For the past 5 months or so, I have been delivering for a food delivery company. My son started first, thrilled with the idea that he could just work when he wanted to. When he began, the company was just starting to infiltrate the St. Louis market. They offered an incentive if he got a friend to sign on, and make 200 "dashes" in 50 days, he would earn an extra $1000. I'm that friend. I figured if there was any chance we would see repayment for the car "he" bought, it was that $1000. He lasted just a couple weeks at the job (He never seemed to have cash for gas), but I completed the appropriate number of runs, got $1000 towards his car, and have continued to dash. (If any of you are interested in Door Dash, I can send you a link...the incentive is no longer as high, but hey, I could use the bonus!)
Every day I dash, I have at least one adventure. There was the time I had a dash from a restaurant by the ballpark. Just as the game was letting out. And there was a 'street fair' in a park. right by the ball park. Roads turning left (towards the restaurant) were closed. And the traffic wasn't moving because of the number of people who had just watched the Cardinals beat the Cubs. 45 minutes later I finally got to the restaurant. By then, they had "thrown the food away" (as well as about 12 other orders) because it was long since cold.
The very next day I had to go to a restaurant in BallPark Village. As the crowds were arriving for another game. Of course there was no parking anywhere. I made the (perhaps unwise) decision to park in a bus drop off zone, thinking I was only running into the place for a couple minutes to pick up the food. But nope, it hadn't been ordered yet. So I had to place the order and then wait for it to be ready. when I returned to my car about 20 minutes later and hopped in, there was a loud "thump" on the hood...and a police officer standing right there telling me not to move...he had already called for the dogs to sniff my car suspecting it might be a bomb. Yikes! I apologized and promised never to do that again.
Would you believe my very next shift I had to dash down by the ball park again...this time to drop off food...at the ballpark? Who orders food to be delivered to a baseball field an hour before the game (just as all the thousands of fans are arriving)? Grrrrr. It was someone who worked in the gift shop at the stadium. Not wanting to irritate the police, and suspecting there might be a possibility that the same officer from the day before would be working, I parked about a mile away, and hoofed it to BallPark Village.
Fun, right?!
But it is fun. I mostly enjoy myself. When I started I couldn't imagine who would be willing to pay an extra $10 just to have food delivered to their door. I'm way too cheap for that. But it's really all kinds of people. Lots of people, in the city anyway, don't have cars in St. Louis. They rely on the bus to get to work. They walk to local little shops for groceries. And now they can have restaurant food (or Wendy's) delivered to their door. And even with the delivery fee, it's probably cheaper than buying a car.
I've delivered to a new mom, who also had a toddler in the house. I delivered to a blind man. He can't exactly just drive to a restaurant. I've made deliveries to people in wheelchairs. People working shifts at the hospital. And to lots of college students. (who think they can just tell me the name of the residence hall and I'll be able to find them....come on people, I don't go there...I don't know where Jones hall is, or where the clock tower is). I delivered to a mom one Saturday (late morning), who said, "Thanks for letting me be lazy today." It was a thank you I appreciated.
I deliver food from fast food places like Jack in the Box and Wendy's, but also from small mom and pop establishments. I had a conversation with the owner of a Chinese restaurant once while we were waiting for the food to be finished. She was so thankful for a company like ours, because she didn't have to have someone on staff to make what might be just a couple deliveries a night, or a week. I've discovered restaurants I didn't know existed...and lots of ones I want to try. And a couple that are pretty skanky and I really don't want to go back inside again.
I know the city now. Pretty funny that someone who is "directionally dyslexic" has a job that's all about directions. But I'm pretty good at knowing where things are now. And my parallel parking skills are top notch.
A year or two ago I would have described some of these places as "scary neighborhoods," but I no longer think that is true. Some neighborhoods are just a little more tired (or a lot more tired) than others, in need of some TLC. (Please note, I don't do deliveries after dark...some places may still be a little scary at night)
And I've discovered that people can take pride in their homes no matter where they are. One Saturday afternoon I was making a delivery to one of those "tired" streets. This one more tired than most. Most of the houses had boarded up windows, and the lawns were overgrown. then I spotted the house that I knew must belong to my customer: Her front steps were painted a bright orange, and all up the walk, on both sides of the stairs, were some of the most beautiful flowers I've seen. I complimented her on the beautiful yard, and she beamed. And she said, "That's what I've been doing all day...I'm too tired to cook." What a great delivery! I left with a smile in my heart, too.
I've become a lot less judge-y of people. Who am I to question why someone ordered just 2 orders of cheesy fries and a molten lava cake. To each his (or her) own! But are you really so desperate for a Strawberry Lemonade from Wendy's that you're willing to pay an extra $10.00 to have one delivered (and that's the only thing you ordered)? Really?
Okay, still working on that judge-y thing.
And, don't forget to tip your driver!
Saturday, August 25, 2018
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
Hard
I'm not gonna lie. The last few years have been hard. Heart-achingly, faith-shakingly, my-God-my-God-why-are-you-forsaking-me hard. But we did it.
Let me back up. When my daughter was 3 or 4 she took a dance class. At the Christmas recital we watched in darkened auditorium while she took center stage and danced like no one was watching, holding high a shiny star while dancing to "Do You Her What I Hear?" In the spring she realized she was not alone in the room. When she saw that people were watching her, she didn't move a step. Not one step. People could see her.
Our school in suburban Houston was not racially mixed. (There was, I believe, one other black girl in class with her the whole 6 years she was there). I noticed. She didn't. All she noticed was that everyone else had long, straight, blond hair and she didn't. She didn't like her hair and wanted to fit in with her friends. Recently, my daughter told me, "I didn't know I was black until we moved to Arizona." As she was becoming a "tween" her skin color suddenly became a feature. However, except finding a place to straighten her hair, it didn't seem to matter.
Four years ago we moved to Missouri, and she was suddenly entering her teens and seeking her identity, as teens do. And color matters, as much to those around her as to her. And South St. Louis county is not a very colorful place. When she entered high school in Jefferson County, she enrolled in a school system that was 97% white. That leaves just 3% for all minorities. And the girl who didn't want to be seen on stage at age 4 suddenly, at least in her own mind, was the center of everyone's attention. She stuck out. She was seen.
She made the varsity volleyball team as a freshman. And now (at least in her own eyes) she was even more visible. One of only 2 freshmen on the team, and the only black girl. While I think she should have been honored that they saw her talent and skill, to her it seemed visible was miserable.
Add to that the fact that in middle school we "discovered" that she had ADHD. Learning in the traditional way was/is difficult for her. When she had the opportunity to go to a separate room for extra help and to take tests, she wanted no part of it, since kids were bound to notice that she was leaving or returning. They'd notice her.
So, back to High School. She was having difficulty in academics, and she felt like she didn't fit in (Imagine 50 or so children of color, any color, in a school of 1700). She began to try to disappear. She hated school. I dislike using the word "hate" because it's such a strong emotion...but I really can think of no better word.
Her sophomore year was a mess. She wasn't doing well academically, and had only a handful of friends at school. Attendance was slipping and the situation was becoming dire. Frequently she asked to go to another school, but since other schools in our county shared the same racial make-up, I knew that wouldn't help. My husband and I began to discuss moving to the city. We could downsize a bit as the kids were about to get their own wings (Our son was about to graduate and could leave any time), and we could find a school where she fit in. We put the house on the market.
When school was about to start and we were still looking to buy and to sell, we began to panic. She refused to go back to her high school until we moved. Panic turned in to prayer and we found a great charter school that would fudge the residency requirement until we moved. They saw our desires for her to succeed. Every morning we drove the 30 minutes into the city. But by now her aversion to school was firmly entrenched. She couldn't play sports (not eligible), and didn't have friends. We saw this school as a great opportunity, but she did not. She wanted to go to the public school, but that wasn't possible until we were residents.
Finally, in mid-October, 8 weeks into the academic year, we moved. As soon as we moved she wanted to go public, so again we transferred schools. But in a case of the grass being greener, this school wasn't what she wanted either. My daily attempts at getting her up for school frequently met with failure. She was miserable and so was I. And she was so far behind academically I didn't see how we could ever climb out of the deep hole she had dug.
By January, the beginning of the second semester, the situation was critical. My daughter was on her way to becoming a statistic, a high school drop-out. As a former high school teacher who loved going to school, I was crushed.
I can't go into detail (why not, you ask, you've already written an epic novel)...but at the end of January we met Joan Love. (I love her name.) Joan was able to pull a few strings and get Bri into "Innovation Concepts Academy." Affiliated with STL public schools, ICA is for kids who don't succeed in a traditional classroom. My daughter wasn't technically eligible, since she needed to be 17 by April 1. Her Birthday is April 25. Again strings were pulled and rules were overlooked. Thanks to her admissions counselor, Ms. Hall, who said, "let's just get her in and we'll see what we can do." And so she began.
ICA was half days and all work was done on computers and one on one with a tutor. Students studied individual subjects not with the goal of getting enough "credits" to graduate high school, but to master the basics in reading, writing, math, science and social studies. By the end of the year students would graduate if they passed tests in these 5 areas, administered at a local college. (The same tests are given to Missouri's home-schooled students to see if they've mastered these areas.)
Has my girl read all the classics in American and British Lit that I loved to teach? Can she do Calculus? Is she proficient in Geometry? Has she fully studied World War I or WW II? Does she know about the Crimean War (do you?) Has she written a research paper? No to all of the above. And although your child's education may be broader and deeper, my girl still has a high school diploma. It was hard-fought, and it was won! She earned it (We earned it!)
She can go on to college if she wants to. I don't think she wants to, but the opportunity is there. And not all success in life requires a college degree. But my girl has told me, "Mom, I'm gonna do something with my life!" And I believe her.
Let me back up. When my daughter was 3 or 4 she took a dance class. At the Christmas recital we watched in darkened auditorium while she took center stage and danced like no one was watching, holding high a shiny star while dancing to "Do You Her What I Hear?" In the spring she realized she was not alone in the room. When she saw that people were watching her, she didn't move a step. Not one step. People could see her.
Our school in suburban Houston was not racially mixed. (There was, I believe, one other black girl in class with her the whole 6 years she was there). I noticed. She didn't. All she noticed was that everyone else had long, straight, blond hair and she didn't. She didn't like her hair and wanted to fit in with her friends. Recently, my daughter told me, "I didn't know I was black until we moved to Arizona." As she was becoming a "tween" her skin color suddenly became a feature. However, except finding a place to straighten her hair, it didn't seem to matter.
Four years ago we moved to Missouri, and she was suddenly entering her teens and seeking her identity, as teens do. And color matters, as much to those around her as to her. And South St. Louis county is not a very colorful place. When she entered high school in Jefferson County, she enrolled in a school system that was 97% white. That leaves just 3% for all minorities. And the girl who didn't want to be seen on stage at age 4 suddenly, at least in her own mind, was the center of everyone's attention. She stuck out. She was seen.
She made the varsity volleyball team as a freshman. And now (at least in her own eyes) she was even more visible. One of only 2 freshmen on the team, and the only black girl. While I think she should have been honored that they saw her talent and skill, to her it seemed visible was miserable.
Add to that the fact that in middle school we "discovered" that she had ADHD. Learning in the traditional way was/is difficult for her. When she had the opportunity to go to a separate room for extra help and to take tests, she wanted no part of it, since kids were bound to notice that she was leaving or returning. They'd notice her.
So, back to High School. She was having difficulty in academics, and she felt like she didn't fit in (Imagine 50 or so children of color, any color, in a school of 1700). She began to try to disappear. She hated school. I dislike using the word "hate" because it's such a strong emotion...but I really can think of no better word.
Her sophomore year was a mess. She wasn't doing well academically, and had only a handful of friends at school. Attendance was slipping and the situation was becoming dire. Frequently she asked to go to another school, but since other schools in our county shared the same racial make-up, I knew that wouldn't help. My husband and I began to discuss moving to the city. We could downsize a bit as the kids were about to get their own wings (Our son was about to graduate and could leave any time), and we could find a school where she fit in. We put the house on the market.
When school was about to start and we were still looking to buy and to sell, we began to panic. She refused to go back to her high school until we moved. Panic turned in to prayer and we found a great charter school that would fudge the residency requirement until we moved. They saw our desires for her to succeed. Every morning we drove the 30 minutes into the city. But by now her aversion to school was firmly entrenched. She couldn't play sports (not eligible), and didn't have friends. We saw this school as a great opportunity, but she did not. She wanted to go to the public school, but that wasn't possible until we were residents.
Finally, in mid-October, 8 weeks into the academic year, we moved. As soon as we moved she wanted to go public, so again we transferred schools. But in a case of the grass being greener, this school wasn't what she wanted either. My daily attempts at getting her up for school frequently met with failure. She was miserable and so was I. And she was so far behind academically I didn't see how we could ever climb out of the deep hole she had dug.
By January, the beginning of the second semester, the situation was critical. My daughter was on her way to becoming a statistic, a high school drop-out. As a former high school teacher who loved going to school, I was crushed.
I can't go into detail (why not, you ask, you've already written an epic novel)...but at the end of January we met Joan Love. (I love her name.) Joan was able to pull a few strings and get Bri into "Innovation Concepts Academy." Affiliated with STL public schools, ICA is for kids who don't succeed in a traditional classroom. My daughter wasn't technically eligible, since she needed to be 17 by April 1. Her Birthday is April 25. Again strings were pulled and rules were overlooked. Thanks to her admissions counselor, Ms. Hall, who said, "let's just get her in and we'll see what we can do." And so she began.
ICA was half days and all work was done on computers and one on one with a tutor. Students studied individual subjects not with the goal of getting enough "credits" to graduate high school, but to master the basics in reading, writing, math, science and social studies. By the end of the year students would graduate if they passed tests in these 5 areas, administered at a local college. (The same tests are given to Missouri's home-schooled students to see if they've mastered these areas.)
Has my girl read all the classics in American and British Lit that I loved to teach? Can she do Calculus? Is she proficient in Geometry? Has she fully studied World War I or WW II? Does she know about the Crimean War (do you?) Has she written a research paper? No to all of the above. And although your child's education may be broader and deeper, my girl still has a high school diploma. It was hard-fought, and it was won! She earned it (We earned it!)
She can go on to college if she wants to. I don't think she wants to, but the opportunity is there. And not all success in life requires a college degree. But my girl has told me, "Mom, I'm gonna do something with my life!" And I believe her.
Monday, December 11, 2017
Victorian Life
Well, it's been a while since I last posted. A whole other chapter, in fact, as we have moved once again. From suburbs to city. From roomy to downsized. From modern to classic. We've been in our house about 6 weeks now, and here is
What I've Learned About Victorian Life from Living in a Hundred Year Old Home
1. in the Victorian Age people didn't wear clothes. That's the only explanation I have for a house with no closets. Well that's not entirely true. The master bedroom has a closet...about the size of a standard coat closet. And one of the bedrooms has a closet...it's about 8 inches deep. A standard hanger is about 17 inches.
2. There's a reason they called the bathroom a "water closet." Hey, maybe that's where our closet went. When they got indoor plumbing they took the only real closet and made it into a bathroom. The sink in said water closet is approximately the size of a football.
3. Level is overrated. There are no level floors or level walls in a Victorian house.
4. Victorian parents didn't have to worry about their teenagers sneaking out of the house unnoticed. Every stair and floor in a Victorian house squeaks.
5. Victorian people didn't have dishes. Or store food. there is almost no cupboard or pantry space in a Victorian house. Our pantry is approximately 18 inches wide by 18 inches deep. Our built in cupboard (butler's pantry) is approx. 8 inches deep. Very few of our dishes fit here.
6. Victorian people slept in small beds mattresses and box springs don't fit up a Victorian staircase without surgery.
7. Victorians solved the problem (or hadn't invented it yet) of kids leaving the pantry door open. If the pantry door is open you cannot get into the basement. If the basement door is left open you cannot get to the kitchen from the front of the house.
8. Clearly when electricity was added to the home (after market), the Victorian people didn't think they'd use this new-fangled invention much. thus they only put one outlet per room.
9, Lath and plaster walls and wood floors and trim absorb sound. we cannot have a conversation unless we are in the same room. And even then, we need to repeat ourselves. Or maybe we are just getting old.
That being said, we are adjusting to, and loving, our Victorian house. She's a grand old lady! And I'm slowly starting to learn more about the history of the house and neighborhood. And I'm sure there is some history here!
a few more images:
What I've Learned About Victorian Life from Living in a Hundred Year Old Home
2. There's a reason they called the bathroom a "water closet." Hey, maybe that's where our closet went. When they got indoor plumbing they took the only real closet and made it into a bathroom. The sink in said water closet is approximately the size of a football.
3. Level is overrated. There are no level floors or level walls in a Victorian house.
4. Victorian parents didn't have to worry about their teenagers sneaking out of the house unnoticed. Every stair and floor in a Victorian house squeaks.
5. Victorian people didn't have dishes. Or store food. there is almost no cupboard or pantry space in a Victorian house. Our pantry is approximately 18 inches wide by 18 inches deep. Our built in cupboard (butler's pantry) is approx. 8 inches deep. Very few of our dishes fit here.
6. Victorian people slept in small beds mattresses and box springs don't fit up a Victorian staircase without surgery.
7. Victorians solved the problem (or hadn't invented it yet) of kids leaving the pantry door open. If the pantry door is open you cannot get into the basement. If the basement door is left open you cannot get to the kitchen from the front of the house.
8. Clearly when electricity was added to the home (after market), the Victorian people didn't think they'd use this new-fangled invention much. thus they only put one outlet per room.
9, Lath and plaster walls and wood floors and trim absorb sound. we cannot have a conversation unless we are in the same room. And even then, we need to repeat ourselves. Or maybe we are just getting old.
That being said, we are adjusting to, and loving, our Victorian house. She's a grand old lady! And I'm slowly starting to learn more about the history of the house and neighborhood. And I'm sure there is some history here!
a few more images:
Monday, April 11, 2016
What My Kids Do Better than Me
"For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me..." (Matthew25:35-36)
For years I think my kids thought we were poor. All their friends had bigger houses, newer electronics, funner vacations, more stuff. We lived in a community of plenty, and it was easy to think we had little. I think I may have gotten caught in the envy trap more than once, but I have always recognized that we are not poor, and in reality have much...more than we need or deserve. But it's hard not to play the comparison game. And play it we (and they) did.
Fast forward a couple of moves and several schools. This year my kids go to our local public school where I believe 60% of the students receive free or subsidized lunches. (Don't quote me on that number, but I know it's a high percentage) None of their friends live in a 2 story home. In fact, all of them live in either a mobile home or an apartment. Friends have come to our house and marveled at what we consider an average, not elaborate, home. (Don't get me wrong, it's a very nice house, and I really like it. It's pretty, and stylish, and spacious, and the nicest house I've ever lived in). I think maybe they are starting to realize that they have much. The man-child, I think, would still like more stuff, but he says he'd be fine in a smaller house. (This from the boy who complained at how small his room was for the first 6 months we lived here) (But that's a story for another blog.)
A few months ago, Brianna came home from a friend's house where she had spent the afternoon and evening. She was hungry, and made some food for herself. And she asked me, "Mom, how come when I go to someone else's house they never give me food? I always give my friends food when they come over." I answered that it was possible that they didn't have any food, or any extra food, at their house.
She's had friends over to spend the afternoon or evening, and sometimes spend the night. Before they head out to the mall or a basketball game at school, or whatever, I will notice that the friend is wearing something of Brianna's. I said to one of them once, "You were wearing clothes when you came over, weren't you?" The girls both laughed and Brianna said, "It's because I've got style..." but more than once I've seen a girl walk out of our house wearing something of my daughter's, knowing I won't be seeing it again. While I consider the cost, Brianna doesn't think much of it at all. Perhaps she realizes that she's got plenty more clothes, or she knows that her parents will supply all her needs (and even a few wants now and then).
At the end of January Matt came home and asked Mark (I was out of town) if a friend could come and spend the weekend with us, because he needed a place to stay. Mark agreed, as long as it was okay with the parent. As the story unfolded we found out that Dennis was living by himself in a trailer. His mom was living in another trailer with his sister (there wasn't enough space for him there), and they were getting ready to move. His mom said she'd be grateful if Dennis could stay with us for a few days while they got settled. After a few days she said her heat wasn't hooked up yet, and could he stay a little longer.
Matt was thrilled to have the "little brother" he always wanted (Dennis is Brianna's age), and the two boys played a lot of video games in the basement. Dennis stayed with us for six weeks, until mid-March when we headed to Connecticut for my niece's wedding, and we told his mom Dennis couldn't stay alone in our house for 4 days.
My kids are good at offering food, clothing and shelter to "the least of these," and I don't think they even think about it, while I wonder if we have enough food for an extra unplanned mouth at dinner...but God always supplies enough. One evening about a month ago I sat down to dinner with 5 teenagers (Mark was at rehearsal). I don't think there were leftovers, but I'm pretty sure everyone had what they wanted. We have plenty of clothes to have some permanently borrowed occasionally (and I can stop thinking, "but that cost x and you just gave it away"), and we have a house with a guest room and a comfortable bed. Through my kids, God is teaching me how to do it unto Him. And since it's all His to begin with, I'm sure there'll always be enough.
Make no mistake, this generosity is something my kids are teaching me. (Or rather, God is teaching me through my kids.) I'm sure there's plenty more to teach. For now, I'm just trying to be ready to put another place at the table.
For years I think my kids thought we were poor. All their friends had bigger houses, newer electronics, funner vacations, more stuff. We lived in a community of plenty, and it was easy to think we had little. I think I may have gotten caught in the envy trap more than once, but I have always recognized that we are not poor, and in reality have much...more than we need or deserve. But it's hard not to play the comparison game. And play it we (and they) did.
Fast forward a couple of moves and several schools. This year my kids go to our local public school where I believe 60% of the students receive free or subsidized lunches. (Don't quote me on that number, but I know it's a high percentage) None of their friends live in a 2 story home. In fact, all of them live in either a mobile home or an apartment. Friends have come to our house and marveled at what we consider an average, not elaborate, home. (Don't get me wrong, it's a very nice house, and I really like it. It's pretty, and stylish, and spacious, and the nicest house I've ever lived in). I think maybe they are starting to realize that they have much. The man-child, I think, would still like more stuff, but he says he'd be fine in a smaller house. (This from the boy who complained at how small his room was for the first 6 months we lived here) (But that's a story for another blog.)
A few months ago, Brianna came home from a friend's house where she had spent the afternoon and evening. She was hungry, and made some food for herself. And she asked me, "Mom, how come when I go to someone else's house they never give me food? I always give my friends food when they come over." I answered that it was possible that they didn't have any food, or any extra food, at their house.
She's had friends over to spend the afternoon or evening, and sometimes spend the night. Before they head out to the mall or a basketball game at school, or whatever, I will notice that the friend is wearing something of Brianna's. I said to one of them once, "You were wearing clothes when you came over, weren't you?" The girls both laughed and Brianna said, "It's because I've got style..." but more than once I've seen a girl walk out of our house wearing something of my daughter's, knowing I won't be seeing it again. While I consider the cost, Brianna doesn't think much of it at all. Perhaps she realizes that she's got plenty more clothes, or she knows that her parents will supply all her needs (and even a few wants now and then).
At the end of January Matt came home and asked Mark (I was out of town) if a friend could come and spend the weekend with us, because he needed a place to stay. Mark agreed, as long as it was okay with the parent. As the story unfolded we found out that Dennis was living by himself in a trailer. His mom was living in another trailer with his sister (there wasn't enough space for him there), and they were getting ready to move. His mom said she'd be grateful if Dennis could stay with us for a few days while they got settled. After a few days she said her heat wasn't hooked up yet, and could he stay a little longer.
Matt was thrilled to have the "little brother" he always wanted (Dennis is Brianna's age), and the two boys played a lot of video games in the basement. Dennis stayed with us for six weeks, until mid-March when we headed to Connecticut for my niece's wedding, and we told his mom Dennis couldn't stay alone in our house for 4 days.
My kids are good at offering food, clothing and shelter to "the least of these," and I don't think they even think about it, while I wonder if we have enough food for an extra unplanned mouth at dinner...but God always supplies enough. One evening about a month ago I sat down to dinner with 5 teenagers (Mark was at rehearsal). I don't think there were leftovers, but I'm pretty sure everyone had what they wanted. We have plenty of clothes to have some permanently borrowed occasionally (and I can stop thinking, "but that cost x and you just gave it away"), and we have a house with a guest room and a comfortable bed. Through my kids, God is teaching me how to do it unto Him. And since it's all His to begin with, I'm sure there'll always be enough.
Make no mistake, this generosity is something my kids are teaching me. (Or rather, God is teaching me through my kids.) I'm sure there's plenty more to teach. For now, I'm just trying to be ready to put another place at the table.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Richard and Janna
Richard and Janna are our neighbors. They live about 8 houses down the street. Literally, down the street and around a bend. They've lived here since the neighborhood began. Actually, since before the neighborhood began. "When we moved here you had to have faith to see what could be," Richard said. They were the 10th house on the street (I think now there are probably nearly 100 houses on our street ). When the floodplains were drawn, they were told they were in a 100 year flood plain. By the time that was determined they were "grandfathered in" and didn't need to get flood insurance.
Twice before Richard and Janna were told to sandbag their house. Each time, the rising water stopped rising 15 feet or more away from the house. At 5 am Wednesday, Dec 30, they received a call again from the local volunteer fire department: sandbag, the water is rising. And so, they began. The sand arrived, and so did volunteers. They sandbagged up the back outside wall of their walk-out basement (really, a second living area in their house). Bags went up 4 feet, and triple or quadruple deep. They sandbagged inside the windows of their walk-up basement, and around the door In all, they ordered 15 yards of sand. They moved many valuables upstairs, filling their first floor. And they waited. And the water continued to approach the house. And then it started going up the sandbags. It had not rained since Sunday, but still the waters rose.
At around 10 pm the sand wall was breached. Water came in the windows, like a waterfall, Richard said. They said "goodbye" to their things and went upstairs. When the water stopped rising, it filled the basement to a height of 4 feet. At some point they cut the power. The furnace room was inundated with water. And the hot water heater. They lit a fire in the fireplace. Other new friends brought wood, three loads.
Richard retired last year. He was a teacher. In his 30 plus years he had taught history, and band. He had coached football. Now he works at a local sports memorabilia store. Janna works for AT&T. She's got 2 more years until their youngest son graduates from college, so 2 more years until retirement.
Janna quilts. Her basement was her craft area. She got her sewing machine(s) out. But I cleared out a cupboard filled with fabric. Future projects. And thread. And patterns. And more patterns. Stuff.
When Janna moved valuables upstairs, she forgot the closet under the stairs, where each of her kids had a box of memorabilia. A comic book collection, a sodden mess. Meticulously collected baseball cards, some of value. Gone.
In the back room her husband had his record album collection. 2 big boxes of them. And he had one of his favorite things...his accordion. He got it in 1974. "You can't be the most popular kid at school if you play the accordion," he said, "but everyone wanted me to play their parties. I made a lot of money with that accordion." He cried when he took that accordion to the street. He lost coaching awards, and framed team pictures signed by the players. His family crest. More prized possessions from his years as a teacher, coach and dad. Once when he was standing outside he said to me, "I just can't be in there right now." I'm surprised that he could be in there ever. I think I would be curled up in a corner somewhere, crying.
By the time we all cleared out today, all the sandbags were moved away from the house. The carpet was torn out. The furniture and other belongings were out at the street. They've turned the power back on, but are still heating with the fireplace. "What we've lost is things," said Janna, "but what we gained is new friends, a sense of community, faith in people. What we've gained is so much more."
When I hugged her goodbye this afternoon, Janna said, "You (all of us, not me) brought me my sanity today. Thank you."
At some point, while lifting sandbags, Richard said, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." (Phil 4:13). Their faith, though shaken, remains. "If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:31)
I hesitate to say it, but today...was a good day. A day that gave me the faith to see what could be...
Twice before Richard and Janna were told to sandbag their house. Each time, the rising water stopped rising 15 feet or more away from the house. At 5 am Wednesday, Dec 30, they received a call again from the local volunteer fire department: sandbag, the water is rising. And so, they began. The sand arrived, and so did volunteers. They sandbagged up the back outside wall of their walk-out basement (really, a second living area in their house). Bags went up 4 feet, and triple or quadruple deep. They sandbagged inside the windows of their walk-up basement, and around the door In all, they ordered 15 yards of sand. They moved many valuables upstairs, filling their first floor. And they waited. And the water continued to approach the house. And then it started going up the sandbags. It had not rained since Sunday, but still the waters rose.
At around 10 pm the sand wall was breached. Water came in the windows, like a waterfall, Richard said. They said "goodbye" to their things and went upstairs. When the water stopped rising, it filled the basement to a height of 4 feet. At some point they cut the power. The furnace room was inundated with water. And the hot water heater. They lit a fire in the fireplace. Other new friends brought wood, three loads.
Richard retired last year. He was a teacher. In his 30 plus years he had taught history, and band. He had coached football. Now he works at a local sports memorabilia store. Janna works for AT&T. She's got 2 more years until their youngest son graduates from college, so 2 more years until retirement.
Janna quilts. Her basement was her craft area. She got her sewing machine(s) out. But I cleared out a cupboard filled with fabric. Future projects. And thread. And patterns. And more patterns. Stuff.
When Janna moved valuables upstairs, she forgot the closet under the stairs, where each of her kids had a box of memorabilia. A comic book collection, a sodden mess. Meticulously collected baseball cards, some of value. Gone.
In the back room her husband had his record album collection. 2 big boxes of them. And he had one of his favorite things...his accordion. He got it in 1974. "You can't be the most popular kid at school if you play the accordion," he said, "but everyone wanted me to play their parties. I made a lot of money with that accordion." He cried when he took that accordion to the street. He lost coaching awards, and framed team pictures signed by the players. His family crest. More prized possessions from his years as a teacher, coach and dad. Once when he was standing outside he said to me, "I just can't be in there right now." I'm surprised that he could be in there ever. I think I would be curled up in a corner somewhere, crying.
By the time we all cleared out today, all the sandbags were moved away from the house. The carpet was torn out. The furniture and other belongings were out at the street. They've turned the power back on, but are still heating with the fireplace. "What we've lost is things," said Janna, "but what we gained is new friends, a sense of community, faith in people. What we've gained is so much more."
When I hugged her goodbye this afternoon, Janna said, "You (all of us, not me) brought me my sanity today. Thank you."
At some point, while lifting sandbags, Richard said, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." (Phil 4:13). Their faith, though shaken, remains. "If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:31)
I hesitate to say it, but today...was a good day. A day that gave me the faith to see what could be...
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Day of the Dolphins
My friend Amy and I had a perfectly wretched year. Truly. So when she suggested we celebrate our October birthdays by getting away together, I jumped on it. What followed was a wonderful, refreshing, restoring time together. And hopefully a few blog posts. Here's post #3
I've been home a month now, and have struggled as to how to tell this piece of our week succinctly (I have trouble telling anything succinctly, she said with a smile), but here goes:
Our week at the Pink Shell Resort and Hotel was wonderful. Amy and I laughed together and cried together. We celebrated together and we ached together. Mostly, we relaxed beachside or poolside. One of the things we liked about the Pink Shell was that everything we needed was there...we wouldn't need to leave the resort if we didn't want to. Food, drink, ocean, pool, all our needs were covered. They even had paddleboards and kayaks that were free of charge for the guests, and jet skis for a fee. (And the guys who operated the water sport stand called us "girls"...great for our egos) On our first day we took the kayak out, testing the waters. It was a lot of work! But fun!
On the morning of the second day before we even went to breakfast, Amy saw some dolphins in the water just off shore. We went to breakfast and sat on the 2nd floor outside patio, and still we watched the dolphins. As we finished up (our deluxe, gourmet made-to-order omelets...fantastic) Amy suggested we take the kayaks out to see if we could see the dolphins up close. The kayak stand opened at 9. Quickly we donned our suits, slathered on a bit of sunscreen, and headed for the water, arriving just as they opened. But as we looked offshore we noted that the dolphins were gone. Bummer. We took the kayak anyway, hopeful.
This time, unlike the day before when we paddled constantly, we paddled some and drifted some, frequently drifting past the boundary markers for where we were allowed to take the kayak. Then we'd paddle back in. Sometimes we floated, sometimes we paddled. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we were silent. Amy put her feet in the water over the bow (do kayaks have bows?). We were at peace. For about an hour we were like this. And it was good. There were few people on the beach, so we weren't worried that we should bring the kayak in and give someone else a go. But we had been out a long while, so we decided to go once more to the other side of the boundary before we headed in.
We got to the other side and paddled and drifted some more. Again we found ourselves outside the boundaries. And so we began to paddle back. And then we saw them. First one dolphin's fin emerged, then another. Not too far away. They were playing. Or making little dolphin babies. We watched, enthralled, so close. (At this time probably 20-30 yards away). They moved, and we paddled closer. Then rested and watched, amazed. Then moved some more and paddled some more. We were thrilled!
I have to break away from the story for a minute to give you some background. Four years ago Amy and I went on a mission trip to Kenya. It was a fabulous trip, and together with our team we saw God work in some amazing ways. When the mission was done, on our last day in Kenya, we went on a safari where we saw wildlife in abundance: rhinos and dik dik, zebras, giraffes, water buffalo (or cape buffalo...I can't remember which), monkeys (including the one that bit our friend Terry), and birds of varieties too numerous to count. But we hadn't seen any lions, and the safari was almost over. And Amy quietly prayed, "Please God, let us see a lion. Two would be amazing. Three would be abundance." No sooner was the prayer out of her mouth than we went around a bend in the road, and happened upon a lion. No...two. Wait...There are three of them. Juvenile males. Brothers not yet three years old when they would no longer be found together. And our driver pulled close, probably within 20-30 yards. Maybe closer. We watched, amazed. Breathless. Blessed.
Back to my story. We watched those dolphins playing just off our bow. They would disappear underwater and then re-emerge. And then there were three. Abundance. We were silent. I was in tears. God is so good. No one on shore even seemed to notice that there were dolphins among us. As if God was showing off, just for us, to remind us of his abundant blessings.
We kayaked in the midst of those dolphins for at least 20 minutes. At one point they emerged from the water beach-side less than 10 yards from us, then dived back under water, underneath our kayak, and emerged on the other side.
The dolphins swam off, leaving us in peace. We saw another in the distance, and paddled and floated some more before heading in. But not before realizing that God is abundance. And he has an overwhelming love for us.
I'm not going to lie...this year has been wretched. And while I have known that God has not abandoned me, I have at times wondered why he was withholding the good I know it is in his power to impart. Clearly, his ways are not my ways...And his plan is far more than all I can ask or imagine. But on this day, I found my heart "singing" this song of David:
I've been home a month now, and have struggled as to how to tell this piece of our week succinctly (I have trouble telling anything succinctly, she said with a smile), but here goes:
Our week at the Pink Shell Resort and Hotel was wonderful. Amy and I laughed together and cried together. We celebrated together and we ached together. Mostly, we relaxed beachside or poolside. One of the things we liked about the Pink Shell was that everything we needed was there...we wouldn't need to leave the resort if we didn't want to. Food, drink, ocean, pool, all our needs were covered. They even had paddleboards and kayaks that were free of charge for the guests, and jet skis for a fee. (And the guys who operated the water sport stand called us "girls"...great for our egos) On our first day we took the kayak out, testing the waters. It was a lot of work! But fun!
On the morning of the second day before we even went to breakfast, Amy saw some dolphins in the water just off shore. We went to breakfast and sat on the 2nd floor outside patio, and still we watched the dolphins. As we finished up (our deluxe, gourmet made-to-order omelets...fantastic) Amy suggested we take the kayaks out to see if we could see the dolphins up close. The kayak stand opened at 9. Quickly we donned our suits, slathered on a bit of sunscreen, and headed for the water, arriving just as they opened. But as we looked offshore we noted that the dolphins were gone. Bummer. We took the kayak anyway, hopeful.
This time, unlike the day before when we paddled constantly, we paddled some and drifted some, frequently drifting past the boundary markers for where we were allowed to take the kayak. Then we'd paddle back in. Sometimes we floated, sometimes we paddled. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we were silent. Amy put her feet in the water over the bow (do kayaks have bows?). We were at peace. For about an hour we were like this. And it was good. There were few people on the beach, so we weren't worried that we should bring the kayak in and give someone else a go. But we had been out a long while, so we decided to go once more to the other side of the boundary before we headed in.
We got to the other side and paddled and drifted some more. Again we found ourselves outside the boundaries. And so we began to paddle back. And then we saw them. First one dolphin's fin emerged, then another. Not too far away. They were playing. Or making little dolphin babies. We watched, enthralled, so close. (At this time probably 20-30 yards away). They moved, and we paddled closer. Then rested and watched, amazed. Then moved some more and paddled some more. We were thrilled!
I have to break away from the story for a minute to give you some background. Four years ago Amy and I went on a mission trip to Kenya. It was a fabulous trip, and together with our team we saw God work in some amazing ways. When the mission was done, on our last day in Kenya, we went on a safari where we saw wildlife in abundance: rhinos and dik dik, zebras, giraffes, water buffalo (or cape buffalo...I can't remember which), monkeys (including the one that bit our friend Terry), and birds of varieties too numerous to count. But we hadn't seen any lions, and the safari was almost over. And Amy quietly prayed, "Please God, let us see a lion. Two would be amazing. Three would be abundance." No sooner was the prayer out of her mouth than we went around a bend in the road, and happened upon a lion. No...two. Wait...There are three of them. Juvenile males. Brothers not yet three years old when they would no longer be found together. And our driver pulled close, probably within 20-30 yards. Maybe closer. We watched, amazed. Breathless. Blessed.
Back to my story. We watched those dolphins playing just off our bow. They would disappear underwater and then re-emerge. And then there were three. Abundance. We were silent. I was in tears. God is so good. No one on shore even seemed to notice that there were dolphins among us. As if God was showing off, just for us, to remind us of his abundant blessings.
We kayaked in the midst of those dolphins for at least 20 minutes. At one point they emerged from the water beach-side less than 10 yards from us, then dived back under water, underneath our kayak, and emerged on the other side.
The dolphins swam off, leaving us in peace. We saw another in the distance, and paddled and floated some more before heading in. But not before realizing that God is abundance. And he has an overwhelming love for us.
I'm not going to lie...this year has been wretched. And while I have known that God has not abandoned me, I have at times wondered why he was withholding the good I know it is in his power to impart. Clearly, his ways are not my ways...And his plan is far more than all I can ask or imagine. But on this day, I found my heart "singing" this song of David:
Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits--
who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.
(Or dolphin's) (God didn't write that last part...I did)
Ps. 103:1-5
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Lessons from the Starfish
My friend Amy and I had a perfectly wretched year. Truly. So when she suggested we celebrate our October birthdays by getting away together, I jumped on it. What followed was a wonderful, refreshing, restoring time together. And hopefully a few blog posts. Here's post #2
I absolutely love to take walks on the beach, especially at sunrise or sunset. Maybe that's because my husband proposed to me at sunset on a beach in California...beautiful! I love the feel of sand beneath my feet, the waves that sneak up and cover my toes, sometimes splashing up to my clothes, and the rising or setting sun glimmering on the water. I look for shells and sea glass, and sometimes collect them. One year my son collected shark teeth...I think he had more than 20, including a Great White's tooth. When you walk on the shore, the treasures are amazing.
One of the things I liked most about the Pink Shell Spa and Resort was that it was on an island, and a skinny island at that. From our room we overlooked the beach and the Gulf of Mexico (for my purposes, the ocean), the sunset side; but when we walked out of our room to the elevator we were looking at the other side of the island...the sunrise side. The best of both worlds: I've never stayed someplace where I could see both sunrise and sunset over the water. "From the rising of the sun til the sun goes down let the name of the Lord be praised..."
And so, we were able to take walks at both sunrise and sunset!
Our first morning walk was on the sunset side, on the gulf. We walked and picked up some shells, then dropped them down into the sand again, deciding we'd take our shells home by taking pictures. On this walk we saw sand dollars...not the usually broken, bleached-white ones you usually find, but living sand dollars. One of them was at least 4 inches across. We "rescued" them by taking them back to the water and placing them in the waves so they'd live another day. I have never seen a live sand dollar before, and may not have seen these if not for Amy's eagle eyes. She spotted the round edge just beneath the sand. True, we were looking for the kind we could take home, but I think our breath was taken away when we realized that these were still alive.
That morning we also saw a brittle star.
Look how dainty and fragile it's arms are! I"ve never seen one of those before.
But our best morning walks were dock-side, the sunrise side. We were at the end of the island; only a small state park was past us on the road. So we were able to walk to the park and to the shore in only about 5 minutes, and found a very tranquil spot to watch the sunrise. And walk the shoreline.
Waves lapped the shore peacefully. One-legged birds stood at the edge of the water. A few perched on the "low wake" sign. A bird dove from the sky and picked up a fish in the water, then flew away. And a starfish rested on the shore. We watched for a moment or two, and then walked a bit further, hoping we could walk the whole shoreline around the tip of the island and end up on the gulf side, just down the beach from our hotel. And breakfast. But a tree at the water's edge was in the way, and we retraced our steps. 5 minutes after we left him, we were back at the starfish.
Do you see the trail? in 5 minutes or so, that starfish had moved himself about 18 inches. And yet while we were watching him we hadn't seen him move. If it weren't for the trail he left, we might not have noticed that his position had changed. But the little hair-like thingies (technical term) on his underside undulated back and forth and helped him move back toward the water. Slowly by slowly (one of my favorite Kenyan terms), he moved.
And I thought, sometimes that's the way God works in my life. Sometimes the movement is imperceptible, but slowly by slowly he moves me back to the water, to the living water that flows through him. Without it, I'd die. I need the water, desperately. And sometimes I can only tell I've moved closer when I look back after some time, and see the tracks in the sand. Sometimes, in fact, I might not even realize I'm out of the water until I'm beached high and dry, warming myself in the sun that is not the Son. But then I hear the water lapping on the shore, and by God's grace, I move toward it.
We saw another kind of starfish there, too. A sun starfish. Wild. I had never seen anything like it.
We saw this one our first morning dockside. And we were fascinated. It was, comparatively, huge. From the end of one arm to the end of its opposite, I think it was at least the size of a basketball. We marveled at it for awhile. The next morning when we went back for sunrise we saw it again, and more of its family, at least a dozen I think, of varying sizes. Most if not all of them were in the water. And they were still fascinating, even the second day, even seeing a dozen like the first.
We watched, and Amy even took some video, as the sun star "moved." I can't say I actually saw any movement across the sand, but we did see him raise up an arm or two, and we could see the hair-like thingies moving away underneath, and it felt like Jacques Cousteau's Underwater Adventures (okay, his underwater adventures on a slow day), or some National Geographic special. I think both of us could have been content to stay and watch for awhile, maybe all morning, as he made his way back to the sea.
But the thing that really fascinated me most was the sun star track. I wish I had a picture. I thought I had taken one, but I can't find it. Amy thought she had taken one too. Oh well. This one from Google will have to do, but it's not quite the same as the one we saw:
Do you notice the "claw marks" behind the starfish? The ones we saw were deep. Deep. And they didn't look to me like pushing off marks, or like a trail dragging behind as he moved. No, the one we saw looked like that sun star was clawing and clinging to the shore with all his might, wanting to stay right where he was. Not wanting to go back to the sea. Clinging to the "safety" of where he was, even though it was not safety at all. Even though there he was a "sitting goose" for any predator bird (or human) that came along.
I'm like that Sun Star, desperately clinging to the shore, to what I know, or think is safe. And I'm really not at all ready to tell God to take me into deep waters. I'm generally content upon the shores. I'm clinging to the shore because I'm afraid of what's in those deep waters.
And only when I stop and look can I admit that this shore isn't safe either. But I'm clinging to the sand. I want to ask God to take me deeper than my feet can wander, where my faith will be made stronger, but oh, that's scary. And the best I can hope for is to say with the parent in the Bible, "Yes, I believe. Help me in my unbelief."
I absolutely love to take walks on the beach, especially at sunrise or sunset. Maybe that's because my husband proposed to me at sunset on a beach in California...beautiful! I love the feel of sand beneath my feet, the waves that sneak up and cover my toes, sometimes splashing up to my clothes, and the rising or setting sun glimmering on the water. I look for shells and sea glass, and sometimes collect them. One year my son collected shark teeth...I think he had more than 20, including a Great White's tooth. When you walk on the shore, the treasures are amazing.
One of the things I liked most about the Pink Shell Spa and Resort was that it was on an island, and a skinny island at that. From our room we overlooked the beach and the Gulf of Mexico (for my purposes, the ocean), the sunset side; but when we walked out of our room to the elevator we were looking at the other side of the island...the sunrise side. The best of both worlds: I've never stayed someplace where I could see both sunrise and sunset over the water. "From the rising of the sun til the sun goes down let the name of the Lord be praised..."
And so, we were able to take walks at both sunrise and sunset!
Our first morning walk was on the sunset side, on the gulf. We walked and picked up some shells, then dropped them down into the sand again, deciding we'd take our shells home by taking pictures. On this walk we saw sand dollars...not the usually broken, bleached-white ones you usually find, but living sand dollars. One of them was at least 4 inches across. We "rescued" them by taking them back to the water and placing them in the waves so they'd live another day. I have never seen a live sand dollar before, and may not have seen these if not for Amy's eagle eyes. She spotted the round edge just beneath the sand. True, we were looking for the kind we could take home, but I think our breath was taken away when we realized that these were still alive.
That morning we also saw a brittle star.
Look how dainty and fragile it's arms are! I"ve never seen one of those before.But our best morning walks were dock-side, the sunrise side. We were at the end of the island; only a small state park was past us on the road. So we were able to walk to the park and to the shore in only about 5 minutes, and found a very tranquil spot to watch the sunrise. And walk the shoreline.
Waves lapped the shore peacefully. One-legged birds stood at the edge of the water. A few perched on the "low wake" sign. A bird dove from the sky and picked up a fish in the water, then flew away. And a starfish rested on the shore. We watched for a moment or two, and then walked a bit further, hoping we could walk the whole shoreline around the tip of the island and end up on the gulf side, just down the beach from our hotel. And breakfast. But a tree at the water's edge was in the way, and we retraced our steps. 5 minutes after we left him, we were back at the starfish.
Do you see the trail? in 5 minutes or so, that starfish had moved himself about 18 inches. And yet while we were watching him we hadn't seen him move. If it weren't for the trail he left, we might not have noticed that his position had changed. But the little hair-like thingies (technical term) on his underside undulated back and forth and helped him move back toward the water. Slowly by slowly (one of my favorite Kenyan terms), he moved.
And I thought, sometimes that's the way God works in my life. Sometimes the movement is imperceptible, but slowly by slowly he moves me back to the water, to the living water that flows through him. Without it, I'd die. I need the water, desperately. And sometimes I can only tell I've moved closer when I look back after some time, and see the tracks in the sand. Sometimes, in fact, I might not even realize I'm out of the water until I'm beached high and dry, warming myself in the sun that is not the Son. But then I hear the water lapping on the shore, and by God's grace, I move toward it.
We saw another kind of starfish there, too. A sun starfish. Wild. I had never seen anything like it.
We saw this one our first morning dockside. And we were fascinated. It was, comparatively, huge. From the end of one arm to the end of its opposite, I think it was at least the size of a basketball. We marveled at it for awhile. The next morning when we went back for sunrise we saw it again, and more of its family, at least a dozen I think, of varying sizes. Most if not all of them were in the water. And they were still fascinating, even the second day, even seeing a dozen like the first.We watched, and Amy even took some video, as the sun star "moved." I can't say I actually saw any movement across the sand, but we did see him raise up an arm or two, and we could see the hair-like thingies moving away underneath, and it felt like Jacques Cousteau's Underwater Adventures (okay, his underwater adventures on a slow day), or some National Geographic special. I think both of us could have been content to stay and watch for awhile, maybe all morning, as he made his way back to the sea.
But the thing that really fascinated me most was the sun star track. I wish I had a picture. I thought I had taken one, but I can't find it. Amy thought she had taken one too. Oh well. This one from Google will have to do, but it's not quite the same as the one we saw:
Do you notice the "claw marks" behind the starfish? The ones we saw were deep. Deep. And they didn't look to me like pushing off marks, or like a trail dragging behind as he moved. No, the one we saw looked like that sun star was clawing and clinging to the shore with all his might, wanting to stay right where he was. Not wanting to go back to the sea. Clinging to the "safety" of where he was, even though it was not safety at all. Even though there he was a "sitting goose" for any predator bird (or human) that came along. I'm like that Sun Star, desperately clinging to the shore, to what I know, or think is safe. And I'm really not at all ready to tell God to take me into deep waters. I'm generally content upon the shores. I'm clinging to the shore because I'm afraid of what's in those deep waters.
And only when I stop and look can I admit that this shore isn't safe either. But I'm clinging to the sand. I want to ask God to take me deeper than my feet can wander, where my faith will be made stronger, but oh, that's scary. And the best I can hope for is to say with the parent in the Bible, "Yes, I believe. Help me in my unbelief."
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