Ode To The Silent People*

Silence is often misunderstood,

 but never misquoted.

I saw this quote on a church marquee today as the youngest and I were driving and thought to myself, "Truer words have never been spoken." I feel like I've been misunderstood most of my life. People often don't quite know how to take someone who is...

QUIET.

So, for all you talkative people, let me fill you in on the quiet people and what we are thinking most of the time,

"While you are busy TALKING just to hear yourself TALK, we are the ones stuck LISTENING wishing you would just SHUT UP."

Yeah. I just wanted to see what it would feel like to put those words to print.

Gotta say, it felt pretty darn good.

All joking aside, however, don't be so quick to knock the quiet people. We're not snobbish or stand-offish or whatever-ish you might try to label us with on any given day. Sometimes, and there really are those times, we would LIKE to say something, but feel like it would be rude to interrupt or turn the attention on ourselves. Sometimes, and there are many a time, we actually do TRY to say something and you run us over with your own words like we didn't even say anything at all and, for the record, there's nothing worse for a quiet person than to finally work up the nerve to say something only to not be heard at all.

But anyway. Quiet people listen. You talking people evidently need that. So really, when you look at it that way, together we make the world go 'round. Besides, sooner or later you always end up asking us what we think...

And for those thirty seconds, we shine. =)



*not the true definition of an ode, I know, but I like how it sounds. 

Yep. It's A Goat.

I don't often post pictures of the young'uns for a variety of obvious reasons, but sometimes a picture says so much more than the so-called thousand words. Especially in the life of teenage daughters.

She is so sweet. So moody. So much like me. And she's growing up way too fast. The clock never stops when you wish it would.

Of the many things in my life that I do not regret, being a stay-at-home mom surviving on one income, hamburger helper, and antenna tv ranks right up there at the top. It's not for everyone, I know, and there were spurts of temp work sprinkled in those years that were necessary for one reason or another. But now that the kids are practically grown and I work full time and suppers at the dinner table are becoming more and more rare, I've come to appreciate- truly appreciate, the laughter.

Which is why I love this picture so much.

To hear my kids laugh is one thing, maybe the very thing, I would miss the most if my sense of hearing ever faded.

The sound of a voice can be comforting.

The song of a bird can be reassuring.

But the sound of laughter?

Pure inspiration.

We really should laugh more.

I Put The Hilarious In The Knock-Knock

Mrs. Angela, tell me a joke to make me laugh.

Tough challenge from a kid giving you a dead-serious glare, but a kid-kinda-challenge is my line of work. I'm up for anything to break up the monotony of a work day.

First attempt.

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Isaiah.
Isaiah who?
Isaiah (I say a) prayer every morning.

Nothing. Notta. Smile not found.

Second attempt.

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?

(repeat a gazillion times)

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange (like aren't ya) glad I didn't say banana?

Score! Success. Huge smile combined with a you-are-kinda-crazy look.

Ahhh. Just the response I was expecting.

Hey, I'm a big hit when the audience is seven and under. =)

Resurrecting A Dead Horse

Our conversation at dinner earlier tonight went something like this,

I know this ship has sailed and I know I said I would stop saying it, but I'm gonna say it out loud because I'm thinking it anyway and I just want to hear the words, breathlessly said I.

The husband looked at me, the all-knowing look in his eye. He held my hand, took a deep breath, and gave me the green light. Go ahead and say it.

I want to go home.

Now, if you're new to this little blog corner of the world, this might be a new story line for you. If you've been around since the beginning or even midway, it's a concept similar to beating the proverbial dead horse. Even so, the heart wants what the heart wants.

I miss my mom and dad and our little white house. I miss walking to the post office and hanging clothes on the line and cutting fresh lilacs from the bush out back. I miss my old school and my teaching friends and chapel every morning.

Oh, I've accepted the fact that we are where we are and unless it's the mighty hand of God that moves us, we're pretty much anchored where we're at. My dad used the expression often in the beginning, There's another nail in the coffin. I have my own version, There's another hole in the boat. I honestly don't know what keeps us here other than the sheer determination to make something good out of what seems to have been a not-so-good idea.

Well, that and those three kids of ours. I remember three or four years ago when we were seriously considering packing it all in when one of them said, We went through a big move once; please don't do that to us again (emphasis on the please). It's hard to argue with the logic of a child. Besides, I am reminded on a regular basis of a prayer that was prayed almost seven years ago when I stood in a circle of friends on the very last morning before I followed a moving truck south:

This move may have nothing to do with you or [the husband]; it may have everything to do with geographical location and placing your children where they need to be for what God has purposed for their lives...

... or something like that. And if one thing can be said, it is that those kids have thrived. I may not agree with or understand most things in life, but I cannot argue with that. In fact, we have said many times that if it were not for the kids, we would not have held out this long. I guess we figure that we brought 'em into this world,  the least we can do is give them a running start.

Besides, I don't think my old cat could take another move. The last one about did him in. It's no lie to say that he sees a pet carrier and hides. I think I've been traumatized... that's nothing compared to the stress my kitty endured.

And on that note, I'm officially out of anything inspiring to say (not that this was necessarily inspiring to begin with, I know) and I know that I know that I have been blessed with some great friends right where I am. That I would not change for the world. I do get homesick, though, and especially on a Saturday. Again, those who have been around know this. Those who haven't... well, welcome to my world.

I miss my mom.

And The Greatest Mom Award Goes To...

My mom, of course. =)

I think I have blogged about my mom every year, more than a few times and on many occasions, but especially when her birthday rolls around. I mean, really, can you ever say enough about your mom? I know I can't. She is truly one of the nicest people I know. She'll deny that and say things like, "Oh, if you only knew," but that's what I love about her. Even if she doesn't like you, chances are you won't catch onto it. I've seen her mad a few times. I've seen her disappointed now and then. When I think about her, though, I don't think of any one of those traits.

She's just my mom.

She loved me through what I can only imagine were truly terrible two's.
She loved me through all the awkwardness of those horrible teenage years.
She loved me through heartbreaks and those ridiculous high school proms.

She wrote me letter upon letter when I was in basic training. She advised me on the high cost of phone bills. She never questioned me when I called her one day just to say, "He's the one."

I could go on and on and achieve the kleenex level of writing in just a few more lines, but suffice to say, she has been there for every moment of my life.

Thanks, Mom.

And Happy St. Patrick's Day Birthday.

Life's Too Short To Use A Dull Pencil

That thought occurred to me today when I was reaching for a... well, a pencil.

I love pencils. Real pencils. Dixon Ticonderoga pencils. I've got an assortment of pencils in a wide selection of colors in varying stages of pencil life (some at the two-sharpening stage; some at the twenty-sharpening stage with little life left to live). I'm also a big fan of erasers- the colorful kind that go on the end of a pencil, but we'll save that entertaining story for another day.

I know. You really can't wait.

So anyway, I reached for a pencil and started to do my thing when I found the result was not quite what I wanted (and really, all I was doing was recording a lunch count, but I'm a big believer in doing everything with pride). I set that one aside and reached for another pencil that sported a nice, sharp tip. With a sigh of satisfaction as the first few strokes of the lead (okay, graphite) were made, a rather unique thought popped into my head. So unique, at least to me, that I grabbed my handy pad of post-it notes and jotted it down. All day long that same note stared me in the face.

Life's too short to use a dull pencil.

Maybe it's the same thing. Maybe it's totally off. But as my day was winding down and the minutes ticked away to the four o'clock hour and I stared at that post-it note before me, Proverbs 27:17 scrolled through my head. I thought about the sharp lead (graphite!) of my pencils and how clean and crisp of a line they leave behind. I thought about the dull lead (you get the idea) of my other pencils and the fuzzy and unremarkable lines that are left in their wake.

And I'll stop here to say if you haven't used a pencil in a long time, take a ride on the wild side and try it old school style. You might need a little refresher course and a detour from the electronic life to catch up with where I'm going.

"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another."

Or check out the Amplified version:

"Iron sharpens iron; so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend [to show rage or worthy purpose].

What kind of relationships do you have? Are they the kind that sharpen your faith, or are they the kind that dull your senses to things of the Lord? Does your anger leave a scowl on the faces of those around you? Do people breathe a sigh of relief when you leave the room, or do you leave behind something worthy, something to think about, something purposeful?

I know some of you think I put entirely too much stock into the tip of a pencil. I wouldn't argue with you there. But I will challenge you with this one last thought,

I'd much rather be a sharp point than a dull one.

How about you?

Buck Up, America

I read things under the cloak of fair journalism that infuriate me.

Alleged this and alleged that. Small-town drama and small-minded gossip. People with nothing better to do than to sport a hidden recorder and stir up trouble... all while being a faithful church member, I'm sure.

I've had it with bitter people. Not just there, but here, too. Miserable people looking to make other people miserable. I mean really, where does it all end? Does a bad childhood give us a license to be a jerk? Does a bad marriage automatically result in a people-are-crap attitude?

And yes, I'll stop with that last less-than-polite remark.

Hollywood feeds us lies and people line up to buy tickets. Politicians promise us lies and people cast votes to bury us all. Religion spoons out enough lies in disguise to choke even the sincere.

I've been misled by movie stars.
Lied to by the government.
Disappointed in the church.

Who hasn't?

Buck up, America. Have each other's backs for once. Make small town living a place others would want to live. Give us a city life that doesn't make us paranoid from watching the nightly local news. Stand up for moral attitudes in the movie theaters and flush that other garbage down the proverbial toilet. Do what the Good Book says instead of just bashing each other over the head with it.

And for goodness sake, if you're gonna wear a recorder and attempt to incite a riot, well... don't. Take that negative energy and go fight evil or something. At the very least, bake a cake for your enemy (but no arsenic allowed).

Play nice, people.