Stress And Pain Management According To Me

 

  On Tuesday of this week, Lisa the nurse , poked her head into the room where I was getting sewed up…”What is going on in here?” She said…”I can hear you guys laughing all the  way down the hall.  I thought you were in here getting sewed up for a laceration.”  (I was)  The Doctor, nurse, my daughter Rebekah and I were all laughing our  bu**’s off @ this point.

     99.9% of the people who read my stuff have never met me in person.  What they  probably don’t know about me is I have a  wicked sense of humor, and it comes out of me at the darnest times.    This week I had to go in for some stitches.    I won’t gore you with the details…, if you want, drop me a note and I can e-mail you a picture of the wound..it is pretty cool. 

    When I go back and reread some of my stuff on the blog, I think to myself…I sound so serious most of the time…..  I think that is why I will occassionlly throw in a reading from Robert Fulghum        

      MM told me again yesterday one of the qualities she loves about me is my sense of humor.

      I’ll close with this story…you may have seen it before:     

         ATTITUDE IS EVERYTHING
By Francie Baltazar-Schwartz

 Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, “If I were any better, I would be twins!”

 He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.

 Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, “I don’t get it! You can’t be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?” Jerry replied, “Each morning I wake up and say to myself, ‘Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood.’ I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.”

 ”Yeah, right, it’s not that easy,” I protested. “Yes it is,” Jerry said. “Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It’s your choice how you live life.”

 I reflected on what Jerry said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.

 Several years later, I heard that Jerry did something you are never supposed to do in a restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers. While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center.

 After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body. I saw Jerry about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied, “If I were any better, I’d be twins. Wanna see my scars?”

 I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place. “The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door,” Jerry replied. “Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live, or I could choose to die. I chose to live. “Weren’t you scared? Did you lose consciousness?,” I asked. Jerry continued, “The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read, ‘He’s a dead man.” I knew I needed to take action.”

 ”What did you do?” I asked. “Well, there was a big, burly nurse shouting questions at me,” said Jerry. “She asked if I was allergic to anything. ‘Yes,’ I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, ‘Bullets!’ Over their laughter, I told them, ‘I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.’”

 Jerry lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully. Attitude, after all, is everything.

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    As always, thanks for reading and leaving a comment if you’re so inclined.  DM

The Night The Dam Burst (or living my life without a mask)

   I can still remember the night the  dam burst, the night I said what I was really thinking.  I was 20, the kind of guy you could  bring home to  mama,  and as phony as a $3.00 bill.  I was a relational chameleon.

         M and I had been dating for 4 months and I sensed her starting to withdraw   (just like 4 other girls before her.) 

       We were sitting on an  old stuffed coach in my bachelor’s apartment…she talked of moving to out of town, not really sure what she’d do or where she’d work,  but was feeling restless. It  was @ this point,  something inside of me started gushing…. out of my mouth came  my frustrations, my confusion, my sense of insecurity.  There I was telling her what I was really  thinking, and it was exhilarating

      Charles Swindol wrote a book called  “Dropping Your Guard”   where he talks about the value and power of  authentic relationships, living life transparently, without masks.  That book changed my life.

     I read a post by Sanityfound   this week where she talks honestly about her choice to live life with child like abandon.  Don’t let her sometimes silly come backs throw you…she is articulate,  wise beyond her years (suffering will do that to you ),  reading that post  gives me insight into why she does what she does…it’s an intentional choice.. In my life, different issue, same result…once I tasted the freedom and power of living life without a mask, there was no way I was going back. 

      I loath  (I know that ‘s a strong word but it is how I feel), I loath mask wearing and pretense…give me an honest respectful  conversation any day.

     One of the highlights of this past year blogging is I have met  people who have  taken off their masks with me.  They may still chose to remain “anonymous”  to the public at large,  but with me , they have pulled back the curtain of their lives and we’ve  connected on a deeper level.   They know the real me and still  they  are willing to call me their friend.

      I know some of the reasons why I wore a mask.. (low self esteem, past hurts, feels safer to wear mask than risk even more hurt, bla bla bla)..but do you know the price tag we pay  for doing that?… a lonely life, because  nobody knows the real you.  you would be amazed at the number of people who will love you anyway..and Christians by the way are some of the biggest mask wearers there are…we think we have to be this perfect person in order to effectively represent the God we profess to follow…when in fact,  our life is a joke. 

    Thoughts, questions comments?

Thoughts While I walked

    

       While they are still fresh , I wanted to post  the thoughts I had while walking last week.

      I’ve never done anything remotely like this before (walk an average of 13.6 miles in 6 days)   I’m not even a “walker.” if I intentionally walk 1/2 a mile a  week I’d be surprised. one of the reoccurring thoughts I had was…”Can my  body do this w/o any training?”   It would have been one thing to have tried and failed  (and no body but my family would have ever know), but I’d  submitted a story idea  to the Cedar Rapids Gazette of me retracing Old Military Road on foot and they  opted to run it  before  the walk (instead of after which I thought would be the case), so I had alot of people watching my walk unfold. 

    (side note,  I’d had a brief conversation @ Applejam w/ someone who’d told me, they’d walked 10 miles one time non stop and ruined their feet for life)..so yea, there was a little pressure. 

     Fortunately, Chuck and  Karen heard about my walk (They are both long distance runners)  they  suggested investing in some good running shoes instead of me using my work boots  (which I did) and here’s one of the amazing things….I never got a blister, never got stiff (even the next mornings)…only time I felt any physical ache was on day 3 as I came into Anamosa down a long hill…the back of my leg muscles were getting pulled, but that was at the end of 15.2 miles, on a steep grade)…so God definitely blessed me physically this week.

    I  found myself thinking about these boys as I walked.  82 miles is nothing in comparison

    Repeatedly, I thought to myself how thankful I was for my wife’s support.   She did lots of behind the scene work every day, plus the last 2 days drove the car so our  photographer  wouldn’t get in a car accident while trying to take photos of me.

      I “listened” to my body and heart every day….what was it trying to say?  I started out with a walking stick, but got rid of it on day 3.  I  started out with a back pack w/ a water bladder but got rid of that too.  You hear stories of people coming west on wagon trains, discarding furniture, and family heirlooms, in order to travel light…they were  forced to strip down to the bare essentials, and in my case, my focus went from savoring history to focusing on whether or not I could  physically complete the trip.

      As I approached Langworthy, my mind did go to the account of they young family that lost their lives in a blizzard on that stretch of road in 1856-57  I thought of the panic that must have swept over Mr Wade as he realized his wife and child were in danger…I was walking on the same road where this tragic event unfolded..there was a somber quietness in my heart that morning.

Ubuntu

    Erin  had just finished a three week whirl wind cross country tour as a musician from New York to Seattle.   She’d stayed with us for two days a week previous.  Now she was headed back home in her car with another friend and was hoping to stop here for the night.  After 15 hours on the road, they finally pulled into our driveway after dodging, tornadoes, closed roads, and flash flooding.   I met her in the driveway in my bare feet, she gave me the biggest hug….she was safe.

        I felt like a mother hen watching anxiously for her chick.  Erin was the 5th musician who stayed with us this Summer, two of them told us how peaceful and safe our home felt.  We  own a small bed and breakfast- if it’s not for the money, why would you open your home and life to complete strangers?

    Ubuntu perhaps?

     I saw this cross stitch in an antique shop last year and had to have it.  It spoke to my heart:

  Sanity Found wrote me this week,  suggested I possessed the  qualities  embodied in the word Ubuntu, (qualities like trust, caring, respect, hospitality, and helpfulness to name just a few.   if I liked, could put the Ubuntu  logo on my blog  and write a post on it.

 

 

 

     

      Read  this post to  understand Ubuntu in it’s original context.       As I understand it,   it is not  a set of principles or rules ,  rather it is who you really are at the core of your being.   To be told that you embody Ubuntu is one of the highest affirmations anyone can say to you….WOW.

     For me, it can feel like a wave or a pressure welling up inside of me,   the spirit of God stirring me up to be his hands, his voice, his channel  to others.  If I do have what Africans call Ubuntu, then I’ve been blessed with a wife who also has it.  

    To those of you that said I might possess Ubuntu at least in some measure…thank you- it is one of the most significant things anyone has ever said to me- I’ve been savoring it  all week. 

    I’ll close with the rest of the poem:

The House by the Side of the Road
by Sam Walter Foss

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
in a fellowship firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran—-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,

Where the race of men go by–
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I,
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban—-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,

By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears,
Both part of an infinite plan—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead

And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road—

It’s here the race of men go by.
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish—so am I;
Then why should I sit in the scorners seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Meet: My Friend Amber

I first met Amber over at Lindsey’s blog      

   She is someone you definitely want in your corner….she loves others with an intensity that is rare and contagious…I invited her to stop by the blog and tell you a little more about herself..here she is in her own words:

The music of my life..

Thank you DM for asking me to be a guest writer on your blog.  Seeing the other people you have chosen, I feel quite honored to be amongst those asked.  Your blog is always so uplifting and I am always interested to hear your thoughts.  Thank you for this opportunity to share this inner part of myself with your readers.

 

When DM asked me to write about something I was passionate about, several things came to my mind.  But really Music is as necessary to me as the air I breathe in my lungs and my way to communicate with my inner soul and to God.  I can think of nothing more passionate than that.

 

I have been singing since I was a child.  No one else in my family was particularly musical or had any talent of note, so really I have no idea where it came from.  My mother tells me that instead of a doll, I used to carry around an old music book that my older brother fished out of the trash at school.  Even then the shapes of the notes fascinated me, and I needed to know every song in the book.

 

As I grew, I was in all of the choirs at school.  The teachers always put me out front because of my “big voice”.  I also had stage presence apparently and I had parents tell me that I simply “stood out” in the sea of faces singing in the choir.  I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not. 

 

My mother always encouraged me and my love of music.  My father did too when I was young.  I got my first piano when I was 5.  Unfortunately, with the divorce of my parents it was lost to me.  Still, my mother always had music playing in the car, and we would play music memory games.  I always won unless my mother brought out an old song from her childhood.  I still have a very uncanny mnemonic memory that freaks people out.  I can sing back a song to you perfectly having only heard it a couple of times.  I also remember all of the words to every song I have ever learned.  Don’t play “Don’t forget the Lyrics” or “Name that tune” with me.

 

When I was about 10, my mother met my “Auntie” Lou.  She had been a big band singer and toured with all of the jazz greats.  My mother asked her to listen to me to see if I had any talent.  She did have a listen and decided to give me some singing lessons to make the most of my voice.  Auntie Lou is a larger than life character.  She can drink and swear with the best of them, all looking oh so glamorous doing it.  She decided when  I was 12 that I needed to get “Mic exposure”.  That meant taking me to places in public to sing.  So at the tender age of 12 I was taken around to open mic nights in bars to sing.   Mind  you, even back then I had the body of a 25 year old woman so no one ever batted an eye.  It was fun and definitely an interesting experience for such a young person.

 

One of my best girlfriends in the world and I met at this time in my life.  We were around 11.  She’s blond and blue eyed, and I am dark.  What a contrast.  She too loved to sing and often we’d practice together.  The blending of our voices was really a gift that neither one of us appreciated until we were grown.  We used to sing at her church together, and I learned to love gospel music, and that was really the type of music that suited my “big voice”. I felt so connected to God when I sang, it made it all that much better.  It laid a foundation that is still strong in my life today.

 

In my teens I continued with choir at school, and the teachers and my mother were pushing me towards a career in music.  I seriously considered it when I went to college.  I had a boyfriend who was very interested in me hitting it big.  He too liked to drag me around to bars to sing and I did a few “gigs”.  But my personality needed more stability than that of a musician.  I wanted to be able to count on a career.  As much as music is in my soul, the life of a musician is not.

 

After college, I moved to the UK and got married.  My career took off and I really stopped singing for a long time.  A lot of that had to due with the unhappiness in my life and marriage in addition to the crazy schedule I demanded of myself. 

 

That changed after I became sick.  I reconnected to my inner soul and of course with my music.  Music really is the theme of my life.  Every single event in my life can be described by a song.  My music helped me to get back to God, and to feel the inner peace of that relationship.  I sing when I’m happy, I listen to music when I am troubled.  Much of it revolves around life, people and God. Sometimes the songs have questions, sometimes they have answers.  It depends on what I need to hear that day or moment.

 

I now sing around the house.  I sing for friends occasionally.  I sing for God.  I have been thinking about making a CD for a while.  Its on my to do list.  Someday…

 

Thanks for reading.

You can read more from Amber here : http://ambermoon.wordpress.com/

 

 

I Am Home

I’m home

6 days

81.8 miles

172,763 steps later.

Here are 5 photos of my last 6 days walking in the footsteps of Lyman Dillon and Old Military Road from Iowa City to Dubuque….

Sunrise North of Solon on day 2

Picture of my footsteps looking back near Langworthy

Looking back at our house as I leave for Cascade.

\

Walking in the drizzle on day 6

Mrs DM and I at the end of the road

Here are just a few highlights of the trip.

While I am on my feet all day at work, I am not a “walker”, and yet, I did not get any blisters, my feet never hurt,  only  felt  stiff at the end of day 3 as I was coming down a long hill into Anamosa.

I woke up refreshed every morning , 4 of the nights I stayed  in homes of people I didn’t (or barely) knew.

It rained 2 of the 6 days, which only added to my sense of being on an  adventure.

A couple of  you mused there  would be a spiritual component to this adventure and there definitely was.  I’ll probably write more about that later.

My next goal (after writing thank you’s) is to contact the people I met in each town and work on my book “On The Trail Of Lyman Dillon“

When I’ve mentioned writing a book,  I’ve  encountered a few  “Oh sure you are” looks.    What the nay sayers don’t know is I already have 2 books in print.  I realize I probably sound a little testy  as I write this, but I have very little time for negative, pessimistic, people.

Here’s  a quote by Theodore Roosevelt which  comes to mind when I meet a nay sayer :

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how  strong man

stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them  better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

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I know some of you were praying , thinking of me , and sending happy thoughts my way  this week while I was on the road.   Thank you thank you!!!!

Questions,  comments,   thoughts?

Day 5 Of My Walk Through History

Photo of me talking with a 9th grade history class on Tuesday

     I haven’t posted for a spell,  I miss interacting with all of you…it has been a full couple of weeks.  Thank you all who took the time to make a guest appearance on the blog…I still have 1 more in cue, probably going to wait until after I get back home to post it. 

     If you are a regular reader, you may or may not know I am in the middle of a 6 day walk.  The route took me right through our home town so last night I got to sleep in my own bed.  I have 2 big days ahead of me..14.6 miles today and 16.8 on Saturday, (and they are calling for rain again…imagine that.) 

    The photo above was of me speaking to a class of 9th graders in a local town.  It just so happened they were studying Old Military Road in class (the same road I am retracing), so I fit right in.   I have made so many memories already.

   I wanted to wish a blogging friend happy birthday while I have a second in front of the computer.  Hope she has a great day!!!!!  I’ve also been thinking of another blogger who is due any day now….be sure and call me on my cell phone if anything happens OK?     Finally, I’m still missing this blogger a lot.  She and her son were with us the better part of 4 days right before I took off.    check out this post she wrote after getting home.  I noticed she also has a butt load of photos from their time here on her flickr photos on the left side of her home page…if you want to see a sliver of our lives through her photo lens, it would be worth scrolling through her pictures…I especially love the rooster.

    Well, it’s about time to get up (I’m writing this @ 3:27 in the morning my time).  You all don’t have too much fun without me OK?   DM

     

Meet: Sharon My Friend From Nigeria

   Sharon is my next guest on the blog.  I will never forget how Sharon’s first comment to me…..she said she’d seen my face around WordPress and many of my posts spoke to her heart…(ie heart to heart).  She couldn’t have said a more meaningful thing to me personally.  Sharon hails from Nigeria….let’s give her a big blog welcome

This is the first time I’m being a guest blogger anywhere and there’s no better place to debut than DM’s Heart to Heart. He suggested a few questions for me to answer and one of them was what I’m passionate about.

First of, my name is Sharon. I am 26++ and I live in Jos, Nigeria. I love to travel to strange places (strange to me). Although I grew up in the country, I went to school for 8 years in different cities in Nigeria and visited quite a few around the world, but I still can’t decide if I’m a city slicker or a country cousin. I love the hustle and bustle of the city – the RUSHHHh. But I need the miles and miles of grass, hills, steams and dales like I need air. I am an MK/TCK. And no that is not russian it’s english and it means ‘Missioary Kid’ and ‘Third Culture Kid’. I explained that somewhere in my blog so I won’t get into that right now. But I suppose it explains a lot about who I am.

I am passionate about a lot of stuff, but if I am restricted to just one, I’d reply without even thinking about it – writing. I love to write. I scribble anywhere I can find scribbling space. When I was little I even wrote on the walls at home! My mum took care of that of course. I started to keeping a journal when I was 12 and before that I had written about half a dozen short stories in long hand. Sometime last year, I went through a tough time which resulted in the break up of my four year long relationship with my ex. When that happened, that thing inside me which almost compelled me to write dried up. I stopped journaling and I could not even send emails. I tried several times and I just could not write! I could not believe it…I ALWAYS wrote – when I was sad, when I was happy; when I excited, when I was down; I would write. That was a dark period of my life; it was then I realized how essential writing was to my emotional DNA.

I’ve always wanted to write a novel and one of these days I will. I want to write a saga, an adventure, and a love story all rolled in one. That to me, would be the highest peak of my life, to see my words in print and my name on the cover…sigh. I think I’m good, at least my fiance can’t wait to read what I write; then again, he is so biased.

Which brings me to another question DM asked: How I met my fiance. That is a curious one. I had barely come out of the dark period mentioned above and had moved to a new city to get my life back in perspective. I swore I was not going to date again; I wasn’t even going to get involved with people. Period. Then one lonely evening, my phone rang. I checked the caller ID and it was not a number I knew. Curious, I answered it anyway and heard this guy ask, “Hello, is this Sharon?” Apparently, my best male friend (BMF) in another city, gave him my number and told him to check on me since I was a stranger in a new city. This in itself was a shocker because this BMF is very protective of me. Anyway we arranged to meet. On the first date, we discovered that both our parents were old family friends who had somehow lost touch. It was crazy. One thing which was crazier though, was that after the date, I took a pen and filled my journal. When I looked at what I had written, this is what I saw ‘Today I met my husband…’ I stared at it and wondered how it got there, I did not remember even thinking it. Strange. But I guess what the head refused to acknowledge, the heart already knew. It was not love at first sight, uh uh, but I just knew I had finally found ‘the one’. One year, four months later, I am even more convinced that he is truly the one that was meant for me. He is strong and gentle – which I need because I’m also strong. My mum has another name for it; Mule-headed. Oh well…

One of the best things to happen to me is blogging. I started blogging to get back my desire to write. And it has been an amazing journey. I’ve met and made so many friends and each of them have been blessings in their own ways. I want to thank DM for giving me this opportunity…it’s been remarkable!

You can catch Sharon on her blog here: http://thereservoir.wordpress.com/

Meet: Lindsey

Lindsey is my next guest.  I don’t know her quite as well as some of my other guests..but she is one of those people  I am drawn to (tattoos/ died hair/ chains/ motorcycles/piercings)…:-)  not saying Lindsey wears chains or has tattoos but I’m thinking  she might have @ one point :-)  The first time I read one of her posts I thought to myself…boy that woman is articulate…I like the way she wrestles with hard questions and isn’t afraid of not having everything fit into  nice tidy boxes….put your hands together and give a big blog welcome to Lindsey :

My favorite passage of the Bible is one of the least quoted ones.  In fact, it comes from a book whose existence I didn’t know of until I was thirteen and decided to read the Bible cover to cover for the first time.  This wouldn’t be that interesting of trivia if it weren’t for the fact that my father was a pastor- so familiarity with the Bible was a given.  Even so- I wasn’t aware of the fact that there was more than one book of John and the book of 1st John knocked my socks off.  1st John 4 quickly knocked my socks off. It talks about love, love, love, and love was part of faith in God that I just hadn’t really considered.  My father has a brash personality described in Evangelical circles as “prophetic”, which may be better described as harsh and sometimes coldly judgmental.  Not that my father is a bad man, and not that he wasn’t fully loving- he was a stay at home dad for part of my childhood.  No, it was simply my own misunderstanding of faith based of off fairly common perceptions of church.  Most sermons preach “against” something, rather than praising the good in people.  Most people fixate and pick at the things that our wrong in people’s lives.  We like to tell others to pick at their own logs rather than our specks when it’s us under the microscope, but even so faith seems to go hand in hand with pick, pick, pick.

Suddenly, at age thirteen, I had a revelation.  God was love.  Love was necessary to true Christianity.

I quickly swept it under the carpet and forgot about it.  It stayed in the back of my mind, and honestly it worked to embitter me.  Again and again I came up against judgment in my life.  Again and again I questioned why these people who claimed to love God so very much seemed to be missing the picture.

One of my Top 50 movies is SLC Punk, which is notable in the context of getting to know me just because it leads into another altar of remembrance.  When I was seventeen I watched it at my brother’s house. There were entire sections of dialog I listened to with bated breath.  I already knew that the punks and rejects of the world were “my people”, so I can’t say that watching the movie led to a revelation that way.  No, it was at the end, where Matthew Lillard’s character walked down the street in suit and tie to the monologue about ceasing to rage against the machine and changing it from the inside.  For the first time in my life I tried looking at myself not as a reject, not as a pink-haired teary-eyed freak, but as a part of the machine.  I asked myself if perhaps I couldn’t make a home for myself in the church, and try to change the way it related to my ilk by being there and being a good example.

I was still a teen, so I answered myself, “no.”

A few years later I was married and now officially a tattooed pink-haired heavily mascaraed freak.  I’d stopped attending church regularly after I’d been a regular face at my parent’s church for nine months, only to have one of my parent’s friends (who had been introduced to me several times) come up and ask me if I was a first time guest.  That compounded the feeling of being outside of the circle that I’d gotten my first time at the church, when a pastor received a “word” for a bright haired young girl who was sitting in the back and feeling depressed.  Despite the fact that the word was probably one I needed to hear (that I was a cherished princess of The Kingdom) the fact that I was called out in a crowd of several hundred made me feel a little ill.  Contrary to the impression people get from reading my writing, I’m actually an incredibly socially awkward introvert.  Having everyone in the room turn around to stare at you, some of them brushing back tears, isn’t a hearty welcome for me.  Especially when some of those crying women didn’t even remember me the next week.  The comes the next altar.  My husband and I move to a new state, and we have dinner with his old pastor- who happens to be the brand new pastor of the church my father started preaching at, the church that had always felt like my “home” church.  Something told me we should go on a Sunday morning, so I did.  And I cried during the worship.  I don’t know why, I just did.  And for whatever reason, an elderly woman I remembered from my childhood came up to me after the service and told me I looked like an angel to her- and she repeated the much hated word from years previous, that I was a cherished princess of the Kingdom.

Suddenly everything seemed to converge- 1st John 4, SLC Punk, and Princess Me.  I was home, and I vowed to stay there.  Which is how I became a youth pastor- but that’s a story for another day.

Hope this is what you were hoping for!

~

Lindsey 

Altars of Remembrance:  throughout the old Testament we see the people of Israel building altars to God in those places that marked important moments in their journey to the promised land.  Here I will mark out some of my own spiritual altars of remembrance- not all of them, just a few of the ones that deserve the most honor.

You can read more from LIndsey @ http://emphaticasterisk.com/

Meet: Sanity Found :-)

Sanityfound hails from South Africa.  I first “bumped” into her over on Amber’s blog   Don’t let this picture of her four arms scare you..she  had 2 of them surgically removed this past year so she’s  someone you would feel comfortable walking in the mall with.   She’s full of creative energy, a VERY tender heart and  here she is in her own words:

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Thanks DM for giving me the honour of doing a guest post on your blog, I am truly humbled and words fail me.  As you know that mere fact is a miracle, I am one with many words especially when excited!

Who is SanityFound? I am a mystery to most and the truth is that no one has ever guessed my age right so I’m not about to give that game away. As you can see from the photo I am a bit of a strange one with four arms, over sized heart, wicked laugh and twinkles in my eye.  For me life is for living, experiencing, growing and loving.

Do you have a camera? Any old camera, it doesn’t have to be one of those fancy ones that break your back when you lift it, point-and-shoot, even a cellphone/mobile will do.  When you lift it up to your eye you see what the lens before you sees.  Hold it up to your eye long enough and you will start to notice things that you wouldn’t have seen otherwise. 

The world comes alive, colours seem brighter, fresher, more real.  If you look at the grass you will see the definition in the blades of grass, you will see the colours and the little hairs on the backs.  Before it was just a green grass, now it is individually defined, now it is angles, colours and beauty.  Flowers are the same, look at a flower through the lens of a camera and you will notice the little speckles of pollen, again the colours will seem brighter and the shape of the petals really jump out at you.  You will see. 

This of course is all dependant on the lens of the camera being clean.  I once whipped out my camera for a nice landscape shot and the day suddenly became very cloudy.  I made statements to that effect with the one eye through the viewfinder and the other squeezed shut.  Yes, the day was a wonderfully sunny one and needless to say I don’t live that one down too easily.

When we look through the camera lens in life, what do you see? Do you stop to look through it every now and then or do you go through life not stopping to have a quick peek at the beauty before your eyes?

Do you stop to smell that daisy on the side of the road (that a dog has not spotted of course) or that rose in the neighbours garden? Do you just sit in the chair holding that fresh cup of coffee beneath your nose breathing in its rich aroma? Do you ever stop to breathe it all in?

Leave our lens sitting long enough it has a tendency to become just another dust collector.  The lens gets dusty and scratched, mists over and obstructs our view to the real world, to the 3D world that we forget is there.

Stop, breathe, smell, see, live, love, laugh, give and experience life

You can read more from Sanity found  at : http://sanityfound.wordpress.com/