch potato? He again shakes his head in that now familiar even-though-she-gives-every-evidence-about-being-a-hopeless-case-I-know-she-is-not way.

It’s not about being a couch potato, or a slug, or a lazy bum, or whatever else you might label it… Rest is so much more than absence of activity, especially physical activity. You can sit on your bottom all day long and have no rest in your mind and no rest for your soul…

O, I know exactly what you mean!

That’s the rest I am talking about… The rest that fills your mind, and heart, and soul.. and refreshes your body.

Oh, sir – I want that rest!

Alright. But first you have to resign from your job of running this universe, including the quantum level micromanagement position executed on your children, husband, relatives, neighbors, friends and unsuspecting Wal-Mart shoppers. God doesn’t really need your help. He got it covered.

I never saw it as... as playing god-in-chief… I was… I am just trying to help…

Spiritual Formation 101 – I Want Patience and I Want It RIGHT NOW!!!

I roll out of the truck hitting the pavement like a cannon ball. In the palm of his hand there are several individually labeled small plastic bags, each one containing seeds of a different kind.

You gotta be kidding me… I groan, … This is going to take FOR-E-VER! Why can’t we just go to Home Depot and get some of their ready-to-go, instantly blooming perennials…? , but he doesn’t seem to hear any of it, lost in a world all of his own.

He picks up a seed and looks at me,

You want a miracle…? Here’s a miracle, right in front of your nose.

It’s just a seed…

Yes, that’s what you see… but inside this seed… hidden… inside this tiny, lonely, easily ignored and trampled upon, seemingly insignificant seed, there is packed away an entire universe bursting with life, and energy, fruits and flowers and more seeds… ready to explode, creating more universes all around ...

For a few moments I forget to breathe, just listening to him, feeling I was awarded a front row seat featuring the Creation of the Universe…

But, before any of that can happen, he pauses as if remembering something, the little seed must fall into the ground… and die.

Die? I gasp, suddenly transported back to reality.

Yep, he sighs simply, no other way. Sometimes I wish there were… but, from the way he sounds, I wonder if he might be talking about something else other than zucchini and tomatoes.

Unless the little seed is willing to lay down in the ground and die... He suddenly interrupts himself, and motions with his hand,

Let’s get to work… I follow him slowly in a funeral procession for the bunch of little seeds. He turns my vegetable garden into a small burial plot for broccoli, squash, basil and cilantro and proceeds with the flowers… My face is so long it drags along the grass as I drag my feet behind. We make small signs and put them next to the neatly sown rows. For some reason, I feel like crying. How can something that's supposed to be happy and festive turn into something so depressing and sad?!!!

What’s up? He lifts his head and looks at my morose body parts sprawled all across the lawn. I am a dirge incarnate. He shakes his head and bursts into laughter,

Cheer up, you silly goose… this is not about death… at least not all about death… This is about LIFE, real life… this death is just a passage into life … that is Life indeed.

Spiritual Formation 101 – The National Planting Day

I am so taken aback by his statement about insipid gardening that the next few days I just follow him around without asking any questions. We pick up broken branches, pull a weed here and a stray crocus there, he replaces the rotten wood and fixes the sagging backyard fence.

We always take a lunch break – after my seven-year long manure fast I find all my taste buds are wide awake and eager to celebrate food in all its flavors, textures and delightful varieties. He asks me to teach him some Serbian phrases, so I make him conjugate verb ishchachkati person, gender, number and tense and threaten to make him go through all seven declensions of the word komarac – singular and plural. We laugh together as he butchers the grammar and pronunciation of my mother tongue. He fails to convince me of the value of country music and we talk politics for hours without getting mad at each other. It feels as if my life has entered some kind of a time warp and I’m shocked to discover that I actually love it. I am getting used to his pace – he is always working, and yet never rushing and somehow always resting. Even though he doesn’t wear a watch, he just knows the right time… for everything. At first it’s really hard to wake up each morning not knowing every dot, ampersand and underscore of my day. But I am learning to wait on his cue. Sometimes they are as subtle as the truckload of manure dumped on my driveway. Other times it’s as loud as the footsteps on the St. Augustine grass.

One day he taps on the window and announces,

National Planting Day! I jump out of bed like a firecracker, decide I don’t need coffee and bolt out of the front door. This is the day I’ve been waiting for! In my book, the sole purpose of gardening is summarized in one word – planting. I hop onto the passenger seat of his white truck and wait for him to fire up the engine. Field-trip to my favorite place on earth – Home Depot!

What are you doing there? He asks, and clarifies it with another question,

Where do you think you are going? I look at him through the rolled-down window, thoroughly confused.

What do you mean, ‘where do you think you are going’? You said it’s the National Planting Day…

Soooo…

Well, we need things to plant. I am getting a little impatient. When I want to plant something, I go to the place where miracles happen every day… our neighborhood Home Depot! He shakes his head and if I didn’t know him, I would think he thinks I am hopeless.

We don’t need to go to Home Depot. We already have everything we need to make your garden a place ‘where miracles happen every day’ – I can’t tell whether he is mocking me or not - right here. With that, he taps his denim shirt pocket.

I squint, still firmly planted in the passenger seat of his white truck, half-expecting to see the blooming perennials in his front pocket.

Spiritual Formation 101 – Organic Gardening, Organic Worship

I feel like I will be shoveling manure for the rest of my life. The pile does seem to grow smaller and I wonder whether it’s all a matter of perspective. One day I hear a sound of shovel scraping against the concrete and it’s the most exquisite Chopin to my ears. After spending eternity with my nose in the manure, I look up and the mountain is - gone! All that is left is a few scraps of dirt that we hose down, leaving the driveway sparkly clean. I can hardly believe my eyes. I look at the space gardener and he smiles back at me. I am sore all over and so relieved, but I have to clarify the issue, for I never ever want to deal with this mountain again.

Next time you want to provide some food for my garden, would you mind finding some less olfactory offensive alternative?

Maybe next time you plant the tomatoes, they might actually surprise you and smell and taste like the tomatoes are supposed to. Last time they were so insipid even the pinworms refused to eat them. I vividly remembered the deep sense of humiliation at the sight of my bloated roma tomatoes and even the bugs, not to mention my own family, turning their connoisseur noses on them.

Gardening can be a rather messy business at times. He continues softly. It’s not for mysophobiacs. By disinfecting, sanitizing, deodorizing life silly you scrub the life out of it. Your nose is given you for a reason, as well as your taste buds. You should use them to distinguish between what tastes good and what doesn’t. To enjoy, delight in and celebrate the amazing gastronomic and olfactory variety, as well as eliminate, spit out or refuse what can make you sick. Keep everything comfortable and - nice - He paused at the last word - all the time, at all cost, and your life turns into a bland concoction of tasteless veggies where you can’t differentiate a tomato from a squash, cilantro from St. Augustine grass. What comes out of your anesthetized garden – devoid of manure or anything else equally ‘offensive’ - becomes as insipid as your worship on Sunday morning... or the rest of the week, for that matter.

I don't want to sound stupid, but what I think I heard him say throws me off balance completely. I never thought that you could put growing tomatoes, a pile of manure and worshiping God in the same paragraph… much less the same sentence.

Spiritual Formation 101 – When Life Delivers a Truckload of Manure on Your Driveway

It takes him only about thirty-two seconds to unload the truck onto my driveway. We spend the next seven and a half years (or so it feels) shoveling it up. I am too mad to speak, so we spend the rest of the day shoveling in silence. I take three consecutive showers that night, rubbing the epidermis off my body in futile attempt to remove the stench. I smother myself with Channel 5 perfumed body lotion trying to cover it up and collapse in bed, too tired to read. My husband grabs his pillow and blanket and torpedoes out of the bedroom, choosing to sleep on the couch in the library. I don’t blame him. I would do the same thing if I had a skunk sleeping in the same bed. He swears it’s the perfume that bothers him more than the manure.

Even though we peck at the mountain all next day, we hardly put a dent in it. The space gardener stops by Subway and brings pastrami and pepper-jack cheese on Italian Parmesan for lunch, but my appetite is gone. I shake my head, No, to a piece of key lime pie and a strawberry cheesecake the following day. I can tell by his look that he is very concerned. Still, I don’t understand how he can eat leaning against the side of a cow-dung mountain.

I try to pawn out some of the manure to the neighbors, but they tell me they have enough crap of their own to deal with and politely refuse. After the sunset, I throw several shovelfuls across the backyard fence, but a little later hear the neighbor yelling at his dog for rolling in it.

Every square inch of our entire front and back yard is covered out evenly with a foot and a half of cow manure. I eat, sleep, dream and wear the cow manure. Everywhere I turn, that’s all I see.

The sheer energy required for shoveling takes most of the feistiness out of me. Even though I can’t help but resent the one who designed this truck delivery, I also appreciate the fact that he is right there with me, day in, day out, shovel in hand. When it starts raining, we are both drenched, both knee-deep in the river of doo. I know he must be tired since he always works at least twice as hard as I do and finishes up all the cleanup at the end of the day. His hands, in addition to having ugly scars that seem to have flared up, are now developing some nasty blisters, despite the gloves we both wear. One day it crosses my mind that he doesn’t have to be here – it’s my driveway, after all, and yet, he never fails to show up. I wonder why?

Spiritual Formation 101 – Some People Learn From the Manual, Some People Don’t

With the egg still dripping down my face, I see the white truck roll around the corner, with a large trailer hauling a medium-size mountain behind. Seconds later the overpowering smell catches up and settles over the entire residential district.

You are late! I bark at the space cowboy, who gives me a quizzical look, scanning the dogs, my dripping face, and Bob holding the home-made pie all in one glance. I take the pie from Bob’s hands, mumble an apologetic ‘thank you’ and watch him walk back to his house.

What just happened?

I try to describe my morning and find the words pathetically deficient. Eventually, he is able to piece together the story and bursts into laughter.

So, you think that’s funny…I growl.

Some people just have to learn the hard way… you could have spared yourself some embarrassment and grief if you’d read the manual…

The manual? The manual talks about the microscopes and neighbor’s mutant weeds? He nods a silent ‘yep’. Now I am positively rabid.

Why didn’t you tell me?!!?

Would it make any difference if I had? I pause.

Probably not… I guess you are right, some people just have to learn their lessons the hard way…. I feel a bit tired of learning everything the hard way. If there is an easier way to learn, I am in the game. A huge sigh escapes me as I ask,

What else does your manual say?

Well, if you really want to know, you’ll just have to find out for yourself. Right now we have a work cut out for us… He points to the reeking mountain inside the trailer, grabs a couple of shovels and hands me one.

What on God’s good earth is that smell??

Cow manure. Premium grade. I got a great deal on it and since your yard hasn’t eaten anything in years, thought you could use a little extra… you might want to put some rubber boots on before we start shoveling…

I look at the mountain of cow dung towering over our house and know that in an instant I have become the one neighbor in our subdivision everyone loves to hate.

Spiritual Formation 101 – MYO BeesWax

Since it’s really hard for me to love what I can’t see, as soon as my kids trot off to school the next morning, I sneak into my son’s bedroom and grab an old microscope off a dusty bookshelf, sagging under the weight of cracked, dismembered and beheaded kindergarten art projects.

He really needs to clean out his room, I grumble (which, of course, is different from whining and complaining when used by a mother talking about her own children), wondering where in the world did he pick up his housekeeping habits, and step outside into the blazing sun.

With all the weeds popping up left and right, focusing on anything desirable growing in my yard is next to impossible. I swing the microscope around and am blinded by the sprawling emerald-green of the thick lush lawn of the honorary lifetime member of Better Homes and Gardens Yard of the Month club – AKA my next-door neighbor Bob. The sight generates waves of nausea interspersed with a desire to leave this world and attend to the greener pastures thereafter. With the microscope still attached to my eyeball, amidst the aforementioned sprawling green suddenly, Ka-booom! I spot an enormous mutant weed – and flowering weed at that! I am horrified and strangely pleased at the same time.

Hah! I knew it! I knew there were weeds in his yard!

I drop down on all fours and start inspecting his turf. Sure enough, there are about eleven superhumongousy enormous mutant weeds – located mostly next to my property line - and the total of three about to bloom and spread their nasty seeds all throughout the neighborhood.

I must not allow this! My noble sense of neighborly duty interspersed with an irrepressible urge to point all this out sweeps over me. I consider making large signs with pointing arrows and posting them next to his driveway. While still preoccupied with both inspecting his yard and crafting the best course of action to eliminate the threat of weed contamination it represents to our neighborhood, I feel something wet and slippery all over my face.

Whatcha doing here, neighbor? Bob tilts his head curiously examining a strange sight of a middle-aged woman with her butt sticking up in the air, standing on all fours holding a microscope attached to her eyeball in the middle of his front yard, being licked to death by his equally curious dogs. I clear my throat with a nervous cough as I straighten out.

Well, Bob… it is my neighborly duty to inform you that I found some weeds… eleven weeds to be more precise… growing in your yard. And three of them…

Before I could continue, the look on Bob’s face tells me that he might have something to say.

I appreciate yer attention to details… but don’t ya’ have ‘nough stuff to do in yer own yard before you bother inspecting my grass, with amicroscope, and count my weeds?!!! Then he adds,

By the way, my puppies were sick and I was a nervous wreck all day yesterday, so I baked a dozen chocolate cream pies. Would you like one?


That day, my great neighbor Bob taught me that minding my own business is lesson number one in all yard-work.

Spiritual Formation 101 – Love and Hate, Truth and Pain

I feel tectonic plates shifting under my toes so I do what I do best when I sense tectonic plates shifting under my toes. I change the subject.

How do you know the difference?

The difference? Between true love and ‘looooove’?

Nooo! I laugh at the way he says loooove. I mean how do you know which weeds to pull and which to leave in the ground? Yesterday you told me to leave the weeds alone. Today I caught you red-handed pulling weeds in my yard. What am I supposed to do – pull them or leave them? Is there a manual I can read?

I heard you don’t read manuals. And I know that following instructions is not your strong suit. That’ why I came. Your very own personal manual.

You are kind of hard to read… and follow.

Only if you already made up your mind what you want and don’t want to do.

Guilty as charged. Call me 'Opinionated'. Anyway… we were talking…

Your favorite subject – weeds.

Help me out here.

You need to love growing plants more than you hate weeds.

Hmmm… that sounds vaguely familiar… once I heard somebody say that we need to love the truth more than we fear pain.

Same difference.

Same difference.

Spiritiual Formation 101 Family Business

The next morning I wake up and something tells me it’s almost noon. I jump out of bed – I don’t even need my coffee - and open the blinds. The sheer volume of photonic activity causes fireworks to explode inside my brain sending shock-waves throughout my body. When all the noise subsides, a thought finally crosses the threshold of my consciousness,

There was no tap on my window this morning, immediately followed by a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I remember the tiff the space gardener and I had yesterday and I know he’d left. Never to return again. Despite the fact that he called me Opinionated and Obsessive Compulsive Weed Exterminator; despite his unorthodox approach to gardening; despite the ugly scars on his hands that make me feel so uncomfortable (why can’t he just have a plastic surgery or something?), I can’t bear a thought of never seeing him again. All the motivation to do anything evaporates before my eyes, except perhaps a desire to go back to bed and sleep through the rest of the week… or a month… or .

Then I hear a soft rustling in the bushes in the front. I look out of the window and there he is! I am so relieved to see him I want to hug him and punch him at the same time. I linger undecided as I watch him quietly behind the window. He walks slowly around the yard bending here and there, picking up a dead branch, pulling out a weed. He pauses frequently, looking, listening. He swings around the house and enters the back yard. He makes his way towards the far corner and crosses over into the garden.

You don’t need to go back there! I shout, mortified. Several years ago I saw a snake’s nest there and I haven’t gone back there since that happened…

Ah, you are up! He waves at me. I thought you might sleep through this entire glorious day.

Why didn’t you wake me up?!

I thought you needed the rest.

Well, I guess I did. The early afternoon sun seems to agree with him. I hesitate for a moment, then add … I thought you’d left… never to return again. … You scared me.

I thought we had an all-inclusive no-end contract deal, he winked. I guess you are stuck with me. … And I with you.

I close my eyes and sense a soft rumble from deep down bubbling up… It smells like rain and grass and jasmine… and …a ham sandwich!

Hey, I stopped by Subway on the way here… I am kind of hungry. It’s already after noon. Wan’na eat?

We sit down on the grass under the tree and unwrap the sandwiches.

Have you ever thought of starting your own business? I ask between the bites. He looks at me like I have just landed from a different planet.

Why would I ever want to do that?

Spread your wings. Branch out. You are good at what you do. I see there is a method to your madness. You could become successful. Independent.

I like working with my dad. Everything I know, I learned from him.

Now, see… that’s weird. It’s like being ‘daddy’s boy’.

Something wrong with that?

No woman is going to want to marry you.

I already have a fiance.

You do?!!! I try to hide my shock. Against my will, my eyes are drawn to his hands. I wonder what kind of woman is willing to put up with that sight. Maybe she is blind.

I guess there is a price to love,… I mutter under my breath.

Yes. There is. There is always a price to true love.

Spiritiual Formation 101 Sir, We Got a Problem

I am amazed that the tiny trickle from the old garden hose can affect so much change in our landscape in such a short time. Having suffered through years of severe drought, I thought that even the Niagara falls wouldn’t be sufficient to quench the thirst of my parched lawn. But, today I begin to notice a discernible difference, for there are little soft tufts of genuine green popping up throughout our yard. The sight makes me more ecstatic than winning a Better Homes and Gardens Yard of the Month award.

I am a real gardener now! I am so absolutely beside myself that I can’t wait to get on line and share my most recent success with all my Facebook friends. I take carefully framed pictures of my yard and upload them as evidence. While standing precariously on my head, looking for the best angle to capture my astonishing feat without disclosing too much of the rest of the story I see something that threatens to pop my bubble.

Sir, we GOT a PROBLEM! I announce in an expert voice. Having just grown my very first green thing I officially crossed over into the murky waters of the certified know-it-alls.

We do? He tilts his head sideways, trying to look me in the eye as I am still in my awkwardly contorted position holding the camera for that just-perfect shot.

Yes! Can’t you see this?? THIS? I point at the green stalk growing right out of my nostril. This, Sir, is a WEED! Genus -Digitaria Haller. Family Poaceae. Order Cyperales. That water of yours presumably can't tell the difference between a weed and a plant!

I see… He doesn’t seem impressed.

So, what are you going to do about it? I demand, finally straightening out, cracking the stiffness out of my neck.

What do you suggest that we do? He answers the question with the question. I hate when he does that.

It’s a no-brainer. We deal with it as we should with all the weeds. We kill, destroy, uproot, annihilate… There is a whole big-buck industry devoted to...

Leave it alone.

Excuse me?

I said, Leave it alone.

I heard what you said. Remember, you just cleaned my ears.

I just started cleaning your ears. You have a long way to go…

What kind of gardener are you?!! How can you put up with all these weeds?!!

I thought you’d never ask. Well, let me explain to you if you care to hear it…He says the word the way you would hit a nail on the head. If you pulled the weeds right now, you would uproot the good grass along with it. You must leave it alone. Your problem is not this poor weed. Your problem is that you have reduced the art and the mystery of gardening into an obsessive-compulsive weed elimination. There is more to gardening than having a weed-free lawn. Gardening is about entering this amazing world you didn’t create with your mouth shut and your shoes off your feet. It’s about listening and surrender and yielding of control rather than imposing your puny tyrant will.... it’s about rhythms and seasons and climate and dirt…And most of all, it’s about friendship…

My jaw, having been almost restored to full health is at a danger of hitting the pavement again. I never heard him say so much in such a short time. I've never ever heard anybody fight with such intensity and passion and grace for the life of a... weed! Part of me wants to take notes of every word coming out of his mouth. The other part wants to sit down and soak it all in by osmosis. I want to hear more about this outer space gardening even though I understand only about every tenth word he utters.

I rub my jaw gently, thinking I might need braces.

There isn’t a tiniest doubt in my mind that on the planet where he came from, they do gardening a little different than over here. A lot different.

And I am not quite sure anymore whether I have a stomach for it.

Whining Fast 101 – Auditory Detox

For the next couple of weeks I am awakened at the crack of dawn by a gentle tap on my window. Some mornings I find myself awake before the tap comes and actually wait for it. Even look forward to it. Others I bumble into the morning unprepared, my head looking like a heron’s nest, my eyes squinting unaccustomed to so much light so soon in the day.

The space gardener and I have a little routine going. He always waits for me to get my second cup of coffee. Then, I grab the hose, and he opens the valve. After that we listen.

As my ears go through an auditory detox, I slowly begin to hear things I never heard before. Even I know the difference between an airplane above and four-wheel drive below. I can tell apart a riding mower from a weed-whacker. But rustling of a lizard’s feet in the dead leaves?!! The scampering of squirrels little claws as they race each other up a trunk of our huge oak? A woodpecker in our neighbor’s backyard tree?! There IS a woodpecker living in my neighbor’s back yard!

Some mornings I feel like I walk in on a congress debate going on in the branches of our maple. Others it’s so quiet I can hear my own thoughts. I swiftly avoid those and eavesdrop on a good-natured marital banter between Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal. Then the neighbor’s lawnmower drowns all other sounds and we shut off the water, put away the hose and are done for the day.

I feel like somebody took a plunger unplugged and deep-cleaned my ears and I can hear, really hear for the first time in my life.

Whining Fast 101 – D day

The next morning I wake up with a massive headache. I remember I have a crack-of-dawn date with a crazy gardener from outer space who expects me to baby-sit the garden hose for five hours. I wish somebody would turn off the lights and I can go back to sleep and wake up in a perfect world where there are no weeds and no need for crazy gardeners from outer space. There is something else I wish I could eliminate from this world but I can’t remember right now. So, I roll out of bed like a dead log, except for groaning. I fix myself an extra strong cup of coffee and take it intravenously.

How did I get myself into this pickle? How did it all start?

Suddenly, with intense clarity I remember that somebody suggested a whining fast. The whining fast that I didn’t think I needed but sure would have appreciated if my kids adhered to. I remember the weeds, the prayer, the white truck, and the guy who wrestled with the combine… What started as a whining fast has turned into a whining fest, for now I see clearly that in the past 24 hours I’ve done nothing but whine and complain! Is that just a coincidence?

Have you had your second cup yet? A familiar voice jerks me out of my ruminations.

How do you know about the second cup?!!

It’s public record, silly… C’mon. just grab it and bring it with you. You can finish it while we are watering…

You know… I start, I think there was a big mistake. I appreciate your offer, you showing up here at crack of dawn… but I think you got yourself a wrong person. I don’t have just a brown thumb. Every finger and every toe and every bone in my body is brown. I have killed, mutilated, and murdered every green thing that ever dares putting its root down within our property lines. Get it? It’s hopeless. Leave while there is still time…

He hands me the hose, apparently quite deaf, in addition to being crazy.

I’ll turn on the water… He walks behind the fence and opens the valve. The hose coughs and sputters for a few seconds and then the water begins gushing out.

I stand with the garden hose in one hand and coffee cup in the other.

How in the world can this do any good…?

If you would be a little less opinionated, we might actually get somewhere…

He called me, Opinionated! I find that very offensive.

True or false?

Well… I admit… I can be… sometimes… Alright, … most of the time. But, still…

Now we are getting somewhere. He chuckles and takes a deep breath. Without realizing, I do the same.

I love mornings.

What’s there to love?

He closes his eyes. I want to close my eyes, but I am afraid I am not coordinated enough to juggle a hose in one hand and a coffee mug in the other with my eyes shut.

You hear it?

I hear nothing, other than the shhhhh of the water…

Just listen…

It’s very quiet. I finally say. It’s actually… nice.

We stand there a while. No words between us. Just the stillness of the early morning.

This feels… good. I could stand here forever. I mutter, feeling mildly intoxicated by all the fresh air. I hear the shuffling of his feet in the grass.

We are done for today, He says and shuts off the water.

Done?!! Already?!!! I gasp. I thought…

I’ll be back tomorrow, Miss Opinionated. I open my mouth in protest but he has already disappeared.

Whining Fast 101 – No Better Time than … Next Week

When do we start? I ask, doing a quick mental scan of my schedule. Perhaps tomorrow? Or maybe next week – that’s definitely better, My schedule is pretty full….

Today… we start today… in fact, right now. He answers matter-of-factly and walks toward the trailer.

Right now?!!! But… but… I stammer suddenly at a loss of all the brilliant reasons why this is not a good time. I can’t…

I thought we had a deal.

We DO. But, right now? This is not the most convenient time…

Who said anything about convenience? He reaches into the trailer, grabs a small toolbox and looks at me. I look at the box. Then I look at the trailer with all the cool apps and widgets and power tools. Then I look at him.

I thought you were going to use some of your power tools…? Isn’t that what the pros do?

Nah... I use those only when absolutely necessary. They raise a lot of dust and make way too much noise. I prefer working in the quiet.

He sets the toolbox on the driveway and flips the lid open. A couple of small trowels, more pruning shears than I think necessary, a stainless steel double-edged kitchen knife which opens up a whole new can of big, fat wormy questions, and a pair of gloves.

Gloves? With the hands like yours I didn’t think you use gloves.

Sometimes they come in handy.

Speaking of hands… if I dare to ask… What happened to your hands? Did you have a wrestling match with a combine and lost…?

Sort of…though, that’s just a part of the story. One day you’ll be able hear the rest. But now, we have another business to attend… Shall we…?

If you insist…I sigh for I would much rather listen to a good story.

I think we should start with repairing the sprinkling system. I keep running over the heads with the lawnmower…my husband can’t keep up with the repairs. For every one he fixes I manage to break two. And, as you know, it’s impossible to have a lawn without a sprinkling system…

It is?!! I didn’t realize that. Don’t you have a garden hose?

Of course we do. At least four.. maybe six.

One is usually enough.

For what?!!

For watering the garden.

And who is supposed to stand there with the garden hose and water the garden every day?!!!

Who do YOU think?

Certainly not me!

It’s YOUR yard.

You are crazy! I don’t have that kind of time on my hands!

We always have time for what we love… In fact, this is my prescription for you for the next several weeks. Do not use sprinkling system. Just the garden hose. Every morning… or evening. He added, If you prefer. I’ll be here with you.

Now I know for sure that you have landed here from a different planet! For no person on this planet has this kind of time to waste on such frivolous activities. I fume under my breath.

It’s not going to be wasted. He says. I promise.

There will never be a better time than now.

Whining Fast 101 – Small Talk

Sooo, how long have you been in this business? I ask, feeling a bit strange, fearing if I don’t keep him occupied, he might change his mind and go away.

Awhile…it’s a family business.

So, you are the owner? I raise my eyebrow, quite impressed.

The owner’s son.

Same difference.

Yep… same difference. I would love to introduce you to my dad some time. He is pretty awesome.

Hearing him talk about his dad in such a way makes me realize I miss my dad. I swallow hard.

I miss my dad. I say, tearing up. You know, I am not from here. When I left home, I left everything and everyone behind.

I know… I am not from here either. We stand silent for a while. I feel the breeze cooling my face. Sensing the ground shifting under my feet, I change the subject again,

You guys must be doing pretty well to be able to afford this kind of special. Do you run it often?

All the time. We enjoy giving gifts.

Wow! People must be all over you…

Actually, you would be surprised. Most people seem to prefer earning their own way… paying their dues...

It IS weird being on the receiving end of such an extravagant gift… Part of me feels that now I am indebted to you… and nobody likes to be a debtor.

A simple thank-you would suffice.

Thank you.

You are welcome. Our pleasure.

Whining Fast 101 – Enter At Your Own Risk

This is the only warning I am going to give to you. Prayer is a subversive activity. If you never prayed this or similar kind of prayer, please DON’T! There is no telling what might happen next.

As if on a cue, a white truck with a trailer hitched to it swings around the corner of our street and pulls in front of our house. A single word emblazoned on its side in large bold letters says EVERGRINGOT.

Now, that’s a strange name… wonder what it means…

A guy jumps out, taking off his hands-free as he finishes up a conversation:

Thanks for asking…I am already on my way – be there in a sec. He slams the door behind him and waves at me.

Er.. sir… It seems like you got a wrong house. I glance at the trailer, filled with all the apps and widgets one might need to run a professional landscaping business.

You must be Bob’s landscape guy… He shook his head and burst into laughter,

It seems to me that I am at just the right house. I look at my rabid-squirrel-rampaged lawn and slowly get off my knees.

But I didn’t call for any landscaping service…

Hm.. that’s funny. I thought you did…

I was just... I stop mid-sentence, realizing that if I finish it, I would sound totally weird. Being weird is definitely not my thing. So, I decide to steer the conversation into the familiar water teeming with excuses.

Sir, you don’t understand… It’s not that I think we don't NEED landscaping service…we really can’t afford…

How’ bout that, he interrupted, … It just so happens that we are running a special today… all-inclusive, full-service gardener with the works – tools, plants, an experienced expert, everything you need to turn this… he hesitated as if looking for an accurate word to describe my wretched yard, but decided against it…. To turn this into a garden of Eden.

This guy is either a con-artist or a lunatic, I smile at him and as if humoring a lunatic.

And how much is that pleasure going to cost me?

He clasped his hands, intertwining his fingers. I could see dirt under his fingernails.

Already prepaid. In full. No-end contract. You need to show up though. It’s your lawn after all. Sort of… Do we have a deal?

He stretched out his hand waiting for me. Something about those hands tells me he knows what he is talking about and he is dead-serious. If my jaw hasn’t been bruised enough already, this time would have done me in.

If this happens one more time, I will need a maxillofacial surgeon and who is going to pay for that?

I grab his hand and shake it vigorously.

We got ourselves a deal, Sir. We got ourselves a DEAL!

And so I got me my very own personal Gardener.

Prayer is a subversive activity. It should be entered only at your own risk.

Whining Fast 101 – From Discouragement to Despair

Having been stripped of my ingenious Plan B, in addition to being utterly disillusioned by my new found identity of the Great Weed Exterminator I feel like I am losing ground and slipping fast from discouragement into Despair. Capital D Despair. I have nothing left. I am doomed forever.

In the back of my mind, a tiny bee starts buzzing… I am annoyed and would much rather be left alone to rot. But the bee doesn’t leave me alone. In between the annoying buzzings, I think I hear something along the lines of despair being a compost pile for real growth.

The counter-intuitive nature of the statement gets me quite distracted from my doom-n-gloom. I latch on it like a nursing infant.

Despair is the compost pile for real growth… Despair… is a compost pile… for real… growth…

There is no question that my life resembles a big, stinky compost pile, indeed. And, there sure is a lot of despair. But, real growth? Do I even know what this 'real growth' thing is all about…?

I realize I need a serious miracle. And the only One I know qualified in this department is… God.

OMG! I am such a loser! I need God to weed my garden! How pathetic is that? HOW pathetic is THAT!

Pathetic or not, I have nowhere else to turn. So, I slump down on my knees and utter the most sincere prayer I’ve said in a very long time:

Ah, LORD God, You who created this amazing world out of nothing, You who give life to the dead, make me a gardener.

Just like that.

When you are at the bottom, the only way to look is up.

Whining Fast 101 – Plan B The Astro-Turf

B is for Brilliant…

Planting? She said, I was PLANTING?!! I shook my head, talking to the tree who stares at me without a blink. What was that crazy woman thinking?!! Can’t she tell the difference between WEEDING and PLANTING?? I take the tree’s silence as agreement and turn my attention back to the lawn.

With all the holes and craters, it now looks more like the surface of the Moon. I’ve never seen anybody plant anything on the Moon, except, maybe Neil Armstrong when he planted the flag of the United States. I certainly am not a Neil Armstrong.

The wasteland sprawled in front of me speaks its own language.

I can feel the wind fizzling out of my sail, leaving hopelessness and self pity behind. I hug the tree and begin to weep; the puddle around my feet soon overflows the property lines of our yard and threatens to flood both neighbors’. Even though we are in the drought season, somehow I don’t think they would appreciate my free watering service.

I need fresh perspective, I think, still hugging the tree.

Perhaps I should try planking…

I climb to the lowest branch, which is still pretty high for a woman my age and athletic prowess. Somehow I manage anyway, shake of my dripping boots and look down. Being lifted out of the puddle of self-pity indeed helps.

Up in the sky, half way to the Moon, I consider alternatives – adding an expansion to our driveway and turning the whole yard into a basketball court… adopting an Arizona style rock garden with zero grass landscaping. Finally, the energy efficient light bulb comes on in my head and I have a brilliant idea:

Astro-turf! That’s what we should do – we should put down Astro-turf. All my woes instantly evaporate as I clamber down the tree trunk to call the family meeting.

We are switching to Astro Turf! I announce, very much impressed with myself.

My husband looks at me over his reading glasses and without apology nixes my brilliant idea.

Ain’t gonna work. He says, It’s against our HOA CC&Rs, and goes back to clipping the coupons.

What do you mean, It’s against our HOA CC&Rs?!!! They can’t do that! They are overreaching their authority! Forbidding fake grass - outrageous! Think of all the water conservation and NO MAINTENANCE! How can they object to that?!!! That… that’s like banning all the fake Christians, all the phonies and hypocrites from going to church!

Our I-read-Encyclopedia-Britannica-just-for-fun son sticks his nose out of the pages and throws in his two cents.

Mom, it’s really not as great as it sounds… There are some serious drawbacks. The infill required for laying down artificial turf may carry heavy metals which can leech into the water table, plus the turf carries pathogens which are not broken down by natural processes in the same way as regular grass and that… He looks up, sees that my bruised jaw is about to hit the floor again, and stops mid sentence.

I had no idea that fake can be hazardous to your own, your family’s and your community’s health.

B is for Brilliant… or, perhaps, Bad…

Whining Fast 101 – This Is Much Harder Than I Thought It Would Be

I’m In Way Over My Head

Smitten by the sudden realization of my compulsive habit, I look at my yard with fresh eyes. They just about pop out of my sockets as I notice weeds ALL around. Crabgrass, Pennywort, Sedge, Goosegrass, Button weed… I stare at the lawn suspiciously, wondering if it might be trying to imply that Whining shares the apartment with its evil twin sisters... Complaining, and Grumbling, and Criticizing, and Comparing, perhaps even Gossiping, and Who-Knows-What-Else… I dismiss the thought as utterly preposterous, since if I had to stop all that, I might as well stop talking altogether! So, I resolutely turn to my lawn and with renewed determination dive head first into it.

I will NOT allow THIS on MY watch!! I dig like a rabid squirrel, dirt flying, a mountain of pulled-out weeds next to me growing by the second. I am in the zone. I have finally found the purpose of my existence.

I am the GREAT weed EXTERMINATOR! Despite the heat, the dirt, the sweat, I actually feel pretty good about my new identity. I can sense adrenaline pumping through my cardiovascular system and I double the speed and intensity of digging.

Suddenly, a tiny voice yanks me right off my high stampeding horse.

Mommy, what is this lady doing??!!?

I stop in my tracks and look at the boy. I can’t really see him for my eyes are caked with dirt now. I use the inside of my elbow to wipe them off. I notice a large patch of uprooted turf had somehow landed on the eye-shade of my multipurpose baseball cap. I try to shake it off, but in the process I scatter some dirt on the boy and his mom. The perplexed look on his face is a mixture of curiosity, fear and desire to join me in the mud rolling. The fear seems to overtake the other two and he steps closer to his mama and hugs her right leg.

All around me there are holes were weeds used to be. Our lawn resembles an exploding minefield.

The lady… , his mama speaks slowly, enunciating every word, The lady is… planting!

She dusts the dirt off his shoulder as they move on. My jaw drops with a thump, hitting the mound of dirt in front of me.

I’m In Way Over My Head.

Whining Fast 101 – I can quit any time

You don’t know you are addicted until you try quitting.

Fasting is hard. I need all the help I can get to stick with it. So, in order to get my fixated mind unglued from whatever I am attempting to eradicate out of MY-life so I can squeeze a speck of God-life in, I go back to gardening. My yard is always there, waiting for me, always ready to embrace me with open arms. It never talks back to me (well, maybe a time or two). There is always ample work available yielding instant results (unlike my parenting). Best of all, I can do it mindlessly. I get on my knees, pull the crabgrass by the roots, and just let my brain wander off wherever it wishes…. I don’t even hear it buzz…

If only there were no weeds. I would be a better gardener… if only there were no weeds. I would be a better gardener… … if only there were no weeds. I would be a better gardener… … IF ONLY THERE WERE NO WEEDS. I WOULD BE A BETTER ?#*&%@# GARDENER…

I am jerked out of my mindless state, wondering who the heck yelled that last sentence. I suspiciously checked out the neighbor power-walking her dog on the other side of the street, but she seemed an unlikely candidate.

Since nobody else is around, I decide, instead of playing the blame game, I am going to take ownership of this random, isolated, single little thought.

If only there were no weeds, I would be a better gardener. True or false?

Well…

I realize part of me believes the statement is true. The part that likes to deny the reality. For, reality, even my favorite gardener Tom MacCubbin would agree, is - Where there is a garden, there are weeds. Like it or not.

I step back, frowning at my lawn for being so blunt.

Where else in my life am I in equal denial about the fact of weeds?

Suddenly, an onslaught of barking thoughts jump at me, having been hidden around some shady corner inside my brain waiting to be released:

If there were no temptations, I would be a better Christian… I was actually a pretty good parent before we had kids. If there were no immature, selfish, SINFUL people in our church, it would…

The whining, complaining, howling dogs have broken the rickety fence in the back of my brain and took the full stage, front and center.

You don’t know you are addicted until you try quitting.

Facebook Fast

Even though I have been walking with Jesus for over twenty years, last year was the first time I made a feeble resolution to join millions of others in giving up something for Lent. The lot was cast, and it fell on… Facebook!

Not Facebook!!! I protested within my own head. I can’t give up Facebook?!!??

The radical thought generated such internal turmoil that I became suspicious I might need to give up Facebook, for in the short time since I'd opened my account, it started dominating my life more than I care to admit.

So, I embarked on my first ever Facebook fast.

The first couple of days, I was too busy with other stuff to even notice I wasn’t logging in. But then my scheduled opened up and I began to hear my virtual friend calling my name. All the symptoms of a detox started popping up like sponsor ads. Suffering through withdrawals, I knew I had become addicted. Going the way of most addicts, I relapsed and peeked in (well, gorged on), just to check if anybody still 'likes' me. Just to make sure I wasn’t missing out on something really fun or perhaps on a cataclysmic event everybody is re-posting and I am oblivious of since I so recklessly chose to cut off my life line. Eventually, I quieted down, being assured that most likely I won’t be left behind if the Second Coming of Christ occurs during my fast. I could finally relax, for a split millisecond peel my eyes off of me - what I think and say and do and how much I am liked for it by other FB addicts - and start noticing even enjoying Life apart from Facebook. What a concept!

The final couple of weeks flew by and Easter Sunday greeted me with a huge dose of embarrassment at my own fickle faith and renewed appreciation of the enormity of Christ's love and sacrifice for the idolatrous sinners like me. Even though my virtual love affair with the social networking site started quite innocently, it somehow connected with this thing inside me and morphed into a cheap substitute, leaving me emotionally and spiritually starved.

On Monday after Easter, when the FB ban was lifted, I found myself strangely free from its choking grip. Part of me didn't want the fast to end. I slowly eased into checking and posting status updates, sharing photos and links. I continued doing FB throughout the year with greater or lesser sense of entanglement. My idolatry-prone heart knows its capacity to seek life, acceptance and fulfillment in all the wrong places.

This year, encouraged by the outcome of last year's experience, I considered doing the FB fast again. But a quiet voice surprised me with another suggestion,

How about quitting whining, instead?

Whining??? You mean for my kids to quit whining? Now I would really like that!

Not your kids - for YOU to quit whining! Who do you think your kids learned it from?

Surely not from me??? Whining??? ....Not whining!!! I can’t give up whining?!!??

Playing Your Part with Heart

Yesterday we finally reached a miniature (or perhaps a huge) milestone in our son’s violinist ‘career’. His baby steps with the instrument were of the kind only a mother can love and appreciate. The rest of the family (and unfortunate neighbors and classmates) endured with less or more tolerance the hair-raising screeching produced by often out-of-tune strings. Being his mom, I always thought that what might have been missing in his experience and skill was abundantly made up by his love affair with the cheap Made in China imitation of the famous Stradivarius.

The day he got a tiny violin to match his size, he swung the front door of our house wide open, marched out, planted himself in the lawn under a holly tree and as he drew the bow against the strings exclaimed,

Hey! Listen! I am using this song to quiet the wind!

His youthful zeal, nurtured by time, practice, expert guidance and community of fellow-mini-musicians finally brought us the day when we can actually enjoy his concerts, rather than suffer through them.

The uniqueness of the MAYS (Metropolitan Area Youth Symphony) concerts lies in the fact that they feature several different levels of performers – from talented beginners playing more simple pieces (if one dares calling a theme from Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 ‘simple’) all the way to some exceptional, Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra worthy young men and women, awe-ing the audience by their virtuoso performance of Bach, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff and Mozart.

The comprehensive umbrella of age, talent, skill and experience provides an observer with a form of a musical timeline, a fascinating time-lapse snapshot of the developmental progression in the life of a musician. Each group, each stage is to be relished and celebrated in their own merit – recognizing the familiar tune amidst a horde of straying notes as much as forgetting to breathe while taken by an outstanding soloist. It might be humbling but it is certainly good for the older ones to look back and remember where they came from. And, it’s just as good for the youngsters to be encouraged and inspired by those ahead of them towards greater heights in loving, appreciating and performing timeless classics.

In that multilayer harmony the conductor, the orchestra, the soloist and the audience together are lifted into an even grander design of inspiration and beauty transcending time, place, any individual or group, era or style. They all point towards the Great Composer who gave His one and only Son to be a pitch pipe (or DaTuner, if you are a techie type) for us, who invites us to leave the bleachers, join in His grand orchestra and begin playing our own unique part with passion and ever-increasing grace and skill. It’s the symphony that everyone who heard it agrees is quite out of this world.

I am writing to you, little children, because your sins have been forgiven you for His name’s sake. I am writing to you, fathers, because you know Him (who has been from the beginning. I am writing to you, young men, because… you are strong, and the word of God abides in you, and you have overcome the evil one. I John 2:12-14

Saving the Best for Last

When he first met me, I wasn’t a consideration, because I was a … foreigner. When I first met him, he wasn’t a consideration because I couldn’t pronounce his last name and I already had a boyfriend.

Nine days later, the boyfriend of six and a half years was out of the picture and for the first time I, the ever-expressive, ever-opinionated chatterbox-I discovered that words have some serious limitations.

So begins the BEST love story ever lived. It’s best, of course, because it’s our love story. It has every component of a really good love story – twists and turns, war and peace, long letters and short fuses, dazzling fireworks and all. Thus the Sock found its Monkey, the Spark found its Plug, the Type found its Writer and the Kindle found its Fire. They lived happily ever after, end of story.

This is as far as the definition of love reaches in most people’s minds. The rush of emotions, a walk on the cloud, or, as some cynics may call it a 'temporary state of insanity'. For, speaking from experience, love does make you do some crazy things we would never dream of doing otherwise. Writing poems, buying flowers in the dead of winter, abandoning our safe, carefully controlled, self-contained world and embracing some utterly Other as a vital part of our very being, putting the desires, wishes and preferences of that one above our own. Just yesterday I was my happy, content, busy me. Today I am a wreck without this long-lost soul mate who, a split second ago was a complete stranger. When, through some small token of providence I am assured of his love for me, I am blown away that cosmic forces would be so graciously inclined to pick me, this pitiful, undeserving me, and shower me with such generosity and favor!

Nobody, however, can live in a permanent state of euphoria (unless, of course, you are a drug addict or mentally ill). For, sooner or later, the flash-flood of adrenaline, dopamine, endorphin and oxytocin slowly (or abruptly) subsides. You can’t have lavish, elaborate candle-light dinners every single evening. You don’t stay up just talking all night when you have kids to take care of the next day. It’s impossible for me to look dazzling when I first wake up (or any other time, for that matter). My husband discovered that the Amazing-Sexy-Legs turns into an Incredible-Mrs-Hyde (as in Jekyll and Hyde) before she had her SECOND cup of coffee in the morning. My stunning mate is a little less of his usual Mr. Universe self before he shaves and takes a shower. And, I was shocked to learn that even Mr. Universe farts after having milk and cereal for lunch.

And so I begin to notice ever so slight a shift in my perception. I start seeing things I didn’t see before… all these big and small imperfections I was so blissfully blind to and I am at a loss. What am I supposed to do with all this new information?!!?

Suddenly I am confronted with a choice. I can choose to chase after one adrenaline-rush after another, trying to recapture or recreate the chemically-buoyed feelings of love. My OMG-keep-me-perpetually-entertained-and-happy-lest-I-die-of-boredom Botox-skin-deep culture implies there is no alternative. Much of my broken, idolatrous self gladly concedes to the allure of this course of action. If I go down that path, I discover that it is ruled by the law of diminishing returns. I need more, and more, and MORE… and my sense of discontentment and restlessness grows bigger and bigger and BIGGER. Nobody, not even my amazing Mr. Universe can measure up or compete with that kind of pressure. So, I can decide that, just as I have so hopelessly, so involuntarily fallen madly IN love, I can as easily, yet, ah so sadly – or MADly - fall OUT of love. The Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb, Croatia offers a guided tour of artifacts of such love gone sour. http://www.yorkdispatch.com/entertainment/ci_19960646 The end of that story, onto the next.

Or, I can chose to believe the vision imparted by the ‘temporary blindness’ (or, perhaps, it was a provision of an extra eye to see the possibility in the impossible?). I can receive the whole package – what makes sense to my pea-size brain and what doesn’t – and ask God to help me do the hard work of faith… the hammering out of that incredible, dazzling vision in the nooks and crannies of our lives, day-in, day-out, year in, year out, staying true to the promise when the glare of the stage lights is off and burned mac’n’cheese is on the dinner table. With good days and bad, cancers and cavities, fun and funerals, homework and yard work, the dark nights and the dark chocolate, when nobody is watching and nobody needs to know.

In that murky texture of ordinary life, love, true love settles down like snow… gently, quietly, patently, faithfully - no fanfare, no self-inflated noise… over, under, in and through, and all around… until the entire earth-bound landscape of our lives is transformed by its heavenly beauty. Growing deeper and deeper as the years go by, it transcends by light years any dazzling display conjured up by some fleeting, hormone-boosted emotion. And, once again, I am left speechless, marveling at the gracious inclination of the good Lord to pick me, this pitiful, undeserving me, and shower me with such generosity and favor. And I remember that He always saves the best for last.


In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. I John 4:10

Less is more

To talk less and say more
To assume less and hear more
To travel less and see more
To compare less and live more
To consume less and enjoy more
To imitate less and create more

Help me O God

The Divine Intrusion

“… for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord…”

Today. Out of Eternal Present into the human timeline, God stepped in...today. Not some day or whenever. Today. A day on a calendar, called Thursday or Saturday or Monday. An apparently ordinary day, just like any other day filled with normal life and mundane activities – buying and selling, teaching and learning, cooking and cleaning, blogging and twittering - today - suddenly invaded by heaven itself.

Today if you hear His voice do not harden your hearts… Hebrews 3:15

In the city of David… A place, specific location with exact geographic coordinates. That’s where you and I live. Right here. A zip code. A street and a house with a number. A grocery store on the corner. The coffee shop. A country inn. Not over there. Somewhere. Nowhere. It’s right here. God’s acts are local. His ways are above and beyond our ability to fathom, but His deeds are manifested locally – a family, an inn in a little town, in a country.

There has been born...Birth initiates something utterly new. Something that didn't exist before suddenly comes into existence and life is changed forever. The day you were born changes everything for you. It's a beginning of a one-of-a-kind adventure, having a ripple effect that only eternity will fully reveal. The birth of God-Child changes everything not only for Him, but for every one of us.

For you… You. Personal you. Not him or her. But you. Me. Pronouns carry tremendous weight that can shift focus and create either walls or bridges. Us and Them. We. The letters in my mailbox are addressed to me. I don’t read my neighbor’s mail. It’s his mail, not mine. God’s love letter to humanity enveloped in the human flesh called Jesus is addressed to YOU. The moment you receive it, it becomes personal. Your mailbox. Your Christmas card. Written, signed and sealed by God Almighty.

A Savior. Our lives reach far beyond our capacity and control. We are more, so much more than what we can understand or handle. We are designed with insatiable, often misdiagnosed, hunger that only God can satisfy… again, and again, and again…. You can call it a programming, design flaw or you can call it an upgrade. Like it or not, nothing, nothing on this earth or in heaven can put my heart and yours at rest until it rests in Him. Even after I’ve done everything in my power, there is this unfathomable landscape my soul that only Savior can rescue, redeem, tame and restore. I need a Savior. You need a Savior.

Who is Christ, the LORD. An ordinary human doesn’t qualify for this Savior job description. I can’t do it for me. I can’t do it for you. You can’t do it for me. Neither can Obama, or Ghandi, Muhammad, Buddha, Mother Theresa, Steve Jobs, Tim Tebow, European Union, or United Nations, husband, wife, father, mother, son, daughter, professor, boss. Only the Creator God is fit for this job. The one and only Son of God. The first of many Sons and Daughters of Man. The moment this Creator God, the LORD, became human - with this one decisive action – He forever changed both eternity and the space/ time continuum. He became irrevocably human. From that day on – and will remain forever. And all who receive Him become eternally, irrevocably sons and daughters of God.

The cosmic transaction – the divine intrusion - moved the eternal Word of God out of the realm of religious speculation, personal interpretation and opinion into the realm of historic action – the here, the now, the you and the I – and the Emmanuel ‘God with us’. There are no spectators in this story. Nobody’s sitting on the sidelines. No indifferent bystanders. Sooner or later everyone takes sides – even those who want to be left alone, remain unengaged – their choice made for them by default. What will it be?

Today, just like that day, some receive Him, some deny Him. Some welcome Him with open arms, and some have no room for Him. Some come from afar seeking to worship Him, and some search the neighborhood in order to kill Him.

What will it be? What will I choose?

Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your heart… for today, in the city of David, there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord…

Who Mugged Up the Mirror?

Blame it on extended holiday hours, or too many lights on the Christmas tree, or too much blue in the sky, or just plain old human nature that simply can’t handle too much of anything, including a good thing… whatever the cause, the effect was that right around bedtime the pandemonium broke out. Tempers flared. Fists flew. Fingernails clashed. Words were said. By an executive decision, the baths were suspended and the offenders sent straight to bed. Being stinky never killed anyone.

The next day, even after a good night’s sleep, the memory of what had happened lingered heavy over the household. I would have much preferred to start the new day with a sincere apology, but experience taught me that those can’t – nor should be – coerced. A good scrubbing would have to suffice.

I listened to the water running behind the closed bathroom door, rehearsing ways to address the previous night’s issues without instigating the WWIII in the process. What seemed like eternity later, I heard a tiny voice calling my name.

The moment the door swung open, I was enveloped by the billows of steam, creating a pocket of zero-visibility inside the bathroom. In the middle of it, Child #1 stood wrapped in a bath towel, looking sheepishly at me. The mirror behind was completely veiled in puffy white. Then, with the corner of my eye, I noticed something scribbled on it. As the fog slowly dissipated I read the message:

I am sorry for mugging up the mirrer.

I stared at the writing at a complete loss of what I was supposed to do… Thank the Child #1 for taking such meticulous responsibility for the self-correcting housekeeping infringement?!!?? I had an item or two from The Need to Apologize list I was itching to volunteer that, according to my scale, far exceeded in importance the borderline insulting confession.

I cleared my throat hoping to buy some time in order not to add more steam to the situation from my own boiling over temper. Finally, I spluttered:

Is THAT ALL you have to apologize for?

The Child #1 bowed her head and quietly nodded.

We stood in silence in the middle of the bathroom for about a decade or two. The steam slunk out through the open door, gradually clearing up the large mirror. I noticed our reflection, the furrowed brow, the weighed-down look, the fuzzy towel and the softness of the blushed skin. The peculiar apology, I observed, also disappeared, going the way of the mist.

The anger, the exhaustion, the noise, the words that should never be of last night suddenly resembled the thick haze mucking up the mirror of our lives, clouding up the image of the One we were uniquely designed to reflect… I think how all too easily the baggage of life – the restlessness, fatigue, expectations, disappointments, misunderstandings and sometimes even the high-pitched chords of seasonal happiness - perturb the reflection of the Christ-reality, fogging up the mirror we are uniquely designed to be…

The Child #1 looks up, splatters of bashful hope glistening like droplets dripping from her wet hair.

Perhaps, that’s exactly what we need to apologize for… what I need to be sorry… and broken for … … for perpetually mugging up the mirror of my life…of our lives… obliterating, twisting, marring the image, the reflection of the face of God we are created and cleansed to become…


Then God said, Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness… Genesis 1:26

Alas, even to this day there is still a veil over their hearts when the Scriptures are read – they don’t realize it is removed in Christ. But whenever a man turns to the Lord the veil disappears…But we all, with unveiled face beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image… 2 Corinthians 3:14-18

Room to Spare

It shows up every year, some time in early December. Out of the dust-covered box lying dormant on the dirty garage floor, buried under loads of other dusty boxes, untouched for eleven months. When it first appeared in the middle of our living room, years ago, my husband and I were newly married, young and quite naïve. At the time, our lives were simple and our furniture few. Happy and ignorant, we went out to shop one of those after-Christmas clearance sales. We came back home jubilant, hauling in the biggest Christmas tree we could afford. The tree was beautiful and tall. When put together branch by branch, it filled at least a half of our living room, imposing its glorious presence on all this empty space. We loved our tree.

Then, a friend gave us his old TV because he was moving to Australia. Later on, we bought an armoire to accommodate our newly-acquired TV and a matching stand to hold our collection of CDs and VCRs (DVDs were not invented yet). Over the years, we kept accumulating more and more stuff – a DIY project here, and a curb-side mall find there; then came our first child with all his accompanying paraphernalia and soon afterward, another with all the mentioned paraphernalia of a different, she color. So, bit by bit, mountain by mountain stuff kept marching across our doorstep. The stuff we needed, or thought we or somebody we knew needed or might need some day kept ringing our doorbell. Slowly but surely, our huge house started filling up all its empty places, obliterating the memory of the simple life we once used to live.

The tree also appeared to grow bigger and bigger each year, transforming from a beautiful symbol of everlasting life that the birth of God’s Son brought into the world, into a household monstrosity, turning our home upside down each Christmas season. Every December, in order to make room for its ever-expanding (or so it seemed) limbs, we have to move the sofa into the guest bedroom, and the keyboard with its stand into our son’s bedroom, and the spare desk into the dining room, and the bench from the guest bedroom…

Honey, where are we going to put the bench?!!!

Making room for the tree has become our number one Christmas chore…er… I meant to say tradition.

This is insane! We need to hire movers or a chiropractor to set up the darn thing. We should just get rid of it. I scowled at the tree as if it was its fault.

We don’t have room for you! No room. Period.

The silent echo reverberated with familiarity. No room… no room… no room…… in… the… inn…

With sudden realization, a mess of conflicting feelings that must have torn the insides of the Bethlehemian inn-keeper settled in my stomach. I could imagine myself standing at the door of our house, suspiciously eyeing a tired, frost-bitten couple with the baby on the way…

I am so sorry, but we have no room for you anywhere in the house…. However, there is a bit of space in our garage among all the boxes, and garden tools, and discarded toys, and bicycles… if you don’t mind…

I took a step away from the tree, staggered by its quiet testimony of the clutter overcrowding my life. The space.

The time.

What else got pushed out by the relentless torrent of unrestrained real and perceived needs, wants, desires, personal and ministry responsibilities, demands, requirements? Is all my worthless junk swallowing up what is really precious before my very eyes? Do I even know the difference?!!! And, how in the world did I come to resent something I used to love... and enjoy?!!

The evergreen assayer stood still, its lights blinking brightly.

Perhaps… what I really need… for Christmas… is to just to make… a little more room… a LOT more room in my life. So the Life Himself can come in.

He came to His own and those who were His own didn't receive Him... John 1:11

A Glimpse of Eternity in the Daylight Savings Time

It’s my favorite day of the year. The Daylight Savings Time change – backwards. Suddenly, instead of running 35 minutes behind, I am actually 25 minutes ahead! And this is AFTER I've slept in! One morning of the year, everything I ever want to do can fit leisurely in my schedule like a pair of fluffy slippers. The second cup of coffee. Snuggling with George. Sunday comics. Listening in on seemingly casual conversation - Jesus shooting the breeze with a woman by a well (Gospel of John chapter 4). Even the kids suspend their usual squabbles for 47 seconds. And I am actually awake in church.

I savor the glorious elasticity of time, amazed at the effect the arbitrary decision to set our clocks one hour back has on me. Just one extra unhurried hour and I am transformed from a rushed, order-barking general who sees people like uncooperative obstacles in my life’s agenda, into a human BEing, surrounded by other human BEings and magnificent creatures, like our guinea pig George. When the rubber band of time shrinks, I realize, the first thing that goes out of the window is my ability to listen. Without listening, life unravels like a ball of yarn rolling downhill.

Each year, the time warp gives me a unique glimpse into a world beyond the relentless constraints of time. Eternity. A place of rest, quiet… a place of wholeness. Part of me wants to extend this one hour even further before the onslaught of life’s demands devours it with nothing but the memory left. I am reminded that the onslaught will come but I need not be sucked into it. I don’t need to wait to change my clock back once a year to experience eternity. I can live each moment of every day from the vantage point of eternity by leaning into the conversations that reveal more of who God is, so marvelously expressed in the face and the way of His Son. And in the reflection of that mirror, I can discover not only who I am but also who I am meant to be.

This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent. John 17:3

Perfectionism - the Silent Killer

Mrs. S., do you have a moment…? I need to speak to you about your child…

I learned that approximately nine out of ten times, when those words come from the mouth of your child’s teacher, you’d better have a moment or two, or you’ll just need to rebook that flight to Cayman Islands. I also learned that nine and a half out of ten times, it spells trouble. The teacher has repeatedly encountered a problem big enough to request parent’s support and assistance.

All our previous do-you-have-a-moment conversations with our children’s teachers proved to be invaluable as their loving feedback has always sought nothing but the best for our family. They have also been extremely insightful, shedding light onto some major blind spots in our family dynamics, usually having me at the root of the dysfunction. I braced myself for the impact, knowing after I survive this, it’s only going to get better.

I am all yours and all ears for as long as you need…

She offered me a chair as she sat down.

I am very concerned about T… she said. I sat down dumbfounded.

Concerned?!!! What could she possibly be concerned about with T?!!!?? My to-a-fault responsible, hard-working, straight As brainiac is a model student. Her handwriting is impeccable, her homework imaginative, her math assignments immaculate. Sometimes I wish some of that had rubbed off on her brother, but parents should never compare children, especially not in order to make their job easier.

Yes…?

I don’t know how to put this… the teacher continued. T is amazing. I love getting her work, I love the way she thinks, I love the way she expresses herself… but she … she just tries too hard… Her work is always perfect… However, she takes awful lot of time on making sure that everything is just so, that I am afraid she may fail the FCAT even though I know she knows all the content. The test is timed and they make provision of extra time for some students. But she doesn’t qualify for those provisions.

‘Tries too hard’… ‘always perfect’ ... Resonate in my mind as I wait for the teacher to continue. She adds no further comments, leaving the giant ball in my court.

I stare at the ample evidence confirming my suspicion that the gene of perfectionism indeed has been passed down to the next generation. The funny thing is that we thought it was a good thing. We even cheered and encouraged its development. We may never admit it openly, but we saw it as an asset, not a liability! In the highly competitive world we live in, in order to be successful, one seems to always need to push harder, give more of oneself, beat the latest record… For some of us, the internal pressure is compounded with the external demands (self-imposed as they may be) of the environment and culture that feeds the psychosis. Going against this culture appears like sabotaging your own or your child’s chance of success.

And yet, the gentle words of the caring teacher point to a different reality – a place of discernment where one knows when to keep going and when to stop; when to push and when to let go. A place where wisdom is found in choosing to fail well, where distinguishing the precious from the worthless is more valuable than acquiring a PhD in Trivialities; where great understanding is reserved for all those who learn to recognize when good is good enough indeed.

It is vain for you to rise up early,
To stay up late,
To wear yourself out chasing illusions;
For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.

Psalm 127:2