The fine art of living and loving simply.

I am reading for the second time The Art of the Handwritten Note by Margaret Shepherd. It is so good, and so relatable. The book speaks of a note recieved in the mail. That note will not interrupt your dinner, or put you on hold. It will not demand an instant response. I have been on the phone with friends who answer their call waiting, only to come back to me to say they'll talk to me later-someone more important or more interesting was on the other line. I have had friends constantly looking at their watches while we are talking. To be honest, that really hurts. It's no fun to feel like you are no more than an inconvenient intrusion in someone's to-do list. While my book is obviously about note-writing, it says so much more. It is also about cherishing quiet moments, slowing down for a minute and putting your busyness aside. It's about being honest with your friends, reading and rereading and really understanding what they are telling you, taking time to choose the right words to convey your feelings. It's about being you, and being fun and creative, and letting everything-every choice you make, reflect who you are.

My emerging thoughts

I love my church . . . God and His Word upheld as the final authority, the old hymns, traditional choir robes, the offering plate passed. I have been to other churches-churches that uphold God and His word, but singing modern praise choruses with guys in ripped jeans playing their instruments, and computerized offering stations that automatically deduct from your banking account. That is not my kind of church. However, it is just the kind of church for some people-people who would have no interest in coming to a very traditional service in a traditional church building. Maybe the Church as a whole is like an individual Christian with his spiritual gifts. For instance, I would say that I am not too shabby at writing. I can write an encouraging note to someone. I am no good at all at singing. I could not sing a song to someone to cheer them up. Both of those gifts-writing and singing-are needed in the Church, but everyone doesn't need to do both, they just do what they are gifted at. So with the many churches-some traditional, some all new-fangled; maybe the world needs both kinds. As long as people are hearing the truth taught about God and His Word, it little matters what the individual church or its members look like.
After all, "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7)

2700 miles later . . .

Marcella, my travelling companion, entertainer, prayer partner, roommate, chaffeur and Spanish teacher and I got back from our sojourn to Seattle yesterday. I came home to 7 Amazon books, loads of unpacking to do, and a very clean house thanks to my Mr. We had a great time driving and seeing old friends, new friends, and family. We were welcomed warmly into several homes along the route, and our hosts were all gracious and generous. It was a great time of joy in the Lord, and thanksgiving. So here I am, refreshed and glad to be back in the L.A. sun.

Some final southern words . . . before leaving for the North.

I went to visit a friend yesterday. We sat in her garden for hours, talking about the good ole days and the good new days, and also the not-so-good new days. We sat outside sipping iced tea as the sun warmed our backs and the breeze kept us supremely comfortable. We saw several bright butterflies in the weeping willows. It was truly one of the very best afternoons I can recall. I went home that night to look for a certain hymn that I thought she would enjoy, and found that my old hymn book is a great and concise theological book. I read and copied the hymn, "Prayer is the Soul's Sincere Desire." Amazing words, practical doctrine, and a vivid reminder of the great priviledge we Christians have to stand before God in prayer.
As a final exhortation before I head for the North Pole, I would encourage you all to take a good look through the hymnal at your church. I'm sure you'll find unexpected treasure.

7 things

Well, I guess I've been tagged. That means I have to tell 7 (true) things about myself, and then tag 7 friends so that they have to do the same. I don't know how to do the linky thing, so you'll just have to do your best to find the bloggers I've tagged.

I delivered papers one hot and sunny day in my non-air-conditioned caravan. I didn't want to do it again, and I was afraid that they would ask me to, and I'd give in, so I never went back to get my money.
I sold strawberries on a corner.
I scared my little cousin by running around in a hot pink sleeping bag, pretending to be Bigfoot.
I put a paper bag on my head and played the harmonica on the corner, with a big sign that read, "Need money. I accept Visa and Mastercard."
Before the prom, I sat at lunch at school with a sign that read, "Will work for date." (A friend fixed me up with a nice guy.)
I always say underwear in the plural--underwears.
I love tape, and that was my first anniversary gift.

Now, I tag http://marcella-marcella.blogspot.com, http://thegracegirl.blogspot.com, www.janeanea.blogspot.com, http://tklog.blogspot.com, http://joycomplete.blogspot.com, http://tuesdayssliceofbread.blogspot.com, http://tanglesjourney.blogspot.com.

14 adults, 8 toddlers

That was our party. As I set out all our folding chairs along with our old Corvette seats in the living room, I was afraid no one would show up, and I'd embarrassed and humiliated. However, as a few friends came early, and those few were enough to fill the room, I quickly realized we may be short of chair space. They came in droves. As we ate our pizza, guests just kept coming and coming. It was great. It had been such a long time since we hosted a pizza and movie night, that I just seemed to invite everyone I had ever known. In hindsight, it might not have been the smartest thing, but it was sure fun! We had pizza, and then began the evening entertainment, "A Night at the Museum". There was one point at which half the crowd left, due to fussy children and personal work schedules. It was then, after many were gone, that we dished out the ice cream. Nothing personal, but more for us. And, like all good parties, the night ended with us sharing stories about boogers and passing gas.
I've posted several pictures on my Flickr site, so you can see how we roll here in La Casa M. Check them out. Many invitations were lost in the mail, so if you weren't invited, it was probably just a postal mistake.

The joyous dog days of spring.

I was asked by a Sir Nathan to give my canine thoughts on the happy subject of our neighbor's moving. I am afraid I do not indulge in silly poetry. That is for my silly mistress. What I do indulge in, though, is the occasional bark, a friendly "hello" to the neighbors-canine and human-and a warning to neighbors of the feline, skunk, opposum and rat persuasion. All I know and understand of this irritating neighbor is that Jen yells at me for my friendly barks. She yells only out of fear of getting another letter from the Homeowners' Group about me. I also recall the relaxing and rainy day when my mistress and I were sitting cozily on the couch, watching "Meet Me In St. Louis." (Judy Garland was a phenomenal singer and actress!) Suddenly, there came a ring at our doorbell. Without saying a word, I accompanied my mistress to the door, only to see an Animal Control cheif. I knew my duty. I stood there cutely and absolutely silently while the cheif gave Jen the rules about noisy animals. Boy did I show her! I'll bet she went back to work and said, "If this guy ever calls again, just ignore it; I was there, and that dog didn't even flinch." So, the bottom line is that once this guy moves, I will again have the freedom to bark a little, without fear of poor Jen getting a letter from the HOA, a visit from Animal Control, or an anonymous letter addressed to the "resident dog owner" with photocopies of ads for a shock collar.