The Power of Words

Over the weekend I heard words in more languages than I've ever heard in one place before. Words were spoken in Swahili, Navaho, Spanish, Hebrew, Russian, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese and more than I can even remember at this late hour. (The photo is of an incredible East African choir that performed Saturday evening.)

There was such power behind those words, even though I couldn't understand all of them, I understood them. I could feel the meaning as much as if I'd heard them in English. All of them were offered with humility and a desire to be understood by the Creator and His children. The words stirred my soul.

Yesterday, I heard the words of a wonderful trio of entrepreneurs with a creative vision for their new business. I was blessed by their kindness and encouraged to have met these good souls and get to know them through the gift of conversation.

Today, I heard the angry words of a pre-teen girl as she slammed the door in my face. I felt the anger and frustration of her realization that she has one foot firmly in adolescence but the other is tapping to the theme music of "Sponge Bob Square Pants" and makes her nearly miss her bus - something not looked upon kindly by her stressed out mother.

Today, I heard the words of a brave woman who overcame such heartache and tragedy in her life. Her words carried the powerful message that life is messy. More than messy. Cruel, hateful, unjust, and sometimes downright hardly worth the effort. But over all the pain, over all the heartache and dysfunction was the truth of hope and love that fills us, covers us and comes along side us in a powerful way.

Today, I heard the encouraging words from women in my small group who shared stories of physical and emotional healing and how God is working in real ways in their lives.

Today, I heard the words of a visionary who believes that the church should be the model for racial cooperation and harmony.

Today, I heard words of appreciation from my co-workers for the work I do.

Today, words of encouragement and hope came to my doorstep in a lovely card and a bouquet of flowers from a dear friend.

Today, I heard words of love and compassion from my husband as he served me simply and with a pure heart by picking up a pizza and helping me with a crafty project that had to be done for a dinner on Thursday.

Tonight, I learned from the news that words on a piece of paper can shut down a college campus.

Tonight, I read encouraging words from a woman who hasn't even met me in person, but believes in the work I do enough to share it with others.

The power of words has been resonating in my mind and heart this week. It overwhelms me when I think of my writing, but it inspires me also. What message of encouragement and hope can I pass along with my words? That's my prayer tonight. Please God, help me be mindful of the power of words and help me use them to build others up and not to tear them down. And for the kind words that have come my way this week - thanks for those packages of peace and love. They are much appreciated.

On the road . . .

I'll be on the road for the next few days at a conference so my bloggin' time will be limited. I'll be back soon though so don't go too far . . .

But before I go, I just want to encourage you all to give your loved ones an extra squeeze this week - it's been a hard one for so many in this country and around the world. The tragedy in Virgina has held our attention, but please note that within the last week in Iraq many more have lost their lives at the hands of fanatical, desperate and demented individuals who have no regard for the precious value of each life.

In my Bible study this week, there was a question about how will I (you) stand up for the cause of justice this week? Brad reminded me this morning that sometimes it's the little things. He took our son to school and on the way out of the parking lot, saw an older boy swinging his back-pack repeatedly at a cowering, smaller, younger boy. Brad rolled down his window and in his very firm, teacher-voice reprimanded the older boy and told him to stop hitting the younger one. We must all look for opportunities to stand up for those who need help to feel strong. Who knows how the world might change if we all choose to do this.

Peace to you and yours and a blessed weekend!

Triple Play

This weekend, I did something I have only done one other time in my life.

I saw three plays in three days!

The stars aligned and it was a banner weekend for this girl who loves a good show. A few weeks ago, Brad's school hosted a fundraiser/auction. After being mercilessly out-bid by a sweet old school marm for play tickets and a gift certificate to the famous Higgen's restaurant, I was bound and determined to walk out of that auction with at least ONE of the many sets of theater tickets up for sale. I set my sights on two tickets to "Romeo and Juliet," put on by the Northwest Children's Theater. Watching the bid sheet like a hawk until the final second of bidding, I pumped my fist in the air and did a little happy dance when time was called and my auction number was highlighted on the bid sheet. My daughter and I planned a girls night out for Friday.

Thursday night, my good friend Jennifer called saying that she had an extra ticket to the visiting Broadway production of "The Light in the Piazza" and would I like to go. Would I? You betcha! Two plays in two days - I was practically giddy all day Friday looking forward to the shows.

But the clincher - my good friend Wendy was playing a lead role in one of our community theater productions of "The Merry Wives of Windsor". Because I'll be at a conference next weekend when the show closes, Sunday was really my only chance to see her, so . . . a matinée today made it a theater trifecta weekend!

All the plays were great in there own ways. It was really enchanting to see real 14-year old actors portray Romeo and Juliet. They did really well, carrying the humor, the tragedy and even the "love" scenes. Some of my favorite lines from the night came from my daughter though. "Mom - I think Romeo has braces." And I'll never forget, "Man, there's a lot of kissing in this play!"

The leads were strong but the two supporting roles of the Nurse and Mercutio were my favorite. They were played by adult actors who were so skilled in their craft. They played their roles superbly without overshadowing the young leads. It was a great company production and just hearing the poetry of my hero's words for two hours made my heart go pitter-patter and I fell in love with the Bard all over again.

"The Light in the Piazza" was just a delight for the eyes and ears. Fabrizio Naccarelli, the handsome Florentine falls in love with the lovely American, Clara Johnson, but of course, there are many obstacles standing in the way of their happiness. Mainly, Clara's very overprotective mother and disconnected father. Fabrizio's colorful family throws in its share of drama threatening to keep the young couple apart but like all great musicals, there is a happy ending for this one. I loved the fact that though the play was full of farce and silliness and glorious eye candy (the costumes, especially the women's dresses were spectacular - 50's style straight pastel suits and gloriously colorful cinched-in-at-the-waist "poofy" skirts) there were some really poignant themes going through the show. The mother character sung two haunting songs; "Dividing Day" that mourned the day when she and her husband became estranged (one line asked, "did it happen on the church steps after the ceremony?" - ouch). The other, "Fable" was a tribute to the "happy ever after" theme that ran through the show. Loved it, loved it - any show with a handsome young stud singing in Italian can't be too bad! Jennifer and I agreed that the Fabrizio (a.k.a. David Burnham) could split his free time between us. We thought about how nice it would be to have him sing in Italian to us as we folded our laundry!

Today's "Triple Play" finale was great. I had never seen a production of "Merry Wives" and even had to go back to my Riverside Shakespeare volume from college to read the brief synopsis and character list to prepare. It was a fun afternoon of watching the comeuppance of the very lecherous character of Sir John Falstaff. This playboy made the mistake of propositioning two Windsor Housewives that happened to be best friends. What ensues is a complicated plan of revenge combined with a whole bunch of people trying to marry off the lovely young maid, Anne Page. The talented actors in this little show gave great performances. Again, some of the better ones were the supporting roles. I'd encourage all of you to give your community theaters a try - there are some incredibly talented folks out there that choose to perform for pleasure, not for pay.

Well, that's what kept me busy this weekend. I do have a bit of a stiff back from sitting so much, but it's a small price to pay for all of the incredible inspiration I felt from watching so many people working in their passions. It was a powerful boost to the inspiration I've been feeling lately to press on with some specific writing projects. The calendar already looks tight for the week, but I'm committing to post more entries and to write at least one article this week. I'm heading to a conference this weekend, but will be sure to tuck my journal in my bag and if those speakers get even the least bit boring, I'll be pulling out my notes and sneaking in as much writing as I can.

(Thanks for all of your very kind comments about my writing lately. Next month I'll be starting a writing group for friends at my church who have expressed an interest in working on their writing. It will be a place where anyone, no matter what their skill level or experience or religious affiliation, can receive tools, encouragement and writing prompts to practice their writing. It will be a place to nurture one another's creative souls so we don't become our own stumbling blocks in the creative process. Do I need another activity? Not really. But I do this to honor my God, the ultimate writer and creator of the most wonderfully detailed of life stories, and to honor you - my blogging friends - who daily encourage me to keep going when I feel like quitting. So if you're in the area and interested in this kind of group, please let me know!)

The weight of one decision

When I was about 18 there was a dramatic shift in my life. For years, I had been unnoticeable. Unremarkable. I didn’t want to be that girl.

I wanted to be funny, attractive, intelligent – I wanted to be the beautiful, colorful butterfly, not the brown speckled moth. I wanted guys to notice me, to look into my eyes and know that they saw me and wanted to be with me - not the flashy, shallow girls that seemed to get all the attention in high school. Around 18, things changed. Somehow, I gained a bit more confidence. To steal an ancient metaphor, I “bloomed.” I stopped fading into the background and others started to notice me.

Pat was a witty guy. That was the thing that drew me to him. I love people who have a smart sense of humor. Anyone can do potty humor, but someone who can make a smart joke or a clever statement? That was attractive. Pat could weave sarcasm and irony together to make the most wonderful cloak of humor you’ve ever seen. He was the brother of a friend and we worked together at a high school camp as counselors when I was 19. After the camp we spent a lot of time together. Lunches, softball games, college group outings at church. And then he was gone.

Pat spent most of the rest of the summer in the Soviet Union with a group of college kids. Before he left, he asked if I’d like him to bring me back anything. I told him I’d always wanted a set of those dolls that stack within the bodies of each other. Remember seeing those on Sesame Street? In August, he returned home and we went out for lunch before he went back to college. He proudly presented me a lovely set of the dolls. Nine in all – the smallest one being a tiny red pellet that fit into a doll smaller than the tip of my thumb. I loved the nature of these dolls – you could take them all out and set them side by side and they looked just the same but each a bit smaller. Or, you could put them all within each other and hide them in the one largest doll. They were beautiful and I thanked him and offered to pay him back for them. He looked hurt and said, “Kim, they’re a gift. I don’t want your money.” I just didn’t get it.

He was off back to school within a few days and life moved on. There were just a few other guys at school and church that noticed me, but like a flitting, nervous moth looking for light, I never sat still long enough for any of them to really impress me. Pat came home for Thanksgiving weekend and called to invite me out for dinner. Looking forward to great conversation and stories of life away at college (I was living at home and attending Portland State) I jumped at the chance.

Pat’s idea was to take a 40 minute drive to the Columbia River Gorge and hike up Multnomah Falls first. In NOVEMBER? In the DARK? I remember thinking on the drive to the falls, “This is a bad idea. I don’t want to do this.” When we arrived, the popular tourist site was literally deserted. It was dark, cold and walking up the path, it was almost icy in some spots. I really hadn’t dressed in hiking clothes so when we reached the first bridge, I begged and whined to go back to the car and skip the rest of the hike. Pat tried to encourage me to keep going, but by now, I was in full whining mode and I put my foot down. HE could hike to the top if he’d like, I would like to go back to the car and warm my frozen toes, thank you very much!

We drove back to Portland and had dinner at an old diner that’s not even there anymore. The conversation was great, just as I expected and he kept me transfixed with stories of wild college pranks, the exploits of his crazy friends and the quirky characteristics of some of his colorful professors. After dinner we got in the car for another drive. With a gleam in his eye, he announced, “I want to show you something.”

We drove to one of the highest points in the city, where the radio towers reach to the sky and blink at the planes traveling overhead. The view was incredible and after a warm meal, I was ready to venture out in the cold November air again to enjoy the view. We walked around the crest and marveled at the lights of the city. There was a water tower, dark and cold against the black sky. Against the side, a small ladder started about 4 feet from the ground.

“Come on, let’s climb to the top,” he said.

I looked at him with my eyes wide and my mouth open. “Are you kidding me?” Signs on the side of the tower blazed with red letters, “NO TRESPASSING”.

For the next ten minutes he cajoled and teased and tried to convince me to climb that thing. About five minutes into it, I started thinking to myself, “What is it with this guy and heights?” Something I wasn’t really terrified of, but not something I considered “fun”. The more he tried to convince me, the stronger my conviction and the deeper my heels dug into my proverbial sand. Still true of me today; the more you try to convince me to do something, the more my resistance to that idea will likely grow. I DON’T respond well to pressure.

We got back in the car a few minutes later and called it a night. That was really the last time I saw Pat for a long time. Within a few years, he drifted away from the connections of the area, his brother left town and to this day, I’m not sure what became of him. But over the years, I’ve sometimes wondered . . . was there something at the top of that trail at Multnomah Falls? Was there a note? A carefully planned treasure hunt? A couple of friends waiting with a picnic? What was at the top of that water tower? A boom box with carefully chosen music to set a romantic mood? A warm blanket and sweet treats? Did my fears and insecurities short-circuit some creative young man’s efforts to make me feel special? Did this handsome, funny, articulate guy actually want more than a friendship? It wasn’t an outcome I was used to – did I make the wrong decision not to climb the water tower?

It might have been a decision I would regret except for the fact that less than one month later, I found myself having dinner with a handsome young middle-school director from our church. His sparkling blue eyes, thick dark hair and his mischievous smile took my breath away. And he was smart, and funny, and caring. And suddenly, it didn’t matter what was at the top of that water tower. What mattered was what was in the future. The weight of that one decision was lifted and the moth found her light.

The fight to write

These are the comments that make me not want to write.

When my sister saw my finished project, an eight week Bible study that I wrote, designed, and had spiral bound with a full-color cover, she said, "Did you make this?"

"Yes. I wrote it, designed it and had it printed. It's an eight-week Bible study the leaders of my church asked me to write."

"Well, aren't you crafty," she said with a snide, condescending tone.

My mom was there. She didn't say a thing. My dad always talks about his work projects but never asks about mine. They don't get it. They don't understand that it's more than work. They don't really know me.

These are the comments that keep me writing.

While looking at a banner I had professionally done for an upcoming conference, the youth guys at our church were bugging me about printing the dates on it.

"Now you can't use it for next year," they said.

"Oh, but next year we'll have a totally different theme and concept."

They smiled and shook their heads, "You creative types . . ."

I slowly rolled the banner and smiled. They think I'm creative. I'll take that.

Today at Bible study a single gal in our church came to me and shared that she's getting ready to fill out the paperwork required for the adoption of a baby.

"Kim, I heard you're really good at writing. There's some essay questions and I'm not very good at that kind of stuff. Will you help me fill out the forms?"

What an honor. What a privilege. I jumped at the chance and told her to jot down a few ideas and we could meet soon to work on the forms.

Another gal shared a powerful testimony about how God had worked in her life. She mentioned something I had shared in a previous talk about writing down things and journaling so we remember. Afterwards, she approached me about starting a writing group.

Some days I just think God puts angels in my life to keep me on the task. It's his way of saying, I know you. I know what you want. You can do it. I believe in you.

Oh yeah, there are days I want to write, today is one of them. Bring it on. Bring it on.

A different kind of Easter . . .

Easter is filled with traditions. We have ours; coloring eggs, decorating the "Easter tree", egg hunts, baking an Easter cake, going to church. This year, things are a bit different.

The boy is getting over the chicken pox. He still has two stubborn ones on his face that refuse to scab over.

Today, the girl woke up with a 102 degree fever. The exact same way the boy did a week and a half ago. Could another week of quarantine be in my future?

Instead of taking my son to his last Easter egg hunt at our church (next year he'll be too old for the official hunt) I wiped the two tears that squeezed out of his eyes last night when I told him he still wasn't able to be around other kids yet.

Instead of being at church tonight, I'm home with a limp and feverish daughter and a bored boy.

Instead of celebrating a risen Savior today, I went to the funeral of a 2 year old little girl who lost her courageous battle with cancer this week. How can I complain about my disrupted holiday traditions after seeing these broken parents say good-bye to their only child today. I really can't.

Instead of having brunch with my family tomorrow morning and then visiting with my in-laws and my niece and nephew and seeing their new baby, we'll be home, nursing our kids back to health. We'll reflect on the goodness of a God who stands with us during the good times and the bad and we'll be thankful that this is one tradition that will never change in our family.

Hope you and yours have an Easter filled with blessings.

What are you seeing when you visit?

OK - let's talk about the new template.

Thanks to those of you that noticed the makeover and left nice comments. There are parts I really like, the new font, the sidebars, the thin gray border around the pictures. I've always liked blue.

But the banner is bugging me a bit. First, it's the wrong color. It looks cool and everything but the original color of the rose petals is a peachy color. For some reason when I place it in the blogger template, it turns bluish-purple. The font color is actually a dark red. Hmmm . . .

Then there's the size of the banner. When I open my blog here at home, the banner fits on the top of the page. When I open it at work, the banner doesn't fit on the top of the page and it reads, "Embroider the Sil-".

Tell me dear readers, does my banner need to go on a diet? Shrink a bit? Is it falling off the edge of your pages?

Itchy, scratchy

Does God have a sense of humor? As if flamingos and naked mole rats weren't evidence enough . . .

Many of you have patiently been putting up with my whining and pouting about how busy I have been and how much stress I've been under and . . . yada, yada, yada . . . and I'm sure God in his infinite wisdom was just doing eye-rolls and head slaps and saying, "Sheesh, just take a break, will ya!" So along comes vacation, spring break, but things seemed like they were just a different flavor of crazy.

After two days of shopping and packing, we left for a planned camping trip to the beach on Wednesday with five other families. My son woke up with a 102 degree fever but begged us to let him go. After pumping him full of motrin and deciding that the RV we were borrowing from Brad's parents would be comfortable enough for a sick little guy, we set out.

Camping - not really my idea of a great vacation but my family loves it and it was easier on the budget than the trip to Mexico. To me, it's all the work and chores of home, just on the road. My family never camped when we were kids and the first time I went camping with a friend when I was 12 years old, we both caught a severe case of the stomach flu and I spent the night in a dirty camp bathroom watching my body empty itself of everything I had eaten in the past five days. Yeah - fun times. Don't even get me started on the critter encounters I seem to have every time I go camping. Yech . . .

The boy spent the first two days watching movies on the mini DVD player in the master bedroom (that's an RV for you) and being a pretty content little guy for the nasty cold/virus he seemed to be fighting. The rest of us took turns hanging out in the RV with him, walking on the beach, sitting by the campfire, and visiting with our friends. By Friday afternoon, the boy was feeling much better and made it out on the beach and fishing with dad. Saturday, he even went to the indoor pool at the campground for a swim with his sister. He seemed to be turning the corner.

I had the chance to take some great long walks over the weekend. I'll share more about those later but it was such good thinking time and times of great conversations with God.

Yesterday we got home and the load of work began - another reason I don't like camping. There's so much stinkin' work involved before and after the trip. Baskets of laundry, towels, bedding to be washed and the RV to be scrubbed and cleaned. Today was supposed to be back to work, back to routine, back to normal. Between all the stuff that went on during spring break and the crazy time of preparation and clean-up after camping, I was feeling a bit deflated; I didn't feel like I'd had a "real" break.

This morning. "Mom - I have a bite or something on my leg that really itches."

I pulled down his Buzz Lightyear PJ's and looked. There it was, a bump with a red ring around it. And on his stomach, two more. And two more on his arms.

"Let me see your back." Two more. And two more on his face. (Not sure of the significance of two-by-two, but everything about this is a bit of a mystery.)

The wheels in my mind start spinning. 102 degree fever, headache, sore throat, red bumps a few days later.

"Oh, buddy. I think you might have the Chicken Pox!" I think both of our hearts fell at the same time. (For all of you moms out there - yes, he had the vaccine at age one; and yes, I feel terrible about exposing all those innocent campers and no, I would have never taken him to the pool and other public places had I known he even had the slightest chance of having the chicken pox. But it is the exact reason I hesitated getting the vaccine in the first place. After reading Michelle at Full Soul's blog and this experience, I'm really starting to feel like I need to do more research before I ever give my child another vaccine.)

"But, can I go to school?"

"No buddy. We'll have to wait a few days." Okay, after doing research online today, (Chicken Pox hasn't been on my radar for years) I haven't had the heart to tell him that he probably won't be going back to school for quite a few days. It's only the afternoon of the first day and he's bored out of his mind already.

Does God have a sense of humor? I'm sure he does. "You said you wanted a break, Kim. Here's your break."