What You Have That We Don't

It's not that I was ignoring him.

Photo: Anne Ostsee, Creative Commons, cc license

I looked up as he said my name, and I smiled and nodded.

"Mom? See the sunrise? Look." My six year old Daniel pointed out the dining room deck window.

"Yeah, I see it! So pretty, huh?" I grinned and looked back down at my notes. Violet and coral stained a navy blue morning sky, outlining naked spring trees against the horizon.

"No, Mom. LOOK! See?" and Daniel tapped my arm, pointing again out through the glass door to the sunrise he could see from the far end of the table.

From two chairs away, I glanced again outside, and nodded at him. "Yep, I see it. It's pretty."

Suddenly, I understood. He wanted me to come see the sunrise from his perspective. Moving three feet down the table, I stood beside him, and peered out at the morning sky. And the contrast was striking! 

Sharp tangerines and purples sliced open the sky in vivid, brilliant color. From this angle, the sunrise wasn't demure or quiet, but a raucous riot of hues. Oranges, purples, magentas, and pinks shot from behind our neighbor's garage roof, streaking up the sky.

Daniel was right. The view from his side of the dining room table was extraordinary, and I had almost missed it.

Photo Credit: Set Apart Conference twitter feed

This last weekend, eight hundred-or-so women came together for the thirty-third annual Set Apart Conference, hosted by the University of Northwestern-St. Paul. For two days, we spent time together in worship, time together learning from keynote speakers Kelly Minter and Alecia Williamson Garcia, and learning from workshops speakers, (where I was honored to speak too). What I encountered again and again reminds me of Daniel's sunrises...

We all have vantage points to see God at work in our lives, and the views can be spectacular. We are missing out on the fullest picture, though, until we take the time to step into another's angle of sight. Seeing their stories of God at work, hearing your tales of God artistically weaving life events, opens us up to vivid displays.

Your job? My job? To speak out our stories, describing the beauty of God at work from our vantage point, and then to walk around the tables to learn from each other, to see what majesty He has splashed across your angles of the sky too. He is an always-painting Artist-God after all.

Intersecting Plot Lines

Photo credit: Daniel Ansel Tingcungco, Flickr, Creative Commons, cc

It's the tiny clues that hit my subconscious. Triggers of another plotline weaving briefly through mine.

A dark-haired man drives his car around a curve and, in the sixty seconds I see him, he's banging both hands on the steering wheel, and bouncing his body against the seat. Is he angry? Upset? Or dancing vehemently to his favorite song? Snowbanks and buildings hide him from sight.

Two therapists confer beside me about a nameless female client who is battling substance abuse. They role-play questions that will prompt further disclosure, and the older therapist passes on advice to the younger one.

"Has she hit on you yet?" he asks, sipping coffee from a white mug.

"...No? Good, good, that means you're projecting the right..." and the conversation flows on beside me.

Bobbed blonde and brunette nurses behind me share resources for dementia and scannable online time cards.

"Jerry Fisher" swipes a black ipad at the table beside me and leaves a phone message with his name and number. The world suddenly seems so public and open.

Male teen swishes boy bangs to the side, shifting binders and books more securely into his arm as he crosses the street, talking to brunette girl beside him.

Black shirted Native American art pairs with green and brown camo pants. A three-day beard contours up an angular masculine face, topped by a black fleece hat. He strides into view, then disappears.

Redhead in violet jacket unfolds bulging manilla folders from a stroke association fabric bag. "May I sit here?" she asks Jerry Fisher, still on the phone. Surprised, he nods silent assent and taps the table. "Rachel" on the coffee-cup studies her notes and starts leaving her own phone messages, while Jerry gives his phone number to invisible answering machines.

Stories intersect. Grey clouds climb higher and winter temperatures mount. Snow melts sloshy and car after car pulls into the coffee shop: each car a different story; each indoor square table-top a new tale. Plotlines mingle with each lidded cup. 

And then, just like that, silver Sentras, grey Corollas, and red Ford Focuses pull away, and the stories stream away, trailing in the distance.  

Your story and mine? The Writer knows them too, and is weaving those plot lines. 

(Thankful for a story-writing God.)

Hi all, it's been a busy six weeks. Sorry for not updating sooner. You'll laugh. I'm sitting here in my living room with stain removers working on various outfits. On the tan corduroy pants that I'm still wearing, there are two spots of Tide stain removal drying. That was an accident from lunch--fresh tomatoes, cucs, red peppers, and basil leaves lightly tossed with olive oil and cider vinegar. I dripped that on me as I was updating facebook, nursing Daniel and trying to eat one-handed.

On the floor behind me are two brown shirts that have oil stains on them. I asked the smart moms I know for their advice on removing tough oil stains. Shari, Karen and Deb all passed on ideas. Apparently the consensus is something about wd-40 and Dawn dish soap. So, behind me on my living room floor are two shirts sprayed with wd-40 and now rubbed with dish soap. This will either cure the stains or add to them greatly!

The story behind the stains on my shirts? One was a drip from a delicious egg roll that Misty made for me when the Lawsons brought over a home-made meal during our first few weeks home with baby. (Thanks, guys!) The other brown shirt is a hand-me-down from my nieces! They have passed down clothes to my daughter for years. Now they are getting older and have clothes and shoes that fit me at times. This cute brown hoodie was too cute to put into a bag for a few years, waiting for Morgan to fit into it. I snagged it. (Thanks, K and R!) Apparently they were attacked by dripping egg rolls too, since the stain is in the same place.

Our garden has struggled through the summer of little weeding and sporadic watering due to a new baby. But we are enjoying some rewards! There have been green beans, tomatoes, chives, cucumbers, cantaloupe, and now--some beautiful gladiolas! Check out these neat photos.

I have missed blogging and talking with you all. How are you? Many of you are just now getting back to school too. How's that going? How are your classes? Or, for the non-students, how are your new fall schedules different?

I haven't been able to tell you some more fun family stories from the last few weeks. Check back to hear the adventures of the gas alarm and the front yard; the creative kind serving things that Morgan has come up with lately; John's cool deep thoughts; and more.

Meanwhile, catch me up on your life....