Outta pocket

Showed up for Jury Duty.  Was selected for a sequestered case,  so will be gone a few days.  Can't communicate with my family,  which will be odd.  Youngest son says to look at it as a vacation,  depending, of course, on whether whoever I room with is a chatterbox or not. :)  They say you stay at a nice hotel downtown, and are fed very well.  I'm in.

Actually,  a total change of pace will be very nice.  Very nice indeed.

Friday night

Gary got a call from his dad tonight while some of the kids were with me shopping for the least one's birthday (which is Sunday).  My mother-in-law is in the hospital after complaining of a sore neck for a couple of days.  Went out of it at home, red-faced, eyes not focusing, incoherent, and her b/p went to zero then flew up to an upper number of 200.  We're in a wait-and-see mode.  They're up in Maryland, so have to wait to hear.  My father-in-law could use prayer too.  His health is good, but it's lots to deal with.  I'm thinking it sounds like meningitis, but that's just a guess on my part.  Flying by the seat of my pants, most days.

Husband participating in a crafts fair tomorrow near our church.  Praying for much success.  The homeowners offer their front yards for artists and crafts people to set up their wares.  He has a couple of game tables, bowls, spoons, mirrors, framed photographs and benches.  Lots of stuff.  And oldest daughter has earrings to sell as well, which are beautiful.  

Life is overfull.  Have to turn off my head.

Sat out with the chickens twice today.  After half an hour of holding a chicken, my b/p arrives at a sweet spot, I'm thinking.  Milk and Nora nestled in my lap, Nora snuggling under my chin.  Imagine.  A chicken.  Isn't that awesome?  And they're so soft.  I caught Madelyn later on and held her.  She tends to be wicked, following Nora around and trying to peck her feet.  A streak of meanness in her, that's for sure.  

Anyway, that's my weekend.  It's enough.

Thoughts on slowing down

In looking at books to review, I'm seeing a trend that bothers me. Seems that the generation that covers my oldest children---late twenties and into the thirties (my oldest is 29), is so success-oriented, maybe to a fault.  Perhaps even more so than their parents.  And in Christians it appears to be almost an obsession, just like in the secular world.  Do this, this and this and your life will be complete.  The thing is, they're not allowing for the human touch.  I'm seeing a tendency to handle things in a technical way, much in the manner of managing a Smartphone.  Push the right buttons and voila, you're good.

Life isn't that easily managed.

And God isn't that predictable.  Quite the contrary.

I have a brother-in-law who used to say that if you tithe every week, then your money troubles will be a thing of the past.  I'm here to tell you that's not the case.  As I've said before---God is NOT a slot machine.  You don't do this, this and this and expect what you want to happen. Sometimes it doesn't. And doing it over and changing the routine won't fix it.  Only the Lord can do that.  Act as if you have all the answers and He'll be sure to mix you up.  Speaking from experience here.  Cockiness has no place in the Christian experience.

I think God enjoys seeing a humble spirit.  But even then, apply yourself to being humble and that in itself shows arrogance.  Look at me....oh, no-no.  Don't look at me.  See what I mean?  By not focusing in a deliberate manner, you look at yourself much too much.

It's frustrating to see all the energy being spent in advancement.  Nobody has time for quiet. They're so busy getting ahead.  Goals.  So many goals.  Burnout looms on the horizon.  We've become such suckers for a fast fix, whether it's getting impatient waiting for packages to come in the mail, or being put on hold.  Oh wait.  There's a remedy for that.  I can talk to a couple of folks at once, and text in the same instant.  Nobody waits.  But think again.  Nobody gets anyone's full attention anymore.

Go to a public setting where folks sit.  Restaurants are choice for this experiment.  Watch how many are on their phones and not talking.  You know what I mean.  We can't wait for anything.  Everything is more important than the life in front of us.  So sad.

Just listen.  Wait.  Stop trying so hard.  Quit trying to know everything.  Allow for a little mystery. Please.

'The Real Doctor Will See You Shortly' by Matt McCarthy

I read Matt McCarthy's new book The Real Doctor Will See You Shortly from cover to cover, all in one day.  Full of things the lowly patient might not realize, much of it a surprise, mainly how the students are often in the dark about what to do even after years of schooling.  I appreciated his honesty and humor in sharing what a first year intern really experiences.  Sleep deprivation, a bad diet and lots and lots of trying situations.

He kept saying that when you got the chance to eat, eat.  And when you could sleep, sleep.  He went further with it, but that was the gist.

I'm not feeling much envy for the life of a new doctor, but he laid it out in such an engaging way.  And he's a gifted writer.  Not bad for a physician.

My only complaint was the profanity.  I realize I might sound like I'm coming from the Dark Ages to fuss, but is it necessary?  Even with the stresses of the medical life, does that allow for lacing the book with common swearing?  I'd say no.  But still, I enjoyed the book.  Can't let it sit on the coffee table, though---kids, you know.

(i received this book free to review from bloggingforbooks)

Wm. Faulkner's Rowan Oak

Oxford, Mississippi.  Toured Faulkner's home.  Got to spend the day with my sweet oldest daughter. Took a couple of snaps with my phone of his bedroom, but wish I had done the same with the room he wrote in---just a bit more intriguing.  There's his writing on the wall in there.  Heard the tour host say that 95% of the furniture in the house is original to what Faulkner used.  I like that.  Reading his book The Hamlet now.  Once you get in the swing of it, he's pretty smooth reading.  

There was an older man touring the house as we were.  He was telling a personal story related to Faulkner.  Not sure if he knew him or his family, but it was like he did.  His voice took on a warm sound as he looked at the books and personal items.  Kind of sweet.  'Course the man couldn't have been a contemporary of Faulker's since he'd be in his hundreds if he was still living, being that he was born in 1897, like my own grandparents.  Still, I always enjoy hearing folks tell stories.

A nice weekend, and weather to boot.

Friday morning

Since oldest daughter and I are going to Oxford tomorrow, I picked up some Faulkner at the library yesterday. Began reading a book of his short stories, and oh my goodness.  He's got a trilogy about the Snopes family, and the first piece in the book is a short story from that series.  Reminded me of Flannery O'Connor, who I tend to not read, being that she, pretty much, spells it all out for you. Wicked characters, awful intentions, the whole gamut of folks-you-don't-want-to-know in every story she writes.  This story brought her to mind.

Faulkner has a gift for shoving you into his stories.  After a few sentences, You Are There.  I was mesmerized.  Read three of them, put the book down and felt sated.  Couldn't take anymore. Sort of in a state of shock.  I read a lot.  A lot.  And told Gary after that there are some authors who have such a strong gift for words, and Faulkner is definitely one of those people.  And Southern writers---I don't know.  They're in a category all their own.  The extremes are more extreme, and the personalities are more peculiar.  We blame it on the humidity.

And speaking of authors who aren't Southern---I got some Virginia Woolf as well.  For some odd reason, they remind me of one another. You have to apply yourself to read each of them, least I do. So much literature that's cranked out today is lame.  Canned plots and not much to tantalize or shock the reader.  I don't want horror or heartache, but a story that grips me, that fills me up.  So many times I can see the ending before it arrives.  With Faulkner, that doesn't seem to happen.  He comes up from behind you.

In other books, reading The Screwtape Letters aloud to the three youngest during the week.  Just got to the part where Screwtape tells Wormwood about how Christians are more usable to God when He puts them through tough times and they remain faithful.  He talks about how those believers are the hardest to sway.  A book that has some difficult sentences to decipher, but the truth really does shine through.  Lewis was something.

Anyway, a fresh day spreads out ahead of me.  Just me and the girls at home.  Had a storm overnight, and the garden is all damp and cool. Might weed a bit, but don't feel much pressure about it.  Might putter around the house.  White beans for dinner.  Will throw in some bacon and onion.  Made flour tortillas for dinner last night, and that might happen too.  Mine ended up like naan, which was my intention, anyhow.

Three cups of flour, one teaspoon each of salt and baking powder, 1/3 cup of oil (I used butter-flavored Crisco---didn't even melt it beforehand), one cup water.  Blend together in mixer.  Let sit for about 15 minutes (didn't happen).  Form into pancake shapes, put on hot, greased griddle and cook for about a minute on each side.  So easy. Wonderful texture.

Will go get dressed now.  Praying for our kids, and protection for all. For the Lord to put people in their paths who speak truth and live for Christ. For the Lord to show favor on Gary's shop.  He's got repair work coming in, and while I don't want to complain, more would be nice. Hard to keep your head above water when it stays just below your nose. Life is too full of prayer needs, but maybe that's as it should be.  I get to praying and it just goes on and on.

Enjoy the day.

'Ghost Boy' by Martin Pistorius

I read Martin Pistorius' book Ghost Boy in one day.  And it's not that the book is an easy read, though it is, but I wanted to get to the good parts.  The happy ending.  With so many years of being trapped in his body (his own words) I needed to see that he survived the trials, and he does.

At twelve years old, Martin was hit by an illness that slowly took his life away from him.  A sore throat first turned into an inability to move or speak. Years later, he began to return to life. That's it in a nutshell, but the book is so much more than that.  Martin tells of abuse he suffered in care homes, and being unable to communicate this abuse, he suffered silently.  That part of the book was hardest to read---his vulnerability in the hands of supposed caregivers who molested him, not caring that he was aware of every action.

He talks about his faith, and how he felt God touch him, in the midst of his illness.  He held onto that.  And while parts of his life were unbearable, there were individuals who looked past his outside and began to pull him back to life.  Virna, an aromatherapist, who worked his limbs and really looked at him as an individual, was the first person outside his family who really attempted to see past his disabilities.  Her care was the springboard for everything that commenced afterward.  She was his miracle.

Years later, he's working, has married, yet still lives with physical limitations.  His spirit, however, soars.

(i received this book free to review from booklookbloggers)