tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57823801506578585692024-02-19T06:36:35.946-05:00Another ClassroomI am beginning to realize that every chapter of my life is filled with new lessons to learn, new topics to study and new areas to grow in. I like the George Whitman quote “All the world is my school and all humanity is my teacher.” So I will enter this chapter - another classroom - with humility, gratefulness and curiousity.
Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.comBlogger305125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-63900037599800672452017-08-06T22:49:00.001-04:002017-08-07T07:08:42.982-04:00my groups<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFXbWRMQBpMhMmdfqkhJlF-4jHAnH9_TfjBum9t5HF6TPrSc5ohJft0p7wx0JTp5dNcKdB_6V94HucRWs2t_t_SLcy2VvuRZC5EiXlzWJlYR7y0x_6q6bTW9VWDpzsw-DeZXPzAfzPw/s1600/group-prayer-images-32.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="404" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFXbWRMQBpMhMmdfqkhJlF-4jHAnH9_TfjBum9t5HF6TPrSc5ohJft0p7wx0JTp5dNcKdB_6V94HucRWs2t_t_SLcy2VvuRZC5EiXlzWJlYR7y0x_6q6bTW9VWDpzsw-DeZXPzAfzPw/s200/group-prayer-images-32.png" width="200" /></a></div>
It was one of those cool summer, early mornings at Bent Creek. As I walked I could hear birds chirping and the rustle of the wind in the trees. I soaked up the peace and quiet. And I wasn't the only one. Children's voice came echoing from the beach area, playing catch and swimming. Bikers passed me regularly. As did runners. They would call out a cheerful "on the right!" and say good morning.<br />
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I like these friendly fit people. They inspire me and I want to be a part of their group. It would be so easy to miss out, staying curled up in a cozy bed. But today I got to march with the trail people.</div>
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I feel the same way about my book club. I have had some wonderful evenings, sitting at a table discussing so much more then the book of the month. I love the delicious healthy dinners we have together. And the rich, authentic discussion of people willing to open their lives up. I like these big-hearted real women. They inspire me and I'm glad to be a part of their group. <br />
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My church is one of my favorite groups. It's not just the interesting sermons or worshipful praise music. It's looking around at the variety of people who have decided to meet together each weekend. People who come expectant for direction and community. People who contribute to my church in so <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">many ways. I like these hungry submitted people. They inspire me and I am grateful be a part of their group.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6mup02eNH4dx7q7Wx4BTi6V5joeHxkT2WbGd66SbeAX6abRtUQ3SKVanORn2e1b3u0x9WlTmX7Ijz_YwxUMHDlrlhAS7WLR22UOPWMsJBj5KJHDHj36j9LW6ejrdlL1Ei3TddVfTkw/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6mup02eNH4dx7q7Wx4BTi6V5joeHxkT2WbGd66SbeAX6abRtUQ3SKVanORn2e1b3u0x9WlTmX7Ijz_YwxUMHDlrlhAS7WLR22UOPWMsJBj5KJHDHj36j9LW6ejrdlL1Ei3TddVfTkw/s400/images.jpeg" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">As</span><span style="font-size: 16px;"> </span><b style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px;">iron </b><b style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px;">sharpens</b><span style="font-size: 16px;"> </span><b style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px;">iron</b><span style="font-size: 16px;">, so one person</span><span style="font-size: 16px;"> </span><b style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px;">sharpens</b><span style="font-size: 16px;"> another.</span><a class="bible-item-title" href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+27:17&version=NIV" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #b34b2c; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Proverbs 27:17</a></span></div>
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Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-91345124576834449032017-06-04T18:51:00.000-04:002017-08-07T22:07:08.447-04:00roanoke<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfngosCoQBRQFYKg3zU-NyQHgLt4nM7_ZSkW-LoxanD3_7sTnKUsIE53OtM34gyCICBElBgN1HjC7RYfyw89lJ-kWAhB6FMfbhKFL_eZx-1GZTlyybbeUFyMk8e77KD2TcB0qjKW4YaQ/s1600/2%252BThis%252Billustration%252Bis%252Ba%252Bdetail%252Bfrom%252Ba%252Bmap%252Bin%252Bthe%252B1590%252Bedition%252Bof%252BThomas%252BHariot%25E2%2580%2599s%252BBriefe%252Band%252BTrue%252BAccount%252Bof%252Bthe%252BNew%252BFound%252BLand%252Bof%252BVirginia..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="349" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfngosCoQBRQFYKg3zU-NyQHgLt4nM7_ZSkW-LoxanD3_7sTnKUsIE53OtM34gyCICBElBgN1HjC7RYfyw89lJ-kWAhB6FMfbhKFL_eZx-1GZTlyybbeUFyMk8e77KD2TcB0qjKW4YaQ/s320/2%252BThis%252Billustration%252Bis%252Ba%252Bdetail%252Bfrom%252Ba%252Bmap%252Bin%252Bthe%252B1590%252Bedition%252Bof%252BThomas%252BHariot%25E2%2580%2599s%252BBriefe%252Band%252BTrue%252BAccount%252Bof%252Bthe%252BNew%252BFound%252BLand%252Bof%252BVirginia..jpg" width="320" /></a><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"O Lord, our heavenly Father, Almighty and everlasting God…We
ask the witness of Thy grace, upon this sacred spot, this bit of humble
earth. For here once walked the men of dreams, the sons of hope and pain
and wonder."</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', serif;">We got to hear those words at the beginning of The Lost Colony play. After summers at the Outer Banks we finally got tickets and watched this amazing slice of history come alive. "And every show opens with one man in the spotlight saying the
words above. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Lost Colony came to life on Roanoke Island over 75 years ago. It is
now first class of all outdoor dramas. Presidents have seen it.
Acting legends have performed in it. And the finest hands in costume
design have dressed it up." In this quote from </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our State magazine shares more about this spot in history.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On August 18, 1587 Virginia Dare became the first Enlish child
born in the United States.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On August 18, 1937 President Franklin Roosevelt attended the
show during the inaugural season.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every August 18 now, The Lost Colony casts a read infant to
play the Virginia Dare role.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It is a reminder of what our forbearers survived to give us the world we have now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our State magazine reminds us that "Life on the island – isolated and prone to storms- always
has been tough. Roanoke Island didn’t even have a bridge connecting it to
the mainland until 1931, which was 344 years after the colonists first landed
here."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our family spends a week on Roanoke Island every year in June for vacation. The drive is beautiful, the bridge over the expansive sound brings us quickly to the island. Our rental house is cozy and comfortable, launching us to the beach.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"The sunsets on the sound were beautiful then, and they’re beautiful now." They are, pulling us out of bed in the early hours to be amazed again. We suffer none of the hardships that the Lost Colony faced - no hunger, no disconnection with loved ones, no survival stresses. But their heart filled prayer rings true today as we come to rest and heal.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"O Lord, our heavenly Father, Almighty and everlasting God…We ask the witness of Thy grace, upon this sacred spot, this bit of humble earth. We walk here in the footsteps of so many who called out to you. We too have dreams, the children of hope and pain and wonder."</i></span></div>
Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-66003229146357262082017-03-21T22:28:00.000-04:002017-08-07T07:04:29.168-04:00pink plastic spoons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My fantasy job involves ice cream. I think about how fun it would be to work at TCBY. Handing out samples of new flavors, adding toppings, watching the simple joy that a refreshing dessert brings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I thought about that today. It was a day of repairs. Taking out the trash, weeding the yard and an hour in the dentist chair filling a cavity. Too much dreaming about ice cream!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Phillip Yancy in his book <u>Vanishing Grace </u> takes my day of repairs and my day dreams and gives them a spiritual direction.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"By living out lives of grace in a spoiled environment, we point forward to a time of restoration. One Harlem preacher likens us to the pink plastic spoons at Baskin Robbins: we give the world a foretaste of what lies ahead, the vision of the biblical prophets. In a world gone astray we should be actively demonstrating here and now God's will for the planet."</i></span><br />
<br />Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-40651277050026892382016-10-25T06:23:00.000-04:002017-08-07T07:04:51.474-04:00a year off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I started chaplain school, in the summer of 2009, every thing was radically different. I was totally immersed in a hard core medical environment 5-7 days a week. I was learning new skills and a new charting system. I had experiences I had never dreamed of. And I was in all of this with three other interns. Cathee, Vicki and Nathan. Sink or swim, do or die -We became friends pretty fast.<br />
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Each of us had an adjoining desk facing the wall in our little office. But when we got back from the emergency department or surgery or visits we would wheel our chairs around to face each other. We were eager to share the horrendous, exciting, triumphant or soul crushing experience we had just been a part of.<br />
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Nathan and Vicki were already bloggers. They got me set up and we wrote our encounters down, capturing, processing, learning and memorializing the amazing times we'd been a part of. We would read each other's blogs day. We'd laugh and cry hearing the stories again and rush to comment encouragement and appreciation on the blogs.<br />
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We had time to blog. We had support. We had the material. It just poured out of us onto the pages. Close to 200 posts for me that first year. Stories I am so glad I have to look back at and remind me of that time.<br />
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At the end of our chaplain residency we scattered. I became a hospice chaplain in North Carolina. Nathan became a bereavement counselor in Alaska. Vicki became a priest in Arizona. Cathee worked in South Carolina. No more wheeling the chairs around to share our moments. We still had great stories, but less time to commit them to blogs.<br />
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And then I became an elementary school principal. So many great stories! But I was writing lesson plans, chaplain notes, the school news letter and website. Any ounce of creativity was put into school. And suddenly it's been a blogless year.<br />
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Today I am looking through old posts and realizing how much I miss the processing and story telling of writing. And even more I miss the spinning of my chair to hear my fellow interns' experiences. So I will check in when I can and enjoy my memories where ever they are stored.Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-9027933488136166122015-10-25T17:32:00.000-04:002015-11-15T22:55:39.337-05:00tyranny of the urgent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was driving to to meet my friend Barb for dinner at Green Sage. And I had an epiphany.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818;">This isn't a huge </span><span style="color: #181818;">surprise. Barb is one of those forever friends that combines intuitive listening skills with counselor level questions. When Steve and I moved to </span><span style="color: #181818;">Asheville 23 years ago, Barb and Vito were the first couple to invite us out. I spent way too much time overthinking an uncomfortable, fussy outfit only to find Barb in jeans and a sweatshirt, looking perfect. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">Barb introduced me to Asheville's fine arts theatre, where we would escape from real life to watch movies with subtitles and explore stories from around the world. Barb was there when both my babies were born, encouraging and photographing. During the hardest year of my life, Barb and Barbara Thomas met me regularly at The Chocolate Lounge for liquid truffles and group therapy.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And every time we have gotten together in those twenty-three years, Barb has asked me how I am. I always seem to have the same answer. "I'm good. Just too busy. Things will settle down when..." and the current busyness is labeled. -When I get done with this sermon series. When the baby is sleeping through the night. When the boys are in school. When I finish my residency in Spartanburg and can be home. When my Christmas shopping is all done. When my patient load drops. When I finish these classes. When we get into the school year. When. When. When...</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Twenty-three years of "If I can just get over THIS hump, then things will be good."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And here I am in the middle of another, extended crazy busy season. The summer I had envisioned as my oasis, turned out to be hectic. And I knew things would slow down once school started. But it's been months of long days, of always being one step behind, of regretting saying yes to so many things, of isolating myself for survival, of juggling and rushing and hopping from one crisis to another.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Years ago I heard Jim Collins talk about the tyranny of the u</span>rgent. When we let urgent things crowd out every thing else. When our lives are ruled by the loudest squeaks, the most recent phone call, the class I'm teaching in 5 minutes, the next doctor's appointment for my son. Sometimes the tyranny can't be helped. There will be busy seasons. But when the busy seasons last for 30 years I have to be curious. What is in me that can't say "no" to an opportunity for making money or furthering my education? What is in me that feels important only when I am busy and in demand? Am I insulating myself from calm and space for a subconscious reason? And how will I answer any of these questions if I never have time to think about them?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So I met Barb at Green Sage. We hugged and ordered and caught up. She asked me how I was. And I answered as honestly as I could. "I'm busy. Of course. I have a problem with always being busy. But I'm sure you knew that about 15 years before I had an epiphany about it on the way here. And I don't know how to get off the treadmill. That is how I am."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">Our waiter stopped by with my coconut mocha and Barb's ginger carrot juice. That bright orange juice could restart your heart. So can a comforting friend.</span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #181818;"><br /></span><span style="color: #181818;">We are going to meet again soon! After my board meeting. And the wedding I'm doing. And Thanksgiving......</span></span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-73187938341740483752015-09-27T18:32:00.000-04:002015-11-16T16:41:20.851-05:00intoxicating<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> So I am walking through the school halls at noon. The sun is streaming in on the scrubbed floors. The students are all in the lunch room and there is a happy buzz coming from that direction. As I round the corner to the main hall, I see a 6th grade student round the corner running at top speed in my direction. All lean and graceful. And then he screeches to a halt. I look behind me to see what made him stop. Then realize it was me. That kids aren't supposed to run in the halls. And I am the enforcer of that. I see fear in his eyes and don't like that that is his reaction to me. I greet him by name and walk past him. Today.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had no idea how much I would be disciplining in this job.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I will get called to speak to a whole class, or a group of girls, or two guys tussling on the field, or a row of wiggling 1st graders after assembly. Speeches, concerns, expectations, raised eyebrows. This is so not me. I don't like being strict, or serious, or intimidating. I don't like that when asked to speak to a student their first response is to check their skirt length or ask "what did I do wrong?" I don't like this part of principaling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had no idea how much I would be disciplining in this job. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And yet I do it, day after day. I try to make it reasonable and redemptive, building and not shaming. But it is still hard and uncomfortable and sometimes tear inducing. And afterwards I often flop in my principal chair and say to myself "How on earth is this your job Erin?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I said this out loud one day to my mom and she reframed it for me. She said "Wouldn't you rather it be you? It could be someone angry and quick to judgement. You love these kids and you are as gentle as you can be with them." And that helped. Now I try to say to myself "Erin, I'm so glad you get to meet with them right now and not some mean person with an eye for hell fire and retribution." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It takes a lot of talking to myself to get through a day.</span><br />
<span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">The dictionary defines discipline this way: <i>Training</i></span><i><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">expected</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">to</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">produce</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">a</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">specific</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">character</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">or</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">pattern</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">of</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">behavior,</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">especially</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">training </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">that</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">produces</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">moral</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">or</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">mental</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">improvement:</span></i></span><br />
<span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="hvr" style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We are all "in training" aren't we? I hope for all of us the truth of this Simone Weil quote becomes indelibly clear.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> "Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring; Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I also hope you don't run in the halls.</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-42152594936187192422015-07-16T19:30:00.000-04:002016-02-14T20:43:46.989-05:00time and again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the paths of life." Carl Jung</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This summer started out with a bang. - A hectic ending to my first school year as principal. Right into a week of campmeeting where I worked in Kindergarten, leading a tribe of 15 little kids. Straight to the beach for blissful sun and rest. And then back to school to pick up the unfinished pieces. Getting Jake packed for his summer recruiting gig, appointments and meetings and on and on.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">4th of July I was in a full tizzy. We were invited to a friend's farm to watch a huge firework show. But Jake was gone. Josh's birthday was on Sunday. And on that birthday Sunday, I had to leave for a college in TN for two weeks to take a required class for my job. I hate leaving my family. My bursts of panic mimicked the exploding fireworks.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On Sunday evening I loaded my car with school books, a suitcase, blankets and towels, dvd's and an </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ice chest and hit the road.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Three hours later I pulled up at the university. I had only been there twice in the twenty-five years since I was there to finish my junior and senior years of college. I moved into a room on the bottom floor of the dorm Steve had lived in those two years, facing my old dorm.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it was deja vu all over again. 1989-91. Wondering if I would get a job after I graduated. Where would I live? Would Steve and I stay together this time? Would we get married? Would I pass my classes? Would I make new friends? I had to stretch my legs after the drive, so I tried to outrun my past worries by looping the campus and track, passed the religion building where I'd had most of my classes, past the church where I went to vespers as Steve's date, passed the girls dorm where I'd had roommate dramas. And finally back to my little room - home for the next two weeks.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And then I started to relax. In that tiny, sunny room I made up my bed, hung up my clothes, set up my desk. I realized that I was excited to be a student in a class, studying brain function and learning styles. My only responsibility was to learn. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For the next two weeks I would get up quietly and leave my little room tidy. I would walk to class. I would take notes and brainstorm with interesting classmates. After class I would walk to the village market to the delicious salad bar, and choose yogurt and fruit for my breakfast the next morning. I would sit indian style at my desk for hours into the evening reading books and writing reports. I would watch a movie at night as I fell asleep.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One day I met old friends at a Mexican restaurant in town. Another evening I drove to another old friend's home and ate popcorn, watermelon and fruit shakes while I got to know his family. One day for lunch my friend and classmate, Susan, and I explored a Peruvian restaurant just for a new experience. Those were the only three times I used a car in those two weeks. And then back to my quiet room to study.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was an incredibly restful, enriching time. Every time deja vu anxiety popped up I got to remind myself that it would all turn out ok. Way better than ok. Steve and I would stay together. We'd move to California. We'd have a beautiful wedding. We'd get great jobs. We'd move to Asheville and have two precious blond boys. We would have a wonderful, traumatic, interesting, adventurous life.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But today I am a 46 year-old sleeping for one more night on a quiet, dorm bunk bed. I wish I could pop in on 21 year old Erin and tell her to relax, enjoy the journey, be grateful. In lieu of time travel, I will just remind 46 year-old Erin that.</span></span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-5005470756768017732015-05-17T18:39:00.000-04:002015-09-27T18:45:46.542-04:00lemons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So you think it is just an ordinary day. Students heading back and forth from school to auditorium to practice for the big Spring concert. And then it starts to rain. I grab my keys and start to shuttle students back and forth so they don't get soaked. I'm almost done when the last student realizes he forgot his music. He jumps back in and I put the car in reverse and spin back around. And then CRUNCH. There is a horrible sound. I stop. And crane my neck to see the previously invisible light pole on a cement base. How bad can it be? I was only going about 3 miles an hour. The student jumps out to look. "Oh, it's bad." he says shaking his head.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And it was bad. My 6 month old, perfect blue car had a huge, deep dent. My passenger door wouldn't open. I was sick.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />There was nothing to do but fix it. I made three phone calls. I drove thirty minutes to have the car inspected and made an appointment to get fixed. Then I had it inspected by my insurance for a quote. Then I reserved a rental car. Then I drove 30 minutes back to leave my car for 4 days. Then I waited. So much wasted time, energy spent, hundreds of dollars out of pocket, all for a stupid mistake. I just couldn't shake the angry, uselessness of it.<br />The day I picked up my fixed car I made a quick Target run. Walking past the kitchen aisle, a bright yellow ceramic lemon caught my eye. It was on clearance for $3.00.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />In the early 1900's someone coined a phrase "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. According to wikipedia this phrase is "<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22px;">used to encourage optimism and a can-do attitude in the face of adversity or misfortune. Lemons suggest bitterness, while lemonade is a sweet drink."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 22px;">I love this 1940 poem called The Optimist.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">"Life handed him a lemon,</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">As Life sometimes will do.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">His friends looked on in pity,</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">Assuming he was through.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">They came upon him later,</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">Reclining in the shade</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">In calm contentment, drinking</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="line-height: inherit;">A glass of lemonade."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: inherit;">I bought that Target lemon. I carried it to my pretty-again car and decided to be thankful for people who fix dents. Now it is on my desk. It's shiny, happy yellow reminds me that life will always have purposeless challenges and unplanned bumps. My dog will have fleas, students will have unhappy parents, my favorite blouse will get stained, and occasionally I will dent something big. But I will always have the choice of growing bitter, or plowing through with "calm contentment". It's all about making </span></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">lemonade.</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-90795113973910389452015-04-10T18:39:00.000-04:002015-10-26T07:46:06.215-04:00small exchanges<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's possible to get from our house to school in 7 minutes. If we hit the light right. If we don't get behind a school bus. If it's not trash pick up day. Today we left the house with 9 minutes to spare. But it took 13 minutes. I tried to direct the speed and direction of the other cars on the road. And I fumed, and sighed and rolled my eyes. Why didn't I iron last night? Why did I push snooze? Why did I ask Josh if he wanted hot chocolate with his breakfast? I hate being late. Again. ARRGH.<br />
<br />
And then I looked over at Josh sitting quietly in the passenger seat. Josh is not a morning person. But he will make conversation as we drive. He will point out a colorful hot air balloon overhead, laugh at my jokes about downtown Candler, count wild turkeys at the side of the road. Today he sat quietly, looking out the window. I suddenly wondered what effect my 13 minutes of road rage and impatience would have on my boy's day. <br />
<br />
Twenty years ago, I heard a lecture by Daniel Goleman on Emotional Intelligence and bought his book. These three paragraphs are the main thing that stuck with me from either, but I never forgot this picture he painted.<br />
<br />
<i>Say a two-month-old baby wakes up at 3 a.m. and starts crying. Her mother comes in and, for the next half hour, the baby contentedly nurses in her mother's arms while her mother gazes at her affectionally, telling her that she's happy to see her, even in the middle of the night. The baby, content in her mother's love, drifts back to sleep.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Now say another two-month-old baby, who also awoke crying in the wee hours, is met instead by a mother who is tense and irritable, having fallen asleep just an hour before after a fight with her husband. The baby starts to tense up the moment his mother abruptly picks him up, telling him, "Just be quiet - I can't stand one more thing! Come on, let's get it over with." As the baby nurse his mother stares stonily ahead, not looking at him, reviewing her fight with his father, getting more agitated herself as she mulls it over. The baby, sensing her tension, squirms, stiffens and stops nursing. "That's all you want?" his mother says. "then don't eat." With the same abruptness she puts him back in his crib and stalks out, letting him cry until he falls back to sleep, exhausted. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>These two scenarios are presented by the report from the National Center for Clinical Infant Programs as examples of the kinds of interaction that, if repeated over and over, instill very different feelings in a toddler about himself and his closet relationships...All the small exchanges between parent and child have an emotional subtext, and in the repetition of these messages over the years children form the core of their emotional outlook and capabilities...outlooks that will flavor their functioning in all realms of life, for better or worse. Goleman, page 195</i><br />
<br />
Our world is geared for the Big Deals. Top stories on the news in the morning. Squeakiest wheel at work gets the oil. Vacation highlights go on Facebook.<br />
<br />
But life is really made up of thousands of unnoticeable, unremarkable small exchanges. Making lunches for my boys, feeding the cat, greeting students when they are dropped off at school, hugging my husband when he gets home from work. Small exchanges that, according to Goleman, form and flavor all realms of life for people I love. If it's true then I want to make the most of the small exchanges. <br />
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I only have a few more years of driving to school with Josh. 7 minutes a day. Or if I'm lucky - 13 minutes.Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-87524083318116705162015-03-31T06:00:00.000-04:002015-04-17T12:30:15.985-04:00oxygen choices<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44VtXEmdEmzreFRjse3zP7dVXaAPRPTPXQUpjHfnF6BDiZT3x2xC9DZyEQlZociVTJs4R7HhI20iWiTo-U7XnuHK4AxUkSow5RT36XFCKkOGpunBUEHwRmEPqCIwnKx3fY38onnoZ7Q/s1600/410075-61686550-742c-11e3-b21a-c1acf4d34253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44VtXEmdEmzreFRjse3zP7dVXaAPRPTPXQUpjHfnF6BDiZT3x2xC9DZyEQlZociVTJs4R7HhI20iWiTo-U7XnuHK4AxUkSow5RT36XFCKkOGpunBUEHwRmEPqCIwnKx3fY38onnoZ7Q/s1600/410075-61686550-742c-11e3-b21a-c1acf4d34253.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;">I have a thing for sweet, off-beat movies. That Thing You Do. Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. Larry Crowne. I play them over and over again while I'm unloading the dishwasher, loading the washing machine, cooking. The boys groan "not again." But then they forget their protest and at some point we end up sitting on the coach watching the end together. Again.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;">My latest repeat is The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. About an ordinary man who breaks free from his limited life and becomes who he wants to be. I have lots of favorite parts, but one that has become The Quote in our family.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001774/" style="color: #136cb2; text-decoration: none;">Walter Mitty</a></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">: [</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><i>taking on cell phone while climbing a Himalayan mountain</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">] Hey Todd, I'm gonna keep this short. I have to make oxygen choices.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;">Oxygen choices! I love that. For Walter Mitty there is a limited amount of oxygen available. Does he want to use it to make it down the mountain alive or to talk to the salesman from e-harmony? It's really a life and death question. There is nothing wrong with talking to Todd. It's just not going to help him reach his goal. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Last night Josh wanted Jake to play a video game with him. Jake said "Nope, I have to finish my homework. Oxygen choices, Josh." </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">That echo'd in my ears this morning when I got an invitation to be part of a panel discussion at a University 3 hours away. Interesting. Informative. Networking. But also time consuming in an already really busy time. Two days away from work. Two nights away from family. So I said no. I have to make oxygen choices.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17px;">Best over good. Here is how Steve Jobs described it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><i>“People think focus means saying yes to the thing you've got to focus on. But that's not what it means at all. It means saying no to the hundred other good ideas that there are. You have to pick carefully. I'm actually as proud of the things we haven't done as the things I have </i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>done. Innovation is saying no to 1,000 things.”</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Best over good. No to 1,000 things. I just found two articles on line that talk more about this. They look so interesting. But it's 60 degrees out, the sun is shining and my tennis shoes are waiting. I'm headed out. Oxygen choices....</span></div>
Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-6576308765859188942015-03-30T22:06:00.000-04:002015-04-01T12:41:50.443-04:00speaking office<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcIFIjDWsfjnA8A7l7uhWU_4fqR84Q63g9ZAzFUgWMUtjFQ164mH_uxUz1uh4dKA52iHzgsLd2r6kd8quOd2IYrNApvWkfRB8aM9IGdZrvtOi8KMpEPRxidTV9L739jAaf2AgIShfdg/s1600/UcQt7E6b_400x400.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcIFIjDWsfjnA8A7l7uhWU_4fqR84Q63g9ZAzFUgWMUtjFQ164mH_uxUz1uh4dKA52iHzgsLd2r6kd8quOd2IYrNApvWkfRB8aM9IGdZrvtOi8KMpEPRxidTV9L739jAaf2AgIShfdg/s1600/UcQt7E6b_400x400.jpeg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This story starts on Christmas Eve and ends today. A little before Christmas Eve actually....</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There is nothing that motivates me to finish house projects more than company. I had family coming in for Christmas and that meant stuff was getting done. Our six dining room chairs for example. Ten years of two boys eating spaghetti marinara, strawberry jello, blueberry pancakes and chocolate ice cream had done them no favors. They looked like seats from a war zone.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I bought new material. I borrowed a staple gun. I just hadn't had time to re-cover them. And then it was Christmas Eve morning. The boys and I had the day off. Presents were wrapped, food was made. Just time to chill and play together. And re-cover the chairs. Which should only take like 45 minutes right?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I hadn't counted on how long it takes to pry out 600 former staples and stretch the fabric. And re staple. Two hours in, I was sweating and had two chairs done. I was getting faster, but a mutiny was forming. "This is suppose to be a fun day." the boys said. I had to finish the chairs. And I wanted it to be a good day. I had to think fast.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The boys had had a recent conversation about pranks. And I had told them about the show The Office we used to watch. How Steve and I had cracked up over Jim's constant pranking of Dwight. And then I found the first few seasons of The Office that we'd been given as a gift. I grabbed Season One and pushed play. From the moment Dwight's stapler was found encased in Jello, my boys were hooked. Four episodes later, the chairs were recovered, clean and beautiful. The boys were laughing. Christmas Eve had officially started.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So did our new tradition. An episode or two of The Office when we got home from school each day. Curled up on the couch together, laughing as we watched every day people, in an ordinary office, form life-long friendships. I had forgotten how, underneath the funniness, the show had such heart. The characters learned to see past each other's quirks, to value each other, to forgive and appreciate, to become loyal and grow together. Without easing up on the unending stream of little tortures and practical jokes of course.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Nine seasons later, we loved them too. Josh and I finished on Saturday night. (too fast I know, but what else are you going to do through a long winter if not binge watch TV with your children?...) We waited until Monday night when Jake got home from a school trip, to watch the finale. Yes, I cried again. And was touched by profound statements like Andy Bernard's "I wish there was a way to know you are in the good old days before you actually left them." So true Andy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Speaking of the good old days....when I started Chaplain school, our supervisor taught twelve of us about the Enneagram, an ancient personality test to navigate workplace dynamics and spirituality. He told us it would help us understand ourselves better. And that it would help us see each other's strengths more than our differences. Most of all, he said that it would take twelve strangers and quickly give us a common language to speak as we learned about each other.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I feel like the boys and I have new common language. We are speaking Office. We tease each other about being a Michael or so Dwight. Any cockiness gets a Ryan label. And me trying to recover the dining room chairs on Christmas Eve? Such an Toby move. We are also trying to be more aware how much joy and value are lurking all around us every day.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Or as Pam said at the very end of the show, "There is a lot of beauty in ordinary things."</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-32778314741222242392015-03-24T06:22:00.000-04:002015-03-24T12:28:11.329-04:00spring punch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My friend Barbara was having a party at her house last Sunday. A Spring Shower. Women from our church would gather at 4, bring appetizers and desserts, share recipes, talk, laugh and celebrate the end of winter. It sounded like just what we needed!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I found a recipe in Better Homes and Gardens for Spring Frocktails - a pretty pink and orange punch with juice and soda and sherbet. Barbara had a punch bowl so I just needed to bring the ingredients. I began brainstorming for the most delectable appetizer I could bring. Stuffed mushrooms? BBQ meat balls? Mini quiches? A savory cheesecake with crackers?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sunday morning flew by and I still hadn't decided. I waded through all the black and gray sweaters in my closet to find a floral blouse and a green sweater. I was going to look like the first day of spring after a long winter.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was on call for hospice all weekend. There was a family meeting at 1:00 pm. Then I would stop at the grocery store on the way home, make my food, change my clothes and get to the party early. Plenty of time!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The meeting was right on schedule. Thirty minutes and done. Whew! As I was driving out of the parking lot I got another call. A family needed a chaplain 20 minutes south. And then another call. Another patient.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At 3:15 I sat in my car in the hospice parking lot. The party was in 45 minutes and 35 minutes away. I had no food. I had no punch recipe. I was wearing black. I contemplated driving off the nearest cliff.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then an Elizabeth Edwards quote came to mind. I think she was addressing people who had recently lost a spouse, or were being fitted for a prosthetic, or had just been driven from their homes. But my situation felt comparable at that moment. So I rehearsed it.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Resilience is accepting your new reality, even if it's less good than the one you had before. You can fight it, you can do nothing but scream about what you've lost, or you can accept that and try to put together something that's good.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">―</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> </span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6439373.Elizabeth_Edwards" style="text-decoration: none;">Elizabeth Edwards</a></span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I decided to stop the rapid breathing. I reminded myself that no one at the party was watching the windows in hopes that "Erin would wear something besides black." I chose to believe that really anything can be an appetizer. And I drove to the nearest grocery store to put together something that was hopefully good.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I grabbed Dole Orange Peach Mango juice, cherry 7-UP and rainbow sherbet. I found a frozen loaf of my favorite brand of Gfree Rye and a block of dill havarti. A tomato, a cucumber and a tempting selection of olives from the deli. I threw the bags in the back of my car and sped across town.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let's skip to the end. The party was a blast. Better than good. Delicious food. Easy conversations. My little grocery store offerings looked pretty on Barbara's glass plates. The punch was fruity and refreshing. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And brown. Oh yes, orange mango mixed with green and pink sherbet turns a very unspringy shade of brown. We talked about ways to serve it in the future so we could enjoy the taste and not have to see it!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I drove home smiling. Girl friends make everything seem better. So does a dose of resilience, creativity and humor. And getting over yourself. That's a big one. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's only punch...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The correct recipe for non-brown Spring Frocktails.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3 cups ginger ale</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4 Tbsp grenadine</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4 Tbsp orange juice</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3 scoops orange sherbet</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-44951309280053871082015-03-08T12:12:00.000-04:002015-03-24T15:56:40.832-04:00grit and glory<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimh76sFseRus2BpmywV2PvKa0g5vKi_qKEGOW-Gw-Unwo484rKAgIESHNoddxFEGPpJbXXi_v6DUSsfbxcnusGniteBPIFw20REAm-ZOCFi6AOB1kDKZo3I7zjjZS9F4vwXvWOaVKNfQ/s1600/il_570xN.434888790_dnla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimh76sFseRus2BpmywV2PvKa0g5vKi_qKEGOW-Gw-Unwo484rKAgIESHNoddxFEGPpJbXXi_v6DUSsfbxcnusGniteBPIFw20REAm-ZOCFi6AOB1kDKZo3I7zjjZS9F4vwXvWOaVKNfQ/s1600/il_570xN.434888790_dnla.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a>I was about five years old. A little girl with a blond bob. Sitting on the floor in a yellow gingham room, sun streaming in. I was playing "grown up", my very favorite game. My mom had given me a stack of unused check deposit slips and I was signing my name with a flourish and making check marks in various boxes. I couldn't wait for the day when I would have a real job and do this all the time.</div>
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Today, forty-one years later, I'm sitting in my blue office, sun streaming in. I have a stack of forms in front of me and I'm signing and checking boxes. And that's when I had my little yellow flashback. I'm still playing grown up, and I love this job more then that five year old could have imagined. I like writing articles for the newsletter, filling in to teach classes, creating board agendas and art curriculums. But it's also harder than I would have dreamed. Disciplining, hard conversations, budget struggles, refereeing. Somedays I don't feel like signing the slips. There is so much more grit and glory than any five year old can imagine.<br />
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I was in 6th grade. Several of my girlfriends and I made up a game where we wrote letters to each other from our future selves. We imagined our lives as very mature twenty-three year olds. Most of the scenarios involved our handsome, made-up husbands taking us to TCBY every evening. What else would there be to do as grown ups?<br />
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Today, thirty-four years later, I can't remember the last time my husband and I went to TCBY. My 6th grade self would be devastated. She would also be horrified to know that handsome husbands often come with contrary opinions, and that so much of our evenings involve grocery shopping, playing with our boys and homework. We have to make a real effort to get out on a date occasionally. But it's all so much better than those letters ever hinted at. I didn't know how nice it is to walk hand in hand through the neighborhood with an unmade up man. Or how safe you feel, curled up watching TV with someone who loves you forever. There is so much more grit and glory than any 6th grader can imagine.<br />
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I was living in the dorm in college when I visited a newly married friend. She and her young husband had just moved into a brand new apartment that was very 1990's modern. All grays and purples, sleek lines and minimalistic furnishings. It was the most sophisticated place I had ever been. And was immediately the epitome of all my "when I get my own house" fantasies.<br />
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Today, twenty-six years later, I see a lot of gray throughout my house. Mostly in things that once were white and have been used and aged til they are dingy. My style is teenage-aged-boy-lived-in. Not very popular in the house magazines I pour over. The washing machine and dishwasher hum constantly. From where I am sitting I can see a clump of cat hair and a streak of mud. But it is my favorite place in the world. The couch where the four of us flop on together at the end of the day. The table we gather around for Steve's famous Saturday breakfasts. The porch where we watch lightening storms. It's where we pack friends from top to bottom for sleepovers, cook Thanksgiving dinner and toast our Christmas tree with egg nog. There is so much more grit and glory than any college student can imagine.<br />
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I still like playing grown up. Someday I may redo this post by adding to the paltry imaginations of my forties. Until then I am grateful that life is so good. And I will soak up all I can of this gritty and glorious life!Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-79039206637360698132015-02-15T18:08:00.000-05:002015-03-04T19:31:53.774-05:00aesthete<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; line-height: 22px;">It was in the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire in Geneva where I realized it was hopeless. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">My family was spending the morning at this art museum and today I was determined to be my best art appreciating/cultured self. We all started together and I slowly wound my way through the museum. I read all the captions. I looked for little details in the pictures. I walked with agonizing slowness from corridor to corridor. By the time I circled back to the first room, I couldn't take any more art. That is where I found my father. Still in the first room. Gazing up at a painting with tears running down his cheeks. "Have you seen this one yet?" he asked with a combination of reverence and passion. Oh dear. My art immune, barbarian status was confirmed. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Growing up in an art-loving family has exposed me to some wonderful art in my life. I've been to the British Museum twice, all the Smithsonians in D.C., the Wyeth's Brandywine Museum in PA, Norman Rockwell's museum in MA, the High Museum in Atlanta and during a study tour in college I got to see art museums in Israel, Greece and Rome. But I never was captivated by it. Art Shmart. I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>may </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">have speed-viewed many priceless works. I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>may</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"> have rolled my eyes more than a few times. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">A couple years ago, a road trip with my parents included the de Young Museum in San Francisco to see Vermeer's Girl With The Pearl earring. We had a wonderful day, and I almost felt arty. But I realized it was mostly because my parents are great company and I got to be sophisticated and urban for a change.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Then, as irony would have it, I became an art teacher this school year. Yep me. The can't-draw, can't-craft, can't appreciate girl inherited four sections of elementary art, grades K-8, once every single week. In a panic I downloaded a timeline called Art History for Dummies. Appropriate. I made a schedule and plugged in some true artist friends. And then the routine started. On Friday I would text my dad with the time period for the next week. Cave art. Egyptian art. Roman art. Byzantine art. By Monday there would a set of pictures in my inbox. I'd sneak to the library and call my dad for an art history lesson. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Week after week, in the quiet dark library, on the phone to California, I discovered that art is made up of stories and themes, of artists and countries, of inventions and influences, of talent and luck and survival. I would take dad's enthralling stories and ideas and find ways to engage my students in the excitement of it. My interest in art became sharply focused and incredibly enjoyable. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Recently our library art class time centered on early Renaissance art. I got engrossed in Giotto, an Italian painter and architect who was first in line of the renaissance artists. Dad told me about this reportedly unattractive shepherd boy who painted pictures of his sheep on the rocks in his pasture. He was discovered by a local artist passing through the field who couldn't believe how life-like the chalk drawings were.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Giotto later auditioned to work for the Pope by submitting a single, perfect circle painted in red as his best work. The Pope was impressed and hired him, wisely, as Giotto's depiction of human emotion in his paintings set him far above his contemporaries. Dad especially mentioned the emotion depicted in a painting with little angels. I thought about Giotto all through the day.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">The next day I got down to business. With my scribbled notes I began to look up pictures for class. I couldn't read my handwriting. Gotto? Getto? I googled Renaissance artists and found Gatti. Italy. Renaissance. Must be it. There was nothing about him being ugly or the painted red circle or the chalk sheep. But I wasn't surprised that my dad would know way more than Wikipedia. I found some of Gatti's art. Ornate, overdone. Yes there were a few little angels - fat, gilded cherubs. Nothing there to inspire in me the wonder I'd heard in my dad's voice.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">It was shades of Geneva all over again.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">And then I realized that Gatti was from the 1600's. I was pretty sure the artist I was looking for was at the beginning of the Renaissance. So back to Google. 1300's. And there was Giotto. There were the sheep and the pope. Ah ha! I scrolled through some work he had done on chapels. One caught my eye. The Lamentation of Christ. It is of Jesus being taken down from the cross, mourned over and held by his mother and friends. The painting is in beautiful blues, golds and rose. But what caught my attention was the sadness on the faces of Jesus' friends. Emotion. I enlarged the picture.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">And that is when I saw the baby angels. Ten of them flying to earth, filling the sky. They are horrified, heartbroken and in pain at the loss of Jesus. One is plugging his ears. One is hiding his eyes. And one little angel in the middle is skidding to a stop mid-air because he can't take in the loss of his God.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">I saw all this in the second the painting filled my computer screen. I heard myself gasp and at the same time realized I was crying. I resonated with their feelings of confusion and grief. In a new way I glimpsed what a staggering loss that moment in history represented. I was touched by their heart broken hearts. I was moved.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">I was moved! Those little, emotion-filled Giotto angels were the last straw that broke my art resistant back. I'd finally crossed over from philistine to aesthete -a person who is sensitive to, recognizes and values beauty in art. It only took 46 years, 65 students, 25 art classes, miles of museums, hours of patient conversations and 10 baby angels.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Gear up Dad! Impressionism is coming up, and your art-appreciating daughter can't wait to find out what I'm going to love next....</span></span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-71442702907057819282015-01-19T22:24:00.000-05:002015-03-04T09:21:48.397-05:00darkness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It is cold and dark. All the time, this time of year. I get up in the dark and rush to get the heaters and fireplace turned on. It is gray on the way to work. The sun is setting by the time we head home. The house has been empty all day and is cold. I pile on the sweatshirts trying to get warm while I do homework.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have my winter standbys. Hot baths that leave the bathroom mirror covered in steam. Burying under fleece blankets with Steve, watching Hawaii 5.0. My yearly read through of <u>A Trip to the Beach</u> by the Blanchards. Dreaming of our upcoming Outer Banks Vacation. These help a little bit. I still feel whiney about the cold and dark.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This winter I read <u>Learning to Walk in the Dark</u> by Barbara Brown Taylor. She has a different perspective on physical and spiritual darkness. She draws attention to the non-sunny Bible stories. Where Abraham, Jacob, Moses, several Josephs and others connected with God after dark. These night time Bible stories are filled with stars, ladders, pillars of fire, and dreams. She writes that good things happen spiritually if you aren't always demanding a light. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then she urges us to enjoy the darkness.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Here at the liquid edge between day and night, the difference is so unclear that there are many words for it: sundown, twilight, nightfall, dusk...According to the rabbis, the Sabbath begins when three stars are visible in the sky, in which case I am not there yet. As it turns out, there is a lot of ground to cover between one sunset and three stars."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Steve has always loved the evening. In the summer he will often call us all out to lay on the driveway as the day is ending. Or sit on our porch rocking chair. I'm a morning person. When the sun goes down so do my spirits. But since Christmas my new fit bit has driven me out of the house in the evening. When Steve gets home from work we all bundle up and head out to finish my steps. The boys will toss a neon football. Aggie will bounce up and down with joy to be doing something exciting. We will talk about our days and loop back and forth on our neighborhood road together.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I have started to enjoy cold evenings in a new way. At Barbarba Brown Taylor's urging I now look for the subtle differences in darkness. There is not really light, kinda dark, and can't-see-the-road-ahead night. I tell the boys "If we were inside we would call this dark, but look how much you can still see! Look how pretty the trees are!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last night we finished the walk before the football game was done. While the boys played, I laid on the driveway and stared up at the first stars. I looked for ladders and pillars. There were none. But I heard my boys laughing, felt Steve's warm arm around me and saw the sliver of the moon. There on the driveway I realized that coldness and darkness are like any other problems you face. Bundle up and meet them head on and you find they aren't as scary or awful as you were afraid they were. You might even find them enriching your life.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bring it on Winter. :)</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-80657066139697332462015-01-01T21:18:00.000-05:002015-02-11T09:02:03.001-05:00promptings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During my last year in high school, our class put on a production of Pride and Prejudice. We all auditioned for a chance at a big part. What could be better than playing Miss Elizabeth Bennet to some handsome senior boy's Mr. Darcy?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No shocker but I did not score a major role. Even tiny parts like Kitty or Charlotte went to others. As consolation I was given the "very important" job of Prompter Number Two. I spent every practice and the entire performance perched high in the eaves over the stage whispering down lines to forgetful actors.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Try saying this in a loud but quiet whisper. <i>"</i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"> </span></i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Trust me, not as exciting as it sounds....</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've been thinking about my perch and those whispers recently as New Year's Day approaches. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My resolutions never change. Over and over. Bigger heart, Smaller body, Less stress, More gratitude. It's some form of that every year. But I wanted specifics this year. I wanted clear prompts! And I realized that some of the whispers I was hearing might hold the answers.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I got this text from my Maryland friend Lisa a few days before my birthday. "You have to get a fit bit. I just got one. We can encourage each other to move! Get it for Christmas!" How's that for a prompt? </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I pled my case. I got one. Not only do I get to communicate with Lisa more, but I have the motivation to get moving despite cold and busyness.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I read this whisper in Bill Hybel's book<u> Simplif</u>y, 10 Practices to Unclutter your Soul. "Find a chair. Find a spot that works for you and make space to feel the deepest sense of God's pleasure with your life." Not a new idea. But just the perspective I needed to take it up a notch. I found a cozy spot, claimed it as my soul chair and am spending regular time there. I already feel some new life sprouting.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On my bathroom sink is the most precious picture of my two boys when they were 4 and 5. They are tanned and smiling, standing next to our car. It's been a favorite for years. But lately I hear it whispering loudly "treasure each moment." My boys are growing up so fast. Tonight I drove Jake to driver's ed. I fixed Josh his 5th meal of the day. Before I know it they will be away at college, planning their next date or traveling the world. I'm so glad for this prompt, reminding me that I have them today. Slow down. Soak it up. Enjoy.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Part Holy Spirit, part human, that is how my New Year's resolutions came to be. Or as Mr. Darcy put it - "</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.''</span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So welcome 2015! I look forward to many more whispers from any eaves...</span></span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-90015729087770872612014-12-28T12:23:00.000-05:002015-01-21T19:19:22.025-05:00napkins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I always forget napkins. The table will be set, food is hot, family gathered, and someone will say "do we have any napkins?" I will jump back up and grab a handful of paper towels. Because "no we do not EVER have napkins." The paper towel thing is fine when it is just the four of us on a week night. We aren't fancy. But for Thanksgiving or Easter or weekends with company? When a lot of work has gone into making the table look nice....the wad of paper towels just doesn't cut it. Must remember to get napkins!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Which is why I was so tickled when my in-laws showed up around noon on Christmas with a package of beautiful Christmassy paper napkins. "We thought you might need these," my mother-in-law said as she handed them to me. I did! They brought many other things, boxes of presents, food and drink, but those napkins are still making me smile. I think it's the great combination of being truly known, and truly taken care of.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I felt that combination with the cozy pink coat from my parents. It's a continuing gift of fresh color and warmth as I stand outside and greet students every morning. And the afternoon trip to Sensibilities Spa with my sister-in-law from my brother's family. It was the perfect mix of quiet relaxation and fun chattering. And my fitbit from Steve and the boys - just the right incentive and social competition that I needed. I could go on...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Christmas can be a great physical reminder of God's abundant love. <i> My God will richly supply all your needs through Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:19 . </i>It was for me this year, and I am so grateful.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And there were more napkins. Later in the day I unwrapped a package of cream-colored cloth napkins with words of gratitude printed in black script. I had seen them at Pier One, thought they would be great for Thanksgiving and hinted that I wanted them. (Can it still be called hinting if you call your mother-in-law and say "I really want these specific napkins from this specific store"?) </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of my resolutions for 2015 is to Use It Up. Don't save things for later. I tend to tuck things away for a special occasions -soft scarves, gift boxes of unique tea flavors, pretty candles, the good plates or better silverware. But NOW is a special occasion. Dinners on Wednesday evenings and baths on Tuesday nights, and getting dressed for cold Monday mornings. Use It Up is a regular reminder to live in the moment, that my family is worth it, that I am worth it. I have been inspired by Gretchen Rubin's call to <a href="http://www.gretchenrubin.com/happiness_project/2006/07/do_you_hoard_yo/">spend it out</a> and Shauna Niequist's <a href="http://www.shaunaniequist.com/burn-candles/">burn the candles</a> post, and want to live into this paradigm. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So Friday night I pulled out the beautiful Thanksgiving napkins and set the table with candles. I controlled my wincing as spaghetti mouths were wiped on the new napkins. They can be washed. And if they don't make it til next Thanksgiving think of all the gratitude-infused meals we will enjoy in the mean time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The paper towels can wait.</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-73595639438303342332014-12-15T20:46:00.000-05:002015-01-01T21:03:55.843-05:00tantrums<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKLEDi8J0H_FgerZTZmM-BH0pJQlKaFPqJzpPelf1ZiSU5MTBT445TaLDWJxXfHJqs9YD1mKXNlAO-UztCHGxkh_tWP0C6_7ZbUZ5aZb_bfg3U_bShewCJRhBnX9ZDHSRbVX9vksqrA/s1600/child_tantrum_300_xlarge.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKLEDi8J0H_FgerZTZmM-BH0pJQlKaFPqJzpPelf1ZiSU5MTBT445TaLDWJxXfHJqs9YD1mKXNlAO-UztCHGxkh_tWP0C6_7ZbUZ5aZb_bfg3U_bShewCJRhBnX9ZDHSRbVX9vksqrA/s1600/child_tantrum_300_xlarge.jpeg" height="265" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At school today a little girl was marched into my office. Her eyes were red and her shoulders were shaking. She listened defiantly as I talked about how kindergarten students can not throw screaming fits over the shape of crackers served during snack time. She was not convinced. Or very sorry.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Actually I felt for her. I know that helpless, angry frustration that sometimes wells up inside me looking for a way to escape.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I felt it this month. After years of praying a very specific prayer and years of silence from Heaven in response. After laying out over and over and over what seemed to me a God-honoring, mostly unselfish plea. After trying to be positive and grateful and teachable in spite of not seeing a light at the end of my tunnel.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Recently in my car I listened to an inspiring sermon on Daniel's three friends facing the wrath of the king. How these men of faith faced the angry king and told him to his face "<i>Our God is able to deliver us from this furnace. But even if He does not we will still serve Him to our death." </i>The point of the sermon was sometimes God delivers us FROM the fiery furnace. And sometimes God delivers us IN the fiery furnace. We don't always get the rescue, the answers, the solutions we want or need, but this doesn't have to shake our faith.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As if. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I love my faith. It's the air I breathe and the road I walk on. It is guiding, helpful, comforting, delightful, interesting, challenging, grounded. What it is not is Unshakable.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I falter in front of a furnace. Or in pitch blackness. Or dead quiet. I need more burning bushes and wall writing and nets overflowing with fish. I'd like a city falling down and seas parting please.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But no. What started with a hope-crushing text last week, ended with me in the bath tub having a spiritual hissy fit. I didn't renounce my religion or curse at God. Just kicked and cried and pouted. "God, what in the world is wrong with you? How clear do I have to be?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was still doing hospice full time I ordered Barbara Brown Taylor's new book<u> Learning to Walk in the Dark</u>. I thought I would be good for my patients. I pulled it out recently and found that what it is really good for is people in mid-tantrum. This paragraph spoke to me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This darkness and cloud is always between you and God, no matter what you do," wrote the anonymous fourteenth-century author of The Cloud of Unknowing, "and it prevents you from seeing Him clearly by the light of understanding in your reason and from experiencing Him in sweetness of love in your affection. So set yourself to rest in this darkness as long as you can, always crying out after Him whom you love. For if you are to experience Him or to see Him at all, insofar as it is possible here, it must always be in this cloud and in this darkness."</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I climbed out of the tub, spent and resigned. Red eyes and shaky shoulders. So be it cloud and darkness.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then the next day. The next day! Things dramatically changed. Better than I could have scripted or hoped for. Steve was offered a new job. With people that valued his years of commitment and consistency. People who said things like "Wow, we are so excited to get to work with you." With plenty of stable work, affirming staff and new challenges. The desires of my heart. What feels like the warm smiles of God.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And with my joy and gratitude comes sheepishness. Why couldn't I have held that tantrum off twenty four hours? Why couldn't I have embraced one more night of the darkness and announced "Even if He does not!" Why such a vivid reminder that my faith is sometimes still in kindergarten?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There will be other cloudy nights and long tunnels. I know that. What I hope is that I can carry this experience and so many others through the darkness. That I will remember there is a fourth being holding my hand in the furnace. That instead of yelling at I can <i>cry out after Him whom I love.</i></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And maybe a little less pouting and kicking.....</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-77187784067786634102014-12-01T22:26:00.000-05:002014-12-27T22:35:21.612-05:00a christmas story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4ZDidRaZPYVT9AmNnkPPXpYYQIe9K65b4ld3hOcplGDfSvZsdKCIA6bb6uj2O33h181Mqo7whlhfdG0Kb72UQ8m-zdEYUWfZGqFmNBxBygDwQD_iY3C2lcueUa8738gTHaYwdyuZSw/s1600/christmas-star-gradient-8r.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4ZDidRaZPYVT9AmNnkPPXpYYQIe9K65b4ld3hOcplGDfSvZsdKCIA6bb6uj2O33h181Mqo7whlhfdG0Kb72UQ8m-zdEYUWfZGqFmNBxBygDwQD_iY3C2lcueUa8738gTHaYwdyuZSw/s1600/christmas-star-gradient-8r.gif" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What started as a normal Saturday, made a detour. I was walking into church when my on-call phone beeped. Minutes later I was driving into down winding country roads. I walked into Fred and Anna's home, minutes after Fred passed away. I was halfway across the living room when Anna wrapped her petite body around me and sobbed. After a while we made our way to their bed room and sat on either side of Fred. As we waited for her sons to arrive, Anna began to share stories for their sixty+ year marriage and their childhoods on the other side of the world. Some of the stories were filled with happy memories. Some made us weep.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fred was one of nine children. One brother was killed in the war. One sister died from injuries when bombs hit their village. Anna was a few years younger and lived a couple hundred miles away. She talked about soldiers invading her village. About beatings and rape and murder. With the men off fighting several mothers decide to flee to safety. Anna's mother wrapped her children in blankets and laid her baby in a buggy that she and her neighbor pushed through the snow. Two solders stopped them mid hike. One soldier demanded that Anna's mother remove her boots and give them to him. He tried them on but realized they were way too small. This angered him. He threw them back at her yelling "stupid woman!" Anna realized that if the boots had fit the soldier, her mother would have been left barefoot in the snow. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The story got worse. Anna's baby brother died toward the end of the hike to the next village. Anna watched her mother lay the baby on a table and wash his emaciated body. She remembered her mother saying "This is so much better. He will never have to suffer again."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And now it was Anna's time to say that as she looked at Fred. "He will never have to suffer again." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the midst of Anna's grief she realized that Fred would get to meet her little brother for the first time in Heaven. She talked about how glad she was Fred was no longer in pain, that he had poured so much love into their family. She couldn't wait for the resurrection.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I drove home with a heavy heart, trying to understand a world where husbands die, sons are sent to war, where women stand barefoot in the snow and lose their babies. I tried to wrap my head around experiencing that level of loss and grief and still having rich, funny stories to tell and a warm heart full of love. It felt confusing to carry Anna's story home through blinking Christmas lights and Christmas carols.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But beyond Silent Night and Oh Little Town of Bethlehem I thought of the whole Christmas Story. The part about all baby boys under the age of two being killed, about weeping and mourning and the holy family escaping in the night through the desert. How in a world "dark with the misapprehension of God" an angel said to shepherds, "<i>do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord."</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This Christmas we need a Savior as much as Bethlehem did. This Christmas we need Hope as much as we did in 1942. This Christmas, once again we are given Good News of Great Joy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh come, oh come Emmanuel....</span><br />
<br />Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-39114353108373622622014-11-27T16:19:00.000-05:002014-12-06T16:19:29.670-05:00thanksgiving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today is my 45th Thanksgiving. If I try to look back at them, they run together. Into a stream of happy memories and trusted traditions. Mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. Dad's personalized pilgrim face name cards. Mom's Alpine Casserole. Turkey Trots. Raspberry-Cranberry Jello. Trips to California and to Maryland. Pecan pie. Matt and Jenn's red dining room. Martinellis. Hiking at Bent Creek. Stuffed mushrooms. Being full and grateful.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In all those forty-five Thanksgivings, 3 distinct memories stand out. And they are my only negative Thanksgiving memories. Why these? I don't know. But they ring clear as a bell, make me smile, and remind me so much of what Thanksgiving is all about. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. Football?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I remember being little and loving the I Love Lucy marathons that were on all Thanksgiving day. I remember Mom cooking and Dad and I watching and laughing. This was a great holiday tradition and one that I would always enjoy. Until that one year when Matty reached the age of TV opinions and I found Dad and him watching football. Which I found irritating and confusing. Why would any one want to watch football on Thanksgiving?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. Nothing?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I remember being a sophomore in college. My boyfriend broke up with me right before Thanksgiving break. I remember sitting around a bountiful table, loaded with delicious food. I was surrounded by my precious family. And when it was my turn to share what I was thankful for I could think of absolutely nothing. Which is what I said when asked. "Nothing." (yes, I was a teenage girl. And yes, a few years later that boy asked me to marry him and has spent the last 24 Thanksgivings with me...)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3. Non-traditional?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I remember being a young married couple. It was our first Thanksgiving alone. And three days before Thanksgiving we had had a miscarriage. We were grieving and out of place and not feeling festive.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thanksgiving morning when we woke up, we found a brand new mountain bike propped against our front door. Steve's good friend was loving us the best way he knew how - with gifts and hobbies. We decided to go see a movie and picked what looked like a romantic comedy. Meet Joe Black. It turned out to be a strange, awful death/afterlife story. We stumbled out of the theater disturbed and decided to redeem the day by making a traditional meal. Which is when we learned that a frozen turkey at 3:00 pm will do no one any good on Thanksgiving. We had delicious sandwiches with our bubbly.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Strange little dark spots in a sea of good memories. Funny now. But so filled with the truths that make Thanksgiving so special.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thanksgiving is about connection and love, not about being the center of the universe. </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <b> </b></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Be generous!</b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We are surrounded with blessings whether we are thankful for them or not. </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <b> Be grateful!</b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The spirit of Thanksgiving goes way beyond traditions or centerpieces or smiles. It is knowing that nothing can separate us from the love of God. It is hope. </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <b> Be graced!</b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br /></b></span></i>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Happy Thanksgiving!</b></span></i>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-46323931244063727812014-11-23T14:21:00.000-05:002014-12-11T10:06:31.538-05:00main thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In my last post I described my short lived career in ziplining. After hiking back to the lodge, I huddled in the heated conference room and looked out the floor to ceiling windows at the forest below. I was still trying to get warm. Still trying to adjust to the fact that I hadn't finished the course.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I had only been there about thirty minutes when four students from my team walked in. My son and three friends.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"How are you back so soon?" I asked.</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Too cold." "Not that fun." "We'd had enough" they answered.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"How far did you go?" I asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"To the 4th platform. That one had steps. So we walked down and hiked back."</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wanted to say "No!!! I didn't have a choice to keep going. You did. It was supposed to get warmer. You should have hung in there. You needed to finish."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We had about two hours to wait for the rest of the group to reach the end and return. I worried that they would come back triumphant and adventurous and my four would feel unfinished and slackerish. That they had wasted their ticket prices. That they had missed out on the main thing we came here to do.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />And then I watched them.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sitting on oversized chairs on the covered porch. Overlooking the forest. Drinking cup after cup of the hot chocolate the lodge provided for free. They were laughing and talking nonstop. Telling stories and jokes. Totally enjoying each others company. Clearly no place they'd rather be.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They'd tried the expensive, thrilling adventure. It was fine. Hanging with their buddies at camp was better. So maybe this was the main thing. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />Sometimes I have a hard time figuring out what the main thing is. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Company is coming over and I'm organizing the shoes in the back of my closet instead of vacuuming the living room.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Settling out my weights, yoga mat and exercise clothes the night before and then turning off the alarm at 5:00 am and going back to sleep.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Finding myself cranky and snapping at the boys while I am cooking dinner so we can all sit lovingly around the table.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Missing the main thing....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I guess I'm not the only one. Stephen Covey writes that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Most of us spend too much time on what is urgent and not enough time on what is important.” </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jesus wrote about it too. <i>Seek first the Kingdom of God and his Righteousness. And all these things will be given to you as well. Matthew 6:3</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>3</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I will this morning. Early. Curled up on my cozy chair. Hot chocolate in my pink bunny mug. Worship book in my hand. Starting with the main thing.</span></span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-19221114922628760592014-11-16T16:15:00.000-05:002015-01-20T17:59:17.569-05:00bucket lists<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzs6K9kRGBkqc7aLb7yJNTpEQybJGTPWdW_cyDanGRiUGwmT9gCHCCLVYyWRpwFoy-WcaKi9ZZfX87ngfq6WXeAeaPv_GQJZOGQ7jxPCxfu6vqZV_14NawZNGm2r0dErdsNQBHnWJLlw/s1600/empty_bucket_97476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzs6K9kRGBkqc7aLb7yJNTpEQybJGTPWdW_cyDanGRiUGwmT9gCHCCLVYyWRpwFoy-WcaKi9ZZfX87ngfq6WXeAeaPv_GQJZOGQ7jxPCxfu6vqZV_14NawZNGm2r0dErdsNQBHnWJLlw/s1600/empty_bucket_97476.jpg" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of my bucket list items is to make a bucket list. I can't believe I don't have one. I love lists! I have a huge imagination and love to dream. I get so excited hearing about other people's lists and what they have checked off. And I keep starting my bucket list:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*See every square inch of Ireland</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Write a book</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Visit all 50 States</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Recover my dining room chairs</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Clean my bathroom</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Make sure Josh practiced the trumpet today. Oh dear, I'm sliding into another list.</span><br />
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This month I got to do two things that would have been on my bucket list if I'd had one. </span><br />
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Josh's class had a week of outdoor ed and on the last day they went zip lining. As they talked about zipping through the trees I realized that I have always been intrigued by this. It sounded so adventurous and fun. I immediately volunteered to chaperone and join in.</span><br />
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And it was awesome. A huge, modern/rustic building and outdoorsy staff welcomed us in to get into our harnesses. They talked us through the swinging through the treetops, platform by platform down the mountain. Total bucket list worthy.</span><br />
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But... It was 23 degrees outside. We stood on the first platform for over 30 minutes learning the ropes and waiting our turn. I had dressed in layer upon layer. Yet my hands and feet grew numb with cold. I was the last one in our group to go. My heart was pounding as I stepped off the platform. Nothing prepared me for the speed and freezing air that made my eyes water so badly that I couldn't see the instructor motion for me to get in landing position. So I hit the endzone unprepared and swung around wildly for a moment. "There is no way I am going to survive this day" I thought to myself, while I smiled and told the class what fun I was having.</span><br />
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Once I got my footing on Platform 1 I found out that one of the students already there had been badly shaken by the zip. I looked in his eyes and realized that enough was enough for him. The instructor radio'ed back to base that they were sending him back. Then the instructor turned to me and said "you will have to go with him." Wait! I'm in the middle of a once-in-a-life time bucket list experience. I can't stop now. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. To be relieved or disappointed.</span><br />
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So they rappelled the two of us off the seventy foot platform. Had I ever thought to put rappelling on my bucket list I could have checked that off too. We hiked back to camp. We told each other that we had indeed zip lined. And on the longest and steepest run. So I guess that's a check.</span><br />
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My friend Daina gave me her last session of acupuncture when she moved to Honduras. I have always been curious about the whole idea of paying someone to stick you with needles. And heard miracle stories of the effectiveness of this treatment. It should have been on the bucket list. So I made the appointment.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
I met with the needle lady. She did a through background check of my medical background. Asked all kinds of interesting questions. She talked about my blocked chakras and energy fields. Then she stuck tiny needles into corresponding "blocked" areas - my forehead, my hand, my legs and between my toes. That one hurt! I laid quietly listening to soothing music and unblocking, hopefully.</span><br />
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And then it was over. I don't think you can judge much from one session. I'm also not sure when another $70 needle stick will make it to the top of my to do list. So I guess that's a check too.</span><br />
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I learned a German proverb while I was in Spartanburg. <i>Nacher is jeder klug.</i> In English it means "Afterwards, everyone is smart." It's like "well now you know." Not every thing you do will change your life. But you don't know til you try.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I still want to make a bucket list. And keep adding things retroactively so I can reappreciate my adventures.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Seeing The Lost Colony play on the Outer Banks with my parents and family should have been on my bucket list. It was awesome! Unforgettable. Check.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Making the Martha Stewart Pumpkin Bread Pudding for Thanksgiving that I have been eyeing for a year. eeehhh. Once was enough. Check.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now I know...</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-33481452152385941182014-11-02T16:12:00.000-05:002014-12-11T10:11:48.218-05:00cat pee and refuge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Homebody.</b> Noun. A person who enjoys the warmth and simple pleasures of being at home. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am the total definition of a home body. I love a day where I don't have to leave at all. I could spend weeks puttering, organizing, rearranging, cooking, touching up....</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At the end of a long day I can't wait to get home, get the fire going, watch HGTV while I unload the dishwasher and tidy up my little refuge. My house reflects my tastes and my priorities. It is filled with my treasures and my necessities. It is my ultimate comfort zone.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So you can imagine my displeasure to arrive home last week and smell a very awful smell. Cat pee. Maybe the worst possible smell. I quickly checked the litter box. Clean. I followed my nose to a corner of the living room carpet. Damp and stinky. After three years of mr. kitty being immaculately house trained what could have possible gone wrong? I got out carpet shampoo and spent my first hour at home scrubbing the floor.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The next day I could still smell it on arrival home. I steam-cleaned the carpet. My chairs were all piled up and the table was scooted against the wall. The fan was on full blast making my living room feel like The North Pole.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The room smelled fresh and clean for a couple hours. But I woke up the next morning and could smell pee. I lifted the rug to see multiple dark spots. How long has this been going on?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The next day I went to Pet Smart. I bought dog and cat spray to clean carpets and keep animals far away. Back at home I doused and scrubbed and aired and dried. I was desperate to have my peaceful aromatic refuge back.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the midst of this frustration, I was also preparing a sermon. I was studying 1 Samuel 22 about David who was also looking for refuge.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In Eugene Peterson's wonderful book <u>Leap Over A Wall</u>, he writes about this.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"In David's prayers refuge refers to a good experience, but what got him to refuge was a bad experience. He started out running for his life; and at some point he found the life he was running for, and the name for that life was God. "God is my refuge"</i></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This happens all the time: it's one of the fundamental surprises in spirituality. Whatever we start out feeling or doing or thinking can lead us to God, whater directly or meanderingly.</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whatever our ingredients - a messy house, a flat tire, a cranky boss, late homeowrk, another fill. There are good ingredients too - fall colors, warm smiles, strong hugs, dear friends. Whatever the ingredients they can lead us to God."</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In this line of thinking, the smell of cat pee ruining my house should remind me that God is my real refuge. If I'm spiritually mature enough to go there. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Until I've reached the level I'm ripping out the carpet. I want my house back. </span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-61263700049810194752014-10-19T15:09:00.000-04:002014-12-06T16:20:37.454-05:00burning bushes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love autumn! The break in humidity. Cool mornings. Soup. Return to routines. Pumpkins and hot apple cider. And here in Asheville the riot of color - golds and reds - that marks this season and bring the tourists flocking in.<br />
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Today I drove past a tree that was so flaming red that it was almost unbelievable. I wanted to stop and take a picture. But I was in a hurry.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Barbara Brown Taylor writes about reverence. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Reverence requires a certain pace. It requires a wilingness to take detours, even side trips, which are not part of the original plan. I can stop what I am doing long enough to see where I am, who I am there with, and how awesome the place is. I can flag one more gate to heaven - one more patch of ordinary earth with ladder marks on it - where the divine traffic is heavy when I notice it and even when I do not. I can see it for once, instead of walking right past it maybe even setting a stone or saying a blessing before I move on to wherever I am due next." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Taylor talks about Moses having this kind of reverence. Exodus 3 says</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 24px;"><span class="text Exod-3-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1581A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1581A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> his father-in-law, the priest of Midian,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1581B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1581B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1581C" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1581C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> the mountain<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1581D" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1581D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> of God.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 24px;"><span class="text Exod-3-2" id="en-NIV-1582" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><sup class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">2 </sup>There the angel of the <span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span><sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1582E" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1582E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> appeared to him in flames of fire<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1582F" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1582F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> from within a bush.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1582G" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1582G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 24px;"><span class="text Exod-3-3" id="en-NIV-1583" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><sup class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">3 </sup>So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.” </span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 24px;"><i>And Moses said, “Here I am.” </i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 24px;"><i><sup class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">4 </sup>When the <span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> saw that he had gone over to look, God called<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1584H" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1584H" title="See cross-reference H">H</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> to him from within the bush,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-1584I" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-1584I" title="See cross-reference I">I</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> “Moses! Moses!”</i></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Moses' willingness to stop and notice the burning bush led to him having an unexpected experience with God and started him on a life changing path. How many burning bushes/flaming trees have I rushed past this week. How many God encounters have I breezed over?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Taylor quotes one of the wise women in Alice Walker's book The Color Purple. "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This makes me smile. It is not the picture I have of God, but I think it is a good reminder to be on the lookout for those beautiful, flaming red, autumn trees. </span></div>
Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5782380150657858569.post-59811413469254991222014-10-10T18:21:00.001-04:002014-10-10T23:14:33.421-04:00closet full<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This weekend a good friend is getting married. We are making a quick trip to Maryland for a mini reunion/wedding. So for the last couple of weeks the drum solo in my head has been beating out "go-to-the-store-buy-something-new-to-wear" over and over. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There is a myth that I've bought in to for a long time. That the outfit I need to make me feel thin-energetic-successful is just waiting at a store for me. Probably on sale.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But I have a closet jammed with clothes. Some I love, like presents from my stylish, pro shopper Mom. She takes time to consider flattering fit and wearer's delight. Some are hand-me-downs, practical pieces that are now part of my every day rotation. Some I've grabbed, running through a store, because they were soft or a pretty color and only $6.00 on clearance. I've got lots of pieces, so many clothes and yet I'm still waiting for something else.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This summer I put a ban on more shopping. I got strict with myself. "Go to your closet." I said. "Dig deeper. Be creative. Stop thinking it's out there. Find it in here."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The day of Jake's graduation, deep in my closet, I found a green and raspberry floral shell. It was two years old, tags still on and beautiful. I didn't have anything to wear with it. Except a raspberry sweater that I bought a year ago and wear all the time. Put them together with my white pants and I had a new party outfit.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A couple months later I was packing for my trip to California. The one thing I was missing was a pair of nice, dark-ish pants to wear on the plane. I kept thinking I would get to the store, and then found just what I needed at the bottom of my summer box, clean and folded since last year.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yesterday I found an emerald green sweater to brighten my gray and black outfit and fight the chilly fall air. It was in a bag, bought on clearance during humid, hot days and tucked away. It looks great with a multi-colored scarf I've had for years.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I need to trust that the closet is adequate. In so many ways. Not just with clothes. I find myself panicking about being equipped for my new job. That what will make me feel thin-energetic-successful as a principal are the classes I can't take until next year, or the books I haven't finished reading, or the review I will get from my boss. The drum solo beats "you-don't-know-what-you-are-doing. You-are-in-over-your-head."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then I look inside. I realize that chaplain months in emergency waiting rooms with families, swallowing pat answers so I could hear their pain, is just the tool I need with frustrated parents. Drawing out shy hospice patients is surprisingly not that different from drawing out shy 6th graders. Plotting a sermon series uses many of the same skills that creating an art curriculum takes. And leading an interdisciplinary team is a lot like leading a faculty meeting.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I start to freak out I have to get strict with myself. "Dig deeper. Be creative. Stop thinking it's all out there. Find it in here." I may be a brand new principal, and I can't wait to have more experience, but there are some good things in the closet.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think about Elijah, looking for God outside of the cave, in the wind and fire and earthquake. But God was inside the cave, Elijah's closet, whispering quietly to him.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So it's back in the closet for me. To listen to God's quiet voice, to trust in my journey, and right now to find something to wear with a purple lacy J Crew skirt for the wedding.</span>Erin Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03979203073685935325noreply@blogger.com3