thefairfax

Have yourself a Merry

2011-12-25T22:44:00.002-05:00

What a year of joyous events. Amazing time with beautiful, big hearted friends.

Henry went to a new school -- a high school!

10 Resolutions for Mental Health

2011-12-05T10:21:00.000-05:00

Here's a good Advent Devotion!

10 Resolutions for Mental Health

It's okay, it's okay.

2011-11-25T20:12:00.002-05:00

I am having a restoration week, which for me always involves going through old journals to see where I've been and what I may need to be restored in.

I found this story from September 24, 2001. Henry was 5..

Carrying Henry to bed and in his sleep he patted my back and said,"its okay, its okay." This is the day I know that he values me and my impact is felt. Henry and I have spent every afternoon fighting for the last week or so. He has been in my face disobedient, which is actually encouraging-- he knows what he is doing and he is using more appropriate language. He's getting mad at me because he wants his way. When we get to the point of no return (he slaps me or is blatantly disobedient) and I say enough he falls into my arms sobbing then says: "crying, scared" or " crying, mad" or even "impatient". And then I pat his back and say " it's okay, it's okay. I love you. That's why I can not let you disobey.".
He is something else.

I am amazed several things -- first at Henry's incredible character. What a human he is and I'm so fortunate to be the one mothering him. It's stunning how much of life he understands, real life. It has taken me until this past year to see life as cleanly as he always has.
And I'm amazed at how much I've been through -- slapped daily for several years! Others have told me they don't know how I've done it but I always thought I hadn't really done enough. I feared that it would never change but it has. He doesn't slap or bite or scream. He's quite self sufficient and as involved as a teenager would be (he's refusing to go to the movies to see The Muppets with me preferring to stay home and play video games.) but I am tired, I am in need of restoration. We made cookies and played wheel of fortune. Then I lounged in the couch and he got his own lunch.
It's okay, it's okay.

The Napping House

2011-03-24T18:23:00.003-05:00

The Napping House was a favorite book of Henry's when he was little. I don't generally like naps, unless the weather is in Florida as it is right now. Warm sun and cool breeze. The perfect napping time is mid afternoon, around three. The windows need to be open and the wind flipping the curtains and clearing out the house of winter tightness. You need to lay on top of the bed, not in it. Across the bed in some angle you never can use in regular sleep makes it even more decadent. To fall asleep you have to read a magazine. A book will not do at all. A book implies commitment and a nap is fleeting. A magazine that is all pictures and fashion won't cut it either. Some Vanity Fair or O magazine or essay in Real Simple is what you want. A little bit of substance, but just a little bit. The glossy pages will fall from your hand and your eyes will gently close and the air will push over you and the busy and the to-do and the just one more thing all will turn into the napping house.

The Past

2011-01-16T17:46:00.004-05:00

It may be that Henry had a breakthrough this week. On Friday morning we went for a walk with our neighbors the Connolly's. Giles, Henry's school chum, and he were walking and flapping and Julia, Giles' mom, and I were walking and talking. I was telling Julia how Henry had been having my mother and I play Wheel of Fortune and the clue was

B_ST_N

R_D

S_X

And I couldn't get it! Thank goodness for Mimi who figured it out.

As I was telling the story, Henry dropped back and said, "Yesterday."

That's right, yesterday we were playing that game with Mimi.

Henry continued, "The Jackpot round, Mimi and Mom won the clue Boston Red Sox!"

Henry has not, to my knowledge, had a conversation in the past tense. All the past from today's breakfast to when he was four years old, are past. Asking Henry what he did in school today means nothing to him. He doesn't know how to answer. Friday's school events are in a big bucket of 'past events' jumbled together with every time he's ever been to school. Who could tell what you did today if all of your past events were one big event?

We've worked on this, made it part of his IEP, and tried to talk about events that happened earlier today, yesterday or last week.

As usual, Henry applies information in his own unique way and his own unique time.

Not only did he talk about what happened the day before, he dropped in to a conversation that was going on about that event. He joined in the telling of a story.

Life is so consistently beautiful. When things come easily it is easy to miss how consistently beautiful life is.

Wrap party

2010-12-29T18:43:00.007-05:00

Wrapping up the old year is hard for me -- I'm not ready, I haven't thought it through enough, I didn't accomplish the 'thing', the mysterious 'thing' that will make the year worthwhile.
Which is why it is important to do a year in review no matter what. Just pick up a pen and write down what did happen, what you are glad that happened this year. Suddenly, you'll see the 'thing' buried in the list, showing you what the year has really been about.
I'm so glad for:
- meeting Ivan for the first time.
- seeing Bonnie & Clyde in performance.
- meeting Akshay Shah in the delta sky club in Orlando on my way to Egypt.
- traveling to Alexandria, Cairo, and Ain Soukhna, Egypt.
- working with Greg and Claudia of GW Nunn Adventures.
- working with Connie Rainwater and Nathan Clark at Northland Church.

- working with Storyville Coffee's employees on audience training.
- Henry's teacher Ms. Bender and our amazing Mr. Watkins who is creating a new Middle/High School for our kids.
- Henry's hair curling up and turning dark brown.
- time in Idaho with my Dad and Henry.
- evenings with my Mom.
- my sister's new, exciting job.
- doing Yoga with my cousin Elizabeth on the porch in the morning.
- my yoga teacher Deborah.
- editing JJ Ruscella's beautiful novel Kris
- working with Bobbi Barber on her book about working with your adolescent with Autsim.
- working on Kevin Weaver's book ReOrient.
- my old/new friend Julia moving to College Park.
- studying Arabic.
- speaking French.
- Kareem's amazing hotel connections.
- writing e-newsletters every other week.
- walking with Elizabeth Dean and our neighbors.
- our amazing SAK girls and our gatherings, individually and as a group.
- falling in love.
- girls night with the ladies of Northland.
- tea with TMac.
- brunch with Clare.
- Angela Angel's persistance.
- performing and singing at Capone's.
- Dr. Bob Pierson and his family and their work with Leadership Nexus and getting to be part of it.
- having weekends off.
- performing at Epcot, even on weekends.
- Byron Katie's The Work.

- provision for Henry's education from the government program.

- taking Henry to see his Dad play Papa Noel at Epcot.

- Time with Sarah Lee, Karin & Lisa. Watching each of us make it through such a challenging year.

- sitting in the audience watching my friends perform: Laura Hodos, Sarah Lee, Lisa, Karin, Phran, Di, Cami, Angela, Russell, Phil.

- Lisa and Mark Daniel and their support in getting me to the Idol guest casting bench. What a cool experience.

- walking around the lake with Julia or Morgan or Di or by myself.

- good nights sleeps.

- taking risks.

- finding out I don't love taking risks.

- watching Henry become a man.

- my brother's first home.

- leading seminars on core values and vision statements.

- for being an uninvited wedding guest with Tim Goodwin.

- gathering people magically with Adam, Art or Phil.

- knowing my cousin Margarette in Australia and her amazing prayer life.

- Time with the great guys in my girls lives: Kevin Brune, Dave Ross, Doug Dobbs. Wow, those are some fine men folk.

- Driving 3 giant man-boys from school to Special Olympics Basketball practice for OCA.

- for Silvia Haas and all people with vision who also take action.

THE DIGITAL STORY OF THE NATIVITY

2010-12-20T17:29:00.000-05:00

From the HigherLife Enews I write

2010-12-20T11:14:00.000-05:00

Martha Graham famously said, “Because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost.”
Your message that is unique, but your perspective and style of presenting the message are also gifts. The thing that makes your book worth reading (and writing) is the one-of-a-kind infusion of you to the storyline. There has never been another you, and your perspective on a topic is of immense value.
Your writing process is your gift to you. Do you need to take pen to paper? Is it a legal pad, a spiral-bound notebook, or a Post-it® note? Do you need to type in the morning or late at night? Do you enjoy music or silence? Do you write at home or in a busy café?
My favorite poet is William Carlos Williams, and my favorite poem of his is El Hombre:
It’s a strange courage
you give me ancient star:
Shine alone in the sunrise
toward which you lend no part!
Mr. Williams was not only a poet; he was a pediatrician. He wrote his poems on a pad for prescriptions he kept in the pocket of his white lab coat. What a gift his process was! By embracing it, he produced great works, no bigger than a small tablet.
If you obey Martha Graham’s direction, you must produce your work. Publishing your work, sending it out as letters, or posting it to your blog is not a selfish act; rather, it is a selfless act.
You are not feeding your ego by publishing; you are giving the gift of your perspective and your writing to another unique person who longs to hear something fresh, something inventive, something intriguing, or something motivating.
Do not deny the gift of your writing to an audience that is waiting to receive it. — Alice Bass

From Today's Reading:

2010-12-14T12:26:00.000-05:00

The Lord is glorious in his saints: Come let us adore him.

Psalm 66 Jubilate Deo

Verses 7 - 9
Bless our God, you peoples; *
make the voice of his praise to be heard;
Who holds our souls in life, *
and will not allow our feet to slip.
For you, O God, have proved us; *
you have tried us just as silver is tried.

Advent Apocalypto

2010-11-28T17:53:00.005-05:00

Every year I watch a new-to-me Apocalyptic film during the Advent season. I don't set out to, I don't plan to, but then I'm drawn to and I do.

This first week of Advent it was The Road starring Viggo Mortensen. I thought screenwriter Joe Penhall did a really excellent job disseminating the themes of Cormac McCarthy's novel. He created wonderful scenes from the source scenes in the book and revealed heart of the journey. Which is always, in every apocalyptic film I've ever seen, to never give up, never surrender. The main characters just simply can't bring themselves to stop hoping even in the midst of ashes, dust, decay, cannibalism, insanity, starvation, or marauding gangs (sometimes of zombies, though not in this film.)

I think Advent is the darkest season of the church year. Lent with its sacrifice is not dark, it is dry like the desert. It is our choosing to give up. Advent is not born of our choice, it comes upon us. For the northern half of the world, it is actually dark. And cold. They are in the midst of a bleak mid-winter. This is what Advent feels like to me -- blue twilight outside cold empty cathedrals on Friday evenings.

In Advent we are celebrating what is and what is not quite yet. We are the wanderers in an apocalyptic tale -- something tremendous has happened and most of humanity has fallen apart but we are the keepers of the flame and we trudge on in spite of it all, sure that we can reach the coast.

For those of you that know it, and most of you know this even if you don't know you do, repeat with me now

the mystery of faith:

He was

He is

And He is to come.

Storytelling tips from Alice

2010-11-23T14:55:00.003-05:00

Telling your story was the theme this week at Northland Church and I got the chance to share some of the exercises I do with people to coax their story out of them. If you click here then scroll down to How to Tell a Story you'll see 3 short videos and a PDF to download to help you with your storytelling!

An actual happy birthday

2010-11-11T21:08:00.006-05:00

Henry has hated birthdays for many years. I've blogged before about his gag response to birthdays and in particular the song. Many years of vomiting during birthday parties has been worked out through years of OT and patient teachers and now they are tolerated. Today was his friend Giles' birthday. When he and his basketball buddies got into my car this afternoon they were buzzing about Giles and the party. I was pleased that it was a topic able to be discussed!

After basketball Henry, Giles, and Giles' Mom and I walked to the car. Before I could really wish Giles a happy birthday, Henry stopped and embraced Giles. A normal Henry hug is a back hug -- you open your arms and he puts his back to you and lets you put your arms around him. Giles is a good friend of Henry's. We've been driving together to OCA for a lot of years and now we are neighbors.

So Henry embraced Giles and held on tight. Giles is tall and skinny and Henry is short and stocky. Giles tried to move away, but Henry squeezed him again, arms around Giles shoulders. Then, as though he were from France or Egypt, he kissed Giles on the cheek. Giles had a perfectly normal response of total awkwardness but of course Giles mom and I were ooohing and ahhhing.

And it was awkward and unique.

But for me it was totally beautiful. To see Henry embracing a birthday, embracing a friend...a moment of pure joy.

Communion

2010-11-06T21:05:00.006-05:00

For the first 16 years of my life I did not practice community in the micro. In the macro -- FAMILY, NAVY, COUNTRY, SCHOOL yes. But small groups, childhood friends, girl scouts, I experienced 2 years at a time before they moved or I moved. Until I arrived in Winter Park, Florida I didn't have a lot of practice at being part of a community.

On Friday evening, I pulled into the parking lot of Washburn Imports for First Fridays at Lake Ivanhoe. I was there early to support my friend Claudia and her husband Greg who were launching their travel consulting company GW Nunn Adventures during the event. I met Claudia when I showed up in Winter Park in 1981 to start high school. Claudia had grown up here so she had a strong community. One friend she introduced me to then was John Washburn -- the cool kid with the feathered hair who played in the high school band, "The End." Now he's the gray-haired, square-rimmed glasses cool guy who owns Washburn Imports, a furniture import store with a wine bar on Orange Ave. The Imperial Bar at Washburn's was a perfect place to hand out brochures and show photos from their tours to South East Asia. Because I'm writing tag lines and web copy and planning Egypt tours for GW Nunn, I headed toward's John's shop.

My friend from old SAK days, Stacy was in College Park waiting on her daughter so she decided to meet me for a glass of wine. Stacy is married to Todd whose sister was a roommate of mine at Rollins College. As I got out of the car a jogger stopped me. It was Paul, my friend Teresa's husband. They live in college park. We chatted then on I went for wine and time with Stacy, with Claudia, with Greg, with John. Bob Morris and his wife were at the bar and I asked about his last book. After Stacy left, Phran and Don dropped in to support me supporting GW Nunn. I know Phran from SAK, which was my first job out of college. Phran and Don are collectors and interior designers so they'd visited John's shop many times and enjoyed a lovely reunion with him. Other members of Greg's community and Claudia's community stopped by too. Some I knew, some I just met.

On my way home I thought I'd stop and pick up a box of duraflame and a bottle of red wine for a cold night. In the college park Publix I heard someone call my name. It was Jan Richardson, the wife of Garrison Doles. I know him from Theatre Downtown and various arts groups in Orlando. Jan is a spiritual leader and an artist and I was thrilled to see her. I haven't seen her since her marriage began and my marriage ended. We shared some good time, in which I asked about her community, and asked if I could invite her into another of my communities, the yearly creativity conference I serve which will be held this year at her church. She ran out to her car and came back with a copy of her newest book 'In the Sanctuary of Women, a companion for reflection and prayer.' Which I am now enjoying, curled up with a hot cocoa in front of the fireplace at Morgan and Dave's old house that I now rent.

Because my life's story began without community I think I am not good at it. I am misinformed. I don't know these people because I've lived in Winter Park since 1981. I have a community because I have chosen well my friends. They are people who call out your name in the grocery store, who stop jogging to greet you, who invite you to launch your business at their shop, who greet your friends as if they are their friends. I may feel the work of community in a different way than the John's, Todd's and Claudia's who've grown up in the same place and moved in and out of their community since they were children. But I do experience it in the micro as well as the macro now. And I'm so very grateful to know that it takes choice and practice to maintain that community.

A trim

2010-10-25T18:22:00.003-05:00

Henry's hair is no longer the sweet blonde of babyhood nor the soft chestnut of childhood. It is a thick, brittle, espresso like mine turned when I turned 14. Typical of the other boys in his class, getting him to wash his hair is next to impossible. So it's a brown, curly, sticky mass on his head that just gets higher and rounder.

I told him today that Mom would cut his hair. Usually I take him to Miss Debbie at the Hair Cuttery in College Park. She has a specialty in cutting hair of students from our school. But I wanted to cut it.

Because you can cut curly hair on a boy badly and no one will notice. It just curls around.
Because I don't really have the energy or the cash to get him to the salon.
Because it just needs to get done.

The real reason I did it was to touch him. I just wanted to touch him and he's been resistant to that for a very long time and more so now as a tween. I just wanted him to sit still for one moment and let me touch him.
So I grabbed hunks of that dirty brown mess and clipped away. Moving around his head, my hand on his scalp, my fingers in his hair. Watching pieces fall. Running my fingers like a comb to see if the cut made any sort of sense. Touching my boy.

My Portion

2010-10-19T21:59:00.007-05:00

I don't know what it is about this phrase -- you are my portion. You have assigned me my portion. There is something that grips me there, the sense that I have something. I've been giving something. And it's an appropriate amount. It is part of something, a piece of something greater. I love being part of a bigger story.
And then to read the archaic understanding of the word -- that it pertains to my future and my fate. What will my portion be? My portion of what -- of destiny?

Anyway, it's a lovely thought to me. One that gives me strength and vision. Surely, I have a a delightful inheritance because my portion has been assigned to me by my God.
Yes, that is lovely.

Psalm 16:5 - 6
LORD, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;
you have made my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.

Psalm 73:25 - 26
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.

portion |ˈpôr sh ən|
noun
a part of a whole; an amount, section, or piece of something
• a part of something divided between two or more people; a share :
• an amount of food suitable for or served to one person :
• Law the part or share of an estate given or descending by law to an heir.

• archaic
a person's future as allotted by fate; one's destiny or lot : what will be my portion?
• (also marriage portion) archaic a dowry given to a bride at her marriage.

Every Tribe, Every Nation, Every Tongue

2010-10-17T20:50:00.008-05:00

There is something about this that stirs me. My friend Eleanor wrote an amazing song-- Jesus is Lord, Hallelujah, Every knee will bow, Hallelujah. Every tongue will shout, Hallelujah, and every heart cry out, Hallelujah." Then in the chorus we usually have people say "Jesus is Lord" in different languages.

And it breaks me.

It's not because I lived in a foreign country. It's not because I've traveled to foreign countries at a young age. It was always there. The passion for different cultures. The passion to tell the story of a different culture into my culture.

I have two girlfriends in Egypt whom I love dearly. I found out this week they were betrayed by someone they trusted and I was broken hearted. It was a thrill and a privilege to write to them and remind them of God's character. Yes, they are Islamic so there are many areas we disagree. But God's character -- that He loves. That He will handle the discipline. That He will provide. These are things we can all agree on. And so I reminded them of that. That they do not belong to the betrayer. They belong to those that love them. And I love them. And God loves them.

Then my friend Vernon preached today about the legacy of our faith. He reminded us of all the languages that the children's curriculum from our church has been translated in to. Which reminded me of Henry's relationship with God. Henry knows God and he has been so able to articulate that, but in his own language. It's always surprising when he articulates that faith in our language.Which made me think -- every tribe, every nation, every tongue.

Which made me love God even more. That He gave me this passion for tribes outside my own. That He gave me a passion for sharing their stories. That He gave me Henry who is part of his own tongue and tribe and nation and whose story needs to be translated into our language.

Staples

2010-10-09T07:42:00.005-05:00

I've only been to Idaho in the summer. The opportunity to join my dad and close the cabin, a job my brother usually does, came about only a few weeks ago. Charles is buying his first home and I am working a flexible schedule for the first time in years and so the convergence of timing was in my favor and I said a Holy Yes.

After a summer of watching loss surround me it seemed that this moment was a gain. The time is now to spend a weekend with my father. The time is now for Henry to spend a weekend with his.

Arriving yesterday afternoon we passed the Lightening Bar, our neighborhood's joint that has been here as long as I have been coming here (1971). The yellow sign with the changeable letters and flashing arrow outside is usually comic, and changes weekly. Some of our favorites are 'Live Bartender', 'Coldest Beer in North Idaho', 'Working Toilets.' Now whether they mean to be comical, well who can tell? This week's sign says 'Lavina stories 1pm Saturday.' Lavina was a neighbor who lived on our lane for many years. Her husband was at one time a bar tender there. She passed the other week and the memorial service is at a church in Rathdrum in the morning. Then at 1pm neighbors will undoubtably walk to the bar and share their stories.

We drove down the main street by Twinlow the Methodist Camp. "Oh the Hogan's leveled their house and are rebuilding," Dad said. Sure enough, turning down our lane there were tractors and a foundation in the clearing. "Maureen has a degenerative joint disorder that's hereditary and she can't do stairs. Apparently, lots of the kids have it so this will help everyone. Shame, Maureen's a young woman, only a few years older than you."

I noticed the Bosch house a little white frame cabin, more New England than Wild West Log, right next to Hogan's was unchanged.

"You know, that house was the grocery store when I was a kid," Dad said.

Then Dad told me the story of a British couple who came here after World War I. He was former British Army and they bought the white frame house and lived there and sold staples and canned goods. In the summer the kids from Twinlow would run down in the afternoons to get bottles of cold soda pop or an ice cream.

"Twinlow was a camp in the '30's & '40's?"

"Oh yeah," he continued, "Twinlow's been here a long time. In the winter this old British Army guy would go out and cut blocks of ice from the lake and store them in the cellar cut into the hill just here. He'd pack them with sawdust, then in the summer he'd sell each of us on the lane a block of ice every week for a quarter. A quarter was a lot of money in those days and a quarter times 40 people, every week with no overhead? That's pure profit!"

I'll never look at that little frame house again without imaging a British couple using these surroundings to replace the memories of World War I. Getting out at our drive, instead of the smell of sweet summer grass, the yellow maple leaves covering the damp ground gave off the unmistakeable smell of autumn. A scent we don't have in Florida.

Tomorrow, after we clean we're going in to Spokane for a hockey game. Sunday afternoon when the rain hits we're going to see a movie in Coeur D'Alene. When I was 10 years old my Dad and I drove from here to Virginia and he told stories the whole way. It was a traveling history show about the different tribes who populated the plains, the cowboy gangsters, the settlers, and of course the monuments like Rushmore.

It's always time to take the time for a story from my Dad.

For her mother

2010-09-05T18:19:00.004-05:00

Three years ago, I had the privilege of writing this piece for Kentaro's mother on the day of his passing. On this day, I thought it right to remind myself and the other mothers in our circle of this great truth. That being someone's mother is a sacred trust and it is worth it -- whatever state they come to us in, for however long, they are worth it.

For my friend Lisa, I am grateful that she is the mother to two beautiful children. Grateful that her magnificent spirit and care is known to her son Noah and was known to her daughter Ava. It is a miracle that these children were chosen to know her in this way. Truly, it is one of the great miracles of this life. I am grateful that she got to know what it was like to parent Ava and to love Ava by holding her and touching her and seeing her and talking with her. I am grateful that it is Lisa that is parenting Noah now in the loss of his sister Ava.

Above all things, I am grateful to know the heart of Lisa. One day we will be fully known. I often think of the day that I will be fully known to myself and to my Lord. It occurs to me today that not only will we be fully known to Him but that each heart will, one day, be fully known to those around us. And on that day Lisa's heart will be fully known by me, by her family, by her children, by all the people who have taken her family into their hearts. And that will indeed be a mighty and beautiful thing to partake of and enjoy.

November 2007 --

Kentaro Amano-Silber passed from this world today. He weighed one pound and was born last night. He has his mother's hands and his father's feet. He has a beautiful face. We knew him in expectant hope and in the belly of his lovely and loving mother. We saw him move and we knew him. She knew him. He is her son and she is his mother. And Kentaro has touched our lives deeply. When I spoke to his mother today I told her what I know about being a mother -- that it is worth it. Whatever state they come to us in, for however long, they are worth it all.
We honor his mother and his father and their families and we grieve that we are not holding him now. We love you, Kentaro and are grateful for the joy you brought to us and to your mother.

Jimmy Fallon & I should be committed

2010-08-31T16:42:00.010-05:00

I just watched the Jimmy Fallon's Glee opening to the Emmys for the 3rd time and I sobbed for the second time. SERIOUSLY.

In an interview with a client for whom I would be writing, I was asked, "What makes you laugh?" My answer was commitment.

I didn't get the job. Boy, were they wrong. Commitment is one of the greatest pleasures of this life, and one would assume, the next.

My second answer would be choices. Making strong choices that you fully commit to is not just funny, it's beautiful. Creating choices on the page that must be fully committed to by readers and by actors, this is the joy!

The risk factor at an awards show is huge. It just feels staggering, I've had a little bit of experience with this, and it is terrifying. And here is the choice Jimmy Fallon and his team made to us the audience. They committed to making detailed choices that they hoped would bring us joy upon joy upon joy. Watch the opening sequence again and watch the choice of casting Kate, then watch her choose (directed I'm sure) to just stand there for a beat. And it just went on with brilliant choices from there.

Commitment. Choice after choice in the script, in the casting, in the direction. Then the performers, commitment after commitment after commitment. And when they ran to their places backstage the energy building up inside each audience member, including me at home, was about to burst. And then THEY burst fully committed into the dance.

And it made me scream and laugh and enjoy like crazy the first time I saw it.

The second time I watched it I sat and cried. Just kleenex dabbing, Oprah-survivor-story-show or make-over from fat to thin-story-show crying. Cathartic.

Because they took a risk and they committed, just because they wanted to bring someone like me some joy.

Switching it up

2010-08-28T13:42:00.010-05:00

There is something amazing about watching an artist truly share. It's hard to do. When you share the stage with someone who does not have your same skill level, the temptation is to be even more brilliant to show that you are not at the lower level of your partner. If you do that, you make your partner look bad by highlighting their weaknesses. You make yourself look terrible because you are allowing only your skill to show. And your skill is at a strained level -- excellence in spite of it all.

If you are working with someone better than you and you try to compete you highlight your partner's strengths and make yourself look bad in comparison. You are also like the runner who is not looking ahead at the tape but looking behind to see who is gaining on you. It's uncomfortable and a little sad to watch.

So here is a series of videos of Twitch doing it just right. I wasn't able to embed the video of Twitch performing with Alex Wong but you can link to it and watch it here. Alex Wong, a truly great ballet dancer from Miami City Ballet, was set to perform a hip-hop routine with the amazing Twitch. Though Twitch was in his element and Alex was out of his, Twitch was rightfully challenged to be with such a great dancer. So watch him hit hard, create smooth transitions, show incredible strength and pour on the charisma. Twitch doesn't over do it though -- Alex may be great, but he's no hip hop dancer, so watch how Twitch matches the energy and precision but he doesn't show off. He never tries to move past where Alex may be, rather Twitch invites Alex to step up to this level of dance.

Now watch Twitch perform with Ellen Degeneres on the season finale. After Alex was out of the competition due to injury, Ellen wanted to re-create this amazing piece as a tribute to Alex. So Twitch now dances it with a non-dancer. What to do? Dumb down your performance so the guest star can get through it? Be brilliant in your solo moments and kind in the partnering? Twitch chooses to partner her at where she is at without ever losing his performance quality. He slows down, he hits moments with a clean touch instead of a hammer as he had before. I love watching this kind of partnering, because it is the way art can be and the way life can be -- lifting up the weaker one by stepping down and letting them stand on your strength until they can reach. It's beautiful.

How to Help a Minister

2010-08-22T15:11:00.002-05:00

Henry was diagnosed with autism on a Friday night in September about 10 years ago. That Saturday I headed to church to do a drama. We went very early and no one was in the building except our preacher who was getting ready for his sermon. He asked what happened. I told him, sobbing I'm sure, that they thought Henry had autism.

My senior pastor is a preacher. He is a gifted teacher and he shepherds his flock by his teaching. Pastoral he would say he is not but on that Saturday morning over a decade ago he fell back and said in a high, tight voice, "Our Henry?" And then he did what all great ministers do, he let me fall in to him.

My senior pastor is in the midst of terrible hurt. His granddaughter is the one with a diagnosis and it is not a good one. I can't know what that one feels like but I know what a terrifying diagnosis looks like. It looks like paper, a thin piece of paper. Not like the books you buy when your child is born -- book of instructions, books filled with possibilities. It is a one sheet with nothing but that word on it and no idea what paper will come next. The book of life you hoped to write is is put aside for this brittle piece of paper.

Today, and all weekend, and with hope next weekend, my preacher will preach. But I saw him today, moving through the several thousand people who come to hear him preach, and it was draining. Each person wanted to help him. Support him. Give him encouragement. Give him an idea of something more that could be done. Each person who came to support him was like a pin in a map marking a spot. Just a little pin prick of energy drained as he let them know that he appreciated their support. I wanted to support him so I chose not to talk about it and even that was a drain for him because he had to expend the 'Oh, this one isn't going to mention it' energy. He looked paper thin.

Then he preached. At first it was hard because he wanted to give us an update that he wasn't really doing all that great. Then he started to teach us. He was doing what he does and I could see color coming back and I could hear strength in his voice and he looked solid again.

I don't know how to help the minister. I don't know how to minister to the heart that ministers to others. But it seems to me the very best gift we can give him right now is to let him preach. To learn from his teaching. To really, really listen. To take in the teaching and be moved by the work that he has done. To let his life be his life, but in that 20 minutes when he is teaching we could not worry about him. We could not worry about her. We could eat up every word that he is feeding us and perhaps by our doing that, we will feed him.

And the world goes 'round...

2010-08-08T11:53:00.009-05:00

The Hogan clan is full of strapping Irish men with full heads of grey hair, translucent teenage girls with red hair and fleshy brunette matriarchs. It was this way in 1976 on my tenth birthday when my friend Molly was the translucent redhead. Her brothers -- six or more (who can count? They always had friends) -- would barrel down to the dock with a bar of ivory soap and scrub themselves into a lather then jump in the icy lake.

The desperate angst over my own future washed away when I looked to my left and saw almost the identical sight from 30 years before -- the teenage children of those brothers appeared on the dock with bottles of Old Spice body wash, lathered themselves up and jumped in. My ten year old eyes were somewhat scandalized by teenage boy/men semi-bathing in front of me and the whole world. My 40 year old eyes turned away too.

They have a big golden retriever, probably the great grandson of the '76 version, who ran towards me barking. Groups of mothers yelled at their children to fetch the dog and we yelled back that we were fine and he was welcome.

I have seen this before. I have done this before. I have many more years of this to come. There will be golden retrievers and gangs of boys and teenage girls with magazines turning on a timer in the sun and Hogans and Bosches and Espisitos and Scobees and Smetherams and this lake that my grandfather taught me to swim in. And that mountain that Uncle Don, gone (can it be?) twenty years, climbed with my father, his big brother.

It is here.

I am here.

And in Him all things hold together.

My friends & Colleagues!

2010-07-30T09:16:00.003-05:00

Disney Entertainment Cast Members Rock! My fellow cast members dug into their old hard tickets and donated them to OCA for Henry and his summer camp to visit the Walt Disney World Resort on August 10!

So we're headed to Disney's Animal Kingdom bright and early thanks to our great friends with the campers. You guys are awesome!

An American Summer

2010-07-06T19:47:00.005-05:00

It's been a very American summer so far. I'm so proud of Henry. For years it has been so hard to get him out of the house. Not because he didn't like to go out, but the stuff that had to travel with us, the prep of Henry for what may happen or what may not happen.
But this year both he and I seemed mature enough to venture out more. And the events we've gone to have been very American. A baseball game with OCA, a fireworks cook out with my friends the Dobbs. Nathaniel's Hope festival around Lake Eola.
We're attempting to go see Florida Flight Basketball and the beach this upcoming weekend. At the Dobbs I tried to be ready for when Henry was going to be done. Of course it was mid-fireworks. He looked at my beautiful friend and hostess Sarah Lee and said to her, "Am I still HERE?!"

So some things don't really change...

Giving as a gift

2010-06-26T20:53:00.004-05:00

It is so hard to receive, so hard to put myself in the soft place of need. Harder still to just receive a gift -- something I didn't work for or try for or even know if I wanted. I often resist these opportunities without even realizing I am resisting.

This week I went to a friend's house for dinner. She is a singer and actress, her husband an actor and entertainer. She also graduated from a culinary arts school. So this was not dinner. This was a dinner. 7 courses. With wine pairings for the course. I knew when I was invited that she would have been planning for weeks and cooking for days. Now, I love food. I delight in trying different tastes and this was true delight!

First course:

Prosecco & lump crab in a roll (like a maine lobster roll)

Second Course:

Prosecco & gazapacho

Third Course:

Chardonnay with mineral taste and butterscotch finish

Broccoli rabe filled homemade ravioli

Fourth Course:

lemon basil granita

Fifth Course:

Malbec and

Beef braised short ribs

garlic mashed potatoes

Sixth Course:

Malbec

Cheese plate -- gorgonzola, Italian double cream, French brie, Spanish manchengo, roasted almonds & walnuts with blackberry honey

Seventh Course:

Rosa Regale

Chocolate mousse in a white and milk chocolate candy shell with fresh whipped cream with a raspberry sauce

Caramelized bananas Napoleon: layers of caramelized banana (done with a blow torch!), layer of phyllo cookie, vanilla creme fraiche with Meyer rum, on a chocolate and caramel sauce topped with peanut brittle.

My host's neighbor and I would squeal and ooh and ahh with delight at each new sensation, at each new combination.

What really struck me was the giving of her best. This was her very best, all she could give, done to the highest level she could give it. And I got to watch her -- as each course was prepared, she was filling up with joy. The joy it is to give something excellent. It wasn't even how her guests received it, and we received it fully I have to say. What was thrilling was the giving, the doing of what only she can do so excellently.

Often I think about my ability to receive God's goodness. But seeing her work, I wondered more about the giving than the receiving. I wondered not about my ability to give nor my ability to receive. I wondered about God's giving.

Is God giving me His best? Am I watching Him the way I watched my friend give and grow in her giving? Am I seeing the excellence and the fullness of His Giving? Am I making room for the very best, highest offering that He is giving, course after course? Do I dare to ask God for His very best for me? Am I willing to ask Him to pour out all He has?

Henry & Bo.mov

2010-06-26T11:20:00.000-05:00

Saturday night at the ball park!

2010-06-16T08:03:00.000-05:00

The Winter Park Diamond Dawgs, Tackling Autism Foundation and Orange County Athletics are teaming up for

OCA Night at the Winter Park Diamond Dawgs Stadium:801 Orange Ave; Winter Park, Fl 32789

Saturday June 19, 2010

Game time begins at 7:00

50% of the proceeds goes back to the Orange County Athletics general fund.

Tickets are $5.00

All OCA athletes will be introduced onto the field with the players.

Email Coach Haas for ticket information:shaas@gooca.org

Artists making choices

2010-06-12T08:21:00.004-05:00

I woke up thinking about Bryan Gaynor's performance to Fireflies on SYTYCD. So many lovely choices in that piece. I was visiting Diana & Kevin last night, talking about ADE and Twitch and some of the other dancers so it's no surprise that it was on my mind. But this piece of Gaynor's was just magical to me -- the choice of music, his interpretation of planet earth. I just can't shake the feeling of this dance. Bryan seems to me a storyteller and his work is in those choices -- what movement at what moment will convey the story I want to tell?

When I found Bryan's youtube channel, I saw that he posted an early working version of the piece. I love watching the artist at work and seeing how they discover those choices to make so here is Bryan's video of the process.

Which led me to Drunk History (Bryan had it as a favorite on his youtube channel.) I love Drunk History because of the commitment factor. Big time actors fully committing to something ridiculous. I hadn't seen this is one until today and it stars the great Don Cheadle.

One of the choices that has to be made to make Drunk History work is that the actor must choose to be Fredrick Douglas or Abraham Lincoln. They must work against choosing to satirize the situation. Because the situation is ridiculous it's a temptation to choose to be Don Cheadle making fun of drunk girl's version of Fredrick Douglas' history. But watch how the actor deeply chooses to put Fredrick Douglas in this situation instead of putting himself in this situation.

The actor chooses to use the words of the playwright to express the intentions of the character. In this case the words of the playwright are drunken ramblings of a girl that the actor must mouth. But watch Cheadle's choices in between the words. It's fantastic! My favorite is a moment the camera isn't even on him, it's over the shoulder shot of Zoey Deschanel as Mary Todd and she is saying something Mary Todd would never have said to Fredrick Douglas. But watch the back of Cheadle's neck and you'll see Fredrick Douglas totally receive the insight of Mary Todd.

Making choices as an artist is inspiring to watch. From the evocative and emotional dream of Bryan Gaynor to the insane and hilarious commitment of Drunk History. I'm inspired.

A perfect movie

2010-05-31T15:43:00.003-05:00

Shrek Forever After in 3D. Yes, that's what I said. It's perfect. I've seen it twice now and we just loved, loved it.

There are 2 reasons I felt the need to say so. One is the heinous Sprite commercial that comes on before the movie where a group of Hollywood cool people are sitting around a table OUTSIDE on a backlot coming up with ideas for their movie, which apparently is in production at that moment. And the one cool, hip guy drinks a Sprite and ideas flood on a wave of lemon-lime and he says to the GROUP 'Let's start on a cheerleader..' and the group looks ENTHRALLED!

Of course they are. Fascinated by his ideas! The ideas that just flow!!!

The second reason is that I have friends who are toiling, and I mean truly toiling, over their scripts. And they are seasoned professionals. Hip, sure. But pasty white from sitting INSIDE for hours straight trying to clang iron on hot metal to forge a story. And when a new idea comes, it is pounded into the ground by the group.

It's hard work folks. Really, really hard work.

Which is why when it seems so effortless, like Shrek 4, it feels to the viewer like all the pieces just fell from the sky into the movie puzzle and they shot it. Just delightfully effortless and easy. We must know how hard it is to achieve this or every movie would be like this one, perfect.

So what is it about this movie that makes it 'perfect' to me? It was not all the things that made me laugh and cry: great characters, hilarious bits, funny moments, moving moments, wonderful music. All those things served. But what they served was story. A simple story with a universal theme: A man looses his identity when he has a family and struggles to reclaim that identity.

And every character, bit, moment, music, dialogue, scene -- every element clung to that theme and so every bit was perfectly realized, because it plugged back into the theme. Every character plugged back into that story and so what they did was funny or moving, because they moved with a purpose.

In the Theatahhh we are taught to move with purpose. When you cross a stage, don't wander. Don't shuffle. Don't sort of move your arm. Move or don't move. And when you do move, move with a purpose.

And that's the delight of Shrek 4 -- every movement is with the same purpose.

And getting all those elements to do that is really, really hard.

So go to this movie and relax -- all the hard work was done for you by the screenwriters. That's why you can relax and enjoy a lovely story beautifully told. Perfect.

What do these have in common?

2010-05-03T21:59:00.005-05:00

The Bourne Movies, I am Legend, The Usual Suspects, Gladiator, Cast Away, Children of Men, JCVD

and

Julie & Julia, Something to Talk About, You've Got Mail, Princess Bride, Pride & Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility, Something's Gotta Give.

I don't listen to music while I work, I let movies run in the background. (This may explain why I like Egypt so much. Constant motion and noise.) I developed the habit when Henry's sensitivity to music made it impossible to play the radio. And I like the movement of visual images out of the corner of my eye and the low rumble of speech. Sometimes, if I have a particularly difficult or large amount of work, I just put on the DVD commentary. Conversation about film and theme and story and character. All very soothing to me.

Because of this, I had to have some DVD's that are available to play over and over again. And that's the list. I could watch Gladiator a hundred times. And did so twice today. I just finished watching the last half hour of Usual Suspects. Man I love that movie. I love it! Watching Chazz Palminteri's face beautifully taking in all the 'evidence' surrounding him. Well, as an actor, I just love watching film actors in reaction shots. Not really a skill I have, having developed and posses the theatrical skill of presence, I don't really do stillness.

So what is it about that set of movies -- violence, darkness, twist of understanding, revelation... Those almost apocalyptic visions. I haven't seen 'The Road' yet, but I've read the book several times.

I crave those movies. The more dusky or sandy the cinematography, the better.

They don't seem quite me though.

Especially in light of the equal amount of time I give to Romantic Comedy. Lightness, love triangle, heightened expectation, color washes of blue and gold, finally union of the torn apart lovers.

They must have something in common these two types of films. I run them constantly in my home or on my computer. In order to write books, to create proposals, to make budgets, to do dishes, to fold laundry, to relax.

It's just too separate stylistically to not have a common thread thematically. What are the themes that these stories have in common? I don't think you can't ruin it for me by analyzing them and I'm really wondering now.

But seriously, have you seen Usual Suspects lately? Put it on while you do the dishes. It'll blow your mind!

3 Henry Stories

2010-05-02T15:43:00.005-05:00

Number 1:
I got very excited about the once a month event at Northland Church, a friday evening youth group called 'Young Life Capernum.' It's for middle school kids with disabilities to hang out. There was one last friday but I had a show at Disney. Henry's Dad took him on a Friday night for some fun and games. When I got off stage there was a text waiting for me and all it said was: Henry says, "I'm not doing that again." I talked to both Dad & Henry and no one was upset, it just wasn't for him. Such a teenager! So forming his own identity.

Number 2:

Continued teenage saga. I asked him what we'd do today and he said, "Watch 'At the Movies' and EAT!"

Number 3:

The pool at my parent's house is being re-tiled so his evenings at their house are not the same. Usually he swims for 2 hours, even if it's in the hot tub during the winter, then recovers. Last week he & Granddad went to Chick-fil-a and ate inside instead of driving through. The kids meal gift was Veggie Tales CD. Henry got interactive in his play, which almost never happens. I got a call from Granddad that I could expect to be part of a birthday party when I got to the house, and indeed Henry threw a birthday party for Bob the Tomato. All of us had lines that Henry directed. Then we played Stop & Go and Musical Chairs. At the end he wrapped up the way they do on Veggie Tales with a Bible verse and the exhortation that 'God made you special, and he loves you very much.'

The Bible verse? It went a little something like this:

Henry: Boys and Girls, the Bible says that you should have a dance party (arms up in 'raise the roof style') for Dr. Joel Hunter and Northland and Bob the Tomato and do the Mambo.

Me: Where's that from in the Bible?

Henry: Proverbs 14:15

Here are the pictures to prove it. Notice that the Bob the Tomato CD is wearing a hat. Notice that my mother had hats at the ready. Notice that she baked cookies and she and Granddad created a party at the drop of a birthday hat.

Fuul Glorious Fuul

2010-04-24T10:47:00.018-05:00

When I first arrived in Egypt, Bassma and her sister Heba, picked me up at the airport and took me in to Cairo. We had such a great ride, dropping Heba off at her church for her choir practice. Bassma took me on a tour of garden city and we saw Kasr El Dobra church which was full of activity with a huge wedding. Then we set about trying to find my hotel, which was the Hilton. I thought it was the Nile Hilton, across the street from the Egypt Museum. When we pulled into the hotel driveway there were men and roadblocks. They told Bassma that this hotel was closed and as we looked up, the windows were open, curtains blowing through a clearly barren, empty hallways. Turns out the Nile Hilton is being turned into the Four Seasons.

So, off we went again. Checking my paperwork again, we saw we were looking for the Hilton Residence Inn. I'd booked this hotel online through my Delta skymiles for only $100 a night! Nothing in Egypt. Nothing on the Nile! You can't even get a hotel in Orlando for that.

We drove up and down the Corniche (any main drag by the Nile or the Mediterranean is the Corniche. Think A-1A.) Finally in the middle of the 'spare car parts market area' we found the Hilton. It sits back from the Corniche with an entrance on the corner of a side street. We parked in the back, near a shop selling axles and found our way in through the staff entrance.

The staff were some what amused to see me, which is not an unusual response from Egyptians, often it seems like there's an inside joke I'm missing. When the bellman took my one suitcase and one backpack up to my room we found out what the joke was. In the U.S. a residence in means a coffee pot, a mini fridge and probably a microwave. Off the elevator we noticed immediately that there were only four doors per floor. My door was the front right. The bellman opened the door to reveal a spacious apartment. Which he then giggled his way through a tour. "Madam Alice, here is your office. The lounge and sun deck. The dining room. The W.C. Now for the bedrooms! The guest room and guest bath. The master bed room and master bath. Shall we go to the kitchen?" Now Bassma and I were laughing out loud. The kitchen had a full stove, dishwasher, laundry room, full refrigerator and a maintenance room with a hot water heater and another WC. "I don't have a dishwasher in my house in Florida!"

"Welcome to Egypt, Madam," laughed the bellman. When we left for dinner, the concierge asked me, "Do you have enough room Madam?" Apparently they had been wondering what kind of rich American would rent such an apartment. Mustafa, my father's friend, explained that these residences are probably hired by Saudi families for the summer and bring all their children while the father does business here in cooler Cairo. I checked the rates for summer and indeed they are $350 a night.I didn't take as many pictures of the room as I really should have but here's a picture of Mohamed on the restaurant level with my hotel behind him. You can see the 2 balconies and that should give you a good idea of my apartment. Those two balconies represent 2 apartments per floor and mine is the fifth above his head on the right.

I loved my apartment and managed to get

only one meal a day from a restaurant and then bring bread,

hummus & fuul for the rest of the day. Fuul is a standard Egyptian dish made of brown or black beans. Sort of a stew, like red beans & rice without the rice. You can use pita bread to make fuul into a sandwich with white cheese or felafel and be full for most the day. Fuul is for breakfast with egg and cheese and bread. Fuul is for lunch or dinner with rice and meat and vegetables.

My breakfast at the bed & breakfast in Alexandria's Mamura resort was always fuul, one egg omelet, 3 pita bread, 2 croissant, white cheese and jam. The first day I ordered coffee and got powdered nescafe so I stuck with tea. I was going crazy for something

less heavy so Mohamed brought me a bag of fruit and stacks of yogurt. But I still ate the bread! I took an afternoon tea in the hotel lounge and loved the silver pot of sugar, but I was so crazed for a coffee.

Mohamed told me I'd need to at least try the turkish coffee since that was probably the closest I was going to get. I was quite afraid of turkish coffee hearing it was too strong and too sweet. Indeed Mohamed, who puts six sugars into his cup of tea, takes his turkish coffee extra, extra 'sukkar ziyaeda'.

I learned the word 'mazbuta' for medium and sat down at King Farouk's former palace for my first ahwa turk, which comes in a little copper pot that you pour into your cup and watch the grounds sink to the bottom of the espresso sized cup. Once they've turned into sludge you drink the top layer of liquid.

Strong and delicious spiced with cardamon and mazbuta makes it just the sweetness of a cafe con leche cuban style without the milk. I just wish I'd tried it before. My afternoons became focused on 'ahwa mazbuta.

Mohamed is a typical non-American man. Which means he eats McDonald's and KFC and Pizza Hut. I probably haven't eaten a McDonald's hamburger or a KFC lunch box in 7 years but when we were running to catch the train, that turned out to be just fine. And oddly standardized in taste. I was slightly nervous about the favored 'Tuna Pizza' but it turned out to be more like a tuna melt with olives than an exotic raw fish & tomato pizza.

The fast food was complemented by the traditional and regional specialities. My favorite was the mixed grill for Easter dinner and the fish dinner from the best fresh fish restaurant in Alex. Several restaurants are more like fish markets where you pick out the fish you want from the fresh catch of the day and then they pick them out and prepare them for you. In this picture look at those prawns!

There are only 2 prawns on that plate! They are huge, and served head on. The sole next to the prawns is just dipped in cornmeal and fried. You filet it with your hands. Which native Alexandrians do quickly and efficiently. Included in this meal is a cream soup with Kalamari and shrimp, pickled beets, tahini, rice with veg & fish, and a spicy Kalamari tomato stew. Bread, of course and my favorite Hibiscus soda.

Alexandria's mixed grill came with hummus, baba ganoush, pickles and bread. Then kebab, which is lamb and kofta, which is like a meatball only sausage shaped, of ground meat. Then there was the squab. Which is not what I called it when it arrived on my plate head on (as Kevin Brune my culinary friend said, "I've never seen that presentation before.") Instead I jumped back and grabbed my camera before I asked how in the world I was to eat that 'big ol' pigeon' on my plate. Mohamed proceeded to rip arms & legs, crack the neck and suck the meat out. "You can do it!" Uh, probably not. But I did slice it open and allow the fragrant brown rice and bay leaf stuffing to pour out. I found a few pieces of meat, which were quite good, but left the cracking of bones to my Egyptian hosts. All in all a thoroughly delicious trip.

Up with people tour of Egypt.

2010-04-19T19:53:00.011-05:00

I went to Egypt this year to see people. People I love and people I didn't know yet but fell in love with once I met them. I've been planning a re-trip motivated by the a Pharaoh I love and want to write about. I love what his life says about culture, art, faith and action. I've worked on going back to see Akhenaten but when it came down to making arrangements and trying to figure out why I needed to be in Egypt to write even that was about love. I love who God has made me and what He wants to do in and through me and Akhenaten's story reminds me of my own. And I love that. And I love writing with my feet up on a porch overlooking water. That the water was either the Nile or the Mediterranean just made it that much better!

I don't know why but I love Egypt or why that culture suits me but I do feel quite relaxed there. I think of all I know about Autism and the brain and I wonder if constant a

ctivity and noise and heat and sand are calming to my sensory processing and anxiety producing for others. I know women who were concerned because of the inequality I may experience but I'm very comfortable

walking 2 paces behind my male hosts who are chatting away while I, my head covered, trot along after them. I certainly was not their equal -- I was their focus. I was the quarterback and they were the defensive line going ahead of me. Walking through rough areas of a crowded city they formed a pocket by which everyone knew that I was theirs and if anyone dared to try a

nd pick me off, they would deal with Mohamed and Hussein. Hussein, our taxi driver who pledged his life to me and gave me his card (all in Arabic), assured me that whenever or wherever in Egypt I am 'Hussein to Alice. Hussein for Alice." We had hours of conversation made of just gestures and the 3 words in English he knows and the 2 Arabic words I know.

I'm not gracious or trying to share my American Westernness with them. I'm selfishly gobbling up all the love they give to me. I'm in love with these people. I love, love, love the women with their covered heads who make a stand for their religion (in Lower Egypt & the cities at least the woman chooses this as a sign of maturity in her faith.) I covered my head out of respect for my sisters -- I didn't want to be that girl that wore the low-cut dress to her wedding and caused a distraction. I also did not cover my head with the hajib rather I used a loose scarf because I also didn't want to be that girl that wears a white frilly dress to her

friend's wedding -- that's her call and her faith she's proclaiming and I want to support her.

And Egypt loves me. I was mostly in homes and Egyptian resorts and restaurants and in and among friends and with people in malls and on buses. I was often the only white woman a child had ever seen and certainly the only American if they'd seen a German tourist before. So I sang 'abc's' with children. And let children touch my face. And practiced English with strangers. And waved to cars that stopped dead in the street and went into reverse to make sure that the woman they'd seen drinking tea on the porch was indeed what they thought they'd seen. And they were all quite lovely and gracious and I enjoyed being available for the discussion.

I didn't take as many pictures as I wanted because it felt awkward to take pictures of people in the midst of real life. Although it did not stop strangers from wanting a picture of me, but I was the anomaly in most cases. I was the tourist attraction at the Seaside resort.

I was in the home of a friend, a home I've been in before and I love these people. This time the granddaughter wanted me to come

to her room but I didn't want to go into the back area before she told her grandmother that I was there to make sure her grandmother had time to cover her head, as I'd never seen her without her scarf. Nor should I, my understanding is men not in your family and foreigners are the ones who can not see you uncovered. But I ended up in the little girl's room and soon her grandmother, my family friend, was by my side toweling dry her wet hair and we were singing songs and reading stories to her granddaughter. The last time I'd been in this woman's

home, a year ago, she was being quite brave. Having lost one son, her other son, his American wife and this granddaughter were in the U.S. Her daughter was living at home with her. But this year the granddaughter was in Egypt with her father and mother who were living there for at least 2 years. Her daughter was married just since the summer and expecting her first baby this upcoming summer! Life had turned completely around for her. Her dream life, of family close to her, was being lived out right now. And I got to see it and feel it, just as I had seen her quite admirable acceptance of not the dream a year ago. When I left she held me so close and I whispered in her ear, "God has answered my prayers for you and you give me hope." I felt honored and privileged to be so far 'in' this family's life.

I don't know why in America I'm average but there a woman only 10 years

older than I stops in the street to speak to Mohamed and I and wants to help us. When I asked him to ask her why, she cradles my face in her hand and says, "So beautiful. so beautiful." When I ask the Arabic for angel, she receives my compliment with kisses. Now Mervat and I are sisters and friends for life. It's hard to resist people who see your beauty and enjoy your love for them. And I can't imagine why I would.

Next post will be about the food! Oh baby!

One ringy dingy

2010-03-17T21:42:00.005-05:00

There's nothing much to say, except that I adore my son. I've been reading quite a bit of back posts and back journals and I'm surprised. I'm surprised at how amazed I am at who Henry is. At who he has become and at the incredible strides he has made. He is becoming a man and it is marvelous to watch.

I got him his own cell phone about a month ago. Mostly because he kept borrowing his parent's phones and recording his voice or taking pictures. So I got him a cheap phone which had the ability to make videos and take voice memos.

He didn't take to it at first. Refusing to use it. Hanging up if you called him. But now, he answers the phone and says in this delightfully bright phone voice 'Oh! Hi, Mom!'

He will let you ask questions he'll even answer some, and then he'll say, " Well....Um...Ok then!"

To which I tend to say, 'Uh...oh...ok. Are you done?"

"Um, well Mom. Love ya! Bye!"

It's awesome. Just awesome to call him on his phone at his grandparents house who spend Tuesday evenings with him. It's delightful to call him when I'm still at work and he's headed home with his dad.

I have a dear friend who lost his mother when he was a teenager. He said to me before Henry's birthday, "He needs you now. This is a dangerous age for boys. He won't act like he does, but it is his mother that he needs."

I think of this often. Dangerous age. Like the bronze age or the age of reason. This is the dangerous age. And even though Henry does not have the issues that most teens do, I can see this. He is pushing out, attempting to form his identity as his own man. And it is dangerous business, identity formation.

So I am trying to stand on the sidelines, not shadow him while he plays. But just watch and be present, letting him hang up when he wants, but always calling when I want.

It was a good day, a very good day

2010-03-07T11:15:00.006-05:00

The sun started to come out and it was a good day to drive deeper into the center of Central Florida. It was a good day to spend an hour led by John Christiansen, my pastor for the first 10 years of my faith walk. It was a good day to look at beautiful pictures of Angela Mary Mitchell, who for the last 10 years has only wanted to leave here and go to heaven to be with Jesus and see her husband Mitch again. It was a good day to hear Bruce Mitchell, who is not used to standing up in front of an audience, stand in front of his mother's body and share with a group of people who are very used to standing in front of an audience, about his love and appreciation for her mothering. It was a good day to hear Angela's sweet voice leaving a voice message for her son-in-law Kevin Brune and to know that Kevin has been deeply loved. It was a good day to hear Diana Mitchell Brune tell us all the things Angela loved rather than all the surgeries she was about to have or listing the pains we could pray for relief for Angela. It was a good day to cry and cry and cry and cry and remember what Pastor John said, "That what we believe...don't we? is that Angela is the one who is now completely freed and completely full and fully known." It was a good day to read aloud from Revelation and proclaim the new city, the Holy city, that comes from God.

It was a good day to drive to the coast, to sit at sunset at the Brevard Zoo with friends I haven't sat with since I was 25 years old. It was a good, good day to see Claudia in turquoise silk shantung with silver and white lace over a creamy chiffon gown stand in front of an altar with an excellent man who really loves and appreciates her gifts and beauty. It was a good day to hear that man's uncle, a preacher from Kentucky, read from Genesis and 1st Corinthians about love being the thing that this is all about. It was a good, good day to talk and dance with high school and college friends and look at pictures of their children while eating shrimp and eggplant bruschetta and toasting Greg and Claudia.

It was a good, good day because I laughed hard and I cried hard and I remembered the only things that matter. And I remembered that almost none of the things that I worry about daily are among those things that matter.

I blame you, John Pelkey.

2010-03-03T09:12:00.004-05:00

During Lent I try to delete one thing and add one thing. And yes, for my Lenten disciplines this year I have forsaken red wine, and alcohol in all it's forms. For my addition I am doing the daily devotional from Northland and Asbury Seminary 2 Stories . The lovely thing about 2 Stories is that it is mostly scripture, so you're just getting protein first thing in the morning.

On occasion, the Lenten Reader includes a hymn from Charles Wesley. His lyrics are deep,mystical, practical and rich. An impressive combination. Because this is a reading, the Lenten Reader suggests singing these hymns to the tune of Amazing Grace.

A lovely idea.

However, at some point in my Lenten observations, I became bored with the tune. And somewhat embarrassed that I was bored with so great and meaningful a tune. What happened next I would like to blame the lack of wine, or the increased stress of life, but I've decided to blame John Pelkey.

John Pelkey is a friend of mine who believes that any lyric can be sung to the tune of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. And though I have not seen John Pelkey in a year, that thought crept into my mind.

And so now my morning devotions are quite hearty.

Try these hymns from Charles Wesley and see if you don't start to go slightly mental, hearing every melody of life underscored by The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

What Shall I do My God to Love

by Charles Wesley

What shall I do, my God to love,
My loving God to praise!
The length, and breadth, and height to prove
And depth of sovereign grace?

Thy sovereign grace to all extends,
Immense and unconfined;
From age to age it never ends,
It reaches all mankind.

Come to the Feast for Christ Invites

by Charles Wesley

Come to the feast, for Christ invites And promises to feed;

'Tis here His closest love unites The members to their Head.

Tis here He nourshes His own

With living bread from heav'n,

Or makes himself to mourners known,

And shows their sins forgiv'n.

It's the little things...

2010-02-24T09:00:00.004-05:00

...that drove me crazy. The little things that wore me down and told me it was time to move on from my work as a performer at Disney. And now it's the little things that give me pleasure and remind me that I'm in the spacious place. This morning I'm sitting outside at Palmano's in Winter Park, drinking great coffee. I'm waiting to talk to an author about her book and her vision.

I'm wearing whatever jewelry I want. I left the house this morning with no idea what the weather would be like! Just two weeks ago a strict diet of the weather channel was imperative to know how to prepare for my day of jumping around outside. I started my day in linen pants & tunic with espadrilles. I opened the door to see rain and feel a chill and went back in for jeans a blouse and my cashmere wrap. I left with a bag of books, my new vera bradley computer case that my World Showcase Player's cast gave me as a going away present, and my purse. I do not have 3 meals and a bag of sunscreen. I do not have 3 babysitters planned for managing Henry.

Years ago at this very table at Palmano's I boldly said to Di or Stacy or Morgan (we all sat here in rotation for a least a summer) that I wanted to be part of the great conversations. What a pleasure it is to be hosting those great conversations. It's a real pleasure. But while I'm in those conversations I don't notice it.

It is the small things that remind me that I'm in the life that I wanted to live, that I asked to live, that I pushed towards, rearranged things for and prayed for. It's a checkered table cloth and strong coffee from a white mug. It's seeing women get their hair foiled across the plaza's fountain. That's what informs me that I'm here.

The value of Presence

2010-02-21T09:52:00.007-05:00

I've been going to church online over the last few months, maybe once I've been physically in a church building since November. Now there's nothing wrong with worshipping online, especially if that's what you can do. The something wrong in me was that while I was 'in church' online at my home, I was doing dishes, folding laundry, futzing around.

The other something wrong for me is that I would prefer to be alone with community invited in and dropping by at scheduled times. The problem there is that God calls us His Bride, and His Bride is also His body and His body is made up of individuals connected together by His Spirit. When I place myself within the Body of Christ, things change. They shift. I see my brothers and sisters in worship. I sense their presence mingled in the presence of God and I feel God's breath. In the mix of personality and physicality I hear God's voice more clearly. I see His direction highlighted in the liturgy as if it were the GPS on my phone.

This weekend I went to Northland church on Saturday evening. The series of Building Heavenly Families landed on Protection this weekend. That God's Love protects us. I have spent the last two decades aware of God's protection in a strong tower sort of way -- a moat, a stone wall wrapped around the events (brain tumor, job loss, bankruptcy, car crashes, autism, separation and divorce.) This is the first time in a long time that I am without traumatic change requiring immediate intervention by God or arid desert that required manna delivered to my door from heaven. So now brought into a spacious place, a more normal place where life is strenuous and fine at the same time, I heard that it was time to deeply feel the Love as the protection. How to feel Love this deeply, I was not sure if I had the capacity to do anymore.

Then things shifted from information being given into love application. Pastor Rainwater was reading a quote by Thomas Merton. My friend Jeremi was leading worship through singing this weekend and he was standing next to Vernon and he looked to his right to watch Vernon read. His gaze included several rows of the congregation, including my seat.

Jeremi and I are work friends -- we see each other in the midst of doing. For some reason when I first met him and his wife, I just loved them. I felt waves of love for both of them, possibly because all three of us were subs at Disney World and wondering if we'd become full-time. I've felt those waves of love that turn into prayer randomly even when I haven't seen them in months. I have no idea if they had the same wave towards me. And this is one of my favorite types of earthly relationships, where you are just connected without the type of socially prescribed interactions that would result in closeness. You are close because of the Spirit.

As Vernon read I felt different -- I was glad to be worshipping God not out of desperation but out of agreement. As Vernon read, I agreed and I saw Jeremi see me and together, him on a stage behind lights and me in sitting in the dark, we agreed together. In that agreement, the spirit of Christ made Himself known as the provider of Love that protects. And I can't get that kind of agreement without putting my body in the presence of other people.

Henry's latest performance

2010-01-21T20:46:00.005-05:00

Well, here he is again, the entertainment savant. It's amazing to see his growth as an artist. For this video, we skyped from home into the church service. Henry is not having a great adjustment to big church and so we sometimes attend via online worship . When I asked him if he wanted to do this, he put together the set, pulling chairs together moving the advent wreath and tree into position -- creating a real Regis & Kelly type set. On our camera the video caught his whole face when he leaned in, we didn't realize that part of him was cut off in the presentation, or I'm sure he would have adjusted! He made strong choices in his reading and presentation. Even some interesting inflection.

Enjoy!

Big thanks to Uncle Art, our neighbor and friend Art Dohany,

who created the video for us from the Northland DVD.

Receiving blanket

2009-12-21T16:43:00.007-05:00

So much life and death this year. Even today comes news of the death of a grandfather and father-in-law to my dear friend, as two of my dear girl friends tend a waning mother and a dying father.

We saw RS&C's Dickens by Candlelight last night and it is the catharsis of the season each year. This year more than ever, because there was and is so much life and death. And because John DiDonna's direction in the circular room at the Shakespeare Festival was so wonderful. His Scrooge may be among my favorites, possibly on par with the late great Paul Wegman for whom I was Mrs. Cratchit twice. And because Morgan took a different role than she usually does and was a prominent Christmas Present and because Monica, who was my Beth and I her Marmee, took Morgan's usual role and was a luminescent Christmas Past.

But the opening Fred scene, when he persists in going to his Uncle Scrooge year after year to wish him that which he will not receive, "A Merry Christmas, and I say God Bless it!" is the scene that starts to unravel me. Tom Key, my first Christmas Carol director, said that Fred's entrance should feel like he's on ice skates and he schooshes in! And so he does and every time I see it, I am opened up myself. Reminded of the persistence of God to get us to receive Him. His incomprehensible pursing patience to frail me, who gives up after too many rejections, floods me in this scene.

And so open wide your arms, like the wrinkled Elizabeth whose belly is round with child, who in this rendering welcomes the Christ within Mary. Let the Christ within each person you meet have their welcome in you. The only way you will be able to do that is if you are full of the Savior Babe yourself. So open, open, open wide and receive as much as you dare of our daring Lord.

Christmas presence

2009-12-09T12:30:00.005-05:00

Join us at Northland Church next Monday evening at 7pm where Henry and I will be doing the advent reading during the church service via Skype.

Henry has been having a hard time with big church and being in the room. We'll keep working on our transition, but it just seemed right that for the Christmas season we attend church via the online worship. Last week when we were in online church they asked for readers. Henry has been asking about wearing a bowtie and doing his Christmas show, so it seemed fine to offer. I was sure they'd have someone from some exotic locale via Skype, but it will indeed be Henry and I reading. We just practiced and my oh my, Henry is Reigs Philbin.

What a thing it will be to have Henry proclaim the truth from Isaiah: "He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes or decide by what he hears with his ears; but with righteousness he will judge the needy."

So get out your hankies and get ready to enjoy the stylings of Henry Bass.

You'll also want to listen to Vernon's sermon from this past weekend Dec. 5 - 7. He does a much better job of telling us about the presence of God in our burdens than I did. It's a glorious and great sermon.

Pack up your troubles

2009-12-06T19:47:00.004-05:00

Garrison Keillor has a way of dropping a phrase into a larger piece, a phrase that floats in my thinking years after losing the memory of the story he told. “The steady decline of appliances”... that was his phrase that came to mind as I thought about burdens this week.

Hope misplaced can be a devastating thing. There are many that live with the hope that things will get better. That if I only do this or do that or buy this or buy that, then it won’t break down, it won’t decay, it won’t become a frustration. And this is just simply not what this life is about.

From the moment we are born, we begin to decay. From the moment of purchase your car begins to devalue. It’s ongoing work to change that expectation, the belief that everything will soon be in perfect working order, to understanding that all things break down and all things die. This can lead to total hopelessness, especially if you have no God. If you can turn your understanding of reality from the belief that this life should work, to the belief that God is my resource for walking through “the steady decline of appliances” then there is hope.

Madeleine L’Engle said that the birth of Christ made the death of Christ inevitable. One of my favorite Christmas thoughts comes from Dag Hammerskjold -- “How proper it is that Christmas should follow Advent. For him who looks toward the future, the manger is situated on Golgotha, and the cross has already been raised in Bethlehem.”

Even better than having a god is having this God, this God who is a man of sorrows, who knows our sorrows, who has taken our burdens upon himself and given us his much lighter yoke. So when the appliances break down and the money dries up and the friend or family member takes ill, when you are face to face with the frustration of the details of this life, think of the babe in the manager. The purpose of the babe was that he could come into our world and shoulder the burdens freeing us to function in this decaying world. The God who entered in is still able to reach in and give us the grace, power, and hope that we lack.

I woke burdened the other morning, my mind a tornado of items, lists and issues that needed to be taken care of. “The steady decline of appliances” appeared in the center of the storm. Ah yes, that’s right, things fall apart here, things break down. So I pictured the old image of a hobo with all his possessions tied in a kerchief on the end of a stick. I imagined a table full of red bandanas where I separated each of the stresses I was carrying myself, and placed them by category in the center of each bandana and tied them up neatly. Instead of putting them in a line on the stick over my shoulder, I

pictured placing those burdens at the manger and at the base of the cross and at the base of the throne from which He now reigns in glory. I still carry the stick, because this life is full of burdens and I want to be available to the ones that come my way. And then I’ll need to tie them up neatly and give them to the only one who can cope.

Coming of Age Story

2009-11-30T09:04:00.003-05:00

And Mary said:
"My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
Luke 1

I am reading a coming of age story by Terry Pratchett called 'Wee Free Men' about a young girl named Tiffany Aching. It's a three book series and I've read it before. I surprised myself when I picked it up again, but then I thought... wait, this makes sense I've left my job at Disney World, a huge institution in my life, my son is turning 14, and my marriage ended. It's a time of transition and it's a coming of age of sort for a woman of a certain age.

In thinking about Advent this year and what God was saying I thought about the journeys. There are so many journeys in the story of Christ's birth. The journey of Gabriel to Zechariah and Mary, the journey of Mary to Elizabeth, the journey of Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem, the journey of the three kings, the journey to the temple with the newborn, the journey to Egypt with the toddler.

In each journey, Mary's character grows. You might want to read through her story, to see how she goes from 'How will this happen?" to "My soul glorifies the Lord" in Luke 1 to Luke 2 "But Mary treasure up all these things and pondered them in her heart" to John 2 'They have no more wine." and "do whatever he tells you."

We talk about the through-line of the character as actors. What is the through-line from the first page of the script to the last page. Yes, they go through changes due to the compression of circumstances on their character, but the through line of the character should be strong and clear. Something you can go to and play, something you can hang on to in every scene no matter the external circumstances. This is true of all of us (or it wouldn't work in the theater) so the coming of age story of Mary is the thought of the week. The through line of her character from angel to manger to temple to Egypt to Cana to the cross.

Tis the season

2009-11-27T22:06:00.002-05:00

Well, Advent has come upon me in stealth. I have not noticed that Advent is near, much less in 2 days. Maybe because it's been 6 months of Summer until just today. Or maybe it's been the strange and life changing year I've had. Or maybe it was the working 3 jobs. But I'm not ready. I have not pondered or thought about it at all. And usually my entire fall is spent contemplating Life and Death, Eternity and Humanity that is part of the Advent season. So, I'm not sure what to do. Not sure if I'll write an advent series this year or not. I'm wondering if this is God's way of shaking up my thinking by having me take a break, or does He want to speak to and through me by having me be unprepared?
What to do?

Connective Tissue

2009-11-25T14:49:00.002-05:00

Have I introduced you to my friend Chris Maxwell? He's a writer and an editor and he has quite a brain injury story to tell. And he shares his insights and help on his Blog and through Epilepsy Advocate Radio ( one of the many resources offered by Epilepsy Advocate. Lots of folks in our Autism community also have seizure issues and Epilepsy in the family or even in the same child. I hope this resource is a help to you! Have a wonderful Thanksgiving my friends.

I'm raising a man

2009-11-08T11:59:00.003-05:00

Henry was getting his hair cut by Whitney, who came to our house. I made him take a bath and wash his hair while I got my hair cut. I wouldn't let him eat his pizza until he had his hair cut. I made him put pants on. He sat in the chair with me across from him so I could look in his eyes to make sure he wasn't going to jump or hit Whitney's hand which was full of sharp blades. Whitney behind him cut his hair. Then he pursed his lips. I said, "Are you okay? You're doing great."

He pointed his finger to the table, reminiscent of Kruschev's shoe on the podium, and declared, "I'm a boy."

"Oh, yes you are, a great boy, wow you are..." Whitney and I started to affirm.

He pointed again.

"I'm a male! A man, boy, male. I'm a male."

We shut up. He made his point. He's a man boy male boy man. And he is not to be pushed around by a bunch of women in his own home. He'll get his hair cut because he chooses. He'll eat his pizza after because he chooses, not because Mommy says. He doesn't need some Mama watching him get his hair cut. He's a man, male, boy after all.

Delight Partaken

2009-11-03T22:37:00.004-05:00

It's beautifully hard to remember that 5 years ago Henry was smacking me in the head and requiring me to put him on the ground in a hold. The number of times I had to pull off the road because he had reached over the back of the seat grabbed my hair, pulled my head back and screamed is too many to remember. And that's the beauty of it all, I don't remember. So when as we walked down the street of my parent's neighborhood holding hands, as he called to groups of 3 year old princesses "Hello Ladies!" and then when he turned to me and said, "Mommy, I'm in love with you" and then ducked his head in his blue wig, a little embarrassed, I had to document it. Because I'll forget this too. But let's remind each other, of the victories overcome, of the love sent and enjoyed, of the horror experienced, of the pain survived, of the delight partaken.

To Dream the Impossible Dream

2009-10-20T09:40:00.003-05:00

I often find myself in impossible situations. I’m a doer and I tend to take on more than I can and say yes to things that seem doable in my mind but then turn out to be impossible in reality.

This was the case a few weeks ago when I prayed that our publishing company could produce 20 more books by year end. I got really passionate about some of the work that I was reviewing and some of the projects I was working on and wanted to see them published. So my boss and I prayer for those 20 books.

And then I started working on the 35 projects in front of me. And going to Disney to perform shows. And taking care of Henry. And setting up the schedule for fall for Henry’s sitter needs. And planning my own schedule. And cleaning the house. And leading a 4 hour creativity seminar. And making meals. And working with authors. And driving an hour a day. And I having a complete break down.

I got to a point where I couldn’t figure out what more I could do and how I could achieve, what I realized now, was an impossible goal. I prayed and walked and fussed. But still total overwhelming exhaustion.

I talked with Clare and she suggested that I:

a. talk to God with totally different language, in a way I hadn’t spoken to him before.

b. take a sabbath.

Both seemed like good ideas. Neither of us were really sure what talking to God with different language looked like, but I found out almost immediately. In thinking through what day I could take as a Sabbath, I just blurted out: I don’t want to take a Sabbath. I’m sick and tired of doing stuff for you! I want You to do stuff for me!

Well that’s different. I think I have a feeling or a sense and then I prepare a prayer request. Probably this one would have been: Help me know how take a sabbath, when to take a sabbath and give me the strength to do it. Instead the icing level came off and I was at batter level feeling.

The Answer I’d strained for so long to hear came right away. It was a laugh. Yes, a laugh. I heard a warm low laugh surrounding me. Then quite clearly, You asked Me to give you 20 books, I didn’t ask you to achieve that.

Oh. Ohhhhh. Ohhh! So it is impossible? An impossible task?!

Yes. One that you and your boss asked me to do for you and in you and through you. I Am the God of the impossible, not you.

Then I laughed. Well, I guess I can take a Sabbath then.

I Am not so sure. You are right -- you do keep doing things for me and I love, love your energy and your level of devotion in action. Love that about you. Made that about you. But I Am truly tired of your burnt offerings and your religious activity. As exhausted by it as you are.

Hmmmmm. Hmmm. So approaching You in a different way, being with You in a different way would right now include stopping the religious activity of Alice. A religion I’d set up and followed in order to ensure His response to me.

Which led to a Sabbath for pure joy of time spent with God and time spent allowing Him to restore me and led me not to take a Sabbath because it was a rule to be fulfilled that would please Him. Which led to me tithing for pure joy of it and for gratitude of the ministries who care for my body and soul. Not because it would force Him to open up the windows of heaven and finally bless me.

Which led to activities that didn’t look like creating 20 books. They looked like spending an hour going through some old paperwork and correcting it. They looked like talking to one author for 2 hours in a 4 hour day, instead of the 15 on my list. What they didn’t look like was frustrated,anxiety-ridden activities focused on getting stuff done that only God can accomplish. Because He’s going to do the impossible or tell me He didn’t or tell me why He didn’t or whatever. And my part won’t change which is to do whatever is put in front of me at the moment.

Seriously now

2009-10-12T20:04:00.007-05:00

Last month my marriage ended in divorce and a month to the week later I had a mammogram. And then quickly after that, last week, another with an additional sonogram. And on Wednesday I'll be having a needle vacuum biopsy to take out a 5 mm crescent moon shaped something that has a tiny jagged edge to it.
I actually found it quite funny that my Job type existence marches on. For some reason it made it seem less personal. Sure, Sure Boss we do bankruptcy into a totaled car, a brain tumor into autism and divorce into biopsy, Sure, Sure. And then I had the simultaneous feeling of gratitude that my very first mammogram could reveal something that neither of my Doctors like and that they want outta there and real sorrow that my first mammogram revealed something that neither of my Doctors like and that they want to take outta there.
At work we've made some good attempts at humor -- "My Left Breast" won top honors at our inner sanctum comedy festival.
And some good prayers -- chief among those is that God would bind the matter, whether good or bad, in its 5mm crescent moon and that it would be removed in total on Wednesday. I'd love the Righteous to rise up praying this as well.

I've had a fair bit of trembling over Philipians 4:13 " I can do all things through Him who strengthens me." but not much when I remember that it comes after Philipians 4:6 - 7 "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

My co-worker Joanna prayed today that I would not feel alone. Which was good because what I felt was sad and lonely, but what I am is sad. I am not alone.

I am in the hands of the Living God, which has been my prayer for all of 2009. My life in Him rolls on, my feet on the edge of the promised land, me begging for the leeks and cucumbers of my slavery even while I strain to touch the massive grapes I see before me; they are so, so close, I can just reach my fingertips past the shoulders of these giants and glance by their red skin.

Henry's video

2009-10-11T10:23:00.007-05:00

One of the great things about being the Body of Christ is understanding that other members can do things that you cannot.
I can hold babies all day long. Babies can pull my hair and it never hurts, they can rest their heads on my sternum and hear the rumble of a low chest voice. I love Babies. I can talk to pre-schoolers all day long. They know I'm serious and I take them seriously. Yesterday I had a lengthy discussion about Rice Krispy Treats and Soccer games with my neighbors children. Their father & mother got the car emptied out during the chat and Dad said, "You're so nice to them."

I thought about that as I got into the car, and thought about how not nice and not patient I am with grade school children. I have so little tolerance. I thought about how working at Disney World gives me a time and place to hold babies and talk to children and how I can't really do that in the airport or the shopping mall without being arrested. I thought about the times as the German Storyteller when little girls would get dressed in their Christmas finest just to come and be held by me and get their Christmas picture taken in my arms.

And that's what I thought about when I saw the children's ministry video in which I got to talk about Henry's experience with the volunteers who have poured into his life and the life of our kids at Northland. I thought about people who have time on weekends to give, time that I don't have to offer. I thought about how there are people called and gifted and led by God to teach elementary school children and how they actually do it. They actually take that time.
I feel so little sacrifice for the time I spend talking about Rice Krispy treats, it feels filling, not giving. It doesn't bother me at all to stop what I'm doing and chat with a pre-schooler, even if it makes me late for work.
And I thought maybe that's what people who volunteer to serve our Children at Church feel -- not the strain of the doing, but the freedom of giving what they have to give.

Children's Ministries Volunteer Video from Northland Media Design on Vimeo.

It is now..

2009-09-12T12:22:00.004-05:00

As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen."
The prayers of my childhood always closed with this phrase. Well not that one exactly. I think the 1928 prayer book said 'and ever shall be, world without end. Amen' Which poetically has a better rhythm. Honestly, that is what the bulk of my focus has always been on -- ever shall be.It helps me get through the day, through the moment, through the idea, through the pain, through the loss, through the fear of the unknown, through the frustration of the known... someday it will be redeemed. Some day it shall be, world without end amen, as it was originally planned.
But this week I'm struck by 'is now'. It is now. The kingdom of heaven is among us. Contrast this with the great mystery of faith: He was, He is and He is to come. This great mystery I have enjoyed in the person of Christ in my present. I know and knew He was present and reliable.
This is the new thought that comes from this time of fasting and meditation and sacrifice and loss -- the way it is supposed to be, the way it was supposed to be, the way it will be according to the perfect will of the Father, is actually happening now. I'm big into systems and those systems being used well and appropriately. I love when we apply ourselves to a system and then it produces good fruit. I love when things work as they should. And for some reason, I've not considered that the system of God is now. I considered the person of God present in the broken system. And though I said this prayer every Sunday and wednesday of my elementary years, I did not consider that As it was it is now.
And for me today that means that the systems that I face that seem broken, that seem insurmountable, that seem inequitable that underneath them, all around them, below them, above them
IS the system of God.
The Word of God is living and active and that is because He IS a verb. And all that He has put in place is active. It is not dormant and waiting for us to get it right. He IS. It IS.
Life does not actually work by accomplishing the paperwork and getting it in on time and by compling perfectly with the rules. Though those are good things to do, the system in place is the only one working. And that system we only access by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving.
I AM that I AM
He WAS, He IS, and He IS to COME.
As it WAS in the beginning, IS now, and ever SHALL be, world without end, amen.

Daily Grind meet Daily Office

2009-09-12T12:11:00.001-05:00

Thanks to Mako Fujimara I'm using the online daily office and not surprisingly, it really helps.

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord:

2009-09-02T15:50:00.001-05:00

Night is drawing nigh. How long the road is. But, for all the time the journey has already taken, how you have needed every second of it.

Dag Hammerskjold.

My prayer for today

2009-08-31T10:44:00.001-05:00

O my God –

The darkness of my house forgive

And overtake my soul.

I relax the barriers.

I abandon all that I think I am,

All that I hope to be

All that I believe I possess.

I let go of the past,

I withdraw my grasping hand from the future,

and in the great silence of this moment,

I alertly rest my soul.

Howard Thurman

What is your only comfort in life and in death?

2009-08-30T21:23:00.002-05:00

I experience this life and death not in the macro but in the micro. Tiny deaths that come a thousand times a day. The resuscitation breath comes into my body another thousand times and I live. My only comfort in the daily deaths, which are sometimes grand and dramatic, other times bloody with keening, and often a quiet slipping away, is the faint hope that the pounding of the chest, the press of His mouth to mine, will result in my intake of air.

I experienced this life and death in layers as my son and I attended church together as adults. I felt the death of his boyhood as I forced him away from the children’s wing into the main sanctuary. I felt the life course through me as he held my hand sitting in the chair next to me A tiny death when he would not worship with me, as I know he does worship in children’s church, his fingers plugged into his ears as he waited for unknown noises.. Resurrected when the first song was my Episcopal childhood favorite “Let All Mortal Flesh”. Dying, I reached for him. Living, he pressed into my arms. Weeping, I anointed his hair, the water baptizing a child who deeply chose his God the salt purifying the death he experiences through his mother’s sins.

Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A. That I am not my Own, but belong body and soul, in life and in death -- to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven: in fact, all things must work together for my salvation. Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from no on to live for him.

It's Friday...but Ramadan's a comin'.

2009-08-20T22:21:00.009-05:00

A few months ago my good friend Pastor Gus Davies and I were talking about our conversations with our Muslim friends and acquaintances. He was hosting a group of muslim leaders at Northland church and I was in conversation with muslims in Egypt and at work. When we compared our conversations we were surprised that the questions to us were the same -- "Tell us about Christian prayer. How do you pray?"

My answer in these encounters is always to focus on the God of Abraham. Joel Hunter has always preached to connect through our similarities, and my take home is to let God sort out the differences. The Spirit is the one who convicts and my thought is that I just need to be present and love and He'll say more than I could ever communicate. (Joel just preached a great sermon on what we can gain from different faiths and what is different about faith in Christ a few weeks ago. Head to the archived sermons HERE.)

I talk about our God, the God of Abraham a lot. Because I am a woman and because I want to make sure that I do not put any of my friends in a dangerous position, I do not tell people, especially Muslim men, what to think or what they should pray. To their questions I ask more questions, and let the God of our father Abraham, of our fathers Isaac and Ishmael speak.

Recently we were discussing prayer, again. I was asked what I think the difference is between Muslim prayer and Christian prayer. I said that Christian prayer is listening prayer. We pray the Bible back to God and then we listen. I asked if they listen after the prayers that come from the minaret. No answer, but I knew the question was now being considered.

Then we were discussing futures and careers.

Me: I will pray for the questions you are asking and for God to answer you during Ramadan.

Hmmmm. Was the answer.

Me: Tell me about Ramadan.

It is easy hard. One month of the year for my God! It is nothing to give. Nothing!

Me: When you fast during Ramadan, know that I will be praying for the questions that you want answers to.

Really? I like your Christian mind.

Me: Thank you. In Christian fasting we do not fast to purify. Christ is our purification. But we do fast to listen.

Yes. Listening again.

Me: Yes, so we give things up that get in between us and God. I can not fast the Ramadan fast.I work outside and it is too hot and...

Yes, yes you can not just have no food and no water all day. Yes. no Ramadan Fast.

Me: Yes, and it is not right for me to fast in this way. I must fast to my God. But I will fast from one thing during Ramadan so that I can be united with you in prayer.

You WILL?!

Me: Yes. You ask about prayer and I say I will pray for these requests, so it is right to fast as I do at Lent, fast as Christ would have me fast.

YOU WILL?

Me: Yes, so I am asking you, tell me what one thing...

Alcohol.

Me: that I could give up...

Alcohol.

Me: so that I can join with you and your families in the Spirit of prayer and fasting..

Alcohol.

Me: if you just want to think about it for a day or so...

Alcohol! Please. Please, no drinking during Ramadan.

Me: Heavy sigh.

(Big laughs from Egypt) It is easy hard.

And so, Saturday morning I will begin a time of prayer and fasting. For the muslim men and women that I know and love, and for those I do not know but know that the God of our father loves. He said to Hagar "I am the God who sees you." And so He is. And I will pray specific prayers for people that have asked me to pray for them and I will join them in their fast.

This is not terribly noble, I'm not particularly happy about giving up my glass of red in the evening. And frankly, I'm hoping to lose the weight I gained over the summer.

I find that when I enter into a time focused on someone else I end up hearing from God in a powerful way in my life. I had hoped to be generous to someone else in offering to fast for them and pray. I have a feeling that my hopes for God to speak to others are just the beginning for what God wants to do. He will do something more in me by this frayed edge of a sacrifice and He will do something in heaven that I can't even imagine.

A Blank Person

2009-07-27T21:21:00.006-05:00

I am a night person. I try to be a morning person, but I am a night person. This was very evident to me in the writing project this last month. I committed to writing a book in a month. Generally it takes 6 - 8 months to write a book. I probably need to stop saying yes to the 5 - 6 week book writing. I've done it more than once! What an idiot. Often what happens is that it exhausts me and then the people I write for don't evaluate the work based on that they asked me to do something impossible and I made it possible. Instead they evaluate it based on what I could have done in 8 months. Oh well. I wanted to do this project. And actually I think it came out very well. Splendid was the word the editor used, which helped the exhaustion quite a bit.

I was fairly crazed during the process so in desperation I set the schedule according to my internal life -- writing until 2am, sleep until 9am. Work until 2pm, nap until 4pm, work until 9pm eat dinner then write until 2am.

My next writing project has connections to Egypt and all my Egyptian friends live this way. Probably because it is so hot. But when I want to speak with my friends in Egypt often I call at my dinner time, 6pm and they are sitting down to their dinner at midnight.

I want to be a morning person. get up at 6am, go for a run, then come home have coffee, bfast, then start work. But I am a night person. And this I must accept. As well as I must adjust who I am to match the world I'm in which is the 8 - 8 world. Once I move to Egypt for my research I can eat spicy zucchini salad at midnight and rise at noon.

Henry and I were having a conversation about different types of people. I asked him if Mommy was a serious person or a silly person. Silly. We went through a list of people related to different areas of his life. Mostly people he loves were in the Silly category and people he has to work for (teachers and the like) were in the serious category. Then I asked him about Sydney, the girl at school who loves him and whom he loves.

"Is Sydney a silly person or a serious person?"

The game stopped almost immediately.

"Sydney is a Great person."

As if she were a historical figure. Which, in his life, perhaps she is.

Idaho brings the Inspiration

2009-07-07T15:47:00.005-05:00

Something I wrote a few Idaho summers ago that holds true today:

Ancestral Home

by Alice Bass

I want

the smell of coffee

the sizzle of sausages

and

late morning sleep.

I want

the kiss of a lover

the embrace of a friend

and

the knowing glance of the husband.

I want

the laugh of my child

a conversation with my son

and

the fishing boat at dawn with my father.

I want

steam rising from cups in the morning

a full bodied red in the evening

all

from the deck of my ancestral home.

The Order of the North Star

2009-07-04T20:07:00.006-05:00

The Royal Order of the North Star is a medal that was given to my Father by the King upon the end of his term as the Naval Attache from the United States to Sweden. The 70's was quite a time to be in Sweden -- not only was ABBA still touring but it was the cold war, and we were closest to Moscow and Berlin and he has stories to tell. It's a grand medal that hangs around his neck on a blue and yellow ribbon flecked with white stars.

I am imagining this hanging around my neck.

In the last five years, and the last year especially, my life's circumstances have changed. Drastically? Well, to those outside the vessel which is me, yes, I imagine so. To me inside (what I imagine to be an old fashioned dirigible from which I chart my course towards the heavenlies) not so much. A shift here, an adjustment there, a course correction certainly.

As I look back I am amazed at how, more often than not, I have been buffeted off course not by my own faulty choices but by the impact of those around me.

Input I highly value and surround myself with people I love and trust. But Impact is when the opinions of others -- trusted advisors, caring neighbors, interested sales clerks, out right enemies -- slam into the fragile hull and knock me ever so slightly south. I then try to steer to these ways and end up disoriented if not lost. As a child I was fascinated with cults (it was the era of Jim Jones) because I felt susceptible to being drawn in by smiles and doughnuts.

Input to Influence to Impact.

When Henry was a newborn I read one book from a casual friend on Christian Infant Scheduling. Another mother looked at me with great meaning and placed a book on natural child birth and breast-feeding in my hands. I still see clearly the picture of Henry's father holding the frail jaundiced 5 week old while we sat in the Dr.'s office. "Just feed him forumla" the lactation consultant ordered, "Whenever he wants it." Which he lapped up. Turns out my milk was too weak because I was too weak from my Placenta Abruption Emergency C-section.

I thought about that this week and I put it very dramatically to my soul's Captain, "I almost starved my child due to my focus on others."

Joel has preached a lot about Job lately, including the friends & the wife's input. Ultimately it is Job's cry and God's answer that confirms Job's place, which at that moment was on the ground covered in ashes and sores.

In a recent large move on my part 98% of my community assented with tight lipped grim nods. They said they knew, they thought so, and they were sad but understood. Only 2 % stepped back in open-mouth horror.

Where have my restless nights been spent? On the 2%.

So I conjure the image of the Order of the North Star. I remember the power I have to chart my own course, because I listen to God. I know the power of His Word and His word to me. I know His choices and His voice. I know His deliverance and the sight of His outstretched hand. I know my Master and Commander and I know how to turn my sails into the wind that lifts me and moves me ever closer to shore.

Artistry of the What If?

2009-06-08T22:03:00.006-05:00

Henry wanted to see UP the Friday that it opened. And being dutiful parents, and movie fanatics, I met Henry & his dad right after school at the movie theater. Henry was crying in the parking lot he was already so emotional about it.

I was not that excited about it. I did not like the last 2 Pixar movies. Sacrilege! But Ratatouille? I agreed with the little girl behind me in the theater on that opening day who said, "Too many rats." Rats in the kitchen is a risk surely, but that's not what bothered me about it. I was bothered by the storytelling. I'm a little worried about Pixar genius Brad Bird, the director of The Incredibles and Ratatouille. In both movies the story featured a young red-haired kid who had talents, just not the kind of talents required for what the young red-haired kid thought he should have (Super Hero & Chef) yet the 'message' of each story was "you can be anything you want to be." The main thrust of Ratatouille -- Everyone can cook! Except you little red haired boy. You are a terrible cook. Not a natural like your father. A rat is a natural but you are not. But then there was no acknowledgment that the old cook book was wrong -- not everyone can cook. Some people are good at being Maitre D's. And that could have been a great story. The red-haired boy who can't cook but can host.

The message of Incredibles -- Be who you really are! Except you little red-haired boy who is good at gadgets but not a super hero. Too bad a superhero has to be a natural, not someone who is super smart & can make cool things.

There's a tremendous conflict in Brad Bird in his storytelling. On the one hand he recognizes that characters (people) have natural talents and learned skills. And he wants to celebrate natural talent but there's something in him (guilt maybe? I think because he is a natural talent and it just simply can't be explained why he's good at animation and others aren't. Have you seen Brad Bird? He's a little red-haired boy... I'm just saying I could have Dr. Phil's job in a second) that says it's not okay just to be a natural talent.

And Wall-E? Well, I had a problem with the 'humans are lazy and losers' agenda not that it wasn't true that we tend towards that, it was just a bit strong. But what I really had a difficult time with was the humanizing of Eva. Wall-E was so human but Eva, who 'fell' in love with Wall-E had no humanity in her internally. When she got the plant and it thrust her on her mission there was no part of her that reached back in conflict desiring to be and stay with Wall-E but pulled by her mission. Instead she was a robot through and through.

And don't get me wrong, I love Pixar. I think they are geniuses. And incredible storytellers. Which is why seeing such core problems in 2 of their biggest movies was quite upsetting.

So what would happen with UP? I should not have worried.

It was a perfect story. Perfect.

UP employed one of the greatest tools all artists must master to create truly great art -- the 'What if?'

Not being able to go on to the next 'What if?' is what stymies your art, your story, your writing, your acting, your painting, your artistry.

What if? A man tied a thousand balloons to his house and

What if it took off?

What if he made it to South America?

What if a giant bird appeared?

What if dogs could talk?

What if a boy didn't tell the old man anything about his life and

what if the old man guessed from a sentence?

What if

What if?

Pixar What if'd this movie into the stratosphere, creating some of the most beautiful images, sweetest scenes, connected and growing characters, daringly painful choices, silly funny wild moments... UP is a beautiful and daring example of what happens when you what if?

Dare yourself to ask...What if?

Victory March

2009-05-28T09:36:00.003-05:00

For the past 3 years driving Henry to and from school I have watched a young lady with red hair walk herself to school. She lives in a rental property and walks alone under the highway. I keep my eye on her because I worry about the neighborhood a bit. When we first started down this road, I would see her with her red pigtails, her bottom heavy back pack and a pink dress with big sneakers. She's evolved gradually. Bangs. Glasses. But there's something about her that has been consistent whether child or girl -- an inner straight line, a thread in her that can't be unravelled.

Yesterday as we were driving home I saw her walking out of her house towards the street with an empty box over her head. It seemed like she was just putting something out for the garbage, but once again there's something about her. Her walk to the garbage was some sort of inner jubilation, some sort of victory march.

This morning I saw the cover of the empty box. It had on it a picture of a guitar. A Hannah Montana guitar no less. A gift to the redheaded girl who knows who she is.

My week in the Word

2009-05-21T19:16:00.004-05:00

Psalm 42:7

Deep calls to deep
       in the roar of your waterfalls;
       all your waves and breakers
       have swept over me.

And my heart has been called to and I answer that call.

In ways that make sense to no one but to my Lord. Barely to me. How can I expect you to understand?

And yet the deep in me calls to the deep in my loved ones and they respond. In the rain they came, in a flood they came running to put their hands on me to strengthen my weak knees and feeble arms.

I'm so grateful that these friendships have been cultivated and can bear fruit in my life even in my desert.

Genesis 12:10 Now there was a famine in the land, and Abram went down to Egypt to live there for a while because the famine was severe.

The famine was severe. Severe. And I am tasting and seeing that the Lord is good. I tasted His goodness in the famine.

But I'm grateful that I went down to Egypt and that the fertile Nile valley has given me the beauty and the provision I have longed for. I am eating pears and mango and they are so delicious. More delicious than when they were in abundance, after the famine and the sand they are so juicy. I am tasting more deeply the good than I ever have. Because the famine was severe.

The Offer

2009-05-04T22:18:00.004-05:00

It's a week about failure. About experiencing failure in big things and in small things. There were rejection notices and lost credit cards and relationships dying and relationships composting. And the one that really got to me, of course, was a writing rejection. I got a rejection for a piece that I wrote. It was a piece I loved working on. That I felt a kinship to. It was a piece I felt good about and work that I loved doing. And they didn't want it. And my first reaction, first, was -- why'd I waste all that time writing?

And then that seemed to be the picture of all the failure episodes that were part of the week. I hadn't wasted my time. I'd invested my time. I used my time. I'd felt my time. And now I was feeling this -- rejection, disappointment, discouragement, being left out of the party. And I was sad. Just plain sad. And the sad felt like the investment was waste. But this was where the lie was sitting. I actually enjoyed the work. I believed in the work. I believed in myself.

We can't control the outcome of the offer we make. So do I continue to offer? or do I consider even the offer a waste of time? It remains to be seen how I will behave in the face of each opportunity to offer. But I hope I will invest. I hope I will write. I hope I will love. I hope I will...

You are becoming me

2009-05-01T19:56:00.004-05:00

You are becoming me
You are becoming me
You are becoming me
You are becoming me!
YOU ARE HENRY!!!!!

It started very low on the scale and then he just went up and up and up singing this song to me until we stood together in the mirror and he threw his hands up in a triumphant gesture with me behind him holding him up.

The Word was, The Word is, and the Word will be...

2009-04-15T19:05:00.005-05:00

Zondervan Publishing house is doing an extravagant project: Bible Across America in which, and I quote: Writers of America's NIV will pen a single verse on actual thin-stock Bible paper. Each verse and each page will be published together as a complete America's NIV Bible available in stores nationwide. The Bible will include an unprecedented index of 31,173 contributors, one for every verse of the Bible. Zondervan plans to create two original editions. One original transcript of America's NIV will be offered to the Smithsonian Institution and the second will be auctioned off to benefit the International Bible Society in support of their Bible translation and distribution efforts around the world.

I happened to be at Northland today to talk to an author about publishing his first book (did I mention I love my new job at HigherLife?!) and while I was hanging out, an old friend told me about the Bible Across America project and that everyone on staff was signing up because we'd been given the book of Hebrews. Well, I ran to the hospitality room, ran I tell you! Where more old friends greeted me and signed me in. I was given a time, the time right behind my dear friends Eleanor and Tim Tracey. Then they handed me a verse and then in my own hand I wrote it onto Bible paper and signed my name Alice Smetheram Bass.

My verse is Hebrews 3:5 which says:
"⁵ Moses was faithful as a servant in all God's house, testifying to what would be said in the future. "

Did I mention that Moses was my favorite Bible character as a child? Did I mention that I went to the Smithsonian Institute millions of times as a child growing up outside of Washington D.C.? Did I mention that my next trip to Egypt this summer is focused on the Red Sea and going to Mt. Sinai? Did I mention that God loves me and knows me and is wild about me His servant who desperatly tries to live for Him and please Him but makes a mess out of things more than Moses ever did? Did I mention that the verse given to me by God for my life is from Joshua 1:
² "Moses my servant is dead. Now then, you and all these people, get ready to cross the Jordan River into the land I am about to give to them—to the Israelites. ³ I will give you every place where you set your foot, as I promised Moses. ⁴ Your territory will extend from the desert to Lebanon, and from the great river, the Euphrates—all the Hittite country—to the Great Sea on the west. ⁵ No one will be able to stand up against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. "

Did I mention that life is crumbling about around me and yet God is my God and He just can't stop from crying out into the lives of His people: YOU ARE MINE!
And now that cry may be in the Smithsonian Institute.

Jack Black to the Rescue!

2009-04-08T15:16:00.003-05:00

Hey Gang, April is Autism Awareness month!
Have you heard that Florida School budgets are being slashed? Our incredible Princeton House Charter School (serving children with Autism in an inclusive environment) is getting 15% of their budget trashed.
Soooooo Jack Black has recorded an album with other great artists to support children with autism and our school is one of the main beneficiaries of it. So check it out and help our kids!

Snap!

2009-04-07T07:35:00.002-05:00

Cold snap that is! Florida is sunny and beautiful and went from 109 degrees F in the sun on Saturday to 65 the high 45 F the low today! And on this chilly sunny day it is Fox Day!

So go! Enjoy the beauty of Florida. Take lunch outside. Call in Foxy to work. Put your feet in the sand and enjoy!

Alice's Egypt

2009-04-02T20:49:00.026-05:00

Misr. My Misr. My Egypt and my relationship to Egypt started so long ago. As a child, my favorite Bible character was Moses. I loved him and had a bookmark on Exodus 20. Yes, you read that correctly. I read the 10 commandments over and over. Surprised? I thought not. In Scripture Egypt was a place to run from. Egypt was a place to run to. Egypt was a place for sustenance in famine. A place for sanctuary under attack. Sarah, Abramham, Joseph, the 12 brothers, Moses, Aaron, Miriam, Potiphar, Joseph & Mary all have Egypt stories. I've always wanted to have one and now I do.

I also tend to have wildly vivid story dreams, which I usually interpret with all sorts of deep symbolism. I honestly do believe God speaks to me in dreams. He may not speak to everyone this way, but after decades of reading how God spoke to Joseph and Jacob and so many others in dreams I feel safe to allow Him to speak to me there.

And of course, I had WILD dreams while on the Nile. One so strong and powerful I skipped the days activities and sat on the deck of the ship and wrote all day long.

So here are some of my visions of Misr, my Egypt.

This is Luxor. I love Luxor.

And I have a slight Nefertari complex too. Ramses II, or Ramses the Great, had a chief wife in Nefertari, the most beautiful wife. Ramses put monuments to himself everywhere, much like this one, always in his 21 year old form (and he ruled into his 60's). But he would tuck Nefertari under his leg. Now I know this doesn't seem like much, but you have to think about the culture. He didn't have to do anything for her. He didn't have to honor her at all, but there she is, a nice size statue of her near Ramses II everywhere he goes.

So this series of photos goes like this -- I take a picture of my Dad in front of Ramses the great. And one of the infamous Egyptian vendors whistles to me and waves me past a rope. He then sits my father and I next to the other side of Ramses the great, and there is Nefertari, completely intact. Oh, she's so, so beautiful! So we sit next to her and the vendor takes our picture.

Then he sits Dad & I up on a rock/altar of some sort and takes another picture of us in front of the hieroglyphs. And then he wants to take a picture with me. Of course we have tipped him with US dollars. But he really wants a picture with me. Whatever. All the Egyptian Vendors want a picture with me, and at that point I'm not sure why. So the vendor and I pose for our picture, both of us looking at my father and the camera. And when we get the picture back, I see the vendor with his arm around my waist and the open mouth stare at my hair. Ah, yes. My friend from Egypt, who is of course named Mohamed, says to me "You look in their eyes. You must not do this! Do not look in the man's eyes." And of course he's correct. I should have worn a veil. But there you go. I'm an American woman with green eyes and big hair.

And speaking of the Vendors, here's our friend who works at the Alabaster Factory. He does a delightful skit about the different types of stone and what you can buy there. And of course, he wanted a picture with me. I'd been in the Valley of the Kings all day, which is totally desert and I was parched and tired.
I needed my hibiscus drink.

But instead, this gentleman made us laugh heartily. My father told him that many many camels had been offered for me. Which is true. In Khan Khalli bazaar a kind of icky man whispered to me that he would give my father many camels for me. Ewww. So I told my dad, as if I was 22 instead of 42, and he just thought it was hilarious. So he proceeded to tell everyone we met that many camels had already been offered. But this lovely gentleman at the Alabaster factory insisted on a picture and a kiss and promised my father, "No camels, I have a Ferrari!" So that's why he got a kiss. Because he made me laugh. And because he has 5 daughters and only one son. Ah my poor friend. You need a kiss from an American woman with big hair and green eyes.

And here's me in my heaven in general:

local shout outs

2009-03-19T21:23:00.004-05:00

Jay came to my house yesterday. He is the owner and operator of Total PC Repair. He's awesome and reasonable. He spent 3 hours defragging hard drives and removing spyware that Henry had inadvertently downloaded. The last time I had the Geek squad in to do this it cost several hundred dollars. Jay charged me about 25 bucks per computer. And he was lovely. He's just great and he's just a guy doing a job. So call him at Total Pc Repair 321-947-0672.

Then this morning Morgan took me to Seven Sisters Coffee a great place for really good scones and coffee. Nice spot for letting the kids play and eat a yogurt parfait while you write or chat. Very nice.

Enjoy!

Catharthis

2009-03-18T09:20:00.003-05:00

If you want a to watch a great movie watch JCVD. If you want a good Lenten Catharsis of sacrifice and grace of faith and promise of reward and sacrifice with one of the best monologues/soliloquies/prayers I've probably ever seen on film, watch JCVD.
That's right - JCVD.
An independent film about Jean-Claude Van Damme. Starring Jean-Claude Van Damme. About a fictionalized version of Jean-Claude Van Damme's life. About what it's like to be an aging action star who is trying to find his way in the world. Beautiful. And plenty of A** Kickin' Action.

Now, I'll admit it -- I love Jean-Claude Van Damme. I loved his movies back in the day in the way I love a Jackie Chan movie. It's awesome. It's fun and he's smart and great.
In fact, Danno will probably remember, that most of the late 80's early 90's was spent hearing me say, "Abso-Van Damme-lutely." Simply as an enjoyable way for me to continue cussin' even after I was born again.
So I was pre-disoposed to love this movie. But the writing. Oh, glorious. The acting -- the lovely, sincere deep moving moments created by Jean-Claude himself. A few ultra independent movie gratuitous shots, but mostly just beauty and ashes and prayer. Watch it for Lent. Have a box of kleenex. I wept openly and used tissues hand over hand. A glorious catharsis.

Comfort Inn

2009-03-10T00:18:00.013-05:00

Tim had a dream in which the Rapture had occurred and we'd all been taken up unto...a Comfort Inn where we had on a big country buffet. And though I loved the symbolism of it all, honestly, if I awake to Comfort Inn of Eternity I'll know I'm in Hades. Pour moi, c'est le George Cinq... or The Cairo Marriott.
Oh the Cairo Marriott, on Zamelk Island. It's like being...well, no where else. So here you go.

The piano bar is a lovely place to spend a late night. And I can tell you that this bar tender did not want his picture taken with us desperate housewives!

The women making pita bread at the outdoor brick oven however, were fine with us taking pictures. But eating that fresh, hot puffed up bread rolled in wheat kernels is better than almost any thing.

The Saraya Cafe! To the left of the grand staircase. The dear Ahmed, manager of Saraya, wears a badge (as do all the Marriott employees) that reads, "Yes is the answer!" When I arrived for an afternoon respite Ahmed said, "Would you like to hear about my Wine and Chocolate Promotion?!" Well, yes was my answer! He was so proud of his Cafe and his staff, and he should be. They are so wonderful and they served us with such pleasure. I invited every woman on the trip to join me in the afternoons for Ahmed's Wine and Chocolate Promotion -- one glass of Egyptian Red and your choice of 3 gourmet chocolates. I most often had Dark Chocolate Carrafrutti (apricot), or the Salt Caramel, or the Jasmine ganache. Sometimes the milk chocolate with Gold leaf. I mean, why not?

So whose head will Mimi cut off on the balcony looking to the Nile? Oh, Granddad. Ah well.

My mother is obsessed with the Lotus Blossom. OBSESSED! And lucky for her, here's the top of a Catholic Church on Zamelk Island that was visible from their balcony in the shape of...the lotus blossom.

I am bending all my efforts towards returning to not only Egypt, not only Cairo, but the Cairo Marriott. My idea of heaven is the Cairo Marriott and the Wine and Chocolate Promotion.

It's his day

2009-03-07T12:06:00.003-05:00

But it's also my day, sorry to make it about me, Henry, but I've been your mother for 13 years. And I am quite amazed that I have been mothering for 13 years. And that I've loved so much of it, even the parts of it that were frightful and down right icky. I really love this part of my life, mother to Henry. I am blessed by your presence in my life. You are truly an amazing person and this I had very little to do with. Your God has made you, knit you together in your mother's womb and you truly came from the womb as yourself. I have had the privilege of preparing the environment around you for you to be truly you and that is and has been a joy. I'm proud to know you, proud to have the job of mothering you and so glad that I was given that job by our God. He truly is gracious.

Lenten Lament

2009-03-06T09:31:00.004-05:00

If I am burned up and never
appear before Your throne, Then
this time of worship was enough.

If my sin destroys me and
my repentance doesn't reach You, Then
this glimpse of your face was enough.

If You do forsake me and turn away and
leave me forever, Then
this time spent with You was enough.

If my soul turns to dust
as my body already is, Then
these few moments of life in Your Spirit
were more than enough.

~~~~~~
The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Deuteronomy 31:8

No one will be able to stand up against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Joshua 1:5

Three Boys

2009-02-24T08:57:00.029-05:00

On the airplane from NY to Cairo an Egyptian woman sat with her fussy grandchild. A little over a year old he wanted to be held for the entire 12 hour flight. I had a bad seating arrangement; a very tall woman with bronchitis sat behind me her knees jammed into the back of my ramrod straight chair, her head a foot above mine so she could hack on my hair. So I wandered and made Fairy Godmother eyes at Grandmother's baby. I distracted him with the red reading glasses that hang around my neck. At some point during the night Grandmother needed the rest room. She simply walked toward me arms outstretched with this prince of Egypt dangling from her hands. A smile was the only communication needed between her Arabic and my English. I held his dark curls under my chin, patted his back and sang a lullaby.

~~~~~
On the busy Corniche in Alexandria vendors came at us as we descended our tourist bus to Qaitbay Fort. One boy, probably 12 years old, had some beat up postcards to sell. I've seen beggars in Portugal and in Romania and I know the hustle -- a little dirt on the face, the mother sends the child to beg. But this boy, near the age of my boy, had no shoes on his feet and no mother in sight. I went back to my seat on the bus by the window facing the busy street. The boy walked onto the asphalt and looked up at our windows. By now I was used to the grand display of the Egyptian vendors but this boy put his head down and tapped his mouth with two fingers. I'm not to feed beggars, I'm not to feed beggars, I'm not to feed beggars. In my purse were 2 chocolate chip fiber bars worth 2 Weight Watchers points each. I knew I'd count those points later in the day when I tallied how much I'd eaten. And this boy had no shoes. I'd regret the calories late in the week or worse, end up hauling the bars back home where my husband would scold me for bringing sugary temptation into the kitchen. The boy looked around to see if anyone on the street could see him and he tapped his mouth again. Well at least he'd get 35% of his daily fiber.
In the street a 3 lane road which in typical Egyptian driving is 8 cars abreast, I stood near him and said, "I thought you might enjoy a cookie." I knew he wouldn't understand but if he was was going to be subtle then I'd be casual. I passed the bar palm to palm, as if we were shaking hands, then went back to where I belonged.
I expected nothing. Or I expected a torrent of street children. Instead this prince of Egypt came back to my window with empty wrapper in hands, chocolate smeared into his dirty cheeks and a wide grin. He blew wild kisses to me and I returned them.

~~~~~~
On the East side of the Nile is life on the West side is death. Where the sun rises Pharaohs built cities and temples for daily life and worship. On the setting sun side they built tombs. In Modern Egypt the East side is tourist Egypt: 5 star hotel & swimming pools & antiquities & cars & horse buggies & shops.

On the West Side is delta farmland into Grand Canyon cliffs of Sahara sand stone. From the deck of the ship facing West is the real Egypt: fathers
preparing fishing nets, women washing clothes in the Nile, camels and donkeys, sugar cane harvesting, felluccas sailing, and boys playing footbol. Every game appears to be 5 boys sitting while two keep goal and one shoots.

On this day, one of the boys was not in the game in fact he apeared to be napping on the banks of the Nile. As our ship went by he roused himself slightly. Dressed in tan Galabeya he saw our crowd taking pictures of his life. Then this prince of Egypt waved his arm in big strokes from the shoulder, "Welllllllllcome! Weeeeellllllllcome to Eeeeeeeeeeegypt! Wellllllllcome!!!

"

Light and Momentary

2009-02-23T13:35:00.003-05:00

That the Lord speaks and that He still speaks to me is beyond my understanding. And to the heartache and confusing path He reminds: These are light and momentary troubles! They will not last. I AM eternal.

And then he's asked me to pray this every night this week:
Psalm 20 For the director of music. A psalm of David.
May the LORD answer you when you are in distress;may the name of the God of Jacob protect you.
May he send you help from the sanctuary
and grant you support from Zion.
May he remember all your sacrifices
and accept your burnt offerings.
May he give you the desire of your heart
and make all your plans succeed.
We will shout for joy when you are victorious
and will lift up our banners in the name of our God.
May the LORD grant all your requests.

Isn't He just great?

Sick of it yet?

2009-02-09T14:53:00.020-05:00

You may be but I'm not. Be heb Masr. I love, love Egypt. And I'm loving my research on Egypt too, almost as much as I loved actually seeing it.

So here is the rest of our day at the Pyramids. The sphinx is, of course, is with the Pyramids and we saw that right after our tour of the 2nd pyramid.

These are my favorite pictures ever really. My mother is a petite lady an she has the habit of cutting off someone's head in every picture she takes. In this one, caught both me and Dad, but managed to slice the head off the Sphinx. Ah well.

I did want to have a record of how close the town is to the Antiquities so I had Dad take this of me at the side of the Sphinx towards the town.

My tour group was constantly amused at my extensive research, writing down of everything Hala our guide said, and then repeating it back to them as we toured each site. Here's Hala at work with Mimi.

Later we drove to Saqqara the site of the first pyramid, the Step Pyramid. Slightly embarrassing to the proud American that I am, Hala told us that the Step Pyramid was built 200 years before the Great Pyramid. Yes, 200 years goes by in a flash. The step pyramid is the oldest structure in the world.

So here, Dad took a picture of me in front of the Step Pyramid.

Then I went off around to the corner to watch the archeologists work. They have just discovered the tomb of a queen that they have been looking for around the Step Pyramid. So while I was there I tried to take a self-portrait of me near the scaffolding. And once again I was caught by the Tourist and Antiquities Police. He insisted on taking me to show me the feet of some statues in the temple area. And of course he wanted to take the picture of me in front of the Step Pyramid. So he got a dollar, a pen and a kiss on the cheek.

Pyramids

2009-02-07T17:11:00.026-05:00

Everyone said to me -- oh the pyramids. They aren't that interesting. They're actually boring. And, you won't believe it! There's a 7-11 and a KFC right by them! It's really not as majestic as you think it will be.
Oh AND, they aren't that impressive because in paintings and pictures they look like they are covered in smooth limestone, but they're just big stones.Well, let me just tell you I was overwhelmed, completely. My emotions were so huge and I just wanted to touch the stones and sit quietly and cry. What can you say about seeing something that Napoleon saw? Saladin saw them. Herodotus was there. Maybe Moses. Possibly Mary and Joseph. The Pyramids were antiquities when Jesus was born. What can you say?

Certainly it is good to prepare yourself for the reality of the pyramids. There was at one time limestone covering each of the 3 pyramids, and that was taken to build the mosques and palaces of Cairo hundreds of years ago. Herodotus says that the smooth white limestone casings were covered in carvings and paintings. That seems likely having seen Upper Egypt and Luxor. And now there is only a limestone cap on the 2nd (Khafre's) pyramid. So yes, paintings of the pyramids are of them in their glory and they are now 5,000 years old! And indeed there are people everywhere, especially the vendors who want to sell you postcards and singing camels and camel bone necklace and scarves. And there are men dressed in turbans and galabeya trying to get in pictures with you for a tip. And these vendors have families and the live quite near the pyramids. And they eat KFC.

And there was even something dynamic to that fact for me. People live next to the Sphinx.
I scratched in my notebook: How can anyone say these antiquities don't measure up? They are masterworks of detail, precision and artistry.

I climbed up on to the Great Pyramid but I did not go into it. I did go into the second pyramid (Khafre). So these photos are of my dad & me on the Great Pyramid and then going together into the 2nd pyramid.

It is next to impossible to have a quiet moment in Egypt and especially around any antiquities. Every second you are there, vendors are chasing you trying to get in a picture with you for a tip, selling you trinkets or trying to get you on a camel. Watching over you are the Tourist and Antiquities police. And they need a tip too. But they are like character leads at Disney -- they have taken thousands of pictures of the pyramids and know the right spot. So here are some pictures of Dad & I taken by the Tourist police.

We stooped down and walked into the 2nd pyramid, hunched over down a small tunnel but still walking. This was the workers exit for the workers who 5000 years ago put these structures up. The guides warned me -- your back will hurt, your legs will hurt and there is nothing in the tombs. All has been looted during antiquity or moved to the Cairo museum so there's nothing in there. And they were correct. There was nothing in there. Except stone on stone that a day laborer put up millennium ago. And I walked under tons of stone to stand in a room that they built.

It's damp and humid and very hot inside. And that was in January, and you can probably tell that I was freezing outside.The pyramids are up on a hill in the desert and it was cold. My parents had the great idea that since all three of us are Rollins grads or associates, we should wear Rollins shirts. So they brought shirts -- long sleeve for them and a t-shirt for me. And I didn't listen to Hala, our guide. She begged me to bring my coat, but I thought -- it's the desert, it's Egypt! That's why I ended up with a my scarf around my head, frozen. Except inside the stuffy pyramid. I had a few claustrophobic moments, and was so proud of dad (who had knee replacement a year or 2 ago) and how he climbed up & down the ramps inside the chamber with me. Yes, no stairs, it's a wooden ramp over the stone. And it's one person wide -- so if people coming back up and you are headed down -- it's a little scary. But don't think about the 4 tons of stone over your head, rather smile at your fellow travelers towards the grave and move on.

After we went to the pyramid we were looking everywhere for Mimi (my mom). Couldn't find her but a friendly tourist police who was guarding a tomb of a noble/doctor found us. He was guarding the tomb, which means he could choose people at random to invite in. So we got pens (Egyptians love a pen as a gift) and folded American dollars ready and let him take us inside a tomb. There were still carvings on the wall which we could see and not touch, except he got a pen from Nasa, so okay, go ahead and touch.... And sadly we didn't have a camera with us! But we took a picture of a camel driver coming past that tomb.

All the gentlemen of Egypt are quite taken with my hair and when I'm with my dad they think he's married to a wild young thing. The Tourist police and vendors would come after me wanting to stand with me and look at my hair or tell my dad 'Lucky man!' I got used to this and learned how to rebuff or say 'daughter, daughter' or just let them take a picture with me and give them a tip.

People

2009-02-04T17:04:00.036-05:00

Before I left for Egypt my pastor told me that Cairo was his son-in-law's favorite city because loved the people so much. Well sure, he went to work in Cairo and partner with Kasr El Dobra church so he spent time with people. I was going to see monuments. It never occurred to me that I'd come in contact with Egyptians because mostly I thought I'd be isolated in a tour group.
But before I share with you pictures of the places of Egypt, I have to share the people. They are truly the most fun, kind, funny and warm people.
One of the specialties of Grand Circle Travel is their 'home hosted' dinners. You visit with a family and have dinner with them, without your program director/guide so you can have totally candid conversations. Which we did with this great family. Our hostess and my mother chatted a bit, because my mother hosted dinners (2 a month) when we lived in Sweden as diplomats. Dad and our host had something in common -- both retired military men. So here is the General from the Egyptian Army with the US Naval Captain enjoying their retirement.

And here are the daughters -- their daughter with her 8 month pregnant belly and me with 40 years of eating belly. She spoke for the family most of the time, and her daughter put on a little show (she was a toddler and it turns out they are the same world-wide.) We talked about faith and the choice of the veil, which she has chosen and will instruct her daughters but will have to wait and see if they choose the veil or not. "God is gracious," she said, "he will be patient and he will be gracious if you choose later in life. But if you do not choose the veil, well, there is judgment for that." I admired her frankness.

And here's the dear one, Mohammad. Our bartender on the ship, my Dad & I enjoyed his company as we had a nightcap each evening. Mohammad took great care of us, always willing to let me try out my Arabic. His delight was genuine when I would get the 'huchk' sound (as in the beginning sound of Hanukkah). I started simple with 'Omar Khayyam. No I was not discussing the Rubaiyat, it's the name of an Egyptian wine I recommend. I'd try Scheherazade Reds next, and save the Obelisk for desperate times.
There is always, always noise in Egypt. Horns honking. Donkeys braying. And everyone loves to have a sound track. For some reason each afternoon at 3:30pm the background music would turn on up on sun deck only in Egypt the BGM is always one level too loud. So I'd head to the bar and beg them to turn it off. Mohammad and his best friend & co-worker, El Masry (which is his last name because his first name is also Mohammad. I rightly guessed that El Masry means "The Egyptian" and they were both so pleased at my progress with Arabic) would turn it down or turn it off if more folks came down to beg for quiet on the Nile. Then Mohammad would make me something special and I would write at the bar and cool off until I was ready to head up to the sun deck again. I just wish I'd taken pictures of some of the drinks Mohammad made for me. Once I asked for a little Baileys in my coffee and suddenly this frothing latte on ice in a brandy snifter with bits of chocolate on top with green maraschino cherries and a slice of lime appeared. Oh my, lime and chocolate and coffee and Baileys.
It was his birthday today, February 4th. Well, today is tomorrow in Egypt, so I missed it but Happy Birthday Mohammad.

More on the ship: Our server at every meal was Ali. And we loved Ali. One of my favorite qualities of the Egyptian people I met is their genuineness. They are genuinely themselves. Ali is often irritated, and mostly with those he's serving. Each time he would bring a dish he'd stand behind you with a plate and say loudly, 'Excuuuuuuuuuse me!' Because you were in the way of him serving you. But at every meal time there would be red napkins on our favorite table in Ali's station. There were no assigned seats, it was come as you can in the dining room, but a place was always saved for us with Ali.
So here we are in our traditional Egyptian dress, the Galabeya. Mine is very thick Egyptian cotton that I bought in the Khan Al-khalli bazaar in Cairo. My mother is wearing the one she bought on her last trip to Egypt some ten years ago. Ali is wearing quite the get-up and loving it. I'm sure it's the actress in me, but I didn't want a simple Galabeya. Even though I knew I'd only wear it once, I wanted the real deal. Most Galabeya, especially for married women as our guide pointed out, are black. But that turquoise with brown trim in double thick cotton. Well, I couldn't resist and when Mohammad exclaimed, "My queen!" I felt it worth the investment.
This is Megid -- the Captain of the ship. He does not drive the boat, he's more like a hotel manager, he captains the people and this ship has a pilot rather than a captain. But Megid and my father and I had a long and interesting conversation one evening about his faith. Megid is a Copt -- a Coptic Christian. Very close to Greek and Russian Orthodox. The Coptic Churches I visited looked a lot like the Monasteries of Romania. The quite amazing thing to me about the Copts is that their services are conducted in an Ancient language. Like mass used to be in Latin. Only the ancient language the Copts use is not Latin, rather they speak Ancient Egyptian. When the Rosetta Stone was discovered it was the Copts who helped decipher the language, one of which was Greek, one of which was shorthand of the hieroglyphs called Demotic, and one the hieroglyphs. The Copts speak and read Demotic and were able to help archeologists read the hieroglyphs.
Megid said, as he pumped his fist, "The Copts... we are really tough." Yes, to survive all the conquering by other nations and to have the national religion change to Isalm, yes I can see that the Copts are one tough breed.

Let my people go

2009-02-04T10:57:00.003-05:00

The adjustment from Egypt is continuing to be very difficult. There are a number of reasons:
1. The change in reality:
5,000 year old pyramids to the Fake Italy.
2. The change in status:
Lounging on a barge on the Nile while men bring me drinks and say things like "My queen" to Henry telling me what he likes best about me is "I happened to you."
3. The change in pace:
Ancient time to Facebook time.
4. The change in perspective:
Everything I do seems silly in comparison to structures and sculpture that have outlasted time and weather and sand and water.

I chide myself that it is possible that the artists who carved the Colossus of Ramses II and the painter who filled in the relief of Nefertari probably had days where they said: What am I doing here? What is the point of this? Shouldn't I be home with my family or doing some great work of my own creativity instead of this small carving in the desert?

Priveleged Life

2009-02-02T09:10:00.005-05:00

Being a daughter and a girl is one of the great privileges in life. And here I am getting to be just that. I'm in the home of my father's friend and business partner Mostafa. His gracious wife Dina and his exceptional daughter Yussra hosted us and my parents friends Mary and Danilee for an amazing dinner. My expectation was that we would meet at a restaurant with Amr & Mostafa. Instead we drove through old Cairo from Zamelek Island (where we were staying) up past limestone hills into the suburbs of Cairo to Mostafa's home. When we got out of the car Amr, my father's other friend, greeted him in the traditional Egyptian men's greeting of hugs and kisses. Women greet each other this way too, if they are close friends. But Amr's delightful wife Nellie rushed to meet me and my mother and our friends and we all hugged and kissed. Nellie is a teacher in an French Language school in Cairo and once she found out that I spoke French once upon a time, she proceeded to teach my Egyptian Arabic via French.

I adore these women. What a privilege to meet such diverse personalities all sharing of their gifts in passionate ways. Dina is a doctor and is working to train women to care for themselves in order to care for their families. Yussra is looking at her master's degree square in the face and it was so exciting to be near someone who is in a growing phase of her life. And Nellie's gift for students. I asked Nellie about the people in Cairo. What did she think? Was it being a river city like Paris? Everywhere I went I saw couples holding hands, veiled women in stylish clothes with men gazing into their eyes. Young mothers with children climbing all over them while their husbands gazed at them with devotion. Is it the romance of the river? What did she think?
"It is Egypt. We are so full of passion!"
Indeed.

The one I missed the most

2009-01-27T11:33:00.002-05:00

I missed Henry's voice like crazy while I was gone. Checking in with my girlfriends and my sister this week feels like I haven't seen them in a year. Hanging out with Tim and getting that dry sense of humor tossed my way is a welcome return. But the one I missed the most was Jesus.
I loved and admired the faithfulness of the Egyptian people. The Muslims and the Coptic Christians that I spoke with are truly devoted and disciplined. There is something wonderful about hearing prayers pulsing overhead 5 times a day.
I didn't bring my bible with me on the trip but I don't know that that would have helped really. It was the face to face with grace. The words spoken about the blood and the wine, the body and the bread. The expression of the sacrifice. The poured out passion for my sin. The face of the risen Lord. The presence of Jesus felt in Word and in Church, His body. I missed His Body terribly. I missed His presence and the overflow of grace all around me, underneath me.
I wasn't without Him on my trip, He was certainly there. But along with Him and me was the dust of the Sahara, the obedience and the discipline of the covered head, the millennium of other gods carved into limestone, granite and marble. And I missed His powerful presence in the worship of His Bride.

In Shallah

2009-01-24T19:14:00.004-05:00

I am at JFK waiting my next flight, having been up since 4am Cairo time, and it is now 2am Cairo time. And, in shallah, I'll be arriving in Orlando 11pm EST.
In shallah is a phrase we were taught almost immediately on arriving in Cairo. And once you experience Cairo traffic, you'll know the weight of it. The general translation is 'God Willing' but it is more like 'as God wills it'. One of our guides used it incessently, almost every sentence and I have to say, it really feels good. In shallah, I will have work this week. In shallah, I'll be home. And in shallah, I will be posting pictures and notes taken on my trip. I traveled with a big group, and one of the sub-groups was several couples who were Chinese-Americans related through marriage I think. They played mad mah jong in the evenings and I enjoyed hearing Arabic, English and Chinese on all our tours. Anyway, one of those ladies begged me to publish the notes I was taking. And so you will get the benefit/boredom of seeing pictures and reading the notes I took throughout the trip, since she asked so sweetly.

To Egypt, Be heb Masir. I love you Egypt. I love your land, your culture, your faithfulness and the prayers in the air. I love your river and your desert and mostly I love your warm, passionate people.

Egypt

2009-01-08T21:34:00.001-05:00

The land of the Pharaohs. The land of Moses.
A place we are not to return to. A place we are to seek refuge in. A place I will be for the next few weeks.
See you on the other side of the Nile.

Finally

2009-01-01T00:03:00.001-05:00

Thank goodness that's over.

Welcome Christmas

2008-12-25T09:36:00.003-05:00

For Unto us a Child is born
Isaiah 9:6

The Word became Flesh and made his dwelling among us.We have seen have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only,
John 1:14

It was a neighbor, glory,
and all the things that god changes with you.
Henry Bass

Moment Before

2008-12-24T09:16:00.010-05:00

The advent of our Lord is the most exciting day to me. More exciting than Christmas day which becomes about us and our giving of presents and eating of delicious foods and of looking at our loved ones in jammies. And I enjoy that day too, but it's not much about Him. Christmas Eve is all about Him.
The advent of our Lord is near, it is here! See Him riding on the clouds! See Him coming to gather up His Bride! See the name emblazoned on His thigh, so holy is that name that we won't know it, can't handle it until that day! See the manger in the Babe, a greater sacrifice to me than even the sacrifice of the cross.

Before you cry sacrilege, think of the moment before. The moment before is a unique thought of actor/artists. We think of the moment before and what happened in that moment which then compels us to say whatever it is the playwright has given us to say. And the moment before the conception of the Holy Child is the most compelling. Once conceived death is inevitable. We all get to die, so it is the choosing to live that is most compelling.

The choosing to limit His might and squeeze His Holy matter into the tiny atoms of conception; it is the moment before that is in His power. Once He chooses, Our Lord has placed Himself into our hands. Into the hands of Joseph who drew Him out and lifted Him into the world as a newborn. Into the hands of His disciples. Into the hands of Pilate. Into the hands of the mob. Into the hands of the soldiers. And finally into the Hands of the Father.

Hallelujah! Christ our Lord is sacrificed for us.
Therefore let us keep the Feast. Hallelujah.

Our Daily Exercise

2008-12-23T10:43:00.004-05:00

Saint Bernard declared there are here three miracles: that God and man should be joined in this Child; that a mother should remain a virgin; that Mary should have such faith as to believe that this mystery would be accomplished in her. The last is not the least of the three.
Had she not believed, she could not have conceived. She held fast to the word of the angel because she had become a new creature.

This is the word of the prophet: "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given" (Isa. 9:6) This is for us the hardest point, not so much to believe that he is the son of the virgin and God himself as to believe that this Son of God is ours.

God feeds the whole world through a Babe nursing at Mary's breast. This must be our daily exercise: to be transformed into Christ, being nourished by this food. Then will the heart be suffused with all joy and will be strong and confident against every assualt.

by Martin Luther from 'Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus; Experiencing the Peace and Promise of Christmas' by Nancy Guthrie

Traditions

2008-12-23T10:39:00.001-05:00

Cleaning my house and watching the traditional holiday movies I love:
The Holiday
The Family Stone
Elf
I Am Legend
Walk the Line
Children of Men

You know, the usual...

baby boy born

2008-12-22T12:36:00.003-05:00

I can see the King of Glory, I can see the Glory of the King.

I can see Him
the King of Glory
in the small boy who
nestled in my arms on Christmas Eve
a stranger to him, I was and am,
but dressed in shiny costumes on a shiny stage
he was safe to rest his tearful head
on my taffeta shoulder
waiting for his father to scoop
him up.
I can see His essence,
the Glory of the King
in and through
the autism laced ideas
that come from my own
young boy.
Perhaps more clearly I see the
Glory of Christ the baby boy
in the random sentences and phrases
that have no rest stops in guilt or
manipulation or pride.
The purity of autism is in
the streamlining

of sinful behavior that cannot be covered
of praise to God that cannot be contained.

is Born

2008-12-21T10:50:00.002-05:00

He Comes
by Alice Bass

wood
straw
stone
water
blood
dust

crying, sighing,
pushing, sobbing,
breathing

he lives.

wood
straw
stone
water
blood
dust

crying, sighing
pushing, sobbing
dying

He lives.

Stable lamp

2008-12-18T13:21:00.001-05:00

It's like I can't live without this poem. I need it every year.

A Christmas Hymn
by Richard Wilbur

A stable-lamp is lighted
Whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
And straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven,
A stall become a shrine.

This child through David’s city
Shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
Though heavy, dull, and dumb,
And lie within the roadway
To pave his kingdom come.

Yet he shall be forsaken,
And yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
For stony hearts of men:
God’s blood upon the spearhead,
God’s love refused again.

But now, as at the ending,
The low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
In praises of the child
By whose descent among us
The worlds are reconciled.

Nazareth trekking

2008-12-17T20:17:00.003-05:00

From The World on NPR. Take the road with this journalist who is trekking by donkey from Nazareth to Bethlehem.

A Child

2008-12-17T10:31:00.002-05:00

I am enjoying meditations on 'A Child' for this week of Advent. It is better said by many, but the glory is not only God with us, but God limiting himself into the smallest of things - a child. The most vulnerable, 'hold his neck, so his head is supported' -- a child. The all knowing into the always growing -- a child.

I read this at our first Orlando Arena Christmas Eve Service for Northland and I'm enjoying it today:

This Tiny Baby
by Madeleine L’Engle

Whoever is the baby?
Nothing but a little lamb
who says God is and that I am.

Who is this tiny baby?
Just an infant, meek and mild,
just a feeble, mortal child.

Who is this tiny baby?
The Lord strong and mighty
even the Lord might in battle

The king of glory’s coming
who is this
even the Lord of Hosts
This is the tiny baby!

Enjoying Advent Week 3

2008-12-15T09:48:00.002-05:00

This week the 3 candles on the advent wreath glow purple for royalty. The evergreens wind together in a never ending circle to remind us of the great mystery of faith: that His kingdom has come, as a baby in a manger, that His kingdom is here, through His spirit, and His kingdom will come, when Christ returns as king.

My Child

2008-12-14T13:11:00.006-05:00

Well, our tremendous teacher and Children's leader, E.T. came up with the way to honor Henry, allow him to use his gifts and bless our congregation. She invited Henry to read what he had written to the children during rehearsal. There are over 250 children in the program, so that's plenty big an audience. And she introduced him by saying, "Boys and Girls, Henry has written something for you as a blessing before you perform so I'm going to ask him to read it now." Then he joined her at the microphone. I used a camera and captured the event...with no sound. So we'll put it together with Henry doing the voiceover! Then you can see the Entertainment Savant in action.
But here is Happy Henry with his teacher and with Dr. Joel Hunter. I love that Dr. Joel serves kings and presidents and Henrys too.

Week Three: A Child

2008-12-14T13:05:00.002-05:00

Luke 2:22 - 35
When the time of their purification according to the Law of Moses had been completed, Joseph and Mary took him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, "Every firstborn male is to be consecrated to the Lord"), and to offer a sacrifice in keeping with what is said in the Law of the Lord: "a pair of doves or two young pigeons."

Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord's Christ. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying:
"Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel."

The child's father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too."

Lord, in your mercy...hear my prayer

2008-12-11T20:53:00.006-05:00

Where do I begin? I rarely ask advice on my blog, because it's more of a tell-all than a Q & A. But seriously, what will I do?
I blogged about Henry's desire to be in the Kids Concert this year and the lengthy discussion we had about how he was not given a speaking part and that he could sing in the choir this year. He said yes to all of that.
And yet, he kept saying "December 12 -- that's when it all begins." Just what would be beginning?
Well, this evening he presented me with a script. That he typed himself. Then printed up and handed to me. A script for himself to perform. On the microphone. At the concert.
Here is the script, exactly as he typed it with the punctuation and the capitals and what is not capitalized:
>>>>
And now… I would like to share my favorite verse. Kings of kings and all of lords. It was a neighbor, glory, and all the things that god changes with you. So this is my personal Christmas wish for you. Something that can make baby Jesus birthday.
If you will have Santa Claus… you're the Hanukkah. Amen.
Kings of kingdoms December 12, 2008

He added the King of kingdoms December 12, 2008 when I asked him if he wanted me to post this lovely piece on Mommy's website. I alternate between awe-filled joy and guffawing laughs. Really, you're the Hanukkah. For Shizzle.
But as usual, it is overwhelming and inspiring to see how his brain works and to hear his deepest thoughts. And there are some extremely deep thoughts in there. Read the opening of the Gospel of John about the Word dwelling among us and becoming flesh and you'll see something close to 'It was a neighbor, glory, and all the things that god changes with you.'

So what exactly will happen tomorrow night?! Should I warn the Children's ministry leaders? Certainly I should tell his helper, the leader of the Disability Ministry, about his plans. I continue to tell him that he won't be performing a self-written opening monologue. But should I use my insider knowledge and ask a favor of Mr. Steve to let Henry use the stage after the program and speak into a microphone while Mr. Steve is striking the stage? Should I just do nothing? What is best for him? and for the other kids? and for Northland? Just what in the world am I to do?!
I guess I'll just be the Hanukkah. Amen.

It Happened, unto us, One Night

2008-12-11T12:10:00.005-05:00

Luke 2:15-18 (New International Version)

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child,and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.

I love the shepherds and their journey. 'Told us about'. What a magnificent statement that is -- the Lord told us. How often does that happen to you? How often do I long for it?

...White Christmas...tree?

2008-12-11T08:50:00.007-05:00

In teaching Henry that he does not get to choose every single thing given to him, we felt it right to give him some choices, including a more mature choice.Tim and I were going round and round on the decision about a Christmas tree for this year – artificial or real? We had an artificial tree last year but in a cat fight (the cat won, the tree lost) it disintegrated.Should we get an artificial that we know we’ll have if we can’t afford a real one next year?Or should we get the real one because that’s what I love to have? Tim came up with the brilliant idea of giving Henry the power to make that choice.I have to say we were quite proud of ourselves.
And then I got the call from Target.
Apparently after they went in through the Nursery and Tim showed him the real tree in our price range, they went towards the artificial trees. Before Tim could show Henry the artificial tree that we had chosen as the second choice, Henry was standing in front of a 6 foot, pre-lit White tree.
“This one!”
Well, no, not a white one.You can choose tree a.) or tree b.) But not...
“This one!"
And so, because we told him he could choose, we now have a white tree. Pre-lit. With yellow, pink, red, green, and blue lights. At first I hated it. The gaudy with a capital G was making me slightly nauseous. My country Christmas ornaments didn’t suit it at all and I was disappointed. He is so proud and so happy with his decision. He loves it.He loves, loves, loves his tree.And so it is growing on me.

I’m Dreaming of a…

2008-12-10T09:10:00.005-05:00

The gift of Autism is in seeing the brain in its most elemental state. In relationship to God, we are autistic. Unaware of the reality around us, hyper focused on spinning objects, and unsure of where we begin and where others end. This process of teaching Henry to know who he is and what he wants is so clearly the story of God teaching me who I am and what I want. My problem is that I’m not autistic enough. If I were, I wouldn’t be confused about the reality that I really don’t know what I want.

In autism, we got to teach Henry that he was an autonomous being who wanted something. This was information he did not absorb as most children do (have you seen the 2 & 3 year olds unaware that anyone but they & their need exist?) So we worked and worked on Henry saying ‘Me’ and ‘want’. We worked and worked on getting him to ask for what he wanted ‘chicken nuggets,’ or ‘Simpson’s DVD.’ This is where the writing of the Christmas List came in handy. For the last 3 years we insisted he write a Christmas List. And this year, he started writing his Christmas List sometime after his birthday last March. And he’s started insisting that if he asks for it, he gets it. Immediately. Which in Phase 1 of this teaching ‘who you are and what you want’ was excellent.

In Phase 2 of ‘who you are and what you want’ we must teach him that you don’t always get exactly what you ask for. Because it turns out you don’t need $500 worth of DVDs. It turns out that having a Jeopardy gameboy, Jeopardy DVD game, Jeopardy Computer game, or Jeopardy Xbox is really not much different than just watching Jeopardy or playing the card game. So you aren’t going to get more than the Jeopardy DVD game you got 2 years ago. And this will cause some tears and some confusion. But we will go broke buying every item on every list. And Henry will be no happier or full. He does not need everything he asks for, and more than that, he doesn’t actually want it all.

Phase 3 of ‘who you are and what you want’ collides with Phase 2 a bit during Christmas. In Phase 3 we give Henry things that we want to give him rather than just things he's asked for on a list. We encourage his grandparents and his many Aunties to give him things that mean something to them and that they hope will mean something to him. This is a risk, because the gift was not specifically asked for, but given from the heart of one person to another, it may surprise him how much he enjoys a gift that he did not know he wanted.

In the micro story, I see this all the time in my life. This job, this coffee table, this pair of shoes that I insisted I wanted, then when I didn’t get exactly what I asked for, there are tears and threats to God. And invariably, I forget whatever was so desperately important and move on to discover what is actually being given. Often what is given is more challenging and more beautiful than the simple thing I said I wanted.

In the macro story, I see this in our relationship to Christ. This is not the god we would ask for. If we could make up a god he’d look more like Buddha or Karma. Things we think we want. But the gift God chose for us is God with Us, Immanuel, Christ our Lord. He is the gift we actually want, deeply crave and desperately need. He is more challenging and beautiful than we could ever imagine.