Snapshot of Americana

I have been gone all day.  I was at church, home long enough to change clothes, at a church function, then at a revised Sunday dinner before discovering a missed phone call and spending an hour on the phone with an old friend.  When I finally got in the house, I checked Facebook and email to catch up.  Upon which, I discovered, the new health care package was passed.

If I were to take this at face value among my Facebook friends, there is an interesting conundrum.  Evidently 2/3 of my vocal (i.e., post all opinions on Facebook) friends think this country is now going straight to hell in a handbasket.  Then there are the few vocals ones that say thank god for finally doing something about health care.

What I find interesting about this ratio is that the majority of my Facebook friends are staunch supporters of health care reform.  They have just remained silent compared to those that are die-hard Republicans and think that supporting health care reform or President Barack Obama is akin to aligning oneself with the devil.  The decry the desecration of the Constitution in the past day, that the national decision makers have forgotten the principles upon which the country was founded, and that we are now, essentially Europe.

Now don’t get me wrong, I haven’t read the news all day.  I just find this humorous.  I disagree with much of those opinions, and the one thing that keeps coming back to me is this:

Founding Fathers never had to deal with HMOs or insurance companies.  They could trade a side of beef or a wheel of cheese for decent medical care.  If you can find a doctor that will work for such wages in today’s economy then please, by all means, let me know.  I’m moving to your town.

Interesting nighttime reading!  Time to check on the news reports and see what all the hooplah is about!

The things we do for strangers

Tonight was the last night I had Wicked duty this week.  I came home (after being at the theater for the last eleven hours) and had a ton of emails.  One of them was a comment to this post asking where one of the receptions occurred.  I have no idea.  The show was on almost eight weeks ago, and it didn’t make a great impression on me at the time.

Instead of just ignoring the comment, what do I do?  I sit at the computer and try to research the info.  I know the name of the bride (maiden and married, to boot).  I know how much she and her now-husband paid in real estate taxes last year.  I know that there are a LOT of people that either love or hate the show.  But I cannot find a show recap that has detail in any location. And it doesn’t look like TLC will be rebroadcasting that particular episode of Four Weddings any time in the near future.

Before I knew it, over TWO HOURS had passed.  I have to call it quits.  I am exhausted and I have to get ready for my shower and bed.

So Alison, my dear, I’m sorry.  I don’t know.  It was a great restaurant, with an awesome view, but I haven’t got the foggiest idea where the reception was held.

Wickedly Awesome

I promise, this is the last time that I will write on this stupid show. 🙂

So tonight was Wicked #5 of 11 (I think).  I was assigned to direct on the balcony level, which is rare.  So rare, in fact that I had to get a MAP.  I think it’s been seven years since I’ve even been ON the balcony level, much less worked up there.  So learning experience, right?  Always fun.  The good thing is that the work is significantly less.  I was almost relaxed even!  And because of the no-door structure, I was even able to SEE the show.  Like the WHOLE show.  From beginning to end.

Amazing.

So much fun.

Tomorrow night, back to the madness on the downstairs level.

Discipleship, Part 2

Tonight was the second half of our discussion on chapter one in our book Sacred Roads, Relational Discipleship.  Understand, please, that the word TANGENT was used to describe our ragamuffin group of women.  We stray from topic to talk about things such as the priesthood and the way they love wine, Amway hawking in the 1980s, and the Latina family structure.  So it’s all a great ball of fun.

We had five women, two who were not part of the five we had last week.  It’s kind of funny, seeing as how all save one (including me) are DRASTIC Type A people (and I am giving the benefit of the doubt to T, the new girl, as I don’t know her well enough to say yep, she’s one of us).  And we all seemed to struggle with the same concepts.  Confession and submission.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that submission is the point of relational discipleship.  But the examples that are given in the book brought the subject up.  To be honest, submission is a word that didn’t occur to me in the slightest when I was reading, but it must have come up for others.  The first Old Testament story that is given was for Moses and Joshua, how Joshua served as Moses’s second until such a time as he was appointed the leader–40 years after first starting to serve with Moses.  I thought it was odd that the questions for this section were difficult for people to answer–we had to describe a training experience, good or bad, and what the value in a spiritual relationship like that would be.  I came up with answers easily, I admit–but then again, training is what I do.  (Well, what I would do were I employed for a living at this current time.)  It was odd to me that people couldn’t think of examples.  Continue reading

I am a bad granddaughter

I still have three of my four grandparents living, all into their 80s.  And one of them, my maternal grandmother, is the most negative person you’ve ever met.  She hates everything.  She doesn’t like anything.  But the entire world has to stop so that she can get what she wants when she wants.   It’s a huge catch 22 and it’s irritating as all hell.

And tomorrow I’m on duty.

She likes bottled water.  Claims the tap water (which was rated very high and tastes just fine) makes her sick.  Fine, that’s her preference.  But she complains about the fact that she has no water for SIX WEEKS and then gets upset that I haven’t offered to get it for her.  But the process of getting water is more than that.  It means she expects to be treated to lunch, must be taken shopping, then taken to Costco where I can lift the bottles into the cart and then take them upstairs to her apartment.

I know it’s little and trivial, but it is something I’m not looking forward to doing tomorrow.  Mainly because I cannot handle a day of snide talking and hateful attitudes.  I have worked very hard to cut out that kind of negativity among my friends and the people I hang out with, only it’s not possible to do that with family.  I wish it were sometimes, but it makes me a horrible granddaughter.

Wish me luck in the AM!

Me? A worrywart? Nah.

I never have been actually.  A worrywart that is.  Other members of my family, well, let’s just say that they have made it an exact science.  It truly is an art form.  But the practice of worrying over something is not one that I tend to do.  I know that things will be taken care of in their own way, things that have already happened can’t change and therefore it’s a waste of time, and things I can’t influence are a waste of energy if I worry.  So I don’t.

I found a passage today in my ‘library’ book that talked about worrying, and it had a checklist of things on there, I think it was ten or so, that could tell you if you have a tendency to worry.  The only one I answered yes to was the final statement–you have a grandparent that worries incessantly.  But me? Not so much.

I saw this sentence and it was one of two that really struck me: a fog bank that is a hundred feet deep and over seven city blocks  is composed of less than a singular glass of water.  Something that in a moment can seem gigantic, inconvenient, endless, not able to penetrate or get through, and that brings a city to a standstill is, in fact, small enough to hold the container in your hand.  It’s not insurmountable.  It’s not impossible.  It is able to be done.

The second sentence that stuck with me was from Psalm 139: 23-24.  It’s one I have heard many times, especially given that the theme of the kid’s production we just did was “Searching”.  But this translation was a bit different: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.  See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”  I think that the reason this stuck with me was the phrasing of “See if there is any offensive way in me”.  I don’t know about you, but I know there is in me, and it is something that I strive to overcome.

So I will continue to try not to be a worrywart.  To not take sometime that to me seems like it’s insurmountable, like having a job, and turn it into my own personal fog bank.  For I know that I can make it through if I keep my mind on the right path and if I truly trust in God to lead me through the dark.